The Tyrant

[Silk]

~Samheen 25th~

It was over. He knew it was over.

It had been close...and there had been sacrifices...but the day had come and gone, a day he would remember as his finest mark. It had started with those poor, wretched Panlings, people that were as innocent as they were useless, and he had walked over them like the Grim Reaper himself, breaking apart the Rose Guild and shattering their hold forever. And then it had been the Coven, an enemy that was almost a nuisance and one that managed to defeat itself through indelicacy and ignorance. There were the Purple Guard, so very useful and honorable...and so very in his way, and so they were crushed and ruined by his hand. The crime lords of the Citadel, the new insurrections beneath the Citadel, the rebels in Dort, Kislovan, even the invaders in Pan's Isle...all obstacles that did little more than challenge the Tyrant in what would be history's most delicate coup d'etat ever.

And now he was here...Silk, the new Caesar of the Seven Isles. Caesar of Tazlure. The Citadel had changed under his hand, no longer the dirty, corrupt, misdirected, pathetic mass of worthless bureaucracy that had, under the inept rulership of his dear friend Anochrim, grown impotent, weak, and powerless. It didn't take long for Silk to seal his control over the Advisory Council and then abolish it, leaving only him in complete power over the Empire. Not even the Inner Circle survived, for he had killed, dislodged, discredited, or converted them all, one by one, until only he was left. By virtue of his political advisors scattered all throughout the nations of the Seven Isles, the rulers of it's member nations obeyed....or they were replaced with those that would. And they were always under levy, always bound to Imperial draft...and that made the Empire strong, strong enough to not only stop the Oneist advances all over the world, but strong enough to turn the tide and send them BACK to the lands from which they came...and so much stronger than the nations they left behind, nations that could no longer challenge the Caesar with their audacity and their independence. Nations that he delicately played against one another to insure they stayed weak and pliant.

But this safety and security had come at a price. No longer would the Tyrant suffer the horrible dangers of lethargy and inaction that brought them low before. No longer would he idly stand by, surrendering power for those that had grown too liberal and too patient with those that would invite the worst of evils into HIS world. Never again, Anochrim. If you had any measure of foresight, you would be sitting here beside me. Once again, he had faced Pan...and once again they had disagreed, but a GOD had bent to his will, accepting the Tyrant's methods as the only way to protect humanity...the only way to survive...and his price accepted without hesitation.

This time, there would be no elections, no favor, no chances. A police state, everything was held to question, even here in his own throne room...a room that had once been the Antechamber of the Citadel. Now it was his, the towering ceiling far above black and dark like a starless night sky. A series of golden lamps illuminated only a path leading up to his tall, iron throne...Silk had cast his throne from the armors of the fallen Paladins of the One...standing upwards of twelve feet off the ground, the broad, wide, unbroken circle of silver that had once tipped the Prodesse Dominicus Cathedral in World's Mouth now the seat upon which his majesty rested. A row of steps lead up to the height of the throne could be seen, each one cast and engraved by rulers of nations that begged for his favor and his assistance, each one kept just on the verge of extinction to another and designed to turn their bitter, oppressed rage against each other. The far walls of the Antechamber were obscured in darkness, hiding the banners and flags of enemies fallen...the Condotierre, the Kingstone Guard, the Emerald Guard, there were dozens, and each one a faded reminder of the powers he had overcome to bring his peace to all of Tazlure. And standing before these tabards were soldiers...not from his armies or those of his nations, but of the Brotherhood, the men that had indeed brought him to power by way of his ruthless, remorseless cunning.

He had changed in recent yahren, his body still thin, lithe, and fluid, like a man-shaped mass of liquid that only occasionally recalled itself to it's shape. He was draped over his throne lethargically, one leg kicked over an arm of the mighty seat of power while he propped up his head upon a strangely naked and bare fist perched with elbow upon the other. The crown upon his head was iron, and rather shabby iron at that, for Silk had disdained any displays of wealth. Your wealth goes to insure the power and security of your nation, your empire, your God! Your wealth goes to secure your future and the future of your children... He smiled at this last bit. It wasn't entirely true, but it was close enough.

With a wave of his hand, Silk motioned for the doors to be opened. There, a pair of red-robed seneschals would greet each visitor with a bow. "Stray not from the lighted path, and do not approach the throne..." they cautioned, standing away to either side, their faces accluded with smooth, oval masks of black.

Like any good ruler, he would hold court, a time in which the people could approach him and bring him their problems. But today would be special. Today, he would talk to them...and he would share what was in his heart. Today he would show them who had saved the Empire, and who had brought them all back from the brink of extinction.

[Ashtallion Urdil]

He entered with a measured, graceful, pace. Black robes of finely spun lambs wool hung about the figure, a silver sash tied around his waist, and aside from a silver ring on one of his long slender fingers, Ashtallion Urdil wore no other ornamentation, magical or otherwise, expect perhaps, the enchanted Warrior Card that was always secreted away in his sash. It would not have been acceptable to wear the Pelegrim, the adhiel blade given to him when he had been a member of the Mage Hunters, though technically he had never left the group. Then again, Asht did not need the blade to defend himself if ever the need arose.

The light shimmered on blonde hair that may aswell have been made of strands of spun gold, and glittered in eyes of the same colour, the blue iris' holding flecks of gold. Some had found those eyes distubring, always watching, staring, piercing the soul.... but the mage doubted such a feeling would overcome that man. The man to which is gaze strayed, sitting non-chantly on his throne, the dirty iron crown upon his brow signifying his station as Caesar. Ashtallion had to suppress a sneer. He did not take to this new Caesar, Anochrim would always be the one he considered fit to rule the Seven Isles.

But this man not only ruled the Seven Isles, he ruled the world of Tazlure in its entirity.

Ashtallion nodded in return to the comment of the seneschals, " Certainly. ", was the only calm and whispered word that left the adhiels mouth, and as directed, he did not leave the lighted path, but remained on the fringes, trying to conceal himself in whatever shadows he could find. Despite his own confidence, Ashtallion did not like to be noticed too much by those in power, those with the iron fist of rulership and had reasoned that watching from the shadows... he would learn more this day. However, the Sorcerer did stop to bow to the new Caesar, a low and respectful act of homage and humility, all the while his soul burned with passionate rage which he held back by force of will.

Once he had paid his respects to his Ruler, the battlemage moved to side, black robes whispering softly as they dusted the floor with the hem. With his arms in the folds of his robes, resting over his midriff, Ashtallion watched with sharp, keen and intelligent eyes for the next figure to enter in Court.

[Isabella Florentina]

Isabella felt a bit out of it.

The countess was talking to the people at court, but it did not feel right. Was she even supposed to be here? She gave a luxurious smile at the courtier in front of her, touching him with a tendril of passion that ensured simply that he would not forget her, then moved on through the crowd to chat with another lord. A lord that was focusing on her neckline, but she didn't care. A quick dart in the garden, just a quick ravishing.. can I dare it.. Isa decided not too. The court was not like it once was.

Isabella knew she was in hiding. Panlings were not popular at court anymore. Roses were not popular at court anymore. She had been both. Her hand touched her black smooth hair, the candle light playing on her olive skin, and fully aware that several gentlemen around her simply sighed. She grew in all this admiration, positively booming.

There was something she ought to have done before, she knew not what. Something was left undone, and kept sending her back to this point. Pan, you mischevious lord.. you keep me here in the Aether, dream after dream, and I know not where I go, where I will end.

[Silk]

Silk didn't bother to notice the Battlemage that took up his place with the throne. At least not overtly, though the Tyrant did consider it strange. All around the hall were those he did not entirely trust, but those he trusted to be who they were...and that was a trust that was comfortable. The Brotherhood waited in the darkness, each one no doubt having imagined Silk's own demise once or twice in their heads, but each one also bent with the knowledge that he was so very, very alone in his dreams, for there were the other kind of creatures around him now, creatures that would mean instant death to them...

Those that would do anything for Silk's favor.

Ashtallion was certainly not one of his courtiers, but he was quick to display his supplication and unity with the throne. That was appropriate, of course...and he offered no word, no comment, and that, too, was appropriate. Still, a would-be assassin was born every moment, and in preparation for this day, his staff had taken to removing the carpets in the Antechamber and leaving the bare stones beneath. Silk preferred the look of the bare stones...and his staff did not enjoy the lengthy task of cleaning the standing puddles of blood out of them when the next assassin came to charge the throne or weave his spell at him.

Still, the first guest of the eveningtide didn't have any issues for the Tyrant, so he was relegated to watching, which was his right. Still, Silk had bothered to show up and assume his rightful seat, so it seemed perhaps silly that he should wait for someone to generate the courage needed to petition the throne. Bored to move forward to the specifics of his task, Silk made a motion in the air and pointed towards the doors, sending his head Seneschal into action.

"The First Petitioner may approach the throne!" came the Senechal's call, his strong voice all the more stronger as it collected in the massive, unseen chamber and reflected back upon all present with audible thunder. With one foot wriggling in impatient, idle amusement, the Tyrant waited for the first of his subjects to come forward.

[Galina Faulkland]

This place wasn't fun anymore... staunchy nobles, merchants too nervous to break the rules... hardly anything was negotiable anymore. No laughter, though the scheming remained. Politics wasn't her thing... but here she was! The Ceasar's open court... and she was dressed in her finest! Blue, blue and more blue. Blue may have been out, but her renown as a merchant inventor and loud personality have been whispered about around Citadel, and her work in the West with the Caesar's new arcane airships were due.

Yet everyone seemed to fear this guy with due reason... he was a staunch recluse from what she heard, and not one to be messed with.

... Luckily, the only cheap metal about her soul were brass balls.

"Do I have to do everything, or is the Ceasar going to die of boredom?" Galina replied to the crowd on the other side of the chamber.

Who the hell is this guy, anyway... I gotta know...

It was comical the way she thumped past the one ahead of her, too afraid to go make his plea. She had a pair of rare specticles on as well as a few of her latest plans in paper in scroll form. Almost stomping through, she obeyed the rules and kept in the lighted area. She stopped where she was supposed to, taking in the hall for a flicker and just the somber... somber feelings of this place. She did, however, keep the protocol alive.

"Most Exhalted One..." Galina replied with a deep respectful curtsey, but her tone was casual. "Galina Faulkland... Engineer, Merchant Princess, Priestess of Pecunia and Arcane Inventor..."

She looked up at him from her curtsey with a cute smirk across her face, making eye contact with him before ending her introduction with a witty rib.

"I don't do windows... unless you ask." she winked.

This was a woman who had no care in the world of the thought of others, and very independant, yet respected the fact that this man was in authority. She knew she could probably die for being a crack-up at the wrong time, but she was who she was. If someone wasn't laughing in this authority-ruled world, then this world was no world she wanted to be in anyway... after all, if she was executed, she'd be with the riches of Pecunia, so what did she have to lose with working with the formula which had worked with her so long?

[Silk]

"Welcome to my home, Lady Faulkland," offered Silk with a perfectly neutral expression. "Engineer, Merchant, Priestess, Inventor...I'm perhaps amazed that you have the time to visit court," waved the Caesar negligently, though he was only being kind. There were so very many reasons why she would petition the throne, and Silk could already hear her request for funding coming. Of course she would want a grant...and no doubt Silk would provide it. After all, it was foolish to be miserly or near when one ruled the world.

Smiling at her jest, he offered one of his own. "It has been my rather limited experience that servants of Pecunia are frankly up for anything if a good profit can be had by it, so perhaps the...windows won't be so neglected after all?" he quipped, words he truly did mean though they were delivered in the manner of a jest. While he never for a moment expected it from Galina, Silk had no great confidence in adherents to Pecunia. Erwin had been an adherent of Pecunia, and he had all the loyalty money could buy...but money was so damned poor at true motivation. There would always be someone who had more to spend on an assassin or a spy, and there were always better ways to motivate a man or woman to act beyond simple finance. Terror, love, religious zeal, pride, honor, lust, compassion, resignation, even outright hatred...these were the stuff upon which real motivation were built, and while greed was among them, it was simply....not a very strong one.

"So speak of your petition, Lady Faulkland, and the Caesar will assist you in whatever way seems most...appropriate," offered the Tyrant graciously, though his posture never changed save his restless, gyrating foot.

[Galina Faulkland]

This was it... her biggest attempt to make the biggest sale in the history of mankind and revolutionize the world of commerse and make the world a better place. It was not what she did, it was who she knew and how she helped... and with what she was about to do would probably make her the highest prefect of Pecunia...

"Busy, yes, but when one does something they enjoy for a living, they never work a day in their lives." Galina replied, shifting her glasses up. "And allow me to tell you why I can get away with all those titles... it's because I am a woman of growth, not of leeching. I help others step up and only take a minimum... when you help a lot of people and get a little in return, you get a whole lot..."

That smirk... that trademark snarky smirk which won the hearts of many clients. She unraveled the scroll before her and fluttered a lock away from her eyes.

"So permit me, Exhalted One, not to ask, but to offer. A concept to revolutionize commerse as we know it and raise the standard of life as we know it... I've tested it here in Citadel with a couple of patrons to only have outstanding results, and if approved by the great Caesar, we will have more hard-working souls in the empire and less beggars on the street. To institute it as a possible government wage would keep money flowing through the crown as well, but that is up to your decision..."

She cleared her throat a bit before going through the explanation of the system.

"Imagine this, if you will. A baker's family runs two bun stalls, but recently his wife has triplets and the family has their hands full at home, so he takes in someone who is willing to learn what the baker learns and can run the stall on his own and keep most of the money, but return a little of his profit back to the baker as time goes on since he helped him out. The current baker is currently not doing anything for that stall but still making money off of it. Now say he does the same for another stall and teaches the man his craft, that man gets to keep the stall and the profit and pay back the same man... soon the original baker has several stalls that he's making money off of and doing little more than teaching how he runs things. The baker now not only has time for his family, but some extra chunks in his pocket book and the people running their stalls are happy to make a living... and do the same for other people, and so they are making a little more money on the side, and at the same turn making the original baker more money."

Galina paused a moment, letting things sink in at the possibilities for this before continuing.

"Now, then... imagine a patron with a little extra gold on the side sees a business in crisis... I'm sure you recall the riots after the death of the previous Caesar. Many business found themselves at ruin because of their loss in stock. Often times the little cart shops don't cost that much to restock in raw materials. Well, what I did was find a wealth patron wanting to make a good name in the area of trade to start a Patron Chain with a similar example of the baker's stall. The only thing they had to repay was the insanely small percentage out of their profits each time. To ensure these would grow, I came to cover them and teach them small things like math, reading, how to upsell something... little things they seemed to lack and the businesses got better as well as the original patron's pocketbook. Soon, the businesses that made it the most were taking in apprentices to run their own business and giving back a small percentage to them so that the original teaching company would still get money and friendly competition to make a better product. After all, the parent company would still make some money if the child company was doing well... and if the parent company was doing well, so was the patron."

After a long-winded explanation, she took a deep breath before offering the scroll to one of the guards in order to give to the Caesar to look over the numbers and results of the wealthy patrons whom she started this with.

"Now, then... what do you think would happen if the main patron became the throne? People would be happier to take some of the determined, hard-working poor and turn them into self-made citizens of your empire. It would also give a feel of independence without having to relinquish any authority."

She crossed her arms and smiled, about to make the offer.

"Of course, if I can't help myself a little, I have a harder time helping others. All I ask in return is to be the head of this project and a mere two percent of the profit made. A deal, considering I took nothing under four percent for the original nobles who tested the theory, but you are the Caesar... as I told them, if you don't make money from this, then neither do I."

Let the greatest haggling session of the world begin! I'll take two percent of the world's wealth any day!

She smiled expectantly, knowing the Caesar was probably not going to take the initial offer. Every merchant from this day forward would know the name of Galina Faulkland as the most brilliant businesswoman in the world! She who revolutionized commerse!

[Guest]

Cyren stood in the shadows listening to all who had assembled in this place. Standing in a light before this man who didn't seem very hospitable nor did he seem to even care if any of them were here or not. She couldn't for the life of her figure out why it was she was here.

Running her hand down the front of her clothing she felt a very luxurious fabric and looked down and saw a tabard of black velvet with a coat of arms done in wondrous silver and gold thread. As she moved into the light to get a better look at the tabard it changed into a most beautiful floor length dress of dark purple silk which clung to her body in a most sensuous manner. On it an adhiel pattern was drawn with silver and gold embroidery. Her hand instinctively went to her hair and it was longer than she had ever remembered it to be. Flowing beyond her waist, pulled back away from her face and held in place with mithril clips of the same pattern as the one on her dress. On her bare upper arms were twin armbands in a serpentine design with twin emeralds perfectly cut in tear drop shape. On her feet were slippers which made her step inaudible.

So this is the Caesar. This is no Caesar, humans have no idea what a Caesar is or should be for that matter. They think they know so much! And this woman going on and on about poor people and how she can help them be better citizens...but of course for a price. Humans!

She stood with her thoughts slowly shaking her head with disgust and disbelief. The last word she had in her mind somehow escaped and was just audible enough to be heard.

"Humans."

[Gavin Tylvan]

It was the forest. And he rode. Branches were whipping his face and he heard the sound in the distance. They were all around him. Only the front was free, but there was the cliff. Men around him were breathing heavily and whipping their horses so hard blood sprayed from the wounds.

So, here we are. No more running. They have finally caught up. Well, seven years of fighting the Tyrant is enough. I am just sorry for the men. Ah, but when the day of death comes, you just stand and face the bugger. The days of Grey Wolf and Firesword are over. Now only to find the place for the last stand.

He was and old man now. Or so he felt. He forgot how old he really was, but his hair was grey. Strangely he still wore his old armor. It was still dull grey in color, but it was battered in so many places that it had more dents that he could count. Yet, it was still his armor and it felt like another set of clothing.

Next to him rode the famed Firesword. Yet, Gavin knew him as Abeo. A former Pan warrior. The big man still remembered how they met for the first time. It was in a dream. And we fought demons together. It must have been faith that brought us together in the waking realm too. I would not have lasted this long if it weren't for him. He saved my life so many time. And I saved his. But, this is the end.

He himself was known as Grey Wolf. One of the rebel leaders. Him and Abeo were fighting Caesar's troop ever since he took over the Empire. They lived in the forests and attacked in the night. And then faded back before they were caught. They were a thorn in his side, but he was busy elsewhere.

But, now the other wars were over. They were the only major thorn now. And they were about to be plucked. For two months they managed to evade the army. Finally they were cornered. For sixteen hours they rode and still their pursuers kept up. And there was only the cliff in front of them.

As an answer to his thoughts they emerged from the woods into the open. In the predawn light their horses thundered up the slope. Yet, he knew that it was all in vain. To the left he saw the sparkle of spears and to the right he saw dark shapes of horsemen. And all that remained with him were these twenty seven men. And Abeo. They rode in silence for a few burns more and then Gavin reined in his own horse.

With a half smile he looked at the man around him and shook his head. The cliff loomed no more then twenty paces ahead. And first enemy horsemen were emerging from the forest behind them.

"Well men, this is it. No more running. We are dead anyway. No way the Tyrant will let us live. But, we have a choice. Die in battle or die in the dungeons. I say we go with a blaze."

Nobody answered, but he saw it on their faces. They were tired of running. They knew it was over. and they knew he was right. Only Abeo's eyes seemed to burn with hatred. He would have fought even if it weren't like this. Crazy bugger. But, I like him. Nasty mouth on that one, but he is a friend. And we go together.

He slapped him on the back.

"Gonna see Pan soon. And Red Warrior, too. We'll see whose God is better then."

The enemy riders stopped some five hundred paces away and were waiting for more troops to arrive. And Gavin was not about to wait for their attack. He looked into his friends eyes and saw he meant the same. Slowly Gavin moved his horse before the rest and Abeo followed.

The Dortonese warrior pulled out his sword. It was a simple blade, but it earned a name after all those battles. Pale Justice they called it. It was a big sword. Most people had to carry it in two hands. But, not Gavin. Although he was gaunt and appeared thin, his muscles were like steel wires. Tough and strong. The man next to him just held his axe high. And Gavin started the chant.

"Lord, we offer our lives."

The went into a slow canter as the man behind them picked the second verse. Only Abeo remained silent.

"Our honor and our faith." Came the answer from the man behind him.

"To the Gods and the Empire" - screamed Gavin.

"So be it this day." This time the whole group was screaming.

By this moment they were in full gallop his men spread around in a line. The wolf pelt he carried flapped in the wind and the canines flashed as the sun rose. He wore no helm, but instead the wolf skull served that purpose.

They crashed into Tyrants troops and soon were lost in their superior number. Gavin lost count of how many he managed to kill. He did not care. He simply awaited death and wanted to take as many bastards as he could along the way.

He never felt pain. He must have been wounded a dozen of time, but the armor was good. But, in the end they managed to kill his horse. And he fell. More fell as he took his sword in a two-handed grip. But, they were too many. He was overrun and taken alive.

[hr][/hr]

He woke with a start. And for a flicker he thought he had gone blind. And then the chains rattled. He felt their weight around his arms and remembered where he was. Citadel dungeons. The deepest one. I think it is fitting.

There was no light here. The only time he saw anything was when the gaoler brought the food. Gavin lost count of how many days he was here. He was well fed and his wounds were bound. He recovered completely. And he still felt strong.

And Abeo was there too. They did not talk much. There was nothing they needed to say. Their death was still close, it was only postponed. And yesterday, at least he thought it was yesterday, the guards came and told them they were going to see Caesar soon. To be put to trial for treason. Gavin just laughed at that. And they left them after that.

The last meal was pretty good. They even had a steak. He guessed it was what final meal looked like. And he really did not feel fear. He used up all the fear that was due to him a long time ago. Only anticipation remained. And hope. Stupid blind hope. And he knew he could count on Abeo.

"Abeo, are you there?" He whispered. The sound seemed so out of place in there. Yet he had a plan and he needed the help of his friend.

"What do you say we make this trial interesting? What do you say we make people who attend it show their true colors? What do you say we die like men?"

[Ashtallion Urdil]

Ashtallion watched intently as the other courtiers arrived, thinking for a moment, as his golden gaze rested on Isabella, that he recognised the woman. The thought passed swiftly though. A beautiful woman, and one that most assuredly used her charming looks to get what she wanted, the adhiel pondered over how easy it would be to do the same, with the opposite kind of course.... yet the thought of using such vulgur means to attain status and power turned the mages stomach. No, his power was more direct and visable, he liked people to know what he was capable of. It made it easier to hide those powers he did not want others to know about.

The woman, Galina had entered and was first to make her petition, which sparked the adhiel's interest even further. Arcane inventor? I should have word with her if the oppourtunity arises. Listening to the womans idea, the mage had to admit with was something he had never considered, nor did he ever want to. Such things as money and politics, Ashtallion held them in low regard, though he knew fine well that such strings were often attached to powerful people.

Sighing silently, his train of thought was interupted by the audible whisper of 'Humans'. His own eyes widened slightly as he traced the source of the word. A fellow adhiel. Asht suppressed a grimace and waited for the reaction of others, if they had indeed overheard the womans muttering.

[Silk]

Silk considered over the proposal...and even checked over her numbers...for what might have been five to ten candlemarks. It was lengthy, a time spent without talk or comment or action. Oh, he had no real reason to wait so long for a response...but he used his time to consider upon his guests more fully...to inspect the people loitering on the outskirts of this, his audience chamber. Many of them might be here for the purposes of simply...being here, but many others would have petitions. Still, he should put on a fine showing for them...and at least give them a chance to put forward their petitions. No doubt none of them would have a petition quite as interesting as this one, at any rate.

"So you would build an economy based on a private tax. Or perhaps a better term would be...mercantile feudalism," waved Silk with some amusement. "That's lovely, Lady Faulkland, and completely illegal in every way. Of course I could never endorse or allow such a thing, nor should you if you would survive the guilds. You see...it's the trades guilds that would suffer here, and if you'll permit me, I'll use your own example."

"It isn't the baker's choice where he might open a bakery and who might run it. For every bakery opened, a Master must receive a franchise from the lord of the land, endorsed by his Guild Masters. This is done for many reasons, milady, but there are two more important than the rest. First, it controls the number of Master bakers the community may have, for too many would be silly and too few would be dangerous. Second, it establishes Guild control over pricing and quality, two things that, frankly, I don't care to regulate. A person is not simply free to...open whatever place of business they wish without endorsement. That would be...horribly chaotic. Instead, we have a system of Guilds that controls the number of artisan shops, the amount of production, the number of guild members...and the quality standards by which they're held."

"Now if you might believe that I...don't already keep a very close hand upon Guild affairs, you are mistaken," smiled the Tyrant. Bringing the trade guilds under his thumb was, of course, no great challenge, and while the quality of goods in a region could suffer if he killed all the Master Guildsmen, they would recover in time. Or more likely they would draw an excess of disenfranchised Guild Masters in from foreign places, all desperate to set up their own shop or seat the Guild Council for whatever location they were in. "I tax the Guilds, I tax for franchise, and I tax for land. I also wave taxation upon those that may need the relief...especially if we've a great lacking of tradesmen for a certain franchise."

"But this is the way of things, Lady Faulkland, and so I must confess that under your system, it would be a race to see which would happen first: either the Guild Masters would assassinate you for poaching upon their own responsibilities and rights to fund and outfit new franchise for their craft, or I myself would have to apprehend you for collected taxes, which is...of course...an offense punishable by death for those not duly sworn representatives of the Office of the Exchequer."

"Still, your flavor of social reform is...rather intriguing. I'll offer you this, Lady Faulkland. If you can sell this plan of yours to the Guild Council, then I will review it again," offered Silk, certain that the Guild masters would undoubtedly abuse her for such a suggestion...which would, in turn, allow Silk to exact justice for the lady and apprehend members of the local Guilds, crippling them further which was the best way to leave them. "And to that end, I offer you this little piece of advice. I never trust anyone completely...but I trust them completely to be who they are, and that kind of trust is never broken," he added cryptically. "Come back with your proposal when you have the head of five trade guilds with you, each willing to endorse your new market approach, and I will enact a method to implement it....with you as it's Officer. That will be all."

Waving his hand, the Master Seneschal shouted out again, his words rolling over all others standing on the outskirts of Silk's court. "The next petitioner may approach the throne!"<hr>Down in the dungeons, Gavin could hear the sounds of the guards coming to collect him...guards that he knew were not the foreign troops he had seen on the battlefield before. These were the Caesar's Elite Guard, a group of men devoted to the Caesar and often assigned as political, military, or even civil advisors. They were all assassins, of course, and on the rare occasions they had been seen actually on the battlefield, it always meant something...more.

It always meant that prisoners would not be treated with any kind of patience or dignity.

Moving forward, the group of guards unlocked the cell and collected Gavin, unbinding his shackles from the walls but not from his hands, shifting them to bind behind his back. Their dark-armor and face-obscuring masks gave then to be almost inhuman machines, a legend they only worked to promote even since the earliest days of their operation.

Ever since the days when they were called The Brotherhood.

[Galina Faulkland]

Galina's face blinked for a moment tilting her head for a moment, not having it make sense... it's not like she hadn't thought this over with the Trade Guild! Of course the shops would have to go through the guilds! The Guilds would also be the parent companies!

"I'm quirky, but not insane, Great Caesar. I don't see where the baker wouldn't get permission from the trade guild and pay the rightful dues for franchise either, Great Caesar, to petition the building and sale of such things... then of course his apprentice would go through the guild to open his shops... but if is a clearer rework my Caesar requests, then thus it shall be."

It's not like I did all of this WITHOUT the clearance of the Trade Guild? Gods! Do you think I'd be a Priestess of Pecunia and pull a stunt like that without losing my power?

She curtsied and bowed away with a concerned look on her face. Did the Caesar not believe that she was going to play by the rules?! She was quite deep in thought, but at the same time thought that there might have been a loophole in her thought. Would the Trade Guild really suffer? With all that money coming in, it's not like she would take AWAY the fact that the Guild controlled who would build! It was getting the people up to par with the codes the guilds had! She held her head... she looked at Cyren for a moment, not looking like a woman who doing it all for the money... but looked away as she looked past to the doors.

"Did I miscalculate something? Of course I wouldn't steal from the guild! Why is it illegal?!"

[Elaine]

From behind the throne an unobtrusively clad woman appeared shortly, bowing her blond head towards the Caesar for a few flickers.

"There is doubt, my lord, probably at her own reasoning. Yet there is some defiance as well. You will see her again. Already she is seeking for confirmation on her own calculations" A soft, melodic voice whispered as the blind woman shared her observations with him. Quickly she stepped back to her place behind the throne again, having done her duty for the emperor.

The yahren had taught Elaine to stay out of the spotlights. There had been little choice whether or not to support the new emperor. She was not safe, had never been safe ever since her empathic powers had grown. Known for her keen hearing and reading between the lines the girl had made many enemies without wanting to. Court was ironically enough the only safe place as long as she provided the Caesar with the information he needed. And if she omitted some details from time to time...most people would never be the wiser.

Yet standing behind the throne the blind Achadhiel felt something else, a very strong sensation that would not be pushed away. She frowned. So much anger, a darkness she could not place, yet there was something...

She shook her head. This was something of which the Caesar would have to be warned, or her failure in providing him with information would lead to immediate dismissal. Quickly she stepped in again. "Lord, someone is coming, someone fuelled by anger, a darkness I almost cannot penetrate."

It would have to do until this person came closer. She was good, but not infallible. This was a time in which one would have to tread carefully. The Caesar was set on absolute strength. In her position Elaine no longer wore her hair loose, lest it irritate the emperor when she whispered in his ear. Instead it was braided back tightly, hanging over the ordinary dress. There was no reason to stand out. On the contrary: it was best if people did not remember her at all.

She was safe here.
Safe and with a job.
It would have to do.

[Iorn Thalas]

A shiver ran up his spine, his eyes widening as the sense hit his brain. Iorn blinked a couple of times, not being able to place where he was exactly. Had I fallen asleep? Was it so boring? But what was it that was so boring? He could not remember.

As he moved his arms, he couldn't help but to look at them. Somehow it felt strange to see them moving. But that was not the only thing that was strange. What was this mediocre outfit he was wearing? There was absolutely nothing special about these clothes. A dull grey and black outfit, just as most commoners wore.

Then he looked around. I remember this room...it was full of..excitement...what have they done to it? As his eyes caught sight of the throne and the Ceasar, the adhiel shook his head. Man..what kind of freak place is this??

[Ulder]

That furious darkness did indeed come. The blind woman's sense of him was deadly accurate and uncanny to the extreme. It was not unlike a walking maelstrom of hatred and malice, an unquenchable flame burning with a singular purpose.

He was tall and lean, and did not look a flicker older than when he... went away. In the place of his usual Purple tabard was well worn suit of mail over boiled leather. His scarred hands were covered in battle gloves and his magnificent sabre swung easily, yet alarmingly close. His boots rang on the stones of the hall, and sharp spurs jangled and rang with every bitter step he took. Indeed, his face was twisted into a mask of hatred and fury as he stalked his way into the hall. He had a mission to complete, and the heavens knew that few things could stand in the way of him completing it.

He knew the Guards would be on him in an instant. He knew that he posed a serious and grave danger to the Emperor's health and well being, and they would try and stop him. But this was a task that burned in his soul, and he would not be thwarted by the likes of some men with sharp knives and dangerous intentions. This was his wrath war, and at the risk to his very soul, he would not stop until his mission had been achieved.

That darkness that was the former Captain of the Guard descended upon the Emperor's throne room. He was sharp and deadly as the blade he carried. His movements were slick and fast, like a shadowcat hunting prey in the hinterlands of hell and he came to rest in direct view of the Emperor and his Court.

Deadly dark eyes surveyed the room and washed over the despotic ruler with a gaze of disdain and loathing as he appraised the monarch. Words were not spoken. Sure the Emperor would know what he was here for, so speaking would be a hollow, useless gesture. The Captain hooked his thumbs into his swordbelt and stared defiantly at Emperor Silk, waiting for the Tyrant to call upon his dogs to fight his wars once again.

Ulder Synkaaros had returned...

[Albyon]

Darkness was ended only to be replaced by more darkness. Abeo's nose told him enough. Dungeons, he had been in a few so far and always managed to escape. But this time it could be different.

These where the emperors own dungeons. People came here to die in horrible ways. Not that he minded to die, it just was a bad thing that he did not die in the fight.

He remembered the fight.

Pan had been proud, he knew that for sure, he had not killed so many men of the emperor since that dreadful day seven years ago. The day that he saw his house burning, with emperial slaves swarming all around it. O he killed them by scores, and got wounded almost killed.

It was Gavin who saved him that day, dragging his what he thought, corpse out of the fray. Later hiding with friends they told him that his wife had died in the flames. His wife had refused to surrender. Even now his heart swelled with the pain of loss and pride thinking about her. he had taught her to use her knife and she had done that, they never dared to enter the house. In stead they burned it down.

Over the years some people suggested that she had escaped and he always went out to investigate. But always in vane. After a while the empire tried to trick him that way and he stopped searching.

He never found a new love, but he and Gavin surely made the emperor pay. Inspire rebellion wherever they went, collecting scars by the score. Pan's vengeance was strong in Abeo, hatred and friendship being the last things he had.

But now the emperor had put a huge some of money on their heads. They had been annoying long enough. Now a whole army had been send out to capture them....alive. They would deny them that. Grey Wolf and Firesword would go down in a blaze.

But it would not be so. Calling out the name of his late wife with every kill and filling Pan's cup until it bursted of Joy he killed. laughing in the scared faces of the emperial slaves fighting them. Challenging pan to let him rejoin his wife, and then Gavin went down, and he failed to reach him. All went black when he heard the strange words. He had never liked mages. And now he had one reason more.

Gavin whispered to him

"Abeo, are you there? What do you say we make this trial interesting? What do you say we make people who attend it show their true colors? What do you say we die like men?"

Soft laughter escaped from Abeo's lips.

"We always die like men, this is just a day like any other. Just make sure we are not bored. We always go on. never give up."

In the darkness he could see her the best. She was smiling at him in the morning after midsummer.

He tried to prepare for a last stand, with Gavin. Well at leased he realised that it was not good to be a lord's lapdog.

Again he softly laughed.

[Sevti]

One step at a time.

Raise one foot, put it on the step above.

Pull yourself up.

Let the other foot raise from the floor.

Set it carefully down beside it's brother.

One step at a time.

These words played like a mantra in Sevti's mind as she made her way slowly toward the Emperor's Court. She didn't want to make this journey, didn't want to face what she knew would be at the end of it. But she knew she could do no less. Not only could it cost her her position, her life, if she refused to attend but it was a debt she felt she must pay. She owed it to him to be there, for the failure of the years past.

Even if she knew her heart would be breaking through every moment of it.

One step at a time.

The years had been kind to her in a way, kinder than she deserved. Her dream of becoming a Rose was never fulfilled, the Guild destroyed by the man who called Tazlure his domain. Instead, she fled to Paloma on the day her heart broke, becoming a Priestess of Pan. Hiding herself away in the Temple, she slowly rose through the ranks, giving her life completely to Pan and no other. She never again risked opening herself up that way, opening her heart to the mortal world. She shared her body in Pan's Joy occasionally, played her lute with all the skill of Pan's Art. But never again had she shared her soul, even when the rumors came that he lived. She refused to let herself believe. Refused to go in search of him. Then it was too late.

And now she was called High Priestess of Pan. One of the few able to openly worship, one of the few of her religion still recognized in the Caeser's eyes. She no longer called Pan's Isle her home. Citadel was where she was required to reside, so Citadel was where she stayed. And when the Caesar said "Attend", she did her duty as a good woman of his Kingdom should, letting his words come to her worshipers from her mouth, letting him be the real guiding hand behind their religion.

Even Pan himself bent to him, in the end.

One step at a time.

She had been told to attend court today, that it would be unlike any court previously held. There would be something special for her to see there.

It was only later that she heard that Grey Wolf and Flamesword had been captured, that they waited even now in the dungeons below for their "trial". A trial that could surely only have one outcome.

Flamesword.

In her mind's eye, a young man, a scant two years older than herself, stood before her with flaming, wild red hair. Taller than she by several handspans, his blue eyes had twinkled with merriment, or darkened with anger, either on a whim, as changable as the weather. She knew the strength in his muscular frame, and the gentleness that could be contained within. A stalwart warrior of the Blood, losing himself in the rage it would bring, thinking of nothing more important than the next fight.

Until he walked up to the Temple of Pan on that fateful day, and saw Sevti.

The meeting changed them both. It had been, at least for the then-young barmaid, as though a missing piece of her had suddenly slid itself into place. Oh, she tried to deny it, tried to pretend it was nothing more than the heat of the moment, the thrill of adventure that he brought with him, gratitude for taking her to rescue her family. But the denial was short lived. She'd never been good at fooling herself. This was the man who held the key to her very soul and to be without him was to be without breath in her body.

It's a good thing I'd eventually learned how to stop breathing, she thought with a tinge of bitterness.

One step at a time.

Then he left to fight with Grey Wolf. Left her behind on Pan's Isle. And when time stretched, with only the occasional visit as he fought for what they once knew, she waited patiently there for him.

Waited until the day the Emperor's men came, setting a torch to their house like the Oneists had set a torch to her family's tavern once before. If they had come in, she would have given herself to Pan's Blood, as she had so often given herself to Pan's Joy and Pan's Art. He had taught her that much. But no. They knew that her husband would come. Knew they were using it as a trap to capture him. And left her alone inside to wait.

She tried to get out. Tried to warn him. She managed to escape upstairs, escape to the window near the low hanging branch. Just like the last time, he'll be there for me in the end, she told herself as she swung onto the branch and slid into the trees. How like the day they'd met.

But this time, he was there at the house, not waiting to meet her for the first time in Gatetown. He had run toward his foes, cutting and slashing, thinking he was using his strength to protect her once more. She tried to call out to him, tried to let him know that she was out, she was alive. But before the words escaped her, she watched him fall under a particularly lucky strike. She watched him fall and not move. "Get up," she wanted to scream. "Get up and fight!" But he remained unmoving and she convinced herself he was dead. While the battle raged below her, she slipped down and escaped through the trees, running straight to Paloma and the comfort of the Temple of Pan. She knew that she had failed to protect him. His one vulnerability - her - was his downfall. And hers. And she could never forgive herself that.

Seven years she spent, seven years denying rumors, refusing to take the risk. Seven years devoting herself to Pan, denying what lie in her heart, eventually turning to nothing but a mouthpiece for the new rule.

She shook her head and sighed. How young and how foolish. How utterly stupid.

And now she had to face him once more, force herself to be more brave than she felt. She wondered if he'd believe it. Wondered if he'd believe her. Or would he think she was someone else, made up to taunt him in his dying moments?. But maybe... just maybe, he would look into her eyes and read the love that was still there, the sorrow and the pain that the years apart had written indeliably on her soul. And he would know that he was not dying alone.

One step at a time.

If only she'd had the courage to descend to the dungeons, to find a way in to speak to him one more time. To tell him that she lived, that she was sorry, or maybe to find a way to help him escape. But her bravery did not extend so far. In her heart, she knew that, where he was concerned, she had become a coward. And nothing, she thought, could ever change that.

One step at a...

A sound echoed from somewhere below her. Somewhere toward the Dungeons, she knew. And what it could be made her heart freeze in her chest.

They were bringing them up. Up for the trial.

Her Abeo.

She could not force herself to take another step.

[Guest]

Dark kholed eyes. Dark hair, waving down his back in glistering splendor. He was wearing loose silk breeches in a deep blue with silver lining. The tunic on top fell open like a jerkin and left his muscled chest free to be admired as he moved like a cat through the crowd, moving forward, his eyes focused on the Caesar. The achadhiel looked exotic, like a Caesar's plaything from so long ago. They no longer had companions at court.

The sharp knife pressed in the small of his back. Pan's Blood. He was ready. For a short moment his eyes crossed that of the darkhaired beauty and he gave her a short smile. His friend. His lover as so many other people. She understood. There were others too. Hiding in the darkness. Time for the spirit of Yuletide's past to take you, Ceasar, and may we have mercy on your soul.

Before Ahren could move any further a small insistant hand tugged at his jerkin "Come on," the beligerent voice of the blond adhiel sounded in urgent whisper, "Let us get out of here. There is no song left here, and I want to get drunk. Let us make love in the Palace gardens."

[Isabella Florentina]

Isabella smiled at Ahren. Recognition. Friendship. Understanding. They needed no words. He was here to kill the Ceasar, his final task as the Royal Companion. Revenge for Lost Loved Ones. Poor Anochrim, one of many beloved to fall.

They were bounded together in faith, Pan's Blood driving them, and yet Isabella had a different purpose this tide, though she was not aware. The countess was here for answers. She moved like a panther through the crowd, the candlelight playing on her olive skin which was so clearly revealed by her daring gown. Her movements were familar somehow, an echo of danger in all those small mannerisms that are defined by heritage.

Her eyes sought out her own true love. He must be here. He could not forsake now. His place was at the Ceasar's side, the main advisor. Isa had bought this place for him. Her eyes only found Elaine. The yahren had not been kind to the once gentle blind lady. A stern braid. Eyes that not only did not see, but looked lost. Isabella's eyes narrowed as she focused on the throne, that vessel of power she and Her Love had once coveted. Was it all they had dreamt it to be?

No longer watching where she was going she bumped into one of the lords. Another small pang of recognition, the feel of him, his scent, reminding her body of passions past before she even saw his face. Another lover, beloved to another. There were so many of them, but only one true love. "Iorn," Isa breathed in his ears.

[Guest]

Who cared for the toils of men? Not the wanderer that was for sure, such base mortal desires were below him. He had travelled much and indeed his name was gone to him. So much had happened, so much that transcended such mortal forms. He was no longer a man, the blood of the dragon flowed through him, the power of the Nether coursed through his veins. Gently his pores oozed a black slime, it dripped down his form and stained the floor wherever he walked. The unwashed savage of the desert, the Lord of the sand carried much darkness inside him and now it flowed into a vibrant stream of malice.

He walked, slowly the slime dripping softly making soft noises behind him, he did not see any besides Silk, he saw the throne and mocked it. He had plunged the very depths of the Nether, he had seen what humans cannot see and why did men kill themselves for this, for this mere throne what was it besides a pile of metal? It was nothing but arrogance and pointlessness. He may have been a wanderer, but he knew much. He was different from these people about him. Many of them had gone in the past, they had lost their spirits till they wandered delusional around the Aether clinging to any faint glimmer of the past they could have. Zarias always lucid to the point of madness saw what had happened to him. He remembered it all, such an ignoble end for one such as he. Dogs and spitefull sorceresses had felled him having run the gauntlet of dragons and demons. Yet those that said the afterlife in the Nether was a pain were mistaken, the tears in the Nether had bought him here. Amongst these deluded spirits. As they wandered he strode and yet he had no purpose.

After all what was he? Perhaps he was less than them? They were spirits, he was a spirit? He thought he was but he had ventured further, he reamined a grip on mortality and yet he had no goal. Lament the undirected, for even now he knew not what to do in this room. He knew no figures so he merely moved to the side, and rested himself against a great column. He held out his hands and watched as bursts of dark energy lept between his fingers. A gentle rythm to it, hatred was an easy emotion to control, he gazed about, what was to happen here? What was his purpose?

[Iorn Thalas]

As he was still wondering why he was here, a woman bumped into him. As Iorn heard her whisper his name, forgotten memories resurfaced. They had shared incredible passion, passion that was remembered the most by her scent of roses. That everlasting scent of roses..

As he smelled her, saw her, felt her touch, he knew that long ago his body would have reacted heavily to her. He would have had an irresistible craving for the passion she could give. But somehow that spell seemed to have been broken. Although he could not remember the very last moment they had shared, what did remain was the feeling he had gotten then. The feeling of closure, of deep friendship, something even better then the passion they had shared. Recognition

He smiled and looked at her as if she was a long lost sister. "Isabella.." he uttered as he looked into her eyes, more memories flooding his mind. There was the recognition again. For he now knew that he was looking for the same thing as she was. He knew his purpose here. Ashari. For it was she who was his one and only true love. He had to find her..would she be here? So many questions... He now looked insecure, his eyes desperate, yet hopeful. "Isa..are we..are they..?"

[Gavin Tylvan]

"True my friend. The two of us do. The other may die like chickens or rabbits. But, not us. Being men is not how we look like. It is how we behave."

Abeo laughter had a strange effect on Gavin. The other warrior laughed too. There was no more fear in him. Only one wish. A wish involving the Tyrants moment of triumph. His eyes went to where the ceiling ought to be and a feral grin split his face. It is not over yet, milord. Grey Wolf is not done for. And this time he really has nothing to lose.

He heard the steps outside and smiled. The assassins entered as Gavin squinted trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden light. The time has come. And it seems we are still dangerous. Oh, his personal Elite. The Brotherhood.

He did not resist as the bound his hands behind the back. After all it was what he wanted. No sense in resisting. He felt so full of life. Funny. I am about to die and I never felt so alive. All the better. No fear now, Gavin. Do what you came to do. Maybe your tongue cuts better then your sword.

"So my friend. Here we go. This ought to be fun. Such fun. I don't think our dear Caesar knows what he is getting himself into. Let us go and show him. Be yourself, dear friend. Be Abeo and let us have fun. After all we are the main course. Grey Wolf and Flamesword. After you, gentlemen."

He did not look like a prisoner at all. Sure, he was gaunt and unshaved. But, he looked like that before. His clothes were ragged and he wore chains. But, his face was not that of a prisoner. Especially his eyes. They glittered and looked straight ahead defiantly. His lips were curled up in a smirk. He almost seemed satisfied.

Even his stance was not one a prisoner would have. He stood proud and tall and walked in step with their guards. I lived a good life. I seen plenty. Now it is time to make the end fitting.

[Isabella Florentina]

"I have not seen either of them," admitted Isabella, staying close to Iorn who made her feel comfortable for now "It is as if everybody is waiting." Her dark eyes followed Ahren around the room. He probably wasn't the only one.

"Something will happen this tide," she whispered to the dark lord "It will answer questions, but perhaps create more. Look at them, all of them, prowling, walking around with a purpose. They are biding their time."

Pan's Hooves.. was that captain Ulder? Impressed she looked at the dark foreboding of one very very angry Purple Guard officer, the impending doom of revenge. Perhaps once upon a time she would have sought to seduce him, bring him under her spell and not caring what hurt she'd bring to fair Elaine. Now however, things were different and she simply admired Ulders fine form in a somewhat detached way "Some are..ah.. less subtle about their intentions."

[Silk]

"Lord, someone is coming, someone fuelled by anger, a darkness I almost cannot penetrate."

"Oh, never you mind, milady," called Silk in response to Elaine's observation, calling down from his rather high seat...a seat that she knew had not been designed to stroke his strangely modest ego but instead one to make him unapproachable to assassins. "That just means it's Wydday. And frankly, I only understood perhaps half of what the young lady described, but this is the way politics works. If she has the endorsement of five Guild masters, then we can blame them if her program is a failure...or if it's too great a success," he smiled, pondering Galina's material. Sure, it would quickly eliminate the need for the traditional Guild System, but it was...perhaps too much too quickly. Either way, it would be wise for her...and for the Caesar...to have someone to blame if it got out of control. No, FIVE persons to blame, amended the Tyrant with a smile.

"Ah...Lady Bannon...stand...back, out of the light...both of you..." Silk motioned to Elaine and Ashtallion. "Don't let them see you. And keep an eye on each other...just in case." Turning, he found no one before him yet again, and he was astonished. "Mother and Father above, am I wasting my very time?!? NEXT PETITION!"

The Seneschal didn't often hear Caesar Silk raise his voice...and it quickly spurred him to action. Charging out of the throne room, the Seneschal announced to the gathering crowd, "Next Petitioner may STEP FORWARD to speak to Caesar Silk, Ruler of Tazlure! Next Petitioner NOW!" he demanded, moving aside so the next issue could be brought before the Tyrant.<hr>The prisoners were brought up to the assembled court in chains to await their moment before the Caesar. The guards waited patiently for a time, waiting among the others for a moment they could bring them before the Tyrant.

(OOC: Prisoners should feel free to present themselves before the Caesar when they're ready: assume shackles, but no armed guards beyond the red-clad seneschals guarding the door.)

[Sevti]

The steps got closer and still Sevti could not force herself to move from where the first sound rooted her.

He's coming. He's coming closer. I can feel him in my heart.

Closer the sounds of rattling chains came. The sound of precise footfalls echoed nearer and nearer. They've reached two landings below.

A snippit of laughter reached her ears. It was his laughter. She would know that sound anywhere. It brought with it a rush of memories. The day they met, Old Tom telling her to beware. Abeo so quick to anger, then so quick to smile. Pan, that smile. The way it beamed over her on their wedding day. She'd never guessed that the sky had been covered with clouds because that smile... that smile...

The march of step on stairs came from one landing below and Sevti realized she needed to flee. She couldn't be discovered here... she wouldn't be discovered here.

She thought to hurry up the steps when she spied a door, just barely ajar, off of the landing on which she stood. Guided by her heart rather than her head, she quickly crossed to it, slipped inside and closed it to a crack. She took no notice of the room she was in - it could have been the Caesar's own suite or a utility room for the maids to store their dustmops and cleaning rags for all the attention she paid it. Her world had narrowed to the thin view between the doorjam and the heavy wooden door.

It was only a burn or two before the first of the guards appeared, Gavin between them. Despite the ragged clothes, the gaunt appearance, the chains holding his arms behind him, he didn't have the look of a prisoner. He looked... satisfied? Like he was exactly where he should be, and that there was some surprise he still held in store. Futile, probably. But he would rather go out that way. It's one of the many things he and Abeo had in common.

As if thinking her husband's name were a summoning spell, he appeared, half a step behind his friend. Sevti bit back a gasp at the sight of him. A part of her, the cynical part that had developed over the last seven yahren, had told her this would not be the other half of her soul, that someone had taken Abeo's name and he had died that day she saw him fall. That there were another pair of men out there masquerading as Grey Wolf and Flamesword. That it had been a cruel joke to test her loyalty.

But, even now, she still could not deceive herself. She knew, when she chose to slip behind this door rather than slip quickly and quietly up the stairs to the Court, that she would be looking on the man that she loved. Pan's Heart, the epitaph which hadn't been used in seven yahren sprang easily to her mind once more, What the yahren have done to him. There were more scars on his body - many more scars. She longed to trace them with gentle fingertips, putting her mark on these scars as she had on all that came before her. Her fingers traced the pattern of one particularly deep scar crossing his cheek, the door before her taking the place of the warm flesh she wished it could be.

Still, he was her Abeo. He held himself straight and tall, dark red hair untamed and greasy around the scar-strewn face. He was a little thinner than the last time she'd seen him, but years going from one fight to another could do that. He'd lost none of his muscle, though.

Then her dark eyes raised to his and she felt the cracks in her heart more deeply than ever before. Their blueness hadn't changed but there was something deeper that was missing. The ready sparkle whenever he looked her way was no longer there. The joy of being alived was masked by something else. Here was a man with nothing left to lose, and willing to taken any chance because of it. By Pan's heart, had she done this to him? Is this what not trusting the rumors, not trying to find him, had cost him?

Silent tears made two, damp lines down her cheeks as she watched him be moved away from her and up to the next landing.

Once he was out of sight, she started to open the door to leave when she felt something brush against her thigh. Groping through a small opening in her skirt, her hand closed over a small, familiar handle molded to fit her fingers perfectly. Her dagger. The dagger Abeo got her that first day. She didn't remember putting it on before she left her rooms. She hadn't touched it in an eternity, couldn't bear to even look at it, so it stayed in a carved box by her bedside. Yet her it was, strapped comfortingly to her thigh. Her fingertips stroked the smooth handle, almost a lover's caress. A smile crossed her face as something inside of her broke, some chains that had held in back from doing what she'd needed and she felt closer to whole again. Not to mention angry. The light in her own eyes matched that in her husband's. At this point, she truly did have nothing left to lose.

Quickly, she slipped out the door and chose another way to approach Court. If she hurried, she just might get there before the guards arrived with Abeo and Gavin.