Author's note: When I first posted this, about five years ago, I started with chapter one. In the past couple months, I realized something else was needed, so I added a prologue. but it's still shakey; which is why I'm posting this, so people can tell me what they think would help it. I realize this is kinda melodramatic in parts, bear with me. I'm getting better! In addition, I came up with my own time system, partly so that I could more easily figure out what happened in relation to what. Anyways, I haven't worked extensively on this prologue and please, PLEASE don't hesitate to give me constructive criticism. I think I'll post the first chapter, as well, just to get some decent story on it. Anywho, I'll shut up now.

Prologue

1666 a. g.

The walls were screaming. Screaming with boredom. Alayne sighed, sinking into her chair as she watched the bustle of the plaza, glancing jealously at the drink nestled into her watcher’s hand. The day was hot and sticky, not helped by the glare from the dry stone of Shapier’s palace plaza, where she sat fidgeting, waiting. The drink was looking more inviting by the second. “Dask?” She queried tentatively.

Dask’s hazel eyes shifted her way resentfully. “What?” He’d much rather have been elsewhere – off in the desert, perhaps, or prowling the streets. Instead, he was stuck here, waiting, watching over an inquisitive five-year-old.

“Why do we have to wait out here?” She shifted anxiously; even at her young age, she could tell the giant of a man was feeling cranky.

“I’m not allowed in the palace,” he replied with surprising calm.

“Why?”

“I –“ Before he could say anything, a grizzled old man of easily eighty years of age approached them.

“Korion?” The old man asked with a faded and tired expression.

Dask eyed the old man warily, as though expecting him to spit snakes. “No one has called me that in a very long time, old man,” he growled, “And you had better have a very good reason to do so now.” With a dreadful fear, Alayne noticed him dropping his arm casually towards the knife strapped to his thigh. He set his drink beside him, as though preparing for action.

“You’re sister’s still alive,” the old man said with a strangely smug smile. “The use of magic hasn’t preserved her quite as well as it has you, but she’s alive.”

“Alive? Where?” Dask was on his feet instantly, advancing towards the old man, who reflexively cowered into a defensive posture. Dask, at easily six foot six and built like an ox, was enough to intimidate the bravest of men.

“With the dragons, naturally,” the old man smiled cryptically.

“You wouldn’t have come looking for me just to tell me that my sister is alive and with the dragons,” Dask stated with narrowed eyes, “So tell me what you’re hiding… Fucque.”

“Recognized me, did you?”

Dask smiled caustically. “I’d recognize my old ‘friend’, the murderer of Dhaliver, anywhere. What, did you think I would never know what you did to her?” His body was still, displaying no sign of rage, but there was a suspicious calm to his voice that resembled the eye of the storm.

“Dhaliver had to die, Dask, or you would never have gone off to find yourself. As stubborn and foolhardy as you were, boy, your skill and bravery was about as solid as rotten armor.”

“Oh, I know. But there’s nothing to stop me from killing you.” His knife inched out of its holster.

The old man grimaced. “She would have died by my hand or someone else’s. Locke had it in for her, and you as well. Were it not for me you both would be dead. Where she is now, she is safe and at peace – it’s not like I condemned her to eternal torment, after all.”

Dask’s cool façade was slowly steaming away. “Back to the original subject – what are you hiding?”

Fucque smiled unpleasantly. “Down to business. Lillith has… gotten herself into trouble. The dragons have become restless, some of them openly leaning to destructive paths. Not all of them, naturally, but something has quite disrupted them. There’s rumors one of them may be hiding out in Silmaria, wreaking havoc. Lillith is stuck there, with no way in or out – except a teleport device that only leads in.”

“Give the device to me, then, and I’ll let you be on your way.”

“What’ll you give me for it?” The man’s eyes gleamed just a bit.

Dask’s eyes narrowed. “Your life.”

“I’m an old man, Korion, I can’t gain money the way I used to. I have to make do where I can.”

With blinding speed, Dask grabbed the knife and held it threateningly near the old man’s throat. There were gasps of alarm around the plaza, and the guards approached nervously. “You see this dagger, Fucque? I don’t even need it to kill you, but I might, just in order to watch you bleed.”

Alayne was watching the whole scene with sick fear, her stomach churning with a newfound respect and aversion to Dask. He’d never been terribly warm with her, and now she was glad. “Please don’t,” she begged desperately.

“Stay out of this, kid,” Dask snapped at her, “And close your eyes,” he added as an afterthought. “Now, what’ll it be, Fucque?”

Just then the castle doors flew open, admitting a group of four whose eyes instantly were transfixed on the scene. “Dask!” The taller of two women in the group called, her purple eyes melting into worry, long tight curls bouncing as she ran up to the big man’s side. “Honey, please don’t kill the old man,” she looked anxiously around the plaza at the guards and citizens eyeing them in fear.

The other three were approaching. One, a short blond woman, ran instantly to Alayne’s side and picked her up with a soothing hug that was obviously meant to distract her. An ordinary brown-haired man with a genial expression despite the situation instantly placed himself at her side. The other man, who was thin, boyishly handsome, and had dark hair to match his brooding, serious expression, transported instantly to Dask’s side.

“Rhiaxamon, Markas,” Dask said with a voice full of venom, “this is Fucque.”

“Hi,” the old man said with a strained smile.

“The infamous Fucque, eh?” Markas said with a raised eyebrow.

“Your mentor?” Rhiaxamon’s brow furrowed, not understanding.

“He has something I want. He offered it to me, but demanded something other than merely his life in exchange.”

“Wouldn’t you?” The man said.

“Well don’t kill him for it, for gods sakes!”

“Dask,” Markas said in low tones, “do you really want to get kicked out of the entirety of Shapier? You can’t have forgotten the last time!” With a deep breath, and a searching look at Markas understanding face, Dask reluctantly withdrew the dagger. The guards relaxed visibly, more so when Dask schooled away his murderous stance.

“Here, we’ll pay you for it – say, a hundred gold? Two hundred?” Rhiaxamon offered the old man.

“Three hundred,” Fucque said calmly.

“Fine.”

“Where’d you get that money?” Dask asked sharply.

The woman cringed visibly, but retained her confidence. “Never mind that, do you want whatever it is he’s got or not?”

“Fine, pay him,” Dask growled.

In her mother’s arms, Alayne felt safe. But it was the last time she would ever feel entirely at ease around Dask.


* * * * * * *

“You scared her pretty bad, Dask,” Calla chided, frowning. She knew what the man was like, had known him for longer than the child’s five years. Dask shrugged, staring into the fire with faraway thoughts.

“Ah, it’ll be good for her,” the brown-haired man said easily with an irreverent smile.

“Cory!” Calla stared at her husband, shocked.

“Oh, come on, Hon,” he said easily, not intimidated. “She’s going to be scared a lot in her life. Dask wouldn’t have hurt her and so her life wasn’t in any danger. We can’t and we shouldn’t coddle her.”

“I still don’t like it,” Calla replied, brushing her blond hair out of the way. She curled up into her favorite chair. They were at her and Cory’s home in Serenity Valley, South Fricana. The night outside fairly hummed with the sound of the jungle all around, and the fire that leaped and cackled in the fireplace seemed to add to the primeval air about the place.

The door creaked open, admitting a tired, but smiling Markas. “Hey, ya’ll, I’m home,” he said with an easy grin that seemed affected by more than just weariness. He looked around with half-open eyes. “Where’s Raxa?”

“Rhiaxamon went to go… do whatever it is that’s gaining her excretory substanceloads of money,”
Dask responded. “Something to do with that gem of hers,” he frowned with disapproval. “So how’s the little demon-lady?” Dask smirked, full knowing why Markas was in an unnaturally jovial mood.

“Maghrabi is just fine,” he responded with wicked sincerity, plopping easily into the chair next to Dask. Cory snorted and Calla just smiled. “Dask, have I ever told you what a very good friend you are?”

“Yeah, once or twice,” Dask smiled easily. “You like getting drunk too much.” He rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

“Bah, just this drunk once every five years or so!”

“Three.”

“Fine, three. Whatever.” He hiccupped, blinking furiously to see around him. His brainpower wasn't diminished to speak of, but he was moving and walking unsteadily and he kept wondering why the ground was spinning. Only Dask, who'd known him for many years longer than the others, could tell just how close to losing coherence he really was.

“What would you have done?” Dask suddenly asked.

“About Fucque?” Markas asked with a burp. “Gutted him like a fish.”

Calla sighed. “Why? Why kill him, even if he was an assassin
however-many-decades ago?”

“It’s pretty simple, really,” Markas blinked furiously to try to bring himself somewhat out of his brain fog, “While I don’t much care about revenge, or even justice as it gets much too sticky about what exactly justice is, he’s already proven that he’s willing to take advantage of what he knows about Dask and use it to his own ends.”

“Mmm. My man, you are a god,” Dask smiled.

“Only second to you, bro,” Markas smiled.

* * * * * * *

It was intoxicating – just to hold it, feel it, and caress it in her hands. The white, beautiful shining light that the WhiteGem gave off vibrated through her being with waves of pleasure. With effort, Rhiaxamon forced herself to put the crystal away. With her hands free, she could manipulate the many strands of magic around her, pulling them and shaping them with the arcane words and gestures that every magic user knew and understood yet could not explain. Some of the magic came from the world surrounding the caster, and some of it came from within; and right now the pulsating white crystal that hung in a pouch in her robes was amplifying the magic inside of her tenfold.

Her spell was complete, and the streets of the far east that had been around her melted away to reveal the familiar jungle and stonework of Serenity Valley Village. She smiled as each step brought her closer to the home that she shared with Dask, adjacent to her best friend and family. “It’s good to be home,” she thought happily, stepping up to the door and attempting to open it. Locked. Locked thoroughly. “Oh… crap,” she said with her usual good-natured mock temper. It was true that she had rather much of a short fuse, but usually it wasn’t the little things in life that got to her. “I don’t have my key. And, look at me – I’m talking out loud to myself! Hah, I’m strange.”

She walked over to her neighbor’s door, knocking only after a second of hesitation. A few minutes and a few bumps in the night later, and Calla came to the door, wiping sleep from her eyes. “Raxa!” She said with a tired smile, hugging her friend. “Forgot your key again?”

“Yeah, I did…” She smiled sheepishly.

“You really should learn a spell of unlock, with all your power,” Calla chided as she moved inside. Rhiaxamon followed.

“Never got around to it, I suppose,” she felt just a tinge of resentment, but brushed it away, wondering where that emotion came from. Jealousy? Of Calla? She shook the thought away.

“So how did the… trades… go?” Calla asked. She didn’t refer to the trades by name; she knew Rhiaxamon’s game.

“It went well – “

“Who goes there?” Someone demanded in a booming voice. Raxa jumped, trying hard to not shriek as she heard the familiar sound of Cory’s laughter.

“Cory - you imp!” Calla laughed.

“Well, she woke us up, I had to get ‘er back, somehow, eh?” Cory smiled and kissed his wife, lovingly and long.

“Okay, you two, knock it off,” Raxa smiled, “I just need to get my door open.”

“Raxa! You back!” It was Alayne, running unsteadily in from her room to collide with the tall woman’s legs. Calla slipped into another room.

“Hey there, little girl,” Raxa smiled, lifting Alayne up for a hug. “How’s my favorite mage-to-be?”

“She’s no mage!” Cory protested with a look of mock-horror. “I don’t want my little girl to be burned at the stake. My girl is going to grow up to be just like me.”

“You weed tomatoes,” the girl protested, making a face at her father.

“Tomatoes are the spice of adventure!” Cory protested, defending his position of head gardener. “Where do you think adventuring capes get their red color?”

“You’re silly, dear,” Calla said with a smile, placing on hand on her husband as she handed a scroll of unlock to her best friend. “Now you should have it memorized.”

“Why can’tchoo jus’ knock, an’ let Dask open the door?” Alayne asked as she was being put down.

“I don’t like to wake him or Markas,” she responded, “especially lately. They spend so much time trying to figure out that portal thing and how to rescue his sister they barely sleep! Well, I’ll see you all later,” she said with a smile. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” came the chorus of replies as she went out into the street. Rhiaxamon wondered why there was a twinge of fury inside of her at something so not deserving of that emotion. She shrugged it off.

* * * * * * *

She slipped inside the door to her home, hoping against hope to not have disturbed anyone. Yet this time it seemed she had indeed managed to not wake anyone. Markas was passed out on the couch, and as Dask was nowhere to be seen, she assumed he was asleep. She sighed in relief and crossed to her bedroom – and froze when he wasn’t there. She rushed back into the living room and shook Markas awake, feeling frantic beyond how she felt normally. She wondered why. “Markas!” She hissed.

“Wha – oh. It’s you,” he grumped, wincing.

“Where’s Dask?” Her voice sounded much too shrill, to her.

“Oh, yeah,” Markas said, blinking, “he said he had something to check out, popped into some town or another. Said he’d be back before dawn. Good god, woman, could you tone it down?” He rubbed his forehead.

“You were drunk,” Rhiaxamon stated, wonderingly. She’d only seen him drunk once before.

“Yeah, went to see Maghrabi,” he grinned happily, hoisting himself up onto the couch.
Jealousy again – this time of Maghrabi, but this emotion she was familiar with.

“You’re still seeing that demon-chick?”

“She’s not like other demons,” Markas said defensively. Then he looked at her more closely. “But that’s not why you object.” Rhiaxamon looked away, her face burning. An awkward silence filled the air. Rhiaxamon found herself trying to pull his gaze towards her, trying to block out the feelings in her heart that screamed for Dask, tried everything to deny what she was feeling. Yet somehow it all seemed so horrifically worse than it ever had been. “You should go to sleep, Raxa,” Markas said softly, leaving for his room.

Alone, Rhiaxamon felt tears sting her eyes; angry tears of being rejected, angry tears of feelings she knew she shouldn’t feel and didn’t want to feel. What’s happening to me? Why am I do… doing… things? She found herself absently rubbing the WhiteGem.

Chapter 1: Last defense

1669 a.g., three years later.

Alayne shuddered, suddenly cold. The long braids she wore to her waist didn't stop the cold from chilling her bones. She wrapped the shreds of her blanket around her, and stared mournfully at the ruins of her room. She thought wistfully of the time months past when she'd been warm and happy. Now most of the buildings in the town were piles of rubble, completely demolished by the repeated attacks of the horde of creatures that were just outside what remained of the city. It was because of her mother's refusal to give them what they wanted, but the townspeople stood with her anyways. And now they were down to only a handful of defenders. "Alayne, sweetie, where are you?" Alayne came out of her reverie with a start. Someone was calling her. "Alayne? Your mother wants you, dear."

"Coming," Alayne said as she navigated the path out of the rubble of her room. She found herself remembering things she didn’t want to remember, seeing faces and people she knew to be dead – or in a few very painful cases, merely lost. “Hi, mom,” she tried to be cheerful despite the pangs of hunger and fear battling each other.

Her mother smiled at her lovingly, then noticed where her daughter came from. "You weren't in your room were you, Alayne? You know I said it's not safe there." Calla frowned reproachfully.

"I was looking for my sword." Alayne took a defensive but assured stance and met her mother's eyes.

Calla smiled ruefully. "Your sword is made of wood, honey. I'm sorry, but it won't help much."

Alayne sighed and sat down sullenly. "I didn't find it anyway."

“Anyhow, honey, they're coming. You'd better go into the shelter." Her mother's face was drawn; it was bad this time.

She almost thought to ask, but thought better of it. Alayne nodded and hurried down to her mother's spell chamber. "Hey, Trallen, Alicka." Alayne looked morosely out at the battlefield through the one window in the room.

"Hi, Alayne. Is Calla gonna make them go away?" It was Alicka who asked the hopeful question. Alayne sighed.

"You silly goose. Not all by herself!" She tried to be playful, tried not to keep hopes up as well. What she said was far too true. Whatever your method of defense, be it magic or fighting skills, it had to be replenished, by rest or by potion. They had none. Trallen was about to say something when they heard an unearthly yowl - sounded like a cheetaur - signifying the start of the attack. She stood by the window and watched the battle.


* * * * * * *

Calla stood on the ramparts casting her spell over the battlefield. Every muscle in her body ached from days without rest or hope. She fought off tears unsuccessfully, falling behind cover for a moment's rest. Someone dropped beside her and she wearily opened her eyes, hoping it was someone who'd to kill her and deliver her from this mess. Instead, it was her husband. "Want some water?" He asked, holding out a flask to her.

She smiled gratefully and took it. "I love you." she grabbed him and held him close.

"I love you more." He smiled and kissed her. "No dying, you hear?"

"No dying," she agreed, smiling weakly.

They heard an explosion and the sound of a desperate struggle. "Back to work!" Cory declared cheerfully as he ran to assist. She couldn’t help but laugh softly as she got up enough to give him cover down to his place. Watching him go on, cheerful as ever, she resumed her duty as the sole surviving mage out of a town of spellcasters. Not counting their enemy. Her heart filled with bitterness and rage at the thought of Rhiaxamon, once her dearest friend. Rage fueled her heart and lent power to her spellcasting, but it still was not enough to truly stop the tide of creatures and mercenaries that Rhiaxamon had sent after. Then she had an idea.

Out of her pouch she took a gray crystal, glowing from within - the GrayGem: the reason for the traitor's attack. New magic was added to hers, more than tripling her strength as she summoned a magic staff into being. With the combined strength of the Staff and the Gem, the magic was just about humming in the air and it was almost too easy to wreak mass destruction on the horde. Triumph was on her lips, when out of the corner of her eye she saw a dearly familiar figure lying very, very still on the ground. No! She trembled, no dying, no, Cory - no dying!

"Silly little person, allowing emotions to bring down your guard. Such a shame."
Calla didn't have to turn around to know one of the enemy spellcasters was preparing a spell. She threw the staff, but it was too late; her opponent had cast Trigger, triggering the magic inside the summoned staff to explode. She felt the magic unleashed from the staff, knocking her off the ramparts. She didn't see what became of her attacker, but most likely they left or were killed. She fell backward over the ramparts, hitting the ground hard and finishing off what the staff explosion started. Agony unlike any she had ever experienced before flooded through her from her lower back up. "No dying..." she whispered. Her head hurt, everything hurt. The crystal, she had to save the crystal. Alayne! She had to save her girl. She had to – had to stay alive. She couldn't. She called.

* * * * * * * *

[Alayne] The cry sounded desperate, worried... and faint. For magic users of high enough level, telepathy was a privilege that only weakened over tremendous distances and weakness of mind. Alayne tried to answer, but there was no reply. Fearful, she looked out the window to where she'd last seen her mother. She didn't see her, but there was something there on the ground, a pile of clothes, of hair... Trembling in fear, she ran to the door.

Trallen looked up at the sound of running footsteps. "What're you doing?"

"Mother's hurt… I h-have to get to her before…" she swallowed and looked away.

"Don't go 'way." Alicka had tears in her eyes, the fear of pain and abandonment bright in the four-year-old's eyes. She had seen her mother die, and knew what one so young as she ought not: that she had no family left. Alayne saw the memory in Alicka's eyes, and knelt down next to the little girl.

"Alicka, if I don't help Calla now, we'll all get… hurt really bad." Alayne said. "Like your mommy."

"You come back then?"

"Yeah. I come back."

With silent resolve born of fear, Trallen stood up and quietly blocked the doorway. "Alayne… you can't do it alone. You can't move her yourself." Alayne might have argued if she hadn't heard a soul-wrenching roar just then, shaking her to the core. With a single glance between the two youngsters being forced into adulthood far before their time, the two climbed up out of the room into daylight, or what was left of it; it had already been mid-afternoon, and now it was almost sundown. A strong wind and biting rain blew up mysteriously when it had been calm moments before. It frightened the children, but unbeknownst to them, the weather helped save their lives. The horde and mercenaries, finding victory in their grasp, sought shelter instead of destroying all that was left. So as it was, they found Calla face down on the ground, still - too still. Determined not to leave her there, Alayne and Trallen dragged her back into the shelter.

Dragging her mother through the broken door, something seemed horribly wrong – something that bothered her as without a second glance elsewhere she began searching desperately for healing potions. The air felt thick with death - rank with fear and pain. She could only find one healing potion – and it was half empty.

"Aly?" Trallen’s voice was cracking.

"What?"

"It - it's Alicka, Aly. She's... she's not moving..."

And suddenly the girl knew what was wrong. Alayne ran to Alicka - the child lay sprawled out on the floor, a large rock close to her head. She looked up and saw that there was new damage on the ceiling. She sighed and petted the child's head slowly. "I'm back..." She and Trallen made a cairn for her out of rocks - it wasn't much, but it was the best they could do. Then Alayne tended to her mother. Tilting Calla's head up, she opened the stopper on the bottle and let the liquid pass into her mother's system. Calla moaned, and moved her head, coughing up blood. Her gaze found her daughter, and she smiled in spite of the pain.

"Alayne honey. I was afraid you..." She coughed, more blood dribbling on the ground. "Alayne - the thing that Rhiaxamon's after, it's a gem, a magic gem, which enhances... energy." Calla coughed again, her breathing strained. "You must take it to... Zara, who's... somewhere in Spielberg…" Calla lay back against the ground, exhausted. Alayne tried to help her mother, doing everything she knew to relieve her pain.

"You'll come with me mother, you will, you'll get better!" She knew better than that. She said it anyways. Her mother just smiled softly and looked one last time upon her daughter.

* * * * * * *

Rhiaxamon turned away fiercely from the scrying bowl, her face livid with rage. "Markas! Come here, you lily-livered donkey-brained general!"

The aforementioned general appeared in the room, his face a mask of confidence that hid his fear remarkably well. "You requested my presence, Raxa?" He gritted his teeth against the formal tone, offsetting it only with speaking to her in the familiar. We were friends, once, Raxa… do remember that.

But the woman didn’t respond to him as though she had any memories of better times. Rhiaxamon fumed "You're damn right I did. There are two children still alive, and that Calla wench only just now passed to the next life! She should have been dead hours ago." Once upon a time, the “wench” she spoke of was her best friend. Now, she barely felt anything but a burning desire to kill.

Markas attempted to placate his enraged master with little success. "Rhiaxamon, Calla was hit with the main shockwave -"

Rhiaxamon hurled a small table at Markas, who had the good sense to hastily step aside. "I know damn well what happened, you yellow-bellied son of whore! I was watching with a goddamned scrying bowl!"

"Well then, if you were watching, why didn't you interfere?" Markas asked mildly, feigning curiosity. Rhiaxamon fumed, did not reply. "If I’m of no further use here, I'll just be going then." He fought off a smug smile.

"Damn right you will!" She hurled a few insults just for good measure at Markas’ retreating back.

"Has no one ever told you 'mind over matter'?" Rhiaxamon sighed and rolled her eyes, turning to where Dask was standing and watching her bemusedly. She stifled a shift of uneasiness; for all his sexiness, he could make anyone feel as though they had ants under their skin.

"Well, he should've been able to get rid of that damned wench for good, and right quick! And he left two children alive!" Her deep purple eyes smoldered with rage, like a sunset on fire.

"As Markas said, why didn't you interfere?" He arched an eyebrow as he straddled a chair.

She made an impatient gesture. "I didn't have time, the scrying bowl wasn't clear until just now. I assumed everything had been taken care of properly so I didn't follow up on it. I couldn't very well say that my scrying bowl was broke, even he could make a stronger scrying bowl." She pointedly ignored the fact that, sans crystal, Markas was more than capable of wiping the floor with her, magically speaking.

"Weakness is not an all-bad thing. Sometimes it's good to let your underlings think you're still human." He said sardonically. She didn’t notice the disapproval underlying his tone. He walked over to her and started to rub her shoulders, letting his touch loosen knots and heighten other things.

"Maybe. Anyhow, we need to set someone on the tail of those kids, can't have them taking the Gem to Zara." Her anger, as quickly as it had come, evaporated into nothing. She melted into his arms, slowly allowing herself to be soothed. But the Gem was still on her mind, "Send Dark after them,” she said tiredly.

Dask looked mildly concerned "Raxa dear, Dark is not trained for such things.”

She frowned warily. "Who did you have in mind?"

Dask smiled. "Velai of course. Vampires are ideal bounty hunters."

"Velai is no fool. Once she found it, she would take the gem for herself. I doubt even I could control her."

"Simple. The GrayGem is not that useful to her, I'm sure the WhiteGem is. We'll promise her that, and when she expects to be given it, destroy her."

There was nothing wrong with the plan. Still, something bothered her about it. But Rhiaxamon smiled diabolically, brought in as always by the promise of crafty betrayal. "I knew there was a reason I keep you around." She smiled and turned around, wrapping her arms around him as she pressed her body against his."You're always coming up with good plans..." She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body up against his to kiss him passionately on the lips. He welcomed it back with the enthusiasm of experience. Rhiaxamon abruptly shifting her mind from killing things to sex was nothing new to him.

* * * * * * * *

Markas opened the door to his quarters in the lower regions of Rhiaxamon's castle, rubbing his shoulder and taking off his jacket, peeling off the stresses of the day with it. He didn't want to think, he didn't want to act; he didn't want anything but a nice, long nap. He walked in the living room to find Maghrabi and Dark playing a game of chess. "What happened?" Maghrabi asked absentmindedly as she checkmated Dark's king.

"Our dear master was mad at me for leaving Calla alive for a few hours, and for letting two children live." He rolled his eyes and plopped into a chair, absently resetting the chess pieces. Calla. The thief, the one who stole the gem and called Rhiaxamon an evil, corrupt bitch of a woman. Raxa had asked for it back, pleaded with her friend – or so she’d told Markas, back when this all began. Why the violence? Why had he been forced into this position of taking it back? “For the good of the world,” Raxa had told him, saying Calla was trying to deny the world what it needed most. He was never convinced of violence… and so why was he succumbing to it?

"Why didn't she go do it herself? Did her scrying bowl get broken again?"

He jerked back to attention and nodded. "She claimed it was 'foggy' and tried to avoid saying she broke it. She's going to send someone after them, I wager. Any idea who it might be, Mags?" It won’t be me. It’ll never be me. They’re still my friends – aren’t they?

Maghrabi was nothing more special than Markas' lieutenant, but she knew every member of the special agents where Markas did not. She smiled, gloating. "Probably Velai, that little Vampire who thinks she's so hot. Won't be Rhiaxamon's first choice, but Dask'll want her to do it. Ah! There’s the bishop." She picked up the wayward chess piece fallen on the floor.

Dark looked startled. "The Vampire? She'll take the Gem for herself - the thing she wants most is power. Where’d that pawn go…?"

"Vampires are easy to manipulate and predict until they're a few centuries old. Dask likes them for just that reason. But he knows better than we do that Velai will probably end up failing miserably. He plans everything, the man does."

Markas nodded in agreement. Dask is the best. Dask’s judgment. I trust him. He… I can’t think about it any more! Loyalty. He was doing it all for loyalty, and for what? For turning into a man whose only thought was to serve the cause he thought was right? He’d done unspeakable acts of violence before – why was it giving him pause now?

Dark nodded, lost in thought. "Well..." He said after a minute. "Why don't we prove to the powers that be that we can to better than she can, and go after them ourselves? I'm sure we could get it quicker."

"Yeah,” Markas said, jerking back to reality again, “If Raxa hadn't gotten a bee in her bonnet about me having been at fault for them in the first place, she would've had the good sense to send us three. Dask couldn't have argued with that choice. More to the point, he wouldn’t have.” I don’t think. Dask hadn’t exactly been around a lot, easily.

Maghrabi pondered, an emotion fairly rare on the demoness' face. "It could work – a few simple conjurations and we could be gone a year without being missed." They looked at each other. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go."

“Yes, let’s,” Markas responded with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Weariness took hold of him; he wanted nothing more than it all to be over, and to have his friends back the way they were. In pain, away from the sight of the others, he closed his eyes. Some of those friends would never be coming back. Not ever. We’re in the right… aren’t we?

* * * * * * *

Rhiaxamon was asleep, soothed by exhaustion and the promise of finding the children. With her out of the way, Dask slipped into the nether areas of the castle they all lived in, finding the library he so treasured. He wasn’t surprised to see none other than his sister poring over tomes on dragons. “How’s it going, Lillith?” He asked tiredly, leaning on the table.

“Oh, hey,” she smiled at him, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “Could be better. I’m still trying to find an explanation for the Disturbance, but so far…” She shrugged helplessly. “Something to do with that stupid fortress.”

“Sorry to hear that. Can I help at all?”

She sighed. “No, I don’t think so. Oh, how I wish mother was here…” Their mother had been dead for a very, very long time. Dask had never really known her. “How does it go with you?”

“Well…” he shrugged helplessly. “The fighting’s over, I must say I’m happy to report. Couldn’t keep Calla from being killed, don’t know about Cory or any of the others. The mercs have strict orders to not disturb the dead, so…” He lifted his hands up in surrender. “Markas told me he kept them as intact as he could. No need to be brutal, after all.”

“Why do you care?” Lillith asked with a furrowed brow. “Didn’t Calla steal that Gem without any good reason?”

Dask sighed, sitting down. “I don’t know. I rather hope so, but I doubt it.”

“Hey,” a new voice said, coming in from the door. It was Markas, who looked very drawn and very tired. He dropped heavily into a chair, nodding a greeting to them.

“You look like excretory substance,” Dask said good-naturedly. “About like I feel.”

“Heh,” Markas forced a smile. “Wish I could stop thinking. Thanks for keeping Raxa occupied.”

“Not to worry, it wasn’t like it’s not enjoyable,” Dask said, finding the words
unexpectedly hollow.

“Hey, why didn’t you suggest I track the kids down?” Markas asked, puzzled. “It’s not like I would’ve hurt them.”

“Raxa would’ve never gone for it. She’s convinced you’re a softie through and through, and… I think she means for the children to be killed. Speaking of death…?”

Markas nodded. “I think I’ve got everyone that isn’t in several pieces more or less okay now. It’ll take them a little while to heal, but if you’ll help me, Lil, I can get them somewhere a little more safe.”

“Sure,” Lillith said with a shrug. “I can always say I’m testing out the dragons, seeing how recovered they are. Crysthia’s fine, and some of the older ones are okay, but… well, we’ll see.”

“Thanks,” Markas breathed heavily, looking over at Dask’s wearied eyes. “Dask… are you sure-“

“She’s strong, Markas. Stronger than you realize,” Dask said by way of reply to the old question.

“Stronger than you?” Markas raised an eyebrow “Stronger than the both of us?”

“She rivals it, and you well know her influence in the east and in the far south gives her allies we can’t possibly fight against, not forever. I’m not invincible and neither are you. If we’d stayed, we’d both have been obliterated.”

“Whatever,” Markas said, kicking off his boots to massage his sore feet. He didn’t want to think about it any further. It was done.

“Can I help you with that?” Lillith smiled sweetly at him.

“I’d let you, but I think Mags might bite you,” he said with a smile; the smile quickly faded as that brought back memories dominated by a blond-haired woman. “I wish she’d talked to us,” he said glumly.

“Heh. No excretory substance,” Dask stood up, moving to the bookshelf. “Well, I am going to drown my worries in the liquor of choice: books.”

“Research on the Elements?” Lillith asked.

“What else? Finding a single scrap of reference that I don’t know already is a pain, but there’s certainly plenty to explore.” He waved a hand at the gigantic library.

“On that note, I’m going to get some shut-eye. See you later.” The others nodded and returned to their reading, refusing to think or ponder. Markas wondered how they could do it. Certainly he would have nightmares tonight. Passing a window, he glanced outside, and noticed a storm to match his feelings was churning in the sky.

*poke*

Fascinating prologue, and it adds a lot to the story, V. There are some typos, but I'm sure you'll find them easily - unless you want me to go through it and edit...?

I liked seeing the pre-evil Rhiaxamon - I feel it placed her later personality in a completely new perspective. Your gift for bringing characters to life is very evident, and one can see that you've got an extensive idea of what is to come.

Because this was first written a few years ago, I agree your writing skills have improved, and this shows promise of what is to come, but not always the actuality. The vividness is there, but not the almost poetic choice of vocabulary. However, it's always interesting to read your work, V.

Thank you.

I plan to go through and edit it many more times, so, no editing is necessary.

Yeah, my reasons for adding the prologue were primarily to add dimension to characters; I realized that Rhiaxamon was turning into the "big, bad, evil" type and there wasn't much in the way that was good about her.

And yes... the writing gets better. Partly 'cuz I stop writing the dialogue of younger children.