A Light In The DarknessThe sharp Dezolian wind cut at the aged bishop. Two thousand years of life, it seemed, had done its work in reducing his share of the natural resistance of the Dezolian race to their planet's cold climate. Perhaps he should have stayed out of the elements, in his subterranean chamber, but he had wanted to see the work being done above him, the rebuilding of the Gumbious Temple.

"Is it not fine, Your Holiness?" asked one of the priests. Nominally they were supervising the work, though in truth it was the architects and the masons who were actually in charge.

"Yes, it is. It reminds me of the first time it was built. Of course, then the Corona Tower was already here to add on to."

He smiled at the junior priest. They all seemed so young, these days, young and upstanding and full of righteousness. There was that one High Priest, who ran the temple south of Ryuon--Raja, his name was--who seemed to have the right attitude if perhaps an overly developed sense of humor, but then, he was eighty-five years old now. Perhaps that was all that was truly important in such matters, the time necessary to balance out the passion for truth and holiness with tolerance and calm.

The bishop had been like that too, once, a young man with fire in his heart nearly two millennia ago. A time when there had been no Gumbious Temple and when it did not seem like there ever would be. It was odd, he thought, how memories from five or ten years ago could quickly fade, while those of more than nineteen hundred years ago were as sharp as crystal.

* * * * *

The siege had lasted for over three weeks now, and it was clear that the tide was turning. Unfortunately, it had turned against the tower's defenders. The monsters and once-men that swarmed into Corona's passages seemed endless in number, and the Dezolian defenders were most definitely not. They'd done their utmost, rigged traps, fought with blades and guns and the power of the holy litanies, but step by step they'd been pushed back. One by one they'd lost the tower floors from the ground up, until all they had left was the last level of the main tower and the spire above.

Prelate Ngangbius was sure that they were about to lose that, too.

He was the highest-ranking priest left in Corona Tower. High Priest Moraya had died early on, defending the first floor. Archpriestess Baratir had left long before the siege began in a desperate attempt to rally her people. Ngangbius was afraid, though, that her quest would be in vain. Their people were scattered; the wintry climate had always encouraged independence in the various towns. More than one village had been forced to relocate underground to keep out marauding creatures. The folk of Abara had fled to the Great Cave, but even those were under a bitter siege. Then, of course, there were the guraasejpaa^oTireepmoo. The so-called Society of Free Defenders of Dezolian Life were so obsessed with their mission of driving Palmans off Dezolis that they wouldn't bother with the real threat. guraasejpaa^oTireepmoo--Evilheads--really was the right name for them, blinded by their hatred.

A heavy banging on the door broke the Prelate's concentration. A warrior slid back the viewing slot in the heavy, barred portal.

"Let us in, quickly; they're right behind us!"

The door was thrown open and a dozen battered fighters and priests dragged themselves in while two temple guards fired their guns down the corridor to keep the pursuers at bay. A sorcerer hurled a

fire spell back at them, and a warrior staggered back, clutching an injured arm, before the door could be slammed shut and barred again.

Lestain, a warrior monk and captain of the temple guards of Corona, sighed bitterly as the wounded walked or were carried up the stairs where their wounds could be looked at with medicine and holy power.

"This is it, then? One tiny room in the highest level of the tower and the spire above? This place is barely more than a landing. About the only reason we have to even dignify it by listing it is that it's one more door between us and them, and because of its defensive use." He pointed at the murder holes inset in the ceiling through which arrows, boiling oil, and gunfire could be rained down on enemies from the spire.

"If this keeps up, it's only a matter of time," Ngangbius agreed.

"Couldn't we use the holy flame of the Eclipse Torch to burn those fiends out of the Tower?"

The Prelate shook his head grimly.

"Some, perhaps, but not all. The purely demonic, perhaps, would be swept away by the holy fire, together with the risen undead, but most of the monsters are living beings and at best would only be injured, and would still overwhelm us."

"Never any easy answers, are there, Prelate?"

Ngangbius shrugged.

"No, I suppose not. Well, there is one that might qualify, but for it to work..."

"Easy to do, but not easy to prepare for?"

"Exactly. There is a ritual technique to increase the power of the Blessing litany by a thousandfold, enough to erect a shield around a small area that will block both physical and magical attack. The High Priest was researching it before he was slain."

"Strong enough to cover the spire?"

The Prelate smiled thinly.

"You understand, then. Unfortunately, this ritual depends wholly upon the use of a magically active amber jewel to focus the forces necessary, a gem of such rarity that one is found once in a generation."

What moved this need beyond the realm of mere wishful thinking and into pure irony was that according to communications among the priests such a jewel was available on Dezolis even at that moment. A group of Palmans had been reported in Ryuon--and who knew how they had endured the trek through the tunnels, which were hag-ridden with monsters, Dezolian wildlife, and the Evilheads--attempting to sell a jewel they called the Amber Eye. Apparently, according to them, they had taken it from the body of something they called the Casba Dragon.

They had also been asking for information on the activities of the Palman "King of Algo," Lassic, a fact which Ngangbius hadn't thought much of then but had taken on a disturbing connotation when he'd heard some of the more humanoid monsters speaking in their twisted voices of a master they called Lashiec. Yet what connection could, for example, the masked sorcerers and magicians of Menobe have with a Palman king?

"Prelate Ngangbius! Captain Lestain!" a young priestess, barely more than an acolyte, jarred them both with a cry from the stairs.

"What is it?" the Prelate snapped, nettled.

"Come and see! It's outside!"

Driven by the urgency in the young woman's voice, the leaders of Corona Tower's remaining defenders rushed upstairs and to the casement where several others were already clustered. Rank having its privileges, room was made for them to look.

"You see! There are Palmans down there!"

"Oh, wonderful," groaned Lestain, whose experience with Palmans had given him sympathies tending towards the guraasejpaa^oTireepmoo. "As if the monsters from this planet weren't enough."

"No, Captain, don't you see?" protested a guard. "They're fighting the monsters!"

With a kind of dazed, surreal amazement, Ngangbius watched five growling sphinxes, monsters with the faces of bearded Palmans, lion bodies, dragon's wings, and poisoned scorpion tails, begin to stalk the newcomers. Before they could strike, though, the Palmans reacted with smooth efficiency. One of them, a man wearing a hooded white mantle, raised his wand and shouted, "Tandle!" With a crash of thunder, lightning sprang from the wand's tip and raked the beasts. A second later, a massive blond man in a red jumpsuit under armor plates sprayed the monsters with blue-white bolts from a laser pistol.

Only when their companions had finished did the others move into action. One, a large, yellow, catlike animal, leapt on a sphinx, clawing savagely as well as ripping it with a gleaming laconia-bright fanglike weapon. The monster was helpless to prevent the cat's speedy attack, falling under its whirlwind strikes. As for the last of the group...

By the holy flame, the Prelate thought, how can anyone fight like that? It wasn't so much that she was a great swordswoman; on the contrary, even the priest could tell that her swings had the look of the self-taught rather than the trained fighter. What so amazed him was the presence she had on the battlefield, how the sphinxes, rather than lashing out with a wounded beast's ferocity, actually seemed tentative and hesitant to face her. The woman, on the other hand, wasn't hesitant at all; she fought boldly and courageously, and her enemies fell before her.

While the sorcerer guarding the door and his red crystal bodyguards stood stunned at the turn of events, the four warriors were already on the move. It took very little time indeed for them to force their way into Corona.

"Are they here to rescue us?" one guard said hopefully.

"Palmans?" another said. "I hardly think so."

"Prelate, what do you think?" Lestain asked. When Ngangbius didn't answer, he said, a bit more forcefully. "Hey, Prelate? Do you know anything about these Palmans? Did the Archpriestess hire them or something?"

"The same ones..." he murmured.

"What?"

In truth, he hadn't even heard Lestain. What had truly stunned the Prelate was not the Palmans'

fighting skills or their timely appearance, but the fact that they were the same ones whom he had been thinking of just a moment ago. They had to be; the presence of the cat, at least, was conclusive. If they still had the Amber Eye (and whom would they have sold it to?), then they had literally brought salvation to Corona's doorstep.

Then again, perhaps it was not coincidence at all. It was entirely possible that the hand of Heaven had intervened to bring these four to save Dezolis' most holy treasure and the center of its Church. Surely, Prelate Ngangbius thought, there could not be a time of greater evil than this, when the minions of the guraasejpaa^o wuub, the One Who Comes With The Millennium, threatened to swallow whole the heart of the faith?

The next few hours passed with agonizing slowness, and yet they simultaneously seemed to march steadily onward towards an inevitable outcome. In his mind's eye, Ngangbius could imagine the struggles the Palmans endured, creeping through the dimly lit halls, trying to slip past the monstrous guards, fighting them when necessary. He saw them caught up in vicious hand-to-hand battles, saw them struggle to learn their way through the twisting halls, attempting to avoid whatever traps happened to remain, even meeting with pockets of Dezolian resistance caught below. It would be an arduous quest, almost worthy of a ballad in and of itself.

The sounds of combat in the hall beyond the door heralded the outsiders' arrival.

"I will greet the Palmans," the Prelate said to Lestain. "Be on your guard; should they attempt treachery be ready to kill them."

"Prelate, you should have an escort."

"You saw them fight," Ngangbius said. "Then only way we will prevail is a surprise attack from above. Anyone going down with me would be no more than another corpse. Enough of the honored dead will feed the crypts of Guaron Morgue from this defense as it is."

Lestain grunted, but he knew that it was the truth. Corona's defenders didn't have the luxury of romantic illusions any more. The Prelate went down alone.

The grating of a key in the steel door's lock took Ngangbius by surprise, but then he realized that as experienced adventurers the Palmans must regularly encounter locked doors and have the means to pass them. Quickly he drew back the bars and stepped back, blocking the staircase with his body. In order to insure that his act was more than a mere gesture, he intoned the words of the Blessing litany and felt the holy power infuse the air around him with the ability to turn aside blows. Ngangbius did not feel he would truly need it, though; the prayer was a precautionary measure, an acknowledgment of the folly of being unprepared.

Instead of fear and trepidation, the Prelate felt a curious serenity as the door swung open. The woman led the way inside.

"Myau, you'd better keep an eye out for trouble," she told the animal, which looked even more like a cat at close range, only it was at least three times the size of any cat the Prelate had seen. That was when Ngangbius received his first shock.

"All right, Alis. No one will get past me."

"The cat...talks?" he exclaimed. Hardly a worthwhile welcome speech, but it was all he could think to say. At least he'd remembered to speak in Palman.

"Of course I do, meow."

"He's a Musk Cat," said the blond-haired warrior. His face was hard-edged, and he carried himself with the ease of one long familiar with combat, similarly to Lestain and the most accomplished of the temple guards. "They're as intelligent as anyone, Palman, Motavian, or Dezorian."

"Often more so," softly murmured the white-mantled wizard. With his long blue hair and delicate features, it was difficult for the Dezolian to tell if he was male or female. It was only his voice and the way his body moved that gave him away. There was a thin, sardonic smile on his face that lent his words a slight barb, probably as part of an ongoing rivalry between the two.

"I see," Ngangbius said. "Do forgive my ignorance, and welcome to the Corona Tower. Your arrival is most timely, as we have been greatly pressed by monsters."

The woman nodded.

"Our world, too, is becoming infested with them, only instead of fighting them with his armies as you do, King Lassic does nothing. It's as if he wants the monsters to plague us so that we're forced to submit to his tyranny just to remain safe." She spoke with passion, but also determination as she added, "Our quest is to defeat Lassic and free Algo. It's taken us all the way here. My name is Alis; my companions are Odin, Myau, and Noah." She indicated the warrior, the Musk Cat, and the wizard in turn.

Studying her, Ngangbius received his second shock. This swordswoman, the heroine in a pink dress and battle-scarred breastplate, was no more than a girl. It was difficult to tell, both because of racial differences in physique and because Dezolians lived about one-third again(?) as long as Palmans, but to the Prelate she seemed no more than fifteen or sixteen. Yet the three others, skilled fighters all, followed her.

"Well met; I am Prelate Ngangbius. May I ask how your quest had brought you to us?"

"Well..." She hesitated, embarrassment in her bright blue eyes. "I know this will sound silly, but we need a Laerma nut."

"I'm afraid that I do not understand. We certainly have no such thing here. Laerma trees are exceptionally rare, and it is the wrong season for them to give berries in any event."

"I know that, but we've found one, only as you said, it's the wrong season. We've learned that a Laerma berry had to be dried in a laconian pot to become a nut, but from what we've heard in the Dezoris village, it will be months before the season is right, and we can't wait that long."

Dezoris, Ngangbius thought absently. The strong accent of most Dezolians when speaking Palman had led to that mispronunciation, which had endured for over two centuries since the first planetfall by Palmans on the third planet of Algo. For some reason, it seemed exceptionally wrong hearing it from the girl's lips.

"We've also heard," she hurried on, seeing the confusion in his face, "that special holy torches are lit here that can encourage things to grow."

Special torches? Was she talking about the Eclipse Torch? If she was, though, then why was she using the plural? Then the Prelate understood. Alis did not realize that there was only one Eclipse Torch. The language barrier, perhaps--a Dezolian struggling to find the right words in an alien tongue. Or perhaps the natural reticence of his people had won out, and her informant had spoken of the most holy item in their faith in half-truths so as not to arouse Palman greed. Whichever it was, it was clear that the girl had no conception what she was asking.

The curious thing was, the request itself was not wholly unnatural. The light of the Eclipse Torch did, in fact, nourish the growth of plants and encourage the health and well-being of living things generally. She might be able to use it to coax a Laerma tree to put forth a single berry. Why they needed a Laerma nut was beyond Ngangbius, some Palman magic perhaps, but if they had an urgent need for one, the Eclipse Torch might bring it too them.

He wondered about "Lashiec," and this unknown figure's connection to Dark Force and King Lassic. Were these people fighting not just to remove a tyrant, but to destroy a spiritual evil as well?

Then, of course, there was the matter of the Amber Eye...

Ngangbius' heart caught in his throat as he realized what he was thinking. Did he, a Prelate of the Church, truly intend to lend out the Eclipse Torch to these unbelievers? People he had just met? Palmans? For all he knew, they could have been agents of Dark Force intending to steal the Torch. Evil was always callous with life, and what were a few monsters measured against the value of the holy flame?

Archpriestess Baratir would turn down the request, but she was not here. High Priest Moraya would not have even considered it, but he was dead.

"I'm sorry," the girl said, her eyes downcast. Obviously she had taken his long silence as a rejection. "We've come all this way chasing a folktale; I know how it must sound to you."

"It's all right, Alis," the one called Odin said comfortingly. "We've had good luck looking into stories and rumors until now. It's only natural to believe."

"Please wait!" Ngangbius exclaimed. "I was merely considering your story...a Dezolian custom signifying respect for the importance of the situation," he excused his lapse. It was an outright lie, but a convenient one when dealing with foreigners.

"I see," Alis said thoughtfully. Behind her, Noah's eyes twinkled, and he favored the Prelate with that same thin-lipped smile. Clearly he had his own ideas about Ngangbius' delay but was willing to allow the Dezolian to save face.

"Once every hundred years," the Prelate rushed on, "there is an eclipse on Dezolis." That, as much, was true. "During this time, special flames are lit. A torch lit during this time is known as an Eclipse Torch, and it does possess the power to nourish the living and encourage growth. I can let you have one"--A muffled gasp came from upstairs as at least one of the listeners understood enough Palman to realize what Ngangbius was saying--"but they are holy items of our faith and so I must ask something in return."

"We'll be glad to pay," Alis said at once.

"We would not ask for money. I have heard it said, however, that you possess a jewel taken from a dragon called the Amber Eye. Would you give us this gem in exchange for an Eclipse Torch?"

Alis turned to her companions.

"I can't make the decision for us; we all fought hard together to win the Eye. Do we want to give it up?"

"I don't see why not, meow," the cat replied, his eyes still on the passageway. "It isn't doing us any good, after all."

"We can't even sell the blasted thing," Odin agreed. "The merchants who don't say it's an unknown

stone and therefore valueless say it's too valuable for them to afford or find a buyer. No surprise there; who's buying luxuries with the Algo System in the trouble it's in? I say we fix a price for it: one Eclipse Torch."

The girl looked up at the white-robed wizard.

"What about you, Noah?"

"I'm afraid that I am forced to agree with Odin. He and Myau have aptly summed up the situation. There is no reason to keep the Eye, so why not exchange it for something we need?"

"All right, then; Prelate Ngangbius, we agree to your trade."

Alis reached into her pack and took out the Eye, a massive faceted jewel at least the size of Odin's fist. The prelate could see where its name came from; it was translucent and precisely the same dark golden shade as amber.

Exactly what he needed.

"Very well; I shall fetch an Eclipse Torch for you." Ngangbius made no move to take the gem; he did not want to do anything that might imply treachery. Instead he turned and went back up the staircase. He was met by shocked and angry faces.

"Ngangbius," Lestain said in a low voice so the Palmans would not overhear, if they happened to understand Dezolian, "are you insane?" The omission of his title was clearly no mistake. "Do you truly intend to hand over the sacred Eclipse Torch to these unbelievers?"

"I do."

"They could be spies! Allies of those fiends using subterfuge to trick us!"

Ngangbius shook his head gravely.

"I do not think so. Moreover, the Eclipse Torch itself will verify for us that they are not creatures of darkness."

Captain Lestain gnawed at his lip.

"There is that," he admitted. "They're still Palmans, though. Will they properly show respect for the holy flame? Will we endure if they do not return it to us?"

The second complaint was the one that drew fearful nods of agreement from many of the others. It was the plea of men and women worried for their souls. How could he justify that risk, they were asking.

For the second time that day, a curious serenity came over Ngangbius as he realized that he knew the answer.

"The flame," he said calmly, "is a symbol. The Eclipse Torch, for all that it is a relic of holy power, is also a symbol. We believe in fire because its light is as the light of Heaven which guides us, and its warmth is as the power of Heaven which shelters our souls from the storms of doubt."

He walked to the altar upon which the Eclipse Torch sat and reached out, his long, green-skinned fingers wrapping around the crystal globe inside which the azure flame tinged with silver burned without fuel or air. The Prelate could feel its holy warmth flow through him.

"Should the Palmans hurl the Eclipse Torch into the depths of the deepest crevice on this planet or set it adrift in space between the worlds, it will not matter. Our Church will endure, because our faith is not in an object, but in the infinite wisdom and goodness of God."

Ngangbius picked up the Eclipse Torch and turned back towards the others. They said nothing as he walked back to the stairs. Before going down, he paused and added one last thing.

"Do not think I mean to do this lightly. The Amber Eye I requested in exchange is more than merely a valuable jewel. It is the key I need to erect a barrier to keep the monsters out of the spire indefinitely. It means all of our lives."

He descended the stairs, the crystal orb cradled in his palms. Alis gasped in amazement as she saw the dancing flame.

"Behold the light of the Eclipse Torch!"

Ngangbius reached out with his mind and touched the Torch's essence. As he had heard, it responded swiftly to his entreaties. Unlike some mystical artifacts, which had to be browbeaten into functioning by the user's will, the sacred flame was meant to give its light to the world. It did just that, its radiance shining out into the room, bathing the Palmans, the Musk Cat, and Ngangbius himself in its brilliant azure glow.

This was the test. If any of the four was a minion of the ultimate darkness, infected with its unholy power, the Eclipse Torch would burn it like a searing flame. As the Prelate had been sure, though, none of them was injured in any way. On the contrary, the light seemed to make Alis and her companions feel better.

"What a wondrous thing," Alis said. "I can believe all the stories I've heard about these torches--oh! The Eye!"

The Amber Eye seemed to be shining in counterpoint with the Eclipse Torch, a soft, warming golden radiance. The silver-blue glow of the Torch flame flickered over its surface, then seemed to sink into its heart, where it began to dance as if a second Eclipse Torch had been kindled there. It was not truly a second Torch, for as the Prelate let the radiance recede to its quiescent state, so did the fire within the Amber Eye dwindle to a single spark, but that spark remained, like a star within the jewel.

Carefully, Ngangbius gave the Eclipse Torch to Alis, a part of his soul weeping as he let it go despite his fine speeches, and she set the jewel in his hands. As she did, the spark of light seemed to flow out again, and for a moment the Prelate found he himself to be the center of a glowing aura. He was afraid at first, but there was no pain; instead he felt giddy, bursting with strength, as if the exhaustion of the siege had been wiped away in an instant. Deep within himself, he knew that something had changed in the very nature of his body, though he would not come to learn just what for many years to come. A quirk of magic, of powerful items of people reacting together?

Or, perhaps, Heaven's gift for having the courage to aid the Heroine when her quest was in peril?

"Thank you, Prelate," she told him earnestly. "With this, our mission is saved."

* * * * *

No, the Bishop thought. Thank you, Alis Landale. Through you all our lives were saved.

The temple that Alis built," he said, watching the work of restoration go on.

"What was that, Your Holiness?"

"Nothing, Gana. An old man's stray thoughts." He pulled his robe tightly around himself. "Come, let's go inside. This day is too chill for these old bones."

The young priest lent his elder his arm, and the two of them walked towards the rising temple.

Call To Arms"All right," Alis said, twisting off the stopper. "Here goes nothing."

"Keep your fingers crossed, meow."

Alis glanced down in surprise at the Musk Cat.

"Wait a second, Myau. I thought that you said this medicine would restore him."

"That's what it's supposed to do," Myau replied. "I've never actually seen it happen."

The two of them had come to this dank cave south of the town of Parolit to rescue Myau's partner, the warrior Odin. Alis' brother Nero had told her with his dying words to seek out Odin so that she could complete Nero's quest to overthrow the tyrant king, Lassic. Apparently, Odin was one of the few men with both the strength to fight Lassic and the courage to do so.

Right now, though, he didn't look capable of fighting anyone. According to Myau, Odin had been turned to stone when he had tried to take on Medusa, Lassic's provincial governor, who apparently had not merely named herself after the legendary monster from a thousand years ago but actually was that monster. Myau had a bottle of medicine called Alsulin that could cure the effect, but lacking opposable thumbs he couldn't get the top off.

Of course, the statue might just be a rock and the Alsulin nothing more than winterberry juice, but Alis didn't want to believe that. She tipped the bottle and its contents leaked out over the statue. A reaction happened almost at once. Thousands of tiny cracks formed throughout the stone, and in seconds a kind of "crust" shattered into a shower of pieces, revealing living flesh beneath that quickly turned from gray to its natural color. Odin stumbled as he tried to find his balance, then drew himself up straight. The heavy blade of his short-handled iron axe gleamed in the light from Alis' flash.

* * * * *

The first thing that came over Odin was confusion. The last thing he remembered was charging Medusa, axe ready to strike, then beams flashing from her eyes, pain and a curious tightness like all his muscles clenching at once, and then...everything was different. He was in the same place, a passage within the ironically-named Medusa's Cave, but now he faced a young girl about fifteen with soft brown hair falling past her shoulders wearing a short pink dress, the skirt being loose to allow freedom of movement, under an armor breastplate. A sword was buckled at her waist and a shield hung from her arm. Myau, the Musk Cat who'd been Odin's friend and partner for years, sat next to her, his eyes worried.

"Odin, are you all right?" he asked at once.

"Y-yes, I think so. A little disoriented, though. What happened? The last thing I remember is fighting Medusa..."

The memories came flashing back to him, the vicious battle with the wizardess who had become a

monster, the way she'd casually slaughtered so many of his companions, fellow resistance fighters. They'd bet their lives on one grand gamble that they could destroy Lassic's most powerful servant, and they had failed. Bold Cyan with the laughing eyes, courageous Merrick, Kyla, Asher...the entire group. Probably most of those who'd tried to lure her into the cave for Odin's team to fight. Each death wholly in vain.

"You were turned to stone by her gaze, meow, and I couldn't get the Alsulin bottle open. I tried to tell you that when you gave it to me, Odin."

He flushed, remembering how preoccupied he'd been at the time.

"Sorry, Myau."

He turned to the girl.

"Thanks for saving me." Odin ran his hand through his crewcut blond hair. "Some revolutionary I turned out to be," he said glumly, hooking his axe back into his belt. "I guess if Medusa can stop me, I don't have much hope of killing Lassic."

"My brother died trying to kill Lassic. He was a resistance fighter in Camineet, but the robotcops caught him and cut him down in front of a crowd as a 'lesson' not to meddle in Lassic's affairs. before he died, he told me to seek you out."

Odin could see the pain etched into her face, but he was too lost in his own hurt to sympathize.

"Oh, is that so?" he sneered sarcastically. "Well, we must not let your brother die unavenged."

Her bright blue eyes snapped wide open in shock.

"My brother believed in you! He said you were the one man who had the strength to fight Lassic!"

"Obviously he was wrong. I'm no hereo. Saving the world's a stupid dream for people who can't face up to facts."

"But...but you tried to fight back! If you don't believe in the dream of a free Algo System, why did you try to fight Medusa?"

Of course, he did believe in the dream, or at least he had. Deep down, Odin probably still did, but he was too caught up in pain and self-pity to realize it.

"Because Medusa has a mystic axe," he snapped back. "That's all I am, a simple thief. Unfortunately, she got away from me. As for the thirty Resistance fighters who got butchered by her troops and spells, they were there just for the fun of it." He spat at her feet. "What's the matter, can't you tell there was a battle here? Didn't you see the corpses of my friends? The friends I let die in vain, and you step over their bodies without a thought?" Stupid little-- "Or is it just that you don't care about anyone but your precious brother? Our whole Resistance cell was massacred, and you're asking me why we were fighting?"

The girl stepped back reflexively, shock and hurt on her face. Good! He'd meant to hurt her, the little twit. How could she be so blind? She recovered quickly, though, stepping right up to him, fists clenched at her sides.

"I loved my brother!" she snapped in his face. "He was decent and brave and honest and he died for what he believed in. You were his hero! He wanted to be like you in every way--but all you are is an arrogant, spiteful man filled with hate! I'm glad he never got to meet you!"

"Why you--"

"Stop it!"

Myau's roar took them both by surprise.

"Odin, Alis, you're both acting like children!"

They both spoke at once, which was almost comical.

"But, Myau--"

"He said--"

"Quiet!"

They shut up, faces still tight with smoldering anger. Myau sat back on his haunches and began to groom his paw delicately.

"That's better, meow. Now listen, both of you. It's silly for you to be screaming at each other when your real enemy is Lassic. Odin, she doesn't know a thing about what happened here. It's been nearly two months since that battle. From what I've seen, whatever supplies weren't moved to Eppi were stolen by the army after the battle. This place is essentially a bare cave now, with no sign that it was a Resistance base. Even the bodies are gone."

Odin winced, remembering the green slimes that had oozed through cracks in the walls from breeding pits deep in the rock. They had been a constant problem for the Resistance.

"It's my fault, probably," Myau said. "I should have told Alis everything that happened instead of just that Medusa had turned you to stone." He lowered his gaze. "It wasn't easy for me either...and I saw more than you did."

For a moment the Musk Cat was silent, but then Myau regained his composure and turned to the girl, Alis.

"Odin didn't come here hunting Medusa. This cave was used as a base by a band of Resistance fighters. We joined the group and worked with them for several months. We tried a bold plan: lure Medusa herself to this cave with a feigned attack on her hovercraft and ambush her in the tunnels. She's Lassic's most powerful and well-known ally. Defeating her would have told all Palma that the Resistance could succeed, that the tyrant could be fought. That would have drawn more people into the fight, and might have given us the chance to win."

Myau gave a deep sigh. It was noticeable how his catlike meows disappeared from his voice when he was talking about important things, probably because he had to concentrate more on his use of Palman to make sure he used the right words.

"Only it didn't work," he continued. "We beat some of her troopers and robotcops, but they slaughtered us in return. In the cave, Medusa revealed herself as the monster all the stories call her, and she killed many of us as well as turning Odin to stone. I was the only one who escaped, and I wouldn't have made it if one of the men Medusa fthought was dead hadn't surprised her by striking with his last strength. We lost a lot of friends that day."

Alis looked horrorstruck.

"Oh no..." she whispered, and turned to the warrior. "Odin, I had no idea."

"It's all right." Myau's words had been like a dash of ice water on his rage. "I...I was acting like a self-pitying jerk, lashing out at you because you were convenient."

"Luckily, you have me along to tell you these things, meow." No one acknowledged the comment

Alis shook her head.

"No, you don't understand. I was looking for you in Scion, and I met someone who told me about you. He said...oh, what was it?" She scowled, trying to dredge up the man's exact words. "Oh, yes, he said, 'Odin set off to kill Medusa! He went with an animal that can speak! The animal had a bottle of medicine hanging from its neck, but I don't know what that is for.' That was the clue that led me to find Myau when I couldn't learn more about you."

Odin realized that he was staring at her in shock, but he figured that it was all right since Myau was, too.

"Alis, that's impossible!"

"It's the truth!" she protested.

"But...I only put the Alsulin bottle around Myau's neck right before the battle. No one could have known, even if they got the general story confused."

"What was this man like, meow?"

Alis frowned thoughtfully, trying to remember. Of course, the incident hadn't been particularly important from her point of view; it was the clue that would have mattered, the words rather than the speaker.

"He was dark and slender...his face wasn't very distinctive."

It wasn't much of a description, but it could have fit one of those who had fought in the cave with Odin.

"Did he have a scar on the back of his left hand?" he asked.

"He...yes, he did!" Alis exclaimed.

Odin looked at Myau. The Musk Cat nodded.

"Scott," the fighter concluded.

"Was he a traitor?" Myau wondered. "He might have pretended to fight, meow."

"I don't want to think something like that."

"I don't think he was," Alis said.

They both looked at her.

"Why is that, meow?"

"Because of his eyes. I thought then that he was scared of Lassic and the robotcops catching him talking to me, but he looked...haunted. I think that whatever happened to him cost him his sanity, that he told me what he did because the truth was hidden away in his own mind, where it couldn't hurt him any more."

Odin nodded. He could imagine it--Scott wounded, left for dead by the army, only to regain consciousness surrounded by corpses. Badly injured, possibly delirious and in shock, how he'd returned to civilization might have been a horror story all by itself.

"If we get back to Scion ourselves we'll have to make sure that he gets the help he needs."

"Let's do that," Myau agreed.

"So...I guess that you two are going on together from here, then?" Alis asked.

"I'd assumed so," Odin replied.

The girl sighed.

"I see." Her head came up. "Well, I understand. You fought against Lassic, and after what you've gone through..."

Odin shook his head.

"I'm not giving up. I've got a debt to pay, to the men and women who died so I'd get a chance to fight Medusa. I'm going to find the power I need, and kill her."

"Then why don't we travel together? There's strength in numbers."

"But...you're only a young girl. This fight isn't for someone your age."

Myau chuckled, purring.

"You haven't seen her in battle yet, Odin."

He looked at her in surprise.

"I'm going to fight," she said. "You're fighting to avenge your friends, and I'm fighting to avenge Nero. They all died for the dream of a free Algo, and I'm going to make sure that their souls can watch that dream achieved."

There was determination in her voice, and something about her that spoke of the ability to endure what was to come. Odin once had described himself as not being a leader, but as a knight who was suited to follow a king he believed in. Well, why not a queen?

"All right," he said. "I like the idea. What do you think, Myau?"

"Of course I agree, meow. I was just hoping you'd think of it by yourself."

Alis giggled and exclaimed, "Wonderful! Now, back in Paseo, I heard rumors that the Governor might have sympathies towards our cause, but we'll need some kind of master key if we want to get in to see him."

"The village elder in Eppi might be able to help with that," Odin said. "Wait a minute. You said Paseo--on Motavia?"

"Uh huh."

"What were you doing there?"

"Rescuing Myau from the pet shop."

Odin laughed heartily, the noise booming in the corridor.

"The pet shop? Is that why it took you two months to come back for me?" he asked Myau.

"I think," the Musk Cat said primly, "that perhaps I should have waited for three, instead."

Drawn To NightmareAW 280

He was a fine figure of a man, was his king, Governor Sylvain thought. Marek Landale, King of Palma and its colonies, was twenty-seven years old, four years younger than the man he'd appointed as Governor of the Motavian colonies. His body was long and lean, showed to perfection in his dress tunic embroidered with gold braid, his face handsome without being weak, his eyes a bright blue that laughed with him.

Teras Sylvain could see why the lady Elysse had chosen Marek; the man was virtually a storybook prince come to life--better than a prince, a king! Brave, kind, loyal, honest--his soul matched his outward appearance. Sylvain could not begrudge him the loss of Elysse. She'd never been Sylvain's to begin with, and after she met Marek Landale it was clear that she never would be.

Whatever made her happy, that had been Sylvain's mantra. It had kept him silent during the courtship. It had kept him silent during the ceremony, even as he stood by Landale's side, his heart breaking with every word said by the old priest. It had kept him silent afterwards, kept him from saying something that could only lead towards pain on one side or another.

It had sent him to Motavia, where he would not have to face the two of them each day. The Governor's manor had become his home. That was where he had been on the day Elysse had died bringing little Alisa into the world. Marek's daughter.

It was that which he still repeated to himself, late at night, when disloyal voices in the depth of his soul told him that, had Elysse not wed Marek Landale, she'd still have been alive.

Did Marek feel it too, hear those same voices? Sylvain sometimes thought that he did. He was bolder, now, more daring--a man who was assured of an heir, and who no longer had a wife waiting for his return.

Of course, it gave Ossale fits. General Alex Ossale, commander of the King's Guard, railed when the king went riding neck-or-nothing to hunt fearsome monsters in Palma's mountains, or when he led the army into battle against tribes of barbarian Motavians who raided the towns of Palma's farmer allies. Or on a day like today, when he stood before a throng of Dezorians outside the entrance to the underground mining town of Skure.

"Alex," the king had dismissed Ossale's concerns, "the Dezorian government is allowing us to set up a town on their planet. I have to show them the respect they deserve."

"Your Majesty, I'm not advising you to snub them or not make the trip. I just think that you should hold the meeting in private. There are elements of Dezorian society that view us as outsiders, interlopers. Ones who wouldn't hesitate to use violence."

Landale had shaken his head.

"That's exactly why everything we do has to be completely open and aboveboard. No secret meetings, no comings and goings in the dead of night. I'm arriving openly and publicly, proud to represent the Palman people as their king."

Ossale's scowl was as much a part of the general's reputation as his weaponskill was.

"Then at the very least wear your armor, your Majesty."

Marek had chuckled at that suggestion.

"What, you want me to appear before the Archpriestess dressed for war? You're a first-class soldier, Alex, but no diplomat."

"Your safety--"

"That's quite enough, Alex. Protecting me is your job, I know, but I have a job, too, and the needs of mine outweigh the needs of yours. I'm sorry, but that's the bare truth."

Ossale, Sylvain noted, was still scowling even now, as Landale stepped forward, hand extended to take the Archpriestess Baratir's in greeting.

The the scowl was replaced by a shout of fury.

"Majesty! Get down!" he cried, diving for the king.

He was almost fast enough.

There were six of them, green-skinned native Dezorians dressed in coats and hats the scarlet hue of blood. In their hands were the lethal short-barreled flame-guns the Dezorians used in battle. Unlike Palman heat guns, the Dezorian pistols could not spray a target with burst fire, but the single shots they spat were deadly.

One shot struck the Archpriestess in the shoulder. The middle-aged Dezorian woman screamed and fell to her knees, clutching her wound. Two more shots missed altogether.

The remaining three found King Marek's chest.

As Palman and Dezorian guards alike swarmed the red-clad killers, Sylvain rushed to his king's side.

In a story, there would have been an Esper there to cast healing magic on the wound. Or the Dezorian underpriest escorting his leader would have used his litany of curing on Marek before tending the Archpriestess' relatively minor wound. Or at the very least, Landale would have had a touching last word for his friend.

In life, things are not so pat. By the time the Governor reached Landale's side, the king was already gone from this world, and there were tears of fury in Ossale's eyes.

The king's lips, though, were curved upwards in a smile.

* * * * *

AW 281

"You can't be serious!" Sylvain exclaimed.

Ossale nodded grimly, hand clenched around his cup of neimila, the hot, fermented spiced juice of a thorn palm. The desert nights of Motavia could grow cold, and the heated liquor was popular among Palmans and native Motavians both.

"We are."

Sylvain turned to Damor, who stood at the window, looking out at the city of Paseo. The soothsayer was one of the most powerful Espers of all Palma, and had served as a kind of "court wizard" for more than two decades.

"Damor, surely you can't be going along with this?"

The white-haired man did not turn around.

"Have you heard about the Regent's latest proposal to the Legislative Council?" he asked, then answered his own question. "Robot police! Lassic wants to take justice and put it into the hands of machines!"

"I would think," the Governor said slowly, "that if those robots can do their jobs, then you would welcome the change. A robot cannot be bribed or tempted, cannot grow lazy..."

"That's what Lassic said to the Council," Ossale declared. "What he failed to mention was that a robot also cannot think for itself. It follows whatever orders it is programmed to follow, without concern, without tolerance, without mercy."

"In short," Damor said, "the perfect tools for a tyrant to use to enforce his will."

"Really, gentlemen, I hardly think that Lassic is the monster you take him for. The Council would hardly have named him Regent if he truly was out for power."

"Once, perhaps, he was a decent man," Ossale declared. "Maybe it's just the taste of power that's doing it to him. Some people are like that, unaware the taint is even in them until they get too close to the prize. You can see it in Lassic's eyes every moment you're with him. He burns for power."

"Not just typical power, either," Damor declared. "He's dabbled in black magic as well, secrets no sane Esper would look into."

"I'm afraid for the princess," the general said. "She's barely one year old, and her fragile life is all that's keeping Lassic off the throne. Every time he goes near her my heart is in my throat."

Sylvain looked back and forth from one to the other.

"Yes, but this? A rebellion against the lawfully appointed Regent? There hasn't been political violence on Palma since Weyes Landale first unified the planet under his rule."

Ossale nodded again, curtly.

"There are men and women ready to follow us," he said, "officers and troops who have seen what we've seen. Espers, too, under Damor's leadership. It won't be a lost cause. With you on our side, though...if you support us, then Lassic will be alone. The forces of Motavia added to ours will insure victory, but the popular support will make actual fighting unnecessary."

Maybe that was true, Sylvain thought. Then again, maybe it was not. Maybe none of it was. Maybe the general and the Esper were mistaken, or paranoid, or just out for power.

The mental picture came to the Governor of Lassic sitting on Marek Landale's throne. To his surprise, he found that it did not seem unpleasant.

"I'm sorry, Alex, Damor," he said. "I can't help you. Not unless Lassic actually does something to

prove his ambition."

* * * * *

AW 282

There was a strange irony to it all, Sylvain reflected as he swore his oath of fealty. Everything Ossale and Damor had feared had come to pass, largely because of their own efforts. When they'd taken up arms, the Legislative Council had pressed forward at once with production of the new robotcops to support the army. Then, the rebels had kidnapped Princess Alisa, ostensibly to keep her safe. She'd never been found, and neither had Damor. When the rebellion was put down, there were no known Landale heirs left.

So, the Regent had become king. The old man had ended up in power because his enemies had feared that he would try to seize it.

Self-fufilling prophecies were always the most reliable ones.

* * * * *

AW 284

"A new religion, you say?"

"That's right, Governor," the Councilor from Uzo said. "They say that it promises immortality to those who join its ranks. Not real immortality, that of the spirit, but physical immortality here in this world." Councilor Mearisa was a good woman, Sylvain reflected, but she did have a habit of being preachy.

"It sounds tempting, I'll admit. Especially to a man like King Lassic, who is not getting any younger."

Marisa shook her head.

"It goes against everything the Church stands for. Why, if one can attain immortality in this life, what is the incentive for us to live righteously?"

"Marisa, I would hope that we do not have to be bribed into behaving well by the promise of an afterlife."

Isn't that what the Church teaches, though? A treat for those who do what Mommy and Daddy say, a spanking for those who don't?

"That isn't the point!"

Sylvain hardly wanted to be drawn into a theological debate with the conservative Marisa, so he changed the subject.

"Who's spreading this religion?"

"They say that it's...alien priests!" she replied theatrically. Sylvain couldn't help raising one neat eyebrow.

"Alien?" he asked. "What makes them so...alien?"

"I don't know. No one's ever seen one."

"How do they convert people if no one's seen them?" This was starting to sound like a bad urban legend, muddled and self-contradicting.

"Presumably, they appear to their followers, just not openly before the general public."

"I see." That sounded a little better, and made a certain kind of sense. Fringe cults often shrouded themselves in needless mystery so as to heighten their attraction to the masses.

"Mark my words, Sylvain; this is a sign of dark times to come."

* * * * *

AW 286

Sylvain had been surprised to be called back to Palma. Increased monster attacks in the Motavian countryside had him run ragged, desperate for a plan to help his people stop the creatures.

He was also surprised to see Lassic dressed in what looked to be a costume right out of the medieval era--golden armor, a horned helmet, a floor-length cape, and a crested staff. The king's eyes burned with the light of the fanatic, and something else beyond that.

The light of true power.

"Your Majesty," Sylvain said, bowing.

"Governor."

He let Sylvain wait for a moment. He knew that the governor was eager to ask what was happening, but for some reason Sylvain found himself unable to open his mouth, to challenge his liege's decision the way he would have with Marek Landale.

This is a true king, not a figurehead with nothing better to do than charm women. One waits upon his pleasure, not addresses him as if one was an equal.

Finally, Lassic spoke.

"No doubt you are wondering about the somewhat preemptory tone of my command that you come here."

"It did surprise me," Sylvain admitted.

"I am going to make a public announcement today by interplanetary broadcast. I want all of the provincial governors beside me when I do that. There will be no Alex Ossales this time, no Damors. I want a show of unity."

"Then, whatever you are going to proclaim must be something of vital importance--something extraordinary."

When Lassic smiled, the sidepieces of his helmet hid the corners of his mouth.

"It is indeed. I am going to declare martial law."

Sylvain gasped.

"Martial law--?"

"The problem with monsters has been escalating steadily over the past two years. The army and the Robotcops must be fully mobilized to meet this threat. Constant submission to civilian oversight keeps our forces from protecting the people of Palm. I'm sure you've noticed the troubles on Motavia as well."

"I have," Sylvain agreed. "If declaring martial law can keep the citizens safe, then I'm with you, Your Majesty."

"Good, good." Lassic rose from his throne. His height surprised Sylvain; the Governor had never quite realized that the king was at least three inches over six feet, and was lent even more size by his armor. "Come, Sylvain, the public awaits." He strode from the room, his cape swirling around his ankles.

* * * * *

AW 289

"King Lassic," the telemonitor blared to the Governor, "declared today that the current system of numbering the years is archaic and too Palman-centered."

Sylvain snorted. He's had his fill of Lassic's pompous declarations. The dreams that had plagued him for the past year left him tired and weary, impatient with the king.

Power is worthless unless used.

He brushed aside the stray thought. There were better ways to use power, such as dealing with the Evilheads, the anti-Palman terrorists on Dezoris that had assassinated the previous king. Or in stomping out the monsters that seemed to breed like flies. Though, to give Lassic his due, the Robotcops were keeping the residential areas safe--but it felt more like the people were animals, herded into pens.

"As our civilization spreads out among the planets of the Algo solar system, it seems only fitting to recognize the efforts of the first to reach the stars. It was on this day, three hundred and thirty-six years ago today, that the first Palman ventured into space, opening the doorway to the future. As was said by the then-President of Camineet, 'This event begins a new era in history. We can truly say that we are living in a Space Century.' In honor of that moment, I hereby declare that all government records and publications shall now refer to the current year as Space Century 336, and that this shall become the official system of dating throughout this kingdom."

Sylvain snorted. Was Lassic so jealous of his power that he had to obliterate everything bearing the name of the previous dynasty? AW dating--After Weyes, for the Unifier--honored a Landale, so it had to be removed?

Better to use that power to crush his enemies.

He might look the part of a king, did Lassic, but that was all. In his chest beat the heart of a frightened child.

Scared of death, scared of weakness.

I could be a better king, the Governor said to himself.

* * * * *

SC 337

The dreams came every night, now, eating away at Sylvain's sanity. During the day, his lack of rest made him waspish and irritable. He barked orders that called for a harsher hand than he wanted to rule with, took out his irritation on his subjects.

Too, there were his feelings about Lassic. It was clear that the man was becoming a tyrant, plain and simple, but more than that he was an inept one. His brutal rule, heavy taxes, and use of force was steadily reducing Palma from an advanced, peaceful civilization that had ventured out into space to a collection of sheep penned in away from monstrous terrors. It was almost as if Lassic was deliberately following a plan meant to destroy the fabric of Palman society.

Poor, dead Alex Ossale and the still-missing Damor had been right, Sylvain knew. He should have joined them when there was still a chance to stop the king. Now, with his Robotcops, no one could oppose him. Oppression was stamped out savagely by the merciless machines, something else the rebels had been right to fear.

Some days, it was hard for the Governor not to speak out in blunt and offensive terms about the monarch. That would have been a fatal mistake. The Robotcops in Paseo only obeyed the Governor because Lassic had instructed them to. If the king wanted, they would turn on Sylvain in an instant.

Nor would his position as Governor of Motavia protect Sylvain from his king. The provincial governor on Palma had tried to question some of Lassic's policies, such as closing the sea trade routes that brought the outlying regions much of their economic well-being, and had been summarily arrested, removed from his position, and tossed into Triada Prison. He had been replaced by an Esper named Medusa.

Sylvain could not imagine what kind of person would assume the name of the legendary monster said to have been slain by Perseus a thousand years ago. There were even rumors that she actually was that monster, returned to life by some dark magic.

What kind of woman? The kind who does not fear the consequences of her own power.

He was caught, Sylvain knew, in a trap of his own making. A noose that he had put around his own neck. When he'd hand the chance to oppose Lassic he had held back. Now he knew better, but had no power to face the tyrant with.

Power left unused is power lost. Lassic doesn't know this, else he would not waste his time on trifles.

That night the dreams would grow even worse.

* * * * *

SC 341

For Sylvain, the end had come. He'd known it as soon as the words had left his lips at the dinner party the night before. He'd criticized Lassic before some of the most important merchants in Paseo. One of them, perhaps more, had been quick to try and curry favor by branding him a traitor.

It was the act of a coward, of course, the sort of person that crawls on his belly, but in a tyrant's shadow the toady can grow fat and bloated on power he would otherwise have no access to.

The Robotcops had arrived at four in the morning. Out of respect for Sylvain's rank, they had been ordered to "escort him to an immediate, emergency meeting" with the king.

In truth, of course, they had been there to arrest him.

Ironically, it seemed as if Sylvain was about to get the answer to the question that had brought him to this pass. He'd wanted to know where Lassic was now.

In the past few months, several resistance cells had sprung up in opposition to the tyrant. While generally underequipped and undermanned, they had staged some minor terrorist attacks, including a bombing at the Camineet Government Building. In response, Lassic had fled, run away and hid in an unknown location, running his government through intermediaries.

Some said this was pragmatism. The Governor, foolishly, had asserted that it was due to fear.

He is afraid. He is a coward, terrified of any threat that would cost him the immortality he was promised. He has the power of one who is almost a god, and he squanders it.

Scared or not, though, Lassic clearly wasn't minded to tolerate dissent among his subjects, even one as highly placed as Sylvain. That was why the Governor's private space ship, commanded by military pilots, had been sent en route to Palma and the spaceport near Camineet.

Sylvain leaned back into the comfortable seat of his flight cabin which was, nonetheless, a prison cell. He wondered idly if his fate was going to be a swift execution ofr a slow death within the boundaries of Triada Prison. Which one would be better, he thought, the living death or the actual?

It was not an entirely moot question, as after all there was one truth to consider.

The dreams.

They had eaten away at Sylvain's sanity over the past four years. He slept as little as possible, often resorting to stimulants to keep him awake late into the night and give him strength in the morning. It was entirely possible that he'd become addicted to the drugs. Denied them, he would have to suffer the torments of withdrawal--and the dreams would return in full force.

Awake, he couldn't even remember what the dreams were. Sylvain only knew that they were horrible, twisting at his soul.

As he considered that, wondered at what his subconscious was hiding, Sylvain yawned loudly. In shock, he realized that he had missed a regular dose of the drugs, and in the absence of chemical help, his system was demanding rest.

Sylvain wanted to fight the urge--not just because of the dreams, but for the simple reason that these might be the last few hours of his life and he did not want to miss any of them. Unfortunately for Sylvain, there are times in life when one's wants are meaningless in determining what one will actually get. This was one of those times.

It took less than five minutes for sleep to claim him.

* * * * *

The face was dark and vast, not a human face at all, but the face of a demon.

Welcome...Governor, it said, and Sylvain could hear the sly mockery in its monstrous voice.

The thing had no body; it was just the image of its face--a twisted mockery of a face with jutting fangs for upper and lower canines, and sunken pits for eyes in which sparks of fire burned. More than that, though, was the terrible menace that it projected, the sense of clear, unadulterated evil that seemed to wash over Sylvain, that lingered in the dreamscape like a poisoned taint infecting the air.

In horror stories, there were tales of dream-demons, saccubi that preyed on the sleeper's will and fed on the life energy of anyone whose dreams they infected. Sylvain had never believed in such monsters, but he did now.

"You know me?"

I've known you for years. Don't you recall?

Its eyes flared, and all of a sudden, he did. It had come to him in dreams before, appearing to him in this fashion. Even when it had not, it was still the source of the night terrors that had plagued Sylvain, for they were linked together by a bond that sent its black thoughts to him even during his waking hours.

"What do you want?"

To save you.

The Governor snarled at the demon.

"Somehow I doubt that, saccubus."

Oh, but it's quite true. All I ask is that you give yourself to me.

Sylvain recoiled from the idea.

Lassic will kill you.

"You know of Lassic?"

As I said, we have known one another for a very long time.

The thing cackled darkly.

I could take you by force, Sylvain, it said. I could make you my servant effortlessly. The drugs have eroded your will. Once you could have resisted me, but not now.

"Then why wait? If my end is inevitable, then have done with your talk and we'll settle it between us."

Brave talk, the governor thought, but he had nothing to back it up. He had no weapons in this dream world, and he knew no magic that could protect himself.

I do not want that. I do not want you as my puppet.

"Or maybe you can't take me by force. Maybe all you can do is threaten."

The demon laughed.

Why should I do that? I need not play games with you to destroy you, were that my aim. I would only have to wait for your king to do it for me.

There was something to that. Sylvain was in a very real way a condemned man.

Or will you hesitate once more?

A vision of the lady Elysse appeared before him, as lovely as a spring day, her eyes laughing. The

vision changed, and she stood next to Marek Landale, wearing a formal wedding gown and veil. She turned from Sylvain to the king, melting into his arms, her gown shimmering and fading away as she did so. While their naked bodies entwined, Landale looked gloatingly over her shoulder at the governor.

You did not speak when you had the chance, and so the love of your life became another's.

The vision faded, to be replaced by the figure of Alex Ossale as he had looked at his execution, body broken by torture. Lassic, clothed in an executioner's garb, strode forth, a bright sword in his hand. With a single sweep of the blade, Ossale's head flew from the general's shoulders, and rolled across the dreamscape to come to rest at Sylvain's feet. The grisly relic looked up at him with mute appeal in his eyes.

You did not stand up for justice, and good men died. A friend lost his life.

Now it was Lassic who changed, his clothing metamorphosing into the twisted, regal armor he apparently wore at all times now.

You did not act, and a tyrant came to power. In all these things, you might have taken action and so prevented disaster, but you hesitated. You stayed your hand, Sylvain, and so death came.

Elysse laid out on a funeral bier, in the grave-clothes of a fallen queen. Ossale's corpse hurled into a potter's field, the nameless burial of a traitor.

Now it is your life at stake, Governor. You are the tyrant's enemy. Nothing can save you from his wrath.

Nothing but me.

Will you hesitate again?

It was right. All his life, he'd been afraid, too cautious to risk himself on an untried venture. Too afraid of the consequences of failure.

"What would be the price for your help?" he asked the saccubus warily.

What do you care? I am offering you your life. This is your one and only chance to save yourself.

Decide, Sylvain.

Choose to live or choose to die.

The monster's voice echoed raucously around him. The Governor could feel its contempt for his past failures. It was certainly not offering this out of respect for him. No, if it was going to save his life, it would strictly be for reasons of its own.

Sylvain wasn't sure he wanted to support those reasons.

Is it any better to walk into certain death? came unbidden into his mind. Is inaction so much a way of life that it is worth refusing to live?

Decide now, Sylvain.

He made his choice.

* * * * *

The four Robotcops escorted the Governor from the spaceship to a waiting landrover, an armored multi-wheeled vehicle used for overland transport. This one was manned by more robots, rather than fallible Palman soldiers.

It was not empty, however.

When the machines ushered Sylvain into the rear passenger compartment, a green-robed figure was waiting for them.

"We were not expecting anyone," the lead Robotcop said.

"Command decisions are not required to be discussed with you," replied the figure in a strange, hissing voice. It turned, and the Governor realized that it wore a full-face mask fitted with a breathing apparatus, a long, flexible tube running from the mask's mouth.

A being used to a different kind of air?

An...alien priest?

"You have been programmed to accept my commands?" it inquired.

"We have."

"You will return the Governor to Paseo and release him, unharmed."

"We were given orders to--"

"Those orders have been countermanded! I speak now for your king. Obey me!"

"We obey," the machine affirmed.

Dark Force chuckled dryly. Lashiec would be enraged to lose his petty revenge, of course, but a stiff reminder of whom the man once named Lassic served would be adequate to deal with that.

Do you see, Sylvain? it thought to the consciousness that remained trapped inside the Governor's body. As you, I possess even more control over the government than through Lashiec. As a known rival of the king, sooner or later I will encounter any resistance which poses a legitimate threat. Then, I can crush them from within, or, if I prefer, direct their actions for my own purposes.

Trapped in the depths of his own soul, Teras Sylvain could only scream in response.

A Heart As Cold As Stone

Chapter 1The wine was brilliant crimson, the color of the flame that burned in a ruby's inner heart. The crystal goblet glinted and sparkled in the seeing chamber's starlight. Walls, ceiling, and floor alike were hewn from blocks of obsidian quarried from the lava fields south of Bortavo, and in their jetty depths shone gleaming pinpoints, the stars of the Andromeda galaxy and the three planets of the Algo solar system.

The hand holding the goblet was slender, with long, tapering fingers. The arm was clothed in midnight silk, the sleeve of an elegant gown that draped a slim, exquisite form. Soft violet hair flowed like a rippling wave down the woman's shoulders and back, and eyes as silver as laconia gleamed in a face that possessed the alabaster beauty of a statue. She was utterly expressionless, not

serene but merely cold, no, more...detached. Worn at her waist, slung from a cloth-of-silver baldric set with rubies and amethysts, was an incongruous element, a heavy, double-bitted axe whose blade cast back the starlight like a mirror. Laconia, without a doubt, the powerful weapon was a jarring note of brutality against its bearer's elegance and delicacy. Yet she bore it without effort; her movements seemed completely unaffected by the axe's weight or bulk.

The woman was an Esper wizard, perhaps the paramount Esper of all history. She was a legend, but not the kind told in bardic songs or read as an exciting tale. It was a legend whispered in shadowy corners, one told to unruly children to make them behave. The wizardess was over fifteen hundred years old. A thousand years ago, she had helped fight against the One Who Comes with the Millennium, destroying it for another ten centuries. The Palmans had hailed her as a protector and champion, but not to the extent of giving up their petty political allegiances to follow her when she commanded.

She had made mistakes too, she freely admitted. The wizardess had been preoccupied with transforming herself into a new order of life, a new height of magic, to rule well. She had been remote and distant, intervening only when something caught her attention, handling the problem with lethal directness, as efficiently as possible so that she could return to her studies. Efficiency was not a coin that bought Palman hearts or forged allegiances. Nor was the savagery of her underlings, who were too often greedy and power-drunk, with their mistress too inattentive to rein them in.

She'd won her ascension, her transfiguration into an immortal creature of magic, more than Palman, more even than Esper. Won it just in time to see her other dream smashed, her armies scattered, her creatures slain, as the defenders of Palma's kingdoms assailed the very tower she now inhabited. Her hand rested lightly on the laconian axe as she remembered its blade shining in the moonglow of that long-ago night. In the hands of Troy Ardastine, it had cleaved the bodies of her generals just as it had struck down the sorcerers and marauders who'd fought for Dark Force.

Medusa hoped that Troy's shade was resting peacefully. His death was one of the few she felt sufficient empathy for to regret. She sipped at her wine, letting the rare and exquisite vintage slide past her lips, but its night-jeweled flavor failed to capture her attention. Very little did, less and less as she aged.

She'd let them think her dead, that she'd perished in the final combat with her enemies' champions. It was easier that way; her political dreams were past and she wanted to experience the world anew. Unfortunately, Medusa had found no amusement, no challenge, not even diversion. A flaw in her character, perhaps, she mused as she swirled the wine in its glass. She was satisfied only by things on a grand scale. Immortality, to Medusa, was merely an eternity of ennui.

Undoubtedly that was why this millennium she had decided to ally herself with the shadowspawn and become the viceroy of its puppet King, why she used her arts to create monsters to infest the planet and drive the cowed citizenry to the residential areas where they hid behind the "protection" of Lassic's machines. Should Dark Force succeed in its aims, all life in Algo would be snuffed out, including her own. Should it fail it would be, to use a trite expression, over her dead body. Either way, the endless tedium of her existence would be over.

Either way, it would be grand.

* * * * *

"Now?" Tomas asked.

Rogan shook his head.

"Not yet," said the leader of the resistance. "Wait for it..."

The van rumbled along the winding road that wove its way through the forest hills.

"If I don't pull it now, it'll be--"

Rogan laid his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"If you pull it too soon, it won't do any good. Wait...wait..."

The van rounded another curve.

"Now!"

Tomas yanked the rope, jerking the support stakes out from underneath the piled debris. Rocks and dirt went sliding, tumbling down the hillside and into the road, nearly striking the van. Stones bounced off the armored sides, and the vehicle crunched to a stop.

Myau observed the results, the Musk Cat's tail twitching.

"This trick is so old it's got cobwebs hanging off it."

The burly, broad-shouldered warrior next to him ran a hand through crewcut blond hair the same color as the Musk Cat's fur.

"It doesn't have to be new, Myau. It just has to work."

"It's a matter of style, meow."

One of the van's front doors swung open and a uniformed soldier got out, a common trooper in the tyrant Lassic's army. The soldier looked at the landslide and cursed foully.

"The front wheels are buried," he barked. "Come on, Gort. Let's get a couple shovels and get to work."

The driver got out as well and flipped open a corrugated steel tool box, pulling out two utility shovels. He handed one to the other trooper and went around to the other side of the van.

"That's our cue!" Myau said. "Let's go, Odin!"

Odin drew the heavy, short-handled iron axe from his belt. He waved to the others waiting on the ridge on the other side of the road and then charged down the slope with Myau at his heels.

Timing was everything. The troopers were equipped with heat guns, small but powerful weapons capable of inflicting hideous damage on flesh and bone. The resistance didn't have pistols; they needed to get the troopers out and vulnerable to have any chance of capturing the van. Odin and Myau moved quickly and were on the soldier before he had a chance to reach for his gun.

"What the--" he gasped. He barely got his shovel up in time to block Odin's axe-swing, the powerful blow nearly jarring the tool from his hands. He had no time to prepare a counterstrike because Myau was on him, scratching and clawing, razor-sharp nails cutting through the uniform and the flesh beneath. The soldier howled, swatting at the cat, but it made no difference as the axe hammered down, killing him.

On the other side of the van Odin hoped a similar scene was taking place as Cyan and Albert took out the other soldier. Myau was already a step ahead, scampering around the back of the van to lend

a hand if need be. It wasn't, though; the blue-haired girl and the wiry ex-street thief were grinning.

"Got the keys," Cyan announced, spinning them on her finger.

"Well, let's make sure we got the right truck," Myau noted. "It would be a shame if this turned out to be construction supplies for Triada Prison or something."

"Check."

Cyan slipped a key into the back door lock and turned it.

Suddenly the doors exploded outward. Cyan was hit and knocked sprawling. Framed inside the open portal was a robotcop, one of the mechanical enforcers Lassic had inflicted on the people of Algo. It was one of the helmeted police models rather than the less Palman-looking, more powerful military units, but it was still lethal. It jumped down from the van and the three resistance fighters sprang at it.

The robotcop's left hand flashed out, catching Albert's shortsword by the blade and ripping it out of his hand. Its right arm snapped up, blocking Odin's axe. Its foot lashed off the ground and connected with the hurtling Myau in midair; the Musk Cat tumbled and came up hissing angrily.

Pivoting jerkily but quickly, the robotcop spun towards Odin and hammered its steel fists into his body, knocking the big warrior down with a straight right. With no opponents in front of it in hand to hand range, it snapped its needler rifle off its back and sprayed clusters of tiny darts at its foes. Cyan took several hits, while Myau sprang aside just in time. Albert wasn't so lucky; his torso was penetrated by dozens of flechettes, killing him at once.

It was bad enough with just its fists, Odin thought. Now that it had its gun...gun. That was it! Rolling to his feet, Odin scrambled around the van to the soldier he'd killed. He heard the hiss of the needlegun and grunts and howls of pain, urging him on. Thankfully the trooper wasn't laying on his weapon; it was easy to unstrap the holster and yank out the pistol. Odin ran back to the fight and started pulling the trigger again and again, sending lethal heat beams sizzling into the robotcop's body. Even after it fell, he continued to fire, until the technological monster was no more than a pile of slagged metal.

"Nice thinking, Odin," Myau congratulated him.

"How is everybody?"

"I'm fine," the Musk Cat said, flicking his tail. "Cyan's leg was hit badly, but she should be all right with first aid. Albert..." There was no need for him to say more; they both had seen what the needler had done to the young man.

Then, Tomas and Rogan were there, the bearded leader clapping his hands once to get everyone's attention.

"Come on, people, we've got to move. Tomas, see to Cyan's leg. Odin, grab a shovel. We've got to get the van out of our trap before any more traffic comes by. The way things are now, it's ten to one anything traveling between towns is going to be a military vehicle. Let's get it in gear!"

* * * * *

Hours later, the surviving team members returned to the underground complex the resistance used as its base. They'd shored up the twisted network of natural tunnels called Medusa's Cave in places with stone walls and with timbers and crossbeams, but for the most part it was left as Nature had

created it.

"I'll supervise the unloading," Rogan told the others. "You four go get some R&R.; You deserve it."

Odin nodded and headed for the mess hall. The four of them managed to secure a corner table and a six-pack. While Myau curled up in a chair, Tomas looked hesitantly at the beer. Odin didn't respond at first; fourteen was a little young. Then he shrugged and handed the kid a bottle, because he figured it was pretty hypocritical to say Tomas was old enough to go on a field mission where soldiers and robotcops might shoot him dead but not old enough to have a drink. Tomas took a pull on the bottle and made a face.

"How do you people drink this stuff?"

"It's an acquired taste."

Myau flicked his long ears dismissively.

"Which makes me wonder why you spend the time to acquire it, meow."

Odin didn't answer. No one said anything for a while, until Cyan spoke up.

"Any of you going to miss him?"

Odin didn't respond, only watched the flickering, dimly orange light from the nearly exhausted flashes the resistance used for interior illumination play across her face. It cast odd shadows, similar to and yet different from candlelight.

"I mean, he was just a sneak thief. Used to break into houses and shops, steal what he could. The kind of guy you'd want to see in prison if the law wasn't run by Lassic. I know that, but I--" She choked off, a tear running from each eye.

"He was a comrade," Odin said. "Doesn't matter what he was before that." He took a long swig of his beer, a cheap commercial brand from his hometown, Scion, but still better than most of the stuff they got. "He had the guts to go down fighting a robotcop. That's enough for me."

Cyan nodded.

"I just wish it was easier."

"Death is never easy," Myau said with grim accuracy, "unless you're someone like Lassic."

Another long silence followed before Tomas, with the resiliency of youth, piped up.

"So what's going to happen to all that stuff we stole?"

"Well," Odin explained, "first off, a couple of crates are going to go to the black marketeer in Scion who tipped us off about the shipment. Then we'll be keeping about half of what's left for ourselves, food, medical supplies, batteries, flashes, radio equipment. We'll also keep the heat guns and the needlegun since we need all the weapons we can get. The rest we'll send to Eppi."

"Eppi? How come?"

Myau yawned.

"They're having a rough time of it. The monsters have made the countryside too dangerous for easy travel and Lassic is using it as an excuse to herd the people into the cities. The outlying villages are

almost completely cut off and can't get key supplies other than what they produce themselves. Eppi doesn't even have electric power; they ran out of fuel for the district plant. If Lassic keeps this up, most of Palma will wind up with the same level of technology as in medieval times."

"Light, that's awful. I'm glad we're helping."

Odin sighed.

"Me, too. I wish it didn't all seem so futile, though. We spend one life in exchange for a van, three guns, and some supplies, destroying a robotcop and killing two soldiers. At that rate, Lassic and Medusa won't have to hunt us down. We'll all be dead long before we get a chance to do any real damage."

"It's not just Lassic, either," contributed Cyan. "Remember Adon just yesterday morning? They say three green slimes just oozed out of a crack in the wall and were on him before he could do anything."

Odin slammed his empty bottle down on the table.

"I'd thought we wiped out their breeding pit last month!"

Myau snorted.

"You know those things. They slip through even the tiniest fissures. There's probably a couple of pits buried deep in the rock. At least the Wing Eyes usually stick to their nests and avoid large groups of people."

Odin shook his head.

"Light, how are we supposed to rid all Algo of a monster if we can't even get rid of the ones in our own base?"

He pushed back from the table.

"I'm goin' for a walk. If I keep sitting around here I'll just wind up thinking."

"No chance of that, meow," the Musk Cat teased, but his heart wasn't in it.

* * * * *

"It's time for you to go," the sorcerer hissed, his voice strange and alien from behind his mask.

Medusa's gaze drifted languidly towards him, but there was nothing weak or listless in her laconia-silver eyes when they fastened upon Dark Force's minion.

"Do not presume to command me."

"I speak the words of our master!" the red-cloaked spellcaster claimed boldly.

"Your master," Medusa corrected. "I have agreed to serve Dark Force's interests because it suits me to do so. He understands this, while you clearly do not."

"All serve the master!"

Medusa raised her hand in a graceful, fluid motion, then leveled it at the magician of chaos.

"Hewn," she whispered almost gently. A slashing spiral of wind drilled into the withered body beneath the sorcerer's robes, ripping it apart. The corpse struck the ground with a sickening thud. It was no particular loss; through the power of the black blood of the Darkness the sorcerer would undoubtedly be resurrected to serve again. Most likely it had already occurred many times in the past.

The thought was a chilling one for the undying wizardess. The idea that death might only be a transitory release was a horror she could not bear to face.

Unfortunately, Medusa had to admit that the sorcerer had been right. He'd been presumptuous to command her, but it was time for her monthly tour of Palma's outlying regions. Lassic kept order in the cities by means of his robotcops, but in the villages which more and more were coming to resemble those of a millennium ago she was the symbol of their king's "justice." It gave them a different face to fear.

Medusa descended her throne and emerged from the seeing chamber. Waiting outside was one of her servants, a young lieutenant in Lassic's army who'd displayed a remarkable loyalty to her. Perhaps he was struck by her beauty, perhaps it was something else, but the expression on her face as she came out was one of...relief.

"My lady, you are...all right?"

"I am," she replied.

"I've never seen one of the alien priests before, my lady. I was worried that, perhaps..."

She waved his concern aside, saving him the trouble of finding the words.

"He is not something you need to fear, for now. Now, go and have my hovercraft prepared. It seems that I have a journey ahead of me."

Chapter 2Odin, as it turned out, was not the only one concerned with the rebels' position. The same thing, it seemed, had been preying on Rogan's mind, which was why he had called a meeting of the entire Resistance cell.

"The key to a successful guerrilla war, as I've said," he told them, "is never to meet the enemy forces head-on. Harass the enemy through ambush and let the word of your successes draw people to your side. Only when your forces actually do constitute an army should they dare act like one."

The ex-army major jammed his hands in his pockets.

"Problem is, we're not doing enough damage, and we're taking too much in return. Lassic is rounding up our supporters and we're losing lives in battle faster than we can replace those losses. Other resistance cells are forming, but for the most part Lassic has the people too cowed to join us."

His gaze swept over the expectant faces.

"What we need is a success, one so breathtaking, so tremendous, that it will energize the people of Palma. Something people will talk about, that will make them realize that it is possible to make a stand against the tyrant."

Myau raised his head off his front paws.

"So who are we going to assassinate?"

Rogan looked at him and shook his head.

"Really, Myau, hasn't anyone ever told you to let an old man have his moment?"

"I'm sorry, meow."

"You do mean an assassination, then?" Odin asked.

"I do."

An instant buzz passed through the group, whispering both excited and dubious. Rogan had their attention, all right.

"Wait a minute," one woman said, getting to her feet. "Fighting the king is one thing, but murder is something else entirely. I didn't join the Resistance to become a killer!"

There were nods and murmurs of agreement from the crowd, so Rogan quickly held his hands up for silence.

"I understand your concerns," he said. "I had the same ones myself when I was thinking this over. The fact is, though, that there is always a certain amount of dishonor inherent in guerrilla tactics. It means stealth, attacking from ambush, things that ring false for most of us. But let me ask you this: if you've decided that you're going to kill someone, does it really matter whether you kill them face to face on a battlefield or stealthily with an assassin's tactics? The end result is the same; they're still dead, and you've killed them. We are fighting for the freedom of all Algo. If we were to, say, set off a bomb and kill innocent people along with our target, then that really would be evil, but to fight Lassic in the only way we can? I think the real question that needs to be asked is, is our target truly deserving of death?"

"This could get really philosophical in a big hurry," one man mentioned.

"Then let's get down to brass tacks," Odin said. Philosophy wasn't his strongest point. "Who's the target?"

"Medusa."

There were thirty-three people in Rogan's audience. He'd captured the attention of every last one.

"Rogan," asked a lean, bronze-skinned man named Asher, "are you out of your mind?"

"Yeah," Cyan added. "That tower of hers is a fortress. You'd have to have an army just to get near her, unless you were some kind of legendary hero or something."

Rogan stroked his beard.

"As far as I've heard, that is absolutely correct."

"You've gotta be kiddin'," groaned Merrick, a broad-shouldered man from Eppi. "Or Asher's right an' you really are crazy."

"Why don't we listen and find out, meow?"

"Thank you," Rogan told the Musk Cat. "Now, as I said, I agree that her tower is unassailable, either by force or stealth. Storming the tower is not our only option, though. Unlike Lassic, who hides

himself away in his castle where we can't find him, Medusa regularly leaves her home to tour the villages and outlying towns she nominally controls."

"Why'd she do that?" Merrick asked.

Rogan turned to him.

"To keep the fear alive. Lassic's robotcops largely ignore the villages, and the army visits them only rarely. Cut off from most trade, they've had to become self-sufficient. If his policy continues, the villages might eventually declare their independence. Medusa keeps them cowed, afraid to rise up against the tyrant."

Myau clicked his claws on the ground.

"You know, I think it may also be to ease the fear."

"Oh?"

The Musk Cat's gaze swept over the assembled Resistance.

"We're all thinking it, meow. None of us wants to admit it, but we're thinking it. Medusa, the legendary monster. Is she really the same person? If so, how did Lassic bring her back, and why? Lassic may be a tyrant, but he is the rightful King of Algo, which is why more people haven't revolted against him by now. Medusa, though...I don't know if you're scared, but I certainly am. The idea of fighting a monster that battled heroes centuries ago..." He shivered. "I think Medusa has to appear in public regularly to keep the mob from rising up against her out of fear. She has to convince the people that she's not a monster."

"Wait a sec, Myau," Odin said. "You just lost me there. You say that she's not a monster, but that you're scared she is."

Myau flicked his tail.

"Three things, Odin. One, I said she had to convince people she wasn't a monster. I didn't actually say she wasn't, meow. Two, fear isn't logical; I'm afraid and I'll be afraid until I've got absolute proof, not just deductions. Three...if she isn't the real Medusa, what kind of person would choose to name herself after a storybook fiend?"

"We're getting a bit far afield, here," Rogan said, regaining control of the discussion. "The important thing is that for whatever reason or reasons, she does travel and make public appearances. That puts her outside her tower, in relatively unsecure locations away from her army. Places where we can get to her."

"Okay, now that's more like it!" agreed Asher. "How are we going to do it, though?"

Dean and Kyla, the Resistance's chemists, glanced at one another, then Dean hesitantly spoke up.

"We have the supplies for a very large bomb or several smaller ones. It would be crude, but it would work...only, I don't like the idea of a bombing. It would be so easy to hurt innocent people."

"I agree," Rogan said.

"Sniping is out," contributed Odin. "We don't have the weaponry we'd need for that, or someone with the skill."

"I guess that just leaves a commando-style assault. Infiltrate the area and strike at close range."

Rogan nodded.

"That's how I saw it, too, Cyan, but then I had another idea."

Odin leaned back, folding his hands behind his head.

"Got one of your plans, do you?"

"That's right, a variation on the ambush we carried out yesterday."

Rogan wheeled a cart into place in the center of the room. It carried one of the Resistance's most valuable possessions, a small, powerful computer which their electronics expert, Keel, had rigged up to run on battery power. The energy cell Keel had set up could be charged by almost any type of power source, which was vital since they never knew what kind of supplies they'd be able to get ahold of at any given time. The rebel leader booted up the computer and activated the projection screen so that everyone could see.

"What I propose," he said, "is rather than try to penetrate Medusa's security, we instead lure her into penetrating ours, here."

"Won't that give away our location even if we succeed, meow?"

"I think it's a good trade. We give up a monster-infested base in exchange for destroying one of Lassic's most important officials. The fact is, while this dungeon is well-hidden from the authorities, the monsters are making it more of a liability than we can afford." He pressed a couple of buttons.

"What's this? Surveillance photos?"

"That's right. Scott and the late Albert got these with a digital camera."

"You must have been planning this for a long time, meow."

"For some months, actually. I knew we would never get at Lassic, but this seemed like a workable possibility. So I had a few cautious investigations made, and this is what I came up with."

He pointed at the screen.

"Medusa always travels by hovercraft. It's a military model, which means it will have vehicle-mounted weapons, but it's been redesigned as an official transport. Combat capability has been sacrificed for the sake of image. This open canopy, for example, instead of an armored bridge. Also, the secondary weapons pods that would normally be mounted just in front of the turbofan struts have been removed."

He changed the picture.

"While local army units are sometimes called in to assist security, many of the places she visits are too remote for that, so she always brings an escort with her."

Rogan altered the picture again. It now showed a close-up of the hovercraft's bridge, with Medusa sitting in a thronelike command chair. To either side were the broad, imposing shapes of military-type robotcops, only these were a reddish-orange color instead of the usual gray.

"What's with the paint job on them robotcops?" Merrick asked.

"They aren't robotcops," Odin answered. "Those are androcops, the new, upgraded model. They're faster, better-armed, and with more powerful integral weaponry than the military-type robotcops."

"Which were about twice as bad as the police ones," Myau groaned.

"Of course," Rogan continued, "that isn't the only security she has. By our best estimates, there are an additional ten police-type robotcops in addition to a crew of five and an 'honor guard' of ten Palman soldiers. Obviously we can't beat that kind of force in a head-on fight, so we'll have to even the odds out. Here's my plan:"

He changed the picture again to display a digitized map of the area.

"The hovercraft can cross open terrain on or off the roads, but here in this stretch of hills, it has to follow the road because the ground is so irregular." He pointed, then changed the map to a close-up view. "Right here, we're going to block the road with a rockfall, much the same way we did with the transport van yesterday." A blinking red bar appeared on the screen to indicate the position. "Obviously this won't stop them; the hovercraft's weapons will blast right through it. At this point, though, we stage a sniper attack." This time a green dot appeared. "The snipers will be equipped with the needler rifle and with bows. The intent isn't to kill Medusa; we don't have the firepower to count on it, so try for the troopers. More than likely, they'll order a squad to pursue the snipers. At that point, the snipers flee. Don't take chances; there's no reason to get killed over a diversion," he instructed.

The green dot retreated, pursued by several small blue dots.

"Most likely the hovercraft will wait in this spot for the patrol to return. When the troops it dispatches after the snipers are sufficiently far off, or if the hovercraft begins to move"--Rogan pressed a button, and an explosion flashed on the screen--"we set off the bomb. Now, I'm not counting on destroying the hovercraft this way, given our weaponry limitations and its armor, but I figure we can at least cripple it, keep it from moving."

"That you can count on," Kyla said. "With luck, we'll even take out some of those rust-bucket robotcops while we're at it."

"The next step is where things get tricky," Rogan said. "Next we attack with a large force, around twenty or so. In other words, we convince them that they're in an ambush. With their vehicle crippled, the natural response is to try and fight their way out of the trap. When they start coming out in force, we fall back, luring them on."

"Won't they sense a trap?" Asher asked.

"Possibly, but remember their considerable advantage in equipment. They well may believe that they've foiled our attack and turned the tables. Plus, the robotcops are programmed to continue attacking and pursue targets once they've engaged the enemy; with luck they'll be coming after us before Medusa can think the situation through."

The screen changed as several blue dots pursued a cluster of green ones from the road through the forest until they reached the ironically-named Medusa's Cave.

"Here the forces split off. Some turn aside in the forests, while others hide here and here." Yellow boxes lit in the hillside. The first of the green Resistance fighters to reach them flowed inside, while the others scattered into the woods. "Undoubtedly some of the soldiers will continue pursuit into the forest. They may enter the cave on their own. If they do not, then the last group of fighters will lure them in with attacks from the cave mouth. Once Medusa enters, another bomb is triggered, and the

cave will be sealed."

"Hey, hold up!" Merrick interrupted. "You gonna seal a buncha our guys in there with her?"

Rogan nodded firmly.

"Exactly. Our best fighters, armed with most of our best equipment, fighting in a closed arena which they know well. It's the best opportunity I can think of for us to have a chance to beat Medusa."

Myau sat up, interested.

"So how do our fighters get out? We'll need to show proof that she's dead, too, something like the traditional head on a pike, if we're going to use this to rally the population to our cause."

Odin had noticed that the more serious the topic, the better Myau's Palman got. He figured that it was because the Musk Cat concentrated more on articulating his thoughts when it was important. It had to be hard, living one's entire life among people who didn't speak his language, having to adapt to their ways...

"Plus, you'd really like that axe, wouldn't you, meow?"

"What?" It took Odin a couple of seconds to realize that Myau was now talking to him.

"The laconian axe that Medusa carries with her. If we're going to beat Lassic, we'll need something special by way of weapons, and that's definitely it."

"That's true. I remember what happened to that General Hallack when he tried to kill Lassic in SC 335. His ceramic sword shattered on the king's armor. Whatever it's made of, common weapons won't scratch it."

"Right, meow. Which makes me ask again, how do we unseal the cave after we close it up?"

"Carefully planted charges inside one of the air shafts. Once we win, they can be triggered. If we...fail...the cave remains sealed. Medusa will be trapped inside without supplies, and it will take a mining operation to get her out." Rogan looked down as he finished the explanation; clearly, he didn't like having to consider a loss, that Medusa might destroy the rebels, but he had to think of it. A leader was forced to, if he wanted to do a good job. He raised his head, and his gaze swept the crowd. "Are we agreed?"

There was a single frozen moment.

"I'm for it," Odin spoke up. "I want to face her."

"Me too!" Tomas piped. "Let's fight Lassic's oppression, not hide in a cave!"

It was as if a dam had broken. Asher, Kyla, Merrick, and then all the rest were cheering, shouting their enthusiasm for the plan, their willingness to fight.

Of them all, only Myau remained silent.

Chapter 3Every member of the Resistance threw themselves wholeheartedly into the preparations. Their trap had to be perfect, each one of them carrying out their tasks flawlessly, or it would fail. The opposition was too strong to take chances with, and the reactions each step of the plan were designed to provoke too precise to allow for any mistakes. Each part had to go off like clockwork,

or it would all come crashing down. What might happen then was something no one wanted to talk about.

They didn't have time to waste, either. One of the Resistance's prize possessions was a military-grade radio scanner, one "liberated" by Rogan when he decided that he couldn't stand serving in Lassic's army any longer. Keel hadn't had to work on its power source; it had integral solar panels so that it could be recharged in the field. Over that scanner they'd heard that Medusa's latest tour had already begun. If the resistance couldn't pull it off this time, there might not be enough of them left to try when they got another chance.

Dean and Kyla, of course, had the hardest job. Bomb-making in and of itself wasn't as difficult as most people thought. With a knowledge of chemistry, a frightening number of common products became ingredients for explosives, which in turn could be triggered by radio detonators rigged by someone with a basic education in electronics. Skilled demolitions work, on the other hand, was much trickier, building not merely the biggest boomer possible but one that could do the precise job it was called upon to do.

"Okay," Kyla finally reported to Rogan once the job was done, "we've got three detonators for you; Keel color-coded them so someone doesn't set off the wrong bomb at the wrong time. Red, that's for the road." She set down the small plastic casing on the leader's table. "Blue is to seal the cave. Press this one and the entrance passage gets filled with several tons of rock. It's a series of charges instead of just one, each designed to rip out the ceiling above it, take out the supports, and bring down the hillside."

"And the escape passage?"

"Green. We've already gotten those in place and fixed with the detonators, so be careful with that button. The bombs are shaped charges, and believe me, that was difficult without plastic explosives. With luck, each will destroy a strategically placed chunk of the air shaft's walls, opening it up just enough that a person can squeeze through, even Merrick. The problem is, we obviously haven't been able to test it. If we've miscalculated, or for that matter if we didn't but if some of the supplies we used aren't up to the level of quality we need, the explosives will seal the shaft instead of opening it, and this base will become a tomb."

"There's one more thing," Dean added. "We've done the best we can, but these are still pretty crude devices. Basically, they're not stable. There's a chemical breakdown constantly going on, so that first they'll get touchy, able to go off if exposed to too much heat or an electrical surge. Then, they'll go inert if they last that long."

"How long?" Rogan asked immediately.

"We can't be a hundred percent sure, but...maybe three days from now before they become dangerously unstable and another week until they won't work at all."

"That should be fine...considering that by what we've been able to pick up over radio channels, we've got about eighteen hours to have everything in place. Take a team and get the rest of the bombs planted."

The chemists nodded in unison, then left the leader's room, nearly colliding with Odin on the way past.

"You wanted to see me?" the big warrior asked.

"That's right. You know that I've picked you to lead the cave team, team, the one that will fight

against Medusa."

Odin nodded.

"I know, and with all respect, Rogan, I think you should get someone else. You want me to fight Medusa, I'll fight her, but I'm no leader. I've learned that in the past."

Rogan looked intently at the tall blond man in the utilitarian red battlesuit, then shook his head.

"I can't do that. You're the one the others look up to. I have to lead the engagement team myself to make sure they do the job right. That leaves you as the one man everyone can count on to lead them into a victory-or-death battle."

"Rogan, I don't know how to lead. I sure as heck don't know enough about small-unit tactics--"

The leader cut him off, shaking his head.

"This operation is already overplanned as it is. Your job is to fight and to give the others the courage to fight alongside you."

Odin sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"All right, Rogan, but I don't like it."

"I'm not asking you to like it, just to do what you can to free Algo. That isn't why I asked you here, though."

"Oh?" Odin was curious.

The leader rose from his chair.

"Myau was right, of course. In many ways, he's the most perceptive of us all."

Odin chuckled.

"Don't let him hear you say that; he's already come to that same conclusion all on his own without us confirming it. What was he right about this time?"

"About Medusa being the legendary monster."

The humor in Odin's mood was chilled in an instant.

"You believe that, Rogan?"

Shrugging, the ex-major replied, "I couldn't say. I'm a soldier, not an Esper. Legend's aren't part of my experience. Contingencies, though, are something I'm used to facing--being ready for things that could go wrong even if they aren't likely."

There was a tension in Rogan's face and voice that Odin hadn't expected to see in the Resistance leader. Was it because of the thought of facing Medusa? Or was it something more mundane, the knowledge that this was his plan and that the entire movement was depending on it to work? Either way it worried him. They needed Rogan; having the right leader was vital. Like he had just said, Odin knew he wasn't a leader. He was the kind who aspired to be a knight, not a king, to stand at the commander's right hand and fight to make sure that commander got the chance to do what had to be done.

"I suppose in monster-hunting, you have to be prepared with medicines to counter various abilities the creatures may have? Antidotes, paralysis cures, that sort of thing?"

"Yeah...Is that what you mean by contingencies?"

"In this case, almost exactly. Odin, what would you consider the most frightening part of the Medusa legend?"

"The stone gaze. Turning a man into stone by just looking at him...that's something you can't prepare for."

"Not exactly."

"What?"

Rogan went over to a locked chest, set the entry code, and lifted the lid once the bolt had snapped back. The first item he lifted out was a military laser gun, an officer's weapon capable of spraying multiple targets with devastating beams of light. Odin hadn't even known the leader had it, though it stood to reason he'd have kept any useful army gear. The next item he removed was a small plastic bottle shaped like faceted glass. Inside was a brilliant fuschia-pink liquid.

"This," Rogan said, "is Alsulin." He gave the vial to Odin, put the laser back, and relocked the chest.

"What does it do?"

"It's a Motavian medicine. The name is actually a corruption of the Motavian word Alshline, but that's incidental. The important part is that Alsulin cures petrifaction. It returns things that have been turned to stone to their natural state, none the worse for wear."

Odin stared, wide-eyed, at the little vial in his hand.

"Where'd you get this?"

"Black market. A trader had it smuggled aboard with a cargo shipment from Paseo on Motavia."

The warrior's eyes narrowed.

"You've been planning this for even longer than you'd admitted."

"Of course," Rogan agreed. "I've been considering an attack on Medusa for some months now. It was one of those contingency plans, one to use if we were making little headway. The specific details didn't jell until recently, but the plan's been in development for some time."

Odin grinned and clapped the former soldier on the back.

"You old fox! We've all wondered how you keep pulling plans out of your hat. We all thought you were this tactical genius who could put together a scheme out of thin air."

"It's the soldier's motto: plan ahead, and you'll keep your head."

Odin tucked the Alsulin bottle away in a belt pouch.

"Anything else?"

"Go get some rest. We've got less than eighteen hours, by my figures."

"Good idea."

It was a good idea, but Odin found himself unable to follow through on it. He ended up lying on his back, arms folded behind his head, staring up at the bare stone ceiling. A knot of tension had his stomach in a tight grip as he tried to think like Rogan. Plan ahead...how would he fight Medusa? Could she be lured into a trap? Would straight hand-to-hand combat work better, or ranged attacks? What if some of her escort made it in with her? How powerful were those androcops, anyway? Was she really Medusa, or just someone using the name?

He didn't hear the soft padding feet until Myau peeked over the edge of the bunk.

"You're thinking; I can tell."

"It's something we Palmans do, fuzzball."

"Only now and again, meow."

"Fun-ny."

Myau twitched an ear.

"Usually you don't worry like this, even when facing danger. What's so special this time?"

Odin turned his head.

"Being in charge. I'm trying to plan our team's strategy."

Myau snorted.

"Don't be silly, meow."

"Huh?" was Odin's brilliant response.

"We don't know what's going to happen by the time things get to us tomorrow. Medusa may be alone, or she may have half her force with her. She may enter the cave freely or need to be forced in. She may be a shrewd politician or an immortal monster. There's no real way to know, and too many variables to plan for. All we can do is be as ready as we can, and do our best when the time comes."

"But--"

"No 'buts,' meow! You're our best fighter; after that incident with the two were bats you're the one people have heard of, the hero with the courage and strength to stand up to the tyrant. Be yourself, do your best, and let the rest of us take care of ourselves. That's the best way you can lead."

Odin sighed heavily. Myau was right, of course. He scratched the Musk Cat behind the ears.

"Thanks, partner."

"Nothing to it. Try and get some sleep, meow. You don't want to be taking a catnap when Medusa comes calling tomorrow. It's very bad manners."

* * * * *

"All right, everyone," Rogan declared the next morning to the assembled Resistance, "this is it. There's no turning back." With the laser gun holstered on his right hip, he looked even more like a

soldier than he usually did. "The bombs have been planted and the road hads been blocked. Lania," he addressed a tall, dark-skinned woman, "you're in charge of the ambush team. Remember, you're there to provide a diversion, so don't wait too long before fleeing. I'll be in overall command of the engagement team and lead the left wing. Jander is in charge of the right wing. Odin, the cave team is yours. We'll try to get her there for you; it's up to you to do the rest."

He took a deep breath. Emotional speeches weren't his forte.

"Before we go, I'd just like to say one thing. I served for eighteen years in the Army of Algo, before and after Lassic turned it into a tool of oppression. I've worked with a lot of good people, from cool-headed professionals to idealistic dreamers. Never, though, have I had the privilege of standing side by side with a better group of people than I am now. I'm honored that you chose to make me your leader."

Rogan cleared his throat, a bit choked up. "Now, let's move out! We rendez-vous at Eppi when it's all finished!"

* * * * *

Less than two hours later, Tomas found himself nestled into a spot on the hillside overlooking the winding road, cradling a bow gun in his hands. This would be the first time he'd ever fired it at anything other than a target, and he hoped he'd be able to. The thought bothered him. Could he really take a life with his own hands, even a soldier's? He glanced to his left, where Lania lay, the needlegun at the ready. She looked quiet and composed, focused on the job at hand.

The whirring of engines caught Tomas' attention; he looked up and saw the sleek midnight-blue hovercraft emblazoned with Lassic's symbol round the corner exactly as anticipated. It was long and aerodynamic, held aloft by a cushion of air and propelled by two turbofan engines mounted on winglike struts. The open-canopied top deck was just as Rogan had described it. The hovercraft slowed as it approached the barrier, and Tomas raised his weapon, sighting along the shaft. There was no more time to worry.

* * * * *

"What is wrong?" Medusa inquired as the hovercraft slowed.

"The road is blocked, my lady; it looks like some kind of rockslide."

Medusa frowned, glancing at the hills around her. The terrain was wrong for a natural rockslide.

"Can we clear a path through it with the craft's guns?" she asked the soldier who acted as the captain.

"We should be able to. It's worth trying, at least, my lady."

"Then do it. I have a feeling that this is not what it appears."

"Very well, Lady Medusa. Pilot, target that rock pile with the main battery and get this road cleared."

The pilot never got the chance to comply. A shower of barbed flechettes from a needlegun punctured his upper body at high velocity, catapulting him away from the command console. The needler fire was joined by arrows, one of which took the captain in the shoulder. The robotcops stationed on deck took several arrow hits each, but the sharp points bounced harmlessly off their metal bodies. The needler was more effective, putting a steady stream of fire into a police-model

robotcop that left it smoking and sparking.

"Dispatch four robotcops to deal with the snipers," Medusa instructed the androcop to her right. "Capture them if feasible; kill them otherwise." She turned to the other androcop and said, "Activate the weapons and destroy the obstruction so we can escape this killing zone."

Idly, she raised her hand, gestured towards the slope, and called forth a fire spell.

"Flaeli!"

A tree detonated on the slope, and a young man's corpse tumbled about fifteen feet down the hillside before coming to rest against a rock.

* * * * *

Rogan hated magic. Espers might die like anyone else, but they could kill very unlike normal people. It gave him a sick feeling when he watched Medusa destroy a life with no more than a word and a gesture. His thumb itched to detonate the bomb at once in revenge, but he waited, keeping to the plan. Sure enough, four robotcops disembarked and started running up the hill. Hopefully, the surviving two snipers were already fleeing.

Then things began to go wrong. Two streaks of fire burst from the hovercraft's bow and detonated against the rockfall, spraying up a cloud of stones and dirt. A second shot opened up enough space to clear the road. That made it now or never.

Rogan pushed the button.

Chapter 4"This is it," Odin unconsciously echoed Rogan, surveying his team. They were the best, he had to admit. There was Myau, of course; the two of them always worked together. The others, though, were the best warriors the Resistance had to offer: lean, deadly Asher with his titanium sword; powerful Merrick, who wielded an axe like Odin's, only his had a heavier head and a longer handle. There was Kyla, who used not only a knife but pellets of her own design that broke and released caustic chemicals over their target. Cyan had been equipped with one of the heat guns, with which she had demonstrated impressive skills. Scott was a lean, whiplike man who preferred to attack from stealth and was good at it, while the last member of the team, Georg, was primarily an archer.

"That speech was...short," Asher observed.

"I loved it, meow!"

"Oh, be quiet, fuzzball. We've got a chance to accomplish three major goals today. By defeating Medusa, we can remove one of Lassic's most powerful allies, prove to the people of Palma that the tyrant can be fought, and gain an incredible weapon to use in our fight. It's there for the taking, if we're up to the challenge."

"Darn straight!" Merrick exclaimed. "We'll give that witch a taste of her own medicine."

"Do we have a plan?" Kyla asked, tilting her head to one side.

Odin rubbed his chin.

"A small one. If we need to lure her into the cave with an attack, then Asher, Scott, and Georg will do it with arrow fire."

"Why not me?" Cyan protested. "My gun is much more powerful than their bows."

"Your leg won't let you shoot, then run quickly back into the cave," Odin told her. "The rest of us will wait at the second intersection and attack from ambush. Cyan and Kyla will attack first from long range, and we'll follow with hand-to-hand. At that point all shooters should grab a blade and dive in."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Asher said. "The key's probably going to be giving her multiple threats to contend with."

"How much longer do you think we'll have to wait?" wondered Scott. His question was answered by a roaring explosion of sound, like the crash of thunder from a lightning bolt striking very close by.

"Not very long at all, meow."

* * * * *

The force of the explosion was tremendous; the bomb buried in the dirt road had obviously been a first-rate job by Dean and Kyla. The hovercraft had been positioned slightly off the centerline of the road, so the force of the blast came up directly under its left strut, snapping it in two. The craft went spinning away, out of control, eventually crashing through several trees and coming to rest at a crazy angle. One of the trees it had smashed into fell over directly on it, slamming down onto the main deck, crushing the siderails and inflicting heavy damage on one of the androcops.

Rogan drew his laser gun.

"Let's go!" he ordered.

The two wings of the engagement team charged forward, gun and arrow fire spraying towards the downed hovercraft. Occasional shots from needlers or heat guns were fired back, but the vehicle was lying at a forty-five degree angle, making it difficult for the Palmans and nearly impossible for the robotcops to establish any kind of decent firing position. Just as Rogan had hoped, the enemy forces began to disembark. The four robotcops pursuing the sniper team, however, kept right on chasing them, the machines' limited intelligence keeping them from reacting to what was happening back on the road.

As the soldiers and robotcops got off the hovercraft, they were exposed and vulnerable, and more than one went down under concerted fire from the Resistance. Unfortunately, success bred confidence, and Jander led the right wing in a howling charge. Perhaps it was dreams of glory that inspired them, or they might just have gotten caught up in the heat of battle without having a cool head among them to rein in their enthusiasm. It might even have worked, had the soldiers and robotcops continued to descend to the ground in ones and twos, but they didn't. Instead, military training took over, and they started working in groups, providing covering fire from the hovercraft as each one disembarked. Rogan sprayed laser fire in the direction of the shooters while screaming the order to fall back, but it was too late. Every last one of the right wing lay cold and still on the ground by the time the black-clad wizardess slid down a rope from the wrecked hovercraft. She would have made a perfect target, but her troops pinned down the Resistance with a withering storm of shots.

"It's time," Rogan said. "Fall back to the cave."

"But...what about everyone else?" protested Dean, who was the closest one to the commander. "Jander...the whole right wing?"

"They're dead, Dean. All we can do for them now is try to win this so we can give them a decent burial."

* * * * *

"They're falling back," said Medusa's lieutenant, who was nominally in command of the remaining government troops. "We radioed a distress signal, so support should be on its way to pick us up. Shall we hold our position, my lady?"

"We pursue."

"Lady Medusa--"

Her gaze transfixed him like a rapier sliding through a man's heart.

"At best we have salvaged a stalemate from this day. The death of soldiers, the destruction of a hovercraft and several robotcops, and the insult to King Lassic's authority cannot be answered by anything less than the complete annihilation of our attackers. We will pursue them."

* * * * *

Lania grunted with pain as a spray of needler fire slashed into her legs and took her down. The robotcops had already killed Erik; now there was only her.

"You will drop your weapon and surrender," droned one of the four metal soldiers. They stood in a half-circle around the fallen sniper.

"Surrender? And become a toy for Lassic's torturers?" she whispered painfully.

"I repeat; surrender immediately."

She rolled over onto her back, swinging up the needlegun.

"Bite me," Lania growled defiantly, and emptied the entire clip into the nearest robot. Their demands for surrender rejected, the others quickly returned her fire, with lethal effect.

* * * * *

"I was wondering," Merrick spoke up. "How come we're gonna go to Eppi when this is all over?"

"It's the perfect place for us," Odin answered, only half listening. The sounds of battle were drawing nearer. "The forest is so dense that it's difficult to track through it. Without a compass, it's impossible to find your way through the winding paths. Plus, the mayor is a sympathizer. He can't do much, but he'll let us hide out for a few days, maybe even give us supplies."

He frowned as a sudden thought took him.

"You know, Merrick, that gives me an idea. I'm going to cache our compass here in the tunnels, so if we do get beaten, Lassic's goons won't be able to use it to hunt the others down."

"They've probably got their own compasses," Myau pointed out. "It's still a good idea, though. If they found it on you, they might be able to deduce where we were going."

"Where are you going to hide it?" Cyan asked.

"How about at the end of that long tunnel that runs out of the barracks? We never use it, anyway, so

they wouldn't think to look there."

Cyan brushed her azure hair out of her eyes.

"Sounds good to me. Better go do it now, 'cause we're going to need you in fifteen minutes or so."

Myau went with Odin, just in case any monsters decided that they would make their presence felt, but thankfully they remained in hiding. Odin concealed the compass beneath a loose rock in the floor.

"There's one other thing, Myau. Rogan gave me this." He took out the bottle of Alsulin and explained what the medicine did. "If it becomes necessary...I want you ready to use it." He tied the bottle to a cord and slipped it over the Musk Cat's head. "Let's get back before they need us."

Odin set off down the passage at once, but Myau took a moment to look at the bottle. Its top was shaped like the crystal stopper of an antique perfume bottle, but actually screwed on and off to form a tight seal. The Musk Cat took a few experimental tries, then his eyes widened.

"Odin..." he called. "Hey, Odin!" He scampered off down the passage, trying to catch up with his partner, to get his attention. Odin, I can't get the top off this bottle!

* * * * *

The robotcop lifted its rifle and crashed the butt down onto Dean's back, hammering the chemist into the muddy ground. Again and again it struck, the noise sickening, until there was no mistaking that the rebel was dead. Rogan's arm throbbed painfully where a heat gun blast had seared his flesh. Another good man dead. How many would this operation cost before it was over?

"Where?" the lieutenant roared in his face. "Where are the rest of your backstabbing friends?"

He backhanded Rogan, knocking him over. The other three prisoners winced.

That will be enough, Lieutenant," Medusa said calmly. Rogan had been surprised at how beautiful the Esper was, but not by the unnatural grace of movement that made her seem almost inhuman.

"My lady, eleven good soldiers and crew are dead because of these scum!"

"Your questions are unnecessary. There are several people hiding in that cave." She pointed at the entrance. Usually the Resistance kept it camouflaged, but it was open and exposed today since they were hoping for visitors. "I can sense their presence."

Medusa pointed at the androcops, then two robotcops in turn.

"You two, you, and you will accompany me. Lieutenant, you and your men will guard the prisoners, together with the other two robotcops."

Rogan's heart leapt as the Esper turned and led the way into the cave. Suddenly, after all the failures, things were working perfectly. His hand twitched; they'd taken his weapons but hadn't conducted a proper search yet. One by one the figures disappeared into the cave mouth, then a spark of light came from inside as one of the robots activated an internal flash unit. Now, timing was everything. Had it been long enough? Had it been too long? He felt like Tomas had a few days ago, eager to strike, not knowing when was right.

Now!

The rebel leader grabbed for his boot and pulled out the slim, blue-cased radio detonator.

"He's got a weapon!" someone shouted.

His thumb closed over the button. A moment later a heavy boot crashed down on his wrist, pinning it to the ground and making him let go of the detonator, but it was too late. The howl of the explosion was already ringing in his ears, and when he turned his head Rogan saw that the entrance to Medusa's Cave was choked with rubble.

"What did you do?" the lieutenant screamed, yanking the Resistance leader to his feet. "What did you do, you dung-eating sworm-kisser?" he shouted into Rogan's face.

Rogan smiled. It hurt--his lip had been cut by the officer's blow--but he managed. It was his last act of defiance. The lieutenant hurled him to the ground, drew his heat gun and fired a blast into Rogan's head.

* * * * *

The collapsing ceiling, Odin saw, had swallowed up the tail end of the line, all but the violet-haired wizardess and one androcop. "Now!" he ordered, wanting to take advantage of the moment of surprise. The glowing flash unit in the androcop's chest made a perfect target; Georg, Scott, Cyan, and Asher all fired and hit. Two of the arrows bounced off harmlessly while the third found a chink and stuck. The heat gun, though, inflicted the only noticeable damage.

Kyla went next, hurling one of her acid orbs with each hand. They shattered as they hit the androcop's armor, the chemicals inside beginning to eat into its metal body at once. Nonetheless, the robot stepped in front of Medusa to protect her, raised its right arm, and opened fire with its built-in laser. Georg was the first hit; Scott and Asher immediately dropped their bow guns, drew their swords, and charged. Cyan remained in her shooter's stance and pumped three more shots into the androcop.

In exchange, it put a laser beam through her heart.

The robot was almost down, though. Damaged by the earlier attacks, it moved jerkily and could not prevent Odin from crashing his axe down through its "neck," or Merrick from nearly severing it in two at the middle. The androcop fell, smashing into multiple pieces as it hit the cave floor. Behind it, Medusa was revealed, her face almost serene. Her laconia eyes seemed to glow in the sudden darkness, and her hand came up slowly, almost as if moving in water, yet no one could reach her before the sweeping gesture was made.

"Tandle!"

Jagged, crackling bolts of lightning exploded from the Esper's hand, slamming into the charging Resistance fighters. Odin and Merrick were knocked off their feet, while Asher seemed to freeze in place, muscles locked, before he crumpled. Scott was actually hurled against the stone wall by the spell's force. Only Kyla and Myau, being in the back ranks, were spared.

Angrily, the Musk Cat sprang at Medusa. Myau's sharp claws ripped and slashed at her beautiful face, and the wizardess shrieked in pain. With strength her slender body should not have possessed, she hurled the cat away from her. Medusa straightened, then thrust one hand upwards, summoning all her power. The Esper's voice rose in a wordless cry, and a pillar of varicolored light engulfed her. Odin dragged himself painfully to his feet, his entire body aching, waiting for whatever came next.

He wasn't prepared.

What emerged from the pillar of light was nothing like any of them had ever seen. Its torso was that of a Palman woman, still clad in black, still wearing the jeweled baldric that supported the laconian axe. Her face had the same serene visage, now cured of the injuries Myau had inflicted, with the same silver eyes. From the waist down, though, Medusa was no longer even remotely Palman. Her legs had been replaced by the sinuous body of a serpent, twenty feet long and as thick as her legs had been at the hip. Her hair had been changed to dozens of undulating, hissing, violet snakes, their tongues flickering and eyes glowing like dozens of scarlet pinpoints.

The question of whether she truly was the legendary monster, Medusa, had been emphatically answered.

"Run!" Odin ordered, grabbing at Merrick's arm. Kyla and Myau bolted, but Merrick didn't move fast enough. Still stunned by Medusa's thunder magic, he stumbled two steps, and then three snakes opened their mouths and shot streams of caustic venom at him. The big axeman went down, screaming horribly. Odin cursed, fleeing after the other two.

"What's the plan? Escape?" Kyla asked after they'd rounded two corners. Medusa was still coming after them, but they knew the dungeon and could make quick turns to shake off pursuit.

"I'm going to try taking her on," Odin said.

"Are you insane, meow?"

"This was the whole point of our plan, to get us in here to fight her. I won't give up."

Kyla shuddered.

"You'll get yourself killed, just like Merrick and Asher and Scott and Cyan and Georg and God knows how many others."

"I have to try," he insisted stubbornly.

"All right, but let's at least head towards the exit," Myau said. "That way if things go bad we can at least make a run for it."

"Just be ready with that Alsulin."

"Odin, about the Alsulin--"

"I know you want to help, but I need you to hang back and get ready to heal. If she turns you to stone then having the cure won't do any good."

The air shaft which had been wired as an escape route was at the end of a dead-end tunnel. Just before they reached the corner leading to it, Medusa emerged into the passage behind them. Myau, in the lead, darted around the bend. Odin was right on his heels.

Kyla wasn't so lucky. The chemist was struck by a fire spell, twin bolts of flame slamming into her back. She didn't even have time to scream.

"Can we retreat now, meow?"

"If I have to fight her alone, then I will!" As Odin pressed his back to the stone wall just around the corner, some part of him recognized that he wasn't acting rationally. It might have been misplaced responsibility, the desire to get revenge for the six friends he had seen cut down in moments, or even greend for the mystic axe that Medusa carried, but it wasn't sane, whatever it was.

The instant the serpentine monster rounded the corner, Odin struck. He had the advantage of surprise, and his heavy axe slashed a gouge in Medusa's snakelike lower body. Blood seeped from the wound, a thick, ichorlike blood. With a cry of rage, her tail snapped around and crashed into him, knocking him flat on his back. Adrenaline surged through the warrior, driving him past the pain, and he leapt to his feet. Axe upraised, he charged her.

Medusa's eyes seemed to glow even more brilliantly, as if all the dim light was being drawn into them. Then, that light exploded outwards in twin beams that transfixed Odin. His charge never reached her; he was frozen in stone.

The monster turned her attention to Myau, the last of the Resistance team that had been sent to destroy her. The Musk Cat hissed, baring his fangs, the fur on his back raised, but he knew it was hopeless.

Then the point of a sword erupted from Medusa's belly.

Myau had no idea where Asher had found the strength to walk, let alone drive the weapon into the monster's back. He looked like a living corpse; in fact, he had already started to fall before Medusa spun to attack him, but for all that, he saved Myau's life. Even as Medusa was turning, the Musk Cat leapt for the air shaft. The detonator had been turned to stone along with all of Odin's other possessions, but Myau's body was just small and agile enough to get inside without blasting the shaft open. He had a couple of bad moments as tight spots scraped and tore at his skin, but finally he managed to get through.

Seeing what had happened to Rogan and the rest of his team was a much worse moment.

They're all dead,Myau realized. Everyone except me...

Odin was the one he had to worry about now. He needed to find someone to come back and rescue him, someone to get the top off the bottle. There were other Resistance fighters in Scion and Camineet, Myau knew; he'd start with them.

* * * * *

The last layer of rock finally gave way under the impact of repeated fire spells, and Medusa emerged from the cave entrance. She was weary with the effort of healing herself and her dress was torn, but she was alive. Surprisingly, the faces of the soldiers lit up when they saw her emerge.

"My lady! We were afraid the rebel scum had...had managed to...with that rockslide..."

She saw the bodies of the four erstwhile prisoners and frowned.

"So you chose to execute them out of anger despite your orders?"

The lieutenant hung his head.

"Yes, Lady Medusa," he admitted. He looked scared now, and he had good reason. Disobedience was treated harshly in the tyrant's army.

"That was foolish. This group has been crushed, but there are others who rebel against King Lassic whose nests have yet to be uncovered." She paused, then added, "I do, however, understand."

The man looked up, a sigh of relief filling him.

"Are you all right, Lady Medusa? Do you need anything?"

"I am well, Lieutenant. In fact," she said, a faint smile taking shape on her perfect lips, "I am...amused."

ShadowplayA faint wisp of smoke rose from the smoldering campfire which burned in the center of the stone-flagged courtyard. The Air Castle's battlements towered around it, massive stone walls like those that protected the monarchs of antiquity. There was a barbaric splendor to the gargoyle-bedecked palace that impressed Noah; he knew intellectually that in this modern era concentrated laser fire could reduce those walls in minutes, but emotionally they represented power and glory.

Perhaps it is appropriate that I should be so moved. After all, am I not a relic of those times as well? The Esper wizard smiled sardonically at the thought. Not even thirty years old and he was already an antique. It was true, though. There was a grandeur to this castle, for all that it was a sinkhole of evil, that the staid, modern government buildings in the city of Camineet lacked utterly.

The astonishing thing, though, was that the gates and towers were unmanned, that the decadent court of the tyrant Noah had expected to see was nowhere in sight. Around the campfire, the swordswoman Alis, the warrior Odin, and the winged Musk Cat, Myau, slept peacefully, with no fear of arrows or gunfire raining down on them from the battlements.

It could only mean one thing: that the rumors they had heard throughout the three planets of the Algo Solar System were true. The tyrant king Lassic was afraid. Afraid of the four companions, or of the laconia weapons they carried, or perhaps just generally afraid. No wonder, Noah realized, that the four of them had been able to pursue their quest with relative impunity, if Lassic's oppression was being essentially run by his underlings without effective central coordination.

They'd searched the castle thoroughly during the day, meeting only a token force of robotcops, easily overcome, and had concluded that Lassic's sole possible location was a keep-like building set apart from the rest of the castle, a great block of stone that had neither any doors or windows. Myau had found a trapdoor leading to tunnels hewn into the rock of the sky-island, and had heard and smelled monsters beneath. No doubt, to reach Lassic they would have to run that enemy-filled gauntlet, but that could wait until daybreak. A night's rest would do them good. So, as they had done many times in the past, they had pitched their camp.

Noah had volunteered to take the first watch; the Esper's metabolism needed little sleep; a habit he's taught himself through long nights of study. He stared into the fire, seemingly in a trance, though his senses were acute to any intrusion. His magical perceptions were even more sensitive than his physical awareness, so that he sensed the gathering of power well before the fire died to embers and the three translucent shapes came into view.

Each of the three was perhaps eight feet tall, with a long, flowing violet robe from which emerged unnaturally thin, spindly arms, the face masked by a helmet built into the robe which was pierced only by a thin eyeslit for viewing. Noah could, with effort, see through their bodies; they were not physically present as yet, not even their shadows. There was no immediate danger, the wizard decided, and so therefore he chose to let his companions sleep.

"Who are you?" he challenged.

"We are the Xe-a-Thouls," one whispered, its voice like the bubbling of acid.

"We bring you greetings from our master Lashiec," added a second in a dry voice, as of bones snapping underfoot.

Noah and his companions had battled unnatural sorcerers before, robed and masked spellcasters who had once been Palmans or Dezorians but were now undead shells of themselves. These were not such creatures; they were entirely inhuman, demonic spirits whose current life was all they had known.

"Lashiec?" Noah asked. "Do you speak of Lassic, who hides inside this castle?"

The third laughed, and its cackles were the wailing of souls in torment.

"We speak of he-who-once-was-Lassic."

"He is not your puling, weak kinglet, more ruled than ruler."

"He is Lashiec, the iron fist of the Darkness."

Noah's azure gaze flashed from one to another.

"He can call himself what he likes. Come tomorrow, it will only matter to historians." Such bravado! he thought. I think Alis may be rubbing off on me.

Their triune laughter was like the burning of unclean flames.

"Names do not matter, Noah?"

"Mighty Lashiec is but the weakling Lassic, Noah?"

"Then is the great wizard Noah nothing but...Lutz?"

* * * * *

His lungs burned with the effort of running, and his legs were like lead weights. Each step was a titanic feat of strength, and yet he kept on, performing them one after another. It didn't matter, though. A hand closed on his shoulder, spinning him around by force, and a fist smashed into his face, sending him tumbling onto the dry, dusty Uzo street.

"Get up, Lutz!" Drogar sneered. "Let's see if you can at least fight like a boy, girl-face!"

The insult stung. Uzo was a hardy frontier town on the desert world of Motavia. Unlike the capital of the Palman settlers, Paseo, it wasn't "safe" and "civilized." Its inhabitants worked hard to expand their agricultural base beyond the original oasis, dueled native Motavians who didn't like the influx of technologically advanced Palmans into their world, and staved off attacks from the larger and more aggressive of the local species. Weakness was despised by the folk of Uzo, and it was an attitude passed on to their children.

Lutz had the bad fortune to be different from the uniform sea of rugged, tough-minded individualists. His features were elegant and beautiful. His pale blue hair was sleek and soft to the touch, hair any lady of Paseo or Camineet society would gladly have killed for. His fair skin burnt instead of acquiring the typical Uzo tan. His body was slender, even delicate. It wouldn't have mattered how he acted; boys like Drogar would have taken one look at him and concluded he was effeminate and weak.

The ironic part was that had he actually been a girl, the assumption of weakness would never have been made. There were many lovely women in Uzo, and none of them were weak. The adult Lutz would grow into might find the psychology of gender stereotyping a subject for analysis, but to the boy it only hurt.

It didn't help, either, that he confirmed the impression given by his appearance with his personality. Lutz disliked rough-and-tumble sports and physical games. He loved books, both stories that entertained and educational volumes. He excelled in school; his mind was quicker than anyone else's in class.

Unfortunately, a keen mind was no defense against a punch in the mouth.

It was not that Uzoites venerated stupidity. Quite the opposite, as expanding a frontier on a foreign planet took intelligence and education alike. A keen mind without strength and endurance, though, that was for people from Paseo or back on Palma. They were the people who needed folk like the men and women of Uzo to clear the way for them, to explore new domains.

"Get up!" Drogar repeated, slamming his foot into Lutz's belly. A spike of pain shot through him. "Get up, princess!" Another kick. Lutz would have loved to stand up, to try to shut the other boy's sneering mouth, but he couldn't. He couldn't even get his breath, it hurt too much to move, and the kicks and stomps came too fast. He'd have a fine crop of bruises when this was over.

Again.

Mercifully, it ended quickly. Drogar was alone today; he was always more vicious with an audience to show off to. He spat on the injured Lutz, gave him one last kick for good measure, then walked off in search of some more amusing pastime.

Lutz lay in the dirt for a long time before he felt capable of dragging himself to his feet. His torso and sides throbbed painfully with every step. He knew, too, what was coming once he reached home.

He was right.

"So," his father sneered, "you've been in another fight." Lutz's father was a hardscrabble farmer, who worked very hard to eke out a marginal living from the desert soil. "And you lost again. Who was it this time? Keevan? Ryth? Saldas?"

"Dorogar," Lutz said sullenly. He supposed he could have lied, or hid, or tried to conceal the truth, but he took a certain perverse pride in facing the man's wrath directly and honestly.

"Dorogar? He's only ten--two years younger than you! What kind of a worthless little weasel did I spawn, anyway? Why don't you ever fight back? Do you like getting beaten? Is that it?"

His hand closed over the handle of his heavy whip, coiling it into a loop. With a brutal snap of his powerful arm, he lashed the braided leather cord across Lutz's face. The boy's head snapped back and he reeled against the kitchen cabinet. He felt a trickle of blood flow over his chin from where his split lip had been reopened.

He also felt anger.

It always made him angry, the way his father dealt with everything he did 'wrong' with curses and blows. He was also contemptuous--Lutz wasn't being punished for fighting but for losing. Usually he was scared, scared that this would be the time his father at last lost control completely. Once he'd broken Lutz's arm; that had been the day after Lutz's mother had abandoned her family. It would have been all too easy for him to break something more vital.

This time, though, the anger outweighed the fear. It reached deep down inside Lutz into a place he'd never touched before. The place where the security and safety of a father's love was supposed to be. Something inside the boy kindled at the anger's touch. A roaring filled Lutz's ears and a lamp

exploded in a surge of flames.

"Witch-brat!" his father roared. His fist whipped around in a clubbing blow that laid Lutz out in a daze. "I've known it all these years! That whore did foist off another man's get on me!"

The look in his face wasn't contempt or rage any more. It was hate, black hatred. Inside Lutz, the fear rose up like a dark cloud, consuming his soul as he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * * * *

"Weak Lutz," taunted a Xe-a-Thoul.

"Pitiful Lutz."

"Defenseless Lutz."

"Lutz," hissed the one with the caustic voice, "left in the desert by his father to die."

"Lutz," cackled the one with the voice of dry bone, "who wept in anguish instead of finding a way to safety."

"Lutz," sneered the third, "who would be dead if Master Tajim hadn't found him."

Lutz, eh? Noah could hear the gnomelike old man's voice as if it were yesterday. Well, if you're going to be my apprentice, I'll be giving you a new name. Old Esper custom. Mine was Tarzimal, until I started following my master's path. New name to symbolize your new course in life. Let's see, how about...Noah.

"Don't names matter, Lutz?" mocked the fiends. "Lassic and Lashiec. Lutz and Noah. Do you reject your master, Lutz? Do you deny what he made you? Lashiec does not deny his master. Lashiec wields the strength and power of his new self."

"You are not Master Tajim's Noah. You are Lutz, standing in his master's mantle and carrying a wizard's wand, but inside you are nothing. Inside you are still just Lutz."

"Run away, Lutz."

"Save yourself, Lutz."

"Lashiec will kill you, Lutz."

"Lashiec will destroy you."

"Lashiec knows you are Lutz."

"Lashiec knows you are weak."

"Flee or die at his hand."

"Enough!" roared Noah. His companions did not so much as stir in their sleep; some magic must have been keeping them bound in slumber. Noah was alone.

The Xe-a-Thouls seemed to fade in, their transparent images solidifying. They towered over the Esper, unnaturally long, clawed fingers clutching the air. Noah quailed inside, realizing that he was by himself, facing the three demon sorcerers without Myau's wit and speed, Odin's weaponskill and toughness, or Alis' blade and indefatigable will.

"Why wait for Lashiec, Lutz?"

"We will mutilate and kill you, Lutz."

"Go now, Lutz, or die."

Noah's hands gripped the Psycho-wand tightly, his knuckles turning white under the pressure. His eyes swiveled from one Xe-a-Thoul to another, keeping track of their positions as they advanced. He could feel the dark power radiating from them; these were nearly the most powerful foes he'd faced thus far, stronger even than the mighty white dragons of Dezoris. Possibly stronger than Medusa herself.

There were three of them.

And he was alone.

Noah was on the verge of calling upon the wand's secret power, the magic to exit a perilous situation by teleporting a short distance away. He might be a powerful Esper, who had even surpassed Master Tajim in spellcasting ability, but all it meant, apparently, was that he would be attacked by bigger bullies, ones who would kill him instead of merely beating and humiliating. He still couldn't do a thing to stop it. Why fight a hopeless battle?

If a Xe-a-Thoul's shadow in the moonlight hadn't fallen across Alis' sleeping form, he might have given in to the fear. Watching her suddenly become engulfed in darkness, though, made Noah realize what the cost of running away would be. The Xe-a-Thouls would fall upon his friends, caught as they were in the enchanted slumber, and murder each one in the name of Lashiec.

Noah realized something else, then. Those fiendish conjurers weren't bullies, people too stupid to know better because of prejudice and intolerance. They were like his father, consumed by evil born in sick, twisted minds. Lutz had never run away from his father. He had never fought back because he hadn't been able, but he had never run away. He had faced down that enemy in confrontation after confrontation.

Now that he was an Esper wizard, could he do less than a scared little boy?

"I call myself Noah," he told the Xe-a-Thouls, "out of honor for the man who saved my life and taught me my art. That does not make me anyone other than myself. Lutz or Noah, what you call me makes no difference. Lassic was a weak king who accepted your dark powers in fear, and now Lashiec is a weak tyrant who cowers in his castle and sends his minions out to face his enemies. Lutz confronted his own foes himself, and so shall Noah!"

He summoned the magic then, drew it up from inside himself as the faceless monsters reeled in surprise at his defiance. The Psycho-wand's crystal tip glittered as he leveled it at the nearest fiend.

"Flaeli!"

Flame exploded from the wand's tip, blasting into the Xe-a-Thoul, knocking it backwards onto the flagstones. Another struck out, its claw cutting the air in a rending motion, while nearly ten feet away Noah felt the slash graze his arm and blood welled up in the cut. The third flicked its claws skyward, and a pillar of lightning seemed to explode down out of the sky. The magic seared into the Esper's body, but he bent his own will to absorbing and redirecting the energy of the attack, limiting the amount of power that could manifest itself in physical form to injure him.

"You enjoy lightning," Noah challenged them, "then try this!"

He raised the wand to the sky, pouring his magic into it, holding on to every last bit of it until it hurt.

"Tandle!"

Blue bolts exploded from the rod's crystal tip, lashing outwards, playing over the bodies of the three Xe-a-Thouls. They shuddered and flinched at the assault.

"This is not the end, Lutz!" threatened one. "Our memories are long, and our service endless."

"We will face you again, Lutz!"

"You will suffer for this insult a thousand times over, Lutz!"

Noah smiled thinly, watching the bodies of the Xe-a-Thouls fade to translucence.

"Next time," he said, "I won't be afraid of you."

The images faded even further, dwindling away until at last they were gone entirely. With their passing came a moment of transition; the campfire surged up brightly again. The pain in Noah's arm vanished as the slice made by the fiend's claw disappeared as if it had never been there. Simultaneously, he felt magical strength welling up inside himself, all the power he'd spent driving off the Xe-a-Thouls returning to him.

Then, it was over, and it was as if nothing had happened, and the courtyard was still and quiet. The only thing that remained to tell Noah that the Xe-a-Thouls had been in any way real were his memories.

Alis yawned, stretched, and sat up.

"What time is it?" she said, blinking.

"A bit past midnight," Noah replied.

"How strange; I feel wide awake. Why don't you get some sleep and I'll take over the watch," she offered.

"Thank you; I believe I shall."

Alis hugged herself, trembling.

"I'm so nervous I'm shaking," she confessed. "Tomorrow we'll finally get the opportunity to confront Lassic."

Lashiec, Noah corrected mentally as he composed himself for sleep. The name did not change the person, but it was a reminder of the path one took through life. The tyrant deserved to have his enemies acknowledge the choices that had led to the upcoming battle. After all, Lassic or Lashiec, king or demon, he still would fall. Noah was sure of that.

Legend's DawnAuthor's Note: While you really don't have to read any of my stories to get this one, Noah's theory about Alis's sword-skills was developed from Ngangbius' impression of her in "A Light In The Darkness" and the reasons why Noah knows the name Lashiec are given in "Shadowplay." *end plug*

Arena, was Alis' first reaction to the chamber beyond the doors. A great obsidian vault, with no furniture, no decoration, nothing but bare walls and floors of jet-black hue. The radiance from the magic lamp Odin wore was barely enough to let her know there were walls; the illusion of being plunged into a dark pool, of floating in a starless night sky was almost perfect.

It's almost like... The thought nagged at the back of her mind, memory teasing her but not finding a home, not yet.

Then it began to take shape. It emerged from the darkness, fading into existence, first as an insubstantial outline, then as overwhelming, terror-inspiring physical reality.

The thing was huge, towering at least twice Odin's height. Its lower body remained unseen, fading away into the dark, while its arms were grossly disproportionate, at least nine feet long, massively muscled, ending in clawed hands that could wrap fully around a Palman body. Though humanoid in shape, much of its body was covered in chitinous armor like an insect's exoskeleton. As for its face...

I know that face!

Memory locked into place for Alis. They'd spent one night at the Governor of Motavia's mansion, beneath which they now stood. During that night, she and her companions had experienced a shared dream in which they had been fighting a demonic entity. The saccubus, the dream-demon, had looked like this thing's face!

In the dream, the companions had all died horrible deaths. Had that been a premonition of this battle?

"The legend..." whispered the wizard Noah. "The One Who Comes With The Millennium."

Myau, the Musk Cat, snarled and hissed, the fur on its back standing up. Transformed after eating a Laerma nut, Myau was huge, six feet tall at the shoulder, but this monstrosity had a force to it that was more than simple physical size that left Myau reacting as if he was still a sixty-pound feline.

"What is this thing?" Odin, the warrior, asked incredulously.

"It has no name," Noah said. "It is evil made flesh, the corrupter and the destroyer. Espers call it Dark Force, for that is its nature."

"Lovely." Never one for drama, Odin raised his laser gun and shot the thing. The energy bolt crashed off its armored shoulder in a shower of sparks.

Dark Force just laughed.

"You would fight me?" he roared. "You were barely capable of destroying my pawn--a weak little fool who let his fear of death overcome his ambition. Do you think that the Governor assisted you in finding one another by accident? That one is mine, body and soul, nothing but a puppet. I wanted to make Lashiec act by giving him someone to fear, and if that would not suffice, then you would teach him a sorely needed lesson. When I rouse his spirit again to serve my needs, he will be more attentive to his duties."

The monstrosity cackled.

"Now your quest is complete. Lay down your weapons and submit if you wish to live, or throw away your useless lives if you prefer. It matters naught to me."

Alis wavered. She couldn't help it; she'd given everything she had to finish what her brother Nero had started, to destroy the tyrant Lassic. She'd abandoned being an ordinary girl to learn weaponcraft and magic. Armor, not pretty dresses, were the clothes she considered in the morning. And the killing...monsters, unquiet spirits, and Lassic's robots were bad enough, but the Dezorian terrorists, the barbaric native Motavians, the magically augmented warriors of the usurper...

Do you really want to kill an old man? That had been Lassic's question, and the answer had been a defiant "Yes!" It had been so easy--whatever it took to fight Lassic, she would do. Now, with the tyrant dead and gone, she had to ask herself if it had been worth the cost. When I die, will I be able to face Nero? Or will he just see as bloody a butcher as Lassic?

She didn't see the glowing pits that were the demon's sunken eyes glow brighter as her spirit flagged.

And after all that, to know I was doing this blasphemy's will...

The point of her black-bladed laconian sword dipped. The thorns in relief on the hilt were designed to give a surer grip, but they seemed to be piercing Alis' hand, a taste of her penance.

Then a miracle happened.

It was not a miracle of fire and light, not the kind preached about in church. This was a small miracle, a tiny miracle, though Myau would later remark that it had probably been more difficult to achieve than parting the seas or sending pillars of flame.

For the first time Alis could remember, Odin and Noah's minds came to the exact same conclusion at the same time. Odin's gun and Noah's crystal-tipped wand rose in unison.

"Eat this, worm-bait!"

"Hewn!"

Lasers and magical wind drilled into the demon, knocking it back infinitesimally.

Some would scoff at the idea that this was a miracle, but not Alis. For seeing the two men, so different in every way besides their dedication to her quest, act together as one made Alis laugh at the sight, and laugh again at how absurd her own reaction was. Here we are, faced with the ultimate evil, and I'm giggling at my friends' byplay?

And laughter was the best antidote to despair.

"If Lassic was your pawn," she snapped, her sword coming up again, "then whatever he did can be laid at your door! Our battle is not finished until you are destroyed!"

She charged, trying to get within range, hurling a ball of flame as she did. Now, though, the demon reacted. It had ignored Odin and Noah's attacks, but when Alis joined the fight it responded.

"You miserable, cretinous fools. Die, then!" Dark Force's hideous, fanged maw opened and comets of fire spewed out at the heroes. Alis barely got her laconian shield up in time to block two, but the force of the explosions numbed her arm even through her defenses.

She slashed at the demon, and was rewarded when the keen edge of her blade struck open chitin and midnight-blue flesh, drawing a gout of black ichor. Roaring in anger, it breathed a gout of pure darkness at her. Odin and Noah's continued sniping from long range threw off its aim somewhat, and again Alis was able to block with her shield, but she was knocked sprawling by the wave of

black energy.

I need a better defense against its magic, she thought, even as Myau hurled himself at the monster. His claws raked uselessly against its armored torso, but a twist of his head sank one of the Silver Fang's blades deep into the beast's shoulder. Dark Force howled in pain, and its massive hands seized the cat's flanks just below his forelegs. Its talons pierced Myau's thick fur, drawing rivulets of blood as it pulled him away. Myau kicked and squirmed, but the demon held him fast.

Alis dropped her shield and pulled the four-foot-long crystal rod Damor had given her from its sling across her back. The soothsayer's crystal had been effective against Lassic's magic, and Dark Force was the source of that power, so it might also help now. She felt her skin tingle warmly, could see the pale blue aura that limned her body.

Dark Force roared again as Noah's wind spell tore at him once more. With titanic force, he hurled Myau against the obsidian wall, and Alis heard the snap of bone. Odin holstered his gun and pulled out his heavy, double-bitted laconian axe. The mystic weapon was possibly the most powerful fighting tool in all of Algo, though it might be difficult to bring it into play.

"Enough of your tricks, Esper!" the demon shouted at Noah as he rained thunder down upon it. Dark Force's foreclaws carved an intricate rune in the air, and the outlines of Noah's body...rippled, as if reality itself was being distorted. The shock was obviously too much for him to withstand; he slumped to the floor. Whether he was unconscious or dead, Alis couldn't say.

"Come at him from two sides, Alis," Odin urged her. It was good advice; the beast was too big to easily cope with multiple directions of attack. Its magic, though, was another story. Again the fire-comets spat, some turning on Alis and others towards Odin. Alis grinned as she parried with the crystal rod, easily deflecting the blasts with little effort. Odin grunted in pain as two fireballs detonated against his laconian armor, but he did not stop. His axe hacked open the chitinous armor on the monster's left arm while Alis' slender blade pierced its side.

Dark Force's scream was deafening. The weapons of laconia were hurting it! Alis ripped her blade free for another stroke, but never got the chance. The demon roared again, and the world went mad. Up and down lost their meaning and the universe dissolved into a swirl of stars in which Dark Force, Odin, and Alis herself were the only fixed points. Gouts of black energy spat from the creature's body, flying outwards in all directions.

Had Noah been conscious, he could have identified the demon's spell as one that opened another gateway to the place where it had come from, sucking the pure, raw black energy of that dimension through and spewing it into Algo's world. Alis didn't know that. All she could tell was that Odin was being repeatedly pummeled by the energy and even she was taking blows, though the crystal was stopping much of the attack.

When at last the gate closed and the obsidian arena was again visible, Odin was laying senseless and Alis had been staggered by the attack. When Dark Force saw her still on her feet, it realized that its magic was having little effect on her, so it simply drew back its titanic arm and backhanded her with the force of a charging mammoth. Alis flew one way; her black sword went the other. She hit the ground hard, knocking the breath out of her despite her armor, and the loud clash of shattering crystal told her that Damor's gift had struck the night-dark floor with more force than it could endure. A glance at it told Alis that about six inches had been snapped off, leaving a jagged end of crystalline teeth. With it, she realized, had gone its protective spells; the aura had faded.

Dark Force's laughter echoed throughout the room.

"So these are the Protectors of Algo. Hardly worth my time!"

Alis all but wept. Odin and Noah were down, perhaps even dead; Myau was conscious but could not even rise, let alone fight. As for her, she had no weapon, and her fire magic was hardly going to be effective where Noah's much more powerful spells had not. Still, she'd had her fill of despair. She used the crystal to push herself to her feet. If the demon was going to kill her, then let it try. She wasn't going to make it any easier. So long as she was alive, she would hope for victory.

At that moment, she heard Myau's soft purr, and a golden light seemed to flow through her veins, bringing strength and life. The Musk Cat's magic, to give power to its companions, surged brightly inside her.

It wouldn't last long. One chance, maybe. No more; she wouldn't live much longer than that.

Alis screamed, pouring all of her energy, all of her inner strength into one titanic effort, and hurled the crystal. Spearlike, the broken end punched through the demon's armor and buried itself between Dark Force's eyes, transfixing its head.

This time, there was no scream. Dark Force's body seemed to lock into place, and then its skin began to crack and flake away, melting into that black ichor, which in turn dissolved into a stinking vapor that rapidly faded from the air.

"It's gone," she said with relief. She could feel its absence, like a miasma lifted from her soul. Alis looked up at the vault's domed ceiling, seeing not a flat surface of volcanic rock but the endless expanse of the night sky.

"It's over, Nero. This time, your soul really can be at peace."

* * * * *

They were all right, of course. It wouldn't have been a happy ending if Odin or Noah had died. Even the Governor seemed to have shaken off the effects of being possessed body and soul by Dark Force. Well enough, at least, to drop the bombshell that Alis was none other than Princess Alisa Landale, heiress to the throne Lassic had claimed. And since the tyrant was dead and the missing princess found all at the same time, there was only one thing left to do.

It was lucky that the Governor's mansion was as large at it was, because it was one heck of a big party. Since she was the center of attention, Alis endured the first two hours of it with forbearance, but eventually the pressure of being at the eye of the storm grew too much for the heroine--she was, after all, still only fifteen--and eventually she wandered out onto one of the many balconies for some fresh air. Motavia was a desert planet, and while the days were scorching, the night breeze was crisp and cool.

"Finding your newfound fame difficult, my princess?"

Alis spun, surprised by the soft voice. It was Noah, who always startled her by the way he could move as quietly as...well, as quietly as Myau.

"Please, Noah, I know you're just kidding, but...well, I just don't need to hear that from you."

The Esper raised one delicate blue eyebrow.

"If it bothers you so much, why did you decide that you would claim the throne?"

"Someone has to."

Noah chuckled softly.

"At the risk of sounding like Odin, I have to say that I almost followed that."

Alis smiled back.

"Lassic all but ruined Palma. The army and police became instruments of fear, he cut off trade, he herded the people into cities, and he reduced the technology level in the outlying areas to a pre-industrial stage. His death leaves a huge power vacuum and a lot of needy people. I'm the daughter of King Marek Landale, the legitimate heir, and the one who killed Lassic. If I say 'follow me and do what I tell you,' the people will. Otherwise, there will be regional conflicts, squabbling over limited resources, probably even war. If I don't take the crown as Queen Alisa III, Lassic's evil will go on and on."

"I believe I understand."

"Good, because one speech is all you get to hear!"

He leaned on the railing next to her. They looked out into the city of Paseo, watching the multicolored lights and hearing the music. The party wasn't just at the Governor's mansion; it was a carnival that consumed the whole town, probably the whole system.

"Noah?" Alis said after a while.

"Yes?"

"Why did it work? Damor's crystal, I mean. Why did it kill Dark Force? It broke when it hit the floor, but it pierced Dark Force's armor, which not even Odin's laser could scratch."

"Do you want the truth or my opinion?"

"The truth."

"I don't know."

Alis laughed.

"Silly! Let's hear your opinion, then."

He smiled enigmatically at her.

"Magic."

The soon-to-be-queen wondered if it would be acceptable to pitch the Esper off the balcony.

"Noah, just how much neimila have you had?" she asked bluntly.

"I apologize," he said, a serious look dropping into place again. "I did mean what I said, though. Damor was one of the most skilled Espers of the previous generation, and he spent a dozen years or more turning that crystal into something that would deflect Lashiec's new magic."

"Lashiec? Dark Force called him that, too."

"It's his apprentice-name. No doubt Dark Force gave it to him when he entered its service, just like Master Tajim called me Noah when I began studying under him."

"I see; he never called himself that in public because he was the king and no one would understand why he changed it."

Noah nodded.

"Since Lassic's magic came from Dark Force, the crystal was, in essence, made to fight it. You figured that out yourself or you'd never have tried it in the fight. When the crystal broke, the main spells were shattered, but you can't put that much power into something without changing it on a more fundamental level. Then you went and put even more power into it."

"I did?" Alis asked, bewildered.

"Yes. You are an Esper, after all."

"True, but I didn't cast any spells."

"You didn't consciously cast any spells."

Alis turned to her friend curiously.

"Noah, what do you mean?"

"If you don't mind me being a bit circuitous, it has to do with your swordsmanship. You're a master swordswoman, Alis, more effective in combat thatn even Odin, but the only training you've ever had is what we've given you during the quest. No one is that good based on natural instincts alone, especially not compared to someone like Odin, who is one of the best fighters I've ever known. There is, however, another explanation."

The wizard laced his slender fingers together.

"You've probably heard in stories how skilled warriors can perform incredible feats by drawing upon their 'inner strength' or something similar. What they are really doing is drawing upon the latent magic in their environment. What you do is much like that, only you use your own power as an Esper, and do it all the time without realizing it."

Alis gave him an odd look.

"I'm doing magic in battle?"

"Your subconscious mind is, yes. The two emotions most associated with you, Alis, are hope and determination. You don't back down, and you don't give up in the face of anything. That emotion is very likely made even stronger by your age, as adolescence is a time of great passion and dedication that we generally lose as we get older. I believe that when you enter battle, your subconscious broadcasts that hope as a psychic aura. Your enemies feel that aura and become scared, less confident, more hesitant, while we fighting alongside you gain strength and courage from it."

"Noah, are you sure about this?"

"Quite sure. You are a telemental, though only an unconscious one. I possess telemental ability myself, though I haven't yet developed it, so I'm sensitive to the effects of telementalism around me. It didn't take long to realize what was occurring."

Alis shook her head in amazement. She'd never realized any of this.

"When you threw the crystal, you also poured all of your magic into it. I could feel the traces when I picked it up. There were even bits of Myau's spell dragged in."

"But why did that make the crystal strong enough to breach Dark Force's armor? Even I know that a

magic weapon is limited by what you make it from."

"Well, there are spells that can strengthen something's physical structure, but there were none of those on the crystal. If you'd hit Lashiec with it, it would have broken, but Dark Force doesn't have a body, not truly."

He smiled at her shell-shocked expression.

"It doesn't eat, it doesn't sleep, it doesn't mate, there's nothing about it that ties it to a body. It is pure magic and will in its natural state. It only incarnates itself in order to use that power. Once incarnated, it can be killed." He smiled thinly at her once more. "At least, that is my theory."

"I get it!" Alis said. "Since it builds its body from magic, and since the crystal was designed to dispel that magic, the crystal can cut through its flesh!"

"Exactly. I think," he amended.

Noah rubbed his fingertip idly along the balustrade.

"Alis, could I keep Damor's crystal?"

"Yes, I guess so. Why?"

"Your use of it gave me an idea. The combination of bits and pieces of spells within it could never have been duplicated purposefully, and with the addition of strengthening spells so that it wouldn't break every time it hit something hard, it would make a very interesting weapon. I've never seen anything that adapts to magic quite like it."

From out in the desert, there came a high-pitched whine, and a streak of light shot up in the air and detonated in a shower of green sparks. Another followed in brilliant blue, then pink, and then the fireworks had begun in earnest. Alis looked up, rapt at their beauty, and all at once she realized that they were for her--the whole celebration was because the people were joyous about what she'd done.

For once, she didn't think of the responsibility, she didn't think about what Lassic had done, she didn't think about the work that remained in the future, she didn't even think about Nero. For the first time, she looked up at the exultant bursts of light and realized that she, Alis Landale, had achieved something that an entire city, maybe even an entire race, felt was a cause for celebration.

And you know what? It's about time I celebrated it, too!

She grabbed the Esper's hand, cutting short whatever he was saying about turning Damor's crystal into a magic sword.

"Come on, Noah! This is supposed to be a party, so let's dance!"

And with that, Alis dragged the wizard back into the lights and music of the ballroom.

The (Mad) Scientific MethodThe scientist flexed his jaw in the prescribed pattern that triggered the microrecorder in his helmet. It was a useful research device, this helmet, containing not only the recorder for his experiment reports but a variety of lenses including power equal to a microscope's as well as sensitivity to other energy patterns and wavelengths in the eyepieces.

"Experimental journal, August 14, Space Century 342, 2:37 P.M.," he began, checking the date and time stamp that appeared in his field of vision. "Extensive research using the laconian pot has confirmed that when various organic compounds are placed inside it, they undergo certain predictable changes. Specifically, the pot appears to focus the energies called 'magic' into the contents, which has the simultaneous effects of leaching the water from the substance and charging it with said energies."

He paused, then went over to the refrigerator, opened it, and took out a plastic tray, divided into separate, labeled compartments. That reminded him, had he taken his afternoon medication? No matter; it could wait. From one of the compartments, he took a large black berry, ripe and juicy. For just a moment, the scientist had the absurd urge to pop it into his mouth and eat it.

Well, maybe not that absurd. He'd been so busy working that he'd missed lunch, after all. That was the way of scientific research: it demanded sacrifices.

"I am now going to place a maruera berry, the fruit of a tree grown on Motavia, into the pot. From past experience, I predict that this berry will harden into a nutlike object which will contain an excess of magical energy. This energy, in turn, will be released into the body of the experimental subject which consumes the nut."

He dropped the berry into the pot. It made a soft thumping sound as it hit the bottom. More sounds rose from the pot, a sizzling and popping noise as the moisture was extracted and vaporized.

"I recommend that an examination of the pot itself be made by an Esper with training in the scientific method," the scientist noted almost as an afterthought, "in order to establish the precise nature by which it manipulates the so-called magical energies, as these energies, when dormant, are not detectable by mundane analytical instruments."

He picked up a pair of tongs and reached carefully into the pot with them--the scientist didn't want to end up with a dried and shriveled hand!--and withdrew precisely what he was expecting,: a small, hard, nutlike object about half the size of the berry.

Success!

"Predictable results have been achieved," he said, trying to keep the elation out of his voice. "The maruera berry has in fact been changed into a maruera nut. It now remains to test what effect this will have upon the experimental subject's physiology."

This, he decided, was where he was running into trouble. The various kinds of nuts he was able to produce had widely varying effects, some of which were quite disturbing, and different subjects were affected in different ways. Moreover, these changes, in addition to being physical, also appeared to include magical alterations, abilities, or weaknesses. He recalled the time he'd fed a nut to a sworm and ended up with a giant, fire-breathing fly about six feet long.

"It will be interesting," he noted, "to see if the trend continues that the more magically active the subject, the more pronounced and beneficial the results." He would have liked to have tried an experiment on something like the manticores Medusa had created, but the wizardess had stubbornly refused to grant him access to her research materials. It was intolerable, really. How could anyone gain a perfect understanding of the laws of nature if the Espers and the physical scientists would not exchange information? There were whole bodies of knowledge waiting to be uncovered, if it wasn't for the stubborn territorialism of the researchers!

Recognizing the signs of an incipient fit, the scientist quickly distracted himself (lab equipment was so hard to come by, these days) by making a microscopic examination of the maruera nut using his

helmet, reciting the results in a voice that was as dry as dust.

That was when the door opened.

"Who dares disturb--" he began, but then he caught sight of it. A Musk Cat! A big, yellow, cute, fuzzy Musk Cat--possibly the most magically active species native to Palma!

The people with it were saying something about the cruelty of his experiments, how he was terrorizing the populace of Abion, the usual sort of thing he'd heard a thousand times before. He barely noticed as he stared at the cat.

Wantitwantitwantit!

"You have a cat! Give it to me!"

"Give you Myau? Never!" exclaimed the girl in pink.

"Not bloody likely," growled the big blond man, leveling his heat gun at the scientist.

The cat itself hissed and spat, while the white-mantled man in the back of the group merely smiled thinly.

A trickle of saliva slid from the corner of the scientist's mouth and down his chin.

"Those who interfere with my experiments must die!" he screamed, grabbing the controls of the vivisecting laser strapped to his waist. He would obliterate these fools and take the cat!

When the girl's sword plunged through his chest, he reflected that, as a scientist, he really shouldn't have made that assumption without evidence to support it.

Calling The ShadowsThe throne room of the King of Algo was dark, illuminated only by four dimly-glowing light cells affixed to the corners. The bank of lights set into the ceiling, which were bright enough to turn night into day, remained unlit. When alone, King Lassic liked it that way. It reminded him of a castle from the planet Palma's feudal period. Towering stone walls, crenelated battlements manned by knights and espers--that was what a king's throne was. Any child of five knew that from storybooks. The most powerful man in the Algo Solar System, though, did not have a castle. He reigned from the Camineet Government Building, a sterile creation of technology which towered over the dome-shaped houses and shops currently in architectural vogue.

I've always wanted to be king, Lassic admitted to himself. Yet if not for that fool Ossale, I might never have known. The death of King Marek Landale had catapulted Chancellor Lassic into the position of Regent, but he might never have risen higher had it not been for General Alex Ossale and the old Esper, Soothsayer Damor.

What did they see in me? the king wondered as he had wondered hundreds of times before. Had it been the naked ambition the then-Regent hadn't himself known that he harbored? Or something else? Or had they only been serving their own political ends?

Whatever their reasons, Ossale and Damor had stolen the heir to the throne, King Marek's baby daughter Alis. Ossale had boldly claimed to have done it to "protect" her--to protect the queen-to-be from her appointed Regent! But then, the general had been on trial then, his inflammatory rhetoric perhaps designed to stir up a wave of popular support. The soothsayer had been wiser; he had fled, was missing still, and the girl was gone as well. There were no Landale heirs left to assume the

throne.

So, due to the actions of the very ones who had sought to deny him the crown, Regent Lassic had risen to take the crown as the new King of Algo and founder of a new dynasty. He had achieved a status that most people could only dream of, and yet just three years into his reign, Lassic was discontent.

"'Tis because you are naught but a figurehead."

The king sat bolt upright in his throne, eyes slashing the darkness for the source of the voice that had answered his very thoughts.

"Who? Who's there?"

Lassic had meant it to sound bold and commanding, but it came out not as a king's demand but the plea of an old man.

From the shadows to his left a form took shape, hunched but manlike in a tattered maroon cape, a three-foot wand clutched in its right hand. A curious mask covered its face, a flexible tube extending from the mouth as if part of some breathing apparatus. On the other side of the room a second figure advanced, identical to the first except that its hooded cloak was green.

Lassic may have been old, but he was by no means defenseless. His mind began to channel the mystic power needed for a fire spell; he could feel the power build and wait, ready to be released at a word. His right hand slid towards the arm of his throne, ready to touch the alarm that would bring a dozen Palman and robot guards racing to his defense.

"Despise us not for speaking the truth," the green-robed stranger said. His mask distorted his voice, lending it a curious, sibilant quality.

"A king should rule, not be ruled," chanted his companion.

"Who are you?" Lassic demanded again, this time with steel in his voice.

"We are servants."

"I am aware of that," Lassic said, his lip curling in a sneer. "Whom do you serve? What is his business with me?"

"Our master can make thee a true king," the green-robed intruder declared.

"A king's birthright is power," crooned the other.

"I will not be mocked!" boomed Lassic. "I am the King of Algo!"

"Not now, but perhaps soon," sang the stranger in red.

"You will be silent! Flaeli!"

Lassic's command released power from within him; he felt the rush through his body as if it were blood racing in his veins. From his outstretched hand two bursts of flame slashed across the room, burning two gaping holes in the maroon-robed intruder's torso. The corpse struck the floor heavily, but with an unnatural sound, like an overripe melon bursting when dropped from a height.

The green-robed stranger raised his staff and leveled its tip at Lassic, chanting, "Bindwa." At once

the king found himself helpless, paralyzed and bound by his opponent's spell.

"You act to exterminate folly. 'Tis good that you do. My companion was, however, but an apprentice. I am a master. It is within you to be one as well, but as yet that is beyond you. Therefore, you will listen."

Lassic did not respond. He recognized the vulnerability of his position and would make no sudden moves until he felt ready to do so. Instead, he tested the magical bindings, attempting to determine if the green-robed spellcaster was truly the more powerful, or if he or she had just managed a lucky cast.

"In you, there is potential. Our master has seen it. Through him, that potential will be developed. You will be able to set aside these petty restrictions placed upon you by law. A true king is the law; 'tis not for others to make it into a yoke for you."

The rope spell was perfect and powerful, Lassic realized. His arms and legs were frozen fast, unable to move at all, though his heart and lungs still functioned and he retained the power of speech. The magician was a powerful foe, and that in turn spoke for the strength of his or her unnamed master.

"Why would your master wish to aid me?"

"He seeks the worship of those he deems worthy. 'Tis the man who knows of the use of power our master seeks. The ones who will not shirk from the opportunities life presents. Those who understand that rewards are not given, but that they must be seized."

"You said...worship. Your master claims to be God?"

The stranger's masked face somehow communicated a dreadful intensity to Lassic as he responded to that question.

"To us, he is a god. He is our guiding hand, our source of power. To those who serve faithfully and well, there is eternal life."

"Eternal life?" the king mocked. He knew the words to be a lie, and yet they still pulled at him, fascinatingly, alluringly. He was an aged man, a man for whom there were perhaps a dozen years left, and the promise of more time would always tempt. Yet, he had the proof there in front of him. "You speak of eternal life when your companion lies dead before us?"

The magician did not speak, but went to the fallen stranger's side and raised his staff over the body. A circle formed on the floor beneath the corpse, a circle of putrid radiance, of mystic symbols set out in a sickly yellow glow. Brighter and brighter it shone, until Lassic could feel his skin crawl as the light played over his body. Even the king could sense the terrible wrongness at work, and yet there was no escaping the truth--there was power here, immense power on a scale Lassic had never before touched.

The tip of the magician's wand snapped down. A single word was spoken to invoke the spell. The corpse jerked, its muscles spasming, and then, incredibly, it drew itself upright.

"All praise to our master," the red-cloaked stranger chanted.

"He whas accepted the word of the Master, and can be brought back again and again, though his foes strike him down. Nor will he submit to the ravages of time. 'Tis so for me as well. It can be so for you."

"What would your god get in return for this power you offer?"

The green-robed magician laughed, a strange and unnatural sound behind its mask, high-pitched and rasping.

"Surely you understand. Our master has few followers. By his hand you shall make yourself the one true ruler of all Algo, now and forever. Through this, the way will be laid open for him to seek converts."

The stranger raised his hand and gestured sharply. The restraints on Lassic fell away.

"An alliance, then," the king mused. "Each of us gets what we want."

Lassic surveyed the two priests. In their masks and frayed robes they seemed like alien creatures, neither Palman nor Motavian nor Dezorian. What sort of world were they from? Did they wear their masks because Palma's air itself was incompatible with their bodies, like a fish trying to breathe on land? Then there was the way the maroon-cloaked one had fallen. It hadn't sounded right, not like a person at all, more like a rotten fruit bursting against the floor. These people weren't natural.

They were, however, powerful. Very powerful. And they offered something more valuable than they knew. Lassic had no wife, no children, no family to warm his last years. His studies of magic had long since reached the limit he was capable of attaining alone. All he had left to look forward to were dry, empty years of a reign spent trying to keep from being bullied by the Royal Council, Palma's popularly elected legislature. Afraid or not, he had nothing to lose by accepting the strangers' offer.

Any last pleas of caution his mind tried to send out were drowned in a wave of ambition and greed.

"Very well," Lassic declared. "If your god can make good on his promises, then an alliance between us is acceptable to me."

"Then step forward and receive his power!"

Lassic rose from his throne and approached the cloaked priests. They stood to either side of him, lifting their wands. A mystic circle like the one used in the resurrection spell took shape beneath him. The light didn't just look wrong, this time, it felt wrong; its radiance made Lassic's skin prickle and creep, his breath catch in his throat. An overripe, corrupt taste filled his mouth, bearing the sickly-sweet stench of decay.

The shadows deepened, and from their essence a form took shape, huge, towering over him. Its torso was heavily muscled, its clawed hands gigantic at the end of disproportionately long arms, while below the waist it appeared slight and withered, ultimately fading into the shadows rather than ending in legs. The head was monstrous, with burning, sunken eyes and a snarling, fanged mouth. This was only an image, not the being itself, and yet it exuded an aura of such pure, unadulterated evil that it had a tangible presence. Lassic's body trembled; the animal part of his hindbrain screamed at him to run, to cower, to hide from this thing, but he ignored it. The king's skin burned with the force of corruption, but he stood fast.

"I know you," he declared. "I've read of you in arcane legends. You are the One Who Comes with the Millennium. You are the bringer of destruction. You are the dark force who consumes all life."

Dark Force laughed, a booming sound that filled the chamber yet, Lassic somehow knew, did not penetrate beyond the walls of the throne room.

"I am he who will give you power such as you have never dreamed of, Lassic. You will rule all Algo with an iron hand, and bend it to my will. No mortal magic will be able to withstand your power."

Dark Force, it seemed, knew his man well.

"Yes!" Lassic snarled. "I accept your gift!"

"Then become mine!"

The image opened its maw and spewed forth a wave of utter blackness. The ebon force surged into Lassic's body, twisting and purging his flesh of life. Cells decayed, blood ceased to flow, his skin became withered and twisted. The pain was excruciating; the very essence of his being writhed in agony as he was purged of the basic energies of life. Yet still Lassic lived, or at least existed. He was filled with the dark power that had been breathed into him, and this power animated his body, made it move as his mind bade. More than that, it seemed to crackle through his nerves, urging, no, demanding to be used.

The screams of his soul were a small, puny thing indeed next to that sensation.

"Now you are mine, King of Algo," Dark Force exulted. "You are my creature. You live only to carry out my will. With my power you will grind the puny worms who infest this solar system under your heel, and so bring about in the end its complete destruction!"

"Yes, my Master," Lassic agreed wholeheartedly, the song of Dark Force's corrupt power burning in his mind.

"Then from this moment on you will bear a new name to symbolize your devotion. To the foolish masses outside you will still be King Lassic, but I and mine will always know you by your true self."

In the silence of his heart, the king felt it. No longer Lassic, he was, now and forever, Dark Force's creation.

Lashiec.

Destiny's ForgeAuthor's Note: This story is a direct sequel to my previous PSI fanfic, "Legend's Dawn." Beyond that, it also acts as a sequel to another one of my fics, "A Light in the Darkness." Therefore, if you haven't read those two stories before reading this one, you're probably going to be irritated, frustrated, and going "What? That wasn't in the game!" an awful lot.

Noah could never get used to the bitter cold of Algo's third planet, Dezoris. The Esper mantle was a remarkable garment, keeping its wearer comfortable in temperatures of extreme heat or chill, but even the frad fibers couldn't keep the air from knifing at his throat and lungs with every breath. He had grown up on the desert planet, Motavia, and Dezoris came as a brutal shock to his system.

The Esper had been to this frozen planet before, and to the tower before him, when he had followed Alis Landale on her quest to oust the tyrant Lassic. The building had been full of monsters then, roaming packs set loose to destroy the natives inside. Corona Tower was the heart of the Dezorian theocracy, and its destruction would have been a great gain for Lassic. Alis and her companions, though, had freed the tower.

Noah had two purposes in coming to Corona. He had old business to close out, as well as new questions to ask. He paused, taking a long look at the tower's broad, four-level base and the graceful spire rising from it. Corona really was beautiful, and a faint, bluish glow seemed to suffuse the stone.

When the eclipse falls, Corona shall light our path. The symbolism of the Dezorian proverb was clear.

Scowling--he could lose himself in contemplation after he was inside, out of the cold--Noah started again towards the arched double doors, which were flanked by two Dezorian soldiers. Like all of their race Noah had met, they were tall and slender, with hairless green skin and flat faces. Each wore the traditional high hat of his race, with steel armor buckled over warm, padded furs. Their spears were largely ceremonial, with ornate, fluted blades, but Noah knew from experience that the guns holstered at their belts were not. While not capable of burst fire like Palman guns, the Dezorian weapon fired a powerful heat charge that was often brutally effective against single targets. Noah also knew that more guards would be available in an instant to respond to trouble; these two were an extension of their weapons, there for ceremony.

"Hold, Palman!" one barked. His command of Noah's language was marred by a heavy accent, but was certainly better than Noah's ability to speak Dezorian. "Zis is ze Corona Tower, ze holiest spot in Dezoris. What is your business here?"

"My name is Noah. I am an emissary of Queen Alisa III. I wish to speak with Prelate Ngangbius."

"High Priest Ngangbius is a busy man, Palman. He is not to speak to just anyone coming up road."

Diplomacy was not Noah's strong suit. He was cold and tired, he'd come a very long way even discounting the trip through space, and the guard's sneers were not appreciated. It didn't help that shortly after his arrival at the Palman colony town, Skure, Noah had been attacked by three Evilheads, fanatics dedicated to ousting all Palmans from Dezoris by force.

"Fine. I don't have to return the Eclipse Torch if you don't want me to."

The guard who had been heretofore silent continued so, just watching Noah with a slack-jawed gape.

"What kind of trick is zis?" the belligerent one challenged, lowering his spear to point at Noah's chest.

"The queen is a woman of honor. It's that simple." Noah grabbed the wooden shaft and commanded, "Flaeli!" The pole was blasted to ash by the wizard's fire spell; the blade clanked off the marble steps and fell into the snow. "Are you going to open the door now, or do you need any more object lessons pounded through your thick skull?" Their gazes locked, and the guard cursed, turning to open the massive portal. When his back was turned, the other Dezorian spun a finger next to his head, the universal sign for insanity, and grinned at Noah.

Either he doesn't like his partner, or Dezorians just have an odd sense of humor.

Once inside the tower, further confrontations were avoided. A servant who spoke Palman was found, and he conducted Noah to an ornate hardwood door. The servant knocked, was called inside, and then emerged a second later."

"Ze High Priest sees you now, yes."

Noah went inside, and the servant left, closing the door behind him. The room's stone walls, ceilings, and floor were stark and a bit oppressive, but the luxurious red carpet, pale pine bookcases laden with leather-bound books, tapestries of religious scenes, and roaring fire in the hearth went a long way towards lessening that impression. A Dezorian in dark blue robes ornamented with white and gold had risen from behind a large desk and walked towards Noah. The Esper bowed formally;

in return the priest extended his hand to Noah for a Palman handshake.

"You look well, Noah," he said, speaking slowly and carefully but with very little accent.

"As do you." The young Dezorian's face had been haggard with the strain of commanding Corona Tower during the siege the last time they'd met.

"We hear that the tyrant king of your people was defeated. Your Alis was successful in her quest, then?"

Noah nodded.

"She was. Lassic has fallen, as had the One Who Comes with the Millennium."

Ngangbius' eyes widened.

"The..." he struggled with the Palman, "Dark Force? It has fallen?"

"It has. Alis defeated it," Noah said, then added with a wry smile, "with some help from her friends, of course."

The priest gave a great sigh.

"This explains why the fiends retreated. Without their master, they will skulk and wait another thousand years. I knew when I first saw that young lady that she was destined for greatness."

Noah nodded.

"She continuously surprises even me. Then again, you surprise me, too. From the look of your robes, 'High Priest' is a promotion from 'Prelate.'"

"It is. While I am, I think, too young for the rank, we lost many of our more experienced leaders battling the monsters that plagued our world. I used the Amber Eye Alis gave me to cast a litany shielding the Tower from the monsters, and by this act I became known and respected."

Noah favored the priest with a sardonic smile.

"Even though you gave the Eclipse Torch to a Palman?"

Ngangbius' eyes snapped up.

"You knew?"

"I suspected it was more than what you claimed, and I found references in the Governor of Motavia's library. Alis had no idea that not only is there only one Eclipse Torch but that it is the most holy relic of your faith. Then again, if she had known she'd never have taken it, and we did need it to complete our quest."

"I am glad. The ways of Heaven are often complex, but I had worried many times whether I had chosen rightly. In truth, it is disquieting, being regarded as a hero in one way while in another being seen as a traitor."

"Well, you no longer need to worry." He took a scroll from underneath his mantle, broke the seal, and unrolled it. "Alis wanted me to read this message to you: 'Queen Alisa Landale III of Palma hereby thanks Prelate Ngangbius and the Dezorian Church for the loan of the Eclipse Torch in my hour of need. Now that it has played its part in the defeat of the tyrant Lassic, I duly return the

Torch to its rightful place.'"

He rolled up the scroll and gave it to the priest.

"That was for the official archive, by the way. Alis also told me to tell you that she'd have come herself if her new job didn't keep her so busy, and that she hopes she's been able to live up to the trust you placed in her."

With that, Noah reached into a belt pouch and took out what looked like a glass sphere approximately six inches across. Inside the sphere, without air or fuel, a brilliant azure flame burned, leaping and dancing merrily despite the seeming impossibility of its existence. Its radiance washed over both of them, warming the Esper from within, soothing his irritation and suffering.

Noah did not know whether or not the Dezorian church was the true faith, but he was certain of one thing: the Eclipse Torch was clearly a holy flame. Reverently, he set the orb into Ngangbius' waiting hands.

"Thank you," the Dezorian said with heartfelt gratitude. "You don't know how much this means to us, to all of Dezolis."

"In addition, Alis wished me to express her willingness to reopen diplomatic ties with Dezo--did you say Dezolis?"

The priest nodded.

"Our respective accents, I believe, cause trouble. This planet is called Dezolis, rather than Dezoris."

"I'll make a note of that. There's no point in renaming the planet when it has a perfectly good name of its own."

"It most certainly does," Ngangbius stated, then bobbed his head apologetically, realizing he had been a bit brusque. It surprised Noah how fast he was picking up the Dezorian--Dezolian, he meant--mannerisms and their meaning. Only after a few moments did he realize the truth. Noah was not merely an Esper wizard, but also a telemental. Master Tajim hadn't been able to teach him much about this skill, because the gnomelike wizard did not himself possess it, but he had detected its potential in Noah. Without trying, he was picking up on surface emotions and thoughts subconsciously, understanding what Ngangbius was trying to convey.

This could be a very useful skill indeed, he realized. It was something worth considering, though training the ability might be very difficult, as he'd have to do it through self-study.

"Noah, would you pardon me? I wish to return the Eclipse Torch to its rightful place before any more time passes."

"Of course. Later, there is another matter I was hoping to discuss with you, High Priest."

"Certainly. I'll have Biron send you some refreshment while you wait, and feel free to make use of my library. I have some works in Palman, you see."

"Thank you."

Noah was not a patient person by nature, but his wizardly training had taught him the ability to wait. Besides which, an irascible, blunt-spoken Esper was still within the mold, but a hotheaded, impatient one? That would never do! So, he seated himself and waited, accepted a cup of Laerma-leaf herbal tea, and paged through the High Priest's library. Seeing the number of books there, the

wizard determined that one of his immediate goals should definitely be to learn the Dezolian language. There were spells to allow translation, but they were in and of themselves a minor modification of telementalism, an aid to communication but not to an actual understanding of language. Plus, they were useless for understanding a book unless a second person was reading that book aloud, for ink and paper had no mind.

Yes, he was going to have to learn more of Dezolis. The inhabitants of the frozen third planet had a complex history and culture, and were knowledgeable in many ways. This included new and different forms of magic, which Noah was always intrigued by, and legends about their encounters with the ultimate evil, Dark Falz.

The stories and lore of the Espers called Dark Falz the One Who Comes with the Millennium, and every indication had been that indeed, every thousand years the ultimate darkness returned to spread terror and destruction. Where patterns existed, there was a reason for them, and Noah wanted to explain those patterns. Why did Dark Falz appear only at thousand-year intervals? Was it merely an elemental force of evil, dedicated to causing harm for its own sake, or did it have a purpose that could be opposed and thwarted?

These were questions for which Noah wanted answers. Perhaps the Espers had them, or if not perhaps the Motavians or the Dezolians did, or even scientists like Dr. Luveno. Whomever held the key, Noah intended to assemble that information together, to amass all possible knowledge about Dark Falz so that the next time, the people of Algo would be ready for their nemesis.

Then, too, they needed a weapon. Knowledge was important, but so was strength, power to use against power.

That was the second half of his quest here, and the root of his impatience.

High Priest Ngangbius returned in slightly over an hour. He apologized for the delay, but it did not take a telemental's skill to see that he was pleased.

"Archpriestess Baratir actually apologized for distrusting the honor of your Queen. No doubt the fact that she is now queen did contribute to that, but nonetheless it is a step. Diplomacy most certainly will resume." He smiled and added, "If nothing else, the Evilheads are as much a thorn in our side as they are in yours. Perhaps working in unison we may bring these rogues to face justice for their murders and other acts of terror."

"You surprise me," Noah confessed. "I thought that the Evilheads were only dedicated to removing the Palman 'infestation' from Dezolis. I would have suspected they'd be a relatively minor problem for you, from a practical standpoint."

"That might have been true, especially as our government does not have the authority to punish crimes committed within Palman territory, even if the criminals are Dezolians. However, the Evilheads do not only assault Palmans, but also 'sympathizers' among the Dezolian people." He chuckled softly. "I must admit, perhaps immodestly, that I have been the subject of their most intense interest during the past year. Allowing the sacred flame to be touched by Palman hands, let alone given into their keeping, was to them an act tantamount to the greatest sacrilege."

Ngangbius smiled again.

"There is an old proverb which states, 'The measure of a man may be taken by knowing his enemies.' If that is so, I am glad that the Evilheads are among mine."

"I'll drink to that." Noah sipped his tea, suiting words to actions.

"Now, I know you must be bursting with impatience by now to address the other matter that brought you here, so I shall cease delaying you. Besides which, I am curious."

Noah shifted and removed a cloth-wrapped package about four feet long which he wore slung over his back like a fighting cane might be slung. Indeed, that was what the priest had assumed it was, but apparently not. The Esper unbound the leather straps at each end which held the cloth in place and unwrapped the fabric.

Inside was a long rod seemingly made of a single piece of crystal, about two inches in diameter. One end had obviously broken, for it came to a number of jagged points, while the other was perfectly smooth. The young priest's eyes widened.

"Noah...I can feel something from that, even from here."

"It has been the subject of a powerful enchantment, one which still lingers even though it was broken. This crystal was what Alis used to kill Dark Falz with, hurling it through the demon's head. It was a weapon of opportunity, but I had hopes of adapting it, making it into a true weapon that could be used through the ages against the ultimate evil."

The Dezolian priest shook his head.

"That is not what I meant, Noah. I don't doubt you...but by Heaven, this crystal has a presence. The very air is alive around it. Can't you feel them, gathering here?"

"What do you mean?" Noah asked. He'd hoped that the Dezolian might be able to tell him something of this artifact, Damor's crystal, and its unusual properties, but this sudden, intense reaction to the very sight of it was far more than anything he had anticipated.

"Spirits," the priest said.

Noah looked at him with an expression that was part curiosity but also part frustration.

"Was that supposed to be an explanation or an expletive?"

"The spirits of the dead," Ngangbius told him. "They're here, gathering all around us. Can't you feel them?"

"These spirits..." Noah said, "they appeared when I took the crystal out?"

"That's right. This room is alive with them."

Noah extended his mystical senses, but try as he might he could feel only the faintest impression, a magical aura surrounding the two men but not one which he could actively sense as anything in particular.

Certainly not as the phantoms of the deceased.

"Ngangbius...can you sense anything else?"

"I shall try."

He raised his long, green-skinned hands and closed his eyes, chanting softly in what appeared to be some kind of prayer or spell. A faint aura of violet flame shimmered around him.

"I sense...great courage," the priest whispered. "Honor, justice, compassion...but courage above all.

The courage to sacrifice oneself for the good of all Algo. Names...Sean, Kara, Laya, Perseus, Artur, Mendos, Gyana, Linde, Ango, Tyrela, Nari, Cage...Loyal beyond death--Ah!"

His speech broke off with a sharp cry, and he staggered back a step. Ngangbius' eyes flicked open, and the violet aura faded, his concentration broken.

"These are no ordinary spirits," he said wryly. "While I spoke to them, they were looking within me. Judging me, I daresay."

"Those names...Ango was a great hero of ancient times. His sword still hangs in the Museum of the Antiquities in Paseo. I've heard of Troy, too. He was a great warrior from a thousand years ago. He and Perseus were supposed to have fought against Medusa when she tried to conquer Palma..."

Ngangbius nodded.

"I, too recognize certain of those names. Gyana was a great priestess of four millennia ago, the foundress of our church. Linde was her aide and paladin, a heroic swordsman. There were more spirits, too, beyond the ones I named."

"But why? What do they have to do with this crystal?"

"It appears that they shelter it."

Noah wrapped the crystal again. As he did so, a look of relief passed across the priest's face.

"Thank you. While I do not believe these phantoms meant us any ill, their presence was most...overwhelming."

"At least for those who could sense it," Noah groused. He was being petty, he knew, but he couldn't help it. He thrived on being the wise, knowledgeable wizard, and it galled him to be in a position of which he had no understanding whatsoever.

Pride goeth before a fall, but it also maketh one act like a damn fool.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I don't like being unable to do something, especially if it involves magic."

"That's all right. I've had the same urge," the priest admitted. Noah realized that the two of them were of an age, relatively young men put into positions of power, positions where they were relied upon, by circumstances beyond their control. Ruefully, Noah realized that the Dezolian seemed to be the more fit for his role by his natural temperament. Quickly, he turned the conversation back to the matter at hand.

"When you say 'shelter,' do you mean that the spirits are within the crystal?"

"No, not within,. It is more as if...how would I say it? As if the crystal was an anchor point to which the spirits are tied, holding them in this world."

"Loyalty beyond death, you said..." Noah mused. "They aren't trapped, then, but are doing this by their own will?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Then the phantoms are guardians, of a sort. They were all heroes in life, and now after death they remain to watch over and protect this crystal. But why?"

"I do not know, Noah."

"The soothsayer Damor put spells on it to make it a ward against evil power, and the spirits didn't stop him..."

"Perhaps what he did suited their purpose?"

"Right...Then the crystal broke, and the spirits are still here. That largely disrupted Damor's spells, though bits and pieces lingered. That means that the form of the crystal isn't important to the spirits, nor is any magical use it was put to before now. Breaking a magical item destroys the magic..."

His eyes opened wide.

"Ngangbius--Damor's spells aren't gone!"

"What?"

"They're not gone! They've been disrupted, yes, but they're still here, partly present in the crystal. I'd wondered about that; it was what made me think of making this into a weapon against the dark force in the first place, but I didn't realize how special it really was. It even absorbed parts of Alis' magic when she threw it!"

Ngangbius was starting to understand.

"Then this crystal..."

"Might just be the most magically sensitive item in all Algo! That's why the spirits are guarding it, not because of what it is but because of what it could be!" Noah clapped his hands together. "It could have been turned into a weapon of evil, but now..."

"Now," the priest concluded, "if you are correct, you could not have picked a better material from which to forge a holy weapon."

Noah shook his head.

"Not me," he said. "Us--if you're willing."

"Why so?"

"Two reasons. One, you can communicate with the spirits, and I don't want to learn that I'm making a mistake by getting blasted by the collected legends of eons. Two, as that example shows, Dezolians have magic that I don't, magic that might be useful in forging this sword of power. After all, I want this to be a weapon for all Algo, not just Palma."

"There is wisdom in what you say."

"And who knows? Perhaps one day, our spirits withll watch as this weapon destroys Dark Falz not just for the millennium, but for all time.

They were prophetic words. Only, like all prophecies, they'd didn't come true in the manner he expected.

AscensionThe spaceship was an ungainly thing, especially to those used to the gleaming silver and red needles that soared between the three planets of the Algol solar system. Unlike the sleek spaceplanes it

lacked wings or landing gear; this vessel was a huge, bulky oblong which could only be distinguished from a building by the nest of giant thrust-pods studding one end.

She was christened New Hope, and despite her looks her mission was one of exactly her name--exploration, colonization, the spread of Palman life to a new, habitable planet.

Yet, there were tears in the eyes of almost everyone watching the launch, some on their audivis screens at home, others there in person at the spaceport, crowding up against the barriers placed to keep the crowds at a safe distance. These were not tears of joy. These were tears of despair.

"The people don't want this," said a tall, broad-shouldered man, looking out at the spectacle from the panorama-view window of the spaceport's private departure lounge. He wore a battered red jumpsuit, the kind an armor-harness was designed to fit over, and his short, military-cut blond hair was laced with white. "I checked the poll numbers on my way here. They're running 89% against it."

"I think," a second voice said softly, "that is the point." This second speaker was as tall as the first, but far slimmer. His features were delicate and youthful; with these and the long silver-blue hair that spilled across his white-mantled shoulders he easily could be mistaken for a woman at first glance. His mantle and long blue robe were not atypical; their culture's affections for the trappings of medieval fantasy even in a world of computers and space travel as yet showed no sign of abating.

"He's right."

The two men turned to see an attractive woman standing behind them, wearing a utilitarian blue flight-suit in a color that should have matched her eyes, but to their surprise did not. Those eyes were now a bright cat-green, while her long hair was a rich, royal purple. Meeting their surprised looks, she tossed her head playfully, letting her violet locks spill down around her shoulders.

"Like it? I thought it was time for a change."

"Aren't you making enough of those as it is?" the blond man said gruffly.

"Oh, Odin, don't be cross," the woman said. "This is for the best. Really it is."

Odin shook his head in frustration. He was a fighter at heart, and he'd served as the Guildmaster of the Hunter's Guild for the past fifteen years because he understood that. Politics and social change weren't his kind of battle; clearing the surface of Palma of monsters with axe and laser so that roads could be built, fields planted, cables extended, and the lines of transportation and communication re-opened. The Restoration wasn't done--it would take decades to undo the damage inflicted by the years of the Tyrant King Lassic's rule--but Odin had seen real gains, genuine progress made that he was proud to have helped build.

"I can't believe that. I mean, I know you were never comfortable with the monarchy--"

"It's a little more serious than that, Odin. The monarchy has to go. It's all too easy to concentrate power in the hands of one person, but when that happens it gives an incredible opportunity for tyranny to develop." Queen Alisa Landale III sighed heavily. "Look at us. I've tried to rule well, and I've been queen for as long as Lassic was king if you count his time as Regent, and we've only begun to undo the damage he wrought. For that matter, Lassic wasn't even a tyrant for the beginning years of his reign! It's so much easier to destroy than to create. We have to make certain that destruction on that scale can never happen again, and the only way to do that is to eliminate the ability for one person to hold absolute power."

Alis sighed again.

"I'm basically just repeating my abdication speech here, Odin. You've known I intended to give up the crown since I first took it, that I only did become queen because Palma needed a unifying symbol to bring its people together. I had to, so that the Restoration could start, instead of being delayed by years, maybe decades of political infighting."

"Okay, yeah, I understand that. But Alis, you're leaving the planet! You're taking command of this colony mission to Copto!"

"I have to go away if this is to work. I can't have people turning to me every time things get rough." She herself turned to the blue-haired man. "Noah, can you explain it?"

"Probably no better than you can." A powerful Esper wizard, Noah was not concerned with political matters. His ongoing quest was to replace the individualistic master-apprentice system of the Espers with a more organized, centered training. His experience in aiding Alis to overthrow Lassic and the demon that Lassic had served had convinced him of the need to make the Espers into a unified community, a force for good against the supernatural darkness that seemed to lurk in Algol's shadows throughout history. Even so, he well understood the underlying conflicts of politics: power, negotiation, symbolism.

"You said it yourself, Odin, when you quoted the poll numbers. The people of Palma want The Heroine. No one wants to assume responsibility for governing the world. The average person wants to find a leader who is stronger, smarter, more just than they are, a godlike figure whom they can put their full trust in and let that person make the difficult decisions. There is a certain percentage that does not, of course, but most of the Palman race can be described as herd animals in search of a herder."

"That's absurd, Noah!"

"Is it? Consider: would you rather trust next year's political decisions to an elected council of representatives, or to Alis, here?"

"Alis, of course--but I know Alis. I don't know the council all that well."

"Would you trust yourself?"

"I--" Odin froze, then after a moment snapped his jaw shut. "What, since Myau couldn't be here, you have to yank my chain for him?" The fourth of the companions and Odin's longtime partner would have been there, but a flight of dragons was on a rampage in the Eppi Forest, and one of the Guild's best was needed there before countless lives were lost.

"He'd never forgive me if I didn't," Noah said, smiling thinly.

Odin's sigh was even heavier than Alis's had been.

"Okay, you've got a point. I don't understand global economics and I want someone who does deciding that stuff for me."

"But that's just it," Alis said gently. "I don't understand it, either. I have to turn to my own experts. And whomever inherits from me, he or she might not either, and so on. Yet there's something about making a monarch that imparts confidence. Monarchs don't rule by merit; they rule by right of birth, like something in their blood sets them apart from the rest of humanity--that I'm worthy to rule and you two aren't, not because of any skill or knowledge I possess but solely because I'm the daughter of King Marek Landale. That's absurd!"

"But that still doesn't explain why you're leaving the Algol solar system entirely!"

"What if the council makes mistakes? What if people grow impatient with debate and delays when action is needed? They'll turn to me. If it gets bad enough, or if demagogues whip up a loud enough frenzy, they'll demand me. And if it reaches that point, I'll accept, because I couldn't stand back and watch chaos eat Palma. I'm not strong enough to hold out for the greater good. The Restoration is too important. So I'm forestalling that. I'm leaving Algol. If the people want me, they can't have me. They'll have no choice but to deal with the republic I've left to replace the monarchy."

"So what if someone else steps up, some Lassic, or just some puffed-up twit who says they can solve all Palma's problems?"

Alis smiled wryly.

"Then the legitimate government can take out my banner and wave it until their arms hurt. 'The Heroine entrusted her beloved Algol to the System Government! Will you all turn your back on her dream for a democratic rule by following this pretender?' The symbolism cuts in the other direction, then."

In spite of himself, Odin laughed.

"And you say you don't know politics!"

"Well...fifteen years as queen can teach a girl something."

The happy smile died away, and tears filled her newly green eyes.

"I'm going to miss you so much, both of you."

"Yeah," Odin said, growing mute as always in moments of deep emotion. Turning to action when words failed him, he seized her up in a crushing hug that, had Alis herself not been one of the planet's most superbly conditioned warriors, would have squeezed the breath from her. Instead, she grabbed back and hugged just as hard.

When they let go, there were tears in his eyes as well.

"Blast it, kid, you take care of yourself."

"I will, Odin."

She turned to Noah, who regarded her with his serene and enigmatic look. Noah did it well, and over the years he'd gotten better at the "wizardly detachment" routine, but Alis knew it for the pose it was. The sarcastic, sharp-tempered young man who'd helped her overthrow Lassic was still in there, too, and she wasn't going to leave him behind forever without seeing him.

"Noah, I'm leaving Algol in your hands."

"What?" As expected, it had startled him out of his shell.

"I'm not talking about politics or culture or finance." I'm talking about the One Who Comes With The Millennium. We beat him this time, you and I, Myau and Odin. But he will return, and you have to make sure he's beaten then as well. The Restoration is going to bring industry, technology, and a better life to everyone, but don't let the magic be lost among the machines."

She reached out and took his hand.

"Promise me, Noah."

"I..."

"What's the matter?" Odin chimed in, finding momentary ease of his own grief in banter. "Can't the mighty Esper take care of a little job like saving all Algol without The Heroine?"

"You'll notice she didn't ask you, hunter."

"Hey, I'm not the wizard here," Odin shot back with a grin.

Just like old times, Alis thought happily.

Noah took a deep breath.

"I promise, Alis. If I have to, I'll be there myself to do it."

She smiled.

"Thanks. I know you will." Alis then raised herself on tiptoe, bent forward, and kissed his silk-smooth cheek.

Alis then turned and walked about ten feet towards the exit that led to the long conveyor walkway that, encased in its retractable white flex-tubing, looked like a long umbilical linking the ungainly colony ship to the base. Then, she stopped, turned, and plucked a small pouch from her side pocket. She flipped it to Odin, and he both heard and felt the clink of coins when he caught it.

"When Myau gets finished with those nasty dragons, treat him to the best fish dinner in Scion, on me."

"I'll do that."

"Good."

Her eyes were still brimming with tears when she stepped onto the conveyor and disappeared from their sight forever.

The two men watched from the window for a long time. They watched as the last passengers were boarded and the long walkway retracted, the last supplies brought to the great ship by electro-truck. They saw the framework of the conduits, support structures, and cables detached and removed one by one. They watched the great bank of engines test-fired at a tiny fraction of their potential. And they watched as, hours after Alis had left their company, the giant spacecraft rose from its pad, slowly and ponderously gaining altitude, and then gathered speed, launching itself into a deepening twilight sky, where the engine flares shone briefly like a bright blue star.

Then she was gone, and a world wept with them.

Fishergeist: A Memoir, by OdinWhen I was a boy growing up I used to spend my summers with my grandparents. They lived in a small fishing village out on the Iala peninsula--this all being before Lassic decided he'd rather have life than a soul, of course--and I always enjoyed the contrast between their life close to nature and the hustle and bustle of Scion. It was during these summers that I learned the ways of the wild that essentially led me to become a hunter.

It was also there I learned to fish.

Grandpa had spent over forty years as a netman on one of the boats, daily putting himself through some of the hardest and most dangerous work on the planet. When at last he retired, his body no longer able to stand the strain, he took up...fishing.

"I spent my whole life pullin' fish out of the water, Odin. Don't see how I can stop now. Besides which, for forty years that was work. Now I can relax and have some fun at it."

Grandpa wasn't alone, of course. There were a good four or five of them who'd while away the lazy hours of the morning and afternoon with rod and reel. His best friend, though, was a fellow self-described "old geezer" named Dray.

Did I say friend? Well, you wouldn't know it to hear them. They'd argue about everything. Not just the usual stuff that everyone argues about, like politics or sports. No, Dray and Grandpa would argue about the weather, about the proper way to tie a line, about what breed of dog was better for protecting the house, whatever the topic of conversation happened to be. I once heard them going back and forth over whether the sky was better described as "azure" or "cerulean" one morning after Grandma'd taken up poetry.

At first I'd been worried that the two of them would get into a fight, but Grandma set me straight on that point. And after a while I realized that two cantankerous old men couldn't be happier than when they were crabbing back and forth at one another.

I spent more than a few days myself sitting out on the dock with Grandpa and his cronies, casting my line out into the water and waiting for a fairly dim fish to hook itself. I was seven years old when I caught my first yellowside. It was an hour later when I had my first taste of what it meant to be a man: that a woman would cook a fish for her family but it would be a cold day in the Motavian desert before they cleaned and gutted it for you. Ah, the unfathomable ways of the opposite sex.

Fishing, though, was not just about lazy days in the sun. Sometimes it meant effort, as it did one night when I was ten, and the silverskates were running. I'd gotten to my grandparents' a couple of weeks early that year, and so was there for what was, apparently, one of the highlights of the sport fisherman's season. Grandpa took me out on the bay in his dinghy two hours after moonrise. Within fifteen minutes the water was alive around us with a swarm of glittering silver fish. It seemed like the sea was so full that they would burst up out of the water and glide through the air, water droplets gleaming iridescently on their long, laconia-hued fins.

For over an hour we cast our lines, catching a strike almost every time our lures hit the water. Then I saw it,: a pale, sickly green glow beneath the surface. Within moments the silverskates began to thin out; in no more than ten minutes there were none to be seen.

"Well, no point in stayin' out here and gettin' cold. Let's head in."

"Grandpa, what was that glowing thing? Did it scare off all the fish?" I asked.

Grandpa's eyes flicked left and right nervously, as if he was afraid someone...or something...was listening in.

"We'll talk about it when we're back on shore, Odin. For now you just worry about that oar."

"But--"

"Once we're on shore." Not another word would he say until we'd tied the dinghy up at the dock and unloaded our gear and the catch. About five other boats were tying up as well, including Dray's.

"Now, Odin, I'm sorry I was so curt with you, but it's an old custom of the sea that you don't talk

about spirits while there's still water under you. They don't like that, y'see."

"Spirits, Grandpa?"

"Ghosts."

I nearly jumped out of my shoes.

"G-g-ghosts?"

He nodded solemnly.

"Yup. Happened 'bout sixty years ago, when I wasn't much older than you. Man named Sillas Dorei was out fishin' one day when he hooked a big one. It put up one heck of a battle, lasted near on four hours, 'til it was long past sunset. Most men would have given it up long before, but Sillas was a cantankerous, stubborn old coot and he wasn't goin' to let that fish go no matter what happened. Finally, though, he reached the end of his strength and endurance, until all he had left was sheer, wrongheaded cussedness. As Sillas played out the line one last time he stood up in that boat and swore a mighty oath to all the powers of darkness if they'd just let him land and kill that fish!"

I shivered with the delicious pleasure of being creeped out while knowing I was perfectly safe. I have to admit, though, that talk about oaths to powers of darkness isn't quite so entertaining now, not since Lassic.

Back then, though, I was still an innocent.

"Did they answer him, Grandpa?" I asked breathlessly.

"Well, maybe so and maybe not, but it's surely the truth that just then, with an explosion of water, the fish burst from the sea and floated there in the air, looking at old Sillas. See, what he'd hooked was actually one of them giant shellfish, the kind that produce lighter-than-air gas in their bodies, so they can hunt surface prey for a time. They stared at one another for one frozen moment, and then Sillas snatched up his gaff and plunged it into the shellfish's side, dealin' it a mortal wound. Just when he'd thought he'd won, though, the shellfish counterattacked by launchin' one of its shell-fragment spears at Sillas. The old man fell back in the boat and the line slipped from his hand, so that the dyin' monster dropped into the sea and sank to the bottom. Some people like to point out that Sillas's bargain had mentioned landin' and killin' the fish but said nothin' 'bout bein' able to bring it back in to shore."

I bobbed my head, following the logic.

"So the ghost is old Sillas Dorei, still hunting his fish after all these years, Grandpa?"

"What? Oh, no. Sillas lived, right enough; it was just a flesh wound to his shoulder. That's why we know the story, 'cause he came back to shore and told everyone all 'bout it. That there ghost is the shellfish he stabbed,"

A bunch of the other fishermen had been standing around listening to the story, and it was at that point that Dray spoke up.

"What're you at, you old fool, filling that boy's head with a bunch of nonsense? Ghostly shellfish, indeed!"

"You tryin' to make me out a liar, Dray? That there's the ghost of Sillas's shellfish." Grandpa pointed out to sea, where we could still see the glow.

"Fool talk! Ghost shellfish! I've never heard such a load of credulous nincompoopery. Why, anyone with half a brain and one good eye can tell that's an ammonite's ghost!"

The Whispers Of DarknessA Legend of Dezolis

"Therefore, for your services in freeing the Corona Tower from the hordes of the Dark One, and for your heroism in standing against the usurper Lassic when none other could, the people of Dezolis hereby offer their deepest thanks, and to symbolize that present you with this."

Alis Landale, Queen Alisa III of Palma and the Algolian Colonies, bent her head as the Dezorian--no, Dezolian, she really must learn to pronounce it correctly--envoy held up the medallion. The tall, green-skinned priest slipped the red ribbon over her neck, so that the disk of smooth blue stone fell into place on her chest. Alis touched it gently with her fingertips, tracing the outline of the native ideograph for "heroism." Despite the warm afternoon, the stone felt cool, almost cold to the touch, like the outside of a glass of iced beverage though it did not attract condensation.

"I am honored, High Priest Ngangbius, both by the esteem of your people and by the fact that you personally came here to Palma to deliver it. This is an extraordinary tribute, and I only wish I could be worthy of it."

They exchanged further politenesses, Alis demurring while Ngangbius praised her, all the while audivid cams recording the presentation and newspaper reporters taking notes for the stories they'd write for the benefit of the parts of Palma the Restoration had not yet brought the media networks back to. The queen didn't actually get to ask about the medallion until the reception held after the ceremony.

"I'm surprised," she said, when she managed to extricate the High Priest and herself from their hangers-on, "that the Church would send the Hero of Corona all the way to Palma as an emissary."

Ngangbius chuckled at the use of his rather pompous epithet.

"Oh, there are many reasons for that, Your Majesty."

"Watch it, Ngangbius. If you don't call me Alis, I'll be forced to call you--oh, what is it?--Your Eminence all night."

"A truly terrible fate. It shall be Alis, then."

The seventeen-year-old queen grinned.

"And to answer your curiosity, since it was our...historic...exchange of the Eclipse Torch for the Amber Eye that paved the way for our victories over evil, it was considered only appropriate that I be the one sent. Likewise, it was felt that given my, shall we say, accepting attitude towards Palmans I would be more comfortable than others among a planet full of you."

"I may be new to politics, Ngangbius, but even I can spot a world of hidden meanings there."

"Undoubtedly it is only my accent, brought on by my imperfect mastery of your language. I could not possibly be implying that the arch-conservative faction within the Church would be happy to see any number of accidents befall me due to the inherent dangers of interplanetary travel, nor that my absence from religious councils while I am here could give my enemies momentum therein."

"Oh, yes, Palman can be very difficult. I'm sure you didn't mean to imply any of that. Is it that you

don't loathe and despise we Palman 'invaders' that bothers them so much?"

He shook his head.

"Oh, no. They would oppose me for that, but they will detest me forever for giving the most holy relic of our faith into the hands of an alien infidel."

"I gave it back," Alis pointed out. "I wouldn't have taken it in the first place if I'd known how priceless it was."

"Exactly. I not only gave it to you, but I went and blew snow in your eyes so that you would take it. The fact that my actions ultimately assisted both our peoples to triumph over evil is not considered sufficient reason."

"Idiots," Alis decided.

"Do not judge them too harshly," the priest said. "They possess deep and abiding faith. Unfortunately, this clouds their minds to the value of change. However, they act as a vital balance against those who would abandon in an instant wise and long-established traditions for perceived progress." He smiled broadly. "We are all imperfect, but by balancing our imperfections against those of others, we can keep our institutions in harmony with Heaven's will, even as we seek it as individuals."

"I don't see how you can be that calm."

"It keeps my blood pressure down," Ngangbius said with a shrug. "One must keep a cool head."

"That reminds me; speaking of staying cool, I was wondering about this medallion. It actually seems cold to the touch, and it doesn't warm up, even when I hold it. Why is that?"

"That stone is called frost jade for that very reason. It is very rare on Dezolis and highly prized as a symbol of fidelity and courage."

"Really? How come?"

Ngangbius smiled.

"Well, as to that, there is a story--apocryphal, no doubt, but if you would care to hear it..."

Alis returned his smile.

"Well, let's see. Shall we return to the collection of toadies and political sycophants, or shall we old friends of the glorious rebellion against the Usurper Lassic remain in conference as I honor the envoy of the Dezolian Church with the Royal Presence?"

Ngangbius laughed heartily.

"I do believe you are learning quickly, Alis."

* * * * *

The story (Ngangbius began) is from over a thousand years ago, during what our historians call the Feudal Age. Then, Dezolis was not unified under the peaceful rule of the Church but endured under the hereditary reign of various warlords and petty nobles. Some of these were fair and just, others cruel tyrants. Spellcraft and sword-art, rather than wisdom and learning, ruled the day.

During that time the grandest city on Dezolis was Arcant. Centuries later its razing would signal the end of the Feudal Age, as the people rose up against the horrors perpetrated in its prisons, but it was a thriving town at the time of this story. In Arcant lived a young man of twenty-five named Jeran, of the noble House Markade. He was bold, upright, and skilled at arms, a knight I believe you would call it in your language.

Jeran, as young men will, happened to fall in love with a pretty maiden his age. Her name was Rela, and she was the daughter of House T'Kan. There seemed no impediment to their love; neither age, nor obligation, nor social disparity stood in their way.

However, Fortune was not with the young lovers. It came to pass that at court, Jeran's uncle did inadvertently give insult to Rela's mother. History does not recall the specific nature of this insult, only that the giver was a brash warrior more suited to the battleground than the palace but too proud to let another speak for him, while the receiver was a woman of high temper, quarrelsome, who clung to her social rank with desperate passion for she had little else in her life worth clinging to. Thus both were guilty of letting hot words and hot blood overcome cool hearts, and they found themselves in a duel of honor.

Now, Rela's mother was a famous duelist, but Jeran's uncle was a warrior, and he fought as one. Ignoring the formalities of the dueling circle, he faced her not sword-to-sword but with bladecatcher and war-mace, with blows of hands and feet as well as the blade, for he had learned battle in a school where victory was all, lest one's enemies overrun one's home, and in this way he left his opponent dead upon the snow.

House T'Kan at once cried foul, and for the dishonorable violations of court protocol and the customs of the duel called blood-feud on House Markade. House Markade returned their ire in equal measure, claiming that Rela's mother had attempted to play treacherous word-games to gain advantage over House Markade and her family was compounding this dishonor by protesting when they received the just rewards of their craven deceit.

Such was life in those violent and warlike times. For the next several months, the principals and retainers of House Markade and House T'Kan waged what amounted to open war in the streets of Arcant. Jeran himself was caught up in a number of battles, and it was only through great effort that he kept from killing any member of Rela's family.

This state of events deeply troubled the young lovers, for although they were not without family loyalty they deeply cared for one another and Heaven blessed them so that this love outweighed the anger and violence in their hearts. Despite the bitter denunciations of their elders they arranged secret meetings, and at last resolved to flee the city together, to be married in some distant district where neither of their families had influence. As a skilled fighter, Jeran knew there would always be work for him in some local warlord's troops, and in this way they could build a new life.

When the appointed day came, their plan initially went off without a hitch. Rela arranged to go out on a shopping trip, escorted of course, and the lovers managed to distract the escort by toppling two racks of clothing in the shop and embroiling them in an argument with the merchant and several other shoppers alike. While a veritable riot broke out, Jeran and Rela slipped away and were out the northern city gates in a twinkling.

Things did not end there, of course, or else the story would not have passed into legend. It so happened that one of Rela's bodyguards was more attentive to his duty than some of the others, and although unable to extricate himself from the chaos observed the lovers slipping away and reported this to his master. Rela's father did not hesitate, but charged out of town in pursuit at once, taking with him only a small party.

These events did not long escape the attention of the spies of House Markade. Unwilling to abandon his son to the soldiers of House T'Kan and wishing to chastise him for his errors, the head of that House gathered an armed warband and set off in pursuit.

Realizing that they might well be followed, Jeran and Rela had chosen a course north into the hills of the Great Claw Ridge. As an experienced traveler, Jeran knew the ways of the mountains well, and although a court-maiden rather than a fighter Rela, too, was fond of wilderness travel and life. They hoped to be able to evade their near-inevitable pursuit and set out on their new life while their families floundered about, unable to tell where they had gone.

Even today, the mountains of Dezolis are dangerous places. Harsh terrain and a numbing cold even we Dezolians find hazardous are a constant threat, and beyond that there are creatures strange and terrible. Jeran knew these hazards well, and was able to steer clear of natural and monstrous danger alike, but the pursuers had no such knowledge.

Thus it was when the master of House T'Kan emerged into a small, flat plain, his party had already lost two lives when a crust of ice that had made a ledge seem wider than it was had cracked under their weight. That natural tragedy, however, quickly paled next to the unnatural one that unfolded.

Jeran and Rela had not crossed the plain but instead skirted the edge and continued their ascent. Rela's father, however, did not do this but seeing the broad, open way instead of the tortuous path they'd been following immediately set out straight across.

There was no warning, no rumbling or shaking of snow, no telltale noise before the attack. Death in the Dezolian mountains is a stealer-in who does not announce his presence before he strikes. The first indication they had of danger was when the giant form exploded from beneath the ground and struck out.

The creature was a frostman, a ten-foot being seemingly hewn from living ice crystal, colored the deep blue of a twilight sky. Even as it emerged from its lurking slumber, this leftover creation of black magic snapped a soldier's neck with a blow from the edge of its hand.

House T'Kan's bravos were not cowards by any means. Faced with this threat, they reached for their weapons: swords and war-spears, cut-axes and maces. These blades did but little damage to the crystal-hard body of the frostman, however, striking tiny chips and gouges out of its limbs and torso but doing little real damage. The same could not be said for the creature, which struck titanic blows that broke limbs, crushed ribs, and quickly left two more men dead on the ground.

Realizing they had no chance of defeating the monster, Rela's father ordered his battered group to retreat. The frostman pursued, moving easily over the snow despite its size and strength. Finding the paths out of the clearing cut off by the creature's speed, the warriors took shelter in a cave in the cliff face. Unfortunately, they found that the cave was a dead end.

Meanwhile, Jeran and Rela had watched the struggle unfold from the ascending path. At first Jeran had hoped the frostman would delay pursuit, but as it quickly became obvious that House T'Kan's party was hopelessly outmatched his emotions changed. He saw men being killed, fellow Dezolian warriors dying needlessly, family whom Rela loved and whose deaths would cause her grief. Her own father!

The young warrior found himself charging pell-mell down the slope as fast--faster, even--as he safely could. He drew his silver longsword as the frostman herded the men of House T'Kan into the cave, and dropped from the rock shelf to block the cave mouth. The impact drove Jeran to his knees, but the soft snow prevented any serious injury, and he lunged upwards. The enchanted blade slashed crystal flesh, cutting a gash from which a clear blue, gelatinous ichor wept.

The frostman keened in a voice like the rumble of an avalanche and struck out at the first man to harm it. In his exposed position, Jeran was knocked onto his back by a powerful blow, but then Rela was there beside him, helping him get to his feet before the monster could follow up with another strike. Instead it was Jeran who lashed out again, cutting a deep gouge across the monster's chest.

With another pain-wracked bellow, the frostman opened its mouth wide, and it spewed forth a hail of inutterable cold and rime. The murderous breath swept over the young couple, and when it had passed there remained what looked for all the world like two statues, sheathed over in deep blue frost.

The monster then turned its attention to its original victims, who had seen hope rise, then as suddenly fade to despair. Yet, though the young couple was frozen and unable to act, still they thwarted its progress. The cave mouth was narrow, and the statue-bodies of Jeran and Rela blocked the crystal giant's passage. Indeed, they did a better job of sealing the way than they had when alive. Flesh is soft and yielding; it can be torn or broken or thrust aside. Cold stone was not. For an hour it beat upon the two, struck them, shoved at them, but had no more effect than the weapons of House T'Kan had had upon it, chipping and gouging the frozen shells only. The frostman was still at its work when the warband of House Markade caught up at last. With them was a wizard, who at once lashed the monster with magic fire. This not only did grave injury, but burnt through its frozen shell, leaving the frostman vulnerable to the swords and maces of the soldiers.

At first the warriors of House Markade were moved to put an end to the smaller and battle-weakened party of their enemy, but this did not last. They could see how Jeran and Rela had stood together, surrendering their lives in defense of House T'Kan's group, and despite his anger Jeran's father could not bring himself to shame his son's sacrifice. Likewise, Rela's father saw this sacrifice of the prince of House Markade in their defense as balancing the scales of honor--a life given for a life taken.

Stretchers were fashioned, and the two bodies were brought back to Arcant. With painstaking effort, the crystal sheathing was chipped away, for the morticians found it did not melt under the application of even searing heat. Were this a fairy-tale, once they were freed Jeran and Rela would have been found still alive beneath, and ushered in the generations of peace between their families with their marriage, but such was not the case, and at last their bodies were sent to lie in the great Guaron Morgue, crypt in those years of Arcant's noble dead.

The pieces of blue frost in which they had been frozen, pieces that seemed more like stone than ice crystals, were taken by the two families and fashioned into various amulets and jewelry, and it is said that they endure to this day, symbols of courage and of an honor not concerned with touchy points of pride and etiquette but with giving one's all to protect those one loves. On Dezolis, "frost jade" is never bought or sold, only earned.

Of course, this is only a legend, passed down for centuries, and who can say if it is true? Why, it is as improbable as...as a teenaged girl overthrowing an evil wizard-king and his demon master, would you not agree?

Penultimate End"All the way down, then all the way back up again," grunted Odin as he wrenched his double-bitted laconian axe free from the fallen soldier's armor. King Lassic's crown guards were huge men, and their own axes were lethal, but the party of four had smashed their way down through the subterranean passage and up again into the inner keep of the Air Castle, the tyrant's floating stronghold. "Did he absolutely have to brick up the front door? Wasn't it enough to build a flying castle and make it invisible?"

The white-mantled Esper, Noah, smiled wryly at the brawny, blond warrior. The blue-haired wizard was as slender and beautiful as a girl, but there was nothing delicate about the magic of fire, wind, and thunder he hurled at their enemies.

"We're here, aren't we?" he said gently, but with a sardonic twinkle in his eyes. "Those defenses didn't do him much good."

"Neither did these," Odin countered.

"He has a point," teased Myau. The only non-human member of the group, Myau was a yellow-furred Musk Cat--but not just a Musk Cat. He'd been transformed into a winged beast as tall at the shoulder as Odin, a creature capable of flying the other three up to the floating castle.

"Stop it, all of you. We have to work together at this."

It was the voice of their leader. She didn't look like much, not at first glance. Just a fifteen-year-old with a cute face, long brown hair, and wide blue eyes that still held an eager innocence no hardship had been able to quash. Her short-skirted pink dress, yellow leggings, and flat-heeled white boots were cheerful, rather than ominous. A casual look would dismiss her as a child playing at grown-up games.

Her name was Alis, and her three companions would have followed her into Hell itself, confident that she could somehow bring them out safely. In a way, that was exactly what they had done for her. Each had in turn joined her quest, four against the unholy armies of the king of Palma. And now, here they were, outside the door to Lassic's throne.

Lassic the sorcerer, who had clearly dipped into realms of black magic to judge by his undead minions, the evil wizardry that an Esper like Noah was dedicated to fighting.

Lassic the betrayer, whose minion Medusa had butchered the resistance cell to which Odin and Myau had belonged, even to the point of turning Odin to a stone statue.

Lassic the tyrant, whose mechanical enforcers had cut down Alis's brother Nero before her eyes and set her on this path.

Alis looked at the great double doors. As the leader, she felt she ought to make some kind of speech before this final battle of their quest, to say something to inspire the others, but try as she would, nothing came to mind.

"Are we ready?" she finally said. "Whatever is on the other side of that door, we'll only get one chance at it."

After a moment's thought, Odin hooked his axe to his belt and drew his laser gun, a powerful pistol capable of spraying multiple enemies with blue-white blasts of energy.

"One moment," Noah said. He unslung a four-foot-long wrapped parcedl from across his back. "If this is ever going to be worth the effort we took to retrieve it, now is the time."

He untied the cords, drew back the cloth wrappings, and withdrew the crystal rod from its protective padding. It had been a gift from Damor the Soothsayer, who'd once been the greatest Esper wizard in all Algo. He'd served King Marek Landale, and joined Alex Ossale in his rebellion against the then-Regent Lassic after King Marek's death. Unfortunately that rebellion had failed utterly, ending with General Ossale's execution.

Damor's crystal was supposed to help protect the questers against Lassic's power. The only question

was, would it do so, or would it be merely one more failure in a series of them? It had been obvious that the old wizard had suffered some sort of mental breakdown and needed care...

Alis's hand hesitated as she reached for the crystal rod. Another thin smile played over Noah's lips as he held it out to her, as if he knew what she was thinking.

I haven't come this far by doubting, Alis decided firmly. She adjusted the buckle of her laconian shield, strapping it into place along her forearm to leave her hand free. It would hamper her use of the shield, but there was little to be done about that, not if she was going to use the crystal, which she then took from Noah.

"All right," she told the others. "I don't really have anything else to say, but...thank you, everyone, for coming this far."

Myau shook his head.

"No, Alis. Thank you for bringing us with you, meow."

She almost blushed.

Odin tugged at one of the door handles.

"Oh, great. The doors are locked, and I don't even see a keyhole."

Noah pressed his palm flat against a door.

"That is because they were sealed with magic. Don't worry; I can easily counter the spell." He spoke one quick, sharp word in a language none of the others recognized, and the door was suffused by a pale blue glow, which soon faded.

"I think that should take care of it."

Odin tried the handle again. This time, he was able to swing the portals wide.

* * * * *

Lassic was afraid.

Death was coming for him, extending its fleshless hand at a steady, inexorable pace.

She had found his Air Castle, rent asunder the magic that hid it from the eyes of his enemies. Somehow she'd ascended into the sky, bringing weapons and armor of silver-bright laconia, the magical metal he feared could disrupt his power. Lassic had sealed off the doors and windows of his inner keep, so that anyone who wanted to attack him would have to travel a winding passage through the bedrock of the floating island, a passage choked with his most vicious minions.

None of it had worked. They were here, here, right outside his door!

"Isn't there something you can do?" he raged desperately.

Weak Lashiec.

Scared Lashiec.

Cowering Lashiec.

The dark whispers in his mind ate at the king, using the secret name he had been given when he had accepted the call of nightmare.

You have been given power, Lashiec.

You have been given immortality, Lashiec.

Go forth and defend these gifts!

He trembled at the contempt in the voices. The black blood beat in his veins, pulsing with fear, but also with anger.

You are the King of Algo, the whispers told him. Air, sea, and stone are yours to command. These rebels have come far, but only to die at your hand. They are bugs to be crushed, nothing more. If they will not submit to your mastery--

"Then I will flay the souls from their bodies," Lassic growled.

The tyrant king rose from his throne to greet his unwelcome callers.

* * * * *

He was alone, Alis realized almost at once. There were no royal guards, no court sorcerers, no demonic hordes. There was only Lassic himself, standing before his throne. His sunken eyes blazed redly with hate, and he exuded a palpable aura of menace, a sensation of evil that seemed to roll off him in waves.

Nero, please protect me, Alis prayed, hoping that her brother's spirit could hear.

Lassic looked like a vision of evil from a storybook. He did not wear a king's crown and royal robes, nor the common clothing of the people, but instead a suit of armor, ornate and fluted, with a scarlet cape descending from the shoulders to just brush the floor. A helmet with wide, spiraling horns masked much of his face, and a massive staff crowned with a wide, spreading crest was gripped in one gauntleted fist.

"Welcome, children," his voice boomed out through the chamber. "You were lucky to have made it this far. But do you truly wish to kill an old man?"

He was an old man, too, Alis reflected. He'd been in his fifties when he'd become Regent, fourteen years ago. Lassic must be nearly seventy by now.

"Evil," she said firmly, her voice clear and strong, "is not the sole province of the young. Your tyranny has gone on too long as it is, but it shall be no longer!"

"You will regret your impudence!"

He leveled the staff at the four, and a beam of searing light slashed out at Alis and her friends. Myau squealed in pain, Noah was knocked over by the blaze of energy, and Odin grunted savagely and nearly doubled up. Alis winced as a jolt passed through her system. It felt much like when she'd been hit by the conjured lightning of Lassic's masked magicians, yet weaker, less of a blow.

The crystal rod pulsed warmly in her hand, glowing with a soft amber light.

It looked as though the old soothsayer wasn't quite as mad as Alis had feared.

Odin and Noah attempted a counterattack, striking out with laser shots and bolts of flame. Lassic shrugged these attacks off and once more lashed out with the energy from his staff. Once again, only Alis escaped serious injury.

She didn't waste any more time. Her friends could be badly hurt, or even killed, if they were forced to endure many more of Lassic's strikes. Raising her sword, Alis charged, sprinting across the throne room. The king lashed her with electric fire, but Alis parried with Damor's crystal and lunged. The point of her laconian sword crashed against Lassic's breastplate, glancing off, but the tyrant stepped back as if staggered.

Why is he retreating? Alis wondered. She had the answer almost as soon as she'd thought of the question. For all that he was armored like his giant axemen, Lassic was an Esper, not a trained fighter. Possibly he even possessed the endurance of his age! His strategy would have to be to engage his foes at range, if he expected to win. Alis pressed her attack, trying to keep Lassic on the defensive.

The king was no fool, though. He'd recognized the crystal shaft as being the source of Alis's resistance to his magic, and he tried to do something about it. His staff sweprt out, not to spit forth another searing beam but to physically strike at the frail-looking crystal. Alis managed, though, to twist her arm and take the blow off her shield instead. Lassic clubbed at the crystal once more, but the truth was in this kind of battle he was at a distinct disadvantage and Alis was able to counter.

"Wretch!" the tyrant roared. "I am the king of all Algo! I will not be defeated by a slip of a child!" Rather than sweep the room with his staff-bolt, he instead leveled the tip at Alis's chest and released the entire blast at point-blank range into her.

Alis arched her back as pain wracked her body, making her stagger. Her legs felt weak and rubbery; everything in her made her want to drop to her knees.

But she wouldn't do it.

In truth, she couldn't. As Alis's mind reeled from the pain of yet a second bolt, she seemed to feel herself carried forward, helped along by the support of her three companions. She could feel the presence of everyone she'd met along her quest: her friends Nekise and Suelo; the wise Governor of Motavia who did what he could to blunt Lassic's evil in his sphere of control; the suffering people of ruined Bortavo, poison-choked Sopia, and starving Drasgow; the Dezorian priests of holy Corona Tower on the ice planet; the wizened figure of Noah's master. Most of all, though, she felt Nero. Her brother had died in her arms while entrusting his quest to her, and now Alis stood just one victory away from freeing Algo, all three of its worlds, from the tyrant who seemed determined to not merely oppress its people but destroy them.

Her sword swept out, the edge sliding between the lip of Lassic's helmet and his shoulder guard. It did not decapitate the king, but it did not need to apply the traditional punishment for royal traitors. What Alis's blow lacked in dramatic irony, it made up for in effectiveness.

Lassic was dead.

Alis stared down at the body for a long time, trying to sort out what she felt. Joy at having completed her quest? Shock at having destroyed a king? Elation? Horror? Closure?

No, she decided; mostly she just felt empty. The fight against Lassic had filled her life for long months, and now it was over, with nothing--yet--to replace it.

She'd find something, though. Although Lassic was beatedn, the effects of his reign wouldn't go

away at once. It would take long, hard work to bring Algo back from its king's depredations. Destruction--even the destruction of evil--was always easier than creation.

Alis smiled. Maybe there was more to this quest than she thought, something better than just fighting and killing.

"Come on, Alis," Odin said, his voice heavy with the pain of his injuries. "Let's get out of here."

"All right," she said. "We need to get back to the Governor as soon as possible, anyway. He's the only legitimate government left, and he'll need to get started right away to keep anarchy from spreading." With a lightening heart, Alis summoned forth her own magic, a spell of instant flight that would transport them out of the dark castle and away, towards a bright future.

* * * * *

The lips of the Governor of Motavia curved upwards, but it was not he who smiled. Nor were it his thoughts that echoed in his mind, causing the true spirit of the Governor to cringe in horror. These were the actions of the darkness that had possessed him, the same darkness Lassic had bowed to in exchange for power and eternal life.

Good, the dark force thought. It seems that Lashiec has learned his lesson. Perhaps next time I drag his soul forth into the world, he will be more attentive to his duties and less concerned with his pathetic fears.

The thing that inhabited the Governor leaned back in his seat. All that remained was to deal with the so-called heroes that had unknowingly carried out the chastisement for him. They had served their purpose, and it would not do for them to interfere where they were not meant to. He'd planted the seeds carefully to make sure they would return to him upon Lashiec's defeat. Willingly, they would rush into his trap, and they would die.

And their world would follow.

The Measure Of A HunterAuthor's Note: This story is the first--a prologue, really--in what I hope will be an ongoing, if irregular, series of episodic stories (the draft of the second one is already written, so I'm hopeful!) which follows a single coherent plot. Not unlike a serial TV series, plot elements and storylines will most definitely carry over from story to story, so "jumping aboard" midway may prove difficult. Likewise, expect dramatic revelations and other shoes dropped at regular intervals. You've been warned! ^_^

There were three of them, tall and lean, with weatherbeaten faces and cloaks worn with hoods down. The leader wore a wide-brimmed, floppy hat, and beneath his tunic occasionally shone glints of zirconium plates sewn into his leather armor. The others had no plating on their sturdy jerkins, but had close-fitting leather helmets. They carried a variety of weapons, but each was equipped with those suitable for long-range as well as close combat. Their faces were uniformly grim.

Hunters, the folk of Bortevo knew.

None greeted the men, nor met their gaze. It was but a few years since Bortevo had started rebuilding itself from the ruin made of it by the tyrant Lassic, and its people were not yet comfortable with outsiders. Their instinct was to cower, to hide from any perceived threat, and not to invite trouble down upon themselves.

Clearly, the three men meant trouble for someone.

"Early morning," one of the followers said. "We've timed it right. There'll be at least nine hours of daylight to do our searching."

"There's a lot to search, though," the other follower said. "Half this town is still a ruin. Abandoned buildings are all over the place. Perfect hiding spots."

The leader said nothing for a long while.

"No," he said finally. "It won't be a ruin."

"Why not, Weaver?" asked the man who'd mentioned the buildings. "It can't just slink off to its grave in the middle of a hotel. Some abandoned cellar is just the place."

Weaver shook his head.

"No, Dean. Consider the profile we were given. This one takes on human guise and interacts with the locals. That's what our client told us."

"I get it," said the other follower, his face the youngest, almost boyishly so, of the three and the only one whose eyes did not seem to be permanently fixed into a steely glare.

"I'm glad one of us does, Thad," Dean groused.

"Well, if it's going to play human, it's clearly going to have to have some kind of false identity, right?"

"People here are suspicious of outsiders," Weaver said. "A stranger needs to be readily identifiable by appearance, trade, and place of residence to win any kind of trust. It will probably have a private home--even better than an abandoned building because trespassers can be dealt with all but openly. During the day, the law can prevent a break-in while the owner is 'out.' At night, it can simply kill intruders in defense of its home. Safer by far than hiding in a cellar where anyone could legitimately go."

"Great. You're saying we'll have the law on us if we make a move?"

"It's possible."

"So what do we do?"

"Our jobs."

Weaver stalked forward, his cloak flowing around his ankles, his sudden motion signifying that the conversation was over.

The hunt was on.

* * * * *

"How many?" Taryn wanted to know.

"Three," Bob Jeffers said. The owner of the local First Food Shop franchise, he'd been one of the first people questioned. "Nasty fellows, all bristling with weapons."

"What did they want to know?" asked Pete Jorgens. Pete was a scavenger, who picked through the junk left behind in the ruined buildings for salable items. Like the others seated at the counter, he was an early lunch fixture, coming in as soon as Bob opened the shop at eleven.

"They were looking for a stranger in town--someone who doesn't eat here, except maybe a take-out meal."

Taryn took a sizable bite of her burger.

"They want you to tell them the name of somebody who doesn't come here?" Carla Davies wanted to verify. She took a sip of her cola while awaiting an answer.

"Yep. I thought about telling them I'd be more likely to know about my customers, but decided not to. I've got the feeling smarting off to those folks isn't going to be a bright idea."

"You can say that again!" exclaimed Will Bacon, the homeless street poet who sat at the far end of the counter from Taryn.

"You've seen them too, Will?" Bob asked. "Do you know anything?"

Will's face took on a sly expression.

"Could ya spare me a cup of cola?" he asked. Bob just laughed, filled a cup, and passed it over.

"Spill," he said, then added, "I mean the story, not the drink." That got a few grins.

"They asked me if I'd seen anything weird, like someone who gave out a bunch of food to people like me, or who threw out a lot of good food." He rubbed his chin. "They weren't too nice about the asking--figured I wouldn't tell them if I did know so as to keep the supply coming."

"It's got to be hunters," Pete concluded. "The law would identify themselves, and wouldn't rough anyone up for information. Um, no offense meant, Taryn."

"None taken, Pete; you're probably right." Queen Alisa's rule had been as far from Lassic's oppression as she could make it; her law enforcers often erred on the side of mercy--which few people minded after the soulless cruelty of Lassic's Robotcops. "I wonder if they're from the Guild, or independents?"

One of the queen's early reforms had been to organize a formal guild of hunters--the mercenary monster-slayers and bounty-hunters who had evolved from the anarchic conditions prevailing in much of Palma. Lassic's rule in the cities had been one of brutal totalitarianism, yet he'd basically ignored the countryside and many towns completely, to the extent that monsters would ravage the settlements and the infrastructure--water, power, transportation, communications--had crumbled.

Just why Lassic had done these things was the subject of much debate. He almost seemed to have been trying not to dominate and control, like the tyrants in history had done, but to destroy.

"If they're Guild hunters," Taryn continued, "then they can be brought under control. That's why there is a Guild, to police hunter activities and keep them in line."

"And if not?" Carla asked.

"Then there could be trouble, and a lot of it, before this is done."

"Were they looking for a man or a woman, Bob?" Pete said.

"That's the funny part. They didn't say."

* * * * *

"Someone is lying to us," Thad said bitterly, not looking the slightest bit boyish. They'd interviewed over three dozen people, applying a bit of pressure when the chance was there and it seemed to be a sensible strategy, but they'd learned nothing. "No one knows someone who doesn't come out in the day. No one knows someone who takes all their meals alone. And from what people say, almost no one goes to church in this town anyway."

"Calamity can either strengthen faith or destroy it," Weaver said. "Here it seems to be the latter."

"I hope this doesn't mean our target has changed its methods," Dean wanted to know.

"Possibly," Weaver admitted grudgingly. "If so, we should be able to fall back upon standard tactics. If not, though, we must resolve this matter by nightfall, or we will soon become the hunted."

The hunters' leader suddenly went ramrod-stiff at his own words.

"Weaver?"

"That's it," he said. "We'll bait a trap."

"What are we going to use for bait?"

"The one thing a monster like that cares about," Weaver responded grimly. "Its life."

* * * * *

Perin Dar sighed as he slipped into his hovel. It hadn't been a good day begging. The best he could say was that nothing had been swiped out of his home, a makeshift hole in the ruins, while he was away. Slumping to the hard-packed earth, he spilled out the contents of his meseta pouch onto the ground and began to count. He never counted during the morning; during the midafternoon he came home, counted the take, then calculated what he could buy and what he still needed to earn in the evening so he could have a decent meal and a bottle of something not cooked up in a kettle in one of the ruined buildings.

Those hunter goons hadn't done him any good. They'd pushed around his friends, asked hard questions, and their glares had everyone feeling insecure. Insecure people didn't engage in acts of charity. Perin hoped that they would cross a line and get the local law patrols breathing down their backs. Of course, in a place like Bortevo, the hunters might be tough enough to chase off the law, which consisted of only two people.

Perin suddenly got his wish, when the sheet of polycanvas covering his hideyhole was torn away by a strong hand and the barrel of a needlegun was shoved inside.

"You lied to us, streetscum," growled a deep, angry voice. "That's okay, though. It just means you'll have to help us in another way."

A powerful hand grabbed him by his dirty gray cloak and pulled him out into the light. The sudden transition from the shade to the afternoon glare stung his eyes.

"Isn't that right?"

* * * * *

"Taryn!"

The hunter was putting an edge on her favorite weapon, a short-handled, single-bitted axe with a

blade that came to a long, hooked point that could even be used as a crude thrusting weapon in extremis. She was wearing her battle gear: a calf-length, high-collared, sleeveless black dress slit up the left side to just above the hip for freedom of movement, with thigh-high knifeboots and gloves that reached halfway between shoulder and elbow. Gold trim matching her amber eyes decorated the flamboyant outfit, whose defensive inlays had the same protective quality of a light-suit.

In short, she was clearly ready for trouble.

"Will?" she said, surprised the lodgehouse manager had let the man back to see her. A brief flicker of resentment at the violation of her privacy danced across her mind, but she ignored it; Taryn knew where it came from. "What's going on?"

"The hunters--the ones we were talking about at lunch! They grabbed Perin!"

"Grabbed? You mean..."

"They hauled him right out of his little hideyhole!" Will exclaimed, wide-eyed. "You've got to help!"

"Will, calm down." Taryn dropped the axe and took the homeless man by the shoulders, fixing her eyes on his so there would be no mistake. "Explain to me what happened, slowly and clearly."

"They think he lied to them. He did, of course--you know Perin; he hasn't told the truth to anyone in any kind of authority for years. He spun them one of his little tales--he was telling me about it after lunch--about someone hiding in one of the ruined buildings on the east side. I guess they checked it out and found out the truth, because they came back for him. They took him right out of his squat by force!"

"How do you know this, Will?"

"I saw them do it! About six of us did--they weren't sneaky about it at all!"

"And the law?"

Will looked at her as if she was demented.

"Why would they do anything for Perin? He's only a beggar. They wouldn't do a thing for him."

"You'd be surprised, Will. Queen Alisa's law stands for everyone, not just the rich or the 'good citizens.' But there's just the two officers in Bortevo, which makes them outnumbered and probably outgunned. The hunters might know that."

"What do they want with Perin, though? Do they think he really knows something?"

"I'm sure that they do, but I think there's more to it than that. They kidnapped him openly, which means they want people to know--or at least one specific person."

"The...the stranger they're after?"

Taryn nodded.

"They'll assume that since Perin lied, that he knows the truth. That would make him a threat to reveal that truth, from the stranger's point of view. They hope to lure their quarry to them, into a trap. If things turn out how they expect, it might even clear them from any legal charges. Think about the questions they were asking, and guess what kind of person this stranger is."

She could all but see the thoughts as they came to Will. The street poet's mind wasn't always reliable, due to damage from bad alcohol and other chemical poisons, but he did have a first-rate imagination. Besides, a second-rate imagination could have figured it out, were it not that no one wanted to think of such possibilities, not now that a normal life was starting to return to town.

"You mean--?"

"Come on. We only have a couple of hours of daylight left."

* * * * *

The three hunters had set themselves up in an abandoned building, making no secret of it. They'd spent little effort on the beggar, merely tying him to a pillar and beginning to set their traps. Windows, the skylight, and broken gaps in the walls were prepared, combining their own supplies with scavenged materials. Some points of entry were treated to repulse, others trapped to greet an entrant with a lethal surprise.

They hadn't gotten around to protecting the front door. That didn't mean they were ignoring it, but the only defense was Thad, sitting with a steel-string bow gun in his grip, ready to skewer anyone who didn't try to be subtle in their approach. The point was that they didn't expect any serious opposition until the sun went down, and its burning eye was still making Taryn sweat when she walked in.

"Hold it!" Thad ordered, keeping the bolt-point trained on the intruder. He didn't know her, but caution made him respect the presence of armor, not to mention the axe on her right hip or the holstered gun on her left. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"My name is Taryn," she said calmly, "and I'm a hunter. I'm a member of the Guild."

"So are we," Weaver said, descending from the upper story. Inwardly, Thad breathed a sigh of relief. The woman's body language was screaming "confrontation," and it felt good to have his leader there to swing the odds in their favor.

"Then you know that the Queen's charter specifically forbids this kind of behavior. The whole point of the Guild is to make hunters into a respectable profession, under control. You've gone and kidnapped a man!"

"He's a servant of the one we hunt. His lies prove what he is."

"He's an old man who wouldn't know the truth if it hit him on the head--or at least wouldn't tell it. If Bortevo wasn't still more of a refugee camp than a town, you'd be in jail by now. You don't have some servant of evil; you've got a sick man whose brain has been crippled by chemical abuse and the shock of Bortevo's destruction."

Weaver fixed the woman with a cold gaze from beneath the brim of his hat.

"Our mission here is more than a simple job. Greater issues are at stake."

"Yeah. Right. Of course," she said derisively. "It always is, when some self-appointed crusader is on the prowl." Probably she shouldn't have challenged him so directly, but Taryn had, for a number of different reasons, no patience at all with self-righteous arrogance. And besides, she'd ignored the pun, which had to count for something. "That should be a reason to be as professional and disciplined as you possibly can, but it never is. Your kind just uses it as an excuse to justify abandoning common sense and common decency alike."

"You understand nothing. Trapped as you are by your puny rules and strictures--"

"Have you ever even seen a vampire?" Taryn cut him off scornfully. It was the first time, Thad realized, that anyone had said the word since they'd taken the job. Among themselves, the hunters had used euphemisms, almost as if cowed by the horrible realization of what they intended to face. This woman, though, came right out and said it without giving the word the slightest presence, the ominous majesty Thad had always associated with it.

"Of course. How else would we know their secrets and weaknesses?"

"Bad Gothic novels? Campfire stories? Audivis broadcasts, if you've lived in the cities? That's what it sounds like. Looking for someone who comes out only at night? Who buys groceries solely to conceal the fact that he doesn't eat? Who avoids holy symbols and consecrated ground?"

Dean, Thad realized, had come out of the back room where he'd been guarding the prisoner. Now it would be three against one if a fight ensued. and yet the young hunter found his confidence slipping moment by moment. Taryn's contemptuous attitude, as she offhandedly dismissed their crusade, but more deeply than any amount of reasoned argument would have. It made him feel like he was one of the superstitious peasants in the stories she'd mentioned.

Weaver, though, was unmoved.

"You wear a mask of arrogance," he said, "in order to get what you want. If you are truly the expert you claim to be, then you would assist us. Find the vampire, Taryn, with the superior knowledge you pretend to have. If we are as incompetent as you believe, then you show us the correct way. I shall even offer you a fair split of our fee, so you needn't concern yourself with the professional's distaste towards working for nothing."

The suggestion seemed eminently reasonable to Thad. In fact, he hoped Taryn would say yes and have genuine information to offer to aid their search. Taryn, though, didn't see things the way he did.

"I'm not here to become your accomplice," she snapped. "I'm here to get you to let your prisoner go and straighten out your attitude."

Weaver smiled thinly.

"The answer I expected. You mock our knowledge of vampires, but when one preys upon the people of Bortevo you turn aside. If you truly care for the well-being of people like the beggar we've imprisoned, then why not root out the fiend from their midst?"

Taryn met his gaze.

"I've been in Bortevo a lot longer than you hunters, and I haven't seen any evidence that there is a vampire. If you want to tear up the town in pursuit of a monster, the first thing to do is show that one exists. There are people who consider the absence of proof as evidence they haven't looked hard enough. These people are crazy."

Weaver surprised Thad by reacting to Taryn's remark, sweeping the edge of his cloak back and dropping his hand to his sword-hilt. Taryn didn't respond to the gesture--or threat? Or a fit of pique at a comment that hit too close to home?

"Look, you show me a blood-drained corpse, eyewitness accounts of something resembling a bat-form, opened tombs, anything at all that suggests there's a vampire in Bortevo, and I'll be glad to help you hunt it down. Heck, I'll be glad to take its head myself. But until you do that, you're

nothing but a pack of goons pushing people around in order to accomplish something you don't even know is possible. So you tell me, are you insane fanatics, cheap thugs, or hunters?"

Dean shifted tensely next to Thad, anticipating confrontation. Was this woman another minion of their quarry...or was she right? Was there no quarry at all, just a misinformed, or lying, client and three credulous hunters? Both men looked to Weaver for guidance, but he said nothing, just held the woman's gaze for long moments. They stared at each other for a minute and a half that crept by with agonizing slowness. Thad realized that he was clenching the bow-gun so tightly that his knuckles ached, and had he not taken his finger off the trigger he certainly would have accidentally launched the arrow. Dean's breath was harsh and raspy; no doubt he was facing the same questions they all were and was feeling the emotional pressure.

Would they submit to another's harsh judgment of their actions, or would they fight based on belief alone? Were they among the faithful, or merely the deluded?

At last, Weaver released his sword.

"Dean, let the beggar go."

"Let him go? Weaver, are you--"

"Let him go, and give him fifty meseta from our traveling funds as an apology for our treatment of him. I made assumptions without considering facts. Now, Taryn, as for your claims that there is no vampire in Bortevo, we will consult the town law. If they can offer no clues that anything is amiss to counter what we've been told by the people today, we will return to our client and require further details to support his assertions that a vampire is at work in Bortevo. If he cannot provide evidence, we will withdraw from his commission." Taryn nodded, a little smile beginning to play about her lips, but Weaver was not finished. "If, on the other hand, we do receive viable evidence from any source--"

"You'll be on the job with wooden stakes in hand," she said wryly.

"And so will you. I will hold you to your word."

* * * * *

She wanted to kill Weaver in that moment, to rip out his tongue for daring to judge her, but she stifled the thought sharply. Taryn was too familiar with the Black Blood's little tricks to fall for such an obvious tug at her emotions, not when she was trying to defuse a tense situation.

And she really didn't want to fight all three hunters. Not even if they did learn they were after her. After all, Taryn wanted the same thing the three of them did, to put an end to the demon writhing inside her body. She only wanted to do it without killing herself at the same time.

It was a good thing Jinson Baird--she was sure she knew who the client was--had only seen her shifted, in a form which had no distinguishing features, not even gender, to reveal her human self. He'd never tell why he knew she'd come to Bortevo because it would mean revealing his own secrets.

Still, she thought as she walked out into the fading sunlight, I'd better work fast. You can never tell what people will do.

That, and the Black Blood still had to be fed.