He quickly came back to his balance, at least mentally. He swallowed back a shudder of fear that passed through him as she examined him. “Were you?” he said with a cruel smirk. They were becoming easier to flash at her. He intentionally let it hang as open.

She glared coldly at him. “How can you be cruel enough to ask me that?” she gasped out. If she were faking her hurt this time, it was better than before. She pressed her hands against her face and sighed explosively.

Jashen reached out and took her hands again. This might be a moment to press. He had to take every chance that slipped through to him. “WHAT HAPPENED?” he said with great intensity, even though he kept his voice to a bare whisper.

Azi shook her head, still holding hands close to her face. “I knew the risks, Jashen,” she pleaded to him. She lowered her hands, showing a tight smirk on her face. “Two-hunderd fifty or more tomes of curses I read through in search of a cure for my own.” Her voice was calm, very factual. “Did you know that?” She gave a wry chuckle. “Full well, I know the risks.” Her eyes again took on a distant look.

Jashen grabbed her hands roughly, forcing her to look at him, getting within inches of her face. “What did she look like, Azi?” he asked, driving the question home with manner he held her.

She almost sobbed out at the roughness. “I knew it would lead me to her,” she said in a low voice. “Or Arcalan. It would answer some questions.” She almost shuddered. “I knew that note was not from Crispian.”

Jashen’s face fell. He had cautioned her, he thought she had listened. “Tell me of her, Azi,” he asked, filled with a dread wonder and scared at the same time.

Azi was scaring beyond him now, through him. Her eyes grew slightly wider. “Befoere I even laid eyes on the cover of the tome, I knew it had been sent by her.”

Jashen was horrified, his heart aching and his mind racing. “And what did you do, Azi?” he asked, his voice gentle, his soul in pain.

A single tear formed on her cheek. Her voice changed ever so slightly. If one were not honed to battle as Jashen was, the change might even have gone unnoticed. But his senses were in high form. He was as tense as on the Thidranki plains. And as ready to act.

“I did it for Crispian, Jashen.” She said as a look for puzzlement came over her. He was sure that at this moment, he spoke to Azi. “I opened it. I read it,” she continued, an odd tone in her voice.

“And?” he asked, inching even closer. There was no more than a hand span between them now. “What did you see?” He was full of wonder and dread.

Azi looked down into her mug, now half empty. Her head came back up, her eyes met his. With a sinking certainty, he knew that Azi was shuddered away inside again. The coldness in those eyes was chilling. “Wouldn’t you like to know, boyo?” she asked in a brutal tone.

“Tell me,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “NOW! TELL ME!” He almost shook her. He was getting desperate, almost frantic.

Azi’s face contorted for a moment and then she let loose a laugh of near hysteria. It sent a chill through Jashen that shot straight down his spine. All manner of unpleasant was housed in that laugh. And not one once of human decency. He wondered at even those few lucid moments he had shared with Azi in these past minutes, and wondered if it would not be the last time he experienced her as he knew her to be; brave, valiant, and kind. He ached to hold her, to tell her that all would be well, but knew in his heart that she belonged to Ascot through a bond as deep as he felt with his own brother, and more so, because she had entered into it freely.

His fingers dug into her wrists. He felt the corded muscles under his own hands. “Tell me, Azi!” he urged her. “For the love of Cris!” He was become desperate for another chink in the D’Vena fed facade that held Azi so. He had to find a way to reach her, in whatever mental prison it was that held her.

Suddenly, Azi stopped laughing. She looked him square in the eyes. “Hell, Jashen,” she said quietly, her voice reaching into his heart. “The very face of it, as a woman.”

en. The very face of it as a woman." A look of pain swept over her face and he could tell that the imprisoned Azi was close to emerging again.

“Talk to me, Azi!” he urged her, quiet and yet forceful. He pulled her to him in an embrace, holding her. “What did she do?” he asked, his own voice filling with a pain, the ache he felt inside coming to the fore.

Azi shook her head. “I can’t remember!” she almost cried out. It was her voice and Jashen’s heart rose to hear it. “I feel,” she paused, “hollow, like...like part of me is gone, and someone else is there.” The pain in her voice struck him harder than any foe’s weapon could. He wanted to break down, to ease her pain somehow, but he knew he could not. He knew his resolve was what this all pivoted on right now.

kes her head) I can't remember.. I feel hollow, like...like part of me is gone, and someone else is there.."

“Like what, Azi?” he asked her. “Tell me.” They were so close that she could feel his pulse.

Azi sobbed. “Poor Crispian!” Her very essence surged to hold this slim link to her world, to not be pushed back. “Is this what he has been feeling all this time? It hasn’t been a day, and I can’t bear it!” she sobbed. Compared to Coroth, D’Vena was a heavy handed mistress, lacking the finesse of the enchanter. She raised her head to meet his eyes. “Jashen, you are certain that Crispian trust you?” she asked, her voice still full of pain.

He sighed as he held her. “I am more than his blood, Azi,” he said tenderly, hoping that it was his compassion that had jarred the control that D’Vena had been asserting.

‘I pray to the Lord with all my heart that you’re right,” she breathed out. Her eyes seemed to search his for a moment. “And you trust him, do you not?” She asked. The struggle for control was so evident in her face.

Jashen unsheathed a dagger. “With this to my heart,” he pledged. His trust of Crispian, even in the clutches of D’Vena was unshakable. His resolve a certainty.

“D’Vena spins such a web,” Azi gasped out, her hands raising to her temples as Jashen let them go. “I hear her thoughts!” Her eyes closed tight.

Jashen shrank slightly away from her. “You do?” he asked, his voice a mix of horror and amazement. He did not know if he would be able to bear up under that sort of an assault, a violation. Azi nodded as tears began to fall. Her misery was so evident to him, her pain so much.

Jashen had to get her out of this. He had to think of a place that she could be safe, protected, and of no use to D’Vena whatsoever.

“Azi,” he pleaded, letting the concern, pain and love come through in her voice. “Get to the Abbey, please.” He knew that Vestustala had shielded people from harm before, kept safe those who were threat to themselves, or to others.

Azi continued to sob against him. “She was hasty, Jashen. She used sorcery on me.” She let on a small moan as her control seemed to waver for a moment. She did not want to go back inside herself. “But it went foul, Jashen.”

He held her closer. “Go to the abbey, Azi,” he whispered to her. “Have them lock you in, please.” He could not bear the idea of losing her, and Crispian, even if she were another man’s betrothed.

Axi nodded grimly. “I shall not promise, Jashen!” she cired. “If I am of sound mind, I shall, but I cannot promise I will be!”

He was crushed by the very look on her face. “Then let me take you!” he implored her.

Azi nodded, her face unmasked misery. “That would be best, Jashen,” she said quietly.

He took her arm and raised her up gently from her seat. “Let us go now,” he said as gently as he could. He felt as if he held a frighten rabbit. She rose to her feet, nodding as she sobbed. “Wait!” she said as she pulled back. She reached into her pack and pulled forth the charred tome. “You should take this,” she said as she pushed the book into Jashen’s hands. He stuffed it quickly into his pack.

He scowled at her, thinking of the harm it had caused already. “Did I NOT warn you of this?” he asked none to gently.

She pulled back at his tone. “I TOLD you, you did, Jashen!’ she cried out in a hurt voice. “And I knew full well the risk!” Her voice filled with pain.

He yanked her from the tavern, his anger getting the best of him. ‘Silly Girl!’ he snapped at her. “You did not know the risks!”

“Stop calling me that!” she protested. “I did indeed!”

He continued to lead her through the streets of Camelot. “No, you did not LISTEN!” he said, letting his anger fill the words.

Azi pulled up short. “You told me to play along! Amd I told You that I did it for Crispian!” Her voice was full of pain and rage.

Jashen shook his head, but did not let go of her arm. “But you put him in danger! MY brother! My TWIN!” He was beyond caring if his words hurt her or not. “I hope the abbey can hold what you are now!” He turned and walked on, towing Azi behind in a firm grip.

She started to cry, almost a pathetic wail. “Jashen, Jashen!” she sobbed. “Do you not trust me?” Her voice was so full of pain he had to hold his tears at bay. “I thought we were friends! I thought you cared for me!” she wailed, her despair overwhelming her control. The struggle to even be able to express her own feelings was great. “I cared for Crispian as if he were my own kin!” she exclaimed through her tears. “I did it for him! I shed light on her evil play for you! I sacrificed myself!”

He turned and faced her. “I did trust you, and I hope to again! But if these monks cannot contain you, I will kill you,” he said. His heart was torn with the great love he felt for them both. He watched the color drain from Azi’s face, and felt horror that he was the cause. “Are we clear?” he asked as he pulled into a sheltered alcove full of shadow.

Her eyes still glinted in the wan light. “Crispian would never forgive you” she hissed at him.

Jashen’s eyes blazed anger. “Nor would I ask him to!” he threw back at her, his lips curled in a sneer.

“You wouldn’t? she cired. “But we’re friends! I think of you as a brother!” Her words were again filled with pain.

He turned her to face him. “I would,” his tone let her know that he meant he would kill her. “YOU are not my brother. Are we clear?” His eyes held no compassion or warmth any longer.

Azi was weeping openly. “Jashen, Please!’ she gasped out. “Please, listen to me!” Her voice cut into him and he felt the pain she was feeling, although only through his love for her.

Azi sobered into quiet seriousness, drawing her blade and holding it before her cross-like. “Please Jashen, please listen to me.” Her eyes met his. “Please, Jashen?”

He shook his head, walking with her toward the Abbey once more. “I cannot, not until you are free,” he said in a voice full of emotion. “Not until you are free, though you are worth my very soul.” He led her through the north gate and out into the plain that marked the approach to the abbey proper.

She thrust her sword into his free hand as they walked. “Please, Jashen, send it to my father and tell him I am well!” Her eyes were full of tears once more. “Tell him not of what has happened. Make something up.” She crossed herself, a look for pure misery which Jashen took as sign of her plight. “Tell Crispian he is dear to my heart!” She broke into sobs as he tugged on the night bell to summon a monk. “I shall pray for al of us! Please, for all that I have done in the past, do these things for me. Promise me, please?” She grabbed his hand.

Jashen turned her toward the monk who opened the gate as tears filled his eyes. “I shall lie for you, Azi. And Cris shall know not of this.” He turned to the night warder, pressing a gold into his hand. “My sister is unwell,” he said to him. “Please care for her, with love like my own.” He was struggling to even remain there.

Azi turned at the last moment, almost through the gate. “Jashen! Tell Ascot,” she stopped, her face contorting in what he took be pain.

He dropped to one knee, tears on his face. His heart was breaking, for his brother, and for the woman he secretly loved, both of whom he seemed so close to losing right now. “What is my lady?” he said. “Tell me your greeting to him.”

Azi launched herself through the space, her hands raised in claws. “You cannot leave me hear!” she called in a shrill voice full of agony.

He rose, grabbing her fiercely. “Here is best, Azi! Please, for the love you bear my brother!” he said to her, his voice cracking and control close to giving out.

Azi shrieked at him still, even in his arms. “He hates you, Jashen! He’ll blame it all on you! BEWARE!” She began to laugh hysterically as D’Vena firmly, and none to gently, again took control, pressing Azi downward, into a small dark part of her own mind.

He pushed her into the waiting monk’s arms, tears rolling down his face. “Cris cannot hate me, Azi,” he croaked out in a miserable voice.

Azi struggled in the monk’s grip, a sneer reshaping her face. “You think not, Pontiff?” she hurled at him amid another bout of laughter.

Jashen closed his eyes as fresh tears came. “He cound not hate me, anymore than I could you!” As the door closed on her and the monk, he collapsed against it. His face rested on the rough wood. “Oh my Azi,” he moaned. “My dear Azi.”

As her shrieks receded behind the door, he continued to hold the latch firm. His closed in pain. Suddenly, the door burst open and Azi rushed out it. “Jashen! Jashen!” she called, her voice filled with great panic and her eyes alive with an inhuman agony. “Destroy that tome! No good can come from it!”

He sprang to his feet and pushed her back into the arms of the monk, who grabbed her roughly and pulled her inside. “SWEAR IT, JASHEN!” she screamed. “There are no answers there!” She continued to struggle as the monk pulled her backward.

“I shall, my lady, I shall!” he answered her fervently.

She calmed and bowed her head, hands clasped before her. Lifting her tear streaked face to him, she spoke again. “Dearest Jashen, God bless,” she said as a shudder of relief went through her.

He grabbed her hand. “With my heart, Lady,” he said, pressing her hand to his chest, “it shall burn. And one day, I shall greet you again!” His last words were called out as the monk pulled her within the Abbey confines again.

She looked back a last time with an expression of anguish that burned itself into Jashen’s heart the moment he saw it. With a serene peace, she went back into the abbey. Jashen collapsed against the door, nothing left in him.

“I shall kill you, D’Vena, for harming her!” he pledged to the night wind and the spirts of Albion.


Later, bathed and without her armor, Azi sat alone in the room they had given her. “Yes, yes,” she said into the quiet of the night. “Now that should bait his temper!” She giggled. “One Pontiff out of the way, another to come!” She let loose a wild cackle.


Deep in Lyn Barfog, D’Vena smiled a satisfied smile. The night had gone well, even if that little smudge of a man who styled himself a mercenary had given her a few moments to worry about. She would have her day and now it looked like she would get them both. My, that little Azi could turn into a good tool, if she could find a way out of the Abbey.


D’Vena frowned, for it was all to likely that little man would have people watching. But D’Vena was confident. Her patience was a weapon honed on the like of Arguyle and Moryan. What should she worry over this little Pontiff boy?

 

-----signature-----

Azi lay alone and shaken in the tiny abbey room, her thoughts moving in broken waves through her mind. She had tried to sleep, only to be greeted by D'vena's wretched laughter and disgustingly horrid face sneering at her in victory as soon as she closed her eyes.


She was well aware of her conversation with Jashen, even the parts that she had fought so desperately against. His harsh words repeated and lingered, like the pungent foul taste of the wine still on her tongue.


She rolled to her back, staring into the darkness of the ceiling. Tears trickled down her cheeks and pooled onto her earlobes. He was right, she had put Crispian in even more danger than he had been in, and now she was the shell for it. Wild cackling rose in her mind, and she fought with all of her will to push it back.


Now Crispian didn't even have her own strength to help him, the only thing she had had to offer him until now was gone. Now she was a prisoner of D'vena and of the abbey, locked in here for God only knew how long. D'vena had her victory. Azaeli heaved a shuddering sigh of hopelessness and resisted the urge to close her heavy eyelids, praying with desperation that the sleepless night would pass quickly.

Kanna sidled up the streets toward Ye Mug, swaying her hips to catch the eye of any who might be watching. It had been a long day of hunting and her flask had emptied all too soon. As she rounded the corner and peered up the street toward the popular tavern, she saw two familiar figures emerge into the dark street. Ah, she thought, I missed a mug with Jashen and Azi..


As she neared to greet them, she realized something was wrong. Jashen had Azi by the arm and was pulling her a little too roughly toward the north gates.. Kanna stayed well behind and followed cautiously, wondering what on earth Jashen was doing to Azi, who was too meek to merit any of the roughness he was showing.


She followed them all the way to the abbey, watching Jashen's mood grow fouler and Azi's pleas grow louder. She gasped as Azaeli drew her mother's blade and handed it over to him. Something was really wrong here. That blade was a treasure worth more than any gold to Azi, why would she hand it over like a common garden rake? She watched as the monk took Azi in, watched Azi attack Jashen, watched Jashen slump against the door.


Kanna ducked into the shadows, shaken by what she had seen. Someone had to be told about this, someone who cared about Azi. She ducked away and sprinted off toward the gates, resolving to head to Lethantis.

Arguyle and the King had left Crispian alone for a time and conferred in private. It was a nervous for moments for the young armsman. He hated being at the palace for any reason, and the current one did not top his list at all. The chamber he was in was pleasant enough, but the two guards at the door left little doubt that he was at least detained, if not out right under arrest. It was sometime before Arguyle returned. Crispian raised his head to greet the highlander as he entered the chamber.

Arguyle was not a small man, and his fine armor, tailored cloak, and outrageous socks added to his commanding appearance. While he did not look like a bringer of doom, nor did he look too pleased at the moment. Crispian swallowed hard as he rose and saluted him. “What is it you wished to speak of?” he asked in a subdued voice. While he knew the charges were grave, he doubted the King would send Arguyle to present a sentence.

Arguyle frowned in thought. “The King questioned Pompin and found that he was hired to make false charges against you.” While that was not technically the truth, the lad did not need to know all that had passed in the interrogation chamber with Pompin. “It seems that D’Vena had a major hand in it,” he continued, using the conclusion that had been come to, “and the King has run out of patience with the witch.”

He paused. The interrogation of Pompin had been a brutal affair, one which Arguyle would not want to go through again. Perhaps the worst of it had been all the time spent with Lady Wynchel, the ranking Cleric of the Realm. Even her talents and skills had been called to their ultimate testing. For Pompin’s soul had been displaced from his body, and it took much work for it to be brought back. Even now, the Lady Cleric was still sleeping in another chamber above, as were her five assistance, some of them near as skilled as she was.

Crispian registered the sentence that Arguyle had just said, but it made not sense to him. D’Vena had other holds on him, so why this? “But why would she do that, Lord General?” he asked, unable to fully see why she would use this sort of an attack on him, when she had brought so much other misery to him in ways that were easier for her to use. It did not make sense to Crispian, but neither did this whole affair.

Arguyle rubbed at an ear, tugging on the lube in thought for a moment. “She knows you are a friend of mine, and that you aided the King in spoiling her assassination attempt,” he explained, wondering if Crispian was so far gone that he had forgotten those events.

A deep blush rose over Crispian’s face, from the collar of his breastplate to his hairline. “Aye,” he said shyly, “I know what role I played.” How could he forget? Not that his tasks had been entirely unpleasant on some level.

Arguyle squared his shoulders. “His Majesty has commissioned me to bring her to justice,” he said gravely. His face was the most somber Crispian had seen it since the Carrington affair. “Alive or dead, she will be returned to Camelot,” he concluded, signaling one of the guards to bring refreshment, for he was sure both he and Crispian could use some. He still felt the screams of Pompin as the exorcism had been performed, and the amount of power in the room had raised the hairs all over his body. And the way that man had fought! The things he had said.

“But, Lord General, she is in her fastness,” Crispian said weakly. The Manse in Lyn Barfog seemed much more than a grand home. It was her bastion, and from all the Crispian had been able to glean, it was defended magically as well by other means. In three days of hunting for it, he had never been able to find the spot where it was nor any sign of where it might have been. Crispian shook his head as he was handed a silver goblet of wine. “I am not even sure the might of the Red Lions can help with that,” he informed Arguyle levelly. The General knew him to be a good commander on the front, and Crispian hoped he would take his words to heart.

Arguyle drew himself up again, literally towering over Crispian. “The Order of the Red Lions,” he said, his burr thick around the words, “has been charged with bringing her to justice.” He was working himself up, remembering every slight that D’Vena had been party to, and the near death of his own brother due to her intrigues. “And bring her to justice, we shall! Even if we have to lay siege to her keep!” His words were as defiant to Crispian’s caution as his attitude was.

Crispian closed his eyes, thinking of all the fine members of the Order that he knew, with his mind coming last to Glavian. He would hate to see Moryan a widow, when he had last seen her happier than she had ever been before. “I am not worth so many deaths,” he said quietly as he turned away from the highlander general, walking to the embrasures that looked out over the courtyard below.

Arguyle stomped after him, heavy plates booted thudding on the carpet, his great cloak swirling about him. “The Witch has vexed me and those close to me long enough!” he nearly roared. “It is time she learn what a ‘pig farmer’ can do when he sets his mind to it!” The color had risen on his face and Crispian had to suppress a grin at the image of the Lord General as anger as any highlander peasant whose best pony has taken a misstep. He failed.

A chuckle turned into a low laugh as he watched the General stalk back and forth across the room. “She hates you!” he laughed. “I think her mind is elsewhere this night,” he said suddenly, his face dropping into seriousness one more.

Arguyle turned on him. “What do you mean?” he said as his face filled with concern, clouding as he tried to grasp what sort of foul magics must be at play.

Crispian shook his head for a moment. His throat worked as he swallowed back a rise of fear. “When she has naught else to do,” he said quietly as his mirth of a moment before melted away, “she focuses on me.” His eyes had widened in fear for a moment as he thought of some of other hapless victim, no doubt tormented in lieu of Crispian himself. His only solace was that he did not know them.

Arguyle closed his eyes in thought for a moment. “I see, lad,” he said with a small nod. “Crispian, I owe you a great debt for your aid,” he continued gravely. “I will free you of this curse, I swear it!” He lowered his huge highlander hand onto Crispian shoulder and gave him a stern level look.

Crispian sighed, settling onto a seat in the window. “If it were only that easy, Lord,” he said his dread of D’Vena rising. “I fear she wants…” again he had to swallow to continue, emotion threatening to overwhelm him completely. “She wants more than just me,” he finished, raising eyes to meat Arguyle’s.

The General scowled in response. “She will have nothing more,” he declared grimly. “It ends soon!” His nostrils flared as he declared this in the same tone Crispian had heard him use to order the charge on a keep. There was no question in the Highlander’s mind that he would destroy this witch and do it soon.

Crispian nodded. What more could he do? “The burden is great,” he said as he watched the General reattain a state of some calmness. “I fear I shall never be fully quit of it,” he said quietly. His thoughts were much on the League, and what this curse might be costing them. And then there was still Toby to consider.

Arguyle looked at Crispian in sympathy for a moment. “You shall be as free of it as possible,” he said calmly. “With any luck, you will be fully freed.”

Crispian again met the Lord General’s gaze. “I have hated you at moments, Lord General, with even the lust to slay thee,” he said in a calm voice, relaying a fact of the matter.

Arguyle peered more closely at Crispian, aware but unconcerned for the moment that the lad was still fully armed. He remembered their stormy conversation at Castle Sauvage. “Why so?” he asked with gentleness in his voice that did not quite match the gruff exterior he presented to the world.

Crispian bit his lip in nervousness, hoping that D’Vena’s attentions would not swing his way at this moment. “She drives me to it,” he explained. “She can master, and twist, my very thoughts at times,” he went on, the efforts of it making him start to sweat in the small chamber.

Arguyle scowled. Would the evil witch never stop? Must she pursue hurt so? “Your thoughts, maybe.” He allowed. “But no man or woman, short of Almighty God, can manipulate your heart!” Arguyle swore his truth in the deep devotion that had served him well as a paladin, and was in truth a core of his very being. He sat opposite the lad and looked into his eyes. “Stay true to what you believe, Crispian,” he said in a voice full of compassion. “It is what separates us from people like D’Vena.” His words were urgent, kind and caring.

Crispian closed his eyes, head tipping back to rest on the stone wall behind him. “But she can, Lord, she can,” his meek voice decried quietly. “She can twist so much,” he went on, eyes looking now to the ceiling over them. “You could not believe,” he said as tears formed in his eyes.

Arguyle smacked his knee lightly to bring his attentions back to the present and the now. “Lad,” he mused, “she has been causing problems for my family for many years now. There is not much I wouldn’t believe when it deals with her.” He knew the kind of terrible pain and suffering she could inflict, and wondered just how badly she was making it for Crispian.

Crispian laughed a mirthless laugh. “Oh, perhaps she has learned a trick or two,” he quipped.

Arguyle signed himself in blessing. “My faith is my shield,” he declared. “She can do me no harm with her petty magicks! I fear her not.”

Crispian looked at Arguyle in true pain for a moment. “She has corrupted all for me,” he said, thinking of Toby mostly. And Eirennelle. “Nothing is as it should be, any longer.” He sighed into the quiet of the moment.

Arguyle looked on the lad with pity. He was too young to have the full ability to cope with something this large. If only D’Vena had taken on one more her season, or at least one who did not have the pure heart that Crispian had. “Remember,” he advised, “everything comes full circle. I think that soon, all will be right.” He hoped to put truth to these words as soon as possible.

Crispian nodded grimly and exhaled loudly. He had to hold on to some hope, some thread that it would end. He looked at the General and gave a shy smile. “A favor, General?” he asked timidly.

Arguyle could not repress a smile himself, for it was just this kind of quiet resolve and respect that he liked so much in Crispian. “Aye?” he said with a nod.

Crispian tried not to look into the General’s eyes, for he felt what he was asking was a large boon indeed. “I would plead my case to the king for my freedom,” he said, “on my honor! But your word would count more.” He knew some of his actions of late had been quite ignoble, and that his honor was not in the highest repute at the moment, although there were none who would openly call him to the challenge.

Arguyle chuckled and shook his head. “Lad, there is no pleading to be done! The King has seen the truth,” he said. Even if you know not all of it, his did not add. “You are free!” He again clapped Crispian on the shoulder with great force.

Crispian closed his eyes as tears came. “Thank you, General, for I know, no matter what you say, that you played no small part in this.”

Arguyle snorted. “Lad, I did nothing more than pull the shadow back from the Truth.” He shook his head. “His Majesty did the rest.” He sounded very dismissive of the entire thing, and obviously was uncomfortable with the topic.

Crispian laughed. “Oh, and your arse ain’t hairy, Lord General!” He could only be amused by the modest Arguyle was trying to effect, for he knew him indeed to be a great blow-hard when he wanted to. There was no doubt in his mind that Arguyle had done a bit of storming about.

Arguyle shook his head as he too chuckled. “For the life of me, I will never understand the infatuation people have with my arse!” He stood and drew Crispian up. He was laughing as they passed out into the hallway.

Guards drew up in salute to the High General and Arguyle nodded in acknowledgement as they passed, both still chuckling.

“Not your arse, General,” Crispian explained as they emerged into the outer court of the Palace. “Just the hairs on it.” The night was glorious outside, without a cloud to be seen and a slight breeze was up.

Now that he was free of the charge against Pompin at least, there was the matter of a Cabalist to deal with. Or at least to address. And then, D’Vena. He had let this force him into a wallow of misery too long. He would do what he had to do to be able to act with a clear head and the swiftness of manner he had been accustomed to.

He turned to Arguyle again. “My thanks, as always Lord General,” he said as he saluted him firmly.

Arguyle scoffed. “Stop now, Lad, and get to work on what you need to do, and I will get to work on what I have to do.” He returned the salute fully, not with just a nod. Then he watched the young Seneschal, and his friend, leave through a postern gate. His thoughts turned to the Witch as soon as Crispian was out of sight, and the people he would need to call upon to make good on his vow.

There was work to be done by the Lord General of the Red Lions.


Arcalan had finally managed to calm herself some. Then the pain struck. Her eyes went wide as she realized that SOMONE had shattered the soul gem! The spirit of Pompin, imprisoned to aid her Lord in his rise to Power had been shattered! There were only a few in the realm with that kind of power and fewer who could bring them all together.

She immediately began to make a plan to get another soul gem and bring the Master back. He would not be happy with this turn of events, and even a servant as faithful as Arcalan had been was sure to taste a bit of his wrath for this.

She did not know who was responsible, but she was not pleased. Her mind conjured up dozens of revenges she could take when she found out who was to blame for setting her plan back, even this bit.

 

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After parting ways with Crispian, Arguyle walked the short distance from the Palace to his apartments in Camelot. He had work to do and did not have the time to ride back to his estates near Snowdonia.


As he came to the door a young squire within the Order of the Red Lions saluted and stood tall saying, "Lord High General, I have a message for you from Dauid. He asked me to deliver this personally."


With that he handed over a parchment with the scouts seal on it. Arguyle opened it and read the contents. The message consisted of of four simple words but those words were like music to his ears.


It read:


I have found her.


Arguyle smiled broadly and patted the squire on the shoulders. "Thank you lad. Go now to the Hall of the Lion and let everyone know that we gather for battle."


With that Arguyle entered his apartments and headed straight for his desk. He sat and pulled out parchment and quill. Dipping the quill into the ink he set it to paper and he wrote six notes. All of which said the same thing. He addressed them to some of his oldest and dearest friends, Richard, Moryan, Edeor, Excelsius, Bantalus and Crispian.


Whispering to himself he said, "I need you now more than ever friends."


Then he sent the letters off with his Steward, Kyle, to be delivered.

Crispian moved easily through the city. Camelot had served as home for many months, or was it a year now? The pace and flow of the city was his pace, his flow. He felt it in his heart. This was the place where he would eventually make his life full-time, if ever the wars did end. For now, having gained his freedom again, if only on his honor and pledge, he planned to return to the toil of the forge. He wanted to seek the comfort of something well known, his craft and trade. He had done much work in his first weeks in Camelot. It would be good to get back to it.

There was something about the feel of the city today. There seemed to be an anticipation in the air, almost a hush. He had heard that Midgard was causing problems in the frontiers, but he felt no need to rush out there. He knew he would not take command, and at the moment having someone else call his actions did not appeal to him.

He thought of his last exchange with Arguyle, there in the court. The older General had looked at him as he prepared to step out into the city. “I thank you, General, for this,” he had said as he resettled his shield on his arm. “I shall not forget, and I hope not to disappoint you.”

The older man had smiled. “I am sure you won’t, Lad,” he said. “Just stay true to Albion.” He had the simple, but not simple minded, out look on life of a man with great faith.

Crispian let a wistful sigh escape him. “Albion is not my worry,” he replied. “It is more Tob…” he caught himself, shaking his head. “Nevermind with that problem.” He had let the matter drop at that. He did not need the Highlander born Paladin and High Lord of the Red Lions being dragged into his romantic issues.


As he made his way through the city, people moved out of his way, but not in a bad way. Many still bowed respectfully, but some did have the look of disrespect. He did not like that, but there was little he could do about it until the public hearings were over and his name fully cleared. It would be a tense month or so until that was taken care of. In the meantime, he planned on attending to League business and a bit of crafting, with maybe a hunt or two mixed in. Even with all the burdens upon him for leadership in the League, he still managed to lead the life of a simple soldier, for the most part.

He spied a familiar face as he moved along Portobello Road, which ran next to the East Gate of the City. He smiled as he approached. “Hail Friend!” he called to Kelvyn. It had been some time since he had seen the infiltrator.

Kelvyn smiled in return. “Hail, old friend!” he called, moving easily amid the crowd on the street until he and Crispian were traveling step in step.

“It feels good to be free,” Crispian observed with a smile. “Care to join me for an ale? I have a favor to ask.” Their conversation paused as they made their way into Ye Mug and found a quiet table, one only recently vacated by two very close to Crispian.

Kelvyn settled across from Crispian, taking the spot with his back to the wall. He had not gotten to his season of being an infiltrator by taking unneeded risks, and to his mind, exposing his back to a room full of strangers was unneeded. He happily let Crispian, back covered in thick armor, that that position.

“Kelv,” he said quietly over the top of their mugs, “you are one of the best in the land. I need your help.” He felt no shame in admitting that the infiltrator across from him was far his better in the ongoing war against Midgard and Hibernia, as well as the hunt in general. Kelvyn had been constantly about and learned more than Crispian to date. “How well do you know Snowdonia?” He asked, sipping lightly at the ale before him. He was trying his best not to get into his cups again, and when business was done with Kelvyn, he intended to seek out Azi. Her very presence seemed to calm him as no other could.

Kelvyn’s expression changed not one bit. “Very.” He waited a moment. “Why do ye ask?”

Crispian took a deeper pull from his tankard. “My Squire, Tannir, was last seen headed there.” He had personally set him to the mission of following Arcalan, but had not thought he would go out from the city to continue his shadowing.

“And ye have nay heard from him?” Kelvyn asked calmly. His eyes scanned the room behind Crispian and only occasionally paused to meet his friend’s.

With a shake of his head, Crispian answered. “No,” he bit on his upper lip. “He is very special to me.” As Kelvyn looked sharply at him, Crispian blushed but shook his head to signal not special in that way.

Kelvyn considered for a moment. “Aye, I can look fer him fir ye,” he said, eyes again scanning the room.

“If money is an issue, I can pay,” Crispian offered, knowing that most Shadow Guilders preferred to work for pay. However, Kelvyn was shaking his head even as Crispian spoke.

“Nay, friend, money isnae an issue with ye,” he said as he lifted his mug to drink.

Crispian took a long pull from his own tankard again. “And, Kelvyn,” he paused. The infiltrator turned his eyes to Crispian again. “If any are with him and should not see the rising of a new sun, I would understand.” His face had gone flat and bleak.

Kelvyn nodded. “I understand, friend, truly I do.”

They sat in silence as each finished his tankard, and then departed. Crispian went out the front and Kelvyn slipped upstairs and out over the rooftops of Camelot.

 

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"UNACCEPTABLE!"

The chill voice echoed through Arcalan's mind.

She knew there would literally be hell to pay, if her Master were not appeased. She ran her mind back across the bargains struck in the last year, and her own talent for opening the Gateway her Master needed. She knew he could not harm her too much, but she also knew there were plenty of others that could and would if given the chance. Her ability was unique, she was sure of that much. The Master had torn out the souls of people who displeased him, and it was not mere luck that she had been spared.

Pompin of course was not a threat. he barely recalled the past year of his life let alone who really attacked him. His transition to the gem would have driven him mad had he not been freed so early.

Instantly she thought of the foolish meddling Cleric who must have brought him back. No longer a part of the Chruch, he still did their bidding, coming from the woods of the Cornwall moors to bring back pompin at the wrong moment.

Nor would all this blow over. By all accounts 20 or more people had lost their life in the exorcism, and each Phoenix Knight now roared in pain in the bowels of the Falls. The King would not soon forget such a loss. The clerics of the Church had come close to madness facing Pompin's true puppeteer, and had he a better grasp on this world... ah... that was where the problem lay. Pompin's body was an imperfect host.

Mortals would not suffice to allow her Master full strength, she'd have to plead her case with him and work upon a suitable body. She trembled in terror at the thought of it.

Now was no time to hide though... hiding confirmed her guilt. No, better to be out in the world, free to stand up to accusations from Crispian and jashen. After all, she had covered her tracks, and no wrong was doen that could be proved. She had powerful friends now, with the addition of Sir Bors, and the Cabalists of Lethantis... yes, she would survive this.

She emerged in Camelot and made her way to the entrance to the Falls. If those meddling twins wanted her they could come and get her. The rest of the League was in her favour, as she well intended. With luck D'Vena would fry Crispian's brain before too long, and Arcalan barely knew which of those two she hated more...


The harsh sunlight fell on her as she strode out of Camelot, and into the comforting labarynth of Darkness Falls. It was her luck to meet Sir Bromton of the League there, and the two of them did wonders in clearing out the Necyomancers from near the cave where Marloch resided. The Cook swould only be troubled by these petty interlopers, trying to pester him for power. She would gain it all, without the sacrifices a Necyomancer must endure. All she had to do was wait out the storm...

Azi sat quietly on a bench in the Abbey's garden, watching and listening to the young acolytes tending the variety of vegetables that grew there. Brother Darrin sat watch beside her, nodding off into a doze in the sun's warmth. Sunlight sparkled on her golden blond hair as she moved to smooth the undyed robes the abbey had provided for her. Anyone watching her would think she was a lady at peace, enjoying the blue sky and light afternoon breeze and pleasantly listening to the soft whispers around her.


But inside her head, she was fighting the most difficult battle of her life. D'vena pushed against every thought in her head, shadowing every hope with the worst doubts possible. Sometimes her evil thoughts came through, revealing her plan to Azi piece by piece. Most of the time, though, Azaeli was left to her own thoughts. She was alone. Jashen had left her, she dared not contact Pappa or Ascot, and, even if she could, especially not Crispian...


"...so they just let him walk free?" A young highland postulate whispered to the avalonian beside her, who nodded gravely.


"But how? If you ask me, they should keep him locked up so he can't do it again."


"Well, I heard the king owes him a favor, or something.." the avalonian whispered. "But it's madness, you're right. At the least, he's an awful drunk, and dangerous." Azi's heart leapt to her throat, she jolted from her thoughts.


"Who," she said hoarsely, startling the two young acolytes, "who are you talking about?" The highland girl gave her a frightened look, and Azi tried to soften her expression.


"That leader of St. Crispin's...the drunk one.." A hideous shriek jolted through Azaeli's head. Crispian! Free! She clenched her fists, her nails dug into her palms. Her eyes darted past the two unnerved acolytes to the garden gate, and the freedom beyond. Laughter rang out in her head, D'vena's shrill, horrid laughter. A panic rose in her, she felt an impulse to run for the gates. With all her strength, she squeezed her eyes closed and reached to tug on Brother Darrin's robes.


"Brother," she whispered

frantically, "please, take me inside." Brother Darrin started awake and looked down at her pleading face with a questioning grunt.


"Please, take me in and lock my door," Azi hissed. She was still in control, and she would make it as difficult as possible for D'vena to succeed. The towering monk nodded, took her by the elbow, and marched her inside as the two young acolytes watched wide-eyed.

Illos, a minstrel of St. Crispin's League, was young of seasons but older in years. Her grey hair was falling over a once lovely face, who's lines and wrinkles added character in fair exchange for beauty. She was well liked by most of the people here, and played her role of rubber ear and granny quite well.

She sat in "ye Mug"; a bar generally regarded as more important to Camelot's well being than the King and his castle were.

The wall behind her was in need of a good coat of paint, but people nowadys didn't maintain things properly. All their heads were full of was the wars and glory. But most pressing at the moment was the conversation going on across from her.

"Round the bend, stark staring, three turnips short of an allotment MAD I tell you" said the young guard.

"Well he's a bit drunk right enough, but he's not so bad a fellar now izzhe?" slurred his companion, a crossbow merchant from out of the city.

"He's pleasent enough alright" retorted the guard "if by pleasent you mean he cuts up the locals when he's having a bad turn and smiles at everyone when his head is full of ale, then aye he's great! But I'd not have a madman wandering the city with a whole guild of followers ready to do his bidding"

"er right in that" said the merchant "He's got a fair few allies eh? Prolly the King owed him a favour, and let's him out so's he can get some care taken of him. No good flogging nobelsnow is it?"

"Is that the Lord Crispian?" Joined in a third man, who was only passing the table "He's so nutty squirrels could eat his head for lunch" he guffawed.

Illos had never taken kindly to people who guffaw. It wasn't necessary when God had given people a nice decent laugh to use, and here was this man insulting her Seneschal and making that terrible laugh. Right then, she thought, time to put an end to this!


"The Lord Crispian is a devout and brave warrior, you loud mouthed knave, and he'd be ten times the gentleman you are even if he were drunk!" She rose up, to her full, not-so-imperious hight of 5 feet. "Now you'll stop your gossiping about your betters and get about your business unless you want me to give you a clip round the ear!"

The little grandmotherly woman stood shaking a finger at the lout, who tried unsuccessfully to laugh her off.

"ou three had better take your drinks elsewhere" called the barman, attracting grunts of protest from the gossiping patrons. "Or else you'll keep your nose out of others affairs eh?"

Begrudgingly the men sat down and moved on to talk of other things, not far from the watchful Illos.

That poor man, she thought. He's enough to contend with without these folks gossiping. This whole thing is going to cast a shadow over him and our Guild, but by the good Lord's graces I'll not stray from his side till doomsday. She sat back in her chair...

And the ale used to taste better, too, she mused.

Crispian rested the night in his familiar room, but it all seemed wrong. Tannir was not there, but Ardy served well enough. He avoided ale and busied himself with stacks of paper work left him, much of it from Jashen. He was curious about his brother’s whereabouts, but took the night to recover himself. He fingered the Willow Ring he had long held now, and even considered seeking Ayslyn out, but it was not yet time. That time would come. Then there was the possibility of going after D’Vena. The idea did fill him with a small amount of dread, even with the assurances of Toorc’s sword. The weight felt right in his hand and he knew that if the moment came he would be able to make the blow that would kill her. Finally, as the cathedral bells were calling the earliest worshippers in, he dozed.

Mid-morning found him awake, though. He considered his armor and instead chose a robe of deep blue gossamer. He made his way down to the Hall that the League let out and found Jashen there. For once, it looked like Jashen had been on the losing end of an ale fight. His hair was mussed, the coif of his chain mail pushed back. When did Jashen start to wear chain mail? Crispian asked himself.

“Hail, Jashen,” he said as he settled opposite him. “You look like hell,” he quipped, pouring a mild morning ale and taking some bread and cheese from a large platter. “Out all night carousing?”

Jashen turned his face away from Crispian for a moment, staring out the door to the hall. “It was a bad night for me, Cris.” His voice was quiet, subdued. He turned red-rimmed eyes back to his twin. The sheer misery on his face alarmed Crispian greatly.

“What is it, Jash?” he asked quietly.

Jashen took a deep breath, his face a mask of pain and torment. ‘I had to lock her in there, Cris,” he said, his voice breaking and tears starting anew. “She wasn’t herself, I swear it.” A choked sob broke from his throat as he collapsed against the table. Crispian rushed around to his side and pulled him up. Jashen clung to him like a child, crying his heart out.

Crispian felt odd. He had never really comforted Jashen before. Not by holding him. Was that something missing between them? Was it because their mother had never done it? That Auntie never had?

“Easy, Jashen,” he cooed softly. “Now, who is she and where did you lock her in?” he asked in a very quiet voice.

Jashen gasped in air for a moment, wiping his running nose against his sleeve. ‘Azi,” he said, on the verge of another break. “It was D’Vena. I mean, D’Vena is inside Azi,” he chin started to shake and he barely held on to control. “She read the tome, Cris!” he moaned. “Why did she read the tome? I told her not to! I told her! I knew it wasn’t from you!” He melted into a sobbing heap again, and again Crispian held him.

What in the name of all the holies was he blathering about? What tome? And how had D’Vena gotten inside Azi’s head? He just didn’t understand it.

When Jashen had calmed again, and Crispian had gotten some whiskey down him for comforting reasons, as well as some bread, they sat opposite each other. ‘Now,” older brother said to younger, “tell me about it, calmly.”

Jashen recounted the tales of the past day in their fullness to Crispian. He was shocked, stunned and angered in turn. Then, he told Jashen of his night. The same emotions played out on Jashen’s face as they had on Crispian’s.

“So,” Crispian began when all had been told, “we have a mysterious tome, that you have locked up now, and a possessed crier, who is also locked up now, but honorably. And you locked up Azi when she was helpless?” He was annoyed at that last one. Why not put her with Auntie Mir, or Toorc? Why bribe the abbey into taking her in as a mad sister? And WHO was going to take that sword to Judan? He should make Jashen do it, but felt it his duty as head of her guild.

“You don’t understand it, Cris.” Jashen shook his head. “It was really bad, and she is not herself.” Although his grief was gone, his misery remained deep in him. “She would swing back and forth between her moods, and she would suddenly just be evil.” Tears stood in his eyes but none fell.

“So the Abbey seemed best?” he asked again. “And you just left her? Did you call for Lynis at least? That IS his mother house!” He was finding it hard to hold his anger at this in check, for Azi was most dear to him.

“Lynis is in Lethantis or the Swamp, but I did send word.” Jashen did not want to face Crispian’s anger right now, not with his heart broken as it was from last night. “He has not yet arrived, I understand. But we did find some information out.” He reached for some crumpled papers that Crispian batted away.

“What are you playing at, Jashen?” he barked suddenly, as his face contorted into a mask of anger. “You are no spy master. You’re just a mercenary!” He hated the words as he said them, and hated more the look on Jashen’s face.

His nostrils flared, hands balled into fists and relaxed, and his jaw throbbed with clench muscles. “Oh, is that it, Cris? Since I didn’t become an infiltrator I can’t do the job? FINE!” He slammed down his signet, the Tower of the League barred thrice. “Maybe you can find someone else to do it! I’m done. And maybe I will go become an infiltrator.”

Crispian shook his head, sitting down. “Jashen, I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. Of course, you do a fine job, an excellent job.”

But Jashen as not deterred. “I’ll be back, Cris. I need to go talk to someone at the Shadow Guild.” He stamped from the hall in a rage and Crispian hurled an earthware goblet across the room.

“Oh, that was well done, Cris,” he said to himself as he sat back down. “Well done indeed. Maybe you should go into politics.” Several junior League members moved passed him as he sat there, a deep scowl on his face.

 

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