Kikuyu_Black_Paws

The black mire was all around him, a dark swath of midnight stars. Ravenwing turned slowly, eyes flitting from one faerie-light to another. They floated noiselessly in front, behind, beside him, burning with a cold, distant light—like the stars. He glanced up, but there were no stars overhead. The Pyero began to walk, the thick grasses brushing his palms. His mind new they should be hissing as he shifted their thick stalks, but no sound came from the ground, the air, the world. He felt the silence muffle his ears, like cotton, pressing tightly against his face. He clapped his hands together sharply in front of his face, but—no sound. He took another step forward and stumbled into waist deep slime, black as the sky, or lack thereof. Confused, he turned back to find the shore and wade around the pool. Horizon to horizon there was nothing but the thick dark mud: the grass was gone. The grime began to rise, lifting great bubbles that popped noiselessly. Ravenwing felt it grip his legs and feet, trying to pull him under. He took a wrenching step forward with a mute cry, fighting to keep moving. The black sloshed his hands, clothes, hair, smeared on his face. An ethereal voice—one he felt rather than heard—called to him. The Pyero glanced up in surprise; a white light glistened on the horizon. It looked endlessly far away, but he started forward, using his arms for momentum to pull through the swamp. The light grew brighter, forming the outline of a tall, slender person. Ravenwing gasped. “Kersymm!” he felt his lips form the word, his throat contract as he called her name, but no sound came out. Had he gone deaf? The white shape turned an indistinct face towards him, held out a hand. The faerie-lamps shuddered, pulsing as if they had leapt through time and space to float closer, only feet away now. Watching. Staring. Ravenwing jerked through the mud with large leaps, a hand reaching out to the white figure. The fingers were just within his grasp—he clasped them tightly with a growing smile. The white glow touched his face. The glowing fingers gripped his hand painfully, pulling him in. He felt them burning then, as if he had plunged his hand into a smelting fire that did not recognize his call and rebelled against the soothing words of control he sang. He could feel his skin peeling from his bones, his bones charring, crumbling, falling to the ground in fine trickles of dust. The Pyero jerked back, a scream pressing on his throat as the first doubt crept to the back of his mind. The white face grinned, a pair of scarlet eyes bleeding through the glow, and the white was swallowed in a sharp smile and hair as black as the filth that clung to him. Aazurud pulled him in, his mouth opening, widening, stretching his face into a great black orifice that leaned forward to swallow him, tear his flesh, rip his head from his shoulders. Ravenwing’s scream was so loud in his own ears that he awoke, shocked from his deaf dream by his own noise of utter fear. A ghostly face loomed into his blurred vision and a strong hand gripped his shoulder. “Ravenwing?” Ravenwing blinked nervously at Masule. Geion hovered in the background, his highly angled face shadowed with green light from his glowing stone. The Pyero sighed shakily, dashing sweat from his brow. He was drenched and shivering, but he was alive...and miles from that person. “I’m fine,” he said. His voice didn’t sound as steady or as confident as he had hoped. He cleared his throat. “Just a dream.” “Said the farmer to his wife, ‘It’s just a snake’,” Geion said tonelessly. “Until the viper bit his hand and he died.” Ravenwing blinked and shrugged. “I’m fine,” he said, harder. “I just need sleep.” “Shall I guard your dreams then?” Geion asked, raising his brows. “No.” The gryff smiled and tugged at the ruff on the side of his jaw. “I will stay with you tonight,” Masule said, and his voice courted no dispute. “So that your sleep is, at the least, undisturbed.”

Kikuyu smoothed back her hair and brushed some dirt (or maybe fragment of pummeled Wyvern) from her pristine black clothing. She looked up at Harmony. "Sexy Sexy Orlan is something of a clothing expert, you might say. You should have been here for the Stealth Sprite invasion. Dego and I were put on guard duty for his designer clothing...but..." her eyes faded to another time and a disgusted, twisted look of horror shadowed her face. "Their haiku...it was too poweful..." Kikuyu sat beside Wyvern. "If we only knew how to find him, and get him to come to the barbeque." Kikuyu glanced meaningfully at Wyvern, poking the bump on his head. "Any bright ideas Inspector??"

The lines creaked and groaned, wet from the constant spray of salt and water. A canvas sail flapped noisily in tune with the black flag hoisted overhead, resplendent in skull and cross-bones. Other flags and bright colored emblems were tied here and there, stained in blood, the gruesome badges of conquest. The freshly scrubbed decks gleamed a dark cherry red, the expensive wood beautifully gleaming in the sunlight. A pair of boots clomped onto the deck as a pirate leaned back against the rail, sighing. He surveyed the port with a furious glare, his brow furrowed in anger. He had stood watch last time...and again he was expected to stand watch while his comrades and shipmates went and drank and ate on shore. He gritted his teeth, turning away furiously, putting a hand on the gun on his hip. Colorful scarves tied around his waist and arms and legs caught the sun, glinting in a thousand glittering strands of gold and silver thread. His earrings, too, caught the light, as did the bright bracers on his wrists. "Careful the way the sun hits you, you nearly blinded me there." The pirate turned around, his scowl deepening. He jumped, eyes widening-- a man garbed entirely in black leather and black canvas was hanging from one of the crossbeams above. His face was masked, leaving only his eyes visible to the outside world. "Where did you come from?" the pirate snarled. "Not where, but how. Aren't you supposed to be standing guard?" The pirate snatched his gun from its holster and pointed it at the ninja's head. "I am, and you're a fool." The shot blasted explosively, shattering the afternoon peace. "Nice aiming, but you really shouldn't warn your enemy before you shoot them." The pirate whirled; the ninja was perched on the rail behind him, nose to nose and waving. "You little--" the pirate snarled. "What do you want? If you won't stand still enough for me to shoot you, at least explain yourself." "Oh, so shoot first and ask questions later?" "Generally the best way to do things." The ninja shrugged. "Would you like some sake?" "Sake!?" the pirate exclaimed. He noticed the elegant wooden box clutched under one of the ninja's arms. He frowned suspiciously. "Why?" "I am the strongest sake drinker around," the ninja said. His mask crinkled. He could have been smiling. "I have proved myself against samurai and commoner alike. You're a heavy drinker, aren't you?" The pirate crossed his arms, gripping the hilts of both his curved blades defensively. He could unsheathe them at furious speed in this stance, should he need to. "Aye, perhaps I am. What's it to you?" The ninja hopped onto the deck and placed the sake-set on the ground. "I challenge you, pirate, to a contest. The last one conscious wins." The pirate backed away. "I have no time for you. I am on guard." "Ah, but you crave the heat of the drink. Why should you not enjoy yourself while your companions splurge in the city?" "I don't call arguing with a ninja enjoying myself," the pirate growled. "But if you insist, I'll accept." "Excellent!" the ninja said, and he spread out the sake. "Captain'll kill me if he sees this," the pirate grumbled. "He won't see anything," the ninja said. "I am a ninja." "Being a ninja doesn't make you invisible," the pirate snapped. "And if you're too drunk to run away, or disappear, or whatever, you'll be caught." The pirate smiled. "I'll enjoy seeing that." "Well then, we'll see, won't we?" the ninja said. They drank. "How are you drinking with your mask on?" the pirate asked. "And don't say something stupid about your being a ninja." The ninja shrugged and remained silent. "I asked you a question." "And you told me not to answer with the reply I had ready. Therefore I will say nothing, since anything else is a lie." The pirate groaned and drank his second cup. "Weak stuff, this," he said. "I prefer ale or grog any day." The ninja's eyes crinkled. "If you say so." "Indeed I do," the pirate said. They drank again. The pirate blinked. "What did you put in this stuff?" he growled. The ninja refilled their cups. "Oh, nothing. It's just sake, high quality saitori rice. You won't find this stuff on shore, that you won't." "Where does it come from?" the pirate asked. His words slurred together. The ninja downed his next cup. "Nonya business." They gasped with the heat of the sake as it burned on their throats. The pirate watched heavily as a large seabird landed on the dock, croaking at them. "So no Yo Ho Yo Ho A Pirate's Life For Me?" the ninja mused. His head nodded and he jerked it back up. "No," the pirate growled. He drank again. There were footsteps on the pier and the pirate jerked upwards, a grin on his face. "Now speak of the devil. If that's the captain you're cooked." There was a flash of color and a bell chimed. The cup in the ninja's hand shattered. The ninja leapt unsteadily to his feet and gripped the railing. His eyes were wide under his mask. The samurai stood, his katana bared, face furious. "You stole my sake-set!" he roared. "How dare you!" "I am a ninja after all," the ninja said. He tried to lean against the rail and missed, stumbling sideways "Whoops." The samurai glared at the ninja, drawing back his katana. "You will die here." The seabird croaked and plucked at the large rope that tied the ship to the dock. The pirate gazed dreamily at him and hiccuped. The bird shrieked again and loosed the rope. A great billow of wind caught in the sails and the ship surged forward. "We're moving," the pirate chuckled. The samurai stared horror-stricken as the land crept away. "You fools!" he growled. He grabbed the pirate. "Turn this ship around immediately!" The pirate waggled his fingers at him and grinned. "Yo ho Yo ho," he warbled feebly. "A pirate's life for meeeeeeee..." The ninja was lying on his side, feet kicking the air. "Shizuka ni sora ni kaeru sayonara," he mused. "What does that mean again?" The samurai sheathed his katana and screamed. The port faded away as they drifted out to sea. The seabird soared further away overhead, carrying a large twist of sticks and vines in his beak-- a tumbleweed.

They stood across from each other on the road. A sign beside them said "You are Nowhere." A lone, leafless tree rattled its branches ominously in the wind. The samurai didn't blink. The ninja didn't blink. They stared unblinkingly at each other. It would not have been surprising for a tumbleweed to pass and a random whistle to sound eerily in the background. So cliche. The ninja's eyes narrowed. He raised a hand guarded by steel claws that slid from his knuckles and pointed. "What are you doing here?" he said. "I could ask you the same thing," the samurai replied, fingering the hilt of his blade. "But I asked you first." "That," the samurai said, "is irrelevant." The wind rustled in the tree. "I see you have sake," the ninja said. "How could that interest you?" the samurai asked. "I am the strongest sake drinker around," the ninja said. "Impossible," the samurai replied. "I am the strongest sake drinker." "Care to back that up?" the ninja asked. His mask crinkled-- he could have been smiling. The samurai did not smile. "Why should I prove myself to you?" The ninja bowed his head and sighed. "Because there's no story-line unless you do, and the readers will be bored witless." "Ah," the samurai mused. A moment later they sat under the tree, a sake-set placed on the ground between them. "A beautiful piece," the ninja assented. "Indeed," the samurai said. He poured the sake. The tangy, sweet scent of the alcohol rose into the air. "A pity it can't be heated," the samurai said. "That is the only way to drink." "A true drinker drinks any drink," the ninja said. "Well spoken," the samurai said. They drank the first cup. "So what are you really doing here?" the samurai asked. "As you said, what's that to you?" "Since we are drinking," the samurai said, "for now we are friends." "For now," the ninja replied. "I am headed north." "That I could tell from the direction you were facing on the road." They drank the second cup. A flush appeared on the samurai's cheeks. He blinked at the ninja. "How are you drinking with your mask on?" he asked. The ninja held up his third cup of sake. "Ninja," he said with a shrug. "Hmmm..." the samurai said. They drank their fourth cup. "You ninja," the samurai railed. "All alike. Trying to be mysterious." "And you samurai," the ninja slurred. "You're always trying to be...cool." He hiccuped. The samurai reached for the sake bottle, missed, reached again. They drank their fifth cup. The ninja leaned listlessly, his eyes staring half-focused at the sake bottle. "Good quality sake," he mumbled. His eyes fluttered. The samurai forced another cup into both their hands, his fingers shaking. They drank their sixth cup. The samurai collapsed backwards. He moved listlessly for a moment and then went still. The ninja dropped his cup and fell on his side. "Heh...beat you..." he groaned. He promptly fell unconscious. The tree rustled in the wind. A tumbleweed blew by.

Begin Through all my life and all my years I've never seen such gnawing fears For every hearty laugh I took I am now took by tears. A throbbing pain with every drop each jeweled dew filled to the top Streaking down my cheeks they fall and I can't make them stop. There's no one there to rescue me and I can't pay the bridge's fee From down beneath the troll, he laughs, and dangles forth a silver key. The goat-limbed keeper shakes his head and, gnawing on a piece of bread Sneers the tears upon my face and points down to the dead. "Fare the toll or cross you not drop them there in clay-clad pot If coins you have not about you then phoo you and your stingy lot." I turn away I'm left behind I have to dash dreams from my mind And if they torment me still more I'll leave this world and all its kind.

Kikuyu glanced over, as if in slow motion, as the sausage arced its way towards the pristine dress. Somewhere in the background she heard Degorram's voice, low and distorted, screaming "Noooooooooooo!" Even her ninja skills were not quick enough. Kikuyu threw herself forward, falling short in her haste. The sausage splatted with a thick, resounding smack onto the lovely silk. A dark brown-red stain spread across the cloth. Kikuyu stared in surprise that the stain would set so fast, then horror at the mar to the pretty silk, then embarassment as Wyvern started to lick at the sauce. Degorram appeared next to Kikuyu, her face a mirror image of Kikuyu's horror. "Oh geez," she muttered. "Where's Orlan the sexy sexy man when you need him."

*Kikuyu gives a mild chuckle as she reads*

1) Name of Female Pennite- Degorram 2) An Object - squeaky duck 3) Verb, ending in “ing”- stalking 4) Adverb- haltingly 5) Noun - bell 6) Adjective - sultry 7) A Number - 42 Name of Male Pennite Wyvern >.< 9) Adverb quickly 10) Adjective red 11) Type of Laugh evil 12) Adjective wicked 13) Adverb sneakily 14) Plural Noun leaves 15) Part of Body 0_0 hand 16) Adverb darkly 17) A Color blue 18) Verb, Past Tense jumped 19) Plural Noun twins 20) Verb giggle

Kikuyu's head swiveled at the sound of crashing metal and splintering wood. In her head she hopefully thought, Oh! A tussel! Her gaze found the armored orc picking himself up from debris and plucking a few plaid comfortors off of his shoulder spikes. Kikuyu blinked and sniffed. "Ordolar?" she whispered, feeling the name roll of her tongue to splat on the ground with a heavy, clanky thud. Kikuyu put a hand to her chin and groaned. "But first things first." Kikuyu whirled back around to Wyvern. The Almost Dragon was gripped tightly by Deggoram by the shoulders. His gaze flitted nervously between the twins as Kikuyu advanced with a spreading leer. "N-Now hold on ladiesss....what do ya think yer doin...?" The twins lunged at the same time, squishing Wyvern's face between a very large twin kiss. Cackling Degorram and Kikuyu scurried off to chase each other around the lawn, inevitably ending up at the food table where they silently and, with an attempt at failed secrecy, threw sausages at each other under the table.

Do you see the wings bursting from my shoulders? Do you see the blood streaming from my chest? What do you care? Hate...hate, you said you hate me. Do you see my pain? Do you see my agony? Agony A red flower bursts in my heart And bleeds A red flower tears me apart I bleed The red swamp overshines my eyes The darkness fills and blocks the light You do not see how I cry and cry How every breath leaves my body tight The red flower laughs and floats away Foolish little child, you knew it would happen The red flower pierces my hands, Foolish little child, why are you surprised? Hate...you said you hate me. Do you see my pain? Do you see my agony? It hurts, I scream I wish, I dream, I die, I bleed, But you don't care.

The clicking Always there, never silent, but it drifts to the back of your mind Exhausted, after 7 hours sitting or rushing between doors Happy, for some strange contest that you've got a chance at Calm, because it's the end Nervous, for who knows why? But it's just a niggling feeling that you don't realize Until you've thought about it Loving, for I see her sitting across from me With my face And yet with the unhaltable desire to snap the hair-tie on her wrist Just for fun And for her reaction of a swat to the head or a kick in the shin For her attention In some way Exactly 3:00 pm not 3:01 or 2:59 And then he walks back in and sits down and you wonder where he went, Wasn't he leaving? He begins typing She has gotten up and is across the room Slightly sad-- want her back Now it's 3:01 No longer 3 pm Exactly

Wyvern leaned back in his chair with a comfortable sigh and picked the last of the confetti from his shirt. The thoughts of a vampiiric Kikuyu continued to roll around in his head and he chuckled over the image of selling Almost Dragonic Kikuyu-Bat Plushies ™ during Halloween. The Elder shivered as a chill wind blew in from the still open window. The Almost Dragon glanced towards the window and frowned-- the air was still outside. Where had that breeze come from... The Almost Dragon almost fainted as a pair of cold hands rested on his throat. A pair of eyes slitted with a wicked grin peered at him over the edge of his chair, and a flash of black teardrops on cheekbones made the Elder whimper. "Out for your blood, Wyv?" Kikuyu grinned. "You know I'm more of a sake person. Wine, however well aged, doesn't suit me."

Kikuyu shrugged, covering her mouth with a hand to hide her wide grin. "My turn then?" she giggle-snorted. She reached forward boldly and spun the battle with a sharp jerk of her wrist, not even thinking about the consequences. The bottle turned slower and slower, inching towards the lucky winner. Kikuyu watched it, twirling a kuunai anxiously between her fingers. On her left a smaller, elfish player shifter nervously away from her. The bottle stopped and Kikuyu froze, glancing up at her kissee. "Not...you!" Degorram hadn't yet finished blushing. She stared down at the bottle tip pointed her way and glanced up at Kikuyu, murder in her eyes. "Pucker up, hot stuff," Kikuyu grinned, beckoning with a sultry curling finger.

*flips through tome* Very, very interesting...*glances at unsuspecting pennite* Thanks Wyv.

Kikuyu shivered again as the rat's aura wafted her way. She wrinkled her nose and sniffed. "Is that...chocolate I smell on the horizon?" Her eyes turned this way and that, searching for the illusive dainty, her nose twitching. "You can't hide from me," she hissed. "Ninja's can smell chocolate a mile away!!!" She pulled out her kuunai and rushed to the food table, ready for chocolate-attack-mode. Ozy's shadow followed at a more stately pace.

Kikuyu twitched as the music played and kept the shadowed figure in the corner of her eye. She read Degorram's chocolate smeared face with a half-smile. "Reminiscent, isn't it?" Degorram grinned back. "But without the face paint." "I wonder if I should ask Wyv to dance?" the ninja snorted. "Didn't he dump you in water last time?" Degorram joked. "You too, twin of mine, don't forget, you too," Kikuyu growled. "But awkward events equal laughter." "And we could all use a laugh," the shifter sighed. Kikuyu glanced again at the shadowed creature at her side, felt peace flow through her troubled thoughts. But, while peaceful, they were cold. "Indeed," she muttered. "Indeed."

What are you looking at? With your critical eyes and your lined face What are you looking at? Surely you are not looking at me What are you looking at? I will steal your eyes So that they look only at me Do not stare Stare not No What are you looking at? I will steal your eyes.

You stroll across the street See a black cat stare at you Potted plants in the window Chipped wall paint Eyes stare from all the corners Eyes stare from all the shadows A bird flies from a cage on charcoal wings A scarlet spot on its chest It chirps once and is gone A shadow on a cloud Eyes stare from all the corners Eyes stare from all the shadows You paused in front of my window You paused to look at the bird in my window With a red spot on its chest A bloody spot of pain Eyes stare from all my corners Eyes stare from all my shadows You touched my wings You touched my eyes The cage door opens I am free Eyes stare from corners and shadows Eyes stare and I stare back.

There was a wry, fanged grin from the shadowed branches above the hosts' heads. Ozymandias looked up, a smile stretching his bronzed cheeks. "Oh, hello Kikuyu!" Kikuyu was hanging upside-down from a rope attached to a sturdy branch, staring at them with a curving grin, twirling a kuunai with a hot dog pierced upon it. "Hello Ozy! And who are our hosts? I don't think we've been introduced." Kikuyu hopped down from her perch and landed in a crouch, munching on her weenie. "My name's Kikuyu," she stated to the twins, "but you've already heard that. Thither sitting on her turf is my twin, Dego. Have you been introduced? No? Maybe? Anyway." Ozymandias glanced at the ninja, blinking at her unusual lack of fluidity. He noticed a strange shaking of her shoulders. "Kiku, what have you been into?" Kikuyu turned and glanced at the Elder. "The punch of course, Ozy! You really should try it! It has an unusual zing I've never tasted. And these weenies really are quite good." Kikuyu took a step towards Ozy and stopped. The Elder gripped her arm. "Maybe you should sit down, Kiku." Kikuyu stared at the ground, her face contorting into a strange grimace. Something flashed in front of her eyes, something niggled at her brain: a green explosion, a smiling skull face. She shook it away and took a step backwards again. "No, Ozy, I'm all right, really. And I'm not drunk," she turned to the twin brothers, a small frown on her face. "I'm just...tired. Lovely party. The weenies are really very good. We should...converse some time." Kikuyu turned and walked away as quickly as she dared without looking too hasty. She plunked down next to Degorram, her small frown spreading into a dark scowl that could have been carved with the tip of her ninja star. Her twin glanced at her, read her face, and gripped her twin's hand tightly. Slowly the shaking in Kikuyu's shoulders stilled.

*happy happy joy joy happy happy joy joy* I really liked the "complete invisibility" and "incomplete invincibility" a lot. The connections and crossing/recrossing misdirection of this poem was amazing.

Hee hee hee

Ok, drawing again. This is Degorram angry, but not to the point where she turns all black and smokey. Hee hee...>.< There's a song that goes with it too...one sec lemme find it... Oh ok... Degorram's Angry *creepy smile*

Ashes “Ashes. Ashes.” The young man lying by the fireplace did not answer. He didn’t even open his eyes. However, his breathing stopped as he paused to listen, tense and alert in the safety of feigned sleep. Light floated through the window above him, glittering on a thousand dust motes. A cardinal fluttered up to the ground-level window sill and pecked at the seeds scattered there, chirping. Outside the sky was turning gold and rose against the black of the trees. “ASHES!!” Now he opened his eyes, the small peaceful smile slipping from his lips. His gaze slid to the cardinal, cocking its head every direction as its bight eyes peered this way and that. It fluttered its wings anxiously and took off, disappearing from sight. Ashes slowly inched into a sitting position, his legs and arms cramped from lying on the cold floor all night. He was dressed in a peasant’s clothes—a poor peasant at that. The jerkin was tattered at sleeves and collar, and his breeches had more patches in them than whole cloth. Head to toe he was covered in black grime, dark soot that smeared on his high cheekbones and long-fingered hands. He ran one of these dirty hands through his shaggy dark hair: whether it was dark from soot or dark naturally was impossible to determine. Just as Ashes was climbing the stairs, a well-dressed young noble came clattering from the other direction. The two almost collided; Ashes stepped back, eyeing the older boy with caution. “There you are!” the young noble snapped. “Where have you been? Have you been ignoring me?” Ashes bowed his head. “No, Ando. I—” A hand smooth from ease but rough with anger grabbed his chin and shook him. “How many times have I told you to call me sir or my lord? How many? And I don’t want to hear your excuses. Get upstairs now.” Ashes pulled away from the noble, ignoring how Ando wiped his hand on his kerchief and threw the cloth on the ground. He could use the fine linen later for patches. The two young men took the long, curving staircase upwards from the basement, Ando impatiently leading the way. The basement led into the kitchens, empty but for the head cook starting the bread for the next day and eyeing a large pot of rich-smelling porridge. Ashes glanced at the pot, his mouth watering, but he kept his hands at his sides and his lips shut. The cook eyed him sympathetically. Ashes gave her a weak smile—she would probably give him something later. Through a servants’ corridor the kitchens opened onto a large hall. Servants scurried here and there, pulling down black curtains and black gauzy hangings. A tall, imperious man in a russet and gold suit watched them with a sour expression. Just beyond, another set of servants were waiting with gold curtains and bright blue and silver tapestries to take the place of the old. Ashes stared at the disappearing black with a dull expression. So soon? So soon indeed...why not? The man turned with a severe smile towards Ando stomping towards him. Ashes crept up behind—Ando’s new boots clomped on the tiled floor loudly, announcing his presence as accurately as an entourage with trumpets. Ashes glanced at his smudged, bare feet and wiggled the toes. He was as silent as a mouse, and as important. “Father, when is Jerard getting here? I thought he was supposed to arrive last night?” The man’s mouth stretched in what could have been another smile. “Ando, you know how your brother tries. He sent a messenger late after you had retired—he’ll be here soon.” His steely gaze turned to Ashes and his nose wrinkled, as if he smelled something nasty. “And you. Where have you been?” Ashes bowed shortly, keeping his eyes centered on the front of the man’s doublet. “Downstairs, my lord.” “Really?” The disbelief in his eyes should have hurt Ashes, but the young man was not looking at the lord’s eyes. He found it much easier that way. “Do something useful and go clean my sons’ tack. Once Jerard arrives the two of them will be riding to the city.” Ashes hesitated, his eyes flickering briefly to Ando’s bored face. The lord took a menacing step forward. “What are you still doing here? Go before I give you the whip to hurry your lazy pace!” Ashes bowed and turned away, fighting the frown that was pulling at his brow. The servants nearest him watched him leave with lingering gazes of sorrow and disbelief. The lord’s barking voice echoed through the servants’ hall after him, ringing endlessly in his ears. Ashes brushed the dappled grey furiously, cleaning the fur until it shone. The mare turned and whickered at him curiously, flicking her thoroughly combed tail into Ashes’ face. Ashes sighed and leaned his face against the horse’s side. “I should just leave,” he whispered. “Take a job at the palace as a soldier or retainer. Anything but this torture...but they would probably just come for me. Anyway, at least I have you, Moon.” “I’d appreciate it if you cleaned my horse, not dirtied her up again with your filth.” Ashes whirled, his rage reddening in his eyes before he could smooth his face to neutrality. Ando leaned on one hip, his arms crossed and a smile of triumph creasing his strong face. Yes, Ando was handsome and he knew it. Ashes lowered his shaking hands, clutching brush and tack so tightly that the edges of the brush bruised his palm. “She’s just about ready, sir,” Ashes said in a whisper. “I’ll just saddle her for you.” As Ashes led the tall mare out of the stable, Ando grinned and leaned against the stable wall. “I know she used to be yours, boy, but she’s mine now. Though I can’t imagine how a scrawny fool like you managed to control her. I’m surprised you didn’t break her neck and your own trying some fool stunt.” Ashes smoothed the blanket over Moon’s back and heaved the heavy saddle onto the horse’s shoulders. The saddle wasn’t light, not by a long shot, and Moon’s back was high up. Only a very strong pair of arms could lift the saddle that high without making the horse jump, and Moon hadn’t moved an inch. Of course, Ando noticed nothing. “You noticed the servants in the hall, I assume. I couldn’t help but notice, crawling everywhere as they were. I’m so pleased that they are removing that black, though. Nothing is worse for impressing young ladies than black curtains hanging everywhere. I think it was far past time to take them down—she was only some peasant’s bastard anyway—” Ashes froze. He had heard this before. Many times. The repetition, however, did nothing to calm his fury. Again Moon shifted anxiously as his rage mounted, his grip on the tack tightening. Ando frowned. “Have a care, dolt. If you harm my horse in any way I’ll see you hang from the manor wall by your arms.” Ashes managed to buckle the bridle smoothly; he patted Moon’s neck and turned to Ando. “You horse is ready, sir. I’ll have to leave you as I ready the other one...” “Already done,” a voice cut in from the corner of the stable. Ashes turned, his brow relaxing slightly. A young man taller than Ando was walking a fiery chestnut gelding down the straw-floored hall. His earlobe-length red hair was combed back from his high forehead and jet-black earrings glittered along the edges of both ears. Like Ando he was dressed elegantly, even in riding clothes. “Where have you been, Krillin?” Ando sneered. “Father’s been busy, Jerard is on his way, and where are you? Mooning over the sunrise no doubt.” “Care to watch your tongue, brother,” Krillin said with a raised brow. “Don’t presume to take your bad mood out on me, or you’ll pay for it in the fencing ring.” Ando shifted uncomfortably. Only older than him by a year and some months, Krillin was hailed as a genius when it came to weapons and horses. Ashes took a discreet step back, prepared to make his escape through the distraction... “What are you all doing standing here like puppets?” Ashes twisted again, his face turning white. This deep voice resonated in a much larger chest, from more mature vocal chords. The eldest of the three, Jerard, was striding into the stable. Behind him in the yard could be seen his guards and his large black stallion, Spitfire. Jerard was huge. His hair and beard, red like Krillin’s but browner, was worn cut short, close to skull and jaw. He was older than his youngest brother by three years, a massive young man at the age of 22. Ando rushed to his brother and grabbed him in a fierce embrace. “What took you?” the young noble exclaimed. “You were supposed to get here last night...” “A broken bridge and mud to the knees,” Jerard laughed. “Hopefully the roads to the city will be kinder. Are you both ready?” “Just let me get my things,” Krillin said dryly, turning to buckle on his twin swords. “What are you bringing those things for?” Ando asked with distain. “If robbers attack, who will protect my dear younger brother?” Krillin asked, a wiry smile twisting his lips. Ando turned white and clenched his hands into fists. “You, boy!” he snapped, turning on Ashes. “What are you waiting for?! Give that beast here!” Ashes handed the reins over, calling the young man all kinds of names in his mind. Ando snatched the reins fiercely. Moon neighed and half-reared, startled by the jerk on her mouth. Ando drew his hand back to smack the horse... Ashes shoved the noble with all of his might. Ando fell back heavily onto the floor. Moon dropped to all fours, trembling. Ashes took hold of her mane and rubbed her neck soothingly. He glanced behind him to take stock of the damage. Ando was getting slowly to his feet, straw sticking from his hair. Jerard stared at the wall as if he weren’t there. Krillin gazed intently at Ashes with a strange gleam behind his golden eyes—although there was no love lost between him and his brother, Krillin had a strange, fierce sense of loyalty to family. His temper and punishing way of fighting made those who picked fights with him or his brothers very rare to come along. Ando took a step forward, dusting himself off. Rage and disbelief was written all over his face, as well as a cruel excitement. Ashes stepped away from Moon, matching Ando stare for stare. Ando touched Ashes’ sooty face. For a moment they stared across a sea at each other. The slap knocked him off of his feet and sent him tumbling into the waste-heap in the corner. He had expected it, of course, but what would have been the point in blocking it, or fighting back? It would have turned from a fight against one to a fight against two, one which he always had and always would lose. Ashes rubbed the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his filthy hand, avoiding eye contact with the any of them. Ando wiped his boot, splattered by Ashes’ fall, on the young man’s pant leg. “You’re disgusting,” he whispered. “Why don’t you stop mucking around in the dung for once?” He grabbed Moon’s reins again, dragging the horse out of the stable. Krillin cast another fierce, expressionless glance at Ashes before he followed his brother out of the stable. Jerard stepped over and offered a hand. Ashes stood up without accepting it, shaking his wrists to try and dislodge some of the muck. Jerard shrugged and turned away. “You might want to clean yourself up at the well in the orchard,” he said. “If father saw you that way...” Jerard shrugged again. “Try not to create trouble for yourself, stepbrother.” Ashes cast him a filthy glance as the young man walked away. He didn’t hate him for offering him kindness in the only way he knew. He didn’t hate him for not stopping his brother from administering the stinging, humiliating strike. He hated him for reminding him that they were his stepbrothers, that the lord at the manor was his stepfather. He hated Jerard for reminding him that his mother was dead. Ashes stripped himself naked and strode into the river on the far side of the orchard, rather than use well-water. Carefully he washed away horse dung and soot. He washed his clothes too with a bar of lime soap borrowed from the barrel at the well where the women left their clothes-washing materials. Clean and letting his clothes dry, Ashes lay bare in the long, soft grasses by the river, eyes closed. He liked to think that this way the hatred, despair, and loneliness just drifted away from him, leaving him blank and clean of emotion. He could not work the pain off in the arena like he used to, nor could he ride the agony away on Moon as he had done so often before. But the sound of the wind in the trees overhead and the feel of it, crisp and soft against his river-washed skin, lulled him. He found himself dozing, dreaming... A short, gasping scream made him sit up sharply, eyes flying for the source of the noise. The grasses rustled wildly to his left and he reached out, grabbing at whatever was out there. His hand found something that writhed in his grip and kicked out—an ankle! Whoever it was kicked hard and writhed away. Ashes leapt to his feet, anger at being spied on clouding his better judgement. She stood up also and faced him, motionless and pale: with fear or rage he could not tell. She was dressed like a peasant, if a well-off peasant. Her long brown hair was plaited over one shoulder, and tiny daisies that looked fresh-plucked from the field were tucked into the braided locks. She stared at him with eyes that reflected the color of the grasses around them. All of a sudden Ashes was aware of his nakedness and thanked the length of the grass that rose to his hips. He took a wary step back and ran a hand through his hair, clean and still as raven black as before. Now it glittered bluely in the sunlight. He picked a blade of grass from his hair awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to spy,” the girl said suddenly, the words stumbling out of her mouth. “I was just gathering flowers and tripped over your foot, and I thought you were dead, and then I was frightened and...” Ashes nodded dumbly. She pressed her lips together tightly, as if afraid to say anything else. They stood in awkward silence for a few moments. “My clothes are behind you,” Ashes said helplessly, pointing to his shirt, vest, and leggings hanging on a branch. The girl squeaked and turned away. “Oh I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Ashes strode over and dressed while the girl covered her eyes and muttered ceaseless apologies. Clothed, Ashes turned back to her. She was still standing with her hands over her eyes. From this angle her clothes flattered her in combination with the setting sun, the dusky rays catching hints of gold in her hair... “Sunset!” Ashes yelped. How long had he slept? The lord would be furious. “I have to go, I’m sorry...” The girl looked up at him, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Yes, I should go too.” Her eyes lingered on his face. “Do you live close?” “On the other side of the rise.” Ashes didn’t know why he was telling her this. When she looked him in the eyes he felt lost... He pulled away and broke out running for the manor, cold sweat breaking out on his brow. He didn’t catch what she yelled after him, nor did he remember to grab the soap he had borrowed. He ran swiftly, his bare feet sure on stone and log. The manor appeared on the hill and Ashes skidded around the back way, grabbing a bucket of apples from a cart that had just stopped in front of the house. The driver smiled at him and winked roguishly. “Been off all day, haven’t you? Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Just get all of those apples into the kitchen for me.” Ashes ducked his head and walked quickly towards the kitchen. His hunger of the morning, forgotten in his rage earlier, was suddenly back and vicious in its anger. Ashes forced himself to put the basket down in the kitchens without taking one, and turned to go back to the cart. The lord of the manor was standing barring his way. Ashes had never seen such malice in his steely eyes. “Disappeared did you? Thought you’d take the day off?” “Don’t worry about him, m’lord,” the cart man said as he came in the door from behind. He carried a large hank of meat over one shoulder, his face half-hidden behind the slab of beef. “He’s been helping me with the shipments today. I hope I didn’t inconvenience you at all.” The lord’s gaze shifted to the servant and settled there, icy and severe. Without a word for the cart man he turned back to Ashes. Ashes knew his stepfather didn’t believe a word. He knew that revenge would be gotten, one way or another. “See that you aren’t a burden,” the lord said quietly. “Lord knows you are to me.” Ashes watched, his shoulders shaking, as his stepfather disappeared through the servants’ corridor back to the main hall. The large servant’s hand slapped onto his back sharply, knocking his breath out and flattening any rising rage. “Come lad, let’s get the last of these goods.” “Father! Father!!!” Ashes looked up dully from the cart, his arms full of apple barrel. Ando was charging towards his father who was watching the servants with a critical eye. The lord looked up at his son’s approach with a smile. “What makes my son so excited?” Ando’s response was drowned out by the clattering of hooves—the brothers had caught up, as well as the servant who had taken Moon’s reins. Krillin looked annoyed. Jerard looked neutral as usual. Krillin dismounted, hands on his blade hilts, and strode up quickly behind his brother. “News from the city,” he said. “The princess has decided to take a husband.” The lord’s eyebrows rose. “What caused the sudden change of heart? Didn’t she vow never to take a husband? To run away and become a peasant if forced to marry?” Krillin nodded. “The very same. Either way, she’s suddenly willing, but to the man of her choice.” “There’s always a catch,” the lord snorted. “But her father has conditions,” Krillin said. “Listen to all of the terms to the story before you sign it off as city gossip. All young men in the city and the surrounding families of court will participate in a grand tournament. The top ten winners will be the ones she may choose from.” “All young men?” the lord murmured, rubbing his chin. “Why I do believe luck has finally turned our way. The three of you will compete.” Krillin leaned back and cast his brother a despairing glance. “Well...two of us will compete. The other will just stand there and swing his sword around.” Ando paled with rage and brought his fists up. “I’ll win and I’ll be chosen over you, Krillin! There are still two weeks before the tournament.” “Younger brother,” Krillin laughed, “it’ll take more than two weeks to gain natural talent.” Ando stormed away with a scream of rage. Krillin smirked. Jerard rolled his eyes and walked into the house. Ashes disappeared into the kitchen with his barrel of apples. A tiny part of him had listened to the conversation, the tiny part not ground out of him that might have taken part. For a moment he closed his eyes and imagined the tournament grounds at the palace—he had gone there once, long ago. He imagined what it would be like to hold his sword again...to hold any sword again... “Stop dreaming, boy,” the cook said kindly, pushing a hot roll into his hands. “Go get me some water from the well.” It was cold in the basement. Ashes’ breath froze on the air as he slept, and his shoulders shook silently. Suddenly he was wrenched from sleep as a hand was slapped across his mouth. Something cold and sharp was pressed between his shoulder blades. “It’s me,” Ando hissed from behind. Ashes didn’t know if that was supposed to be comforting or not. “Don’t make a noise and just listen. Krillin was right—there’s no way I’ll be ready for this tournament in time. But I will win, and you’re going to help me. You were quite the little fighter not so long ago, weren’t you? You’ll fight in my place at the tournament and win the princess’ hand for me, won’t you?” Ashes didn’t need to point out that a blade at his back didn’t give him much choice. He nodded slowly, feeling sharp rage bubble into his chest as this flagrant dishonor. Only willing replacements were allowed, and only for sickness or wounds. If he lost, no doubt he would be punished. “Don’t worry about being out of practice—I’ve already told father about it and he agrees. You’re off duty until the tournament, and you’ll be training until then. I expect you to work hard.” Ando chuckled and prodded Ashes in the ribs sharply with the knife. “I’ll see you in the morning!” Ashes lay still as his stepbrother disappeared up the stairs of the basement. He still felt the hard imprint of his hand against his mouth and the sharp indentation of the knife against his back. He sat up slowly, wide awake. Angrily he flung an ash jar to the side and shattered it against the wall. Dawn was coming soon. In the morning a servant came and woke Ashes up and led him to the store room. A new set of clothes was given to him, all of them exercise suits for the practice floor. He was given a hot breakfast and taken to the courtyard behind the stables where the men-at-arms and brothers practiced their weaponry. Ando was sitting on a bench, swinging one of his feet as his brothers sparred off against each other. As Ashes was gestured into the sandy court Ando jumped to his feet; Krillin and Jerard stopped their sparring and turned to stare. “Here you are!” Ando said, a fake smile on his face. Ashes didn’t bother with one. He stared at his stepbrother coldly. The servant appeared again and presented a wrapped up bundle. Ashes looked down at it and caught his breath. He thought he had hidden it...his eyes darted to the servant’s face and the old man smiled, winked at him. Ashes took the bundle and undid the scarlet ties, sliding away the oiled cloth. The sheathed blade was long and light with an ornate hilt—a present from his late mother’s far off relatives in the east. Krillin eyed the blade expressionlessly and turned to Ando. “What are you doing?” Jerard repeated the question silently with a pensive frown. “You said it yourself yesterday, brother,” Ando said silkily. “I can’t be prepared for the tournament in two weeks. But Ashes here can. Father already agreed, so there’s nothing you can do about it.” Ashes almost expected him to stick out his tongue and stamp his feet. Krillin turned his gold gaze on Ashes and paused; Ashes wasn’t sure if he was angry or amused. Krillin shrugged and turned away. “Fine.” Ashes blinked. Some tension in him released and he sighed. Jerard cast him a final glance and grunted before turning away. Ando patted Ashes on the back with a big grin. “You’ll make me a prince yet, boy.” “Don’t touch me,” Ashes said. Ando froze, his eyes widening. “What did you just say to me?” Ashes turned, a slow smile spreading across his cheeks. “If you want me to work hard, if you want me to actually try, you’ll stay away from me. Don’t touch me and don’t speak to me.” Ando seemed to struggle with himself for a minute, rage dancing behind his boyish eyes. Suddenly his face smoothed out and he smiled. “Fine. Work hard then.” He tipped his brow and walked away, disappearing from the field. Krillin snorted from behind. Ashes turned, gripping his sword hilt anxiously. Jerard was back to single practice, ignoring the happenings beyond him. But Krillin was watching Ashes with a lion intensity. Ashes swallowed and unsheathed his sword. Just the feel of it in his hands made his mind dart back. Things lost to him suddenly bubbled underneath the surface. He swallowed hard and turned to an attack dummy. For himself—if for no one else, he was doing this for himself. “Stand up!” Ashes got to his feet with a grimace. The fantastical joy at holding a sword had vanished and he was now realizing just how out of shape he was. Krillin stood in front of him, both of his swords held ready. The two boys were covered in sweat, stripped to their leggings in the heat of the day. Krillin’s face was creased into a wild glare, his frenzy unquenched. Jerard watched nearby, his eyes fixed cautiously on Krillin. Ashes picked up his sword and stretched his aching arm. “Go easy,” he grumbled. “It’s been longer than it looks.” “I don’t care,” Krillin snapped. “You have less than a week left and you’re still no better than Ando!” “Be fair,” Jerard called. “He beat me yesterday. Twice.” Krillin cast a glare towards his brother. “Don’t give me that! Rumor has it he could had beaten me before it happened. I want to see that! And as far as I’m concerned, until that happens he’s no better than Ando!” Ashes wiped sweat from his upper lip, hunched over. “You take a year off and see what it does to you.” “It isn’t like you were idle during that time,” Krillin growled. “I’m sure father kept you hopping at least most of the time.” “He wasn’t the only one,” Ashes said coldly. Krillin’s eyes flashed. “Then show me. This is your chance to get revenge.” “I’m not here for revenge...” “Show me!" Krillin screamed. He jumped forward, bringing both his swords down in an overhand chop at Ashes’ head. Ashes stumbled back, blocking up and slicing downwards. Krillin’s blades were there to stop him; suddenly one disappeared. Ashes leapt backwards, skidded, grabbed the dagger he had dropped earlier and blocked the blade that came in at his side. His sword caught the one aimed for his chest. But he was still stumbling backwards, on the defense. No battle was won in defense. Fire traced down his cheek and he dropped his blades in shock. Jerard leapt to his feet with a roar and grabbed Krillin’s arms, heaving him backwards. Blood poured down Ashes’ face—the cut wasn’t deep, but it was painful. “What was that for?” Ashes’ snapped, grabbing a handkerchief presented to him by a panicked servant. He wiped the blood away angrily, wincing as his frown pulled at the torn skin. “You don’t think this is serious enough,” Krillin said. “Attack me like you want to kill me. I’m not holding back, but you are. Why? You say this isn’t for revenge, well make it vengeance! Your mother would be disgusted!” Ashes threw the cloth on the ground and grabbed up his sword with a scream. Jerard let go of Krillin as his brother jumped forward with a laugh, red hair mussed and dark with sweat. The two locked into a series of parries and attacks, kicking up sand in their frenzied strains against each other. One sword went flying—one of Krillin’s. A moment later the other was pinned against the sand and wrenched away. Ashes brought his sword tip to Krillin’s throat, panting with rage and exertion. He had never felt angrier in his life; never so alive. Krillin was grinning. “Now,” he said softly, “you are better than Ando. Can you let me go, or are you going to keep me here?” Ashes took a step back, blinking. His hands and knees were shaking he was so tired. His vision went black and he stumbled. Jerard caught him and helped him to a bench. A servant brought water. Ashes shook his head and looked around. “Where’d Krillin go?” “Probably to shower,” Jerard said. “Why was he smiling?” Ashes asked. “He just lost—Krillin never loses. I thought he’d be furious...” “You misunderstand,” Jerard shrugged. “Why would he be furious? Krillin’s been bored: with no one better than him and no goal to strive for, who wouldn’t be? But now he has someone to better. He’s got something to go for again.” “But...I’m your stepbrother...” “Ando is the only one who ever abhorred you. Krillin never hated you; he just always took Ando’s side. It’s easier that way for him. But with you as a fencing partner, I think he’ll start leaning towards you.” Jerard clapped him on the shoulder and strode away. Ashes watched him go in confusion. The elderly servant chuckled and patted the young man’s arm. “Don’t worry about them, young master. Those two aren’t so difficult. The only really bad one is the youngest, and you’ll show him.” “I’m afraid I won’t,” Ashes said softly. “The fact that I’m doing this for him shows that I’m still the servant—the low, filthy soot boy they have the misfortune to call their stepbrother.” The elderly servant shook his head and bent to take Ashes’ sword. The young man stayed his hand. “I’m going to work a little longer,” Ashes said. “You can go on if you want.” The city was huge. But it seemed smaller than when Ashes had seen it last—he had been only a boy after all. And yet the vast streets and allies and courtyards and gardens stretched out all around them. There were countless shops, inns, stables, fencing yards, grassy stretches, fountains, and soldiers. Ashes noticed them above all, sitting on horseback or patrolling the streets on foot. Their armor was silver and each wore a deep red cape and a feathered badge of rank. They watched the incoming warriors with a mixture of curiosity and scorn. The soldiers were not allowed to participate. The tournament was projected to last over three days. Pairings were set up to begin the match and then the winners would fight winners, and so on until the top ten were listed. The warriors who fought on the first day would be peasants—the winners from that group would fight among the nobles, and then the last day the elite would duel. Therefore the three brothers, or rather the two brothers and their stepbrother, entered the city under the sound of silence. Every body was crammed into the royal amphitheatre. Every eye was fixed on battle. The lord bought a room at an inn close to the castle. Ashes sat listlessly on one of the beds, holding his pouch of belongings—really just the clothes he had been given at the start of the two weeks and his sword. Jerard had disappeared into the streets to talk with soldiers and explore. The lord had also disappeared, but where to was a mystery. It was just Ashes and Krillin in the room. Krillin paced, glancing out the window at every round. Ashes watched him silently. Very much like a lion. And Jerard was the bear. Ando, who would arrive tomorrow, was the weasel. Ashes hadn’t thought about himself. Perhaps he was the crow, a soot-stained bird with a sharp eye. Yes, he liked that idea. “What are you thinking about?” Ashes glanced up at Krillin. “Oh, nothing.” “It’s just that you were smiling...” he drifted off and returned to pacing, eyes flickering up to the window and back to the wall. Ashes shifted uncomfortably. “How long are you going to do this?” Krillin’s eyes snapped back to him. He looked extremely agitated. “Is it any of your business?” Ashes pursed his lips and unsheathed his sword, running his fingers along the edge. His dagger was buried somewhere among his clothes and he didn’t feel like fishing it out. The light slid along the edge like water—he almost felt he could drink if from the blade, a sharp tasting liquid that would spread through his body and make him the ultimate warrior. Something from fairy tales. Jerard appeared as the sun disappeared underneath the city walls. Krillin had walked himself into a stupor and lay half-asleep on a bed, curled into a tight ball with his arms over his head. Jerard cast him a single glance and fell onto his own cot without taking off his clothes. Immediately he began snoring. Ashes stayed awake, looking at the moon through the window. After this was over, he wasn’t going back to the manor. He would become a guard, like he had suggested earlier. He wouldn’t return ever again. He stood nervously bouncing up and down on his feet. The crowd pushed him without touching him, standing secluded as he was in the waiting ring. In front of him the great stadium stretched like a desert—the two warriors within were far away and indistinct. He didn’t see their movements, didn’t watch with any interest at all. He kept his mind on not dropping his blades. Krillin and Jerard had fought earlier—both had won their contests and disappeared to rest for the next day. The lord only lingered for Ando’s sake, watching gleefully from the sidelines with his arm in a sling. Ashes didn’t look at the flagrant lie tied around his brother’s arm. The lord didn’t look at his stepson. A blade went flying and there was a small spurt of blood. A guard leapt in and a winner’s name was yelled. Ashes didn’t hear who. But it didn’t matter; his fight was next. Somewhere he heard his name being called, the information that he was fighting for his master Ando so-and-so third son of so-and-so. His opponent was so-and-so of some land or other, son of...and it went on. A hand pressed on the flat of his back and urged him into the ring. His eyes found and fixed on his opponent. The man was a beast, with more muscle-weight than Ashes had in all. He towered over him with a fierce glare, holding his broadsword with only one hand. “Match begin!” A mountain of steel was suddenly sweeping down at him. Ashes dodged aside and felt the very ground shudder with the impact of the sword as it hit. One blow and he would be flattened. He had to get around to the back...but the front was so huge, how would he manage that? Ashes danced backwards and away, his mind whirling. Speed and finesse—he was no weakling beginner! What was he thinking? He had fought guards as big as or bigger than this before. Ashes skidded to a stop and smiled. The man was charging at him, large sword held ready to sweep in any direction and destroy him. Ashes ran forward to meet him, sword held in both hands. As his smile stretched, the man’s confident grin faltered... Ashes threw himself into the air as high as he could, scooping his legs up underneath him. He just cleared the man’s bent head. The warrior gaped, trying to follow his arcing jump. Ashes struck with all of his might, bringing the hilt of his blade onto the back of the warrior’s head. The huge man fell and Ashes landed, stumbling to his knees with the impact. The ground was shaking again, but this time because the amphitheater was being pummeled by the feet of stamping, screaming watchers. Ashes heard the herald again calling something out—someone grabbed his arm and thrust it into the air. The next thing he knew he was being led back to the inn. Someone was jabbering excitedly in his ear while an iron grip was clutched upon his arm like a vice. His sword was still hanging loosely in his hand, but none had tried to take it from him. The door to the room closed behind him and Ashes sheathed his sword, finally realizing what had happened. He had won—and in doing so he had regained some of his lost honor, some of himself. Krillin glanced up at him. “We heard the cheers all the way from here,” he said. “Who did they put you up against?” “A beast of a man!” Ando cried. “He was three times his size easily! And he won, I can’t believe it!” Ashes glanced at them all staring at him—Ando was elated, Jerard was smiling faintly, the lord looked indifferent and...Krillin was yet again gazing at him hungrily. Ashes looked away and laid down on his bed. He blinked and stared at the stars. Behind him the others grew quiet and settled down. For some strange reason, they left him alone. Twenty warriors, including Jerard, Krillin, and Ashes, were led into the amphitheatre the following dawn. Ashes looked around in surprise—much of the crowds had disappeared, the losers’ families and friends departing. Krillin was inspecting the other warriors pensively—there were thirteen nobles and seven peasants. None of them were as beastly as Ashes’ adversary from the day before; they could all have been guards wandering the city. A door opened on the other side of the amphitheatre and a large troupe of guards walked out. Behind them came the royal family. Ashes stood straight, breathing deeply. The king was a tall, hawkish man. He was not as old as Ashes had expected him to be—his hair was still a dark brown with gold glittering at his temples. A golden circlet and the four gold chains of rank were all the jewelry he wore. The queen was slender and small, her face kindly and pale. Ashes stared at her—she looked so...familiar... And then the princess stepped between them, a single handmaiden standing a respectful step behind. Ashes kept his mouth from dropping open only with the greatest struggle. It was the girl from the field...the girl who had seen him lying naked in the grass by the river. Her hair was piled on top of her head in ringlets, studded with tiny flowers of silver. She wore a dark green dress, her eyes as sharp and earthy as when he had seen them last. Her eyes traveled down the line of warriors and stopped on him. She blinked and Ashes was pleased to see that she was hiding her shock as well. Ashes looked away quickly and focused on the king. He was speaking. “—wins will be the candidates for my daughter’s decision. The other nine will receive gold and a position among the king’s guard if they choose. You will be paired just as in the past days.” The king’s eyes traveled up the line like his daughter’s. “Very well then. Let the matches begin.” We’re just puppets for them to manipulate. Ashes watched nervously as the two guards strode up and down the line. Broad grins on their faces, the two guards selected one contestant each—two men to fight. Half of the numbers were gone already. Jerard sat panting on the other side of the arena, sweat pouring down his neck and shoulders. The largest man on the line had been pitted against the eldest brother—the battle had taken nearly half an hour when finally Jerard had overcome his opponent. Ashes felt ill. There were several large men yet on the line, including Krillin. The guards turned to vicious monsters under his gaze. Suddenly a guard was standing in front of him, gazing down on him with a twisted smile. Ashes took a gulping breath and glanced down the line to find his opponent was—standing right next to him. The other guard had stopped in front of Krillin. His stepbrother’s lion eyes were gazing at him with an unreadable expression, but his lips had twisted into a non-smile. Krillin pushed past his guard, unsheathing his swords. Ashes followed his stepbrother into the arena. Already his hands were sweaty with nerves. But inside he was cool—he had beaten Krillin before. He could do it again. But could he do it without being enraged as he had before? He couldn’t make himself angry. And Krillin was not the one to incense an enemy needlessly. Even now he was silent, staring at the smaller, younger boy across the sandy ring, tapping a sword tip against his boot. Ashes blinked and Krillin was jumping at him, one sword high, the other low. Ashes blinked again and their blades had met, sliding along to the hilts with a shriek. Krillin twisted, locking Ashes’ blade between his own. The stepbrother grinned. “You want to know a secret?” he grunted. Ashes grimaced, his arms shaking under the strain of Krillin’s force. Krillin smiled lazily again, his pale lashes flickering. “I have no desire to be a prince.” Ashes almost lost his footing in shock, but Krillin pulled away and took three skipping steps away from his stepbrother. “I want to be a warrior,” he said fiercely, softly. “I want to be a king’s champion, not the one to make decisions from above.” “Then why are you here?” Ashes growled back, thrusting with his blade to test Krillin’s defenses. “Why bother?” “Father insisted,” Krillin panted, creating a swirling double attack with his swords, keeping the sharp steel between himself and Ashes’ long blade. “But here, now and forever, I am going to sever the ties between us and prove to him that he does not rule my life.” Krillin’s face turned dark in a crinkled rage and he screamed, throwing himself at his opponent. Ashes stumbled back, eyes wide. He had never seen Krillin this angry before—he always fought coldly and thoughtlessly, as if it took him no more effort than breathing. But now he was pounding forward with all of his strength, forcing Ashes to desperation, like... “Like you want to kill me! I’m not holding back—but you are. Why?” Krillin’s foot slammed into his ankle, knocking Ashes onto his back. Ashes forced his feet over his head, shoulders screaming. Narrowly he flipped out of Krillin’s slash, the blade catching his bicep and not his chest. Blood trickled down his arm. “Am I going to have to insult your mother?” Krillin shrieked. Ashes darted at Krillin’s side—and then he wasn’t there. Krillin’s eyes widened and he turned; light splintered around a dark shape overhead, spearing into his gaze. Krillin winced, stepping back... Cold metal pressed under his ear. Krillin grinned and glanced at Ashes’ flushed, sweat-streaked face. “I guess not. Finally.” Ashes stepped back, grinning. The floor pitched underneath him, but somehow he managed to make his way to the right side of the arena, next to Jerard. The older brother was watching Krillin keenly, rubbing his lips. In the spectator part of the arena, Ando looked like he could dance; the lord’s gaze was murderous. Krillin smiled lazily up at both of them, saluting his father mockingly with one sword. The last three battles passed unnoticed to Ashes. He kept his eyes fixed on the princess, noticing that she, too, was ignoring the last sets of fighters. Her hands were gripped so tightly that her knuckles were white. Her shoulders were shaking. Finally the last blade was sent flying into the dirt and the ten winners lined up before the king, queen, and their daughter. Ando approached over the sand to take Ashes’ place, a triumphant smile on his face. Ashes watched him come calmly, his mind far away. Ando pushed his stepbrother aside, stepping into line proudly. The other winners glanced at him and away with disdain. Ashes sheathed his sword, his insides churning, his brain flipping over itself with different possibilities, actions, consequences. The king had begun to speak, a speech of congratulations and the duties of a prince. Ashes looked up again at the princess. “No,” Ashes whispered. All eyes turned to him. The king frowned; Ando whirled, stunned rage beginning to creep into his eyes. The lord took a step forward; the princess looked up hopefully. On the sidelines Krillin was watching sharply. Ashes pushed past Ando to stand in front of his brother. “Earlier I fought as a replacement for my stepbrother,” he said coldly. The king’s eyes flickered to Ando and away, his lips pressed tightly. “But I am no one’s slave. I claim my right as one of the ten finalists to be considered as a suitable husband for the princess.” “NO!” Ando grabbed Ashes’ shoulder and yanked him back, his other hand striking the young man across the face, knocking him to the ground. A roar of outrage lifted from the warriors and the king advanced angrily. “What is this?” he snapped. Ando’s sling had fallen off when he had struck Ashes with his ‘wounded’ arm. He stood, pale and glancing between Ashes and the king. Ashes picked himself up slowly, touching his jaw tenderly. His eyes were fixed on Ando in a venomous glare. “I think it is obvious what this is,” the queen said softly. “Falsehood.” The princess stared in disgust at Ando. “I will not marry a liar,” she snapped. The king gestured to his guards. “Remove this treacherous leech from the arena,” he snarled. The two large guards advanced on Ando, grinning. They gripped his arms tightly and yanked him towards the exit. Ando spluttered and screeched, digging his heels in. He disappeared from the arena yelling. The king turned to Ashes, fury still shimmering in his pale anger. "But what about you? You knew about this treachery and yet you went along with it? You also have lied." Ashes bowed his head, tightening his hands into fists. "I..." "Father, aren't I the one to choose among the ten?" The king turned on his daughter. "He is a liar. I cannot allow him to be a candidate for your marriage." "He did not construct the lie," the princess said. "And through he hated it, he obeyed. Must not a kin obey his people's demands, even when he hates it?" "But then he turned on the demand," the king snapped. "Would you have a king go to war for his people only to turn back when it benefits the monarchy?" "He trusted his better judgement," the princess argued. "We all make mistakes. He fought honorably and took a risk in uncovering the lie." "You sound as if you want to marry him already!" the king growled despairingly. The princess smiled. "You're right--I do. And I will: he is the one I choose." Ashes stood silent, staring between father and daughter. The princess' words shook him and he frowned. "Why me? Why not someone stronger or more handsome?" The princess turned to look at Ashes, a small smile on her face. "You saw me in the field. You looked at me then the same way you are looking at me now. I was dressed as a peasant then, with no money or crown to back me up. And still you saw me. I don't want to marry a man with eyes only for power and wealth. I want a man who marries me for me--a man with your eyes." Ashes knelt slowly, never taking his gaze away from the princess' face. "Will you marry me?" he whispered. The princess smiled. "Yes. I will. My name is Charm, by the way. What is yours?" "Ashes." Krillin slapped his hands together. Ashes stepped up to him nervously, biting his lip. “Even a prince needs a champion,” he said. Krillin’s face went blank. He eyed Ashes cautiously. “I won’t make things easy for you,” he said. “Just the opposite." Ashes bowed his head. "I still need reminding of reality. Of how serious things are." Krillin pursed his lips, considering. Slowly he sank to one knee. “Fine. If you completely insist.” “Traitor!” Krillin’s father snarled. “You’ve betrayed me and your brother, whom you professed to love. Fine, join that little street rat! Consider yourself fatherless from here on! Jerard, come!” Jerard turned slowly. “I think not, father. You’ve smothered me for too long. I will stay at the palace and join the king’s guard.” The lord went white with rage and pointed a shaking finger at Ashes. “You’ll see my face again, whelp!” he hissed. “You’ll pay for stealing my sons from me...” “I do believe you just threatened the prince,” Krillin said archly, staring at his father with distaste. “And as a result, the king as well.” All eyes turned on the lord as Krillin’s statement sank in. The lord’s face twitched as his gaze jerked from face to face. A set of warriors fingered their weapons with grim frowns, inching towards the lord. With a scream of rage the lord turned and fled toward the arena’s entrance, disappearing through the doors where his youngest son had exited previously. Krillin smirked and turned back to Ashes. “My lord,” he said softly. “You’ve won.” "So," the king said, eyeing Ashes with a disgruntled frown. "You're the lad my daughter has chosen to marry." He sniffed, looking the young man up and down. "I'll be honest, she could have done better in many ways, but I suppose that's not the point, is it?" The king grimaced. "Very well then. I'll expect you to work hard, you and your..." he waved his hand Krillin's way, "champion or guard or whatever." His eyes flickered towards Krillin again. "I suppose you'll become captain of the monarchial guard soon enough, eh boy?" Krillin blinked. The king smirked. "You, boy, will report to Captain Veir tomorrow. He'll see you outfitted and posted where you'll be able to prove yourself." Krillin bowed, hiding his face. Ashes guessed, however, that it would be unreadable. He was wrong. Straightening, Krillin grinned. The smile reached his predatory eyes, crinkling their edges into a laugh. Behind Charm, the princess’ handmaiden eyed Krillin with a blush. Their eyes met and for the second time that day the lion’s glare in Krillin’s face dropped away in shock. Color rose to the young man’s cheeks and he coughed, running a hand through his hair nervously. Jerard slapped his brother on the back, laughing. A cardinal landed in the arena long after the sand had become still and the air silent. It pecked at the sand hopefully, chirped, and fluttered away. The wind sighed through the trees without and the sun dipped beneath the horizon in a gleam of scarlet. Inside the castle, Ashes slept peacefully, surrounded by his new family. He smiled in his sleep, gripping a daisy freshly picked from the fields.

Kikuyu raced through the trees back to the clearing. Behind her, the scattered footsteps of rushing healers and other pennites from the Keep Infirmary slapped against still wet leaves. The noise was tremendous, but stealth wasn't the issue anymore. Haste was. Kikuyu's shoulder slammed into a tree and she spun to the side, ignoring the lack of coordination. Her view of the forest was a vague red haze, twirling sickeningly. If Degorram was gone before she could get back...if she was gone at all... Kikuyu dashed a hand across her eyes and bit her lip till it bled. She smacked into another branch, this time slipping to her knees. She scrabbled wildly, feet and hands slipping in water and slick moss, but she got to her feet and sprinted onwards. Someone next to her was breathing sharply...or maybe it was just herself. The clearing burst on her eyes in a bright swamp of moonlight. She couldn't make out distinct shapes-- Ozy and Dego were a tight blob to the left, whereas Sir Walnut and Sir Ordolar were vaguely swaying blobs to her right. Kikuyu forced herself to swallow once, twice... She walked slowly towards Ozy, afraid of what she would see. The Elder didn't notice her, but it didn't matter. Kikuyu looked into Degorram's open eyes, and the little bubble of light in her collarbone flared brightly. The heat was intense on her face and chest. The ninja dropped to her knees, head bowed with exhaustion, and she did not try to wipe away her tears. Weakly, as the healers gathered around, she gripped one of Degorram's fingers, determined not to let go for a very, very long time.

Kikuyu stumbled and dropped to one knee. She panted, forcing herself up again. She could not rest-- she couldn't take a break. Slung over her shoulders, Wyvern groaned once and fell silent again. Kikuyu shifted her grip, allowing herself to wipe the sweat from her forehead. Just a few more miles...just a little farther to the Keep... "Ki- Kiku. Get a healer. As many- as you can. It'd hel-p," Ozymandias forced through gritted teeth. "I can't move her the way she is now." Kikuyu closed her eyes against the memory of her twin's pale face. The stillness almost made her look sorrowful, not peaceful as Kikuyu had always dreamed. But despite the peace, the dreams where Degorram's face had been still in the power of death had always been nightmares. The walls of the Keep rushed up before her so quickly that the ninja almost ran into Mynx. Several huge, glimmering animals looked down at her, jaws bared for another attack. Zombies lay everywhere, fallen and still. It looked like the sight of a plague. Kikuyu swayed on her feet and shifted Wyvern towards the ground. She couldn't hold him upright anymore. She would fall under his weight-- perhaps she already was falling. "Where are the healers?" she whispered. "Ozy says...we need many...for Dego. They're still in the forest, but the Necromancer is dead...Degorram is--" Someone took Wyvern from her arms. Through blurry eyes Kikuyu saw him being carried inside. "I'll find some healers," a voice said. It warped and twisted in the ninja's ears. Kikuyu shook her head and rubbed her eyes. Another invisible hand pushed a jug of water into her grip. "You stick around," the voice continued. "We'll need to find them quickly."