[Mkguild] MK: Nightmares (1/2)

[Hallan Mirayas]

Nightmares
  by Hallan Mirayas

Previously…
    Rickkter sifted through the red-stained snow where Linafex and his daughter had fallen, their bodies cleared away for burning.  He'd felt and recognized the pulse of a soul gem being activated, and he knew it had to be around here somewhere...  Another hand closed on it first, plunged into the snow only an arm's length from where he'd been searching, and the raccoon mage glared when he recognized its owner.  "Malger Sutt," he spat.
    The marten sifted snow from around the gem in his hand, his jade green finery wrapped in a protective heavy cloak that shadowed his features, reducing his visibility down to the faintly glowing gem in the marten's hand.  An unworried, even rakish, smile and slight, though not mocking, bow accompanied it.  "I'm somewhat surprised you didn't notice me approach, Rickkter."
    The comment stung, and Rickkter snarled as he drew up, unsheathing his katana and bringing it to bear on the insufferable minstrel-turned-archduke.  "Give that to me," he demanded, flicking his eyes to the stone, then back to meet the marten's.  "Now.  It needs to be destroyed."
    Malger took a single step back out of reach, acknowledging the threat, but his free hand did not yet stray toward the tassled swords at his own hips.  Rickkter knew he was highly skilled with those blades, perhaps even his superior in their specific use, but Sutt had no magic to round out his vulnerabilities.  "No."  The marten shook his head and tucked the stone away in the folds of his doublet.  "The Lady Nocturna insists that the daedress Alexastra remain captive for the time being, for her own safety."
    One of Rickkter's folded ears twitched up in curiosity as he regarded the fop only a single blade's length, one quick lunge, beyond the tip of his katana.  "By what right?" he growled as the snow whipped around them both, dusting the marten's sable fur with white and turning his dark green cloak into a pine in a winter forest.
    The marten's smile remained, but a hint of hardness slipped into his expression.  "By the right of a mother for her child, stolen at birth and hidden from her for four thousand years," he shot back.
    Both of Rickkter's ears snapped up and forward.  "...  She's what?" Startled eyes squinted again as a stinging gust of wind whipped the marten's fur and clothing, though the marten himself did not move.
    "The mother of she who has been captured within this gem.  As I just said."  Malger twisted the clasp of the gem-holding pocket closed and placed a hand protectively across it.  "Were the occasion different, I would willingly hand this over, but right now releasing her would be far too dangerous."
    "Dangerous?  To whom?"
    Malger's smile finished fading to a firm seriousness.  "To her, Rickkter, and by extension, all of us.  Many fates rest upon this fulcrum.  One error and the lever will shift to the detriment of all.  We must wait."
    "For what?" Rickkter fairly yelled into the wind which, at that moment, chose to ebb and turn his snarl into the echoing bark of an angry beast.
    "For the proper time." His smile returning, Malger held up one hand, an upraised finger begging a moment's abeyance.  "And, until that time, Raven must not know, Lord Rickkter.  She would be a weight on the wrong end of the lever were she to discover too early." His hand lowering, Malger stepped forward until the tip of Rickkter's unwavering blade rested lightly against his breast; against the gleaming silver crescent moon of his faith to Nocturna, daedra goddess of dreams and nightmares, bringer of omens.  And prophecy.  "Trust, milord, that when such time comes to release her from the stone, both you and Lothanasa Raven will be there, on my word of faith to Nocturna and upon my very title.  I will let you know when I am prepared and then the Lothanasa.  Until then, I will see it kept hidden away where it can harm no-one."
    Rickkter snarled, his ears once more backing, and slammed his katana neatly back into its scabbard without taking his eyes from the insufferable royal and nightmare worshiper.  "Very well, archduke, I will bear this silence.  But play me false and I'll see you part company with your overdressed head."
    Malger actually laughed and bowed more deeply, this time very much mocking, "Very well.  Within the year, milord, if not sooner.  Trust."
    "-is a fragile thing." Rickkter growled as he turned about and stalked back into the howl of wind and snow.
-----
May 26, 708 CR
    "Very well," the Duke replied as the briefing concluded.   "Then let us move on to the other matter on the agenda."  While Misha carefully returned the teeth to the bag, the Duke and the Duchess settled back into their thrones, and he shared a long glance with her before turning his dark brown eyes on Malger Sutt.   "Namely, the other extremely dangerous creature you propose to return to my city."

    Malger nodded in reply, then reached into a pocket and drew forth something held in a closed fist.  Turning it upward, an opened hand revealed a sharply faceted stone the size of a robin's egg, green as emerald but as opaque and clouded as jade.   Rickkter and Raven both stiffened, as did everyone else in the room when Raven identified it.   "The soul gem Arkos Linafex used."  The she-wolf's eyes fixed on the marten like hawk talons.   "I assume there is an excellent reason you have not destroyed it yet."  Her frozen tone implied that there had certainly better be.

    Malger nodded.   "Timing, Lothanasa.   If its occupant were released too soon, she would have gone after her better half immediately and been destroyed at Revonos' hands… or worse, under the fangs and claws of her own beloved.   The Lady Nocturna foresaw this as the most favorable moment, neither earlier nor later.   Her time is now."

    "Alexis Nightwind," came a dusky voice from a shadowy corner of the ceiling, belonging to the spymaster Andwyn.   "Also known as Anastasia Fletcher and the Caravan Cat."

    "And Deborah of Aldemar," added another.   Heads turned.   Madog had, as he often did, arrived without sound or notice.   He now sat next to the Duke's chair, blue eyes fixed peaceably but cautiously on the green gem.   Duke Thomas gestured for everyone to relax, while part of him marveled not for the first time how a mechanical metal fox could so readily display readable emotion… when it wanted to.   The rest of him wondered where, or more likely when, Madog had encountered this woman.   If 'of Aldemar' meant what he thought it did, then it referenced a town that had been a ruin before the fall of the Sieulman Empire.

    Malger's eyes met the Duke's and he nodded in knowing agreement.   "Yes, she is known by all of those and more, but she is more properly known as the daedress Alexastra."

    Raven's hand slid to her hip to rest on the pommel of Elemacil.   "Alexastra.   Anastasia.   Alexis.   Those sound like names for a servant of Agemnos, not of Nocturna."  The Lord of Greed was well known for giving his minions voluminous and ostentatious names.

    A shadow flickered across the marten's face, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.   "Former servant," he corrected.   "She altered her allegiance a month prior to her incarceration."

    Rickkter pondered the gem as if appraising it anew.  "A daughter stolen and hidden, I believe you said."
    A murmur rippled through the room accompanied by widened eyes and up-pricked ears, all except for Malger's.   "That is a subject I would appreciate not discussing, Rickkter," he replied with careful coolness, "especially not in front of her.   She does not know.   It would be dangerous."
    "To whom?"
    "To her."
    The Duke cleared his throat.   "We wander from the point of this meeting,” he said with a sigh, waving one hand for Malger to continue.  “You ask not only for her release, but for her continued presence to be allowed in my kingdom.   Given what you've said of the conditions for a mind trapped inside one of those, I'll freely grant the first for the sake of mercy, but the second will require more persuasion."
    Malger turned to offer a short bow toward the Duke.  "Firstly, Lord Thomas, she will present no harm to you.   She has sworn an oath, and I will see it renewed before you.  Secondly, as Andwyn can attest, you would have great difficulty keeping her out," Malger continued with a sardonic twitch along one side of his muzzle, "and I do not think it is in Metamor's best interests to try.   Banning her from keep and kingdom is a provocation she would not suffer lightly, even with her oath of neutrality.   Lastly, my Lady has foreseen that her presence will be vital to deciphering the tangled riddle that has been made of this Beast of Revonos, who is expected to have significant importance to the fates of several here in Metamor.”  He paused for dramatic effect, tail sweeping slowly side to side behind him as he glanced from the Duke to the Lothanasa, and then Rickkter.  “If he does not go mad or kill himself first, after causing incalculable destruction as he does."
    "I see."  Duke Thomas settled back in his chair, fingers steepled, taking in the eyes of each person in the room.   "You've all given your input on why or why not she should be allowed to stay, but I would now like to hear her own reasons directly." He gestured, and a contingent of guards entered, taking up position around the ducal dais.   "Stand ready, but let her make the first move for good or ill.   I have no doubt she will be disoriented.   Rickkter, if you would do the honors?"  Misha and Raven moved to join the protective cordon around the Duke, weapons drawn.  Misha held Whisper in a firm, aggressive stance while Raven merely drew her gods-touched blade, placed it tip-down before her, and rested both of her hands upon the pommel.  Rickkter drew his blades and stepped forward, but Malger slid smoothly to interpose himself.  “Your grace, as I will be her patron, I would like to be the first visage she takes in upon emerging.”  He gave the scowling raccoon a beatific smile that showed many sharp white teeth against the brown of his muzzle.  “I daresay should she be presented with one of our foremost warriors, her judgments may skew toward reacting in expectation of attack before anything else.  After all, when she befell the trap which ensnares her, she was in battle with all here who bare weapons, save myself.”
    Thomas cast his somber equine gaze around to the assembled.  Misha merely shrugged and Raven gave a short nod, her sharp lupine gaze narrowed at Malger, distrusting whatever game he was playing.  She had no history to give her suspicion that he may have ulterior motives but he had two strikes against him that she could not overcome: the first was that he was the son of a bloodthirsty conqueror; the second was the silver crescent of his faith, worn openly upon the breast of his storm grey raiment.  Rickkter’s gaze was on the Duke but he could only shrug, as had Misha.  He saw no need to gainsay the marten, as he could remove himself to a more defensive location before the daedra was unleashed rather than standing muzzle to muzzle with it.
    “As you will, then.” Thomas said with a wave of one hand, settling back into his seat, both thick quasi-equine hands gripping the arms of the chair.  Alberta placed one of her hands atop his, seeming to feel more at ease.  Considering the wolf, raccoon, and fox were among the best warriors, not to mention users of magic, were there in defense of royals and realm and even the marten, bereft of magic but no less skilled with his twin blades, was capable what calamity was there to fear.
    With a deep bow from the waist Malger took a step back, away from the throne, and turned toward the cleared space in the center of the chamber.  As he had requested there was no circle of containment, no wards, no magics to restrain the daedra upon its release.  Merely cold, unadorned stone clean of rushes or rugs.  Kneeling, he drew the gleaming crystal from some pocket of his doublet and set it upon the stone.  From another pocket he drew forth a simple chisel, large and blocky in the manner of a stonemason rather than jeweler, and a mallet of similar design.
    Resting the chisel against a smooth facet of the crystal, he raised the mallet to strike.
-----
Date Unknown
    She had called in every favor.   Mined dry every resource.   Leveraged to the hilt every scrap of information, innuendo, and blackmail that she'd ever come across.   All to create this one opportunity.   This one chance.   The horizon beyond the hills glowed like fire, a fire that terrified her to her very core, but it was their last chance.   Their only chance.   With just a few more steps, she and Drift would be-
    Alexis' world exploded in pain as a jagged, fractured blade stabbed through her, severing her spine at the waist.   As she collapsed, half-spinning on legs in their very last spasm, she saw Drift thrashing in the air like a hooked fish, white-furred fists pounding at a black-mailed arm gripped around his throat.   It lifted.   It squeezed.   Alexis flung her hand out, trying desperately to conjure forth something, anything that might-
    CRACK!
    "Too slow," Lord Revonos sneered as he dropped Drift's broken body in a crumpled heap.  Head lolling, brown eyes lifeless and staring-
    "Damnation!"  Alexastra swore, banishing the illusion with a slash of her hand.   The spinning top on the table beside her spun on, unceasing, uncaring.   Again.   Again!  She had failed again!  How many times would it take to find a way through?  Nocturna had said there would be-
    CRACK!
  Alexastra's head snapped up in alarm as glowing green cracks spiderwebbed through the space around her.   "No!" she protested.   "Not ye-"
    CRACK!!
    She shielded her eyes as the light grew blinding…
-----
    The dense wood mallet met the flattened metal cap of the chisel with a muffled crack that became a sharp, subtle, tinkling sound like paper-thin glass shattering as the edge of the chisel bit into the ensorcelled stone.  It was the last subtle thing to happen for the next several minutes, a frozen moment in time before an ear-straining peal and a blinding green flash shook the room and struck spots into the vision of those not quick enough to shield their gaze.  At the center of it all, the crystal crumbled to dust as Malger staggered back from it, blinded and deafened.  Above it, a shape coalesced…
-----
    Reality twisted sideways and dropped out from under her.   Fire roared down her back as she crashed onto a bare stone floor, a pained grunt jerked through gritted teeth. The impact reopened the claw slashes Thestilus' three-story drop kick had inflicted.  Not content with that indignity, it also reawakened an army of bruises and lesser cuts all across her body.   Bright sunlight seared eyes that had been adapted to a clouded winter night a moment before, and water begin to trickle through her fur as storm-driven snow flash-melted in sudden heat.
    "Ow," she squeaked, her lungs in rebellion.  Severed senses screamed, forcing her to wrest them back under her control with an effort of will.  A mind that swore the fight was ages ago warred with a body that had battled for its life mere seconds past, and vertigo spun the world around her.  The two realities tangled in a snarl for which Alexastra knew instinctively she didn't have time.  She pushed her weariness away with an effort that left her shaking, and clung to her presence on the mortal plane by her battered, bloodied fingernails.
    And then it got worse.  Her eyes were still blinded but her nose was working fine, and it told her where she was and who was around her.  Spice, incense, several variations of musk, oiled metal and seasoned leather, all underlain by the faint hint of petrichor peculiar to Metamor Keep.  She bit back a curse that would have smoked the air around her, coughed to clear her lungs, and shoved that pain into a closet in her mind.  The door bowed and the hinges creaked, but they held.  For now.
    Calm.  Confidence.  Poise.
    She had anticipated this.   Prepared for this.   This was an acceptable part of The Plan.   The next part involved not getting stabbed, shot, or bisected.   Propping herself up on an elbow, Alexastra hooked a clawed thumb under the collar of her leather armor and tugged forth a crescent moon medallion on a fine silver chain.  "A moment's respite, if you please," she continued, showing her empty hands palm-out before carefully reaching from a pocket.   When her watchers tensed, she moved slower and spoke to reassure them.   "It's not a weapon, but a tool.   I need to be certain you're real."  Her fingertips fished a small metal top from a pocket, seemingly a simple child's toy made of unmarked and unremarkable metal, and set it spinning on the floor before her.   "One can never be too careful after spending time in a soul stone.  Please do not interfere."  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a gray-garbed someone make a confirming gesture, but she pressed everything around her out of her mind.  Focusing all of her attention and will on the spinning tool before her, she silently demanded that the top keep spinning.   Spinning eternally.   If this was still a dream, she still had time.   Time to think.   Time to plan.   Time to come up with any way to survive crossing purposes with the Lord of Rage-
    The faint tinkle of metal toppling onto stone sounded a death knell for her chances.   Forcibly repressing an instinctive shiver of terror at what she knew she was now up against, Alexastra steadied her features and tucked the tool away with the ease of practiced motion.   There would be time to process the enormity of her new challenges later.   Right now, she had mortals to deal with.   There was, at least, one good sign: none of them had attacked her on sight.   Yet.
    Finally, she looked up and took in her surroundings. The chamber was spartan, bereft of furnishings, but a half dozen guards in the livery of Metamor flanked the dais upon which the royal stallion and mare sat.  Before that throne stood the wolf Lightbringer priestess, grounded sword before her, and the fox hunter with his black axe in hand stood beside her.  Between them sat the irritating sight of a gleaming fox, a large feral form made entirely of metal, whom she knew very well indeed.  The raccoon battlemage she could smell but not see; he was certain to be in a tactically sound location somewhere behind her, just as the spymaster was above.
  Closer than all of them, though, stood a tall, lanky brown furred figure wearing a rich doublet of a deep stormcloud grey over a surcoat of black upon which rested a silver crescent moon necklace, a double to her own.  In one hand he held a wooden mallet and in the other a stonecutter’s chisel.  So.  This was Nocturna's favored, and he was the one who had shattered the soul stone and released her.  At least that motive was readily apparent.
    Calm.  Confidence.  Poise.
    Shifting her gaze past him, Alexastra levered herself into a half-seated position, then forced herself to stand in spite of her spine's screaming protests.   With a practiced flick of a clasp, her belt of daggers swung loose and was carefully handed over to the marten once he'd put the mallet and chisel away.  “Archduke Sutt,” she intoned, wincing inwardly at the raspy creak of her normally smooth soprano.  "I entrust these to you for this parley, along with my gratitude for my release.  I will remember you."
    Spreading her wings around her like a skirt as she dipped into as deep a curtsey toward the dais as her back would allow, Alexastra then swept them up around herself like a dark leather cape, arms crossed over her chest to frame her silver crescent between the darkness of her wrists and the saffron of her neck ruff.  Appearances were important.  The meltwater still trickling through her fur and dripping to the floor subtly marred the effect, but that was something she could work to her advantage with the right turn of phrase.   "Lord Thomas, Lady Alberta, Lothanasa, I am Alexastra, servant of the Lady Nocturna.  By the High Lord and the Dark Prince of the planes beyond, I state and affirm my oath of neutrality.  I bring you no omen, offer you no threat, and intend you no harm.  In the name of the Lady Nocturna, I request safe harbor," she intoned, allowing herself to sound just a touch out of breath as if she had just been fighting a few minutes before.   Which, to be fair, she had.  "I ask only to remain in peace while I seek someone of great importance to me."
    How long had it been for them?  Years?  A decade?  More?
    No, not a decade.  They were too little changed.  A handful of years, most likely.  Remarkable.
    "My apologies for the state you find me in; as you can see, I've had a busy evening."  She raised a finger to flick some droplets drooping from the whiskers above her right eye, then asked the most immediately important question. "If it please you, may I inquire what the date is?"
-----
May 22, 708 CR
    Three months.  Her eyes widened, and a glance to Archduke Sutt confirmed it.  Only three months.  Somehow, they'd gotten him out after only three months.  Incredible.  That was the only explanation she could fathom for why she would have been released at any time other than immediately.  She would have to ask how they had managed that, but later.  For now, there was but one single priority.  She locked her muscles against an exhaustion-fueled wobble, snapped her gaze back the Duke, and gimlet eyes sliced down to the unspoken truth with the ruthless precision of a battlefield scalpel.  "You have him."
    "Yes."
    "I will see him.  At the soonest possibility."  Her words came out clipped, but she had to see.  Had to see what damage had been done to her Edward.  And there would be damage.  That had been Lord Revonos' aura that night, make no mistake, and the Lord of Rage was not gentle with those who drew his interest.  In the corner of her eye, the Archduke bristled, and several pairs of eyes narrowed across the room.  Good.  As planned.
    "He is not in a condition for viewing," Duke Thomas said with a shake of his head, settling back in his throne as if closing the door on that conversation.
    "Of that I have no doubt," Alexastra retorted, then visibly checked herself, taking a moment to breathe and return her ears to an upright position.  Carefully…  "Again, my apologies.  As I said, I have had a long night: one that, for you, was months ago, but to me that crisis point was mere minutes ago, and things were not going well."  She closed her eyes and took another breath, deliberately allowing herself to settle.  "The rush of battle is an untrustworthy ally, a fragile reed upon which to rely."  The well-practiced mantra relaxed her muscles and steadied her stance.  Her eyes opened again.  "But with all due respect to the Lothanasa and the Battle Lord-" she flicked an ear in the direction of the raccoon behind her, "-I am very clearly the most well-trained and best-equipped person to assess what has been done to my Edward within a hundred days' travel.
    "To that end, great Duke and Duchess…"  Alexastra unfurled her wings and swept them before her with a flourish, and a writing desk materialized from thin air before her, tilted toward the dais.  Upon it coalesced a curl of vellum, a gleaming raven's quill, and a reservoir of ink the color of night itself.  "I propose to you a deal."  A flash of anger narrowed the Lothanasa's eyes, and Alexastra heard leather gloves tighten behind her.  Reaction is good, now backtrack…  Holding her hands up in placation, Alexastra swept the desk away in a waft of smoke with a flick of her fingers and an apologetic bow of her head.  "My apologies: old habits.  Please… allow me to rephrase."  Folding her hands together and steepling them against her chin, Alexastra furrowed her brow in consideration.  When next she spoke, her words came slow and weighty.  "The question that I need to be asking… is not 'what do you want', but… what can I offer you in exchange for what I want?"  She glanced to the wolf priestess.  "Is that more acceptable, Lothanasa Hin'Elric?"
    Raven's grip loosened fractionally on the hilt of her mithril blade, but her eyes remained narrowed and suspicious.
    Guarded acceptance in response to an admission of a weakened position, without pushing for more.  Good.  I can work with this.  Now to move into the endgame of this negotiation.
    Returning her attention to the Duke and Duchess, Alexastra laid out the best hand of cards she'd been dealt in more than a year.  "I offer you skills and experience honed over millennia, training unmatched by any of the operatives of your peers.  I offer you the most traceless of infiltrations, the deftest of intrigues, the most subtle of sabotages.  Information gathering worthy of an Emperor, coupled with capabilities that none of your other spies can match, all unhampered by the tattletale signs of the Metamor Curse."  Her eyes locked onto those of Duke Thomas and did not waver.  "In short, I offer you my services, under the direct supervision of Spymaster Andwyn and thus under you, for as long as my Edward lives."  Alexastra's chin lifted slightly as a thin smile of challenge ghosted across her lips.  "This is not an offer that any of you or your next hundred generations of descendants are likely to see again.  Shall I retire while you consider it?"
    A snort behind her signaled Rickkter's entry into the conversation.  "You speak very boldly for someone who is clearly beat to ribbons and in the company of at least two who could, in your current state, kill you one-on-one."
    Alexastra did not turn, her attention still fully on the Duke, but she answered over her shoulder.  "As the saying goes, rattling a sword in its scabbard makes noise: drawing it does not.  If you had intended to attack me, you would have done so already.  Also, I can give three very good reasons why you should not. Firstly, you would offend the Lady Nocturna by attacking an agent of hers who negotiates with you unarmed, in good faith, and under oath of truce.  Secondly, injured I may be, but I assure you I still have enough left in me to make any victory you might achieve by assaulting me ruinously pyrrhic."  Her eyes narrowed, and her voice grew harsh.  "Lastly, I have not thrown dice against the Master Gambler himself with both Edward's and my lives on the line to be stopped by anything you can bring against me.  That I promise you.  But…"  She took a breath.  Her voice mellowed, her hackles settled, and the black eyes of an angry daedress faded to the chocolate brown of a Metamorian flying fox.  "Conflict between us serves no purpose to anyone but the enemies of everyone in this room.  You have something I want, Duke Hassan: the life of my Edward and the time and facilities to try to redress all that has been done to him.  I have something you want: the talents, connections, training, and skills of a spy beyond anything you would ever find in this mortal realm.  Your enemies might as well have protected their secrets with a paper box and some string, and I offer them to you as grapes on a platter."
    Duke Thomas returned her gaze unflinching, his expression closed and inscrutable for the few long moments he took to consider the proposition.  Then he picked up her offered cards and swept them from the table with the finality of a headsman's axe.  "Absolutely not."
    Alexastra felt the ground drop out from under her, heard the door holding back her anxiety and pain creak and groan as the room spun.  What?  Her lips moved, tried to form the words, but she had no air.  How?  Why?
    The Lord of Metamor's eyes narrowed.  "If you were caught-"
    "Wouldn't happen," Alexastra flailed against the sudden undertow, but the Duke trampled her protest.
    "If.  You.  Were.  Caught.  Metamor would be accused of conspiring with daedra.  Never mind that you are of Nocturna; those arrayed against us could use that as a spur to isolate us, or worse, to lay the starting embers of a holy war.  Diplomatic catastrophe."

    "It wouldn't-"

    "NO.  This discussion is ended."  The Duke rose to his feet, preparing to leave.  "With all respect, Archduke, I-"
    "Wait!"  The force Alexastra injected into that word nearly took her off her feet.  With one hand outstretched in supplication, she grasped at the one final strand of straw remaining to her.  Her legs buckled, dropping her to her knees as they refused to support her, all her energy now reserved for keeping her head clear enough to speak.  "The daedra…" she panted, "the daedra have a word for 'falling in love with a mortal'.   It includes connotations of handing all of your secrets and possessions over to your worst enemy and then flinging yourself headfirst off a cliff into a pit of barbed, poisonous spikes.   Intellectually speaking, it rhymes with 'insanity'."  The effort exhausted her, and her hand fell.  Her voice dropped almost to a whisper.  "And yet...  here I am.  You mortals are a summer mist to us, here one moment and gone the next.   You are creatures of a day."  Taking a breath, she marshalled everything she had left to keep the Duke in this room, in this conversation, in this moment.  "And yet...  in that one day...  how some of you live!  That was my Edward, my candle in the dark: so fragile, so fleeting… but he was beautiful and he was wonderful and he was mine.  I upended my world for him, risked everything I had for him, gambled everything that I am.  For him!  I.  Need.  Him!"  The words echoed in the suddenly silent room.

    This was the last ditch.  This was her back to the wall.  Her voice dropped, her eyes narrowed to slits, and every word ground through gritted teeth with all the menace of an ancient creature pushed to its last extremity.  "I will pay whatever price you are willing to ask that is within my power to give if it allows me to care for and tend to him.  You will not see an offer like this again," she growled.  "Not in all the lifespans of all the worlds.

    "Choose.  Carefully."

    Duke Thomas took a long, slow breath as he rubbed his powerful equine chin slowly with one hand.  The other rested upon the arm of his impromptu throne, Lady Alberta’s hand resting upon his forearm. “Indeed, this is an unprecedented offer and… an opportunity, of sorts.  One of such a weight that I must take time to consider and confer with my advisors.”  Dark, troubled eyes shifted their focus slightly to one side.  "Your grace, what say you?”

     Malger turned toward the high seat and sketched a deep genuflection only a mustelid’s long spine could offer, his tail giving a horizontal flourish.  “My matron was most adamant on this point, sire.  For once the portents were not ambiguous riddles; she bids us aid this woman, for all that she is of the darker planes.  In her stead, I proffer my word of conduct, as she has again sworn her oath of peace before us all, and specifically to you directly.”

    Thomas breathed a heavy sigh.  “Very well, your grace.”  Releasing his chin, he gave a slight dismissive flick of his thick, blunt fingertips.  “Conduct her to a suite and see that she is cared for, but kept under watchful guard.  I will confer and, with luck, decide upon a course of action before the dawn.”

    Again the pine marten bent with a flourish of foppish attire and tail, despite his station actually outranking the equine Duke to whom he bowed.  “I will see to it, your grace.  I will house her within my own residences, though I gladly accept any you wish to share in her guarding.”

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