Digimon 1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer: Digimon does not belong to me! Just borrowing the names, that's all. (that's really all I'm borrowing, am I?)

**Author's notes: *breaks down in tears* Thank you, I've finally had a chance to do some writing! Now that it's summer, I'm gonna be writing up a storm! I apologize for the long wait, but now that it's summer, I'll try to post more frequently. 

"Seihad" takes place six years after the end of "Pilgrimage", so everyone's a bit older. You can do the math, but generally, everyone's in their early twenties except for Cody, who's in his late teens. Quite a bit of things have changed. Actually…more on that in the ending author's notes. You'll see what I mean after you've read this. Have fun!

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Seihad: Chapter One

By: TK Takaishi

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"And it shall come to pass that dark forces will stir in the land. Tides of black, as numerous as the sands on the seashore, or the stars in the velvet night will wash across the green fields. No blade of grass will remain untouched, and the very land will become poisoned by the darkness' mere presence. For seventeen years he shall work unseen, unheard among the kingdoms of Gaea. 

He shall whisper in the ears of those with power, whisper of dark deeds and heinous thoughts. And the weak-willed puppets will follow, subtly guided by the long-reaching arm of the Lying One. The deceiver will even use the scriptures of your God against you, for there is nothing he cannot corrupt and twist to sway the gullible. This shall be known as the First Kannanshinku.

And when the covenant of the ancient Council has been shattered beyond remaking, only then will he move outright. Only then will his frightful campaign of evil shall start its unholy crusade across the broken land of Heaven. And those who listened in his whispers will be destroyed, like chaff thrown into the fire.

This shall be known as the Seihad, the sign of the Tenken. For though the Tenken will bring peace, his coming will herald the coming of war.

Beware the false Emperor! Beware his lies and his treachery, more so than his sword!"

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Prophecies 15:1-15

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**April 7th, A.S. 522**

On the island of Akeldama, eternal night reigned over the broken land. Bruised, angry grey clouds obscured the sky, and no sunlight ever reached the ice-cold earth. Not a blade of grass could survive Akeldama's poisoned and stony land where the soil is acid, and the rock is hard and unyielding. Blackened trees reached towards the sky with gnarled and twisted twigs and branches like skeletal fingers, as if pleading for the warmth of the sun and the blessing of rain, but there was no mercy from the unsympathetic heavens. The forsaken land was harsh, and the "_field of blood_" was aptly named. Swirling, vicious winds scoured the land like hungry wolves and tore apart what little was left.

But at the very center of the volcanic island, a dark, crouching beast of a city loomed against the hazy horizon. Within its walls, hordes upon hordes of soldiers marched and prepared. Black armour and black leather blended into the dark soil, and swords and ensignas gleamed golden with the symbol of the serpent. They covered the city, as numerous as the sands on the seashore, or the stars in the velvet night sky. Tens of thousands of soldiers worked with a joint purpose like ants in a hive. Army after army assembled for instructions, then dispersed again, even as another division met elsewhere. Horses whinnied and stomped, sensing the excitement and fervent anticipation in the air. Supply wagons and wagons were carefully loaded and unloaded. And across the land, even more soldiers were coming. 

Entire legions converged on the city like roiling rivers of glinting metal weapons and black leather and armour. Thousands upon hundreds of thousands joined the throng, gathering from all across the dark island, marching with singular purpose. The plumes of dust that rose from their feet were so numerous and so thick that they covered the sky like land-hugging clouds. The beast was gathering its strength, and sharpening its claws.

There were many towers within the city, but a single forlorn building stood above them all. Black, streaming banners, emblazoned with the golden serpent of Khaydarin, whipped about in the wind as they flew proudly from atop many roofs. Within the palace too, activity was everywhere. Soldiers, all with grim, yet excited expressions on their faces, padded through the halls purposefully. Leaders argued over maps, pointing this way and that. Arms were brought out of storage and assigned carefully to each man as needed. Every smithy and forge in the city had their furnaces burning brighter and hotter than ever before as an endless supply of swords, spears, halberds, shields and armour was forged. 

As one went deeper and deeper into the fortress, the activity began to thin. Finally, about three stories down, it ceased. Within the very bowels of the city, far underground, beneath flight after flight of spiraling stone steps, a steady drip of water sounded against the granite stone floor. That was all there was to hear.

It was dark in the throne room. Dark and cold. There were no banners, no red carpets or tapestries. The only thing other than the cold, bare stone was the gleaming serpent engraved into the ground, and lined with precious gold. Everything else had been stripped away years ago. Ancient torches flickered feebly on the their stands, failing to illuminate even the farthest wall. The room was like a sea of black, broken only by the torches' islands of light.

In the flickering light, six dark figures were kneeled upon the stony ground in mute respect, their heads bowed down in reverence. Their satin black capes shimmered oddly in the weak light, as if the very fabric choked and perverted what little light there was. The illuminated portions of the room were black and cold, glowing with a dim, eerie blue. In fact, the harder one looked, the harder it was to focus on the shifting cloaks. Six metal maskes lay next to each of the _Praetors_, each one unique, each one adorned with one solitary jewel, different in color and different in form. In here, it was death that reigned, personified in the utter silence.

Then at their front, something stirred in the darkness, folding the inky blackness over and over like a cloak. A faint breeze whistled around the room, and the torches dimmed as they were blown about. In a moment however, the breeze was gone. And in its place was a silence deeper than ever before.

The leading figure raised his head. His long brown hair cascaded over his back, reaching all the way down to his waist, and the coal-black eyes glimmered slightly in the torch-light. "Emperor," he intoned, "we, your servants, are here. By blood, you have bound us, and by blood you have called. We come, my Lord Tichon, to serve."

The face of the Emperor appeared out of the darkness. The cruelly handsome features were the same as the one Yamato had beheld all those years ago. The only difference was that the flesh seemed to have been drawn closer to the skull, as if only a paper-thin layer of skin covered the bare bone. For a brief moment, the eyes seemed to flash red, then returned to normal. Tichon's outline seemed to shimmer blue in the darkness. "The consequences_,_" his sibilant voice whispered, "of your previous failures are upon us_._"

Karensky felt a shiver run down his spine, and he did not dare raise his eyes all the way to meet the Emperor's own. The Emperor Tichon of Khaydarin had…changed in the last few years. More and more the monarch seemed to dislike the light now, as if he was eternally cloaked in the night. The man's dark cloak had acquired a hood, which he wore whenever he emerged out of his throne room, which in itself was becoming a rare event indeed.

"The battle goes well, my Lord," the _Praetor_ said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "Arei and Chironsala have already fallen, the former two months ago, the latter a year. Ichijouji's defense is beginning to crack after four years of constant attack, and they are beginning to lose ground. Already the outlying provinces of Shan-Tong and Man-Tongare under our control. Before long, we will have total control over the eastern seacoast. From there, we can launch a campaign against all of Gaea."

A hiss caressed the collective _Praetor's_ ears. "And?"

"On the southern front," another Praetor, to the left of Karensky added. "The _Saera _desert has become impassable to all. No troops may travel in either direction. There is a barricade twenty leagues long, across which no man may hope to pass through alive. And as we speak, we are trying to invade _Sheid_ to extend the barricade further north."

The Khaydarin Emperor however, did not smile. "But Yaerin, you lost a battle." It was not a question. When nobody answered, the Emperor's lips curled back to bare his teeth.

"Do not lie to me…"

Finally, the _Praetor _who had pronounced the _Saera_ desert impassable ventured forth in a cautious voice. "I lost a skirmish on the western front my Lord," Yaerin said. "It was a small battle, and an insignificant loss to my campaign…"

"Continue…" Tichon's voice was a dangerous hiss.

Karensky carefully kept his eyes trained on a spot in the ground. This business had nothing to do with him. Behind him, the _Praetor_ paused briefly, then went on in a sullen voice. "Before I was recalled here, I had the Ichijoujan city of _Eidan_ surrounded and under siege. The city was on the verge of falling when we were taken by surprise by a full legion of Shienar troops. I had no choice but to retreat."

Tichon's voice sank to a caressing whisper. "Is that all, Yaerin?"

Yaerin frowned. "Yes, my Lord. It was a small skirmish. Nothing more."

There was a sharp intake of breath from the throne in front of them. A blast of cold seemed to freeze the marrow in the _Praetor's _bones as the Emperor's wrath washed over them like a breaking wave. "Yaerin, you _fool_! You are a lowly frog in the well, and you think your slimy pond is the universe. I see from the sky! You call this not important?! You have _obviously_ failed to prevent aid and messengers from flowing between these two kingdoms as you have been commanded to do!"

"It was _not_ important!" Yaerin's eyes flashed. "I retreated and gathered my army along the breadth of the _Saera_ desert, returned with twice my original numbers, and took the city two weeks afterwards! It was merely a small setback…"

There was a long pause. "Yaerin," the voice said, quietly, and almost gently again. "You dare defy me?"

The man cut himself off. His eyes were suddenly wide with fear. "No, my Lord, I did not mean to. I swear on my soldier's honour_!_"

"I_, _on the other hand, could've sworn, Yaerin," the Emperor said dangerously, "that you were trying to hide this defeat from me. To hide your failure.

"Don't you see? The city itself is not important. But isolation is everything. The kingdoms must be separated to fend for themselves, like pitiful little islands to be worn away bit by bit by the waves we will send against them. You were _commanded_ to stop any messages, diplomats, or aid from flowing. And you have failed!"

"No, my Lord!" Yaerin gasped. "I did not! I was not trying to-"

"Had you come straight to me with this news," the Emperor mused, "I would not have been this displeased. You might even have been awarded. But now this…this is unacceptable."

Yaerin's face was turning a sickly shade of blue with fear. He was starting to back away now, shaking his head vigorously. "No," he moaned. "Mercy, Lord…mercy…."

Tichon's red eyes narrowed. "Useless piece of scum," he growled. In the darkness, it was hard to be sure, but Karensky thought he saw the man clench his fist. There was a brief flicker of black on black around the gloved hand, so dark it was almost painful to look at. 

"Die for me."

And Yaerin started screaming.

Before the _Praetor's _startled eyes, the Emperor's dark magic began to turn the man a hideous dark purple. Veins swelled out from his flesh and burst, leaving large ugly stains of black blood on his skin. The man's eyes bulged until they looked ready to burst, rolling upwards until only the whites were visible. His limbs began to swell like a balloon, his body expanding as if filled with a rotting pus. In a matter of moments after Tichon had begun his spell, Yaerin was almost twice his original size.

Karensky turned his head aside as the man suddenly burst in a shower of discoloured blood. Limbs, bones and rotting rancid flesh sprayed in all directions. Where Yaerin's blood touched the ground, plumes of sickly purple smoke steamed from the hissing ground as it ate into the solid stone. Yaerin's bloated head rolled along the ground until it gaped lifelessly up at Karensky. Shuddering, the _Praetor_ kicked it away, not daring to touch it with his hand. 

The _Praetor_ fell silent. The torches on the wall flickered again. Nobody dared to breathe.

"_Fools!_" the Emperor's voice snapped again like a whip-crack. "What has happened? Two kingdoms of Gaea has united against us! We spent more than a decade shattering the remnants of the Council's alliance between the kingdoms. When we began the campaign for outright conquest four years ago, we did it in confidence that the kingdoms would never again join forces against us. And now, has all our work been undone?!"

"It was only a single legion. King Bjorn of Sheid was half-hearted in his help…"

"All it takes," the hiss faded to a whisper, "is a seed. Have you not read the scriptures of our enemies? The prophet of Mark himself says, 'Like seed sown on good soil, others will hear the word, accept it, and produce a crop – thirty, sixty, or even a hundred times what was sown.'"

Tichon thrust a finger at the collective six. The eyes glowed an even brighter red with the fury of the Emperor's words. "_You. _You failed seven years ago to destroy the new generation of stand-masters. And now, they are out there, working against us. You have failed to uproot the weed, and now it is beginning to grow thorns!"

"With all due respect," Karensky said. "They are only six people…"

"Six people were all it took to decide the first Seihad!! To you, perhaps, the events of five hundred years ago seems irrelevant. But me? _I remember it as if it was yesterday!_ Only six? You fools, all it takes is _one!!_"

Nobody spoke. The Emperor's wrath filled the room, stifling every breath that the _Praetors_ took.

"There is still hope," the Emperor breathed. "The sapling is not full-grown yet.

"Karensky, Mordaen, I give you two months. You have two months to conquer Ichijouji. From there, we shall use the eastern coast as a base to launch our campaign. In two months time, I want a secure beach-head on eastern Gaea so that I can begin to transport my armies across for a final crusade across the continent. From the north, south, and to the west, I want the entire continent scoured clean within one year of today."

There was a long pause. "My Lord," one of the _Praetors _said carefully. "We can establish the beachhead, but it will not last long unless troops can be transported across quickly. We do not have enough ships…"

"You leave that to me," Tichon hissed. "I have my ways. Don't worry Jadan, the armies will get across quickly enough"

"It will be difficult," Jadan said reluctantly, cringing as he half-expected the Emperor's wrath to descend upon his head. "In a war of attrition, we can win easily. In a lightning war-"

"_If_ you had not failed me seven years ago, we would not have to resort to a lightning war! This is now a race. Before the stand-masters can complete their work, we must ensure that too many kingdoms have been destroyed for the remainder to pose a threat to us." The Emperor's red eyes flashed suddenly, widening in a spasm of barely restrained fury. "For five hundred years I have built my Empire and my army piece by painstaking piece, while my enemies have let their guard and armies dwindle into nothingness, secure in their fragile castles and their peace. Victory is within my _grasp! _I will not have it all undone now!

"Jadan, Kirishima, target the stand kingdoms. I want travel between any of them impossible. No troops, no trade, and certainly no aid is to flow without deadly consequences. Not even messengers are to escape your attention_._

"If possible, I want every single stand-master dead. Failing that, I want every shred of power they have shattered. I want their followers killed and desecrated, their families murdered, their kingdoms destroyed beyond the faintest hope of recovery."

"Yes, my Lord," both _Praetors_ said in unison, keeping their eyes locked on the ground.

"Go now."Tichon's eyes flared once again. "And if you cannot do that within two months, you will _all_ wish you had gone the way Yaerin did."

A moment of silence passed. Nobody looked at the still hissing mass of flesh that was all that remained of _Praetor_ Yaerin. Then one by one, each of the _Praetor's _stood up. Karensky adjusted his cloak as he straightened, holding his mask in his hand, bowed one final time to the Emperor, turned on his heel and walked away. Behind him trailed the remaining four.

"_Praetor _Locke_, _stay."

One of the retreating _Praetors _hesitated, then stopped and turned around. The other four glanced at one another, then walked through the door, leaving the one behind. Tichon's red eyes narrowed as he gazed upon the solitary Khaydarin _Praetor_.

"I have an assignment for you."

Locke raised his storm-gray eyes, brushing his brown locks of hair away so as not to interfere in his vision. "I live to serve," he said softly.

Tichon smiled as he leaned back and crossed his legs. Resting his elbows against the edges of his throne, he steepled his fingers and rested them against his chin. "I will not lie to you, _Praetor_ Locke," he said. "You command the best corps of men in my army. In six years you have managed to take _Praetor_ Caylor's already impressive force and turn it into something truly formidable. Above and beyond what your illustrious predecessor has built."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"That is why," Tichon said, his smile fading, "you are being chosen for this assignment. That, and something else. You served under Caylor Ga'artred for three years, no?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"You know him well?"

"I served as his personal assistant for a year before he…left."

There was a short pause. Then the Emperor spoke again in a harsh, abrupt voice. "Find him, and either kill him, or ensure that he has no choice but to join us again. He too is a stand-master, and we cannot afford any uncertainty. I authorize you to use any means you deem necessary to accomplish this."

A strange expression came over the other's gray eyes. But it was gone in a second. The eyes were just as emotionless as before. "Yes, my Lord."

"And take this," the Tichon said as he raised his hand. Something small and silvery shot from the right arm-rest of his throne, floated through the air, and landed in Locke's outstretched palm. Locke looked at it carefully. It was a finely-carven silver pendant inscribed in a simple shape. It seemed to gleam and pulse with a faint blue light around the edges as Locke held it up against a torch's light with two fingers.

"This is…"

"That is a _mirireid_," Tichon said as he lowered his hand. "Wear it around your neck as you sleep if you wish to speak with me, and I will be able to seek you out on the _Perenic_ thought-plane. Your master, Caylor Ga'artred, used to be able to commune with me on the plane without the aid of a _mirireid_, but then, he was a stand-master. You are not."

Locke slipped the thing into his pocket. "I shall wear it once a week, my Lord, and I will update you on my hunt then." 

Inside however, Locke was shivering. The _mirrireid_ felt unnaturally cold on his palm, and he didn't want to stare at the shape anyway. It was a simple design, but it seemed to grip his spine with cold, icy fingers. He didn't know why. He certainly did not relish putting it on.

"And _Praetor_ Locke_._" The Emperor's voice was menacing. "You of all people should know that Caylor can be a formidable opponent when he has a mind to. He is a stand-master. Quite possibly the _strongest_ of all the stand-masters. Do not underestimate him."

Locke bowed. "I shall pursue him myself." 

"You are dismissed."

Locke turned on his heel and left the throne room. Outside, he nodded to the guards to shut the door, then walked off along the corridor. It was not until he climbed above the Emperor's personal floor that he allowed himself to relax slightly and let out the breathe of apprehension he had been holding. His centurion was waiting for him there, and he gave Locke a puzzled glance as the _Praetor _walked past while putting on his mask.

"Any new orders?" the Centurion said as he pushed off the wall he was leaning on, and followed Locke down the corridor to his new army.

"Yes," Locke said as he adjusted his cloak. "Let's go find Takeru Ishida."

**********

Sheid was a boreal country. Located along the northern-most edge of Gaea, the rough, stony landscae was was covered alternatively with mixed forests of evergreen and deciduous trees, and wide swathes of tundra and plains. In millennia past, glaciers almost a mile thick had covered and scoured the entire land. Today, the ice had retreated to uncover a rugged and beautiful land; a land scattered with lakes so clear that the individual minnows could be discerned through water five meters in depth, dotted with hauntingly desolate moors covered with an ever-present blanket of ethereal mist, and criss-crossed by swift rivers that raced through immensely deep and wide U-shaped valleys. It was not uncommon for a traveler to spend days in the trackless wilderness before reaching the nearest civilized town, despite the fact that the land was relatively flat. On a good, clear day, it was said that if one stood on one of the glacial moraines that snaked across the nation, one could discern the snow-capped Ishidan mountains thrusting their peaks into the blue sky nearly five days' march away.

Tucked away in one of these boreal forests in the western corner of Sheid was a small, winding forest path. Running along the outskirts of a small trading colony of Palanthus, the path was of no interest to anyone, save to the few farmers who traveled along it to sell their crop at Palanthus, and those who wished to purchase supplies there. A small inn along the side of the path catered to such as these. Several open-air tables stood next to the timber building itself, half-full with travelers having lunch before they moved on.

A young man with longish blond hair smiled as the waitress approached with a tray. "Steamed bun, is that right?" the waitress said, nodding at the meal she carried in her hands.

"Thank you," the man said with a gracious dip of his head as he accepted the tray. "I heard that that was a specialty around these parts." The waitress blushed as she heard the compliment.

"Would you like something to drink sir?"

The blond man picked up his wooden chopsticks and snapped them into two halves so he could use them. "Just water will do fine, thank you."

The young waitress looked surprised. Nodding, she disappeared into the kitchen door's opening, and returned with a large pitcher of water and a small cup. Filling the cup, she placed the container beside the man's plate. Then she hesitated. "I'm on break and…do…do you mind if I eat here with you for awhile? All the servants' tables are full."

The man looked at her with his brilliant blue eyes. For a moment, he looked like he was about to say no. But eventually, he shrugged. "Of course," he said. He pulled out a seat beside him, and carefully moved his meal to make space on the small table.

"So…what's your name?" the waitress said as she sat down with her own tray of food.

The man smiled enigmatically. "Matt. Call me Matt. And yours?"

"Maia," the waitress answered with a slight smile. "What's a respectable young man like you doing in a dump like this?"

Matt looked over with an expression of mild surprise in his eyes. "Why do you say that?"

"Well…," Maia said as she shrugged. "You don't drink, that's something I haven't seen in awhile. Your clothes are too clean and fine for a farmer or a miner, yet too simple for a trader or a merchant. And you've got more manners than the lot of them put together," she added as she swept a hand to the other tables. Raucous, rough-shaven men joked and swirled beer as they laughed uproariously at their own jokes.

Matt tilted his head as he regarded them. Then he turned his attention back to his food. "I'm a traveler," he said. "I go where I will, where my heart leads me. If you must know, I'm headed for Akansata, up north. Sometimes," he added with a dry grin, "my travels take me to some unlikely places, that's all."

Maia nodded. "I see…," her eyes took on a dreamy look. "I've always wanted to go to Akansata. See the world a little, you know? I imagine that port cities are always full of excitement, with traders and merchants from halfway across the world…"

"That it is," Matt said as he nodded. "I've been to Halidan, along the eastern Ichijoujan coast. You won't believe some of the things I've seen there." Then he sobered a little. "Of course, that was almost five years ago. Before the war began in earnest. Nobody really goes there anymore unless they have an urgent reason. Too dangerous, you know."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each absorbed in their own meal. Then the waitress put down her chopsticks. "What's the news along the front?" she said. "How's the war going? Backwater villages like us don't get to hear much news from far away. We know everything there is to know about local stuff, Shienar stuff, but beyond that, nothing."

Matt's face was a study in neutrality. "Why don't you go ask them?" he said, jerking his head at the laughing mob at the opposite end of the clearing. "I believe they're a traveling group, they might know more than I do."

Maia made a face as she looked at them. "I…don't quite feel up to it. Not them. You're much easier to talk with."

Matt turned and looked at them for a moment. Another round of harsh laughter rang out as the men slapped their thighs over a coarse joke. "Perhaps you're right…," he conceded.

"I don't really know that much though…," he cautioned as he took another bite out of his bun. "I think the war's going badly down towards the east, with Ichijouji. I don't travel down that end much, but I've heard stories from those that have. Seems that Ichijouji is losing badly." Matt said as he stared into his cup. "I also hear that Jakt refuses to send any aid, particularly since it'd mean having to go through the _Saera_ desert, where the barricade is."

"What about Chironsala? It's close enough."

"My, you are a little behind out here, aren't you?" Matt said as he looked over. "Chironsala fell three months ago."

"Chironsala _fell_?"

Matt motioned for quiet with his hand. "Lady, that's old news," he admonished. "Don't get so excited. Yes, it fell. They signed a 'peace' treaty almost twelve weeks ago. It basically amounts to a surrender, though the piece of paper never mentions the word."

"That bad huh?" Maia clucked in disapproval. 

Matt shrugged as he sipped his water. "Everyone has too many problems of their own to bother with helping someone else. And they're all too stupid to realize that that's the only way they have a hope. Well, it's none of my business. I'm but a simple traveler."

"I hear that Emperor Ken is going to send another army to reinforce those at the front," Maia said hopefully. "And they say that this time, they'll drive Khaydarin back to Akeldama for good."

"That's what they've been saying for three years straight. Doesn't look like Khaydarin's going anywhere to me."

The waitress sighed. "That's what everyone's telling me. Ichijouji's getting attacked most of all, but they're trying. They're trying their hardest to hold the front. If they fall…" her voice trailed off. Maia did not have to articulate her thoughts. The fall of Ichijouji, the guardian of the eastern seashore, would open the doorway to the rest of the continent. The floodgates would open, and there would be nothing to stop Khaydarin's inevitable sweep.

Maia slipped into a glum silence, picking at her food. Then she looked up again, as if a thought had suddenly struck her. "Hey, you're a traveler, aren't you? Have you seen…_them_?"

The blond man looked at her askance. "'Them?'"

She waved her hand in irritation. "You know what I'm talking about. The stand-masters! Everyone's talking about them! So…have you seen them? The staff here is always speculating about what they're like…and no one seems to agree!"

"Truth is what you believe it to be," Matt said cryptically.

"So? Tell me!"

The blond man casually broke his steaming bun with his hands. "From a distance," he conceded. "A simple traveler doesn't get close enough for a good look, but I have seen Ken. And I believe I may have caught a glimpse of Cody Hida as well. Furtive young fellow. Didn't seem to want to be seen." Matt suddenly smiled mischievously. "They say the Lady Hikari's beauty is something to behold, and that her skills with the healing arts is something of a legend. I'll have to see that for myself when I have the chance."

"How about Takeru? They say he's the greatest of them all. The only true-blooded stand-master."

Matt's eyes became hard. "No," he said, a little too sharply. "I have not seen him. I may have a bad case of wanderlust, but I'm not crazy enough to go into Ishida just yet thank you. An honest man can get robbed ten times just by wandering in there."

But the waitress didn't seem to take offense. Instead, she babbled on excitedly. "So what does Yolei look like? They say she has violet hair. Can you imagine that? _Violet_ hair! How about Cody? You said you…"

"_Hey lady! More wine over here!_"

Blushing, the waitress glanced apologetically at Matt. "Sorry, duty calls." Getting up, she dusted off her apron, took her tray to the kitchen, then reappeared again with a large jug of sake. Matt followed her for a moment with his blue eyes, then shrugged and concentrated on his own simple meal.

Leaning back on his bench, he took a sip from his cup of water, gazing thoughtfully at the leafy canopy above his head. It was spring, and the sunlight filtered down through a maze of crisscrossing leaves and branches, casting a mottled blue-green shade on the ground. The green trees swayed gently in the wind, shimmering with reflected sunlight. _Truth,_ he thought to himself, _is what one believes it to be._ A bitter smile twisted his lips.

__

But what if one has no belief? What does he call 'truth' then? Six years of searching, and I really haven't found anything, have I? 

Then Maia's scream snapped him out of his reverie. Sitting up, he twisted his head around, and his blue eyes narrowed as he saw a giant of a man, obviously having had one too many, upending chairs and tables as the waitress stood off to the side, begging him to stop.

"_That much?!_" the large, beefy man slurred. "_Can't an honesht man get a drink anymore without being ch…sheated?_"

"Please sir," Maia sobbed. "Please, stop it! You're destroying the tables!"

"_Svok Stavik!! I jusht want shome deshcent sake," _the man roared as he advanced on the waitress, swinging a broken bottle. "_Inshtead, you give me pig…pig swill like this, and expect me to pay two _ingots_?!_"

"Sir, kindly stop destroying the tables. And watch your tongue, there is a lady is in our midst."

The drunken man swung around to leer at Matt, who was standing behind him with his hands akimbo. A sneer spread across his face as he took in Matt's slender frame and young face. "_An' whosh gonna shtop me?!_"

Matt's blue eyes suddenly took on the brilliance of polished steel. "Sir, if you persist…"

The drunk's sneer turned into an ugly scowl as he lunged forward. "_Shaddup! I will not be told off by some…some beardless kid!!_" Stumbling forward, the man swung hard with a meaty fist at Matt's jaw.

__

Snap. Crack.

An second later, the man was writhing on the ground, howling in agony as he cradled a broken wrist. Calmly, Matt reached down and took hold of the man's lapel. With a strength that belied his slim physique, he lifted the drunk bodily with one hand, walked to the entrance of the inn, and dumped him unceremoniously onto the bare path. As the man groaned in agony, Matt reached inside the drunk's pocket, took out a string of coins, and removed four.

"Clear off," Matt said as he turned on his heel and walked away. "You're ruining the décor."

As Matt re-entered the inn, Maia ran forward. "Oh sir, are…are you hurt? Did he injure you? Thank you, _thank you_ so much…"

Matt shrugged off her concern with an irritated flick of his shoulders. "It would be an insult," he said derisively, "to be scratched by the likes of him. And before I forget," he tossed the waitress the four gold coins he had taken from the drunk, "this should cover the expenses of the sake and the table."

Maia was dumb-founded. "I…I don't know how to thank you! Are you, by any chance…a knight in disguise?"

Matt however, was not listening. He was gathering his cloak and sword from his own table, as if in preparation to leave, even though his meat bun was unfinished. Reaching inside his own pocket, he tossed the waitress another two silver coins. "This should cover the expenses of my meal," he said.

"I…I can't possibly accept this! After what you've done! What…what can I do to repay you?"

Matt looked at her, his gaze suddenly hard. "There is one thing…"

"Name it."

"You're the waitress of an inn that serves to a lot of travelers. You've probably heard a lot of gossip, right?"

The waitress shook her head. "Local gossip, yes. Things in Sheid, and maybe even northern Gaea, but anything farther than that, no."

Matt hoisted his pack, and retrieved his sword, buckling it onto his belt. Straightening up, he looked at the woman. "Takeru Ishida," he said slowly and clearly. "Have you…heard anything about him?"

"Takeru Ishida?!" the waitress repeated incredulously. "Emperor Takeru Ishida?! Of course! I just asked you about him! The rumour mill's positively buzzing about him, more than any other! But some of the things he's reputed to have done…they can't be real…"

"I have a feeling," Matt said with a wry grin. "that most of them actually are. But…." His tone turned serious. "Have you heard anything of _where_ he is, right now?"

Maia hesitated, then responded slowly. "I…I heard a passing rumour that he was in Ishida, along the eastern provinces. Saldea, I believe. Or maybe I should say the _kingdom _of Saldea. Not a province anymore. That was about…," she closed her eyes. "About a month ago, I think." She opened her eyes and looked at Matt apologetically. "I'm sorry I can't be more precise…"

A strange glint came into Matt's eyes. "No no," he said. "You've been very helpful indeed…." With a last nod, he shifted his cloak, and turned left along the worn forest path, sidestepping the still-groaning drunk.

"Wait!" Maia called after him. "Akansata is to the right! That way takes you to the east!"

Matt's reply floated over the afternoon air. "I know. Thank you."

__

**********

__

**May 3rd, A.S. 522. One month later**

In the predawn gray about the flat, rolling fields of Southern Ichijouji, everything seemed to be made of dark, shifting clouds of predawn mist. The formerly green and fertile fields of the province of _Pean_ were white with frost despite the fact that it was almost two weeks into the month of April. Any other year, the fields would have been covered in tender blossoms and young green shoots. Here though, it was still cold. It was the coldest spring anyone could remember, as if winter refused to let go of its grip on the land. The ground was a scarcely recognizable gray waste scarred with hastily dug ruts and trenches, stained with blood, and littered with the still-smoking remains of fields, farms and bodies.

The Ichijoujan scout's breath steamed in front of his face as he guided his horse warily through the broken mess. His horse's hooves crunched on a light layer of snow on the ground, and he looked down. _Snow?_ he thought. _There shouldn't be snow by this time of year._

His horse whinnied softly in fear, and the scout jerked his gaze back up. The animal pranced slightly, but quieted again as the scout tightened his grip on the rein. His own hands were trembling with fear as he looked around furtively. After a moment, he urged his mount forward at a canter, hugging the trenches and hiding behind mounds of dirt. He avoided climbing the rolling hills at all costs, where he would be silhouetted against the light of the rising dawn to any watchful eyes that were scanning the field.

The clouds had obscured the stars hours ago. All the familiar landmarks that he had counted on to guide him were gone, or were mangled beyond recognition. He was no longer sure of his direction as he plodded onwards, hoping desperately to find a friendly camp before he stumbled into the enemy lines. It had not been like this two weeks ago when he'd left. Either he was more lost than he had thought, or he should still be leading his horse through the fields of _Paen_. Not this battle-scarred field of frozen earth…

He was heedless of the eyes that tracked his progress across the battlefield. As he passed a rocky outcrop, dark shapes seemed to rise out of the ground like silent wraiths. The wraiths seemed to watch the scout for a moment longer before they disappeared back into the ground, as swiftly and silently as they had risen.

Suddenly, the scout was aware of black shapes emerging out of the darkness with breathtaking suddenness in front of him. His horse rolled its eyes in fear, and turned around. More cloaked fighters were rising out of the ground behind him. The faint starlight gleamed off the steel tips of arrows as several of them drew back their bows. "Who are you," a low voice called out. "And what is your business here? If you run, you will be shot. Answer, and answer truly!"

The man gulped his fear down. He did not know whether this band of fighters were the enemy's, or his own. Best to tell the truth. If that was the wrong answer, it would be better to die with honour. "Angborn Turion, a soldier of Ichijouji," he answered clearly. "A scout from the Seventh Company, with an urgent message for the Emperor."

There was a long silence. The rider closed his eyes, waiting for arrows to pierce him.

"Sable is the black night of the _Seihad_," the voice said abruptly.

The scout opened his eyes as a rush of relief flooded through him. "But glorious is the morning of the _Tenken_."

Immediately, the black-robed fighters around him relaxed their bowstrings and dropped their arms. A single man stepped forward, holding his hands up in peace. "Your pardon friend," the man said he brushed his hood back from his face. "I thought you were a Khaydarin spy."

The scout looked around him. In the dim light, the other man he could not discern much of the man's features even with the hood down, but he could see that he wore a familiar dark green cloak with the silver crest of Ichijouji on his left breast. The three silver braids hanging from his crest denoted him to be a Captain in rank. But the men he commanded…

They were clad in dark brown, and there was no gleam of any jewelry or insignias of rank on them. Their cloaks were of strange cut, but dyed so that it blended into any background, be it grass, desert, rock or snow. Indeed, as the scout struggled to focus his eyes on them, they seemed to shimmer in and out of sight. They seemed taller than the Captain, and their eyes gleamed light grey in the dim morning light. "Surely…," the scout said as he gazed upon the nearest fighter, "you are not Ichijoujan…"

The fighter smiled grimly as he bowed. "Indeed not. We are Taelidani, come to aid Ichijouji in their time of need. Blessed greetings to you, _sen_-brother, and pardon our caution."

"This is not the time nor the place," another fighter hissed. "Talin, a blind gnat could spot us a mile away. We must get back to our lines."

Talin smiled apologetically up at Angborn. "My men are right," he said quietly. "We must get you away from here. We are not safe." He inclined his head, and immediately three Taelidani disappeared into the darkness, spreading out in three directions as they looked for hidden enemies. Two fighters took hold of the scout's horse. "Come," the Captain said to Angborn. "We must go quickly."

They set off quickly, keeping to what cover there was in this open country. As they traveled, Angborn spoke softly to the Captain. "Are there enemies about?"

"Of course there are," Talin said as he shot Angborn a puzzled glance. "You didn't know?"

"I thought I was still in Ichijouji."

Talin looked startled, then began to chuckle. "You, my friend," he said as he turned back, "have stumbled into the middle of the two battle lines. See that glow over yonder?"

"I see it."

"That's from the watchfires of the Khaydarin line. They're scarcely three miles as the crow flies from where we stand." Turning, the Captain pointed North. "And that's where we're camped. We've retreated to the _Aides_ wall."

Angborn felt himself turn cold. "You abandoned the _Paen_ province? So I'm in the middle of the neutral zone? I thought this was still Ichijoujan farmland. The battle lines were at least ten miles off two weeks ago when I left."

"You must have missed our messengers when you came," Talin said as he followed his Taelidani fighters through a deep rutted trench. "We've lost a lot of ground since then. We had to resort to burning our own fields each time we retreated, and destroying our own walls with barrels of gunpowder." He looked disgusted as he scraped at some of the ashes on the ground. "It'll take years to rebuild what we've put torch to. Better to destroy it though, than to let all that food fall in the enemy's hands."

"I didn't know it was that bad."

"They took two walls in as many months." Talin said grimly. "At this rate, they'll be at Halidan in three more months." He paused for awhile as he led the scout down a steep bank. "Yesterday, we fought our largest battle yet. Two hundred dead, three hundred wounded." The Captain sighed. "Our strength is less than five thousand now, all told. By our best estimates, they number twice that."

There was a silence as they walked. Then Talin looked up at the scout. "What news of the Seventh?"

The scout shook his head. "My news is for the Emperor only. What he does with that news is then his business."

The gleam of hope in Talin's eyes faded. "I see," he answered neutrally. Then was silent again.

Soon, the _Aides_ wall came into sight. A high-ridged wall stretched across the land like a giant snake, studded with tall watch-towers every five kilometers. The Ichijoujan nation was defended by a series of walls that separated the outer provinces from the inner ones, each spaced three or so days' march from one another. None but the outer wall stretched across the entire Ichijoujan perimeter, but the inner ones blocked off all the major roads for miles around. Nestled one among the other like concentric semi-circles, the network of walls and forts, a relic from the Aeon of Strife, had been pressed into service again as an effective defense against any enemy. 

On this stretch of the wall, a faint glow from the watch-fires showed the position of the Ichijoujan camp. As they drew closer, Angborn began to make out many hastily dug trenches filled with sharpened wooden stakes in staggered rows every hundred meters out from the wall. Column upon column of tents were spaced evenly throughout the watch fires, and sentinels stood guard on the perimeter. Suddenly, Talin held out a hand, and the company halted. The three Taelidani that had vanished reappeared again just as silently as they had left. Ahead, one of the fighters cupped his hands to his mouth and let loose the low howl of a coyote. 

A moment later, there was a quiet call of a grassland eagle from the lines in front. The signal had been recognized. It was safe to go on. The company hurried forward. Talin led them along the wall for another few minutes until they came upon a small, iron-cast gate set into the wall. As they reached it, it opened of its own accord, and they slipped in as quickly as possible. There were four sentries on the wall above the gate, and another two that closed the door behind the scouting party. One of the sentries nodded to Talin. "Anything out there, Captain? You're back earlier than usual."

"Quiet as a tomb," Talin answered with a wry grin. "If you'll pardon the expression. I did find something interesting though."

Another sentry brought his torch closer to Angborn's face doubtfully. "You mean this fellow? Is he safe?"

"Take a closer look Sana," Talin said as he smiled. "He's wearing an Ichijoujan uniform. What do you think?"

Sana grunted. "Does he know the password?"

"He knows the creed," Talin said firmly. "Good enough for me. Besides, he has news of the Seventh."

"Of the Seventh!" Sana exclaimed. "Are they coming?"

Angborn shook his head again as he dismounted and was about to answer when Talin cut in sharply. "Back to your post, soldier, and mind your own business. This fellow's news is for the Emperor's ears only."

Sana subsided. Angborn looked closer. In the torchlight, the man looked exhausted. There was a rough stubble on his cheek as if he had not shaven for many days, and his face and clothes were streaked with dirt. Still, as he turned to Angborn, his bow was courteous. "Forgive me, friend."

"_Sen_-brother," one of the Taelidani said. Angborn jumped as he whirled around to see the Taelidani right behind him. "You must be wearied from your journey. Would you like to know where the food and the tent-spaces are? Others will care for your horse."

Angborn tried to calm his racing heart. The Taelidani unnerved him. It was not that he _disliked_ them or anything. It was just that they moved so silently that they often managed to sneak up on you even if they weren't trying. It was a disquieting habit, and Angborn thanked his lucky stars that he would never have to fight against them. At least with a Khaydarin cloak, the enemy had to uncloak before he struck. With Taelidani, you'd probably never know what hit you. He shook his head. "Captain Talin," he said urgently. "I must deliver my message to the Emperor immediately. If he is asleep, then we must wake him. This cannot wait."

"You needn't worry about that, my friend," Talin said in return. He nodded to his men, and his band of ten disbanded. "The Emperor doesn't seem to sleep," he continued. "We don't know how he does it, but he's always there, in the thick of it. And he never seems to get tired. Perhaps stand-masters don't have to sleep. This way."

Angborn looked around as Talin led him through the camp. Behind the wall, the atmosphere in the Ichijoujan camp was one of weary vigilance. In the faint light of the morning, the men looked pale and drawn, either from lack of food, weariness, or both. Several of them were sporting stained bandages that covered minor wounds. The formerly clean, neat green uniforms were soiled with dark mud or bloodstains. Beside a large, gray tent, Angborn could see mounds of dirt arranged neatly into dozens of long rows. At the head of the field of mounds, there was a large, crude wooden cross driven into the ground. Angborn averted his eyes and shivered as he passed. 

Graves. The mounds were all graves. There must have been hundreds of them…

Yet there was order. Sentries were posted along the wall every hundred meters in either direction for as far as the scout's eye could see, and blazing fire-torches were planted almost two hundred meters out from the wall so that no enemy could approach unseen. Patrols walked around the grounds wearily, but with purpose and direction. Wherever Angborn looked, he could not see any panic or fear in men's eyes, merely a grim, burning determination to hold the wall for as long as possible. And if it was not possible, then to hold it until they died. As the scout passed, men raised their eyes hopefully. "The Seventh," they whispered amongst themselves. "Perhaps the Seventh has come at last…"

Angborn ignored them and followed Talin through the camp until they came at length to an unadorned white tent pitched in the middle of it. Two guards stood on either side of the entrance, bearing long silver spears. Talin spoke quickly with one of them as Angborn waited impatiently. At length, one of the guards nodded and went in.

Talin and Angborn stood together in front of the tent silently as they waited, their breath steaming in the cold morning air. Angborn wrapped his cloak tightly about himself, and his lips compressed into a bloodless line as he tried to control his impatience. At length, the guard came back out. He jerked his head in. "The Emperor will see you now. Captain Talin, you are to stay here until the Emperor calls you."

Angborn exchanged glances with Talin. Talin shrugged, and motioned at the entrance. Taking a deep breath, Angborn lifted the flap of his Emperor's tent and stepped in.

Emperor Ken was standing in the middle of the tent, lighting a small lantern hanging from the ceiling. Angborn immediately knelt on his left knee, pressing the knuckles of his right hand on the ground. The Emperor looked down from his lantern. "You may rise," he said softly. "There is no need for these formalities in times of war."

Angborn straightened up slowly and looked into his Emperor's face. Ken was now twenty-two. He was taller now, taller than most men, yet his frame was willowy, light and agile. His dark hair, cut slightly shorter over the years, brushed his jaw-line as he moved. In the back, a small, neat ponytail that stretched to the middle of his back was neatly tied with a braided leather strap. His steel-blue eyes shone with a subdued, yet strangely intense light. When he moved, the dark green cloak that he wore seemed to ripple and float around him, so that it was all but impossible to tell where his body was beneath the shifting fabric. The stylized silver symbol of Ichijouji attached to his right breast, and the five golden strips hanging from the pin denoted his rank to be Lord-Captain. That was it. He did not wear his crown, nor did he carry his scepter, or any other sign of his Royalty. He didn't need it. His presence seemed to fill the tent as completely as the light from the lantern penetrated the darkness.

Right now, those steel blue eyes were fixed on Angborn's face. "What is your name?" Ken said at length. "I do not believe we have met."

Angborn was startled. What use did an Emperor have for the names of his soldiers? "Angborn Turion sir," he said truthfully. "Scout from the fifth contingent of the Seventh Company."

"Angborn…." Ken seemed to muse on the name. "I will remember that. From the Seventh?" Ken looked up, drilling the man with a sharp glance. "I sent off word for help from the Seventh two weeks ago. What news of the Seventh?"

Angborn squared his shoulders, and fixed his gaze on a point on the tent wall above Ken's left shoulder. "The Seventh was ambushed sire," he said. "The Lord-Captain Farnir was slain, along with fifty and two hundred of his men. Only five hundred made it back to the city of Gladen. There is another one hundred unaccounted for. Either captured or fled. Captain Endrin, second to Lord-Captain Farnir does not know, and he sent me ere he could find out."

A sharp hiss escaped from Ken's lips. "Ambushed?!" he said. "Are you telling me that the entire Seventh Company is _gone?!_"

Angborn nodded unhappily. "The Sixth and the Fifth are holding the western front, and Captain Endrin did not dare withdraw either to the southern front. The Captain is prepared to accept any responsibility for his refusal to send further reinforcements after the ambush of the Seventh."

Ken glared at Angborn. "How?" he demanded sharply. "Were you there? How was it done?"

Angborn nodded again. "I was there," he said. "One of the lucky five hundreds that escaped."

"What happened?"

"The Lord-Captain Farnir was not expecting resistance that deep in Ichijoujan territory. He sacrificed caution for speed, and opted to take the quickest route: through the road in the southern forests. The path was so narrow that the Seventh was stretched out into a line almost three miles in length. When we came round the Eastern bend, the enemy came out of the West and ambushed us along our flank. Almost a third of our strength fell from the initial hail of arrows."

"And what is Captain Endrin's opinion?" Ken said. "How did the enemy manage to ambush Farnir's flank? I _thought_ he was a competent man!"

"There is no question that they knew we were coming, my Lord," Angborn said vehemently. "Lord-Captain Farnir could not have done anything about it."

Ken's face was tight and drawn with worry, even fear. "Cloaks…," he said quietly. "They must have got past our lines somehow…. That's not surprising. Indeed, I was expecting it. But how did they _know?_"

"My Lord?"

"I didn't send for help until two weeks ago," Ken said as he started pacing around the narrow confines of his tent. "Even _I_ didn't know that the Seventh was going to be taking this journey until fourteen days ago. So how did _they_ know where to ambush us?"

He drilled Angborn with another sharp glance. "I find it hard to believe that they could have sneaked so many troops past our lines that they can cover my entire country so well as to ambush any company that moves. Perhaps Farnir was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

"They knew we were coming sire," Angborn said firmly. "Lord-Captain Farnir would not have fallen into a hastily made ambush."

"Then _how?!_ When did Lord-Captain Farnir receive my message?"

"Eleven days ago," Angborn said promptly. "He took three more days to gather his army, and set out at once. Seven days ago, he was ambushed and slain."

"Four days," Ken murmured. "Somehow, the enemy knew of our plans within four days. No, less than that. It would have taken more than a day to get that cloaked army into place. Two days then."

"_Two days_, sire?!" Angborn burst out. When Ken turned his steel-blue gaze on him again, he subsided a little, but he didn't stop. "Two days? Sire, begging your pardon, but no army can move that fast."

"No," Ken said as he held Angborn's gaze. "I agree with you, and I'm sure Captain Endrin agrees as well. No army, not even a Khaydarin army, can move that fast with such little notice."

Ken took a deep breath, and put a hand to his temple as if he was in pain. "Then how did they do it?" he muttered. "Spies perhaps? But how could they have gotten so close to Gladen, indeed, right into the chambers of Lord-Captain Farnir to learn the nature of his orders?"

Angborn shifted uneasily. There was only one possibility left, and it was only a matter of time before the Emperor saw it himself. Finally, Ken looked up again. "Traitors…," he said flatly as he answered his own question. "There are traitors in our midst."

Angborn nodded. "It is possible sire…. Many of our soldiers are unaccounted for. Any one of them may have deserted with the Khaydarin army that ambushed us."

"No, no, it can't be them," Ken said quickly. "In battle, traitors would be killed along with true Ichijoujan soldiers. They would not want to offer the enemy the very means to destroy them. Besides, soldiers would not learn of Lord-Captain Farnir's plans to travel through the Southern Forest until he had set out, at which point it would be too late." He rubbed his forehead. "Who could have had close contact with Lord-Captain Farnir before he departed?"

Angborn frowned as he thought back. "It could have been anyone sir," he said. "Anyone of sufficiently high rank. I am only a mere scout. I have no dealings in this matter."

Ken sighed as he rubbed his face. "So the enemy's attack drives home in the fastness of my own realm," he murmured to himself. "My armies can no longer travel safely even in their own territory." He laughed mirthlessly. "And there is a traitor in our midst! A traitor!"

Angborn said nothing, but he gazed uneasily at his feet. When Ken finally spoke again, his voice was calmer, as if he had mastered the sudden outburst of despair. "Soldier Angborn," he said, "do you have anything else to report?"

"No, my Lord. That was my message, and I have delivered it."

"Then you may leave me. I'm sure you are wearied from your long journey. You may find food from the cook tent, and you may take what rest you may before the morning dawns fully."

"Thank you sire," Angborn said as he retreated from the tent gratefully. After the scout had left, Ken sat down wearily on his small pallet, and rearranged the cloak about him. He rubbed his face wearily. "Send in Captain Talin," he called out.

There was a rustle as the tent flap was drawn aside again, and Talin stepped in. Standing at ease, he waited respectfully until Ken had taken his hands away from his face and looked up. "So," Ken said as he looked at his Captain, "did you hear?"

"No, my Lord," Talin said. "But I can speculate. The Seventh is not coming?"

"No," Ken said heavily. "Not coming."

Talin said nothing. His expression did not change, but his shoulders slumped tiredly. "I shall send out messengers at once, my Lord, for more aid," he said. "Perhaps Fan-Tzu will be more likely to listen to us in light of our desperate need…"

"They have already sent a company of soldiers," Ken muttered. "And they are being used elsewhere. Besides, any troops they send will arrive too late." He looked up. "Talin, I want you to prepare the men for a retreat. Saddle the horses and gather the soldiers. Send out messengers on swift horses to recall the sentries in the lookout towers on both sides. We break camp as soon as morning dawns fully. We're retreating from the _Aides_ wall."

Talin frowned. "Again, my Lord?"

"Yes, Talin, again." Ken snapped angrily. "Is that clear?"

Talin's back stiffened. "Perfectly, my Lord."

Ken stared at him for a moment longer, then sighed. With a wave of his hand, he motioned for Talin to stand at ease. "I apologize my friend, but I am weary. Will you forgive me?"

"There is nothing to forgive."

The lantern flickered. Ken stared at it was he went on. "I shall split the army into two," he said. "I shall lead one half, and you shall lead the other. Head for Gladen, for that is where we shall make our next stand. Do not tell me the path that you intend to take to Gladen, and I will not tell you mine. Do your own navigating, and take as random a path as possible so that no-one in your army knows where you're going until they're there."

"You fear spies?" Talin said grimly.

"Traitors, yes. And invisible armies," Ken said.

Captain and Lord-Captain stared at one another for a long moment. Then Talin nodded. "I am honoured, my Lord. Your trust has not been misplaced, for I am no traitor. Shall I burn the fields I pass, sire?"

"Yes," Ken said quietly. "Burn the fields."

"Shall I spread salt?"

Ken looked at Talin for a long moment before answering. When he did, his voice was fierce. "No," he said firmly. 

"Do not spread salt. We'll be back. Count on it."

** Author's notes: Yeah…do you begin to see how I seem to have skipped a lot of stuff. This is exactly like in "Out of the Ashes" where I just leap in and write a story while taking a lot of stuff for granted. There are huge holes in the plot where I write about things as if they've been set up and introduced before already. Reason: if I were to write about all the events that transpired during those six years, I would have to write around six novels, each as long as this one. I don't have the time, nor the patience, so I have to resort to this skipping method. Hope you don't mind…


	2. Seihad Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I don't own digimon. Seihad: Chapter Two 

****

By: TK Takaishi

_** May 17th, A.S. 522. Two weeks later**_

Takeru blinked as he looked out the tall, narrow window of his small study. The bright spring sunshine felt warm on his face, and the sweet songs of birds drifted up to him in his room. From his vantage point in the tower of the rough but sturdy fortress of Ardinberg, the fields of the Ishidan province of Saldea looked green and peaceful. The last remnants of winter's snow and ice had surrendered to the coming of spring long ago, and everywhere Takeru looked, he saw green grass and tender, beautiful blossoms covering the harsh mountain landscape. From above, it was as if someone had spread an immense, intricate tapestry over the previously rocky ground, a tapestry full of swirls and dashes of vibrant colours. Despite the war, Takeru allowed himself a small smile. There was life in the air. And where there was life, there was always hope.

Takeru closed his eyes and stretched his slim frame, trying not to smudge the neatly written notes and the piles of scrolls and old manuscripts on his desk. Sighing, he wiped his hands clean of ink with his handkerchief, and carefully set aside the eagle-feather quill he had been writing with. It was days like this that made everything seem to go away. All of his troubles, all of his fears, they all seemed to disappear in the face of the sunlight. He had learned to treasure these precious moments of peace like the jewels they were. Nowadays, such moments of peace were rare indeed.

Cunningly concealed within a narrow valley in the shadow of Mount Gaidan, on the south-western edge of the Ishidan mountain ranges, Ardinberg was a self-sufficient fortress that served as the headquarters for the Lord Marc of Saldea. It was certainly much easier to defend a secret castle deep in the wilds than to try and hold one of the dying Ishidan cities, as some of the other Lords had done. The deep pine forests on all sides effectively discouraged the casual traveler from wandering anywhere near the large fortress, and the twisting, winding fjords ensured that the not-so-casual traveler would be hopelessly lost without a guide. Even if someone did manage to find it, the tall stone walls defended the fortress from all but the most determined of sieges. The fields and farms within the walls ensured that Ardinberg could survive a siege indefinitely. It was a rough, hastily-built fortress that had been thrown up in less than ten years in utter secrecy, but it was sturdy. It was also the closest thing to civilization in all of Ishida.

As he stretched, Takeru caught sight of himself in the tall mirror set into the wall opposite his desk. Self-consciously, he dabbed at the spot of ink that had gotten on his sleeve. He was taller now, though not as tall as Ken. That was the only notable difference in his appearance. The same blond hair framed the same blue eyes. His smooth, unlined face often made him seem younger than his twenty-one years, an impression that was further reinforced by his relatively slim physique. Some Lords would have immediately taken him for a servant, if it were not for the clothes that he wore.

He wore a plain white shirt with a few threads of dark blue and gold sewn into the chest and cuffs for decoration, and his royal blue cloak was slung across the back of his chair. The sword _Ichibou stood propped up against the side of his table. Unlike Ken, his blue eyes did not seem to pierce and probe whatever they looked upon. They were softer and kinder; eyes of a healer, not of a warrior. Some had taken those eyes as a sign of weakness, and all of them had lived to regret it._

Presently, Takeru rolled up his sleeve once more, and leafed through another page of the book in front of him. Dipping his quill into an  inkwell, he carefully set the point down onto another scroll of clean paper, and began to write. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the dry scratching of a quill on paper and the occasional crackle of wrinkling parchment as Takeru turned the pages.

Finally, the young man looked up as faint, but even footsteps began to approach his room from the hall. The footsteps halted outside the door, and there was a polite knock. Takeru smiled as he leaned back in his chair. "Come in," he called out. "Is that you, Marc?"

The door opened, and a tall man walked in clutching a small scroll of paper in his hand. The streaks of silver in his dark hair and his carefully trimmed mustache made him appear to be in his fifties, although his face remained unlined, and his eyes were as bright as a child's. "Sire," he said in a slow, deep voice, "my apologies for disturbing you, but I have just received word. The last of my messengers have returned."

Takeru put down his quill, and carefully laid out his notes to dry. "And?"

"Good news, my Lord. They have all agreed to come, my Lord. Lady Isendre and Lord Corin are both on their way here. They have also instructed my messengers to tell us that they have already started the muster of their respective lands without bothering to wait for the outcome of the conference. They each hope to have ten thousand soldiers ready to march in two week's time."

"Even Lord Nyarc?" Takeru turned in his chair to look at Lord Marc. "Even those that are not knights? Are they coming?"

"They are coming, my Lord," Marc said as he nodded. "Nyarc, Anton, Falin…all of them. Though some has said that they will not come as part of the Ishidan nation, and they will not come here. They insist on being recognized as sovereign nations in themselves."

Takeru smiled in relief. "That's not a problem. We can humour them, if need be. This is good news indeed, my friend. This conference cannot afford to fail. We have no time left to start another one."

Marc ran a finger across his mustache as he leaned against Takeru's desk. "That it cannot," he agreed. "I think even the other Lords are realizing that this land is running out of time fast."

Takeru gave the older man a sideways glance. "You see? Perhaps the name of 'Lord Marc of Saldea' holds more sway than you give yourself credit for. At least some lingering memories of the Old Ishida remain."

"Not nearly as much sway as 'Emperor Takeru of all Ishida'," Marc retorted.

"Not enough to convince the other provinces to rejoin the Ishidan banner, apparently."

"You are the rightful heir to the Ishidan throne," Marc said firmly. "And no matter what happens, you _will have the support of the provinces of Saldea, Corin and Isendre. We Ishidan Knights are a stubborn breed. When we take an oath to the throne, we will abide by it. Make no mistake, my Lord. If you raise the banner of Ishida again, people from all over Gaea __will flock to it, whether their lords permit them or not."_

Takeru stood up and looked out the window as a breeze ruffled the pages and scrolls on his desk. "I'm not doubting your allegiance, Marc," he said. "Nor your courage. It does not matter whether these countries rejoin Ishida anyway, as long as we have their support. That would be a matter to be sorted out after the Seihadis over. Even that though, is a doubtful matter."

"If anyone is going to get the peoples' support," Marc said with a smile. "it'll be you. I've seen you work with my own men. It's magic I'm telling you. If you had been anyone else, I'd be worried about my own throne right about now."

"Are all the preparations in Ardinberg complete?"

"My servants will have everything ready in time," Marc assured. "Don't worry. A month is more than enough time to prepare everything."

Takeru said nothing as he stood by the window biting on his lower lip. From this angle, he could see down into Marc's castle's courtyard, and into the nearby fields and vales. Columns upon columns of soldiers were being mustered there, with more streaming in from the nearby hills and dales as they spoke. Marc had estimated that the muster of the lands of Saldea was almost complete, but the army gathered below could not have numbered more than six or seven thousand. A small fraction of Ishida's armies in the days of its might during the Aeon of Strife. _We cannot stand alone, he thought. __If this is all that one Lord can muster, then we're all doomed if we fight apart. This conference must succeed. The Lord God bless me on that day. I must__ succeed…_

"Any progress with _Prophecies?" Marc said._

Takeru shook his head as he banished all thoughts of the conference from his mind. That was something to worry about when the day came. Instead, he sat down at his desk again, and leafed through his notes. "Not much," he admitted. "I've read and reread the entire thing over and over again. The first half, the history, is fascinating, yes, but not entirely relevant to our situation. The second half though, is frustrating me to no end. You would think that after years of studying the same text over and over again would gain me _some insight into what it all means."_

Marc pushed off from the desk, and circled around to peer over Takeru's shoulder at his neatly handwritten notes. "And why is that? If it's a language problem, I have interpreters that can help."

Takeru rubbed his forehead, and gave Marc a sideways smile. "Your interpreters have been a great help already, Marc. I very much doubt they can do anymore after translating the entire book into common Gaean. The problem is that some of these prophecies are so vague, they can be interpreted to mean just about anything if you're creative enough. Most of the time, I'm not even sure whether Adun is being literal or figurative."

"Not all of them are that vague, are they?"

"No," Takeru admitted. "Some are fairly specific. The prophecies about my pilgrimage, for example, were very specific indeed. But some of the others…well…there are times when I think Adun was _trying _to be vague."

"Have my scholars taken a look at this?"

"They have," Takeru said. "They have a copy that the translators have provided to them, and we consult regularly. In fact, all the stand-masters have a copy, and they are having the best minds all over Gaea working on this as we speak. Yet…I don't think it's not good enough to be _told what it means. I want to see it for myself. Besides, I have some time before Lady Isendre and Lord Corin comes. Might as well put it to good use."_

Rubbing his mustache thoughtfully, Marc took one of Takeru's notes and read it carefully. "Mind if I help?" he suggested after a bit. "I have a scholar's training, and I have worked with ancient texts before."

"Not at all," Takeru said with a wan smile. "In fact, I welcome it. Perhaps a fresh perspective can glean something new. A tired mind thinks in circles."

Marc pulled up a chair and sat down. He muttered to himself as his eyes scanned back and forth across the page. "_Ana meyta shin kare liader wutani…"_

"The translation," Takeru said dryly, "is right below the verse."

"Oh."

Takeru leaned back and put his hands behind his head. "I still remember that one. '_And the angel said, "For though the Tenken comes to bring peace, his appearance will herald war. Friends will tear at one another, brothers will kill in anger. Beware the Lord of lies, for his tools are many, but his signs are few. I tell you, have nothing to do with his evil devices.'"_

Marc frowned. "Looks straightforward to me. It's a warning. And a lot of these predictions have happened already. Or, I should say, they are still happening around us."

"Look at the verse below that," Takeru said.

The Lord of Saldea looked down. "_Lo!" he read out loud, "__I saw a great gaping mouth. Painful to see, it was, blinding the eyes with an unholy black  light.  I cowered and hid my face in my hands, but the angel touched my shoulder and bid me watch. Streams of black issued forth from that rotten mouth like water might burst from a dammed river. I saw, and my heart despaired. 'Close the mouth!' I cried. 'Close the mouth, or I shall go mad with fear!'"_

There was a moment of silence, broken by a small sigh from Takeru. "You see my problem?"

Marc read the verse over a second time, then put the scroll down. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling in thought. "A mouth," he mused out loud. "A real one? Is Adun being literal and describing the Khaydarin Emperor's mouth?"

"Perhaps," Takeru said. "Though why would he want to do that?"

"Look at this," Marc said as he pointed at the scroll. "There's obviously something wrong with the mouth. Something undesirable. Adun 'cowered' from it. 'Streams of black' issued from it, and caused Adun to despair. This is a warning, my Lord. Some weapon of Khaydarin perhaps."

"But what does 'streams of black' mean?" Takeru said. "An bolt of black fire? Poison?"

"Why would Adun use the adjective 'streams' for bolts of fire?" Marc said. "I think we can rule that out."

"Perhaps I'm being too literal?" Takeru went on. "Is Adun merely using an image to describe how Khaydarin's hosts will issue from Akeldama like water from a dammed river?"

"No," Marc said as he read the passage again. "I don't think even Adun knows the meanings of these images. He merely wrote down what he saw in the vision. What they mean, I don't think anyone in Gaea knows. The question is, what did the Lord mean when he gave these visions to Adun?"

Takeru looked at Marc strangely. "I never thought of that. In that case, I don't think that these images are being figurative. This is literally going to happen, in one way or another. What he means by 'streams of black' though, I still have no idea."

"I don't think we can speculate any closer to the meaning than we already have," Marc said slowly. "The important thing is to recognize the mouth when it opens. Then…I guess…we have to find some way to close it. That is, I believe, the main role of these prophecies. To give us signs to look for, and act on."

Takeru grunted as he sat up in his chair. "Then try this," he said as he got up and handed Marc another scroll, also covered in his handwriting.

Marc accepted the scroll, and frowned as he read it out loud. "_Through the rain of fire, through the great heaving of the restless earth, through the red light of the blood-stained sky, I beheld the sight of this land's salvation. Angels dressed in liquid light stood at each corner of the Devil's Rune, and held back all the world with their mighty strength. No breath of wind, no drop of water, no spark of fire; no sword of man, no fang of beast, no arrow of demon will disturb the final Seihad. Ere two rode forth, only one returned, for the Tenken shall be wrought with the spilling of willing blood."___

The Lord said nothing for awhile as he read it over again. Takeru had obviously spent a lot of time on this prophecy, since there were notes and annotations all over the margins of the page. There were underlines and circles around words and phrases, particularly the last sentences, which Takeru had outlined in red ink.

At last, Marc sighed. "My Lord, are there any earlier references to the appearance of the Devil's Rune? Any descriptions?"

Takeru shook his head. "No descriptions. Adun merely said that it would appear on the Day of Salvation, wrought with black fire."

"Hmmm…," Marc muttered. "Then we don't know how many corners there are to the Devil's Rune?"

"Does it matter?"

"It might." Marc said as he scratched his head. "Other than that, I really have no idea how to interpret this verse."

"And look at the last two sentences," Takeru said as he rubbed his eyes. "'_Ere two shall ride forth, one shall return, for the Tenken will be wrought with the spilling of willing blood.' Am I to take that to mean an angel is going to die?"_

"Do angels even bleed?" Marc said doubtfully. "I thought they were spirits, without flesh or form. Whose blood is Adun referring to?"

"I'm pretty sure that 'spilling blood' means death. We need not take everything so literally. Perhaps the Tenken will be wrought by the death of one who is willing? A sacrifice perhaps?" Takeru's face darkened. "Perhaps this is a prophecy predicting the death of one of us stand-masters."

There was a long moment of silence. Then Marc sighed. "Perhaps. Or it could be referring to an angel. Or some as yet unnamed soldier. There will be a lot of blood spilled before this is over. I would not be hasty to jump to conclusions, my Lord."

"Jumping to conclusions is about all I can do at this point," Takeru said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "What does this all mean? Am I going to die? Or am I going to have to order others to die? Or both? Or neither?"

Marc looked up from the scroll to frown at Takeru. "My Lord, worrying about it now won't help us. Let's look at the rest of the book. Perhaps knowing some context can help us understand this better. What is the root of the problem?"

"What Adun means by the word 'angel'," Takeru muttered in response. "And what exactly is the 'Devil's Rune'."

"Then let's look at how he uses the word 'angel', and how he describes the Devil's Rune," Marc said firmly. "Speculating won't help us if we have nothing to speculate on."

"I've _looked through the entire book, Marc," Takeru said. "Several times over. If it's there, I would have seen it."_

There was a short silence. Then Marc stirred again. "Perhaps," he suggested, "there might be references to these things in other ancient texts. Adun was not the only prophet that walked on Gaea. Perhaps he was drawing on the context of some other prophecies when he wrote about this."

Takeru looked down at his notes as he chewed on his lower lip in thought. "Perhaps," he said slowly. "But we have no access to the ancient texts. Ishida's greatest library of such texts and scrolls were in Palas, and they were burned more than twenty years ago."

"Perhaps some of my scholars may be able to find something in my personal library," Marc said. "The library is not here, but I can contact them by pigeon or by messenger to get them to start looking into the origin of the 'Devil's Rune'."

"I can even speak to the other stand-masters about it," Takeru said as he nodded. "Perhaps they have access to a more complete library than what we have here. I believe Yagami's Royal Library is still preserved in Maitzin."

"Yes," Marc said as he nodded. "I will send word by the end of today. In the meantime, is there anything else that perplexes you?"

Takeru smiled as he handed over another note. "Read this."

For the next few hours, the two Lords locked themselves in the small study, and waded deep into every chapter that Adun had ever written. They pored over his accounts of the last Seihad in minute detail, looking for clues to help them understand the present, and looked at every one of his prophecies, large and small in the second part of the book. Every now and then, Marc ordered his servants to bring them fresh scrolls and more ink as they made more and more notes. Lists of prophecies and important facts and statistics on the last Seihad began to occupy scroll after scroll of paper. When noon finally came, Marc had a servant bring their food to the library. They ate their noon-time meal while studying Adun's last battle with Khaydarin at the end of the Aeon of Strife. 

Having been brought up in a farm, Takeru was not used to a scholar's work, but he found himself enjoying it. Looking through the scrolls that he could read, he passed the ones in Ancient Gaean to Marc to translate. It was tedious work, but then, he had always been good at concentrating on one thing, and one thing only, for hours, or even days, on end, and the texts provided an opportunity for him to immerse himself in mindless work and not think about the war for a few hours. Thus, the time seemed to slip by all too fast. He didn't even notice the passage of the hours as he read scroll after scroll of the small collection of records and lore that Ardinberg _did _possess. Chasing obscured threads of facts into the records of centuries past, the duo worked far into the afternoon.

Eventually, the bell of Marc's castle was struck. In the distance, a distant horn sounded as yet another army arrived in Marc's courtyard. Takeru looked up from his book. "What time is it?" he asked Marc.

Marc looked up as well. "I believe the bell just struck five," he said.

"Five o'clock!" Takeru said as he closed his book with a snap. "I didn't realize that time had passed so quickly. Marc, would you mind continuing the search without me for an hour? I have some business to attend to."

"Of course, my Lord," Marc said, with a knowing glint in his eye. "Are you going to speak with the others now?"

"Yes," Takeru said as he got up and brushed dust off of his cloak. "Please tell your servants not to disturb me for the next hour. I will be back."

"They know," Marc replied. "But I will remind them anyway."

"Thank you," Takeru said as he unlocked the door to the library. Then he strode off quickly through the narrow, sparsely furnished corridors of Ardinberg. Passing soldiers bowed to him as he passed through the gardens, the plain, long hallways, and the wide courtyards. \

"Good afternoon, my Lord," several of them said in greeting as they touched their fists to their hearts, the Ishidan salute. "Good afternoon," Takeru replied as he nodded to them politely. "The Lord always illumine your path."

Finally, he climbed up a wide set of stone stairs, and came at last to a long hallway. Here in the upper levels where Takeru stayed, Marc had made a small attempt at softening the bare stone walls with tapestries, paintings and odd suits of armour. The windows here were slightly larger as well, allowing more sunlight to flood in and light up the corridor. Walking to the end of the hall, Takeru came upon his room.

There were two guards standing on either side of his door, and both of them bowed in greeting. Then one of them turned and unlocked the door, pushing it open so that Takeru could walk in. Takeru did, feeling more than a little self-conscious. Even after having lived for almost a year in Marc's castle, he still did not feel quite at ease having a servant or a guard doing everything for him. Richard had been a father, a mentor, and a friend. He had certainly _not _been a servant. Takeru was no stranger to the menial chores of cleaning, laundering, cooking, or even mucking out a dirty barn.

But here, there were servants that prepared his meals, servants who served his meals, and servants who laundered and brushed his clothes. Takeru drew the line at servants that helped him bathe. There were some things a man should be entitled to, and a little privacy when bathing was one of them. He grimaced as he stepped into his bedchamber. Yes, his life now was certainly a far cry from his humble beginnings as a mountain-bred farmboy in Kurtal.

Inside his room, Takeru quickly strode across the floor to his window, pulled open the curtains and threw open the sash. Sunlight flooded into the room, filling the luxuriously furnished room in the fortress with a golden light. Takeru indulged in another brief look outside at the beautiful spring fields. Then he turned around.

Sitting down on the ground with his back to the window and letting the warm sunlight play on his back, Takeru wrapped his cloak about himself. Unfastening his sword and sheath from the belt by his side, he set the butt against the ground in front of him and let the side of the sheath rest against his shoulder. His forehead furrowed with concentration as he closed his eyes.

The _Perenic plane, the thought-plane, was something that the stand-masters had discovered almost by accident. It was Takeru and Kari who had first found it by looking into some of the older records left by earlier stand-masters. It was also them that had first tried it, and discovered that they could communicate over distances much longer than they had previously dreamed. When they had told the others, it had taken some training to get them to be able to enter the __Perenic plane._

Takeru felt the familiar tingling sensation all over his body as if the world seemed to be slipping away from his senses. In the darkness of his own mind, he began to be conscious of the quiet, ghostly flickers of other peoples' souls and thoughts in the castle all around him. He could feel Marc's thoughts, stronger and more ordered than the others, flaring brightly in the study on the other side of Ardinberg. He could see the flickers of the servants and the guards as they went about their business. The first time he had experienced it, Takeru had been absolutely fascinated by the way he could read other people's auras. But now, he was not here to read the mood of the fortress.

Firmly, he clamped an imaginary hand over his eyes and ears, and ventured further. Even the flickers began to fade away as he directed his mind deeper and deeper into himself. The tingling sensation began to fade and Takeru felt himself being lifted slowly into the air. Everything below seemed to matter less and less. His heartbeat began to slow down as his breathing fell into a deep, easy rhythm. 

Finally, there was a great rushing sensation. The darkness all around him became streaked with light moving past at incredible speeds. He seemed to be rocketing upwards through a tunnel of light with no end, and he felt disoriented for a moment as the last sensations of the flesh receded from his mind. Then he was there.

Takeru looked around. He was no longer in Lord Marc's castle. Instead, he seemed to be floating in a black space, with nothing above, below, or around him. The blackness was so absolute he could see nothing beyond it. The black absence of thought filled the void and hemmed in on Takeru's senses. There were no stars, no moon and no sun. Takeru extended his hand in front of him and spread out his fingers. 

Yet light must be coming from somewhere, because he could see his hand just fine.

It was a puzzle that they had never really been able to solve. It was certainly not one he would be able to solve now. Twisting his head and body, he looked all around him. He seemed to be the first one here. Looking down, he saw that he appeared to be clad in the same dress as his physical body was. His sword was buckled back onto his belt. Even the small ink-stain on the cuff of his left sleeve was still there. Takeru shook his head in wonder. It never failed to astonish him, how things on the thought-plane could seem so lifelike, solid and real.

Then Takeru shook his head, and tried to control a rising nausea. This was too much. He couldn't think floating about in the middle of a black void. Shivering, he wrapped his cloak around himself again, and stretched out his feet. He arbitrarily picked a direction to be "down", just as he had done many times before. 

He saw the picture.

Formed the world.

And made it real.

Immediately, he felt his feet coming into contact with a smooth and solid stone ground. Takeru took a deep breath as he rocked back and forth, regaining his balance. Then he looked about him, and thought again.

The "ground" began to stretch off into infinity, so that the black space was divided into a flat floor and the fathomless black sky. Takeru thought some more. The sky above turned blue, and fleecy white-lined clouds appeared. Then Takeru paused as he considered his next move. What should he make this time?

Then his lips curled into a smile. He saw the picture. Made it real.

The "ground" became slanted, as if he were standing on an incline. In the distance, they began to shape themselves into jagged mountains. Majestic peaks thrust themselves into the sky, and deep U-shaped valleys filled with gargantuan glaciers plunged into the depths. Long green grass shimmered and began to appear in patches on the ground, along with jagged boulders and scattered, glacier-worn stones. In the distance, the white of snow-capped summits flashed in the sunlight. He paused again. Perhaps the sunlight was too hot. He looked up, and immediately a shade fell over his face as a great sakura tree appeared behind him, and spread its lush, flowering branches over his head. Down in the valley, a small village appeared, and small columns of smoke spiraled into the sky from the cook-fires of the good housewives. A slight breeze ran through his hair. Then, Takeru turned around, and looked once more.

He had created a lush, green mountain valley in late spring. The snow had just receded, and the streams of melt-water were still coursing their way down the rocky slopes in their search for the sea. The cold, fresh breeze that brushed past his face smelled slightly of pine cones. Satisfied, he pulled a long grass stalk out of the ground and put it in his mouth. Then he lay down on the soft grass under the sakura tree, and waited.

_How frighteningly real I can make this world, Takeru thought to himself as he chewed the grass stalk. __But it's all an illusion, isn't it? Then he closed his eyes and allowed the shifting shadows of the sakura tree's waving branches play across his face. __It's not real, no matter how much I wish it was. Though I do__ wish life was this simple…_

Presently, there was a slight shift in the thought-plane. Takeru felt a brief tug on one side, as if the ground had abruptly sloped that way, then leveled off again. He smiled with his eyes closed. There was a small gasp.

"Takeru!" a laughing voice said. "I know it's you! No-one else could make such a detailed image of Kurtal!"

Takeru rolled over and sat up. Kari was grinning at him through the long grass. Takeru brushed his hair back sheepishly and took out his grass stalk. "I thought you might like it."

"Whatever possessed you to make something like this? What's wrong with our usual room, table and chairs?"

"What's wrong with a change of scenery?" Takeru said in return. "You know, I spent all day indoors looking up old scrolls and texts. I need to get outside, even if it's all in my mind."

Kari waded hurriedly through the long grass, and threw her arms around Takeru's neck. In response, Takeru effortlessly lifted her straight off the ground and spun her around in the air a few times. Then they both collapsed laughing on the sunlit grass slope like small children. For a brief moment, all their worries and fears seemed to evaporate and float up into the endless blue sky. For a brief moment, the two laughed and pretended that everything was all right.

Neither of them said anything for a few moments while they savoured the brief island of peace. Then Kari looked up. "Complete with the sakura tree," she said, grinning. "You got all the important details right."

"Of course," Takeru said, looking insulted. "It's not home without a sakura tree."

"You still carry those stupid seeds in your pocket, don't you."

"I do." Takeru shrugged as he lay on the ground. "They're so small and light, I don't really notice them anymore. I just remind the servants not to wash them away when they launder my clothes."

"But you keep them?" Kari said as her left hand sought out Takeru's right one, and grasped it.

"I couldn't bring myself to throw them away," Takeru said as his voice grew softer. In his palm, Kari's hand felt as soft, light and warm as a feather. "I'm going to plant them when this is all over. Just you watch."

"Of course," Kari repeated. "Just as soon as we get a chance to settle down."

The two stayed like that for another long moment. They didn't say anything, and merely lied on the ground holding hands as they let Takeru's imaginary breeze blow past their faces and tousle their hair. Eventually, Kari sat up, and put her hands on Takeru's shoulders. Leaning close to his face, she peered intently into his eyes. Takeru stared back as he lay flat on his back.

"What's wrong?"

"You've been studying a lot, haven't you?"

"How'd you know?"

"There are bags under your eyes, idiot," Kari said as she touched his face. "If they show up in the _Perenic plane, then they must be __really bad in real-life. Get some rest."_

Takeru grinned. "Yes, ma'am. Just remember to get some rest yourself. I can see some grey in your hair already. And you're what? Twenty-one?"

"What?" Kari looked up, and a mirror appeared before her face. She stared into it concernedly. A moment later, she punched Takeru lightly on the shoulder as she allowed the mirror to dissolve. "Liar. I don't see anything."

"Of course not," Takeru said, still grinning. "This is a thought-plane. You probably made the mirror reflect what you wanted to see."

Kari punched him again and they laughed together. Then Kari paused. Brushing a stray strand of chestnut-brown hair behind her ear, she stared again into Takeru's eyes. Takeru stopped as well, staring back again with a perplexed expression on his face. Slowly, Kari closed her eyes and leaned even closer until she could taste Takeru's light breath on the tip of her nose. Takeru felt his heartbeat quicken as the faint smell of the rosewater Kari had used in her hair enveloped him. Before he could react or say anything, their lips met in a thrilling kiss.

Time seemed to stop. 

For a second that lasted an eternity, Takeru couldn't feel anything except Kari's soft lips on his mouth. His whole body was tingling again. His eyes widened in surprise, then closed as he surrendered. Reaching up, he pulled Kari even closer to his chest, holding her as if he would never let her go. He couldn't breathe, and he didn't care. He could feel Kari's hands running through his hair and along his neck, leaving fiery trails of sensations on his skin…

There was an embarrassed cough. "Ahem…," another voice said. "Oh my…, perhaps I should turn away…"

Kari broke off the kiss in a hurry, and all but jumped off Takeru in her alarm. Takeru remained on the ground with his eyes closed as he tried to lock away the timeless moment forever in his memory. Silently, he cursed whoever it was a thousand times, so that he wouldn't be tempted to do it out loud. Then, sighing, he raised his head to see who had interrupted them.

Ken seemed very interested in the ground as he stood less than three meter away. In fact, he seemed very interested in everything but Takeru's eyes. His expression was carefully neutral, but his face was flushed scarlet. "Good afternoon," he muttered. "Nice spot you made for the meeting."

Takeru and Kari both groaned as they flopped back into the grass. "Ken," Takeru said tiredly. "You've got to stop doing this."

"Agreed," Ken said, still staring at his boots.

"To be fair," Davis's cheerful voice said behind him, "you _should have been expecting us just about now."_

"Besides," Cody's slightly raspy voice said in a mildly disapproving tone, "this is time for business. Not fun. You two can do that on your own time."

Kari sat up, shaking grass from her hair. "Don't tell me you _all saw that," she said as she looked in dismay at Davis, Cody and Ken who were standing in a row before them._

Ken looked away again in embarrassment. Davis gave her a wide, toothy grin and a "victory" sign with his fingers. Cody only stared at her disapprovingly. "If you're talking about the kiss," Cody said in his usual stern voice, "yes, we did."

"I looked away," Ken said hurriedly. "I only saw the first bit."

"Well, I saw all of it," Davis said without a hint of embarrassment as he sat down. He gave Kari a double thumbs-up sign. "I must say, very passionate," he teased. "Kisses like that should come with a replay button."

"Did someone say something about a kiss?" Yolei's voice suddenly broke in. "Who kissed who?"

Takeru groaned, and covered his eyes with his arm. _Merde, he thought gloomily. __I'll never hear the end of this…_

Yolei appeared, and glared furiously around at everyone. "What did I miss? Someone had better tell me."

She looked at Ken, but Ken only looked away. It was Davis that finally answered her. "Kari kissed Takeru," Davis said cheerfully. "You should've seen it, Yolei. Oh my…so steamy…"

"That's enough," Takeru said, blushing furiously. "Perhaps…perhaps we should get back to business. I have things to do in the real world."

Yolei walked right up to Takeru, and thrust a finger in his face. "Takeru Ishida, don't try to change the subject. Let the expert in love counsel you in these matters. It's all right to kiss, even in times like this. Don't ever be embarrassed about your feelings, or else…"

"Or else," Davis interjected mischieviously, "I'll steal her away from you before you can blink."

"Oh I don't know," Takeru said solemnly. "I can blink pretty-"

"Actually," Ken cut in, "Takeru, we should get back to business. I have something rather alarming to report."

The atmosphere of fun evaporated instantly. Yolei turned around, her face suddenly serious. Davis' grin faltered as he looked up from where he sat. Takeru's eyes narrowed as he bit off his joke. Ken paused for a moment. When he was certain that he had everyone's attention, he cleared his throat.

"There have been a string of disasters in the past two weeks," Ken said. "Since this war started, I have lost well over a third of my army already. It's only a matter of time before Ichijouji falls."

Davis hissed. Cody started in alarm. "Why didn't you tell us?" the young stand-master said. "I had no idea it was that bad before. We might have been able to help!"

"It wasn't that bad until two weeks ago," Ken answered calmly. "Just after the last meeting. The Seventh Company was ambushed, and I lost fifty and two hundreds men and a Lord-Captain. I was counting on that Company backing me up on the southern front, so when I lost it, the southern front was overrun almost immediately. I lost another ten hundreds there. That's sixty and two hundreds good men and riders in less than two weeks. I can't take losses like that and expect to survive."

Takeru leaned forward, frowning. "That much? Perhaps Khaydarin is planning something?"

"Oh, they've definitely stepped up their attack," Ken agreed as he sat down, and leaned against the sakura tree's trunk. "I'm retreating on almost all fronts. Never before has their attack been quite so fierce. I haven't told my men yet, as it would kill their morale, but the truth is, it's only a matter of time before they take Halidan. I estimate around three weeks, and Micah agrees with me."

"Three weeks?" Davis burst out. "The conference is five weeks away!"

"I agree with Davis," Cody said in his raspy voice. "The conference must proceed without interruption. Ken, perhaps after the conference, you can expect to have help within a week. If the conference succeeds."

"That's six weeks," Ken said as he shook his head. "Almost a month and a half. Even if you do manage to bring help, I fear that all you'll find is the ashes of Halidan."

"Maybe some of us can bring help now?" Yolei ventured. "As soon as we get back to the real world?"

"How much will your Kings and Queens spare?" Ken said fiercely. "Five hundreds? Three hundreds? Save your men's lives. That little won't make much of a difference."

"Perhaps if you drew your men in, and defended only the inner kingdom…," Kari suggested.

"They'd burn every single field we have outside the battlelines," Ken said gloomily, "and my army would starve within a week. That's an even _faster way to get defeated."_

Silence fell over the assembled stand-masters like a smothering veil. Nobody stirred or said anything as they digested this grim news. Finally, Takeru shook his head. "You'll have to hold, Ken," Takeru finally said. "You must hold the coast for at _least another five weeks, until the conference is over."_

"Takeru, you don't know what you're asking," Ken said as his eyes flashed. 

"And what am I asking?"

"The impossible," Ken said flatly. "I'm losing ground fastest on the southern and the western front. Before long, Takeru, I may have to tell my people to hide in the forests of Ishida up north. But to not retreat, and hold on for five weeks, it may mean sacrificing thousands of my people."

"It may well come to that," Takeru said evenly.

There was a stunned silence. Then Ken stood up, his face furious. "Takeru Ishida, we have been friends, indeed brothers, for six years, but I will _not take orders from you. __Especially not orders that ask me to sacrifice my kingdom! I am the Emperor of Ichijouji, and I must first think of my people!"_

"Every logical military argument dictates that Ichijouji must hold until the conference is over." Takeru said. The unexpectedly soft tone of his voice softened the blow of the cruel words. "After all, I would do that if I were the Emperor. You, Ken, are thinking of Ichijouji."

"Of course I am," Ken snapped.

"But that's not enough," Takeru said. "You're not only the steward of Ichijouji. You're the steward of Gaea along with the rest of us. And you, the best strategist among us, must realize that it is sometimes acceptable to sacrifice troops if it means the gaining of something more important."

"An inordinately high price," Yolei said quietly. "And the gain is also doubtful."

"To be sure," Kari said suddenly. "But then, we weren't put here to look after our respective kingdoms, were we? We were put here so that we could govern the _whole land. Ken, that includes Yagami, Ishida, Sheid, Jakt, Fan-Tzu, Novinha, and every other nation on the map. They're as much __your people as Ichijoujans!"_

Ken sat back and stared up at the made-up sky. "Five weeks," he muttered to himself. "Is it possible? Perhaps if we held on a little longer at each wall, send teams behind them to target their supply lines…." Then he shook his head. "You're asking a lot."

"Yet, we ask anyway," Takeru replied.

Ken didn't say anything for a long moment. Then he released the breath he was holding. "If it was _anyone but you Takeru…anyone else…," he growled as he glared at the Ishidan Emperor, "this wouldn't be happening."_

"So you'll do it?"

Ken sighed. "Yes," he whispered. "If I am able."

Everyone heaved a huge sigh of relief. Takeru got up and embraced Ken. "Thank you, old friend," he said in his ear. "You will not stand alone. The instant I get back, I'll tell Lord Marc to send as many soldiers as he can spare to Halidan immediately. You can expect at least a thousand men to arrive within a week. Use them wisely."

"King Bjorn of Sheid will also send troops," Cody spoke up suddenly. "I'm not sure how many, but I believe he is willing to listen to me. Perhaps five hundred. More if I can manage it."

"The Taelidani will send more fighters," Davis said with a dangerous smile from where he lay on the ground. "Our best men. Seven hundred of them."

"There are already three thousand Taelidani fighters in my care," Ken said with a slight smile. "They're the best hunters and stalkers my Lord-Captains have ever seen. They can't seem to stop talking about them. Are you sure?"

"A doomed kingdom? A battle against overwhelming odds?" Davis' grin was definitely bordering on the insane side. "Most of my soldiers won't be able to resist. It seems that you, my friend, hasn't quite understood the Taelidani psyche yet."

"All told, that's more than two thousand men," Kari said in wonder. "Use them wisely, Ken."

"Two thousand men," Ken said softly. "I should warn you, some of them will not be coming back."

Takeru nodded. "Use them as you see fit."

"I am going to willfully sacrifice my kingdom," Ken growled, "I can't believe I'm doing this. Here we are, sitting and plotting about the deaths of tens of hundreds of people…"

"To save millions more," Kari said gently. "The people that will die know that, and they go into battle willingly. We grieve for them certainly. And when this is all over, they will be honoured. But war is a time of grief."

"All the same," Yolei said, "something good had better come out of this.  How are preparations for the conference coming along?"

Cody cleared his throat, and looked meaningfully at Kari. "The time and place was set a long time ago, as you all know. June 21st, 522 A.D. will be the date. As for the place…," Cody trailed off as he shot Takeru a quick glance. "Is Ardinberg ready to receive us?"

"Lord Marc assures me that it will be ready," Takeru said as he nodded. "And the Lords Marc, Corin and Isendre have already mustered armies to protect the monarchs once they arrive. If necessary that is. I truly doubt that Khaydarin even knows Ardinberg exists, let alone where it is."

"That's why we chose it, after all," Yolei said with a shrug. "Secret. Heavily fortified. Probably no safer place in Gaea. _And _Ishida's neutral." She smiled ironically. "The only stand-nation that hasn't engaged in a war with any other stand-nation."

"Even if it's only because it was too devastated to fight," Davis reminded her.

"Cody and I have been working for a long time with King Bjorn of Sheid to have this conference set up," Kari continued for Cody. "King Bjorn is a wise man, one of the few able to see past the petty differences between Gaea's nations. He will not betray us, and he will certainly come."

"How about King Aidan of Yagami?" Yolei said.

Kari and Cody exchanged glances. "Tomorrow," Kari said, "Cody and I will be setting out from Sheid as diplomats to go speak to King Aidan. We'll be going by longboat to the city of Maitzin, capital of Yagami. Pray for us, especially. We will need all the help we can get to get him to listen."

"You're Yagami's stand-master!" Davis said as he frowned. "Don't they _have to listen to you?"_

"It's not quite that simple, Davis," Kari explained patiently. "Technically, yes, I am the ruler of Yagami. But if history has taught us anything, it is that the letter of the law often gets obscured around issues of power. If Aidan doesn't cooperate, it'll be difficult to get the support of his people. It'll certainly take more time than we can afford to lose."

"But do you think he'll cooperate?" Davis said.

"Perhaps," Kari said pensively. "We shall see. At the very least, I think he might honour us with a diplomatic envoy, even if he doesn't come himself."

"That's not good enough, Kari," Takeru said. "The other monarchs will take it as an insult."

"I know, I know," she said, wringing her hands in frustration. "I'll do my best."

Davis suddenly broke into a wide grin. "Hikari Kamiya, Honeytongue the soothsayer."

They all laughed together as Kari blushed scarlet. Then they all quieted down again. There was a moment of silence. Cody grunted. "It would certainly be nice if we could see each other face-to-face again. Not like this. It gets…lonely."

"At least _you get to see Kari in person," Takeru said enviously. "She's probably sitting next to you in real life right now. I've been out here in Ishida for three years, by myself. I'd trade places with you any day."_

"Defending a kingdom by yourself is lonely work," Ken added. "And Davis and Yolei are out there, goodness knows where…"

"Jakt and Fan-Tzu, south and west of your own borders," Yolei said frostily. "And I'll thank you to remember it."

"Which reminds me," Takeru said, turning to Davis and Yolei, "is Jakt and Fan-Tzu coming?"

"Oh, they're coming," Davis said as he rolled over in the grass and sat up. "They couldn't withstand my boyish charm."

Everyone snickered. Davis looked hurt. "Hey! I got the job done, didn't I? They'll definitely be coming. Both of them seem eager for it, in fact."

"The problem is," Yolei said in a more sober voice, "it's going to be difficult to get them there. To get to Ardinberg, we must first cross the bamboo forests of northern Jakt, and then the _Saera desert. There are cloaked Khaydarin armies all over that area, simply because no kingdom has managed to spare the troops to patrol it regularly. Travel is all but impossible. It's going to be tough to get them across safely."_

"If the King of Fan-Tzu and the Queen of Jakt die on the way," Takeru said in alarm, "that's the end of the conference right then and there! They're only coming because they trust in us stand-masters to protect and lead them! If we can't do that, we might as well give up right now."

"They'll get across safely," Davis said lazily. The dangerous glint in his eye belied his sleepy tone. "Don't worry about it."

And that was it. They would get across because Davis said so. The matter was considered closed, and they turned their attention to other things. 

"How about Ishida," Kari asked Takeru.

"We'll be there," Takeru said slowly. "Though not as a unified nation. Marc, Isendre and Corin have pledged alliance with me, so that'll be Ishida. There'll come at least four other self-proclaimed Lords who insist on being recognized as sovereign nations. Everyone, remember to humour them. They're rather touchy about the issue of sovereignty at the moment."

"Of course," Kari said as she nodded. "We'll remember."

"So the only kingdom which has not yet decided to come is Yagami," Ken summed up. "Good. Perhaps things aren't going as badly as they seem."

"Where there's life, there's hope," Takeru said evenly. "In the meantime, are there any other matters that need our joint attention?"

Nobody spoke up. Takeru looked around for a moment, then shrugged. "Then we should begin turning our minds to preparing for the conference in the real world. We all have work to do, and I trust that all of you know what it is?"

Everyone nodded. Takeru smiled as he spread his hands. "Good. Then don't let me keep you ladies and gentlemen. Time is against us. We shall meet again in one week."

Ken disappeared immediately. His body shimmered then faded away like smoke borne away on the brisk mountain breeze. Davis and Yolei waved at Takeru, then turned and disappeared back to the real world as well. Cody looked questioningly at Kari.

"Go first," Kari said with a faint smile. "I will be with you shortly."

Cody nodded as understanding flooded his face. Then he too was gone.

Takeru and Kari stood alone in the thought-plane, looking at the peaceful village of Kurtal from the mountain. Then Kari turned, gave Takeru a brief peck on the cheek and embraced him tightly. "I love you," she whispered into his chest.

"I love you too," Takeru murmured into her soft hair. "What say we finish our kiss when we see each other again in a month?"

"I'll hold you to that," Kari teased as she laid her cheek against his shoulder.

"Promise," Takeru said sincerely. "And you know what I'm like with promises."

Kari laughed. Then, after another brief kiss, she stepped away. "In a months," she said as she faded away.

Takeru watched as her thought-shape disappeared like smoke. Then, casting one last wistful glance at the village below him, he closed his eyes and prepared to leave. Like he said, he had work to do.

There was a long moment. Then Takeru frowned. He opened his eyes again, and looked around. He was still on the grassy plain, underneath the sakura tree. The breeze he had created still whistled through his hair. He closed his eyes again, and concentrated.

Nothing happened. A minute later, he opened them again, and felt his body. It was as solid as ever, and he was still standing before Kurtal. He looked around, his frown deepening. This was worrying. Why couldn't he leave? He had done it a thousand times before. It was almost second-nature by now, as natural as taking a step through a door, and not once had it failed him like this. He took a deep breath. Something was happening, and he didn't know what. Perhaps if he calmed down a little…

Then he paused. His nose wrinkled as he smelt something unpleasant in the air. Something he had not created. Whatever it was, it raised the hackles on the back of his neck. It took him a moment to place the scent of burning wood and crops. He looked down the mountain-side.

And gasped.

Kurtal was on fire. No, it _had been on fire. There was nothing left to burn anymore. The fields of crops had become charred wastes of glowing black ash. The village itself was burnt to the ground, and there were corpses littered all over the streets. The village square had been desecrated, and the black skeleton of the mayor's house still seemed to be smouldering. Takeru staggered slightly in disbelief. This couldn't be happening. Not again. Khaydarin couldn't have come _again!__

Of their own accord, his feet began to move. Slowly at first, then faster and faster. Soon, Takeru was running down towards the village as fast as he could. He hadn't done that! Perhaps one of the others…just before they left…. But why would they do such a thing? Why destroy Kurtal? What was going on? His boots pounded the rocky earth as he sprinted down the slope towards his home village, his cloak flying behind him. As he ran, his right hand unsheathed the sword strapped to his side, and a golden glimmer began to surround his body.

He halted at the entrance of the village. It was exactly as he remembered it. Everything. The corpses were all there. His house was just in sight around the corner. He recognized the rustic cottage, just as he recognized Kari's house right beside it. He remembered the sickening odour of burnt flesh in the air, and the way the wind picked up the ashes on the ground until the very wind seemed to be black. He half-expected two dirty children to dart from his house to Kari's house in search of Kari's mother. He half-expected Richard to hurtle out of his house wielding a sword to protect his Emperor. Takeru's breath caught in his throat and his fists clenched as he fought back a surge of nausea. 

Who had done this to his thought-shape?

"This is no good, Takeru," someone said reproachfully behind his back. "You've failed the test with flying colours. You can't dwell on the past like that."

Takeru whirled around. 

Yamato was standing there, leaning against the charred remnants of a pillar with his arms crossed. The blond hair was slightly longer than Takeru remembered it. Instead of being cut short in its usual military style, the long hair was now tied in the back in a short ponytail that covered the nape of his neck. But the narrow, almond-shaped blue eyes and the thin lips were exactly as he remembered it. The fair, delicate face hinted at a regal, yet cold elegance that was accentuated by his relaxed, confident stance. An overwhelming feeling of _deja-vu _swept over him as he again had the surreal feeling of staring at a warped and distorted mirror. The dark brown traveler' robe Yamato wore caught Takeru's eye as it flapped in the wind. _Why isn't he wearing black Khaydarin uniform like last time? he wondered briefly as he automatically raised his sword. _

_And what is he doing here?! In my __thought-shape?!_

Yamato ignored him, as he looked around. "Relax, _onee-chan," he said as he held up his hands. "I'm not armed. See? Not even with a dagger. Just these traveler's robes, that's all."_

Takeru was not fooled. It was the thought-plane after all. Yamato could call up a sword whenever he wanted. "How long have you been spying on me?" he said hoarsely.

"Long enough," Yamato's said with a thin smile. "Since the very beginning, Takeru. In fact, I got here before you did. I was very amused at your choice of setting."

"Did you do this? And are you stopping me from leaving?"

"Of course," Yamato said. "Why do you think the others had no trouble leaving, but you did?"

Takeru took one hand off of his sword, and wiped away the sweat on his tunic. He suddenly felt very cold indeed. "You heard everything…," he muttered in shock. "Everything about the conference, about Ken…"

"Don't underestimate me, _ototo-chan," Yamato said icily. "The __Perenic plane has been my playground when you were still just beginning to discover your abilities! If you think you know everything about this place, trust me, I know more."_

"Yamato," Takeru said desperately. "Listen to me. You can't tell the Emperor what you just heard. You just can't. It'll…"

"Looks like you're out of the loop, aren't you?" Yamato said as he shook his head. "Don't you know I'm no longer with Khaydarin?"

Takeru almost dropped his sword with shock. His heart began to beat faster with hope. "You're…not?"

"I left six years ago, Takeru," Yamato said carefully, every word dripping with reluctance. "After…after you defeated me."

Takeru felt dizzy with joy. His heart felt like it would burst. "Then…then will you join us?"

Yamato took a step back. "No," he said, smiling as he held up his hands again. "Not quite so fast, my young naïve brother. I may have seen the error of my ways, but I have yet to see how _your ways are any better than mine. Don't be hasty."_

"No, don't leave yet," Takeru said, reaching out a hand as he lowered his sword. "_Onii-chan, listen to-"_

Yamato seemed to slide sideways as he rippled into a blur. Takeru wasted a precious instant blinking and readjusting his eyes as Yamato phased into a series of rippling images. By the time he had gotten over it, it was too late.

Quick as a flash, Yamato was right in front of Takeru. Before Takeru could blink, a savage uppercut to the jaw lifted hin off his feet and sent him flying backwards. For a moment, Takeru could see nothing but exploding stars of colour. As he went sailing through the air, Yamato leaped after him. One boot knocked Takeru's sword away from his grasp. The other smashed into his temple, and drove him into the ground.

Dazedly, Takeru looked up out of a haze of pain, then froze. Yamato was holding _Ichibou's razor-sharp point a centimeter from Takeru's throat. A single thought leapt into dominance in his mind: wounds on the thought-plane were carried over into real life. "You let down your guard," Yamato said coldly. "You are too trusting. That's something you'll have to work on."_

Takeru could feel blood welling up inside his mouth from a cut inside his cheek. He spat it out, as he stared back at Yamato. "_Onii-chan…."_

"For example," Yamato went on, as if he were holding normal conversation. "Yes, I may not tell your little secrets to the Emperor, but he will find out eventually. He may not be able to find you in the thought-plane. Only I could do that because I know you. But he has ways of finding out, TK. He has spies everywhere. He will learn about your conference, one way or another."

"We took precautions," Takeru wheezed as he lay on the ground. "Nobody knows the place except the monarchs, and even _they _will need a guide to get through the deep mountain forests around Ardinberg. The time was a little harder to guard, but still, only a trusted inner circle within each kingdom knows."

Yamato raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps not so naïve, then."

"I learned that from _you!" Takeru snapped. "If I can't trust my own brother, then who can I trust? You betrayed Gaea to satisfy your selfish desire for power."_

Yamato slowly lowered the point of Takeru's sword until it rested against Takeru's breastbone. Then he began to apply pressure on it. Slowly and slowly, the point began to pierce the layers of his clothing until the cold point began to cut into the skin underneath. Yamato's blue eyes were fierce, the first emotion they had shown since the beginning of their meeting.

"Never," Yamato said slowly, "say that I betrayed Gaea. I have _wept for Gaea. I have fought countless times for Gaea, and I have suffered myself to be scarred in body and spirit __for Gaea. You would do well, _ototo-chan_, to not speak of matters you know nothing about!"_

The two brothers froze like statues for a long moment, neither willing to break off their glare. Then Takeru lifted his chin. "What is it you want, brother?" Takeru said softly. 

Yamato said nothing, so Takeru went on. "It can't be to kill me, because I would be dead already. You've made your point with my sword already. I've learned my lesson about keeping my guard up. It can't be to eavesdrop on our conversation, because you wouldn't have shown yourself, and you aren't with Khaydarin anymore. You've already said that you're not here to join me.

"So why are you here?"

Yamato still said nothing. He only soundlessly took away Takeru's sword away from his chest. "You fascinate me, TK," he said bluntly. "You really do. It is a marvel to me how a weakling like you can gather the following that you have. It is a wonder to me that you intend to defy the might of Khaydarin, and that you might actually have a chance. And it _amazes me that you managed to defeat me. A small man with no particular talents, yet you've somehow managed to become the very axis of history."_

"We can talk," Takeru said as he got up, rubbing his chest. "I can tell you, brother, if only you would listen."

Yamato shook his head. "You've already tried. You can't make people like me understand through words. I've been in the trade of war too long. I can't make sense of what you're saying, or what you're feeling."

Then the older brother squatted down onto his haunches, and stared into Takeru's eyes. "Show it to me, TK," Yamato said slowly. "I challenge you, warrior to warrior, to the greatest challenge of your life. Meet me in Palas, two weeks from today. Alone, with nothing but your sword. Show me the source of your strength and your peace. 

"I've searched for the past six years, _ototo-chan_, looking for that elusive quality that you have, and I don't.I've trekked across every land and nation, through every city, mountain, vale, village and palace. Six years may not seem much to say, but it was an _eternity _of uncertain torture for me. And a man can only walk on the razor's edge for so long."

Yamato's eyes were positively burning now. "But one way or another," he said with quiet, burning conviction, "that is going to end two weeks from now. I am _tired_ of searching, Takeru.

"I. Want. It. Too."

Takeru stared back. Despite the situation, he couldn't stop himself from smiling with undisguised joy. "In Palas," he repeated. "Two weeks from today. I will certainly be there, _onii-chan."_

Yamato smiled, and for an instant, Takeru caught a glimpse of a terrible anguish on his brother's face, as if he was a tortured beggar, craving for a purpose and meaning in life. A warrior without a cause to fight for. The years seemed to melt away from his face until he was once more a confused, five-year-old boy standing in shackles before the Emperor Tichon. Takeru's heart ached for his brother, and he almost reached out to hold him. If only he would listen…

Then the instant was over. Yamato stood up, and dropped _Ichibou before Takeru. "Then farewell until then, TK," he said. "I will be waiting…" And he was gone just like the others._

**********

In the secluded forests in the depths of Sheid, Yamato opened his eyes. Readjusting his own cloak, he leaned back against the trunk of the tree he had taken shelter under and sighed. His brother hadn't changed at all. The ever _noble _Takeru was still as innocent and naïve as ever; he was so idealistic that sometimes Yamato wanted to slap him. If only to put a dent in that aura of arrogance and…and _insufferable _self-righteousness. That smile, that outstretched hand. Yamato squeezed his eyes shut again as a wave of cold anger swept over him. His mouth tightened as he struggled to overcome the storm of emotions that that simple three minute conversation had stirred up in him.

Beside him his horse whinnied, and Yamato put out a hand to stroke his horse's muzzle as it bent down to graze. He sighed.

"It's almost over, Yerid," he murmured, speaking for his own benefit than for the horse's. "It'll be over in two weeks. Just a little further.

"After all, in two weeks, one of us is going to be dead."

**********

Back in the _Perenic _thought-plane, Takeru grabbed his sword and sheathed it. Then he staggered upright. Around him, the ruins of Kurtal continued to smoulder. He shook his head to clear it. So, his brother had left Khaydarin. In fact, he had left Khaydarin six years ago. There was hope yet. There was hope. With a slight smile, he closed his eyes and stepped out of the thought-plane.

When he opened his eyes again, he was back in his room in Ardinberg, hunched over in front of the window. Wearily, he straightened up again. As he did so, he noticed a trickle of blood dripping unheeded from the corner of his mouth. Looking down, he saw a spreading red stain on his chest. Pulling out a kerchief from his pocket, he carefully wiped away the stream of blood from his mouth.

"I love you too, _onii-chan," he said softly. Then he got up, and walked out of the room. He had work to do._

**Author's notes: Gee, even I'm a little surprised at how quickly I got this chapter up. ^_^

I've got some things to address first.:

First off. (IMPORTANT. READ THIS IF NOTHING ELSE) I was talking to a friend from church the other day, and he reminded me that the validity of some of the Christian things in this fic may be doubtful. So I am going to make this clear once and for all. This is not a Christian fic in the exact meaning of the word. That is, it is not the same genre as books like "Left Behind". This embodies many Christian _values _that I believe in, and values that can be found in the Bible. The God in this universe merely parallels the God in our universe. So, fellow Christians, do not flame me for blaspheming, or rewriting the gospel, because I AM NOT. I am merely trying to present Christian _values_ in the context of an action / adventure story. Think of "Lord of the Rings", and how there were some hidden Christian values and themes buried in the work, even though it's not overtly Christian.

If _anyone _wants to talk to me about Christianity, please do not hesitate to contact me by email, or even on MSN.

Second. Don't expect more Takari for a long time yet. The kisses were for Lord Orion, who asked for it. (And my editor, who loved it to bits) ^_^ Reason being? Takeru and Kari don't even meet until at _least_ chapter eight, if not later. Oh, there will be scenes featuring them both of course. In fact, there's a rather prominent scene featuring Kari next chapter. Just…not together. Yet. This is _not a romance fic. _

Third. Betsy, you're right. Matt is going to become one of the "mains". A very prominent "main". ^_^

Fourth. _Please review!_ See how I respond to them? You never know, you just might change the course of the story. Ideas from interesting ways to craft fight scenes, or creative things stand-masters can do with their stands, or values and themes you think I should incorporate (aside from romance. I've heard enough about romance), or technical stuff like pace (always a big one), mood, setting, description (too flowery? Too short?) etc. etc. Anything is welcome.^_-


	3. Seihad Chapter Three

**Disclaimer: I do not own digimon. This is a fanfiction story, produced for fun, and not for profit. Seihad: Chapter Three 

****

By: TK Takaishi

_** May 19th, A.S. 522. Two days later**_

Even with his stand-enhanced night vision, Davis Motomiya could only barely see his entire camp nestled in the middle of the small valley from where he sat. The deep velvet cloak of the dark night obscured everything. He nodded with satisfaction. He had ordered all the cook-fires and watch-fires be extinguished when night came. It was a small enough company that the one hundred Taelidani warriors he had brought with him were enough to guard the entire camp. If he concentrated, Davis's trained eye could just make out the dim shapes of his Taelidani guards hidden in the bamboo trees at strategic points around the camp. There are very few things that can get past a Taelidani on guard, even on a dark night like this one, and even Khaydarin stealth-cloaks would have a hard time getting past the perimeter he had set up. Besides, if he had trouble seeing the camp when he was right in the middle of it, he was fairly sure that nobody else had a hope of finding it in the dark, hidden as it was in the middle of a thick bamboo stand. They were as safe as can be, for the time being.

Which was good. Davis raised his gaze to look at the two large tents pitched right in the middle of his camp. King San of Fan-Tzu and Queen Ida of Jakt were in them right now, sleeping peacefully. It was probably a good thing that they had no idea of the danger they were braving by crossing these bamboo forests in northern Jakt on their way to Ardinberg. They might have refused to come otherwise. On a sudden impulse, he squinted even harder at the two dark tents. Try as he might, however, he could not see the slim form of Yolei that he knew must be around the two tents. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Yolei was possibly the only person on Gaea who could stalk her prey better than he could. She didn't let anyone see her unless she let them. Since they had set out nearly three days ago, there hadn't been a single second when both of them had been asleep at the same time. Every second of every day, there had been at least one of them beside the two monarchs. So far, there had been no attack, but they were weeks away from their destination yet.

Now, poised on the edge of the Jakt border, Yolei had finally convinced Davis to halt the column, while the Taelidani systematically scouted out the land before them. The only maps and information that the monarchs had been able to offer was several years out of date. Ever since the Khaydarin barricade had fallen, Jakt and Fan-Tzu had been effectively locked into their corner of Gaea, unable to reach out even for news of the other parts of the continent. Preoccupied with fighting one another, and fending off the periodic Khaydarin raid, neither nation had been able to spare the troops necessary to break through the barricade. 

Now that the barricade _had _to be broken, Davis had been forced to rely on his scouts as his eyes and ears across the land. For three days now, they had stayed in the thick bamboo forests as they awaited the return of the scouts. Impatiently, Davis tapped his foot lightly against the ground as he looked up at the sky to check the position of the moon. It was past midnight. The scouts that he had sent out yesterday night should be back soon with their reports. Sighing as he looked back down, Davis blew out a breath and watched the cloud of mist float away on the light evening breeze. For the tenth time that night, he checked his weapons, then leaned against a particularly stout bamboo tree and slumped to the ground. Wrapping his cloak about himself, he did his best to become a small boulder in the forest. And he waited. 

Presently, there was a barely perceptible rustle in the bamboo forest. Davis's ears pricked up as he heard the impossibly light footsteps approach him from the north, the faint rustling so faint that he would have missed them if he hadn't been expecting them. Standing up quietly, he unsheathed his kodachis. Raising his head, he strained his ears even more to hear the signal from his sentries.

Soon, there was a soft hoot of a brown owl that emerged from his own camp. That would be one of his own sentries, challenging the newcomer. A moment later, a faint answering hoot came floating back through the midnight air, and Davis released the breath he had been holding in relief. Shoving his kodachis back into their sheaths under his Taelidani cloak, Davis crossed his arms and leaned back against the bamboo tree. The footsteps were definitely coming towards him now. Ahead, there was a faint murmur as the incoming scouts conversed briefly with the hidden guards. Then two gray outlines could be seen in the shadows beneath the bamboo stands, striding quickly and silently towards him.

Davis smiled in the darkness. "Razul, Lafaye, is that you?"

One of the figures drew closer, and peered carefully at Davis' face. "_T'rakul," the taller scout, Razul, said. "Yes, it is us. We're back."_

"So I see," Davis said as he checked the two of them over. Neither of them seemed to be hurt in any way. "What about the others?"

"We split up to cover more ground, as per your orders. They should be coming back within the next night or so in groups of two or three like us."

"Good," Davis said as he rubbed his hands and breathed on them, trying to warm them up in the cold night air. "Did you find anything on the path?"

Razul and Lafaye exchanged glances. "It was as you feared, _T'rakul," Lafaye said grimly. "There are Khaydarin patrols everywhere in the forest. They are all over the land, so it was impossible to get an exact count, but we estimate perhaps in excess of a thousand warriors are stationed somewhere ahead of us. We can forget about traveling on the North road. They have sentries posted around every bend. I doubt an ant can get through that road without Khaydarin knowing about it."_

"Even the forest is covered pretty carefully," Razul continued. "They've worn out paths among the bamboo stands with their patrols. It was hard not to miss their presence. Apparently, mounted soldiers cannot cloak. Probably because the animals won't stand to have one of those cloying things covering their faces. We lay by one of the paths and counted three parties of mounted men in one day. We tried to follow and find out where they were stationed, but we lost them once they left the path."

"Have you a map of these paths?"

Razul nodded, and pulled a scrap of parchment out of his pocket. "This is the area we covered," he said as he pointed at it. "You may not see much in the dark, but we've marked down every single patrol we've seen in the past week."

Davis stared at the map. Even in the darkness, he could see that almost the entire scrap of parchment was covered in dark lines of ink indicating the paths of the patrols. Then he raised his eyes again. "Were you seen?" he demanded.

Lafaye hesitated. "We were careful, and we moved only in the night. By day, we climbed trees and hid in the foliage. As far as we know, we were not seen, but we cannot be certain."

"How far away are these patrols?"

"We will not reach the thick of them for another two days."

Davis paused, and rubbed the stubble on his chin. He had never seen the point of shaving in the wilderness. It was not as if his appearance truly mattered when your life was on the line. "Two days," he muttered. "So they haven't dared to come this deep into Jakt territory yet. Good thing I checked out the lay of the land before I blundered in."

Razul shook his head. "This way is impassable, _T'rakul. Perhaps it might be better to detour west onto the plains. The Khaydarin presence might be thinner there."_

"I've already looked into that," Davis said. "Roban and his scouts returned yesterday to report that the plains were crawling with Khaydarin soldiers as well. I'm not going to risk going across such open ground. Here at least, we have to cover to hide within."

"The east then," Razul suggested. "Surely, the patrols must thin somewhere along the line…"

"It would take us too far out of our way," Davis replied glumly. "And I don't want to skim too close to the Ichijoujan border anyway. There's a war going on there. The farther away we are, the less likely we'll become involved."

"Then how are we going to pass?" Lafaye said in frustration. "Taelidani can pass without difficulty. A child can hide in this cover. But the King and Queen are a problem."

"We'll have to," Davis said firmly. "Think carefully. Is it possible to navigate around the patrols?"

Razul and Lafaye exchanged wary glances. "Theoretically, yes," Razul said slowly. "If we pick our way between the hours that the patrols passes, and are very, _very careful not to leave any tracks. Of course, that's provided your King and Queen don't mind getting a little dirty."_

"Dirty?"

"We'll have to forge across some bloody great rivers, and maybe even some swamps as well."

"If that's all, then you let me worry about convincing them to take the scenic route," Davis said curtly. "Do you think we can do it?"

"Yes," Lafaye said after a moment's hesitation. "If we follow the course of the Eastern river, we may be able to hide our tracks. If need be, we can hide in the deep cover on either side of the bank. If we travel carefully and swiftly, we may be able to make it through. But…"

"But?" Davis prompted.

Lafaye looked reluctant. "It would be impossible to keep a lookout for these patrols. Indeed, it's all but impossible to pinpoint where these patrols are. The mounted ones are no problem, but they may be fielding footsoldiers as well. And _stavik¸ they're invisible! We may walk right past one, and not notice them. But they would definitely notice us."_

"So we may be trusting to blind luck after all," Davis summarized.

Lafaye nodded. "I'm sorry sir, but that's the best I can offer you."

"Luck is a skill," Davis said as he grinned suddenly. "If we can't bring the King and Queen across, then I very much doubt there is anyone else on Gaea that can."

"We wouldn't know if we can until we try it now, would we?" Razul said as a slow grin spread across his own face. "We stand a chance. If we can make it into Shienar territory before we're discovered, we'll be fine. They wouldn't dare pursue us past the border."

"Don't be too optimistic yet," Lafaye said sensibly. "We'll think about that when and if we cross the border. As for now, we'd need more time to study the land before we can attempt such a crossing. Perhaps three or four days. We shouldn't move until we're sure that we've caught every single patrol that combs these forests."

"Two days, perhaps," Davis said reluctantly. "Three or four, no. I don't want to risk staying in one place for so long, even if this place is so secure."

Razul sighed. "Then I guess we'd better get started right now, shouldn't we _sen­­-sister?"_

Davis nodded. "Yes, that would be best." He shook his head apologetically at the two scouts. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to send you two back out again immediately. We need to keep moving. Every minute we spend waiting here is a minute wasted."

"We will find a safe path for you, _T'rakul," Lafaye promised as she nodded. "We shall only stop for a few hours rest, and to pick up supplies, and we shall be gone before the sun rises."_

"Go then," Davis said as he clapped her shoulder. "Be careful. We will be following slowly behind you in the morning. Report back every night, if you can. Don't get caught."

"We'll be careful, _T'rakul," Razul said as he nodded. Then, he and Lafaye faded away into the darkness to gather fresh supplies for their next trip._

Davis watched them leave for a moment, then turned and started striding back to his own tent. He sighed wearily as he rolled up the scrap of parchment that Razul had handed him. Usually, he merely walked in and carved out his escape path for himself as he went. And when the only thing he had been responsible for was himself, that had been fine. But now, with two monarchs in his care, things had changed quite a bit. Still…this planning and scouting was not his style. Looked like it would be another sleepless night. He had a lot to discuss with Yolei…

**********

The late afternoon sunlight gleamed off the sparkling waters of Maitzin's many waterways and canals. Centuries ago, the delta of the Western river had expanded in the wake of a large storm, and had flooded the nearby lowlands. As a result, since the coastal capital of Yagami was so low in altitude, its builders had literally had to build parts of it on the water to save it when the delta had flooded its banks. Seen from afar, the result was as if half the city floated on the water itself – a broad finger of land had extended from the rocky cliffs and pierced the sparkling blue bulk of the ocean.  Lower Maitzin was built on stone blocks connected by arching bridges of salt-encrusted rock, and each side was surrounded by canals wide and tall enough to accommodate the largest and proudest trading vessels of Gaea. Numerous waterfalls dotted the endlessly winding series of waterways, which shone a brilliant, translucent green in the bright sunlight, as if the canals had been lined with polished emeralds. To the south-west, the long gleaming line of the sandy sea coast gleamed turquoise, broken only by the long docks supported by stone pillars which extended into the white surf like steadfast bridges to far-off lands. Moored along one of the docks was a large, Shienar longboat with its sails furled. 

Upper Maitzin was built on solid ground, and was served by more traditional stone-paved roads and paths. Concentric dikes and watergates surrounded Upper Maitzin like the layers of a clam's shell, guarding it from the sea in times of storm or flood, lest the city be consumed by the hungry white waves. Mighty citadels and towering, delicate spires speared towards the sky, built with an organic, peaceful grace that was reminiscent of soaring mountains and centuries-old trees. Further inland, built on the firmer bedrock of the seaside cliffs, the White Tower of the Yagami palace soared high into the deep blue heavens, its flanks glimmering as if it were plated with pearls, and its pinnacle glittering as if it had been made of crystal. Here, the buildings were larger, and colourful pennants waved gaily in the wind, lining the broad wide streets with the white and gold of Yagami. Some of the streets were so wide and the buildings so tall, that travelers from centuries past had likened walking through Upper Maitzin to hiking through grand, man-made canyons. But perhaps the most striking feature of the city was how the curiously domed roofs and the broad streets were all lined with a blue-tinged slate mined from Yagami's quarries in the northeast. The distinctive blue-tinged streets curved and flowed with the landscape, following a graceful arcing pattern that eluded the eye and pleased the mind.

On this warm summer's day, the normally busy streets of Upper Maitzin were positively flooded with people. A company of white-cloaked Yagami soldiers covered the front and the back of the procession, and kept the crowd back, but a huge surge of Yagami citizens crowded the alleyways and choked the streets as they all strained to get a look at the company of Shienar soldiers marching alongside a curtain-covered wagon. The more inventive and agile children climbed on top of the houses, and leaped from roof to roof as they struggled to get as close a look as possible at the unlikely caravan. Rumours and stories raged like wildfire all around the city, but whatever else people said, they all agreed on one thing. Some whispered it furtively, and some shouted it joyously. "_Dai'san __Yagami!" they cried with one voice. "__Dai'san Yagami!"_

Kari drew back the curtains of her chariot, and looked out wide-eyed at Maitzin. Yes, the legends were certainly correct. Maitzin, "Jewel of Gaea", had been aptly named. A smaller and weaker city than Halidan perhaps, but far far more beautiful. This was a city that had never known war, a city whose streets were as yet innocent of blood and fire. She had seen many things in her young life, some strange, some breath-taking, but this still managed to awe her. Some people believed that Maitzin's fantastic design and incredible buildings had not been conceived by human minds, but inspired by God himself. Seeing it for the first time, Kari could see why. Yet, as the cry of the people reached her ears, she winced and shook her head. _No, she mouthed silently. __Don't say that…. Not yet…_

What are they saying? Cody's thoughts came to Kari, as she sat in the curtained chariot. You understand _Meiha Tzin better than I do._

Kari leaned back in her chariot. _Dai'san Yagami, she replied. "True blood of Yagami."_

That's good then. Cody's thought-shape seemed pleased. The people are already behind you. This must be a good sign.

Perhaps, Kari thought doubtfully. I'm not sure though…. _Merde, I'm beginning to get nervous…._

Relax, Kari. You'll do fine….

Easy for you to say. You're the one who's going to stand aside, and let me do all the talking.

_It won't be you talking in there, Kari__, Cody reminded her.__ You'll only be serving as a vessel, providing a mouth through which God will speak. Relax, and let Him do His work. All you have to do is deliver the message._

I have the message, Kari thought wryly. I'm just worried about how Aidan's going to receive it.

He'll receive it how he will, Cody thought firmly. You can't change his reaction by worrying about it. That's God's business.

Then Kari was aware of a low rumbling sound in front of her. The very timbers of her chariot began to shake and rattle; the sound penetrated her to her bones. She didn't have to ask Cody to know that they had arrived. The great gates of the Yagami Palace were being swung apart to admit them. Before long, she was being borne into the palace itself.  Behind her, the sounds of the crowd began to fade away as the stone walls of the palace, each twelve paces thick, muffled the shouts.

We're passing the gates now, Cody thought. We're there, Kari. Do what you feel God is guiding you to do. I'd wish you luck, but there's no such thing as luck.

"Milady," someone from outside her chariot said. "We have arrived."

Kari closed her eyes for a moment, trying to compose herself before she stepped out. Wish me luck anyway. For tradition's sake.

Cody's replying thought-shape was tinged with amusement. In that case. Good luck, Kari

"Milady?"

Kari's eyes flew open as her thoughts slipped back into her own body. Strictly speaking, closing her eyes were not necessary, but it helped her concentrate. As she blinked, her vision focused in on the man's face in front of him, chiseled and planed, with sharp brown eyes and brown hair. Isaac was peering down at her with a concerned expression on his face as he held the curtained entrance to the carriage aside. Vaguely, Kari realized the mild rocking of the carriage had stopped. "Milady?" the man said. "Are you well?"

Isaac was the Lord-Captain of King Bjorn's knights. Bjorn had personally recommended the man for the stand-masters' aide, and indeed, Kari was grateful for his presence. He and his diplomatic escort of one-score had accompanied Kari and Cody on this journey, acting as the honour guard for the two stand-masters. They all knew the importance of this mission. If it was successful, it would change the balance of power in the war. If it was not...

Kari ruthlessly pushed the thought from her head. She smiled reassuringly at the man. "I am fine," she said. "Lead on."

Isaac withdrew from the carriage, and Kari stepped out after him into the Yagami palace's courtyard. Straightening her cramped back, she resisted the urge to stretch. In her private conversations with other stand-masters, it was all very well for her to confess her uncertainty and her fears. Here, where others were watching, she was Lady Hikari Kamiya, holder of the Yagami stand and crest. God's servants were never uncertain. And they were never uncomfortable.

Kari was no longer the simple fourteen-year-old farm girl from Kurtal. Not even the dusty fifteen-year-old wanderer she had been during her pilgrimage. Now, she was twenty-one, a slender, beautiful young woman robed in the unshakeable confidence and calm aura of a born lady. Her formerly short brown hair now hung below her shoulders all the way to the middle of her back in a gleaming cascade of chestnut brown, held by a simple ribbon of white silk tied loosely at the nape of her neck. The dazzling white cloak clasped about her shoulders was embroidered with subtle weavings of silver veins that glistened in the mid-afternoon sunlight when she moved. 

At first glance, her soft, smooth face and large, crimson eyes gave her a childishly innocent appearance. Indeed, Kari did nothing to correct the illusion. It could only work to her advantage if others underestimated her. Her graceful, gentle movements were deceiving, and it was easy to pretend that she was nothing more than an unusually beautiful young woman. It was only on second glance that her _wakizashi, half-hidden beneath her white cloak, could be seen. And only a seasoned soldier would be able to recognize the dangerous steel beneath the velvet, the razor blade sheathed in the scabbard, visible only through the practiced ease with which she carried her weapon, and the strangely intense light in her penetrating gaze._

In front of her, Cody dismounted from his dark gray horse. The Taelidani boy had grown as well. Now, he was a nineteen-year-old young man, his dark gray bangs waving gently in the wind. The light gray and silver cloak that he wore around his shoulders stirred briefly as he swung his other leg down. Unlike Kari, there was nothing about him that suggested nobility or softness. His gait manifested the dangerous grace of a skilled fighter, and he seemed at once relaxed and at ease, yet ready to explode into a dozen different directions at once, staff-point whirling. There was no velvet covering this steel blade. And although he was small in stature he made up for it with his piercing green eyes which lent him an air of sage wisdom. Those eyes locked with Kari's for an instant as the stand-master reached up to take his staff, which had been strapped to the side of his mount. Look around, Kari, Cody said soundlessly as he pretended to unfasten his staff. What do you think?

Kari's crimson eyes narrowed as she took in the double row of Yagami guards on either side of her, all armed with spears. She didn't let her gaze linger on any of them for more than a second, but even that gaze was enough to set some of them fidgeting uneasily. As she continued to scan the courtyard, she realized another thing. King Aidan himself was not present, as courtesy and protocol dictated that he should. The message was none too subtle. Try anything, and neither she, nor any of the men under her command, would leave the palace courtyard alive.

An officer approached the entourage. Beside Kari, Isaac shifted slightly, but the man did not appear to be armed. Cody stepped back respectfully, obviously deferring to Kari. 

"Milady Hikari Kamiya," the officer said, turning to Kari and sweeping into a bow. "Ambassador of Sheid." Turning to Cody, the man continued in what was obviously a pre-planned speech. "Ambassador Cody Hida, bearer of the stand and crest of Sheid. My name is Intendant Domas. Welcome. We are honoured by your presence, and illumined by your wisdom. May the Lord God light your path always."

"We are gratified. May the Lord be with you and your kin forevermore." Kari returned formally, albeit shortly. It was all nonsense that every diplomat had to go through, a meaningless spiel. But she held her mild disgust, and said it anyway, her words filled with a simple, practiced grace. There was no reason to be rude. "Tell me, Intendant, is King Aidan ready for an audience? I must speak with him immediately."

"In due time," Domas said. "King Aidan and his councillors will meet you in due time. I have been sent to escort you and your party to your rooms so you may wash and prepare yourselves after the long journey."

"Why is he not here? Is he well?"

"King Aidan is in perfect health, milady. But he is an extremely busy man. I am here in his absence to welcome you into Yagami. As I have said, his Highness will meet you in due time."

For a moment, Kari debated whether to press the issue about the lack of courtesy extended from King Aidan by sending a mere officer instead of being there himself. Strictly speaking, _she was the true ruler of Yagami, not him. The least he could do would be to welcome her personally. _

"An extremely busy man," Isaac repeated. Kari gave him a sharp glance, but the undercurrent of malicious sarcasm in his voice was so subtle that Kari doubted anyone else had noticed. 

At least, until he said, "He must be busy indeed not to welcome the _Dai'sa-"_

"Very well then," Kari interjected swiftly, before Isaac could get any further. "Lead on." She put a warning hand on Isaac's shoulder, and squeezed angrily. "Please remind the King however, that my errand is of the utmost importance. I must see him as soon as possible."

But Domas did not budge. "Forgive me, but you may not enter the palace until your men have surrendered their weapons."

Isaac stared back. "You do not trust us? You believe we mean harm to King Aidan?"

"I have my orders, Lord-Captain."

Isaac folded his arms and did nothing. Instead, he rather obviously turned to Kari. A muscle quirked in the Yagami officer's jaw, but he too, said nothing.

Kari sighed. "Do as he says, Isaac," she said softly. "Have the men lay down their weapons."

Isaac glared at the officer for a moment longer. Then he unfastened his sheathed sword from his belt and lay it on the ground, the hilt facing the officer. The rest of the group reluctantly surrendered their weapons to the guards surrounding them. Cody impassively let go of his staff, and allowed it to drop onto the paved floor with a clatter.

Domas still did not move. "You too, milady."

Beside Kari, even Cody shifted as he frowned disapprovingly. "The Lady Hikari's _wakizashi is a symbol of honour, not merely a weapon," Cody said softly. "It is as much her scepter as her blade. King Aidan himself has carried his Royal sword into our previous meetings, and we have not said a word about it. You doubt our honour?"_

The Yagami officer turned to look at Cody impassively. "You doubt ours? Do you believe that we will harm you, protected as you are by diplomatic immunity?"

"I would not bet a dull copper on your honour," Isaac said coldly. "I have lost two legions to underhanded Yagami ambushes. Tell me, was that honourable?"

Domas stiffened, his eyes beginning to blaze. Just as he was about to open his mouth to heatedly deny the accusation, Kari cut in sharply. 

"Enough! I will not have baseless accusations and insults thrown around like so much dirt." Her glare was directed at both Isaac and Domas. Her hand dipped beneath her cloak, and there was a small _click as the sheath was detached from her belt. Withdrawing her hand, she carefully set the __wakizashi down on the ground._

Stepping back, she raised her hands and swept back her cloak, letting the officer see that she had no other weapons. "We come in peace, to discuss peace. And for that, we need no weapons."

The Yagami officer nodded stiffly. "Milady is wise beyond her years. This way," he said as he extended a hand towards the entrance of the palace. "I will show you to your dwellings first so that you and your entourage may rest and wash. Then the discussions will begin."

Kari followed the man, her face outwardly calm, but inwardly seething. She locked gazes with Cody for a moment, and the younger stand-master lifted his eyebrows slightly in encouragement. It did nothing to calm her frustration. Two minutes in, and there had already been an argument. _I will__ make King Aidan listen to me, she thought determinedly. __Even if I have to shake it into him..._

Then she hesitated, her eyes shifting from the left to the right. What was that she had sensed? A flicker of movement at the edge of her vision, someone running away. Turning to her right, she saw nothing but tall, arched entrances to various rooms within the castle, or perhaps to outdoor gardens. In the courtyard, shut out from the crowds outside by the thick stone walls and the steel gates, it was blessedly quiet and peaceful. There wasn't a soul in sight through the arches. _Must have been a trick of the light, she thought uneasily. __Lengthening afternoon shadows look like strange things. Still vaguely unsettled, she settled back to walking, following Isaac, Cody and the Yagami officer deeper into the palace._

**********

The Yagami Captain strode quickly along the gardens and the paved courtyards, his hand hidden beneath his white cloak. Several servants gave him curious looks as he strode past, but nobody commented. The golden epaulettes on his shoulders, and the Yagami crest on his left breast denoted him to be of high rank. The man was grateful. He had to put as much distance as possible between him and…_those two. For the time being, anyway. He could not afford being discovered, yet. _

What _had that accursed witch done to him? For the first time in his life, the man felt the slight stirrings of fear. Lady Hikari had only glanced at him for a fleeting moment, yet her piercing gaze had seemed to freeze the marrow in his bones, to strip away his flesh until his soul lay trembling and naked before her. Even now, his hands still shook from the memory. He didn't know how, but she seemed to _know_. She seemed to know everything. For a wild moment, he had even debated running away, leaving the mission unfinished. He shook his head fiercely, and fingered the silver talisman clutched in his right hand. He couldn't leave yet. Not yet. Whatever that witch could do to him, it would be nothing compared to his punishment if he failed._

Finally, he found himself among the stables and the barracks, which were all but deserted at this present hour. The two main stables, one for the nobility, and a much larger one for the common soldiers, stood before him. He looked around quickly. Lady Hikari and Lord Cody were attracting most of the attention at the front, so there wasn't a soul to be seen. Quickly, he stripped off his white cloak. Where he was going, it would be more of a hindrance, and absolutely useless as a disguise. The Captain's uniform was useful for getting in. But once inside, it would most likely cause some awkward questions to be asked. He had to hide.

Now, clad only in his white Yagami officer's uniform, he looked up, his hand nervously fingering the hilt of his sword. There was a narrow gap between the two stables about a pace wide, the walls on either side didn't offer so much as a finger-hold. Quickly, he strode between the two walls as he thrust his pendant back into his breast pocket. Bracing his hands and feet against the opposite sides, he shimmied up swiftly, his boots making barely a scuffle as they slid against the rough stone wall. Within moments, he was on the roof.

Quickly and silently, conscious that his white uniform made him painfully conspicuous on the blue-tiled roof, he scurried across the top of the buildings. Leaping across the stables, he clambered up a low wall onto the ceiling of the apartments, where the dwellings were situated. There he lay low as a patrol of soldiers passed down beneath him, oblivious to his presence. It was not until last of the patrol had disappeared around the corner that he moved on. His feet made no noise on the tiled surface, despite the fact that he was running. Finally, he found the hollow. It was a small serviceman's exit onto the roofs, unused in years. Stashed into it was the bundle he had carefully prepared and wrapped in black cloth. Not until the man was safely nestled in the entrance, unseen by prying eyes, did he allow himself a relieved smile.

Silently, he produced the talisman from his pocket again, and gazed at it. The metal shone with a dark, sickly light, and shimmered balefully in his palm. Despite the warm afternoon sun, it was freezing cold to the touch. The man smiled as he rubbed it with his thumb, and the first stirrings of power coursed through his veins. Shoving the metal symbol back into his pocket, he settled down for a long wait.

**********

The building was huge, built on a grand scale. Staircase after staircase, laid with rich velvet carpets spiraled ever higher into the towers and battlements of the Yagami castle. From high arching windows, Kari caught glimpses of beautiful gardens, laid out neatly along the edges of the wall of the palace, yet behind the outer defensive walls. The old corridors were decorated with huge paintings, faded with age, that depicted ancient heroes and bygone deeds. Wall-scones, currently empty, were stapled into the walls every few meters to hold torches that would light the corridors at night.

Despite the reassurances of the Yagami officers, Isaac refused to leave the two stand-masters alone. The Lord-Captain and his guards formed a tight circle around the two stand-masters, as if they meant to defend their charge with their bare hands if necessary. The people they passed by through the corridors gaped openly at them. Liveried servants stopping dead in their duties to stare. Even soldiers and lords passing by gave them peeked at them in a sideways manner, as if trying not to appear interested. Whispers and furtive conversation buzzed around them. Kari ignored them. She was too preoccupied to try to listen.

Her room was richly carpeted with a thick, white rug, decorated with patterns and swirls of gold. A large marble-framed mirror hung on the wall, and the four-poster bed was large enough for three, with silk curtains hanging from the sides. A solid wood mantel, wardrobe and desk set, all made of rich dark oak imported from Jakt was arranged around the chamber. Servants had already unloaded her carriage and left what little luggage she traveled with by the side of the room. It was easily one of the grandest chambers Kari had ever seen in her life. 

She barely noticed it.

The same servants who had unloaded her luggage had also left a basin of hot water on the mantelpiece. Sighing wearily, she undid her white cloak, letting it drape loosely on the edge of her bed as she went over to it. Dipping her hands in the hot water, she splashed some on her face, trying to rub out the tiredness from the journey. Looking in the mirror, she smoothed down her hair and tucked a few stray wisps back in place.

There was a knock on the door. Kari frowned and reached out with her mind. Cody, is that you?

"It is," came the spoken reply.

"Come in. The door's unlocked."

Cody put his head in. His eyes lingered briefly on the lavish fittings of the room before he came in all the way. The gray cloak he wore had been brushed clean, and shaken free of dust, but otherwise the stand-master had not done anything else to prepare for the audience with King Aidan. Kari turned away, taking the soft white towel folded neatly next to the basin, and quickly dried her face and hands.

Cody's face was disgusted. "They are not even trying to disguise it. It's-"

If you must speak of this, Kari said sharply at him, do it silently. The walls may have ears.

Cody stopped dead, then nodded grimly. Very well. But you must admit. King Aidan has been less-than-subtle with his welcome.

The weapons were a reasonable requirement… Kari replied slowly. Perhaps my _wakizashi was a little excessive…but…_

Cody shook his head. You think that is all? His green eyes were troubled. Do you realize how many guards surround us as we speak? Do you realize that the doors to our rooms have locks only on the outside? Isaac may derive a measure of comfort from keeping his guards close to us, but they are all but useless. Not without their weapons.

If King Aidan wanted to kill us, Kari said mentally, he would have done it the moment we stepped in through his gates.

Unless he plans to make it look like an accident, and claim innocence… Cody retorted darkly. He still has to keep up a façade of innocence to the other nations, even if he is at war.

Kari said nothing.

King Aidan is making it so blatant, it's obviously a veiled insult to our intentions, Cody went on. Back in the courtyard. Perhaps you didn't notice, engaged as you were in playing the diplomat. But I was looking around. There were archers, Kari. Each armed with a crossbow, each with an arrow notched on it, arranged around the roofs of the square. One wrong move, and we would've been cut down where we stood. There were enough archers to put at least two arrows in each of us. No doubt they rehearsed it, he finished scornfully.

Kari looked at the window from where she sat on her bed. Locks only on the outside of our doors, she mused. And our windows... She got up and unfastened the sash. Throwing open the window, she peered out. The sun was just beginning to touch the horizon in the west, and late afternoon was fading into early dusk. …are at least fifty feet above the ground. Perhaps they do not mean to truly imprison us, but they do intend to keep us under control. 

She snorted. A fifty-foot drop would not stop me if they truly wished to keep me here. But then...perhaps they do not know that.

They know. Cody said grimly. In fact, I'm pretty sure they know that there's almost nothing they can do to imprison us if we really wanted to leave. But a fifty-foot drop would definitely stop Isaac and the others. And they know we would not leave them here to die.

But Cody, why?

Is the answer not obvious?

Kari scowled. I refuse to think that King Aidan could be so incredibly shortsighted...

Kari, you can make a claim for his throne! With you on the scene, the people must be beginning to talk! In fact, you heard the people outside! They're already talking! The kingdoms do not follow the blood, they follow the stand. He fears you! He fears both of us! Why all these thinly-veiled insults, this contemptuous treatment? He wishes to debase us, so we can't gather a following!

I make no claim for his throne. I do not want his office. Why will no-one understand that I do not want the power?!

He may not know that, my friend. Cody cautioned. And if you tell him, he most likely won't believe you. Be careful, Kari. Fear makes people do strange things…

At that moment, there was another knock at the door. Both stand-masters looked sharply at it. Then Kari cleared her throat and called out, "You may enter. The door is not locked."

A liveried servant opened the door, standing stiffly at attention. "King Aidan awaits your presence," he said simply. "If the Lord and Lady be ready…"

Kari nodded, and stood up. Fastening her cloak around her shoulders again, she followed Cody out the doorway. Outside, Isaac and his Shienar guards made a tight circle around the two, glaring at any who approached. The two servants who had been sent to summon them were clearly nervous. "Th…This way," one of them gulped nervously. "Good Lady, good Master. The King awaits your presence."

This time, as they walked, Kari subtly drew on her stand to enhance her hearing. Pretending to be doing nothing but staring ahead, she listened in on the furtive whispers of the servants around her. "_Dai'san Yagami." she heard. "__Dai'san Sheid."_

Her lips thinned. _True blood of Yagami. True blood of Sheid. Cody was right. Their very presence was threatening Aidan's reign. The people __were beginning to talk. As they walked, Kari reached out with her mind and brushed Cody's, all the while pretending to be absorbed in the lavishly furnished corridors._

Speak of this to no-one, she said silently. Not even Isaac. Keep these suspicions between ourselves, and discourage talk among the men. Her crimson eyes softened. 

All such initiatives must begin with a measure of trust. We may as well be the ones to start spreading it. Talk like this is worse than useless, my friend. It can kill.

Cody's brow furrowed a little, but he nodded almost imperceptibly. He would follow Kari's lead. For now.

Then they arrived at a high arched door, and all talk ceased. An attendant holding a staff gilded with silver motioned for the doors to be opened, and servants hurried to push the heavy oak panels apart. Rapping the butt end of the staff against the ground, the attendant called out in a loud voice.

"Lord Cody Hida of the Taelidani, Ambassador of Sheid!

"Lady Hikari Kamiya of Kurtal, Novinha, Ambassador of Sheid!"

**********

The royal audience chamber of King Aidan of Sheid was large, with high arching domes that stretched to as much as thirty feet overhead.  The whole room was arranged like a narrow amphitheatre, with people sitting on both sides of the central corridor on raised, oak seats, each painstakingly carved with a different pattern. There were no windows along the sides, but heavy shutters, open at the moment, allowed a measure of sunlight to seep through. The torch-brackets attached to the high marble columns were empty. It was still mid-afternoon, and lighting torches would be far too hot. White banners, embroidered with the morning star of Yagami hung on the walls, and a white carpet trimmed with silver led the way to the throne itself. Two identical sashes of pure white silk hung from the ceiling on either side of the throne, embroidered with flowing, ancient script in golden thread. And on the large throne sat King Aidan of Yagami.

King Aidan himself was a tall man, with startlingly clear hazel eyes set deep into his thin face. The appearance of a hawk was made all the more pronounced with a large, beak-like nose.  The royal garments he wore were trimmed in gold and white, the crown on his head sparkling with silver. Underneath it, his brown hair was slightly streaked with white, the only signs of aging on his otherwise ageless appearance. On either side, arranged in a rough semi-circle sat his attendants and councillors, all on thrones slightly smaller and lower than King Aidan's own.

Kari, Cody, Isaac and their entourage strode into the chamber in a double-filed line, with the two stand-masters at the front. Kari allowed her gaze to fall to either side surreptitiously. And as she did, her mouth tightened slightly. There were at least fifty guards in the room, all ostentatiously armed with spears and swords, and all bearing the white morning star of Yagami. They stood defiantly between her and the sides of the audience chamber, where the Lords and Ladies of Yagami sat. Her own men walked uncertainly, obviously feeling naked without their weapons. Beside her, Cody said nothing. The absence of the words "stand-master" in the attendant's announcement had been painfully obvious. It seemed that Aidan simply refused to acknowledge it.

When they reached the center of the audience chamber, Isaac and his men knelt down on their right knees, putting the knuckles of their right hand against the ground and lowering their heads in respect. Cody and Kari however, stayed standing. Cody bowed deeply, and Kari curtsied, but both stayed on their feet.

The councillor on King Aidan's right frowned. "You will kneel," the man said sharply, "before the presence of King Aidan of Yagami, until you are bidden to rise."

Cody said nothing as he leaned back slightly. The talking was up to Kari now. Looking up, she straightened out of her curtsy and looked the councillor in the eye. Aidan refused to acknowledge her? She would make him. "This meeting will be conducted as between mutually-respecting equals, or it will not be conducted at all."

The councillor looked outraged, but King Aidan made a sharp gesture with his hand. There was a moment of silence while he regarded the two stand-masters standing before him. "Agreed," he said. His voice was surprisingly deep. "Your men may rise."

Isaac and his men rose to their feet without a word. But Aidan did not seem to notice them. His gaze had shifted to Cody. "So," he said, his eyes narrowing, "Sheid appears to have turned a new leaf. My generals tell me that you have withdrawn all of your troops from the front lines. And now, diplomatic envoys? Offering peace? Perhaps fifteen years too late, don't you think? Tell me, Ambassador, has there been a coup?"

Isaac stiffened at the thinly-veiled insult directed at Bjorn, but Cody met the stare levelly. "There has been no coup. King Bjorn is in perfect health. The change was brought about by His Majesty himself."

"And what prompted Bjorn?" Aidan's hazel eyes settled back on Kari. "There must have been some reason for this abrupt change."

"The story is long. If I may, I would ask for your patience in hearing me out before putting forth your questions," Kari answered levelly.

Aidan settled back and rubbed his chin. "Speak, and be done with it."

Kari took a deep breath. She spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully. 

"One month ago, there were a series of raids along the eastern border of Sheid. Since most of King Bjorn's troops were stationed down south trying to reinforce the front, the invasion managed to lay waste to no less than five villages before it could be repulsed.

"News of this was slow to reach King Bjorn, for almost all witnesses were silenced. Even then, it was only second-hand accounts from people who had seen the damage caused, and not those that had seen the invaders themselves. When a legion finally arrived, what confronted them was frightening. Each town was the same. The buildings and fields were burned to the ground without exception, and nobody had been spared. And when they finally confronted the enemy, they found they were fighting soldiers with white cloaks, flying the Yagami banner."

At this, King Aidan frowned and sat up. "Hikari Kamiya of Novinha," he said angrily. "Did you come all this way to level false accusations at me? I have already denied this charge…"

Kari raised her hand to forestall the protest. "Again, I ask for your patience. There is more."

King Aidan leaned back again with a cross grunt. "Continue."

"The invaders broke when they encountered organized military resistance, and they fled before the Shienar soldiers. No invader could be captured alive to be interrogated. When it became obvious that they would be overwhelmed, the invaders killed themselves rather than let themselves be caught. And thus," and here Kari paused, "King Bjorn asks for your forgiveness if, at the time, he thought that it had been you that had perpetrated this massacre of the eastern provinces."

"You ask for forgiveness?" Aidan said gruffly. "How was he convinced otherwise?"

"It is King Bjorn who asks for forgiveness," Kari answered coolly. "Not I. To your second question:

"Ten days ago, a sole survivor was picked up by Sheid's tenth legion. This had been a hardy farmer who had barely escaped with his life when his town was put under siege. He had been out in the countryside gathering wood when his village was abruptly surrounded and destroyed. Wisely, he hid himself some way off, and observed the intruders as they went about their business. He was the only eyewitness of these attacks, and his story proved astonishing.

"The intruders which plundered the eastern provinces, were, to his eyes, wearing white…when they were visible. He was adamant that he did indeed see the Yagami banner and Yagami uniforms. What he insisted upon, however, was that these intruders could somehow disappear into thin air, before his very eyes. After his village had been razed, he saw the entire army shimmer like a haze on a hot summer's day, and disappear without a trace. All this, he swore under blood oath."

Kind Aidan had leaned forward again, his elbows on his knees as he listened intently with a frown upon his face. "The army disappeared…," he murmured. "What is this sorcery…"

"With this incident," Kari continued, "King Bjorn was finally convinced of what he had been suspecting for some time now, what _we," she gestured towards herself and Cody, "have been counseling him. The intruders were not Yagami soldiers. They were Khaydarin, wearing Yagami uniforms, and using their invisible cloaks to travel unseen around the countryside."_

There was a long pause. Then Kari cleared her throat. "Needless to say," she added as a final note, "King Bjorn is now prepared to believe that you were not lying when you denied his charges."

King Aidan however, did not seem particularly pleased or smug that Bjorn had acknowledged him. Instead, he seemed troubled as he sat back. With a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose, as if a headache pained him. "Khaydarin," he said in a low voice. "But they have attacked both of us as well. As themselves. We may have an easier time of it than Ichijouji, but we have fended off their like before. But to think they were posing as us…"

Kari waited another moment for the news to sink in. When King Aidan turned his attention back to her, she continued.

"That," she said, "is the reason why the Shienar armies are in full retreat all across the front. And this," she paused as she drew a letter from inside her cloak, folded and bearing the royal seal of Sheid, "is what we have come to discuss."

King Aidan nodded at a servant, and the man sprang forward to receive the paper. Kari surrendered the document, keeping her eyes on Aidan. Bearing the message, the servant hurried up to the throne and gave it to his king. Breaking the seal with a fingernail, Aidan opened the envelope, drew out the letter, and began reading.

"In one month's time," Kari said as he read, "there will be a conference, as initiated by the Lord Marc of Saldea, and to which King Bjorn invites you. Invitations have been extended to all the great leaders of Gaea, and one has been extended to you." She gestured at the paper in Aidan's hand. "There, we will discuss the possibility of an alliance. King Bjorn is willing to forget your looming armies which to this day threaten his southern border. He is even willing to forgive the lives you have cost his nation. In return, he wishes only for your reciprocating hand of friendship.

"Gaea cannot stand apart, and hope to survive. As it is, Ichijouji is losing ground at an alarming rate. When that kingdom breaks, and that is only a matter of time, all of us will be cornered, surrounded, and conquered one by one. We will be islands of strength fighting against an overwhelming sea of evil. Bjorn extended this hand of friendship in hopes of forming an alliance together against Khaydarin. Just like it was done five hundred years ago, when Adun forged the Council."

Aidan fingered the paper thoughtfully, then passed it to one of his counselors to read. "Tell me more, Lady Hikari."

"The details are on the invitation," Kari said. "The meeting will take place on June 21st, 522 A.S. The location, I will not utter here, for fear of spies, but you may question me on this matter another time. I _will say that in the interests of maintaining neutrality, Bjorn has decided against hosting it in his palace. A small detachment of two hundred soldiers, no more, may act as your honour guard. It should be enough to protect your grace on your journey there. Each leader may bring only two bodyguards to the meeting itself, and they are to be armed with one sword each. Nothing else."_

Her crimson eyes softened once again. "Hopefully, none of those precautions will be necessary. That will be a meeting where all come in peace to discuss peace. And hopefully, there may be much fruit from that discussion, from which a new era of peace and tolerance will be born. But that meeting will be incomplete without your Royal presence."

There was a long silence after Kari stopped speaking. Aidan's face was expressionless as he tapped his chin in thought. The invitation changed hands again, as the councillors around the throne read it in turn. Slowly, the King held up the empty envelope which was still on his hand. The Shienar seal glinted faintly in the afternoon sunlight. It was so still, Kari was certain that everyone in the room could hear her pounding heartbeat. _Don't be a fool, just accept it, she pleaded silently over and over again. __Oh God, please let him see reason. Please let him see reason…_

Carefully and deliberately, the King lifted the envelope…and spat viciously on the broken seal. The sound was like a spear snapping in the still silence. Then, equally deliberately, the King crumpled the envelope into a tiny ball and threw it away. It struck Kari's face and bounced off, leaving a trail of spit on her cheek.

Isaac growled and sprang forwards, bare hands raised like claws ready to throttle the man, King or no. It was only Cody's outstretched arm that halted the man's mad charge. Instantly, every guard in the room had their weapons pointed at Kari and the Lord-Captain. The tension became so thick, nobody dared to breathe.

"That," Aidan gritted, "is what I think of Bjorn's honour, and his 'conference'."

Kari did not appear angry. Only Cody noticed the slight twitch of her jaw muscles that was the only outward sign of her fury. Impassively, she withdrew a handkerchief from her pocket, and carefully wiped the spit away.

"All conquered territory has been returned," she said quietly, "and all troops have been withdrawn from the front lines, with sincere apologies and generous retributions for damages caused. What more do you ask? We cannot bring back the dead."

"This reeks of a plot, Lady Hikari." Aidan's mouth was tight with suspicion. "You are asking me to forget fifteen years of war as if it never happened, to stand as friends again as if the thousands of dead lying in their graves can be forgotten…"

"King Bjorn is asking no more than what he has already done. Sheid has had its share of wounds from this war as well, yet their King is willing to forget and forgive them as if it never happened."

"He is a fool then. I would dishonour the memories of my soldiers if I agreed to this."

"Would your soldiers hope for a peaceful and prosperous Yagami, or a wartorn and exhausted nation? Would they want their loved ones to fight and die in a foolish pursuit of vengeance, or to live a happy life?"

"My good Lady, you speak as if this was the Age of Gods, and a man can be trusted to hold to his word."

"We trusted you, My Lord, far enough to surrender our weapons, and put ourselves at your mercy." Kari said softly. "We laid down our pride enough to turn a blind eye to the fifty soldiers you have in this room, _each one of whom has his weapon trained at my __heart. All we ask, is for you to do the same."_

Aidan however, shook his head. "I am sorry, but Yagami has weathered treacherous attacks by Sheid troops in the past, each more underhanded than the last. I am afraid I no longer trust in the promises of Bjorn."

He gestured at the crumpled envelope on the floor. "Who will police this conference? Bjorn's troops? Do not make me laugh. What is to stop him from sending in his legions to crush all the leaders of this land in one fell swoop? Who will hold _him to thirty man rule? And don't tell me I can trust in his __word." _

Aidan's glare looked like it could burn the envelope as it lay there on the ground. When he looked up again, his hooded eyes were no less vicious. "I have lost almost ten thousand good men in this war, Lady Hikari," he said. "If you have nothing better to offer me than this…I want you and your men out of my palace. You had best not stop running until you are across the border."

Kari stared at the King silently for a long moment. Everyone held their breaths as they waited for her reaction. When she spoke again, her voice was strangely calm. "First of all," she said coolly, "The so-called underhanded attacks perpetrated by Sheid has been orchestrated by Khaydarin. Bjorn denies any involvement with such raids, and has been denying them ever since the beginning."

"Convenient, is it not? I have heard this before, a thousand times. We found Sheid uniforms at all the attack sites. Who else could it be but them?"

"So it is entirely possible that Khaydarin could stage 'Yagami' attacks on Sheid holdings, yet the opposite is out of the question?"

Aidan hesitated.

"For your people's sake, King Aidan of Yagami, be rational. Do you have conclusive proof that Sheid was involved in all those attacks? I have no doubt that they were involved in _some of them, not all of which were entirely honourable. But what was Bjorn to do, when you were doing the same to him?"_

Some of the guards on either side of the entourage shifted ominously. Even Cody gave Kari an alarmed glance. This was not part of what he termed "treading carefully". Aidan's hazel eyes flashed in anger. "Are you accusing me," he growled, "of being a-"

"Secondly," Kari said impassively, her calm voice cutting effortlessly above Aidan's, "I am part of no Sheid plot. I cannot, since my loyalties do not lie with that nation. The conference will not be policed by Shienar troops, but by _us," she pointed at herself and Cody. "And if Bjorn decides to break his word, he will be treated no less gently than any of you."_

That stopped Aidan's tirade dead. A confused light came into his eyes. "I'm afraid I do not understand."

"I swear fealty to no one nation," Kari said as she swept out her hands expansively. "I only swear to one man. Emperor Takeru of all Ishida. And consequently, to the Creator."

"Ishida is shattered," Aidan said uncertainly. "How can you swear fealty to a nonexistent nation?"

Kari shook her head. "You misunderstand me. I swear fealty to Emperor Takeru not because he is Ishidan, but because he is the bringer of the Seihad, and the _Tenken. I have pledged my life to the service of the Lord, thus, I am bound to all of Gaea. I am loyal to all nations, and to none."_

The bold words caused a ripple of consternation and a buzz of worried murmuring among the gathered assembly. The attendants and servants shifted uneasily where they stood, while the councillors sat upright, muttering among themselves. The soldiers looked around uncertainly, shifting the grips on their weapons. Even King Aidan looked shaken. "What you are speaking of," he said unsteadily, "the Seihad, the _Tenken, they are only fables. Myths in scripture..."_

"I have seen the signs with my own eyes, King Aidan," Kari said firmly. "the prophecies in the scriptures, they are coming true, one by one. The Lord Cody and I were two of the six pilgrims prophesied who journeyed to Ishida, and received God's inheritance. I have seen the words of the Lord himself, as recorded through Adun's hand. I have touched Takeru's left shoulder, and felt the mark of battle on it. The Seihad _is coming, and Takeru will be the one who will lead us through it. Lead us __all through it. Every nation in Gaea, every tongue and every tribe!"_

She pointed at the letter which was still being read by the counselors. "That, King Aidan, is _my _message, not Bjorn's!"

Aidan's eyes widened incredulously. "And you want me to follow him? Takeru Ishida? On your word alone?"

Kari smiled. "Do not take my word for it, King Aidan," she said. "Send out your men. Find out for yourself the wonders that have already occurred, and those that are still being performed. Ask Ichijouji. Emperor Ken, for one, would know."

"I worked for ten years," the King said unsteadily, "to achieve what measure of stability this kingdom enjoys. When Queen Yagami died, _I was the one who pulled this kingdom together. And now, you will have me throw it all away?! Do you realize what announcing the Seihad will do to the people?"_

"Do you realize what _not announcing it will do to the people?!" Kari's voice rang through the hall, reverberating from the stone pillars. It was no longer calm, but filled with fiery passion, and such a forceful will that the soldiers around her stepped back as they would from a blazing fire. "Do the right thing, King Aidan! Withdraw your forces, and accept Sheid's hand of friendship. It will be the first step of a thousand, but it will be a step."_

The King stared at Kari. Then he began shaking his head. Slowly at first, then faster and faster. "The _Tenken was a myth! It was exposed for what it was when the Age of Gods crumbled!"_

Kari drew herself up to her full height. Although she was at least a head shorter than King Aidan, she seemed to tower over the entire audience chamber. "Do this, and you will be remembered as the greatest king to ever sit on the Yagami throne. Ignore it, and you will be named as a coward, so blinded by his own hate and pride that he allowed his people to be conquered and enslaved!"

Aidan said nothing for a long moment, his hands gripping the sides of his throne so hard his knuckles went white. Then he laughed. "Fool girl!" His mirth had a slightly crazed ring to it. "_You foolish babbling girl!! You do not know what you are talking about! You are mad! Insane! Yagami will drive Khaydarin back, unaided. We do not need the strength of others. We have done it before, and we will do it again!" His councillors nodded furiously beside him, hanging onto their King's words as if they were drowning men that had suddenly been cast a lifeline to shore._

Kari's eyes blazed furiously. "You may not like me," she said, her voice deathly calm. "You may even hate me.

"_But you will respect me!"_

With a brilliant flash of white light, her stand flared into existence in a heartbeat. A vicious gust of wind suddenly whipped through the room, sending anything that was not secured flying about like so much sand. Papers, documents, scrolls, and people's caps and cloaks flew around as if they were caught in a tornado. Alarmed shouts permeated the audience chamber as the guards stepped back out of their ranks, raising their weapons to shield their faces in panic. Councillors and Lords shot up onto their feet, shouting incomprehensibly over the gale. The light of the stand brightened still further, so white and pure that the light from the sun seemed like dirty black in comparison. Brighter and brighter, until it seemed everything in the audience chamber would go up in white, blazing flames…

In a moment, the flaring wind was over, and Kari's stand was standing beside her, its lithe feline body tensed as if ready to spring, the great white wings spread out wide. A great peace descended upon the chamber. The silver armour on the stand's chest gleamed in the sunlight, and the single jewel set in its forehead glowed a fiery red. As everyone in the chamber picked him or herself back up, the stand-master lifted her chin and transfixed King Aidan with a piercing glare.

"Do you realize now who you have called a 'fool girl', Aidan?" she said softly. "I do not want your office, and I do not want the power. But I can make a claim for your throne, and the people _will follow me. The kingdom of Yagami does not follow the blood, it follows the stand."_

"Is that a threat, Hikari Kamiya?" Aidan said. His hands were still gripping the sides of his throne, but his face seemed to be composed again. "Do you presume to fight me and my men with your stand, even as you stand there preaching peace?"

Kari stared at the man for a long moment. "The only thing I presume to fight against," she said, "is Khaydarin. Perceive that how you wish. I only say this. I will rally the people of Yagami, with or without your consent. But if you are wise, if you are God-fearing, you will join me."

Aidan said nothing. For what seemed like an eternity, a tense silence so thick that you could cut it descended upon the room. Then the King looked up again, his hazel eyes narrowed in thought. "Leave me," he said finally. "Give me one day to discuss with my councillors. You will have my final answer by this time tomorrow afternoon."

Kari nodded, and allowed her stand to disappear, fading back into her body. The white glow disappeared from around her torso. "I await your reply, King Aidan. We shall speak again tomorrow." She turned on her heel, and walked out of the stunned audience chamber with Cody, Isaac and the others, her white cloak flowing behind her.

Nobody made a move to stop them.

** Author's notes: Not much to say actually. Had a lot of fun writing this chapter. ^_^ Especially portraying Kari. My editor says that he's fallen in love with Kari (I'm dead serious!). I should do that more often…give Kari a bit of the limelight that is. It's always Takeru. A change would be good…

Sorry about the relatively short length of this chapter, but it was a natural break in the story. The later chapters will be slightly longer. This one was seventeen pages and a bit. The others are around…eighteen to twenty pages long.


	4. Seihad Chapter Four

** Disclaimer: I do not own digimon. This story is a fanfiction, i.e., produced for fun, not for profit. Seihad: Chapter Four 

****

By: TK Takaishi

_**May 21st , A.S. 522. Seven hours later**_

_Praetor Locke looked around. He had drifted off to sleep in his own familiar tent with the silver pendant strung around his neck. He had woken up in an unfamiliar, small stone chamber._

No matter how many times it happened, Locke could never quite get used to it. The blackness that descended from the edges of his vision. The darkness and flickers of his soldiers' spirits around him. The heart-wrenching rush. The speeding tunnel of streaked starlight. It seemed slightly different every time.

He leaned on the back of a nearby wooden chair to steady himself as he waited for the faint vertigo to pass. As he did, he marveled once again at how real the illusion was. The rough grain of the wood felt as real to him as the fabric of his tent. The faint tang of burning firewood in the cold, still air was as convincing as the faintly musty scent of his own mask. As he passed his fingers over the table before him, even the splinters that scratched and bit at his palm felt as painful as real life. He spread his palm and watched as the tendons and muscles in his hand flexed beneath the skin. Every sensation was clean and crisp. It was so real that his senses insisted that this was reality. 

Except that it could not be, because he was not in his tent anymore. 

The room was a simple affair. A rough, undecorated wooden table dominated the middle of the room, along with two chairs on opposite sides of the room. The walls were made of plain, undressed stone streaked with glittering black, as if the architect could not be bothered to smooth it down completely. A large fire that seemed to give off no heat burned in an alcove off to the side, casting a pale orange glow on the cold, bare stone walls. Above him, the uncovered wooden rafters cast flickering shadows against the tiled roof as the fire flared in the hearth. And that was it. There were no windows or decorations, no paintings or suits of armour, not even a rug, nothing to relieve the dungeon-like quality of the room.

How very typical of Emperor Tichon.

"We have a problem, _Praetor Locke"_

"My Lord?" Locke said as he gazed cautiously upon the figure sitting across the table. In the Perenic plane, Tichon looked even less human. Despite the darkness of the room, the Emperor had still chosen to shroud himself in his dark cloak and hood. From what Locke could see of his master's face, Tichon's cadaverously pale face was positively gaunt now, and his black hair was dull and matted. The lines that ran across his face seemed deeper, darker and more tightly drawn, as if the flesh that had been stretched across his skull had the consistency of fine, transparent parchment. Yet Tichon's eyes glowed brighter than ever. The red glow flashed almost incessantly now. It seemed to Locke that whenever he looked into them, he saw the man's eyes burning with the mounting rage that had become part of Tichon. And whenever the Emperor grinned or spoke, Locke spied rows of gleaming, snow-white teeth. Was it just his imagination, or were they sharper than they should be?

"My spies have told me of a surprising development," Tichon said. "Apparently, the stand-masters are planning a peace conference. All the major kingdoms are to be invited to discuss the possibility of an alliance against us, just as it was done five hundred years ago."

Locke feigned an expression of stunned surprise. "But…but that…."

"That would mean the end of our plans to conquer Gaea," Tichon hissed. "Yes, I know."

Locke looked up and nodded grimly. "What must be done, my Lord?"

"You don't have to do anything," Tichon said as he leveled his burning gaze on Locke. "For the moment, I have others working on finding out more information. We know that it will take place on July 21st. But as of yet, they have been unable to tell me _where _it will happen."

Locke remained silent as Tichon hissed in anger. The Emperor was in a foul mood. It was best to let him tell talk himself out of his mood.

"In your opinion, _Praetor Locke," Tichon said suddenly, "do you think __Praetor Caylor knows of this conference?"_

Locke tilted his head as he pretended to consider the question carefully. Would he?

"Yes," he said firmly as he nodded. "He would know. _Praetor Caylor is a man that likes to stay connected to what is happening around him. He'll have found out about this conference somehow, whether it be through his old network of informal spies, or simply through gossip on the streets and throughout the land. He would find out one way or another."_

"You, _Praetor_, know him best," Tichon prompted. "What do you think would be his reaction?"

"With all due respect, my Lord, if I have learned anything about Caylor during my time under him, it is to never try to predict his actions. Somehow, the man always finds a way to surprise those around him."

"I am not asking for his specific actions, _Praetor_," Tichon said, his eyes narrowing. "I am asking for his reaction. What would his thoughts be? What would be his goals? Which way would he head?"

Locke felt a brief, warning tingle in his back as he considered his answer. He would have to tread carefully now. Unconsciously, he adopted the bland, respectful tone of a student presenting his answer to the professor. "This conference," he said carefully, "would be the single most important event that has happened thus far in the course of the war. On July 21st, all the nations of Gaea will be forced to choose a side. They could choose to be for us by being neutral, or they could choose to be against us by fighting. Either way, events are going to move very fast after that conference. And Caylor knows that."

"Agreed. Continue."

"Caylor is a man that cannot stand to remain on the sidelines," Locke said, thinking furiously as he spoke. "Once he has something to fight for, he will fight to the death for it. And he knows that if he is to have any role in directing the course of history of this land, he must act before or during the conference. He must be feeling that he is running out of time to find the truth he desires."

He looked up. "Caylor is going to do something decisive. Soon. Perhaps he is already doing something."

Tichon stared at Locke for a long moment. "That is very interesting, _Praetor," the Emperor said at length. "Because your thoughts are exactly the same as mine._

Locke allowed himself to heave a cautious sigh of relief.

"A man with Caylor's strength and intelligence, walking free around Gaea, and feeling under pressure to do something decisive," the Emperor continued. "_Praetor, would you agree with me that this is a…how shall I put it…highly _volatile _situation?"_

Locke refused to look away from those red eyes. He _refused_. "My Lord, I assure you that every effort is being made to find Caylor."

"But, _Praetor," Tichon said as he drilled Locke with a sharp glance. "It is evidently no longer enough to find Caylor. You must find him before the conference, and that only gives you a little less than a month. How close are you?"_

"I will find him," Locke said firmly. "No matter where he is in Gaea."

Tichon stared at Locke for a moment longer. Then he sat back in his throne. 

"_Praetor_," he said in a deceptively light voice, "my spies tell me that you are, in fact, not inquiring after Yamato Ishida, but one _Takeru _Ishida. May I ask why?"

The hint of cold suspicion in the Emperor's voice was not lost on Locke. A drop of cold sweat ran down his spine. As it turned out, he was no longer simply walking on thin ice. He had stepped out onto a tight-rope. A tight-rope made of glass.

Locke said nothing for a long moment. His expressionless gray eyes betrayed none of his thoughts as he swiftly considered his options. _Praetor _Caylor had always been good at masking his thoughts, and choosing his options at a moment's notice, and over the years Locke had come to learn about it as well. It was not only a useful trait, it was a survival trait for a _Praetor_.

In the end, Locke decided to tell the truth.

At least, a limited version of the truth.

"With all due respect, my Lord," he began cautiously, "it would be impossible to find _Praetor _Caylor, a lone man lost somewhere in the depths of Gaea. He would surely be wise enough to keep his abilities to himself and to maintain a low profile. His face is not recognizable to the public, owing to the fact that he wore a mask during his time as _Praetor_. However, Takeru Ishida is a high-profile figure. People will _know _if he passes by their homes and villages, and that makes him much easier to find."

"This makes the search for _Praetor _Caylor easier…how?"

"It is my belief that Yamato would be drawn to Takeru of his own accord," Locke said, forcing a note of confidence into his voice. "I worked closely with the man for a year, my Lord, and I know how important the truth is to him. If he has not already, he would be trying to contact Takeru. To confront the only man that defeated him, and demand to know…_why?_ If we find Takeru and follow him, then it would be easier to find Yamato."

"Takeru has hidden himself in Ishida," Tichon said, his eyes narrowing. "My spies have searched for years, and have been unable to find him. What makes you think you can do better?"

"I have my sources, my Lord," Locke said, smiling grimly. "And I believe I stand more of a chance finding Takeru than Yamato."

"And what will you do when you find the _Praetor_?" The Emperor's voice was like a razor-thin blade of ice now.

Locke took a deep breath, and his face settled into the hard planes and edges that _Praetor _Caylor had termed the commander's mask. A completely expressionless, stony face that betrayed even less to watchful eyes than the metal mask that was his badge of office.

"I will apprehend him," Locke said, "then I will attempt to convince him to return to Khaydarin. If he does not, I will kill him."

The Emperor's red eyes narrowed in suspicion. Locke watched him, his commander's mask betraying none of the apprehension that he felt. Tichon knew that he had once served under Caylor. Tichon also knew that Locke was quite possibly the most capable and competent of his _Praetors_. Yes, the two facts combined _did _mean he was probably the only person in the entire kingdom that could track down the elusive _Praetor_, but that also meant…

Surely Tichon suspected. Surely he was just about to-

"Make certain that you do, _Praetor," the Emperor finally said as he his hand. "Appraise me of any further developments when we meet again in two days."_

"Two days?" Locke said as his brow creased into a frown.

"Two days, _Praetor_," the Emperor said, a thin smile lifting up the corners of his mouth. "And keep your _mirrireid _on at all times. I may need to contact you at any time."

Locke bowed. "Of course," he said smoothly. The Emperor merely flicked a hand in response. Immediately, the stone chamber seemed to dissolve around them, like clouds of smoke scattered and blown away by a strong breeze.

Locke opened his eyes to see the dark interior of his tent. For a long moment, he did nothing except lie still in his bed, trying to calm his racing, erratic breathing. When he felt steady enough to rise, he sat up wearily and rubbed his face as he tried to dispel the slight disorientation that always accompanied these transitions between realities. Of its own accord, his hand crept under his shirt to clutch the _mirrireid _resting on his chest. The talisman was always cold, but whenever the Emperor touched it it always seemed to freeze into a solid block of dry ice that burned his skin. Vaguely, Locke wondered if the _mirrireid _was more than the Emperor had hinted at. There had been times when the talisman had positively glowed in the dark with blistering energy. Then, scarcely a moment later, it would be enveloped in a blanket of cold so intense, it hurt to touch it. Quickly, he made a mental note to himself to research the properties of _mirrireid _first thing tomorrow.

When the talisman began to warm up slightly, Locke allowed his hand to fall away from the _mirrireid, _and leaned back in his bed with a sigh. Slowly, he cast his eyes upwards at the ceiling of his tent as he mused on his predicament. Locke was used to the exhausting, and extremely dangerous, game of intrigue. He was well versed in the intricacies, the subtle, shifting alliances, the maze of secrets, traitors and spies. Lately, however, the stakes had risen so high that it was beginning to wear on him. And playing against the Emperor was turning out to be harder than he had expected. Tichon was a veritable master himself in the game. Sometimes, Locke caught himself wondering if the Emperor knew everything after all, and was only humouring him until the steadily closing jaws of his steel trap slammed shut on his hapless and clueless victim. The man's gaze was always too knowing. Too cold. Too calculating…

_Calm down_, he told himself sternly. It was what _Praetor _Caylor had taught him when he was still under his care. The game had to be played with an ice-cold heart, a steady hand, and ruthless unwavering precision. Winning meant everything. Losing meant a knife between your ribs. If you were lucky.

For now though, the Emperor was watching. Locke was certain of that. He had seen the suspicion in his master's eyes. Why else would he insist on meeting Locke two days from now, instead of the customary one week? Even without the constant checks on the _Perenic _plane, there was probably at least one spy within his own army, ready to out blade and kill him the moment he betrayed Khaydarin. They could be anyone from a lowly foot soldier, to any of his Decurions. Perhaps there were even safeguards built into the _mirrireid _itself, which prevented him from using its powers to do anything against the Emperor's will. Tichon had not managed to build the Empire of Khaydarin to its present might by being stupid.

_Well_, Locke thought as he considered his options. _Two can play at that game._

Locke had not become a _Praetor _by being stupid either. What the Emperor didn't know, was that he had suspected, suspected and _watched_, him for much, much longer. The _Praetor's _spy network was much more extensive than the Emperor imagined. Scarcely anything happened throughout the Khaydarin Empire that Locke did not know about. Yes, Locke had been watching ever since _Praetor _Caylor had smashed his mask, and walked away from Khaydarin. Watching and judging.

Tichon had his spies to keep him under his thumb. But Locke had his own friends as well. And it was time to let someone else into the loop.

Getting up, he walked to the opening of his tent, pulled open the flap, and summoned one of the guards standing nearby. "Summon Centurion Yvan," he said.

"At this hour, my Lord?"

"Yes, immediately," Locke said. He turned and was about to go back into the tent, when he hesitated. "Go discreetly," he added.

"I understand," the guard said as he bowed. Then he was gone. Locke smiled as he retreated back into his own tent.

Well, if the Emperor of Khaydarin was watching, he would certainly not disappoint him.

He had learned from the master. He could do this. After all, Yamato had danced on the blade's edge for over six years.

He, Locke Dimak, could surely do it for a few months.

A few minutes later, Centurion Yvan pushed open the flap and stepped into his superior's tent. Judging by the tousled state of his hair, and the fact that he was not wearing his usual armour and cloak, Locke decided that he had awoken the man from his sleep.

"You asked for me, _Praetor_?" Yvan said with a concerned frown.

"Yes," Locke said smoothly. "Come in, Yvan. Sit down."

Still with a perplexed expression on his face, the man stepped into the tent and sat down. Locke spread his hands out over his knees and rubbed them as he considered his next words.

"It is time, Centurion," Locke said, watching the man's reaction carefully, "to make a choice."

**********

_** May 22nd, A.S. 522. The next day**_

The tall trees growing on both sides of the small shallow stream stretched their leafy boughs over the top of the water like a protective canopy of green. Wading through the stream with her men, her horse up to its hocks in the cold, running water, Yolei had the eerie sensation that she was traveling through a tunnel. A tunnel which snaked and wound its way through a dark green earth, lit with softly wavering shafts of dim, cool light. The water of the stream, a tributary of the eastern river, was lit up with pools of bright blue and aquamarine from the sunlight that filtered through the branches overhead. On either side, the silent bamboo forest rose steeply in layered tiers towards the highlands of the bamboo forest, sheltering them from distant, watchful eyes. Silently, the company passed wordlessly along the streambed, leaving not the slightest hint of tracks in their wake. Everyone kept their eyes on the riverbanks and on the forest beyond them, and their hands on an arrow notched on their taut bowstrings. The horses tossed their heads and looked back and forth nervously as they ventured along the stream. Even Ceria seemed slightly edgy beneath her, even though Yolei had ridden her into battle many times in the past. Here, in no-man's territory, the slightest misstep could kill you.

Turning in her saddle, Yolei could barely see the shadowy silhouettes of the scouts Davis had deployed on the flanks of the company flitting through the bamboo trees on both sides, so swiftly and silently did they run from tree to tree. Every few minutes, she would catch a glimpse of a dark brown and green cloak as it disappeared behind a bush, or melted into the undergrowth like shadows, and she would feel a small glow of pride. The Taelidani scouts were all on foot, yet they kept pace with the mounted main-body with ease hour after hour, day after day. Indeed, they looked as if they would be running faster if it hadn't been for the need to protect the mounted party. And if it hadn't been for the need to stay close to the river, Yolei would probably not have been able to see them at all.

They were several days into their dangerous march beyond the borders of Fan-Tzu, where the Khaydarin patrols were the thickest. The closest friendly army was more than five days march away, even for a fast scout, and the closest city where shelter could be found was even farther. Wilderness surrounded them on all sides as they ventured deeper into the bamboo forests, cautiously navigating their way through the invisible Khaydarin patrols that combed the woodlands. It was risky business. Neither country had been able to spare the troops necessary to protect the Kings and Queens properly on their way to the meeting place. So instead, San and Ida had chosen to use secrecy and stealth as their most effective protection. With a company of less than a hundred men to protect the two monarchs, Davis had been forced to hide and twist his way through the bamboo forests, steer a huge loop around the civilized farmlands of northern Fan-Tzu, and use his silent Taelidani scouts as his eyes and ears in this foreign, hostile land. They had avoided the road altogether, and were some fifty kilometers from the nearest farm. And it was still not enough. Three times, they had been obliged to detour around Khaydarin patrols, and once they had been forced to hide in the depths of a thicket, scarcely daring to breathe as a patrol passed by less than a kilometer away. It was a trying march, and two days of ceaseless tension and vigilance had left the few Fan-Tzu and Jakt honour guards as tightly-strung as bowstrings.

Yolei shaded her eyes as she patted her horse comfortingly on the neck. "Easy, Ceria," she said softly as the horse whickered softly. "Easy." Gently, she heeled her horse to a swift trot. The dark, roan mare took the cue instantly as it cantered through the shallow stream they were traveling in, past the long line of men in front of her. On either side, Taelidani foot-warriors in dark, colour-shifting cloaks looked up questioningly at her as she passed. Wordlessly, Yolei shook her head and they turned back to scanning the forest tensely. In the middle of the Taelidani columns, two trains of men, one bearing the dull crimson-red of Fan-Tzu, and the other bearing the gold-tasseled violet banner of Jakt rode one in front of the other. Aside from that, their shadowy gray and green forest-clothing was indistinguishable from one another; indeed, it was indistinguishable from their surroundings.

As Yolei approached the red train, she turned Ceria aside with a quick flick of her reins. Obediently, the horse cantered up to the middle of the stream to the leader of the train. He was a large man, and his broad shoulders and wide girth sometimes created the illusion that he was also a fat man. As Yolei drew closer however, it became obvious that the "fat" did not seem to rest on the right places. King San of all Fan-Tzu was a large man, yes, but not fat. Not fat at all.

"How goes it, King San?" Yolei said quietly as she turned in her saddle to greet the man. "How are your men faring?"

San raised a hand in greeting. Leaning closer, he raised his eyebrows. "We've been running along this stream for days now," he said in a soft voice. "My men's feet are beginning to feel it, but they can still go far before we must stop."

"Not much farther," Yolei answered. "Perhaps another half a day's march. Then we must leave the river, and risk trekking across land to avoid the patrols. Do you think your men can conceal their tracks well enough?"

San looked doubtful. "All my men are expert trackers and hunters," he said, "but there are so many of them…. Perhaps, _T'rakess. That is the best answer I can give you. It depends on how alert the Khaydarin trackers are."_

"We'll try and stay on some of the harder and rockier soil then," Yolei said grimly. "We still have time to make all the detours we want. On our current course, we should be able to make it to Ardinberg within two weeks."

San raised his eyebrows. "That little? We're ahead of schedule?"

"On purpose, I assure you," Yolei said. "There is no rush to get there. Not yet, at any rate." 

"You fear delays."

"Of course," Yolei said, as she flicked her eyes at the forest. "We're already being delayed. Who knows when we might have to hide out for a week in a cave somewhere in the mountains. It might still happen."

"It appears that for once, time is still on our side," San said in amusement. "Good then."

"I will check with Queen Ida," Yolei said as she jerked her reins again. "In the meantime, stay alert."

San nodded, and Yolei dug in her heels again. Her horse cantered forward to the next train of men, where she looked for Queen Ida of Jakt. When she spied the woman at the head of the column, she tilted her head questioningly at the Queen. In contrast to San, Ida was a small woman with a narrow face that seemed to be set in a perpetual frown. She did not radiate the bear-like strength that San did, but a certain quickness to her gaze and movements suggested a sharp, agile wit. As Yolei passed, Ida gave her a cool, polite nod, but did not deign to engage in conversation. All was well with her men as well. Giving her a thumbs-up sign in return, Yolei nudged her horse past the Jakt column as well.

Finally, she swung Ceria back into line with the rest of the column at the front of the entire host of a hundred men. A young man with unruly brown hair was riding at the front on a black stallion, his dark cloak indistinguishable from any other Taelidani's. Davis appeared unarmed to the unschooled observer. There was no sword hanging at his belt, and his bow was resting on the pommel of his saddle, not in his hands like the rest of his men. Only Yolei could see the hilts of his _kodachis barely visible beneath the edge of his cloak. The only thing outstanding about him was the white clothe wound around his forehead which kept his unruly hair out of his eyes. The white clothe gave him a faintly roguish air, as if he was the leader of a party of a brigands, and not the leader of two royal companies._

"All is well with the men," Yolei said as she slowed her horse down to match Davis's pace. "Our men have gone on longer and harder marches than this, and the Fan-Tzu  and Jakt soldiers are holding up fine. Some of them are grumbling about cold feet, but it's not serious. The only problem at the moment is that they're getting a little jumpy with the tension."

"First chance we get," Davis said without taking his eyes of the stream ahead, "we're going to hole up in some sheltered, hidden valley, and give the men a day-long rest. We may have gone on longer marches before Yolei, but not more dangerous ones. We can't afford to have people so tense that they start shooting at shadows." He looked down as he motioned with his reins at the horse beneath him. "I don't know about you, but Sondarc seems more restless than usual. He's usually implacable. I've never seen him so worried."

"Agreed," Yolei said. "Ceria seems a little skittish too. Perhaps we should send word with the next wave of scouts to look for a place such as this."

Then Davis turned to look at her for the first time. Yolei started as he saw a hint of worry in those brown eyes. "Speaking of scouts," Davis said, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, "did Razul and Lafaye report to you last night during your shift?"

Yolei shook her head. "No," she said. "You know that I would have told you if they had."

"They're overdue for a report," Davis said as he turned back to the stream. "Technically, they have until tomorrow night to appear before we raise the alarm. But still…."

"They haven't failed to report every night until yesterday," Yolei filled in for him. "Yes, I know. Don't worry about it so much. They know they have until tonight to report. Perhaps they got held up somewhere, and decided to play it safe by lying low rather than risk moving."

"Perhaps," Davis said uncertainly.

"Look," Yolei said patiently. "You were talking to me about how we must calm down the men just a moment before. It's not going to work if they see their leader as uncertain as that."

"I'm smiling, see?" Davis said as he grinned like the Cheshire cat. "I'm as relaxed as can be." Yolei smothered a grin. Then Davis dropped the clownish smile. "Why do you think I'm talking to you in a low voice? I may look confident to the men, but I know better than to try to fool you."

"So what exactly are you worried about?"

"I still don't like it," Davis muttered. "If they were held up where they were going, there's a good chance that they ran into a Khaydarin patrol. Yet, we're following in their footsteps right now. Then wouldn't we be heading right into the lion's den? Perhaps we should break off from the stream, and try another route?"

"The moment we do," Yolei said quietly. "We'll start leaving tracks. Neither San or Ida is confident of their men's ability to cover their tracks. Not with a hundred people in one company."

"I know," Davis said in frustration. Then he paused for a long moment, as he thought carefully. "Tell the men this then," he finally said. "Extend the scouts to a perimeter of two miles from the main body, and have them start looking for a hiding place. Once we've found one, we'll hole up there for a few days while we scout the land anew. We'll start moving again once we're sure where we are, and where _they-"_

Davis was suddenly interrupted by a faint splash of water ahead of them. The sound came from around the river's bend less than two hundred meters ahead of them. Yolei jerked her head to scan the river upstream. Davis threw his hand up, and immediately the entire column of men stopped in their tracks. There was a tense moment of silence as both stand-masters strained their senses to detect more. When nothing else happened, Davis pointed to the river banks with both hands. In a heartbeat, the horses had been led to the side of the stream, and men had dismounted. Taking up positions behind clumps of river-side bushes and boulders, men crouched and submerged themselves up to their waists as they fingered their notched arrows, ready to draw them to their cheeks and fire. Hurriedly, Davis and Yolei joined the men on the western bank, dismounted and crouched down as well. Ceria and Sondarc snorted quietly, then fell silent as Yolei put a warning hand on their manes.

There was a long minute of utter silence. The only sound was the faint singing of birds in the dim forest, and the quiet chatter of the river as it flowed gently on its way to the Great Tsi-Xiang Lake. Nobody breathed as every eye in the company fastened itself on the river's bend scarcely two hundred meters distant. Then another splash sounded out. Men tightened their grips on their bows.

The silence stretched for another minute. Then Davis looked at Yolei. What do you think it is?

Can't tell from this distance, Yolei thought back as she strained her senses. Could be a Khaydarin patrol. Then again, it could only be a deer taking a drink from the river.

Davis gnawed on his lip again. Then he abruptly looked at Yolei again. Do you think you can go check it out? he thought. Without being seen or heard?

Yolei looked critically at the thick cover on both sides of the river bank, then carefully assessed the soil on the riverbank. Yes, she replied.

Then do it. I'll stay here with the men. Find out what it is, and come back. Clear?

Yolei nodded, white-faced. Davis glanced back upstream for a moment, then urgently signed for her to get moving. Immediately, Yolei took hold of some of the tree roots that grew down to the river bank. Very carefully, she climbed up the river bank, taking care not to leave a single footprint in the river-bank mud, or make the slightest scrape on the bark. Then, drawing her cloak about her like a veil, she disappeared into the forest as swiftly and silently as a shadow.

Davis clenched his teeth together as he waited with his heart in his mouth. Holding up his hand, he shook his head at the Taelidani who tried to rise and follow their _T'rakess, and they reluctantly settled back down. Yolei was the best stalker he had ever seen. If she couldn't make it unseen, then these men certainly couldn't. Easing back down behind a boulder himself, he tested his bowstring, ready to draw it to his cheek in an instant. The tension in the air was so thick that he felt like he was choking on it. Two more minutes passed._

Suddenly, his eyes lit up. Two figures appeared upstream, and one of them waved wildly at them to come up. Davis didn't have to look hard to recognize Yolei's long violet hair as it gleamed in the filtered sunlight. Signaling at the others to come forward, Davis sprang onto Sondarc with a single leap. "Lana, Roban," he said, pointing at the scouts. "Come with me. The rest of you, stay here!" Then he was off with the two scouts.

Sondarc's hooves churned up white foam as he galloped swiftly through the shallow stream. Behind him, Davis could hear the splashes of the other two scouts following him. As he drew closer, he began to realize that the other figure was leaning heavily on Yolei. Yolei was holding the person up with one hand, and waving at him to hurry with the other. Davis put on a burst of speed, then reined his horse in to a stop with a thunderous shower of water. As he looked down, he sucked in a quick breath of horror.

Yolei was holding onto the limp figure of Lafaye. The blood from the ghastly wound in the scout's stomach was staining the water a vivid pink. Yolei had lifted the hem of her gray shirt, and was pressing the wadded fabric of her torn cloak to her wound in an effort to stop the bleeding. Lafaye appeared delirious. Her eyes were half-closed with pain, and a sheen of sweat covered her face. Her breathing came in laboured gasps. "Thank goodness…," she was muttering over and over again. "_T'rakess, I've found you…thank goodness…"_

Hurriedly, Davis dismounted, and helped Yolei, Roban and Lana to carry the wounded Taelidani to the shore. Once they saw that it was safe, the rest of the column surged forward to see what was going on, and the Taelidani healer rushed forward to help treat Lafaye. Once they saw what had happened however, King San and Queen Ida had the good sense to keep everyone back, leaving the healer enough room to work. Swiftly, the healer pressed Yolei's cloak even tighter against her wound, and tried to guide her to shore so she could lie down. Once Lafaye sensed that he was trying to get her to close her eyes however, she started fighting the healer feebly. "No, no," she muttered urgently. "Have to…have to speak to…_T'rakul…"_

Davis knelt down beside his scout, and took her hand. "I'm here," he said, in a surprisingly gentle voice. "Relax, Lafaye. I'm here. What happened to Razul?"

"Dead," Lafaye said, each word a painful struggle. "We were caught by a patrol we didn't see…. The arrows took him in the throat. I was lucky…got my stomach…."

Davis looked at the healer, but the healer only shook his head surreptitiously. The arrow-wound was deep, and she had lost a lot of blood. Davis's eyebrow twitched. When he spoke again, there was a false cheer in his voice, as if he was trying to mask the despair. "Don't worry," he said with a slight smile. "You're safe now, here with us. The healer will take care of you. Just leave the rest to the other scouts…."

"_No," Lafaye sputtered as she grabbed Davis's arm with an iron grip. "You're not safe! I left a trail of blood a blind sloth could follow…."_

"We'll leave immediately," Davis said firmly. "They can't track us through the water. As soon as we get a mile away from here, we'll be safe…."

"No," Lafaye muttered urgently. Her grip on Davis's arm loosened. "You don't understand. It's a trap."

Yolei frowned in alarm, then knelt down as well. "A trap? How?"

"They've known we were here…all along….," Lafaye whispered. "They've been…watching…. With their cloaks…we couldn't see them…. There's an army of hunters about five miles upstream…. All over the forest…in a net…."

Davis looked up slowly, and matched Yolei's eyes. He found only dread and fear in them, and he suspected that was all she saw in his. A cold ball of lead seemed to have solidified in the pit of his stomach, and his palms were sweaty with fear. So he was right. It _had been too quiet…too easy…_

Lafaye tried to smile through her tears of pain. "I'm…I'm sorry…_T'rakul…," she whispered. Her voice was very faint now, as if she no longer had the strength to breathe properly._

"You tried, Lafaye," Davis said as he squeezed her hand. "It's too late to worry about that now. The blame should be mine for believing I could navigate past invisible patrols…"

Lafaye didn't seem to hear. Her gaze had slid past Davis's eyes now, and she seemed to be staring at some hidden place beyond the sky. "I'm sorry…," she whispered one last time, so faintly that Davis had to put his ear to her mouth to hear her. "Sorry…." Then there was a faint sigh as her last breath escaped her lips.

The healer put two fingers to her neck to check her pulse, then shook his head. "She's left us," he said quietly.

Davis stared at Lafaye's stricken face for a long moment. Then he gently placed her limp hand on her breast, and reached out to close her eyes. "_Saiya namun tayi'san, Lafaye Tasema," he intoned the traditional blessing. He bowed his head in grief. "May the Lord God welcome you home."_

There was a long moment of silence. Yolei looked around in dread. A hush had settled over the entire column of men with Lafaye's startling news. No-one spoke as they looked around, and envisioned invisible armies of Khaydarin soldiers closing in on them like a steel trap closing on its prey. The dark shifting shadows of the dim forest suddenly seemed to be full of phantom shapes, of shimmering cloaks and gleaming steel, ready to charge in and begin the inevitable slaughter. Slowly, Davis rose to his feet.

And against all odds, he began to smile. 

"Bring me King San, Queen Ida, and all the _staven leaders," he said hoarsely. "At once."_

Immediately, men began running to fetch the leaders. Yolei caught Davis's arm as he strode determinedly back to the river. "What are we going to do now," she said urgently. "They know we're here. They've known all along."

"I _said," Davis said, as he flashed her a slightly manic grin, "that San and Ida would get through. And they will get through."_

Yolei looked troubled, but she couldn't press the issue as the appropriate leaders arrived. San and Ida arrived on their horses, and the Taelidani _staven leaders arrived on foot. Davis looked around grimly. "If you didn't hear that," he said, "Lafaye has just told me that our presence in these bamboo forests has been known from the very beginning. It appears that we've walked right into the enemy's trap, despite all our precautions."_

Ida hissed. "We should have followed my suggestion," she said angrily. "We should have followed the coast-line, into Yagami and…"

"What we should have done," Davis said sharply, "is irrelevant. We'll assign blame after this is over. We don't have a moment to lose. Axum, Elanna, Sali, I want you to take your _stavens, and run circles and loops through this forest, leaving as obvious a trail as possible. Axum, head west, as if you're making for the North road. Sali, head east, as if you're trying for the __Gannes river. And Elanna, head back south, as if you're turning tail and running back to Fan-Tzu. Take all your men with you, and some of the Fan-Tzu and Jakt troops. In the meantime, Yolei, King San and Queen Ida will go our own way. Don't even try to conceal your tracks, just __run. As fast and as hard as you can." He paused, then spoke again in a softer voice. "Hopefully, your tracks will be mistaken for King San and Queen Ida's. We may be able to spread the enemy's forces a little thinner than he expected."_

Axum nodded, and Sali's shoulders slumped. They were all seasoned soldiers, and they recognized an order to die when they heard one. But nobody protested. Davis was not one to throw away his men's lives lightly. The fact that he was doing so now meant that this time, the mission was truly important. That this time, the mission was really worth dying for. San nodded as well, but Ida stirred.

"See here," Ida said indignantly. "You can't order me or my men around as if you were-"

Yolei turned to her, and Ida fell silent at the level gaze that she pinned her with. "No," she said, "he can't. But if we are to have any hope of getting out of this forest alive, then you'll listen to him."

Ida scowled sullenly, but she made no protest. San on the other hand, nodded at Davis. "Shall I assign some of my men to follow us?"

"No," Davis said curtly. "Your only protection will be Yolei and me. If we're caught, it won't make much of a difference whether you have two hundred or two protecting you. Is everyone clear?"

There was a hasty chorus of "ayes". Davis nodded gratefully. "If any of you survive this, sneak through in groups no larger than ten to meet us at Ardinberg." He stepped back and clapped his hands above his head. "Go swiftly then. And may the Lord God illumine your path."

Immediately, the _staven leaders broke off, shouting for their men to follow them as they sprinted for their horses. Yolei grabbed both King San and Queen Ida's arms, and pulled them towards their own mounts. Davis whistled for Sondarc, then leapt onto the saddle as his black stallion galloped towards him. Even as he did, the first group of Taelidani warriors were already splashing out of the stream, and crashing into the thick forest with the earsplitting crack of snapping bamboo trees. They were followed a moment later by another group, and another group, each carving their own path through the thick bamboo forest. Soon, the entire column of one hundred had disbanded in all directions in a thunderous shower of white foam. Davis gave his fleeing Taelidani army one last glance, then turned around again. _

"_Huthut!" he shouted as he dug his heels into his horse's flanks. Immediately, Sondarc shot out of the shallow stream like an arrow, closely followed by Ida, San, then Yolei. Together, the four riders rode like the wind towards the north-west._

_Try and find me now, Davis thought furiously as he rode. __I dare you. Try and find me now…. _

Recklessly, he pushed Sondarc to a full gallop as he cleared the stream. Snorting, the stallion leaped over fallen bamboo trees, and bulled its way through the underbrush. He was leaving a trail a mile wide, but Davis didn't care at the moment. He could cover his tracks later on and let the forest swallow him in its vastness, but right now, he had to get far, far away from here. Behind him, he could hear the rapid hoof beats of the three other riders struggling to keep up with his swift warhorse. Grimly, Davis drew his hood over his head in an effort to protect his eyes from the slashing branches and bushes that slapped against his face, leaving long red claw marks on his cheeks.

The attack started almost immediately. Barely five minutes after his group had disbanded, Davis heard faint screams and the ring of steel on steel coming from the East. He turned around in his saddle, and exchanged glances with Yolei. Sali's group was being attacked. San and Ida both looked to the East, startled, but Davis didn't give them a chance to stop. "Keep moving," he called urgently. "They are doing their duty, and we must do ours. Keep going!"

Five minutes after that, Davis tacked back to the north-east, using the sun above him as a guide. The other three followed him wordlessly as he steered through the underbrush to an even thicker part of the bamboo forest. Shortly after, Yolei discovered that they were beginning to go uphill. They were climbing a short hill. Rocks and gravel began to appear underfoot, mixed in with the loamy soil, and their horse's hooves began to leave less and less tracks. It took a moment for Yolei to realize that they were climbing a moraine. Looking to the left and to the right, she could see the snake-like ridge of gravel, silt and small boulders stretching off for miles. For half an hour, Davis pushed them at a grueling pace, regardless of the increasingly steep slope.

Finally, Davis allowed the horse's to halt at the base of a huge tree next to a running creek after almost two hours of hard galloping uphill. They had reached the top of the forest-covered moraine. The monarch's horses were lathered with sweat and panting with their heads drooping to the ground. Even Sondarc and Ceria, both Taelidani-trained tracking horses, were panting for breath. "Give them some water," he said to Yolei as he tossed her his horse's reins. "We're not staying long. Only for a few minutes," he cautioned the two monarchs as they slid gratefully from their saddles. "Keep your weapons close at hand. I'm going to have a look around." Then, he turned and leapt onto the broad tree trunk by which he had stopped. Climbing adroitly up the tree branches like a squirrel, he soon disappeared from view as he ascended into the leafy foliage.

Yolei led the horses to the stream, and allowed them to drink for a few moments. As they did, she dug in her saddle-bag, and brought out two apples, and a flask of water. "Come on," she said in a soft voice as she offered them to the two monarchs. "We must keep our strength up. Drink as well."

"Thank you," Ida said gratefully as she accepted the flask. "But I do not think it is our own strength we must be worried about. We should be more concerned about our horses."

"Don't be too sure about that," San said as he bit into an apple. "Take it from an old campaigner. I don't think we're going to be able to simply run away from this. We'd have to fight to get out."

"What can four of us do against hundreds?" Ida demanded.

"It doesn't matter whether you're going to be fighting or not," Yolei said as she firmly pressed the apple into Ida's palm. "You'll need the strength to travel. The time may come when we have to abandon our horses."

"Yolei," Davis's faint voice came from the tree above. "Can you fetch me my spy-glass from my pack?"

Yolei looked up, then hurried over to Davis's black stallion. Rummaging in his pack, she pulled out the small, retractable spy-glass. "Here it is," she called back as she tossed it up. "Catch!"

Davis plucked it deftly out of the air, then unfolded it and peered through it into the distance. Yolei heard him laughing softly. "What do you see?"

A moment later, Davis himself came sliding back down the tree with the spyglass firmly tucked into pocket. He was still shaking his head in amusement. "Sali is being pursued like we suspected," he said. "I can see the ripples through the forest about fifteen kilometers from here. And if I can see them, it probably means that there's a battle being fought."

"Fifteen kilometers," Ida murmured. "That's pretty far for an hour's gallop."

"Sali is doing his job well," Davis said with a grin. "But the others are doing even better. You may not see it from here, but I think Elanna and Axum have both started forest fires. The plume of smoke is still small for now, but it's not going to be small for long."

"A forest fire," San repeated.

A slow grin spread across Yolei's face. "Why didn't we think of that? They can't pursue us through a fire, no matter how invisible they might be."

"Whoever came up with the idea first," Davis said as ran over to his own pack, and began to rummage in it, "is going to be raised to _T'rakul the next time I see him or her. Come on, help me gather firewood. We're going to do the same."_

Within ten minutes, there was a hearty blaze burning in the midst of the undergrowth next to the tall oak tree under which they had rested. Davis nodded as he surveyed their handiwork. The undergrowth was already catching fire as he watched. Soon, the entire tree, and all the trees around it, would be consumed as well. "Good," he muttered. "That'll keep them confused. For a little while at least." Then he mounted his horse. "Time we weren't here. Let's ride!"

This time, Davis chose his path more carefully. He guided the others into the creek, and began forcing the horses to canter downstream through the water so that they wouldn't leave any tracks. For the next twenty minutes, the stream flowed down the steep incline of the northern side of the moraine. Yolei fingered her bow nervously as she glanced all around her, half-expecting soldiers to appear on either bank at any moment. Eventually, the stream began to turn east again as it reached the bottom of the moraine, and began to meander across the flat valley. Davis stayed with it, following its twisting, winding course as it tacked east, then west, then east again. He stayed away from the banks where their passing might break some of the undergrowth, or stir up some of the silt, but kept them in the middle. Soon, the horses were breathing hard again from the labour of having to canter knee-deep through water. An hour and a half later, Davis was forced to stop as San's horse tripped and stumbled for the third time. This time, Davis attached feed-bags to their muzzles, and allowed them to feed for a little while as they rested.

Yolei looked around as they dismounted. Davis had chosen to stop in a small, natural hollow by the side of the river. The riverbank was coated with gravel and round river-pebbles that left no footprints. On their left, the river curved away to the west again, on another meander. The land rose around them on all sides in a series of small, steep ridges that shielded them from the gaze of Khaydarin hunters from afar. She turned around. The sky behind them was already beginning to turn red from the light of the fire, and she could see the huge plume of smoke rising like a mushroom cloud into the sky. As if sensing that this area would soon be awash in flames, the animals had all left the hollow, and there wasn't a single bird or animal to be heard anywhere.

"The horses can't keep this up, Davis," Yolei said urgently to him as they gathered more firewood to start another fire. "I'm not sure even Ceria and Sondarc can do it. Their hearts will burst long before we're out of these woods if we keep pushing them like that."

"I know," Davis said in frustration as he dropped a huge branch on the pile of ferns they had made. "We'll have to start traveling over land after this. Hopefully, the fire will erase our tracks, or at least distract them for a little while."

"The forest is huge, Davis," Yolei said grimly. "The fire tactic might keep them occupied for awhile. It might buy us two days. Three if we're lucky. What then? We'd need at least a week to cross into Shienar territory!"

"I don't know," Davis said. "I think we should start drifting towards the west sometime soon, and make for the rockier terrain there. The less tracks we make, the better."

"If we start going west, we'd have a problem with lack of cover before long," Yolei warned.

"We'll worry about that when it comes. Let's just try to survive for now, shall we?"

"You're making this up as you're going along!" Yolei accused him.

"Of course I am," Davis snapped. "What, if you're so smart, do you have any ideas? What are our chances of survival then, huh?"

Yolei dropped her branch, then cast a glance at the two monarchs. They were some distance away, busying themselves with gathering more firewood. She lowered her voice. "That's just it, Davis," she whispered. "At the rate we're going, we _will be caught eventually. We can't fight because we're too few. We can't run because they're all around us. What can we do?"_

Davis's face had became as hard as stone. "Yolei, I didn't become _T'rakul at the age of fifteen by thinking like that, and neither did you."_

"I'm thinking about _facts," Yolei hissed. "And you're just being __stubborn!"_

"To _hell with the facts," Davis flared. His eyes were literally burning red now, as his stand flickered momentarily around his frame. "Takeru and Kari managed to do it seven years ago, and they were only fourteen. There __must be a way."_

Yolei drew back slightly. Then she nodded slightly. "All right then," she said. "Go on, fearless leader. What is your plan now?"

Davis took a deep breath to calm down. "If I'm not mistaken," he said evenly, "this is one of the tributaries of the _Gannes river. We'll follow it until sunset. After that, we'll leave it and start traveling west, and go all night. We'll find some place to stop in the morning, and lay low for the rest of the day. From now on, we'll have to travel only by night. If we can reach the slightly rockier terrain out along the north-west, we'll be a bit safer. We'll stay in the valleys where there's still some cover, and walk along the streams when we're given the chance. If we must, we'll abandon the horses and go on foot to clear some of the more dangerous terrain."_

"Perhaps we could go deeper into the forest," Yolei suggested. "There are ways to cover our tracks."

Davis shook his head. "They know this forest better than we do," he said. "I have only seen maps, and maps can only tell so much. They've been patrolling this area for years. It'd be like wandering deeper into their domain."

"And how would going west be any different?"

"It's along the outskirts of the desert," Davis replied. "We've been there before, remember? True, it's at the very edge of our territory, but – _Svok Stavik! No you don't!!"_

In the blink of an eye, Davis's kodachis cleared their sheaths and whizzed through the air in one smooth motion. They slashed into the foliage behind the startled San and Ida, and caught the two Khaydarin soldiers in their throats. They gurgled, and fell onto the loamy ground clutching at their throats. Behind them however, more soldiers were charging forwards, straight at San and Ida.

"_San, Ida! Get down!" Yolei shouted. She grabbed her longbow from where it was slung across her shoulders, planted her quiver on the ground, and began loosing arrows with a speed born of desperation. As the two monarchs threw themselves to the ground, three soldiers behind them were cut down almost immediately with Yolei's feathered shafts. The rest were forced to dive for cover behind a collection of boulders, or sheath their swords and cloak. As they began to shimmer into invisibility however, Davis was already running forwards, the red glow of his stand beginning to blaze about his body. His mouth opened in a wordless scream of defiance as his stand suddenly appeared before the battle-scene._

Davis was a stand-master that wasted no time when talking or fighting. His stand raised its hand and, with one powerful swipe, smashed the boulders into smithereens. Its claws gouged huge rents in the earth, and the hot blast of exploding rock uprooted small saplings ten yards away. Khaydarin soldiers tumbled away from the boulder like bits of chaff caught in a whirlwind. Some fell to the ground with hideous crunches, and did not rise again. The ones that did scrabbled desperately in the dirt to get away from the wrathful dragon that advanced upon them. They made easy targets for Yolei's shafts as she picked them off one by one with a precisely aimed arrow to the throat.

The remaining soldiers took one look at the rapidly shifting odds, and decided to retreat. With a swift, guttural command from the masked Decurion, they all cloaked in unison, and disappeared from view. Davis looked around furiously, then opened his stand's senses to find them. The flickers of the Khaydarin men's spirits were receding rapidly from the scene.

Nobody spoke for a long moment. Davis's made his stand look around the entire area before allowing it to disappear. San and Ida looked around, stunned at the smoking bodies lying all around them. Then, Davis sprang back into action. "We've been discovered!" he shouted as he ran to retrieve his kodachis. "Yolei, pick up your shafts, quickly! Take a look above the treetops with your stand. King San, Queen Ida, release the horse's tethers, and take away their feedbags. We're leaving this instant!"

White-faced, even Ida didn't object to Davis's orders. Quickly, both she and San released the horses and put away the bags. The horses whinnied and rolled their eyes in fear as they saw and smelt the blood lying all about their feet, but San all but dragged them across the pasture to where Yolei and Davis were. Yolei came running up with her quiver full of recovered arrows, some of them still stained with blood, and leapt into Ceria's saddle. Even as she did, she closed her eyes and summoned her stand. In a moment, the orange griffin was already leaping into the sky to gain a better vantage point. 

Suddenly, the air was filled with the piercing blast of a horn. The note came from the next ridge over from the small river hollow. Davis cursed as he looked up. The horn blew another blast, and Davis seemed to move even faster. By the woodpile, he passed a hand over the pile of dry wood, and they immediately burst into flames. Hurriedly stepping back from the intense heat, he leapt onto Sondarc's saddle and snatched up his reins.

"Well?" he demanded as he turned to Yolei, who still had his eyes closed. "What do you see?"

"Oh no…," Yolei muttered as all the colour drained from her face.

"_What is it?"_

Yolei's eyes snapped open.

"_Ride!!" she screamed, just as fifty mounted soldiers crested the ridge behind them with a thunderous roar._

**********

The sight of fifty mounted men screaming for your blood and bearing down on you at full gallop is enough to paralyze most men with fear. San and Ida gazed in horror at the flood of black, rooted to the ground with fright. Davis, however, needed no second bidding. "_Ride!" he screamed as he urged Sondarc to a full gallop. "__Ride, you fools! Ride!"_

Sweeping by San and Ida, he whistled piercingly. The monarch's horses responded to the signal and river silt flew into the air as they raced after Davis's black stallion, bearing their startled riders along. Yolei followed behind them, hanging onto her reins with one hand as she fumbled with her bow. The four horses raced across the river in a thunderous shower of foam, scrambled up the opposite bank, and fairly flew into the bamboo forest on the other side, heading straight west. 

Racing through the forest, Sondarc was in his element, and the black horse seemed to fairly drink the wind as his long legs pounded the earth in a blur and threw up great arcs of loamy dirt. Grimly, Davis let go of the reins and hung onto his tracking stallion's streaming mane instead, allowing his horse to pick its own path through the forest. Behind him, he could hear the loud crashes of the monarch's horses struggling to keep up with the swift black warhorse as it bulled its way through the undergrowth. Terror seemed to give all of the steeds new strength as they plunged onwards, and they ran as if they were pursued by a ravenous pack of wolves.

Once again, branches and thorns tore at the riders' clothing as they passed, and soon their sleeves were ragged from fending off slashing twigs. Shielding their eyes with their forearms, they desperately struggled through the forest, sidestepping the bamboo stands and the trees, and smashing through everything else. Fire and sparks seemed to fly from their horse's feet, but even the deafening roar of the wind that passed over them failed to mask the vengeful blasts of the Khaydarin trumpet, nor the pounding of two hundred hooves on the earth behind them.

Suddenly, Davis noticed that everything around him seemed to be turning brighter. The trees overhead were thinning, and the underbrush was fading away. Alarmed, he looked ahead and saw a great, grassy meadow sparsely covered with  patches of forest and random, craggy boulders. Realization washed over him like icy water. They were being driven to the outskirts of the forest, where they could be picked off with arrows.

It was too late to do anything about it. Within moments, they had burst from under the cover of the trees and emerged onto the first patch of meadow. The bright, unfiltered sunlight almost blinded Davis and he threw his hand over his eyes to shield them. He cursed loudly. Their cover was gone!

"_Davis!" Yolei's voice screamed behind him. "__They're shooting at us!"_

Already the first hail of arrows was embedding itself into the rocky ground all around them as they ran. Davis looked around wildly, then twisted around in his saddle just in time to see the pursuing cavalry launch their second round of missiles. Swearing, Davis tapped on his reins and Sondarc swerved as several arrows dropped into the ground. The hunters were out of range so far, and they could not aim properly. But sooner or later, one of them was going to get lucky…

Hauling back on his reins, Davis checked his mount's speed. Almost immediately, San and Ida passed him on either side. "_Take the lead!" Davis shouted at them. __"We'll be behind you. Keep riding, and don't look back!"_

He couldn't tell whether the two of them had heard or not, and he didn't have time to find out. He checked his speed even more, and dropped into the rear with Yolei. Letting go of his reins, he fumbled with the straps holding his longbow to the pommel of his saddle. More arrows came whistling through the air. They were getting closer.

Yolei twisted her head to look at him, squinting from the rushing wind. As she saw him hold up his bow, realization dawned in her eyes. "The old maneuver?" she shouted with the slightest hint of a grin.

Davis unfastened his quiver from his right side, then belted it again on his left. He nodded. "Make them think twice about following so close," he shouted back. 

"I think we can accommodate."

"On three. One. Two…"

On the unsaid "three", both stand-masters leapt off their saddles while their horses were still at full gallop.

Time seemed to slow as Davis felt the rushing wind rush past his face, then whistle through his hair as he flipped sideways. As he fell off his saddle, he twisted in midair so that his feet hit the ground first. The moment he felt his boots hit the ground, he pushed off again as hard as he could. Beside him, Yolei mirrored his movements as they jumped into the air again, twisted, and settled neatly back into their saddles. 

The deft maneuver had taken less than a second, and now both stand-masters were facing backwards.

The pursuing Khaydarin riders were now less than a hundred meters away, and far too surprised to react to the sudden maneuver. Before they could shout a warning and draw back, Yolei and Davis both drew their notched bowstrings to their cheeks and let their shafts fly. Taelidani longbows may be slower to reload and draw, but their range was almost twice as long as conventional bows. By the time the leading riders finally realized that their prey was actually shooting back, eight riders had already been cut down. As they fell, they tripped up four more riders, and they too smashed into the ground in a twisting tumble of arms, legs and hooves.

Finally, the leaders were forced to drop back or veer off. The two stand-masters fired arrow after arrow into their ranks, while their returning shots fell pathetically short. By the time the Khaydarin riders had retreated beyond the range of the longbow, six more riders had fallen. Yolei lowered her bow as Davis jubilantly pumped his fist in the air. "_You want them?" Davis shouted at his pursuers. __"You'll have to come through us first!"_

It was then that the rumbling thunder of another mounted party began to make itself heard through the roar of the rushing wind. Davis and Yolei turned in alarm to see another column of fifty riders burst out of the forest from the east slightly ahead of them. Once the black riders saw them, they urged their horses forward at a flat-out gallop across the flat plain. Several of the forerunners raised horns to their lips and blew short, harsh blasts to summon even more riders.

Davis flipped off his saddle again so that he would be seated facing the front. Yolei remained facing the enemy from behind to keep them back with her longbow as Davis urged Sondarc forward. Effortlessly, the black stallion picked up his pace again until Davis was right behind the monarchs. "Left!" he shouted at San and Ida. "Turn left! We may outrun them yet!"

Even as they began to turn their steeds to face the west however, a hail of arrows, much thicker than before, zipped through their midst. Davis turned to see the second group of riders launching their barbed shafts at them. Desperately, he maneuvered his horse so that he would be between the two monarchs and the new threat.

Before he could put arrow to string however, one of the enemy's shafts finally struck home. San's horse screamed as an arrow took it in the hind leg just above the thigh, and began to limp. As San desperately tried to urge it back to a gallop, a second arrow took the beast in the neck.

The horse fell into the thick, waving grass of the plain with a great thud, throwing San off in the process. "_No!" Davis shouted as he slowed his own horse to a canter, and circled around the fallen horse. Groaning and screaming, the King's horse scrabbled piteously in the dirt, its hooves carving great ruts in the dark soil. Finally it lay still as it choked to death on the blood filling its throat. Beside it, San levered himself up onto an elbow, then collapsed back into the dirt again. His face was covered with a thin sheen of sweat from some excruciating pain._

Ida slowed to a halt beside San. Yolei drew up and began circling the King as well with her longbow up and ready. Davis looked wildly at San, then at the approaching riders, then at San again. Making a quick decision, he leapt off his saddle and ran to San's side. "Come on," he gritted urgently as he slung one of San's arms across his own. "You can ride on my horse. Stand up! Stand!"

"I…can't," San panted. "My leg is broken…"

"I'll hold you," Davis said as he forcibly dragged the man upright. "Come on! We have to-"

"Davis?" Yolei's voice sounded unnaturally calm. "It's too late." Davis snapped his head up.

The riders had completely surrounded them in a circle of black as a wolf pack might surround its prey, and were staying just out of the range of Yolei's longbow. There were no more horn blasts, and now the riders were standing as still as statues, staring at them with unreadable eyes. Now that the high-speed chase was over, Davis got his first good look at them. None of them were wearing masks, and Davis could see their expressionless faces, each one as merciless and cold as the next. Every one of them was clad in the same black and gold armour and mail. Their silver scimitars hung at their belts, sheathed in favour of the short horse bows that each clutched in their hands.

Davis gently let San back to the ground again. He said nothing. Behind him, Ida dismounted as well, and came forward to stand next to San. "It appears you were right, my Lord," he said lightly. "We will have to fight our way out of this. And I'm sorry, my Lord and Lady, for bringing you into this mess."

Ida stared unseeingly at the Khaydarin riders and made no response. San shook his head and tried to deny the apology, but all that came out was another groan of pain. The riders began to move again, trotting in a circle around the four. Yolei dismounted, and came to stand next to Davis. "I've only eighteen arrows left," Yolei remarked. "After that, I'll have to use my knife and my stand."

"Better make every one of those arrows count then," Davis said as he cast her an irrepressible grin. "Let's do it one last time."

"Give them something to remember us by?" Yolei said as she twanged her bowstring, a slight smile on her face. An orange aura was beginning to burn around her hands and eyes.

"Oh, they'll be singing about us for the next thousand years," Davis replied with a savage smile. Before anyone could blink, both kodachis were suddenly in her hands. They gleamed fiercely with sunlight as Davis smashed them together and struck up sparks.

"_Bring it on!" he roared._

Immediately, the entire circle of Khaydarin pursuers raised their swords with a mighty roar of rage. Four hundred hooves pounded the ground and threw up arcs of dirt as they spurred their horses on savagely, and charged the four trapped travelers with reckless abandon. Davis and Yolei raised their weapons, and settled into their positions on opposite sides of San and Ida. Together with their stands, they stood four-square around the monarchs, ready to battle the overwhelming odds until the end…

Then the shimmering started.

Around the four travelers, a veritable wall of black-clad soldiers, at least two hundred, appeared as they shed their cloaks _between the travelers and the charging Khaydarin army. Davis's eyes widened with surprise, and he drew back slightly to defend better, but the soldiers were not facing the travelers. They were facing __outwards._

Before any of the Khaydarin riders could react, the Khaydarin _footsoldiers raised their bows, and let their arrows fly into the riders' ranks._

Davis gaped as the sky suddenly seemed to be thick with deadly, barbed shafts. Screams began to fill the air, drowning out the thick, vicious humming of flying arrows and loud _twangs _of released bowstrings. The carnage was horrible. Taken completely by surprise, almost half the Khaydarin riders were shot immediately. Everywhere he looked, he could see riders impaled with at least two arrows falling off their panicking, bucking horses. Horses themselves screamed and hit the earth with thunderous thuds, plowing up huge swaths of long grass and earth. After the first volley, the footsoldiers reached behind their backs, withdrew another arrow, and calmly released another volley. And another. And another.

Broken, the few surviving riders of the initial volley tried to swing around and regroup. Even as they tried to run away however, more soldiers began to uncloak behind them. Davis lowered his kodachis in amazement as hundreds of footsoldiers uncloaked in groups behind the cover of nearby of trees, boulders, or hills. The arrows came thickly, swiftly and mercilessly. It was the most perfect, textbook pincer move that Davis had ever seen. Caught in the open, the riders did not last long. 

In the space of a few heartbeats, the entire fight from first charge to last death was over. Davis exchanged stunned glances with Yolei, San and Ida, then looked out upon the field of carnage before them. Dead men and horses littered the grassy plain. Their blood was already beginning to dye the ground crimson. Dying riders groaned as they clutched at arrow-wounds. Then Davis looked up.

The black-clad footsoldiers before him had retreated and regrouped into a loose army. There were at least several hundred of them, and who knew how many had remained cloaked. The golden serpent gleamed on their black leather and armour. Their weapons had disappeared into the folds of their cloaks, and they didn't seem to be making any aggressive moves. For now, they only looked upon Davis and Yolei with impassive gazes behind their masks.

Masks?

Then one man, apparently the leader, stepped to the front. His armour was slimmer and more form-fitting than that of a footsoldier, designed to accommodate the swift ease and intimacy of personal combat. His cloak was trimmed with gold, and the black, planed mask he wore was set with a single jewel in the center of his forehead. Davis heard Yolei gasp behind him as he raised his kodachis again.

There was a long moment of silence. Then Davis raised his voice. "What business does a full-fledged _Praetor doing in this backcountry? And why did you save us?"_

The _Praetor remained motionless for a moment. Then he took another step forward. Davis immediately raised his kodachis even higher, and there was a brief flare of red. "Don't," Davis warned. "You may have saved us, but I still don't trust you."_

The _Praetor stopped in his tracks, and raised his arms away from the sword sheathed at his side. "My business is my own," he answered plainly. "And I would put down those weapons as well if I were you."_

"Why?" Davis tossed back.

"You wouldn't use those weapons," the _Praetor replied._

"How can you be so sure?"

"Look around, stand-master!" the _Praetor said as he swept out a hand to indicate his army. "The moment you launch your stand, your blades, or your arrows at me, they will slaughter you in an instant. You may kill me before they can get to you, but you won't take that risk."_

Davis looked around. The men were still staring at him impassively. He had just seen what those soldiers could do. This was no ordinary legion of Khaydarin soldiers. Their efficiency and ruthlessness in battle rivaled his own Taelidani. No, they didn't stand a chance if they attacked.

Slowly, Davis twirled his kodachis, then let them drop to the ground. Then, taking the bow from his shoulder, he unstrung it. Behind him, Yolei did the same with her bow. Drawing a long, slim knife from behind her waist, Yolei dropped that into the grass as well.

"Good," the _Praetor said. "I was sure we could understand each other."_

Davis stared at him. "Perhaps you may understand me," he growled. "But I know _nothing about you."_

The _Praetor regarded the defiant Taelidani __T'rakul for a long moment. Then he tilted his head. "I saved you," he said. "I don't care how powerful a stand-master is. Two of you could not have hoped to defeat one hundred mounted warriors. Now I want something back."_

"What?" Davis said warily.

The _Praetor lowered his hands and leaned forward. "Tell me," he said slowly, "exactly where Emperor Takeru Ishida is."_

Davis laughed. "You came to all this trouble," he said, "to ask me _that? Anyone in the street will tell you that! He's in Ishida!"_

The _Praetor leaned back and smiled. "Do me a favour, stand-master. I will not treat you like a fool, and you treat me likewise, hmm? I __know he's in Ishida. But the Knights are being very close-lipped about exactly __where in Ishida. Understandably, of course. After the collapse of the Age of Gods, who can blame them?"_

Davis stopped laughing. He frowned. "Then you won't blame me for not telling you…for exactly the same reason?"

"I _will find him eventually, stand-master," the __Praetor said, still smiling. "My spies are more firmly entrenched in the land than any other that the Emperor of Khaydarin has. Even the Emperor is unaware of my reach. It may take him years to find Takeru. But believe me when I say this: if I put my mind to it, I can find Takeru within several months."_

Davis exchanged troubled glances with Yolei again. This _Praetor was different. He had slaughtered a hundred of his own mounted warriors. Perhaps the riders were not in his specific corps, but he had killed Khaydarin soldiers nonetheless. And he was talking as if he was independent of the Emperor. As if he had something to hide from the Emperor. _

Davis turned back. "Then why don't you?" he said, stone-faced.

"_Because, stand-master," the __Praetor said, this time with a cold edge in his voice, "those are months that I don't have. I must find him, now."_

"What is it to you?" Davis asked.

The _Praetor _didn't say anything for a long moment, as if trying to decide how many of his cards to reveal. Then he made a decision. "Let's just say…," he said, "he's merely a means to an end. I assure you that he will not be harmed in any way. I merely need him to find _Praetor _Caylor Ga'artred. You may know the man as Yamato Ishida."

Davis felt the icy wave of shock pass through him. That changed everything. He had assumed that the man was after Takeru to kill him. It was much easier to outmaneuver an opponent when you knew exactly what the other man wanted. But now…

He had no idea what the other man's goal was. How could he even begin to negotiate?

"Why…," Davis said, frowning in puzzlement, "don't you simply find out within your own Khaydarin ranks? I'm sure you can find your own _Praetor _without our help…"

"_Praetor _Caylor is no longer with Khaydarin, stand-master," the _Praetor _said with a slight smile. "He left more than six years ago. Didn't you know?"

Another wave of shock almost drove Davis to his knees. "What?" he muttered. "He…he _isn't?_ Then what side is he allied with now?"

"I've told you too much already," the _Praetor _said with a slight edge of menace to his voice. "This is not a negotiation, stand-master. Tell me where Takeru Ishdia is."

"What if I choose not to tell you?" Davis probed cautiously.

The _Praetor put a hand on his sword's hilt. "Then we will kill you where you stand," he said._

"I don't think you'll do that," Davis said as he looked around. "Not after all the trouble you went through to save us."

"You are valuable to us only because of the information you possess, Davis Motomiya," the _Praetor said coldly. "If you refuse to yield that information, you would become worse than useless to us."_

"You're bluffing."

"Sometimes," the black-clad man said softly, "the stakes are simply too high to call your opponent's bluff. Do not test me, stand-master."

Davis took a deep breath, and glanced down at San and Ida. San was still clutching at his broken leg, and Ida's hands were shaking with fear. Neither of them were in any condition to run.

"You're right," Davis admitted. "I don't dare call your bluff. But what guarantee do I have that you will not use that information to harm Takeru?"

"You have none," the _Praetor replied, "except my word."_

"Your word means the world to me," Davis said sarcastically.

"I care very little whether my word means anything to you," the _Praetor said, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. "As I see it, you will tell me now, or I will kill you and your charges, King San of Fan-Tzu and Queen Ida of Jakt."_

Davis's spine stiffened, and the _Praetor smiled. "Oh, don't look surprised, stand-master. I also know that you're on your way to attend the conference that will take place three weeks from today in the Ishidan province of Saldea. I told you my spy network is far more extensive than the Emperor's." The __Praetor's smile disappeared. "Your only salvation now is that I have not told the Emperor. Yet."_

Davis looked at Yolei helplessly. They were defeated. There was nothing for it now. They could not refuse to tell him because they would be killed instantly. They couldn't even lie to him, because once the lie was exposed, the _Praetor would expose their conference's secret._

"He's in Saldea," Davis said reluctantly, speaking as if each word was dragged from his mouth. "In the secret fortress of Ardinberg near the foot of Mount Gaidan."

The _Praetor tilted his head again. "Thank you, stand-master," he said as he turned around and started walking back to his own men. "Despite your hot-headed reputation, I knew you would listen to reason."_

"Wait," Davis called out as the black-clad man stepped into his horse's stirrup. "Are…are you a friend or a foe?"

The _Praetor didn't answer as he swung himself up into his horse's saddle. As he turned his war-horse around however, he cast one last glance at Davis._

"Neither," he said, so quietly that his voice was almost lost in the wind. "But you were right, Davis Motomiya. I _was bluffing." Then he turned his horse around and was gone._

** Author's notes: I just noticed that someone had left a review saying that I should not have used the word "Yahwe-something" in Pilgrimage chapter six. (I won't even write it down. Afraid someone's gonna flame me). Apparently, the word, which is God's name, is so sacred to the Jewish faith that they can't even say it. Well, I apologize for my using it. I was a "moron making assumptions" *grimaces* Though you didn't have to put it quite so harshly. Anyway, I'm very sorry for using the word so rashly and I promise you it won't happen again.


	5. Seihad Chapter Five

Disclaimer: Does anyone ever read these things? I don't own digimon. I'm not doing this for money.

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**Seihad: Chapter Five**

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By: TK Takaishi

_** May 22nd, A.S. 522. Eight hours later**_

_To Emperor Tichon, his throne room on Akeldama did not exist. He was not in a room at all. As always, when he ascended to this level of the thought-plane, all the trappings of the physical world fell away. The tangible blackness that surrounded him was infinite, without borders or walls, floors or ceilings, or even up or down. It was broken only by the tiny streams of whispering violet light that wove their way sinuously through the empty space. Some of them spun quickly and vigorously. Others remained still until they resembled nothing more than tiny, violet stars in the inky distance. Dozens of them swirled and revolved around the Emperor, leaving haunting wisps of lavender in the void that faded as they passed._

_Master…they seemed to whisper hungrily as they passed. How much longer? How much longer?_

_Soon, my faithful ones, Tichon thought back with a slight smile. Soon. It will not be long before we can begin…_

_Soon… they hissed, savouring the word. Soon…_

_Have patience, my mirrireid__…_

**********

Hundreds of miles away, on the other side of Gaea, a lone man looked up.

Night had fallen over the lands of Yagami. The lights of Maitzin still glimmered in the far distance, but here, on the roof of Aidan's palace where he had concealed himself, it seemed to him that the very air had slowed and stilled as the world fell asleep. The soft dancing of moonlit tendrils of mist was the only movement he could see in this world of shadows. Grunting softly to himself, he looked further up still.

The waxing moon's cold pale light appeared from behind a bank of clouds, and the mist turned momentarily silver in its glow. Although the edges of the moon were blurred by thin, translucent veils of cloud, the man could tell that it was already past its zenith. Soon, it would begin its slow descent towards the horizon. It was almost time.

He was proven right a moment later when a hushed bronze bell rang two o'clock, and the watch shifts changed. The soft clatter of their boots reverberated off the stone walls as fresh guards went out to man the defensive walls, and the relieved soldiers went in for a few hours sleep. A dog barked at a raccoon, rousing the other dogs into a brief cacophony of yips and whines. Then the clatter faded and the night's tangible blanket of calm descended once more.

The man lay back and patiently waited another fifteen minutes as the new guards settled into their posts. When nothing more happened, he silently unfastened the buttons on his white Yagami Captain's uniform, and cast it aside. From the package he had in his lap, he swiftly took out a black cloak, and flung it about his shoulders, fastening the broach at his throat with practiced ease. Atop the palace's arched roof, he was all but indistinguishable from the dark green tiles when he pulled the deep cowl over his face. Cautiously, he got up from his crouching position and stretched. He cocked his head one last time to listen for any stray footsteps.__

There were none. The guards were not due to change for another six hours, and most of the lords and ladies were already asleep. The only thing he could sense were the light sounds of servants' feet as they scurried about the hallways, dusting off the odd suit of armour, or the ornate candlesticks and mantelpieces that decorated the corridors. They would continue all night, and disappear only when morning came and the Lords began to rise. It was as quiet as it was going to get. The time was now.

Satisfied, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the small, metal pendant. Carefully, he unclasped the chain around it and replaced the link within his pocket. Then, holding it in his hands close to his mouth, he exhaled softly on the metal as one might blow on a glowing ember.__

The _mirrireid responded instantly. The man felt a great rush of rising power as the metal's subtle blue glow brightened and the talisman flared into life. Around his feet, long, narrow marks began to burn themselves into the green roof tiles, as if drawn by an invisible hand clutching a white-hot sword. The man ignored the angry crimson scars, but continued to whisper, and the __mirrireid continued to flicker. Finally, as the last inscription was drawn, the red lines flashed once in unison, then faded to a steady, ambient glow.___

As it always did, the raw power rising from the fell symbol on the ground sent a tingle of anticipation down the man's back. Yes…this was power. The numbing fear he had felt earlier that afternoon fell away, and he almost laughed out loud. That witch, Lady Hikari, could not do anything to him. What was a mere human compared to this? How could she hold a candle to what he, a bearer, could summon forth with a few words? The five lined pentagram, simple and elegant, filled his vision, rushing in on him, consuming him hungrily as he reveled in its flames until he could see, hear and feel nothing else. _Now! the ever-present whisper said. __Do it now!!_

Eagerly, he sat down in the middle of the marks he had drawn, and pressed the _mirrireid between his two palms, in a horrible perversion of a prayer. The piece of metal began to get colder and colder as he pressed it, until it burned at the flesh of his palms. A white mist appeared around his clasped hands as the balmy air around the __mirrireid crystallized into clouds of ice. He didn't care. As he pressed it harder, a slight, red glow began to shine through the cracks of his hands, seeping from between his palms like blood. The man closed his eyes, and slowly, carefully, began to chant:_

"_Ibaeli roband asilihan zardovudd saetan…Kedoreldan nydiraseth alaech…"_

Two stories below him, King Aidan frowned, and began to stir in his sleep.

**********

Kari gazed listlessly out of her glass window at the lights and fires dotting the city. At any other time in her life, she would have thought the view was beautiful. Breathtaking even. Now however, as the fatigue from the journey and from a long day of playing the diplomat finally caught up with her, she was in no mood to appreciate anything. 

From her perch on the peak of Aidan's palace, Maitzin was spread out like a blanket before her. The central blocks of buildings and the numerous taverns and bars were all aglow with the multicoloured glow of festive beacons and candles. The roads were alive with moving points of gold and silver – lanterns borne by night-running wagons. In lower Maitzin, Kari could see the running lights of ferries and river-boats as they scurried to and fro along the waterways. She could even see the exact outline of the coast from the oil-lamps on the docks. The whole thing vaguely reminded Kari of years long past, when she would sit atop a mountain ridge, and look down, wide-eyed, upon the tranquil glow of fluttering fireflies blazing through the translucent mountain mist. It was a comforting memory – one of the few not laced with death and pain. 

If only her companion would let her indulge in it.

You broke every rule of diplomacy! Cody thought fiercely. _In ten minutes! Kari, are you __insane?! You not only insulted him to his face, you insulted him in front of his own court, his own counsellors and his own soldiers!_

Kari sighed as she watched Cody pace around the room like a caged tiger. So much for reminiscing. She had long since shed her white cloak and donned a more comfortable night-dress which left her shoulders and arms bare. Cody however, was still dressed in his gray cloak and suit, oblivious or uncaring of the late hour. In the candlelight, which was the room's only illumination, his green eyes looked almost obsidian black, terrifying in their intensity. And don't use that playground excuse "he started it first" Cody went on, waving his arms for emphasis. I know you better than that. But, if not that, then what were you _thinking?_

We've been over this, Kari thought wearily. If I thought that appealing to his pride would convince him, believe me, I would've done it.

And what makes you think it wouldn't have worked? You didn't just tread on his pride, you stomped on it, and tore it to pieces!

Kari hugged her knees to her chest as she looked out over Maitzin again. The slowly moving points of light soothed her eyes. Cody, you may notice things like archers, and locks being on the wrong side of the door, but you are blind when it comes to reading people.

What do you mean by that? Cody said as he stopped pacing and glared at Kari.

King Aidan, she said slowly, is a ruler that genuinely cares for his people. I admire that. It is a necessary trait in a man who has to hold a struggling kingdom together.

Cody glanced around the room, as if he had not heard properly. When his reply came, his thought-shape was tinged with incredulity. Excuse me?

Any man that has managed to pull this kingdom together in the wake of Queen Yagami's death has to love his country, Kari thought emphatically as she looked back out the window. That's no mean feat, when half the provinces are talking about leaving the Yagami banner. Somehow, this man inspired enough loyalty to keep the nation together. And no man can do that with feigned devotion.__

You sure made it sound like you hated him…

Oh I do, Kari said wryly. It's hard not to be at least a little spiteful towards someone who calls you a  "fool girl" to your face. But Cody, you have a thing or two to learn about not letting your emotions get in the way of seeing someone for who they are. Just because I hate someone, doesn't mean I don't respect them.

Cody sighed. I should've remembered.

King Aidan needs the facts, Cody Kari continued. He is not interested in equivocation. Didn't you notice how direct he was? No nonsense about wishing Bjorn well, no matter how insincere that would be. No meaningless blessings. He cut right to the heart of the matter. So I gave him the truth. Namely, I am _not a "fool girl" to be dismissed at his leisure._

You still angered him…

King Aidan will not let pride get in the way of making the right decision. For his people, he will swallow even that.

Couldn't there have been some simpler way to break the news to him? Cody said agitatedly as he started to pace again. Something more gentle perhaps?

What if I had debased myself in front of him? Kari demanded. If he then agrees to meet with Bjorn, you _know Bjorn will not stand to be insulted like that. I would have accomplished nothing, and quite possibly made things worse._

Cody grunted. You gamble with the fate of this world, Kari. If you lose...

At least, Kari thought back levelly, I have made a way where previously there was none.

Cody looked up from his pacing, his haggard green eyes finding Kari's own. That you have, he thought grudgingly. However, may the records show that I _still think you're insane. For a moment, a small smile tugged at his lips, and he looked like the young Taelidani boy Kari had rescued from the desert years ago. If nothing else, Aidan's expression when you summoned your stand was priceless._

Kari however, was too tired to rise to the weak attempt at humour. She sighed and slumped, her rigid posture melting as she sat on her bed. Glancing at the basin of cold water on the mantel, Kari briefly debated whether it was worth the bother to ask for a hot basin, then decided against it. Pray, Cody she replied. Pray that Aidan sees the way. He is devoted to his people, yes, but that is not enough. I am merely using it as a lever to push him in the right direction. He has to be devoted to _all people, all nations, for this alliance to work._

Cody did not say anything, but his silence was acknowledgement enough. For a moment, both of them merely stared out the window at the bright blanket of lights before them. The candle flickered on its stand as a breeze blew in from the window.

Then both stand-masters gasped in unison. Cody swayed, and grabbed onto Kari's bed for support. Kari doubled over_ and covered her mouth as bile flooded her stomach. She felt like someone had thrown a rancid basin of slimy, lukewarm water on her as she sat on her bed. For a moment, the sheer shock took her breath away and she closed her eyes as she struggled to open her throat, to get her lungs to work. Quickly, Kari slammed her stand's inner eye shut, and the feeling faded away. Without her extra sense of people's spirit, she felt almost blind, but she didn't care. She was too busy trying to keep her dinner down._

"Cody?" she gasped out loud. With her senses closed, she could no longer send thought-shapes. "Did…did you feel that?"

Beside her, Cody was spitting into the basin of cold water. "_Stavik," he muttered hoarsely. "What was __that?"_

Shuddering, Kari scrubbed her hands compulsively against her pale night-dress, and shook her head to make certain that her long hair was still clean and dry. The cold wind coming in through the open window left a welcome, cleansing chill along her skin, even though it raised goosebumps on her bare arms. Wrapping her arms around herself, she shivered, as much from the disgusting aftertaste on her tongue as the cold. "There is dark magic afoot," she said urgently. "Someone in this castle is casting a spell."

"Dark magic? Kari, we're in the middle of Yagami territory! The border is almost two days' march away!"

"Perhaps," Kari said. Then, she leapt from her bed and began to search frantically for her night-robe, "Aidan was so preoccupied in guarding us, someone from the outside was allowed to slip in. Do you know where Isaac is?"

"Of course," Cody said as he straightened up. "He's with the men two floors below us. What are you planning?"

Kari finally found her pale robe in the candle-light. Gratefully, she slipped it on, and fastened the sash at her waist. Her hand automatically went to her side, and she frowned as her hand brushed her hip. "I forgot…they took our weapons."

"They took our men's weapons as well. They can't do anything," Cody reminded her.

"Rouse Isaac anyway, and tell them to improvise," Kari said as she put on her slippers. "Use anything; I don't care what kind of a mess they make. Go raise the alarm. Tell them we're under attack. I'll try and track down…whoever it is that's casting that spell. Join me when you've got everyone rounded up. Whoever gets there first, _stop it!"_

Cody nodded quickly as he made for the door. "I'll be there in a few minutes. Good luck."

"Same to you." Then, not even bothering to dress properly, Kari strode quickly to the door and threw it open. The four guards stationed around her room straightened up in surprise as the wooden door flew open with a loud crash. Dumbfounded, they stared as Kari emerged still in her night-gown and slippers.

"Stop gaping like a crowd of fools!" she snapped. "Your castle is under attack!" Before they could react to that, Kari turned and started running down the hall.

**********

_ The Emperor looked up as one of the more distant violet lights began to pulse blood-red. _

_Master… the bearer seemed to whisper  into the darkness.  Aid me…Lend me your strength…_

**********

Kari skidded to a halt at the first intersection, and gazed wildly in both directions. Which way? The lavishly decorated hallways looked identical in either direction, and the palace was far too large to search all of it. She didn't even know the layout of the whole place. She bit her lip, as she steeled herself. _Only for a moment, she promised herself. __Only for a moment…_

Cautiously, she opened the inner eye of her stand by a crack. Immediately, the foul feeling of sorcery flooded into her stomach, but she clamped her teeth shut and refused to retch. It was pulsing in a grotesque burlesque of a heartbeat, sending out stomach-turning waves of dark magic in a steadily quickening beat. Yes…she could tell where it was coming from. Up on the roofs, further north along the Lords' apartments. Quickly, she turned left and sprinted down the hallway, her nightgown flying. Late-night servants and guards gaped at her as she ran past shouting, "Sound the alarm! You're under attack! Sound the alarm!"

Even as she shouted, however, the huge, bronze bell mounted on the highest tower of Aidan's palace began to ring quickly and urgently. Three sharp taps, then silence. Then three sharp taps again. Doors flew open all around her as people milled around, wondering what was going on, and guards began to shout at orders at one another to get the Lords and Ladies into the safe-rooms downstairs. Kari allowed herself a grim smile. Either Cody or Isaac had managed to raise the alarm. Whoever the sorcerer was, he wouldn't be able to cast his spell in peace for long.

Suddenly, one of the guard's shouts pierced through her shell of concentration and seared across her consciousness. She snapped her head around as a guard ran by, shouting at the top of his lungs. "All healers to King Aidan's room immediately! Where are the healers? The King is dying! _The King is dying!"_

Kari reached out and grabbed the guard's arm in an iron grip. "What happened?" she demanded.

The guard tried to pull his arm away. "Milady, I-"

"_What happened?!" Kari shouted._

"The King is dying!" the guard snarled as he wrenched away. "The head healer doesn't know what's wrong with him. Some kind of sudden disease! Now, milady, I have to go find the-"

But Kari was not listening. The moment she had heard the word "disease", she had already reversed direction. By the time the guard finished his sentence, she was already disappearing around the nearest corner. "_Merde," she swore under her breath. Of course. Of __course. What else would the sorcerer do? What else could the spell be doing? _

Even the strongest sorcerer could not hope to pull the entire castle down on its sleeping inhabitants. He could not conceivably kill every lord and lady in the building either. The guards would be able to find him long before he managed to. Kari didn't know how the sorcerer had managed to get into Aidan's very castle, but whoever it was had to know that once he started his spell, he would be found very quickly. He would have a few minutes at most, to cast one single spell. And when one had one, single shot, one always aimed at where it would do the most harm. 

The stand-masters could not be touched by dark magic. 

So the only one left was…Aidan.

Help. She had to help. She didn't know how, but the urgent need to do _something drove her onwards. Tearing along the corridors, she risked a quick thought-shape to Cody. Cody! She screamed into the thought-plane, ignoring the instantaneous flood of stomach-turning slime. Aidan's being killed! I'm going to go help him! __Stop whoever is casting that spell!_

There was no answer. Kari wasn't sure whether it was because Cody had closed his stand's eye and couldn't sense her, or because he didn't bother to respond. Either way, she didn't have time to find out. Brushing past a group of guards that tried to stop her, she bounded up some stairs, taking them three at a time. The guards were beginning to notice her now, and some reached out to catch her, shouting something about "her own protection". Kari desperately threw off their arms and slipped through their clumsy attempts to stop her. "I know what I'm doing," she shouted back as she kept running. "Your King is in danger! I'm a healer, let me be!"

After what felt like an eternity, even though it couldn't have lasted more than two minutes, Kari found the hallway she was looking for. The door to King Aidan's bedchamber was flooded with frightened and nervous people, all of them straining to see what was happening to their King. Four guards were holding them back firmly with their long spears. "Stay back!" they shouted above the crowd's frightened din. "Give the healer space to work!"

Kari elbowed and pushed her way through the crowd as fast as she could. When she reached the door, the guards sidled sideways, and neatly blocked her path. "Lady Hikari," one of them said, "you should be in the safe-rooms downstairs. Give the healers space to work."

"I'm a healer," Kari shouted as she tried to brush their spears away. "Let me pass! I can help!"

"The healer gave specific orders that-"  

"Your King is _dying!" Kari flared as she forcibly pushed her way past the startled guards. "Let me __pass!"_

As she stepped into the room, Kari was almost overwhelmed by the stink in the room, both to her stand's senses, and to her physical senses. Her eyes watered and a faint, low roar filled her ears as her vision began to dim. Quickly, she slammed her stand's eye shut again, but unfortunately she couldn't do the same with her nose. Gulping air through her mouth, she staggered across the wide bedchamber to where the healer and their assistants were desperately trying to save their King. When Kari arrived at Aidan's bedside, she gasped.

Aidan was thrashing furiously on his bed, despite the best efforts of the healer's assistants, who were trying to hold his flailing form still for the healer to work. His skin was mottled with dark blue bruises and ulcers, and his limbs and digits were swelling up with a hideous pus beneath the skin. Already, some of the ulcers on his skin had burst, and his white bed sheets were slick with the black blood that oozed from his wounds. A stomach-turning stench of rotting meat wafted up as the hissing blood ate hungrily into the clean sheets. Aidan couldn't seem to breathe through his swollen throat as he choked and scrabbled at his neck for air. "Hold him still!" the healer shouted. "Someone hold his mouth open! Hold his mouth open, damn you!"**__**

Kari staggered up to the healer, and put a hand on her shoulder. "Let me help," she said, shaking the woman's shoulder urgently.

The healer looked over. "Lady Hikari!" she gasped. "You should be in the safe-rooms! I can't possibly ask you to-"

"Your King will be _dead in one minute unless we do something," Kari interrupted__ urgently. "I am a healer as well. __Let me help!"_

**********

The incessant ringing of the general alarm signal throbbed urgently in people's ears as Lords and Ladies wandered about the corridors in various states of undress. Guards ran to and fro, rounding up the people from their apartments, and taking them to their safe-rooms. Slipping through the bewildered crowd like a darting snake, Cody plunged ahead, seeking the dark sorcerer with his stand's eye. Behind him, the Shienar honour guards doggedly followed the stand-master, trying to keep up with his burning pace as they roughly shoved their way through the congested hallways. 

All around them, white-cloaked soldiers shouted at them to stop, to head towards the safe-rooms below the palace, but their protests fell on deaf ears. Cody could hear nothing but the deafening roar of his pulse in his ears, and feel nothing except the nauseatingly oily taint of dark magic in the air. Behind him, Isaac and his men merely held up their hands as they ran past. "We're not armed!" he shouted as they rushed past. "Let us pass! We can help!"

Finally, Cody led the Shienarans down the length of the hallway, and turned right onto one of the many stairs in the palace. Without pausing to draw breath, he ran up the stairs, roughly shoving his way through the confused and frightened crowd of nobles that rushed down on their way to the safe-rooms. Then they were on the upper levels, where the Royal family used to dwell. There was some kind of disturbance down the hallway, but Cody ignored it, and kept on running upwards. Isaac and his men followed wordlessly.

Then they were at the top of the palace, and the staircase ended. They could not go up any further. There was another crowd here, and Cody hesitated for a second as he chose his direction again. This time, he sprinted straight for the milling horde of white-cloaked soldiers instead of running away from them. "Let us pass!" he roared as he elbowed his way through. "What's going on?"

Several soldiers turned and started at his appearance. "Lord Cody, we-"

"Hey!" someone shouted. "You're not supposed to be up here! You could be-"

"I'm trying to help!" Cody pleaded. "Just…_trust me for one minute, and tell me what is going on!"_

The soldiers looked at one another, and hesitated. Just then, there was a great _boom, then a huge crack of thunder ripped the air asunder. Alarmed shouts filled the air as a sudden blast of wind blew down the corridor. His eyes widening in surprise, Cody shoved the guards aside, and looked for himself._

Ten men were sprawled on the floor, groaning. The heavy oak door that they had used as a battering ram lay in pieces on the floor. Cody looked up, and saw a dark, translucent violet wall still shimmering from the impact. It stretched across the entire corridor like a spider's web, and blocked off all access to the corridor beyond. Cody risked another look with his stand's eye. The sorcerer lay beyond the wall. He had obviously erected it to hold off the Yagami soldiers so he could cast his spell in peace.

"Fools!" Cody murmured under his breath. Behind the wall, he could make out a dozen more just like it, spaced every few meters apart. It would be all but impossible to get at the roof from here. Raising his hand, he sent an experimental cyan lightning bolt into the wall. The wall flickered slightly, and a crack appeared, but it held. Cody nodded. Given enough time, he could break through this. But time was definitely not something that he had.

Looking around wildly, he spied Isaac staring wide-eyed at the shimmering violet wall, and the dent Cody had made in it. Grabbing the Shienar Lord-Captain by the arm, Cody pulled him close. "Isaac!" he muttered. "Get your men to help these Yagami soldiers batter that wall down. Use anything you can find. Chairs, tables, swords, spears, whatever they give you, use it."

"Yes sir," Isaac said as he licked his lips. "But I don't think we'll be able to bring it down anytime soon."

"It doesn't matter," Cody said as he released the Lord-Captain's arm, and started looking around again. "You're only providing a distraction. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Then do it!" Cody said as he finally spied what he was looking for. Darting over to a nearby window, Cody smashed it open with his fist. The beautiful stained glass blew outwards, and Cody kicked away the remaining shards with his boot. Sticking his head outside, he looked both up and down.

The cold night breeze felt like a slap to his face compared to the warm air inside the palace. It was nearly an eighty meter drop to the stone-paved courtyard below, but only a fifteen meter climb to the roof. Unlike some of the others, Cody's stand could not fly. But that didn't mean heights stopped him. "Hack at that wall with all you've got Isaac!" Cody shouted over his shoulder. "I'll be back!" Then he climbed onto the windowsill, and summoned his stand.

Immediately, his stand's arms appeared superimposed upon his own. Suddenly, Cody's hands were encased in heavy metal gauntlets, both of which were grasping an arrow-straight rapier. Swiftly, Cody switched the rapiers around in his hands until he held them with the blade pointed downwards. Then, leaping from the windowsill, he plunged them into the palace's stone walls.

He slid down a few meters in a shower of sparks and whirring stone chips as the rapiers sliced through the wall. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his arms trembled with the effort as he shoved them even further in, and managed to bring himself to a stop. For a moment, the stand-master hung suspended on the wall like a fly on a sheer rock cliff. As he waited for his pulse to calm down slightly, Cody took a deep breath and adjusted his grip. Then he drew out his left rapier, and plunged it into the wall above his right one. Once that was secure, he withdrew his right one. Swiftly, he began to scale the smooth stone wall by dragging himself hand over hand with his impromptu climbing claws.

Soon, he had reached the roof. Cody rolled over the ceramic parapet with a final heave on his entrenched rapiers. Letting his stand disappear, he crouched by the parapet and listened closely. 

He could hear nothing on the roof. No footsteps, no breathing, no wind, nothing. Two stories down, he could hear the shouts and bangs of the men as they tried to break through the violet wall, and he grunted softly in satisfaction. Good. 

Now the enemy's attention was divided on two fronts: whatever spell he was casting, and holding the wall intact against the constant barrage. Quickly, Cody took one look around, and began to run along the edge of the roof towards the sorcerer. Well, whoever it was would have to divide his attention on a third front before long.

The sorcerer was very close. Cody could almost taste the nauseating waves of dark magic rolling across the rooftops. Going quietly now, he padded along the green roof until he judged the distance was right. Then he turned and started heading up the shallow slope of the pointed roof to reach the other side. Just before he reached the top, he stopped.

Even without his stand's senses, he could see the glow of cold fire on the other side of the roof. There could be no doubt that the sorcerer was on the other side. This close, Cody thought he could hear the screams of the damned floating on the reeling night air. He could hear the melodic chanting of the man's incessant spell. The air felt thick with tar, and his skin crawled from the oily taint. And suddenly, Cody felt angry. Very very angry.

The challenge he had planned died in his throat as a blinding rage overtook Cody. His stand began to boil in his veins as it rose out of his flesh, its white eyes shimmering with a righteous wrath. Before he knew it, he had gathered himself, and was hurtling forwards. Up the steep green slope. Past the apex of the roof. Up, up into the air. Rapiers burning bright, Cody attacked with blinding speed.

The sorcerer looked up_ and hissed in surprised horror at the terrible sight of a stand-master, unveiled in all his frightening glory, carving an arc of fire across the sky as he descended upon his prey. The horrible keening cry that emerged from under the cowl sounded more like a snake than a human. But he could only watch as Cody's rapiers made twin slashes of lightning against the dark field of stars. He could only scream as Cody's challenge shattered the night air like brittle glass. _

"_Begone, devil!"_

**********

_Suddenly, the bearer's whisper turned into a shout. The pulsing stream  shuddered and became erratic, beating like the heart of a hunted animal. Master! the slender sliver of crimson shouted into the darkness. He's found me! Save me! Save me!_

_Tichon raised his arms, and the swirls of violet streamers began to converge on the one, shivering light. Veils of mist wrapped themselves around his fingertips. Fear not! His thought speared through the darkness to reach the struggling bearer. Draw from my power. Let me fill you, and you shall know power unlimited!_

***********

The sorcerer screamed and raised his arms. A translucent shield sprang into being around the sorcerer. As Cody's rapiers smashed into the wall, there was a great crack of breaking lightning, and the wall disintegrated into a million, fading pieces. Staggering backwards, the sorcerer's foot caught on the roof's short parapet, and the man fell screaming from the roof.

Cody was not fooled for a moment. Without pausing, Cody ran for the roof's edge and threw himself headfirst down the narrow space between the two apartments into which the sorcerer had fallen. Folding his arms and legs close to his body, he plummeted gracefully downwards like a diving hawk, heedless of the shrieking wind that filled his ears and whipped his dark bangs from his face. He felt no fear. He felt no doubt. There was no room for such meaningless emotions in the void of his perfect concentration. The surging power of his stand flooded his body like a raging fire, breathing electric life into every muscle and fiber in defiance of the looming death that rushed up at him. He could taste the cold, misty air as it streaked past his face, hear the shrieking and screaming of splitting stone as his stand's aura crushed the alley's walls, and see the finest grains of sand on the ground nearly a hundred meters away. As he always did when he walked the fine knife's edge between life and death, he felt _alive._

Finally, less than fifty meters from the ground, the young stand-master flipped around until he was upright, and threw out both his hands.

The alley spanned fully three meters from one side to the other, and the young stand-master's arms were not nearly long enough to reach both sides. But they didn't have to. His stand's longer arms emerged from his own arms like smoke, and its armoured palms plunged into the stone walls on either side, even as its boots carved sparks in the mortar. As Cody dropped, suspended in the body of his flaring stand, he left a burning trail of broken stone above him to mark his passage.

In a great screech of splintering stone and mortar, Cody grinded to a halt. One of the lower level's windows had been smashed open and the broken window-pane was flapping slightly in the wind. The stand-master grunted as he pushed off of one of his stand's arms, and flipped into the open portal.

As he twisted through the air, dark balls of violet flew out of the black room and hit the stand-master on the chest and arms. Startled, Cody threw himself backwards into a crouch, then felt his own body in amazement. The magic crackled and twisted around his body like struggling serpents, but not the slightest twinge of pain assaulted him. Before him, the sorcerer howled in frustration as his attack splashed harmlessly on Cody's body. There was a brief flash, and chairs and tables around the room lifted on their own accord, and hurtled towards Cody.

Now the stand-master was prepared. In an earsplitting crack, his stand's rapiers sliced cleanly through a solid oak table. Even as his stand dealt with the heavier pieces of furniture, Cody himself grabbed a chair that had been heading for his head, twisted around and threw it into the wall behind him, where it shattered into a dozen pieces. When the last chair had been smashed, Cody swung around furiously. 

The sorcerer was nowhere in sight. The door to the room, some kind of antechamber, hung open, allowing the light from the hallway to spill in. Cody ran to the door, threw it aside, and dashed out into the corridor. "_Come out, demon!" he roared as gave chase down the hall. "__You can't run from me! Come out!"_

The sorcerer was nowhere to be seen. Cody halted at an intersection, his chest heaving as he glared around. "_You can't run from me!" he shouted again, heedless of the strange stares that soldiers of the palace were giving him. "__Come out, hellspawn!"_

**********

_Master… The shout was beginning to verge on despair. It is a stand-master that pursues me. My power is useless! Why master…why are you abandoning me?_

_I do not abandon my followers, Tichon assured the bearer. Come, draw more from me. Use my strength to return. You cannot defeat the stand-master. Not yet. Use the mirrireid __as I have taught you…_

_Tichon reached out, and a short, hollow line of radiance appeared between his palms. The other streamers seemed to pause, all holding still to observe the Dark Lord cast his spell. The line expanded, then stretched and distorted. One end shot forwards into the darkness, seeking out the rapidly beating streamer. The line was becoming stronger now, brighter and thicker, until it seemed that a river was  rushing forwards to engulf the bearer._

_Return! Return!_

**********

Suddenly, a wave of dark magic hit his stand's eye so hard the stand-master almost staggered under its blow. Furious, Cody turned to his left. The great, arched wooden door to King Aidan's audience chamber stood at the end of the hall, looking as solid as before to the naked eye. To the stand's eye, the waves of dark magic were getting stronger again, but the pulses were faster this time, more desperate. Wordlessly, Cody drew both his stand's rapiers and ran straight for the source. The thick wooden door flew into a thousand splinters as Cody smashed it open with a scream of rage. Without waiting for the wooden pieces to crash back to the floor, the stand-master dove through.

Behind the door, the sorcerer looked up and hissed as Cody streaked through the cloud of exploding door fragments into the wide audience chamber. In the split second it took for him to crush the distance between them, Cody only got a few fleeting glimpses of the spell the man was casting. There was another pentagram on the ground. The five lines in their concentric circles were unmistakable. The sorcerer's hands were glowing as well, and a foul red wind was rising and sweeping across the entire hall. A roar was slowly building up in the air itself. And the sorcerer himself was shimmering as if he was donning a cloak. The ground could be seen beneath his feet, and the edges of his body were beginning to disappear. But the man was not wearing a cloak.

Then Cody was there, and there was no time left to observe or to think. Desperately, he launched himself into a flying leap. The sorcerer howled as both of Cody's rapiers found their mark, and the stand-master's momentum sent both of them flying off of the pentagram. Just as Cody's foot cleared the edge of the red mark, the roar crescendoed to a high-pitched scream, and the pentagram exploded with light.

The hem of Cody's cloak, which had been over the pentagram when the spell had come to completion, abruptly snapped rigid. Without warning, the edge of the stand-master's gray cloak suddenly disappeared, leaving behind a razor-clean edge of shorn fabric. Then both stand-master and demon crashed back to the ground.

Even stabbed through the heart, the sorcerer still struggled like an animal. Cody flinched as the sorcerer's claws raked across his face and left ugly red marks as they sought to gouge out his eyes. The man writhed like an eel in the stand-master's grip, and blows rained down on Cody's face, back and arms.

Finally, Cody forced himself upright. Leaving his stand to hold the rapiers in the man's chest, he used his own hands to grab the man's lapels and drag him upright. Turning, Cody smashed the man into a nearby pillar. The solid stone pillar cracked under the impact. Cody shoved his face right up to the sorcerer's own. 

"I told you," Cody gritted, "you can't run away from me, you piece of hell-spawned filth!"

The sorcerer choked on his own blood. Then, despite everything, he leered at Cody. "It matters not," he sneered, "whether I run away or not. My mission is done. King Aidan is going to die."

The shock pierced his heart like an icy arrow. Snarling, Cody shoved the sorcerer harder into the pillar. "What did you _do to him?!"_

"My magic may be useless against you," the sorcerer murmured as his eyes began to close. "but the King has been infected. They are all infected. And no healing art on Gaea will cure them of _this poison…"_

"_Stavik," Cody swore hoarsely. "You-"_

"You can't stop us," the sorcerer whispered through the blood pooling in his mouth. There was a triumphant grin on his face as his eyes began to cloud over. "Anything you do will only slow the inevitable. There are others that will come after me. And you can't stop all of us…You couldn't even stop me…"

Cody lifted and slammed the man into the pillar again. "_Give me the cure!" he roared. "__Give me the cure or I'll-" Cody cut himself off as the man sagged against the stone like a rag doll without a groan. Cursing, Cody slapped the man across the cheeks, and checked his pulse. There was nothing. Quickly, he dissolved his stand's rapiers, and laid the man against the ground. He checked his pulse and breathing again. There was nothing. He couldn't even sense the sorcerer's spirit._

The man had died.

**********

The healer looked hesitant for a moment, then turned her gaze to Aidan. The King's groaning and thrashing was fading. His skin turned even more black than before. Then she nodded. "All right then. Hold his mouth open so I can give him some of this." She held up a jar of medicine. "We need to get him to start breathing first."

But Kari shook her head. "No," she said quickly. "Conventional medicines won't work. This isn't a disease you're accustomed to working with. You can't cure diseases caused by the dark arts with mere herbs."

"Dark arts?" The healer's eyes grew wide. "_Here?"_

"I can save your King!" Kari said as she grabbed the healer's shoulders and shook her. "Just have your servants let go of him and stand back. Do it!"

The healer hesitated again. Suddenly there was a great flash of cyan light outside the window that lit up the room like a lightning strike. A thunderous roar shook the entire palace to its very foundations. The healer looked back and forth between Kari and the window, and swiftly made a decision. "You heard the Lady," she shouted at her startled assistants. "Stand back! Stand back! Give her room to work!"

King Aidan hardly needed to be restrained anymore. He was clearly dying as his death throes began to fade away. Kari shook her head as she took off her night-gown, and cast it aside urgently. When she took a look at the black blood, she turned one last time to the healer. "And one more thing," she said quietly. "Prepare some _élantis herbs, and two beds in the Infirmary."_

White-faced, the healer scurried to the King's bedside, and selected a large bundle of herbs. "They are here," she said breathlessly. "And the rooms will be prepared."

Kari nodded her thanks and stepped up to the bed. King Aidan was lying almost perfectly still now. Only occasional twitches of his arms and legs indicated he was still alive. She took a deep breath, ignoring the fetid stink in the air. Then in one swift move, she opened her stand's eye as far as it would go, and summoned her stand.

The healer tumbled backwards and some of her assistants screamed as the white beast appeared in the room. The guards from outside heard the screaming and ran inside with their weapons drawn. Then everyone stopped as they saw what was happening.

Beside the King, the Lady Hikari stood alongside her stand before them, and both of them seemed to be robed in a clean white mist. Time paused and took a deep breath of awe as everyone stared, unable to wrench their gaze away from the mesmerizing spectacle. Kari's slim, beautiful face was shining with a light as white and pure as freshly fallen snow. Every feature of her slender figure, every fold of her dress, every lock of her hair seemed to be illuminated by a brilliant light from within, glowing with such blinding clarity that it seemed far too real. Even her simple night-dress transformed into a dazzling piece of white cloth, so pure that it made the King's silver robes seem like dirty rags in comparison. A gentle breeze blew through the room, and lifted Kari's long hair so that it floated gently above her shoulders like a glistening cloud of jewels. Helpless, some of the healer's assistants collapsed onto their knees and began to weep. They wept with fear as they cowered from the stand-master's glory. They wept with joy as they beheld the stand-master's breath-taking beauty. Some of them fell prostrate before her and began to pray. "_Dai'San Yagami!"__ they cried. "__Dai'San Yagami!"_

Slowly, Kari lowered herself onto the bed, and put her arms around the hideous figure of King Aidan. Her soft hands caressed the torn and bleeding flesh as if it were her own. Unheeding of the dark blood that stained her dress, without a hint of shame or disgust, she drew him close to her chest with the tender care of a mother nursing her child. Her stand drew up and spread its wings over the duo until they were enveloped in a cocoon of soft white feathers.

Then, she began to sing:

"_Shelter I give thee,_

_And safety from harm._

_Love I offer thee,_

_And hope in the storm._

_Take my hand, O child of Gaea,_

_This gift I offer is free._

_Be neither afraid nor fearful,_

_For my peace I give to thee."_

A great hush spread across the bedchamber as everyone watched with baited breath. Over and over, Kari softly sang the two verses until her_ song seemed to fill the whole room. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the white light from her hands seemed to spread into King Aidan's flesh. Then the light receded again. It flowed forth, then seeped back, like the cleansing waves of the ocean lapping against a broken, black beach. But Kari didn't stop singing. She hugged the King even closer, and chanted softly into his ear. Tears began to fall from her eyes, sparkling as they left glistening trails on her cheeks. "__Look," one of the assistants whispered to the healer. "__She cries! She sheds tears for our King!"_

And then the King moved slightly. His hand twitched, then fell into Kari's open palm. It seemed to the healer that his head moved slightly. With that, the white light began to spread slowly from Kari's hands to the King's shoulders, then to his torso, to his face, to his arms and hands, and to his legs. The white light wiped away the ugly stains from his flesh, and sealed the ugly wounds on his skin. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the blood on his sheets began to turn from black to red. Aidan's limbs began to shrink again, as if the dark pus**_ was being drained away. He coughed as his throat opened up again, and he sucked in huge lungfuls of air. His deathly rigid arms and legs relaxed and fell limply against Kari's body as she continued to embrace him. _****__**

Kari stopped singing, but continued to embrace the King. The healing continued. The colour returned to his face, the last of his wounds sealed themselves. The coughing stopped as his breathing evened out. Gently, Kari rocked him like a baby, then carefully laid him back down on the bed. Her stand shimmered once, then began to fade away like a ghostly spirit. 

In wonder, the healer walked to the bed, and touched her King's face. Aidan appeared to be sleeping peacefully, without a hint of pain on his face. But there was something different about him. A soft, subtle glow seemed to illuminate Aidan's face, as if Kari's healing aura refused to go away completely. In the soft white light, the King of Yagami looked younger. Fuller. Stronger.

Kari stood up from the bed. "He will need rest," she said faintly. "Move him to a clean bed. And when he wakes, give him some of the _élantis herb. He'll need it to make the blood he lost." Then, she too, collapsed onto the bed. Sliding off its side, she fell onto the floor, shivering. As murky mist crowded in on her vision, the last thing she heard were the sounds of the healer shouting for hands to carry the two of them to the sick ward._

**********

Tichon's eyes snapped open as the flickering light suddenly flared with one defiant gleam, then died out completely. There was nothing left on the _Perenic thought-plane of the bearer. Not a whisper, not an echo. The bearer was dead._

The Emperor sighed. The bearer had accomplished his mission, that was the important thing. But the sorcerer had been useful. Turning his attention to the ground to his left, his impassive gaze rested upon the blood-red insignia gleaming on the stone floor. It had not been there a moment ago.

In the middle of the rapidly cooling insignia, a scrap of gray cloth lay innocently on the floor.

**********

Kari woke slowly to the clean, medicinal smell of the sick ward. She could feel the gentle sunlight coming in from a nearby window on one side of her face, and hear the slight hiss and roar of the many distant waterfalls in Maitzin. Every muscle felt as if it had been twisted and wrung dry like an overused rag. The tiredness seemed to have soaked itself into her very bones, as had the grimy film that covered her skin. Grimacing with her eyes still closed, she hugged her own arms and rubbed them feverishly, but felt nothing coming off on her fingers.

Then she remembered the events of the night before and let go of her arms. Slowly, she took a deep breath with her eyes still closed, trying to let the fresh smell cleanse away some of the dirtiness she still felt from immersing herself in all that dark magic. She opened her eyes.

She was in a white room. The sheets had been tucked so tightly around her body that she had to pull at them to sit up. Beside her, two candle-stands looked as if they had been burned all the way to their bases. A small basin of lemon-scented water and some assorted herbs that were arranged on a clean, wooden table nearby was the source of the medicinal scent. Dully, she realized that her pale night-gown was draped across a nearby chair. It was only then that she realized someone had changed her into a silken gown, which was somewhat looser and richer than her old one.

"I see you're awake," a tired but pleased voice said beside her.

Kari turned her head to see Cody rubbing his weary face as he straightened up from his slouch in the chair. He had not changed at all, and his gray cloak was rumpled and twisted as if he had slept in it. Even his dark hair, normally impeccably combed, was slightly messy. "I…," Kari began. Then she stopped. Her throat felt as if something filthy had died in it.**_ Cautiously, she put a hand to her neck and cleared her throat. "What time is it?" she said finally._**

"Eight o'clock the next morning," Cody said as he stifled a yawn. "You were unconscious the whole night, and the healer wouldn't let anyone rouse you. Not that I blame her."  
  


Aidan?

"He's fine. Resting in the next room," Cody replied verbally. Then he raised a hand and grinned. "You may be awake enough to converse in thought-shapes, but my mind's a little too tired to send them. I stayed up all night last night, watching you, and I have a feeling that anything I send will be far too blurry for you to make out anyway. So…out loud, if you please."

Kari laughed. Sitting up, she rearranged her pillows and then sat up completely, resting her back against the backboard of her bed. "What happened?"

"I found the sorcerer," Cody said, slightly more seriously. "Sorry it took me awhile. He'd set up barriers along the corridors and the stairs, so I had to take the scenic route. He's dead now."

"Good," Kari said as she closed her eyes in relief. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Well, no," Cody said as he rubbed his eyes. "The guards made an exhaustive search of the castle. They found a discarded Yagami captain's uniform on the roof almost right above King Aidan's room, and the remains of some strange red chalk. Apart from that, nothing was found."

"He must have known we would have sensed him the moment he cast his attack," Kari said. "If we hadn't been there to stop him, King Aidan would probably be dead by now."

"It's what might have happened afterwards that frightens me," Cody said grimly. 

"Two stand-masters, ambassadors of Sheid, a country they are currently at war with, walk into Maitzin to stay with Aidan," Kari said as she shook her head. "The next morning, the poor soul is discovered dead. You can guess what the people would think of that."

"But I've been thinking," Cody said as he frowned in thought, "wouldn't it make more sense for the sorcerer to come after one of us? Or both of us? As great a blow to our reputation killing Aidan might have been, wouldn't killing one of us be much better?"

"Perhaps you understand less about the nature of your gift than you might think," Kari replied. "Our stand renders us immune. The Lord's spirit itself resides within us. How can the devil touch us with his sorcery when we're protected by the Creator? He can't. So he tried the next best thing." She laughed softly into her hand. "What he didn't count on was that our protection can be extended to whoever accepts it willingly. All Aidan had to do was…believe."

Cody looked up. "How did you do it anyway?"

Kari leaned back into her pillows in thought. "It was…strange," she said at last. "When I…first took him into my arms, it felt disgusting. It felt as if I was being violated and raped, as if I had leapt into a cesspool of poison and muck. Yet…"

"After the first leap of faith, it…didn't seem to matter anymore. I no longer saw the dirtiness. The blood. The dark, ugly sores. I didn't even notice the dark magic that was wrapped around him like swamp slime. I held him like he was my own child, and it felt…right, somehow. The only thing on my mind was that…this man, this man was a child of God as well. And once I remembered that, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to…hug him like he was my own."

They were both silent for a long time. Then Kari stirred. "Whoever that sorcerer was, Cody," she said quietly, "he was very skilled in the Dark Arts. We can handle one with ease, but we can't be everywhere at once. If Khaydarin has more sorcerers like him…"

"He had help," Cody said as he shook his head. "When I fought him, Kari, it was less like fighting a man than a demon. He had been so consumed with darkness that he no longer even sounded or felt human. And to top it off, he had this to help him." Cody drew something out of his pocket. "I searched him before I had his corpse burnt. He was clutching this in his hand so tightly it had burnt an imprint of itself into his palm."

Kari took the silver pendant into her hand and gazed at it intently. Despite the fact that it looked clean, the surface felt like it was coated with a dirty layer of oil. Frowning, Kari picked up a cloth from her bedside table and scrubbed at its surface. Nothing came off of the pendant, and the oily coat remained. Finally, Kari set the cloth down. Handling it with the tip of her fingers, Kari held it up to the light. 

The five-cornered pentagram felt cold to the touch, much colder than it should be in this late spring weather. It was a simple design, carved in fine silver and inscribed in a circle of steel. Kari grimaced with distaste as she turned it around in her hand. As she did, the edges seemed to shimmer with a weak blue light, just bright enough to be seen in the well-lit room.

"A pentagram," Kari mused as she set the thing on her bedside table. Picking up her cloth again, she began to wipe her hand compulsively. "Perhaps I should not be surprised."

"I believe the proper term is a _mirrireid," Cody said as he gazed at it as well. "I read somewhere that it helps dark magic users to focus their powers better. Alone, I think that sorcerer might have been able to kill Aidan in perhaps an hour of summoning. But with this…he could have killed the man in a matter of minutes."_

Kari gazed at the thing again. "Was the man carrying anything else?"

"A poisoned blade that had been dyed black, and a Yagami Captain's uniform, obviously fake." Cody said. "Nothing else of note. I had the uniform burned, and the blade melted. I searched the castle along with the guards. Like I said, there are no other surprises here."

"Hmph," Kari muttered. Taking a cloth from the table beside her, she wrapped the _mirrireid tightly with it, then handed it to Cody. "Keep it safe," she said. "And don't let __anyone else touch it. Our stands may protect us from dark magic, but they won't protect others."_

"I believe some of the more curious counsellors expressed interest in examining the artifact," Cody said tactfully.

"Well, they're not going to get the chance."

"Agreed," Cody said dryly as he pocketed the talisman.

Then both stand-masters turned as someone knocked on the door. Cody gave Kari a puzzled glance, then called out, "Enter."

The door opened to admit the head healer. Her eyes were wide with awe as she stepped timidly into the room. When she saw that Kari was sitting up on her bed, the healer dropped prostrate onto the ground and lowered her head reverently. "_Dai'San Sheid," she murmured. "__Dai'San Yagami. You must truly be God's servants to have saved our King from such dark magic. The Lord's light illumine you always, stand-master. May your blessing and favour fall on us, your servants…"_

Kari and Cody exchanged embarrassed glances. Then Kari cleared her throat. "Rise, rise," she insisted. "Do not ever bow to me, for I am only a steward, not your Queen. Rise now."

The healer rose reluctantly but kept her head bowed and her eyes downcast. "_Dai'San Yagami," she repeated. "If there is anything you need…"_

"I am fine now," Kari said awkwardly. "What is it that you came in for?"

The healer cleared her throat nervously and fidgeted with her hands. "The King Aidan requests the honour of your presence. He wishes to speak to you."

Kari sighed. Although she felt stronger now, she still did not quite feel up to getting up and walking for another hour. Now the choice had been taken away from her. "Of course," she forced herself to say. "If you will give me ten minutes to change and prepare myself, I will be happy to present myself to your King in whatever audience chamber he…"

"Uh…no, Lady," the healer stammered. "You misunderstand me. You need not present yourself to the King. King Aidan is here, outside your room, and he wishes the honour of speaking to you now."

Kari raised her eyebrows. "Healer, were those his exact words?"

"They were, milady."

Kari gave Cody a startled glance. Well, this was an abrupt turnaround. Only yesterday the King had made Kari wait half an hour before even permitting her to present herself to him. Now, here he was, asking to be presented to her?

"Well," she said faintly, "if he doesn't mind my appearance, by all means, let him in."

The healer closed her mouth and bowed so low that she almost bent double. Then, still murmuring her thanks and praise, she backed out of the room with her eyes downcast. Kari reached out to her and opened her mouth to tell her to relax, then closed it again as the healer disappeared around the doorway. Helplessly, she glanced at Cody, who merely shrugged. "You might as well get used to it Kari," he suggested gently. "Face it, you're no longer a farming girl from Kurtal…"

Kari shook her head. "That's not the way they should be acting," she protested. "Perhaps I should put my foot down and-"

"These people need someone to look up to," Cody said as he lifted a hand in calm her protests. "And I know it's not the proper thing to do, but it may be some time before these people get used to the idea. So for the time being, it might be better to-"

"Lady Hikari?"

Cody stopped talking, and Kari turned to the doorway. King Aidan was standing there dressed in a simple white robe like her. There were dark bags under his eyes, and his face was pale and drawn, but there were no scars or wounds from last night's encounter. As King Aidan felt her gaze upon him, he shifted his hands and took a deep breath.

There was an awkward silence. Then Kari sat up a little more in her bed. "Yes?" she said cautiously as she unconsciously tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.

Aidan looked even more awkward. "My men," he began hesitantly, "have told me everything that transpired last night. What the Lord Cody did to counter the threat of the sorcerer, and what…you did, Lady Hikari."

Kari said nothing, but simply stared at Aidan. The King cleared his throat and lifted his eyes to meet her gaze. "It appears, my Lady," he said awkwardly, "that I owe you an apology. In fact, it appears that I owe you my life."

Kari's throat felt dry. "Well," she forced out, "you were the one who did it. If you had not accepted my hand, I would have been helpless. I cannot save the unwilling."

"Please, Lady Hikari," Aidan said as he held up a hand pleadingly. "I am a stubborn man, and you do not know how…difficult it is for me to admit that I am wrong. I would be grateful if you would hear me out in silence."

Kari nodded and closed her mouth. Aidan took another deep breath. "I have reviewed your invitation for your conference, my Lady," he continued. "My counselors have been over it again and again. I must admit, Lady Hikari, that we were about to refuse you one more time, until…the incident happened last night."

Aidan awkwardly bowed his head in a gesture of acquiescence. "After what happened last night, there can be no doubt that you are who you claim you are, and that your motives are indeed pure. It did not take long for the council to reach a unanimous decision this morning in light of recent events, a decision that I have chosen to accept. I am prepared to leave within a week's time, or as soon as you and I are strong enough to make the journey."

Kari and Cody exchanged amazed glances. It was an abrupt turnaround that defied their wildest prayers. Aidan continued with the air of a man doggedly trying to lay everything out before shame finally overwhelmed him. "If Ambassador Cody would be so kind as to grant us safe passage through Shienar soil, we would not have to cut across the _Saera desert and run into the Khaydarin patrols, and we may be able to reach Ardinberg in as little as two weeks. As for your claim to my throne, Lady Hikari, it may be a matter of time before I persuade my more stubborn counselors to accept your claim, but I am-"_

"Enough," Kari interrupted as she held up a hand, shaking her head in wonder. "I have heard enough."

Aidan closed his mouth with an audible click. Kari shook her head amazedly as a wide smile spread across her face. 

"King Aidan. You may keep your throne. I spoke the truth when I said I had no interest in stealing your throne from under you."

"Nevertheless-"

"It is enough, King Aidan, that you have decided to come," Kari said as she smiled at him. "This is a time of turmoil for the people, and it is better for them to see their own, familiar King, whom they know and love, installed firmly on his throne, rather than a newcomer such as myself."

King Aidan bowed his head again. "Truly, Lady Hikari, your wisdom is a lesson to us all."

"A lesson well-learned, apparently," Cody said as he leaned back in his chair and laughed. "Kari, I suppose you were right after all."

"Very well then," Aidan said as he leaned back. Waves of relief seemed to slip off his shoulders as he gave Kari his first genuine smile since she had arrived. "We shall set off in one week's time. The alliance remains to be seen to. But for now, the people of Yagami stand ready to serve their _Dai'San."_

**Author's notes: Sorry for wait, etc. etc. *sighs* It really can't be helped. Well, I'll try and get the next chapter out sooner, if possible. I hoped you liked it. I always wish I had more time to edit, but I just decided to get this out and get over it. I've stewed over this chapter long enough. Next chapter, spotlight's on Yamato!


	6. Seihad Chapter Six

Disclaimer: Digimon is not mine. As if this was a digimon fic anyway…

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**Seihad: Chapter Six**

****

By: TK Takaishi

_** May 22nd, A.S. 522. The same day**_

Emperor Tichon stared thoughtfully at the gray cloth resting on the floor of his throne room, then stood up and walked over. Bending down, he picked up the small scrap of Cody's cloak between two fingers and examined it carefully. Even in the utter darkness, the Emperor needed no lamp, lantern or torch to know that it was a stand-master's cloak. The residual glow of Cody's stand, invisible to the naked eye but all too obvious to Tichon, still lingered on the cloth. Even here, in the fastness of his own realm, the piece of cloth stung and burned at his flesh.

The edge had been cut cleanly. No doubt the stand-master's cloak had been caught over the edge of the rune's field, and had been severed by the spell. Frowning, Tichon crushed the piece of cloth in his hand until smoke emerged from his clenched fist. When the cloth had burnt away into ashes, Tichon flicked his hand and scattered them across the stone floor of his throne room.

So, his agent had been discovered. Tichon was silent for a moment as he mused over the news. His bearers were obviously no match for the stand-masters when they were sent one at a time, and he did not have enough of them to send them in waves against the stand-masters. Perhaps if _Praetor_ Caylor was still with him, he might have been able to defeat Cody. But Caylor was no longer with him, and the Emperor was not one to waste his time on what might have or could have been. Clearly, these stand-masters were not going to be as easily assassinated as their predecessors.

It was time to switch tactics.

The Emperor looked at the ground with a sharp glance and the blood-red pentagram which had brought the gray cloth to him flared up again like a bonfire. A dark gash of red appeared above the pentagram and shaped itself into a narrow doorway. For a moment, the black light beyond it seemed to be even darker than the throne room as it glowed with a malevolent, baleful glare that gleamed and glistened with shapes untold. Still lost within his own thoughts, Tichon stepped through the doorway.

Dark gray dust suddenly enveloped him as he stepped into a world of shouts, wind and roars. The Emperor hissed and shaded his face as the weak, gray sunlight, filtered through the ever-present blanket of ash and fumes that covered the Khaydarin sky, fell upon him. Quickly, he reached behind him and drew his cowl over his head, shading his eyes. The protection it offered was only marginally better but it would have to do. He looked around.

Tichon stood on a low, snake-like ridge that ran from southeast to northwest scarcely ten miles from the shoreline. The distant towers of the city of Khaydarin could be seen rising above the plumes of dust covering the gray land to the east. Even from here, the dark masses of Khaydarin's fully-summoned might could be seen covering the landscape like a horde of milling ants. Turning, the Emperor beheld the great iron-gray bulk of the ocean separating the Island of Akeldama and the mainland of Gaea. The eastern-most shore of Ichijouji was almost five days' sail on a fast ship across the misty and hauntingly still _Akeldama_ strait. It was that strait more than anything that had saved Gaea from past invasion. _Well_…Tichon thought darkly as he cast his gaze downwards, _that's about to change._

The immense, half-completed pentagram stretched for miles in all directions. As the Emperor watched, teams of workers plowed and hacked at the cold, unyielding ground to extend the broad, neat lines that scarred the already broken earth. From up here, where he could see the entire structure, the rune's shape was already beginning to take form. When the intricate pentagram was completed, it would extend all the way from the foothills of the ridge that Tichon was standing on to the very edge of the Akeldama seashore. Although only three corners of the five corners had been completed so far, some of the lines under construction were already beginning to glow red. Some glowed brightly while others flashed erratically, and at each corner, construction had almost finished on three great tall towers that thrust at least three hundred meters out of the earth. As a weak shaft of sunlight lanced feebly down from a crack in the cloud cover, the black, seamless bulk of the nearest tower shone like a jewel caught in a flame.

Tichon allowed himself a small, fierce smile as he gazed at the center of the pentagram, at least ten miles away. Concentric circles of violet light shimmered and pulsed around the immense tower that stood there as if rooted like a centuries-old tree. His eyes traced the circles of light, then touched upon the base of the tower. 

He looked up.

And up.

And up.

The tower seemed to dominate the entire sky. Compared to it, the towers that stood at the corners seemed like tiny match-sticks that an errant child had driven into the ground. Ridge upon ridge, battlement upon battlement, the mighty monolith speared towards the sky defiantly, as impregnable as a fortress, as graceful as a willow, as poisonous as an adder. It was terrible. And it was beautiful…

The very top of the arching tower looked as if it had been constructed with sheets and pillars of shining crystal which shimmered and flashed with poisoned fire in the dim sunlight. Almost a third of them were already glowing with a haunting crimson light, and as the Emperor watched, another sheet of crystal began to flicker with red. Sparks of dark magic leaped from it and earthed themselves in the three immense claws that enclosed and protected the sheets of crystal like a grand metal flower. The Emperor grunted softly to himself as the tower filled his sight and his heart leapt as it always did when he cast his eye upon it. Yes…that was going to change…

He tore his gaze away from the tower and looked back down. In the distance, the Emperor could already see moving specks detach themselves from one corner of the giant pentagram and race across the flat, barren plain towards him. He could have hardly missed the riders, even without the plumes of gray dust that the horses' hooves were kicking up. Tichon shifted and adjusted his robes, then began to walk forwards. Even the closest tip of the pentagram was some miles distant and it would take the riders some time to reach him, but Tichon did not mind. He had wanted a view of his creation, and that was what he had. He needed several minutes to appraise the work anyhow.

When the riders finally arrived, they found their Emperor striding towards them. Tichon's expression could not be determined beneath the dark hood that he wore to shield himself from the sun, and the riders hesitated before their Lord. Finally, their leader held up a hand, and his soldiers stopped their nervous horses and dismounted. As the leader leapt down from his horse, he quickly took off his helmet and mask, and knelt in the dusty ground. "My Lord," he said reverently, "this is an unexpected honour! Your presence is a-"

The Emperor walked right past the man and paused thoughtfully. The man lowered his head and mentally prepared himself for his Emperor to address him. Even so, when the Emperor finally did, the man flinched.

Tell me how the work goes, Korvan.

Korvan fingered the ice-cold _mirrireid_ that he wore around his neck as he tried to control his heartbeat. It was disquieting enough to have the Emperor speak directly to you when you were asleep. When he forced his thoughts upon you when you were awake, however, the feeling was akin to being plunged without warning into an icy bath. He took a deep breath, rallied his shaking nerves, and concentrated.

The work goes well, my Lord, he replied. We are on schedule. Three of the outer towers have been completed and consecrated, and the foundations for the other two have already been laid. As you can see, the _sangrias_ is nearing completion as we speak. The other bearers are in there now, bringing the remaining crystals to life.

How are your men? Can they work faster still?

They are working as hard as they can, my Lord. They are dedicated men, loyal men, but still, they are only men. I can only ask so much of them.

Tichon didn't move or speak for a long moment. Korvan's men shifted uneasily amongst themselves, then stilled again as Korvan shot them a quick look. Finally, Tichon turned and began to walk back towards Korvan.

Something has changed, the Emperor said, his thought-shape slightly hazy as if he was distracted.

The death of the bearer Dajim? Korvan growled slightly as he nodded. Yes. I felt it as well. At least he succeeded in his mission.

He did not succeed in his mission.

Did he not manage to poison Aidan before he was killed?

There was only _one _stand-master fighting Dajim, Tichon growled. I sensed it. He was being pursued by one, and he was killed by one. Where was the other? There were _two_ of the accursed meddlers in the palace.

Korvan was silent.

Lady Hikari, Tichon breathed softly. It is said that she can heal any sickness in the land. Indeed, it is even said that her touch is enough to restore life. No, Korvan. Aidan did not die. Hikari would not have permitted it.

Then Aidan lives, Korvan thought flatly. And I trust that if we were to send scouts, they would find that the influence of the stand-masters has spread even further.

Precisely… Tichon hissed. So, in light of this, Bearer Korvan, can your men work faster?

Korvan felt a cold bead of sweat run down the side of his face. His hand began to shake, and he pressed it into the ground to stop the trembling. I…I cannot, my Lord, he thought back. Perhaps…perhaps if I had more men…

How fast can you get my _sangrias_ completed with the men that you have now?

At _least_ another three months…

_No!_ Tichon hissed as he shook his head vehemently. They may be organized by then. That is after the conference. That is too late!

The trembling seemed to have spread to all four of his limbs now. My Lord, Korvan thought, you…you ask the impossible…. These men have neither the strength nor endurance to work any faster. If we press them further, they may begin to die…

Tichon's cloak swirled furiously as he spun around to stare at the _sangrias_. And if I give you command of one of my armies? Tichon thought back as the hooded face looked down upon his kneeling subject. Another thousand workers?

Korvan hesitated as he made some swift mental calculations. "One thousand…," he said out loud. Then-

Perhaps two months, my Lord. If the work goes well.

Tichon stared at the bearer for a moment longer. Korvan's heart felt as if it would hammer its way out of his chest. The Emperor did not like being told that his orders were impossible. 

Then Tichon turned away and began to walk back up the ridge. Korvan did not let himself heave a sigh of relief, but surreptitiously let out the breath he had been holding through his nose. He would live to see another day. 

As the Emperor walked away towards the peak of the ridge, a gust of wind blew across the gray wasteland, and the billowing cloud of sand obscured the Emperor from Korvan's view. Even by straining his eyes, Korvan could only discern an indistinct, gray shape receding slowly.

But the walls of sand could not keep Tichon's last thought-shape from reaching Korvan, who shuddered and nearly collapsed. This time the sensation was more akin to being plunged into an icy bath filled with razor-sharp shards of steel.

You have fifty days, bearer. Use them well.

**********

_** May 24th, A.S. 522. Two days later**_

In the dying light of evening, the town of Candon, Sheid looked like nothing more than a very small glowing jewel on the vast, sandy shore of the Aoimizu lake. The outlying farms were already beginning to rally their cattle and sheep back in from the pastures for the night as the bell from Candon's steeple rang seven o'clock. Deep in the trackless acres of boreal forest in south-eastern Sheid, next to the East Cadimas road, Candon was one of those small villages where just about everyone knew everyone else, and half the town was related to each other anyway. It was one of those towns where the people did not have much, but were happy in what they had, and were far too proud to admit defeat to the cold, harsh land and leave in search of greener pastures. And it was one of those towns where the people knew everything there was to know within ten miles of their home, and nothing beyond that. 

Yamato could see it in the way the people bade good-night to each other with friendly nods and waves as they returned home. He could see it in the way people kept directing wary and curious stares at his tall black stallion and travel-stained cloak. He had been in villages such as these before, and he had learned enough to conceal his long, slim sword with a bundle of cloth to avoid suspicion. In many ways, Yamato was grateful that night was fast descending. He felt at home in the darkness. It shielded him from too many prying eyes. In daylight, people never sensed him until it was too late. At night, people didn't sense him at all if he didn't want them to.

There was no point in concealing himself from helpless farmers, so Yamato rode boldly down the main street of Candon on his black horse. Even so, he unconsciously faded into the darkness. Blending into his environment with minimal or no disguises was a survival trait he had learned over the past few years. Those that _did_ see him gave wary and uncertain looks at his dark, hooded face and tall black horse and decided it was wiser to simply walk on. Those few that actually approached shrank away from the cold stares he directed at them. Just as well; Yamato was in no mood to answer questions. He sighed as he rode past the farmers who were trying to pretend they were not openly gaping at him. Surely, these people had no idea what the war raging outside their borders was like. They were happy, yes. But that was only because they were ignorant. If _that_ was what Takeru relied on, then he wouldn't have lasted this long.

The dusty road he had been traveling on turned into a proper paved road as he entered the town square. Yamato paused for a moment to let a crowd of scurrying children pass before him. When they finally did, he urged his mount on again. 

The day and the work it had brought had ended, but night was only beginning. Evenings were when the farmers liked to come in from their remote shacks on the countryside for a smoke and a good pint. It was time for the storytelling, the songs and the fun. The brightly lit taverns and bars spilled orange light out onto the dark street, and the sounds of raucous laughter and merry songs could be heard through the windows. Through some of the open doors that led out onto the street, Yamato could smell the faint scent of cheap ale and tobacco smoke. Coloured lanterns hung outside most of the shops' doors, and the remains of streamers and coloured bits of paper blew this way and that in the brisk night wind. Yamato's mouth turned down at the corners in distaste at the plainness of the street and the buildings, but he had no choice. A storm was approaching, and he certainly did not feel like spending another night out in the open. He would have to find shelter in this tiny, backwater town. Resolutely, he nudged his horse on down the road until he found what he was looking for.

The sign in front of the inn's door read "The Nightingale". The inn looked simple and poor. Set a little distance back from the main road and sandwiched between a tavern and a smithy, the inn was nothing more than a small, three story building with a tiny stable built into the side to house its guests' horses. Like all the others, the windows that opened out onto the main street were brightly lit with lanterns and candles, and Yamato could hear the faint notes of music being played somewhere in the inn.

It was nothing grand, but it had a safe, homely, and above all, clean feel to it. He would be safe here, in this backwater village and this simple inn. Yamato sighed wearily as he dismounted, and led his horse past the rickety wooden fence that to the front of the inn. As he entered through the front gates, a young stable hand spotted him and hurried forward to greet him. "Good evening, sir," the stable hand said in greeting as he touched his hat respectfully. "Are you looking for shelter for the night?"

Yamato peered at the short stable-hand. "I am," he answered brusquely. "How much do you charge for a night?"

"Three gold marks a night, sir," the stable hand said. "Includes a good hot dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow. Sorry about the prices, but food is simply getting so scarce from the war that we can't afford to charge less."

Yamato frowned under his cowl. Three marks? And this boy thought that was a lot? He had lived in inns that had charged twenty marks a night. "I shall stay here," Yamato announced. "Who do I see about acquiring accommodation?"

"Let me see to your horse, sir," the stable-hand said cheerfully. "Well, then you'd be wanting to see Mr. Bartiman. He's inside, behind the bar. I've never seen him leave it. He'll be wearing a red jerkin."

"Thank you," Yamato said. The stable-hand subsided slightly under his cold, hooded stare. Unfastening his saddle-pack from his mount, Yamato released the reins into the stable-hand's palm. "He answers to the name 'Yeivan'. See to it that he is fed and watered well."

"Yes sir," the young stable-hand said meekly. Touching his cap again, he turned and led the black horse into the stable beside the inn's main building. Yamato watched him go for a moment, then strode into the brightly lit inn.

Immediately, a blast of music assailed his ears. Someone was playing the fiddle loudly, cheerfully, and badly. Yamato blinked and lowered his cloak's hood as he looked around. The main room of "The Nightingale" was a large dining room of sorts. The stout wooden tables and chairs and the bar stocked with ale and the odd bottle of wine were all clustered to the sides leaving a large open space in the middle. There was a fire roaring in the hearth at the end of the room to drive off the night chill, and the man playing the fiddle was sawing away enthusiastically at the instrument in front of an appreciative crowd of clapping listeners. Yamato winced as the man struck a bad note, but nobody else in the crowd seemed to notice. They probably didn't know that the fiddle was not truly meant to be played that way. Happy, yes. But ignorant.

Looking around, trying to adjust to the bright interior, Yamato spotted the innkeeper behind the bar, wearing a bright red jerkin just as the stable-hand had promised. Striding up to him, ignoring the dancing people he slipped past, he placed both hands on the clean bar-table. "Mr. Bartiman," Yamato said evenly. "I seek shelter for the night. Do you have a room?"

Bartiman blinked, and put down the glass he was polishing with a cloth. "Ah do," he said in a surprised tone and a thick rural accent. "An' who may you be, kind sir?"

"Matt," Yamato answered shortly. "And my business is my own."

"All right, sir." Bartiman looked offended as he held up a hand. "No need to get snappish. I did no mean to ask of your business."

Yamato smiled thinly. "Good."

Bartiman looked at him askance, and his gaze lingered slightly on the long, cloth-wrapped bundle Yamato held in his hand. "That will be three gold marks, sir," he said slowly, "for a bed and a meal."

"Of course," Yamato said. "I shall pay you in the morning. Your stable-hand told me outside."

"Of course," Bartiman said, looking relieved. "I had to make sure, sir. 'Tisn't good business not to tell customers the price before they board, y'know. What with the ruffians that are traveling the roads nowadays. Now, sir, that does no mean that I think you are a-"

"The room, Mr. Bartiman," Yamato interrupted. "I have traveled long and hard today and I am weary. _And_ I wish to set my burden down." He lifted his saddle-bag and his cloth-wrapped sword.

"Of course," the innkeeper blustered as he set down the glass he had been polishing. "How could I have been so discourteous? This way, this way."

Yamato followed the innkeeper as he dug out a lantern from a nearby cabinet, lit it, and went shuffling towards the staircase in the back of the room. "I hear the war's goin' badly," Bartiman said as he led Yamato up the narrow staircase to the rooms upstairs. "An' food's getting scarce, so I apologize if the price for a meal seems to be a little higher at the moment, but I'm sure you'll understand…What with the war effort and all, taxes have been higher than they have been in decades, and honest folk must do something to survive. Our men at the front need feedin' an' all. And of course, since they're away at the _front_, we've had less and less willing hands to help take in the harvest in the fall, so you'll excuse us if you find food a _wee_ bit scarce nowadays. O' course, all that's going to change soon after what happened last week, but ye know, until it does…"

Yamato stayed silent as the innkeeper carried on by himself. As they reached the third and top story of the inn, Bartiman finally realized that he had been working both sides of the conversation, and shut his mouth as well. The rest of the short walk was carried out wordlessly as Bartiman led Yamato to the end of the hall. 

Finally, Bartiman produced a key from his pocket, inserted it into the lock of a door at the very end of the hall. The lock squeaked loudly as the key turned stiffly in the lock, and the door slid open a fraction. Bartiman pushed it all the way open. "Here you are, good sir," he said as he swept out a hand to indicate the simple room. "The best room in the _Nightingale_, just for you. There aren't many travelers out on the roads in these dark times, so we're running mostly empty."

Yamato took the key from Bartiman's outstretched hand and strode past the man. His impassive gaze took in the simple but clean room. It was no palace, but it would do for the night. He had seen much worse. "Thank you," he said. "That will be all."

Bartiman rubbed his hands together nervously. "Dinner is being served right now on the main floor, so if you would like to have your meal before you turn in, you can find some downstairs. The baths are just down at the end of the stairs and to the left-"

"I will find it, thank you, Mr. Bartiman," Yamato said in a voice almost imperceptibly tinged with impatience. Bartiman checked himself and bowed. With a mumbled "Enjoy your stay, sir," the innkeeper positively fled from Yamato's presence.

Yamato watched him leave, then sighed and sat down on the bed. _The feather mattress is lumpy and hard,_ he thought wryly as he looked around. _And the bed-sheet is frayed. I'll have to ask for a replacement. _The best room in the _Nightingale_ was not a very good room. _But it is clean_, he reminded himself. As a former _Praetor_, he had always believed in assigning blame _and _credit where it was deserved. Levering himself off the bed again, he took off his travel stained cloak and carefully folded it into a neat pile. Leaving it at the head of his bed, he opened the door again and stepped out without his cloak. Indoors, it would probably attract more attention than it evaded.

As he descended into the brightly lit hall, he noted with a slight twinge of amusement that the fiddler had finally given over his sawing. Instead, someone was playing the flute with only slightly more skill than the last musician. The conversation seemed to have picked up though, and the entire place was filled with a constant hum of talking, laughing and music. Most of the people that filled it were cradling mugs of ale, and were dressed in the rough, simple clothes of farmers and townsmen. Yamato discreetly took a table to himself in a secluded corner, and signaled to a nearby waiter. "Steamed meat bun," he said quietly. "And a cup of water, please."

The waiter gave him a strange stare when Yamato mentioned water, but said nothing of it. "Of course, sir," he said with a bow. "Your meal will be ready momentarily."

"Thank you," Yamato said. Then, leaning back in his chair, he crossed his legs and simply allowed his mind to drift.

The flute was a constant distraction to him. He marveled at how the town folk could applaud and laugh at the man's pathetic attempts at making music; in fact, he marveled at how anyone could be laughing with such cheer and carefree innocence in the face of a war as devastating as the one that was sweeping through Gaea as they sang.__

Yamato had never laughed so freely in his life. Certainly not recently. The war that swept through his homeland was a war he intended to take part in. There was no question about that. He could not sit back and passively watch someone else form the Gaea he lived in and loved. The problem was, how?

_How does Takeru do it? _Yamato wondered for the thousandth time as he gazed unseeingly at the warm, laughing room. His younger brother had no outstanding talent. His skill with the sword was impressive, yes, but that was not what had made him into what he is now. He was a relatively uneducated man who had spent his childhood living in poverty as a mountain farmer, whereas he, Yamato, had learned from the greatest lore-masters, professors, and sword-masters in the land. Takeru was a weak man who could not bear to kill his enemies, even when they stood with their sword at his throat, whereas Yamato had never hesitated in his life. Takeru's technique was _centuries _old, whereas his own technique was new and _perfect_.And yet…and yet…

It was Takeru that now stood as the axis of history, not him. The younger, the weaker, had become the greater, whereas he, Yamato, had only managed to become _Praetor_. And now, he was not even that. "A fascinating man," Yamato muttered out loud. "Well, perhaps I can ask him myself how he had done it when I find him."

"Excuse me?"

Yamato looked up. The young stable-hand he had met earlier was standing by his table with a tray laden with food. The stable-hand smiled nervously as he motioned at the seat next to Yamato. "Mind if I sit down here? I'm done for the day, and I'm famished."

Yamato nodded wordlessly, and the stable-hand slid into the seat opposite the stand-master. The stable-hand fumbled nervously with his chopsticks as he broke them, and set out his food from the tray. "Uh…," the he said as he extended a hand, "my name is Eli. Eli Kaman. Pleasure to meet you, Mr…"

Yamato shook the outstretched hand warily. Now in the proper light of the dining hall, he could see that the stable-hand was little more than a boy, perhaps around fifteen years old. His freckled and honest face bespoke an innocence that could not have been present in anyone older than that. "My name is Matt," Yamato said neutrally. He did not offer a last name.

"Well, nice to meet you, sir Matt," Eli said as he poured a glass of water for himself.

"It's 'Matt'."

"Uh…all right," Eli said, looking confused. "Matt."

Then both of them paused as the waiter returned with "Matt's" steamed bun and water. Eli arched an eyebrow at the water, but refrained from commenting as Yamato set the cup down slightly harder than necessary and dismissed the waiter.

They both ate in silence for a moment. The conversation hummed around them and the music continued in the background. Someone with a harmonica joined the flute. It had been bad enough with one. With two, the jarringly discordant notes positively set Yamato's teeth on edge. Yamato looked over to see the audience's reaction. They were laughing and clapping harder than before.

"Festive isn't it?" Yamato finally commented.

"Festive?" Eli looked around in puzzlement. "Oh, you mean the music."

"They're both awful," Yamato said frankly. "I can play the harmonica better than that performer, and I am no musician."

"He's not a performer," Eli said as he glanced over. "That's old Cid Locan and his son Cenn Locan. They're millers from north of the town I believe, down for their usual evening drink."

"Working for that extra bit of money then?" Yamato said as he sipped his water.

"Why ever would they?" Eli said in genuine puzzlement. "What would they do with more money? The Locans aren't performing for money, Matt. They're just…performing. 'Tis good fun for all involved."

Matt checked over his shoulder again at the musician playing the harmonica, and frowned. "You folk do this sort of thing every night?" he said. "Performing for free? Gathering here for your evening drink?"

"Why…lately, yes."

"You _do_ know there is a war raging outside your borders, right?"

"Of course we do," Eli said as he but into his bun. "And it wasn't always like this."

"No?"

"What do you take us for?" Eli said as he gave Yamato a reproachful look. "Country hicks that know nothing outside our local borders?"

Yamato stared back, and despite himself, a bubble of amusement rose in his heart. The boy looked so genuinely insulted that Yamato gave the boy a faint smile. "Why, yes, I did."

"Wonderful," Eli said as he put his bun back down. "You can smile after all."

"What did you take me for?" Yamato returned. "Someone who bleeds ice?"

"Why, yes, I did," Eli said. He laughed. Yamato grinned.

In that moment, a small relationship was forged as they both lowered their guard that tiny bit. Eli shook his head. "No," he said at last. "It was not always like that. There was a time when the war had us all cowering in our homes, afraid of bandit attacks, or worse, Khaydarin raids. Only last month, Candon was actually less than a day's march away from the Yagami battle-front. Up until last week, we were still serving as a hospital for the wounded from the front."

"And what happened?"

"Have you not heard?" Eli said.

Yamato shook his head. "I may be a bit behind on the news," he confessed. "I've been traveling by myself. The last time I set foot in a town was more than a week ago. And news travels rather slowly out in these parts."

"Well, that might explain it," Eli said. "After all, the mayor only announced it to us five days ago. It seems that Lady Hikari Kamiya and Lord Cody Hida have finally managed to negotiate an effective truce with Yagami."

Yamato's smile faded slightly. "Is that a good thing?" he said, playing dumb.

"It's something that our best ambassadors have been picking at for the last six years and failed. It's not good, sir, it's amazing!"

Yamato's grin disappeared completely, but Eli didn't notice. The boy's eyes were gleaming as he recounted the news. "Amazing," he repeated. "They say that Lady Hikari saved the King Aidan from a Khaydarin sorcerer. I'm sure the news got distorted somewhere, 'cause that can't be true. I mean, sorcerers?__

"But the truce is real. The Yagami armies have withdrawn from the front, and Yagami relief and aid is even beginning to flow to the more devastated Shienar cities. Likewise, our people are helping to rebuild the Yagami cities that have been ravaged as well. Only yesterday did our caravan of food-stuffs return from the border, completely unharmed. And what's more, they brought along more than two-score prisoners of war freed from Yagami prisons. All in one week! It's a miracle, I'm telling you! The stand-masters are truly God's servants."

Yamato stayed silent. This was news to him. Eli finally noticed Yamato's cold expression, and frowned. "Matt?" he said. "Did you hear me?"

"Oh yes," Yamato said absent-mindedly. "The stand-masters are truly God's servants, correct?"

"That's what I said," Eli said, nodding triumphantly. "None greater in the land, and I'm not only talking about their strength. The mayor says that they're going to be the ones that are going to lead us out of this whole dark mess. And we all believe him. How can we not? Look at what they've done already!"

"Appearances can be deceiving, Eli," Yamato said.

"This is more than appearances," Eli insisted. "You can't tell the liars from the honest by their words. You tell by their actions. And what they have done already is proof enough for me." He shook his head vehemently. "In my opinion, you would have to be daft not to follow them."

Yamato gave the boy a wan smile. "Perhaps you're right, Eli," he said softly. "But for the 'daft', sometimes, proof is simply not enough. No matter how convincing, or how logical."

"Then what does it take for them to believe?"

"Perhaps they will never believe," Yamato said as he sipped his water. "They'll find flaws in your proof, boy, make no mistake. There will always be those who think they know more than you. And perhaps they do. Perhaps they do…"

Yamato paused as he took a bite out of his bun. "Flaws," he murmured as he swallowed. "There will always be excuses. Why did Khaydarin succeed the first time? Where were the stand-masters when the Age crumbled around their ears?" He sighed as he put down his bun. "Maybe people are simply afraid of being wrong. Because if it's true, then a lot of us will be in a lot of trouble…"

Eli stared at Yamato. Then he raised his eyebrows. "Mister, you don't believe in them, do you?"

Yamato smiled. "I'm not sure yet, Eli."

"Don't be ashamed," Eli said matter-of-factly, "My father said pretty much the same thing too."

"What thing?"

"About those scholars who knew it all. About them failing the first time."

"Oh? And what did he say?"

Eli smiled. Then he picked up a wizened apple from his tray and polished it with a napkin on the table. "This is an apple," he said simply, "from last winter's stores. Rather old and shrunken now."

"I see that," Yamato said as he stared at the apple.

"Now, I don't know about all that fancy logic those scholars go on about," Eli said, "or even what _you're _going on about." The boy took a deep bite out of the apple. "I just want you to tell me…is this apple that I'm eating bitter? Or is it sweet?"

Yamato stared at the boy as if he'd sprouted an extra ear. "How can I tell?"

"Can reason help you here?"

"No!"

"Why?"

"Because I haven't tasted the apple that you're eating."

Eli put the remains of his apple down thoughtfully. "Then my father said, 'in the same way, neither have you tasted'."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Not a clue," Eli said as he shrugged. "He says I'll understand when I get older."

Yamato sighed. "Then why'd you tell me?"

"You only asked me for what my father said!"

Eli finished the apple as Yamato shook his head. Then, conversation was made impossible as the musicians and their audience grew louder and rowdier. Yamato finished his meat bun as he listened to the music with half an ear. Eli clapped appreciatively each time the two performers finished a number, and even Yamato nodded reluctantly to the lively and catchy tune. _Even they cannot completely butcher the song_, he thought as he listened grudgingly.

Finally, Yamato finished the last piece of his meat bun. "Eli," he said as he nudged the young boy. "I am weary, and I think that I shall retire for an early night after a bath. But the bed-sheet in my room is frayed, and it needs replacing. Would you mind looking after the matter for me?"

"Sure thing, sir," Eli said cheerfully. "What room did Mr. Bartiman put you in?"

"The one at the end of the hall on the third floor."

"The best one?" Eli said as he raised his eyebrows. "No worries, sir. I'll carry the sheets up myself in a moment."

Yamato nodded his thanks, slipped the boy a small silver coin for his trouble despite Eli's protests, and headed back up the stairs. The glow from the dining hall and the lively music faded as Yamato walked down the hallway towards the stairwell that would take him up to his room. As he reached the stairwell however, Yamato hesitated. Then he turned right towards the baths that Bartiman had indicated.

When he opened the door and walked in, Yamato blinked as he ran into a veritable wall of steam and heat. It was sweltering in the baths. When his eyes had grown more accustomed to the mist, he discovered that the baths consisted of three large pools of clean water set into the smooth wooden floor, each filled to the brim with steaming water. There must have been some natural hot springs in the area, and Bartiman had obviously paid a lot of money to have the hot water pumped into his inn for his customers. The scent of rosewater brushed across Yamato's nose; Bartiman must have scented the water as well. There were clean cloths stacked in neat piles on one side of the large room, and a bath of cold water near the door for those who wanted to cool down. Yamato unbuttoned his shirt, and cast it onto the floor. He unfastened his belt and the long, sheathed dagger attached to it along with his trousers until he stood naked on the wooden floor. Then he stepped gratefully into the baths.

It was completely silent in the baths with the exception of the slight hiss of the steam and the quiet, rhythmic lapping of water on the edges of the pools. Yamato submerged himself up to his chin, and allowed the warm water to soak the weariness out of his muscles. As he soaked, he leaned his head back against the edge of the pool and stared at the ceiling.

There it was again. The news had only served to confirm his suspicions. As far as he knew, Lady Hikari came from as humble an origin as Takeru had. If anything, she had been even worse off. At least Takeru had had Vargas Takaishi to train and teach him in the history of Gaea and the art of the sword. At least Takeru was _Ishidan_. Hikari had had nothing. Her family had been Kurtal natives, humble farmers in the Novinha Mountains, for as long as they could remember. Cody Hida was a Taelidani. One of those primitive, fighting natives of the _Saera_ desert who knew almost nothing of history and even less of governing and diplomacy. In essence, he was nothing more than an uneducated savage.

And yet, these two had somehow been born with stands. And more than that, they bore them well. Somewhere, they had found the strength and the wisdom to do what had been previously impossible, and found a way where previously there had been none. 

_How?_

_Where?_

_Why can't I do it as well?_

Yamato closed his eyes and took a deep breath before the inevitable feeling of frustrated helplessness managed to take over. It was a puzzle that had dogged him for the past six years. It had haunted him in his dreams and in his waking thoughts. It had followed him on his ceaseless wanderings, on his endless quest to find the answer. And it was not a puzzle that he could solve in a few moments of thinking in an inn's bathtub, somewhere in the depths of the Shienar forests. He would find out in a week's time. Takeru held the answer. If he didn't, then there _was _no answer, and that …in a twisted sort of way…was an answer in itself. One way or another, his pilgrimage would end in one week. It would do no good to smash something now.

Instead, Yamato submerged his head and scrubbed at his hair. He kept himself reasonably clean in the wilds, but it was always a relief to wash in a proper, _civilized _bath. Then, he got up and climbed out of the pool. Taking a cloth from the side of the room, he calmly and methodically dried himself off, then dressed and armed himself again. Then, pushing the door to the baths open, he strode out into the corridor.

The music and laughter were still going strong in the main room as he approached it. Out of curiosity, Yamato peered in from the dark hallway and scanned the room for Eli. There was no sign of the boy. The stable-hand had probably already gone upstairs with the sheets as promised. Smiling slightly, Yamato turned away from the main room and mounted the dark stairwell that would take him back to his room.

The three flights of stairs to the top room passed uneventfully for Yamato, who was lost in thought. As he arrived on the landing however, and began to walk down the hallway towards his room, Yamato paused. Something was tickling the back of his mind. There was something amiss. Yamato frowned, then stepped forward again at a much quieter and slower pace. As he advanced, he opened his stand's eye a little.

There were three people in the room behind the closed door, and their spirits were all flickering nervously with fear. Yamato's frown deepened. That must have been what had caught his attention. After a lifetime of inspiring terror in other peoples' spirit, Yamato's stand had become familiar with the sharp, piercing tang of fear. Softly, Yamato's hand closed on the hilt of his dagger as he approached his own room soundlessly.

As he came within two meters of his door, he checked the hall behind him. There was nobody in the dimly lit hallway. Quietly and swiftly, he pressed himself flat against the wall, and edged himself closer to the door to his room. 

It had been a long time since Yamato had been afraid of petty thieves and robbers, even in large groups. Indeed, he was not afraid now. But he had a feeling. These were not merely thieves…

**********

One of the three men stepped over the prone body lying on the floor and the bloodstained bed sheets it was holding on his way to the search the side cabinets of the room. "Anything?" he hissed. 

The other two men did not respond. One of them was swiftly checking the other tall cabinets and even the small dressing room in Yamato's room. The other was nervously standing guard by the door, a position he had not abandoned since the moment they had walked in. The man who had been searching shook his head. "Nothing, Legionnaire. Only this boy."

"You shouldn't have done that to him. The villagers will know we've been here."

"He surprised me," one of the men said as he glanced around furtively, and nervously adjusted the grip on his knife.

"Are you certain you saw _Praetor_ Caylor walk into this inn?"

"Positive," the other man said, nodding furiously. "It couldn't have been anyone else. I've seen _Praetor_ Caylor before, and this was him. He'd grown his hair a little, and he was dressed in some kind of simple cloak, but it was definitely him."

"Well, he's definitely given us a chase we won't forget anytime soon," one of them said as he kicked the body on the floor. "I still can't believe we tracked him to this…this godforsaken little town. What's a _Praetor _doing in a dung-hole like this?"

"He's passing through," said the legionnaire as he searched the boy's pockets, and came up with a single silver coin. "He's on his way to someplace."

"We should be going," one of them muttered nervously. "If we're discovered by him, we're all dead."

"It can't be him," another snorted derisively. "Look at this! This flea-bitten saddle-bag? That dirty cloak? A _Praetor _wouldn't travel like this. The name 'Matt' must be real. He must have gone into another inn somewhere."

"But _Praetor _Caylor was reputed to be one of the more Spartan _Praetors_!" one of the men argued.

"Well, he's not here is he? And he wasn't downstairs in the main room. We checked as we were passing through! There were several blond men in there. Maybe you mistook him for one of them."

"I agree," the legionnaire said as he approached the door to "Matt's" room. "We should leave and search elsewhere if he's not here. Leave the boy on the floor. He'll only burden us."

He reached the only door to the room, then paused. Drawing his knife, he touched the doorknob with one hand, and nodded at his men to be silent. Then, his gloved hand twisted the doorknob and slowly pushed it open. Putting an eye up to the crack, he glanced down the hallway.

There was nothing there. Only the dark and empty hallway of the _Nightingale_, illuminated by a few sputtering lanterns, stared back. Nothing but the faint hiss of burning lamp oil touched his ears. There were no telltale creaks of wooden floorboards, or light footsteps. Cautiously, still with his knife raised, the legionnaire opened the door further, and checked the other side of the passageway, and the ceiling above his head. There was nothing there either. Moonlight flooded in the open window at the end of the hallway, and the night breeze brushed across the legionnaire's face. The normality of the scene mocked his caution.

He sighed and straightened up again. "Come on," he said to his men as he pushed the door open the rest of the way and sheathed his knife. "It looks as if we haven't been discovered yet."

"That," a cold voice said, "is where you'd be wrong."

The legionnaire's nose caught a hint of rosewater a moment before an incredibly strong arm snaked around his throat from _behind_, and yanked him backwards into the room. Struggling futilely at the iron grip about his neck, the man was smashed into a nearby wall with a resounding _thud_. Before he could gather his thoughts, a hand was clamped across his mouth and a gleaming razor-blade was pressed against his trembling throat.

"Your men," the voice continued, "are dead, so don't be expecting any help from them. And I'd stop moving if I were you."

The legionnaire's eyes widened as he stared straight into Yamato's ice-blue eyes. They were glowing with a strange blue light that only served to make the raw fury in them all the more terrifying. Going stiff with shock, the legionnaire cast his gaze upon the ground.

Both of his men were lying face-down on the floor amidst rapidly spreading pools of their own blood. Their throats had been slit so swiftly and efficiently that he hadn't even heard the death rattle of their last breath escaping their lips. The legionnaire turned to stare at Yamato again. The door to the hallway had been closed, and it was the only entrance in and out of the room. Over Yamato's shoulder, he could see that the window was closed, and the latch was locked. _So how…_

"Now, I am going to release your mouth and ask you some questions," Yamato continued in a dangerous voice. "_If_ you're thinking of shouting for help, then know this. I know ways to wound you so that you won't die for another _day_, and you'll be writhing in terrible torment for every moment of it. By the end of it, you'll be screaming for a quick death like your men."

The legionnaire nodded. Yamato stared at his eyes for a moment longer, then released the man's mouth. The knife remained pressed firmly against the soldier's throat. "Who sent you, and what is your business with me?" Yamato demanded. "I know you're from Khaydarin, _legionnaire_. Tell me, under whose flag do you serve?"__

The legionnaire gulped, and clamped his mouth shut. Yamato stared at the man for a moment longer, then gently applied pressure on the knife. The razor-sharp edge began to cut into the man's skin, and a thin trickle of blood dripped down the side of his neck. "Tell me," Yamato said hoarsely, "Now."

The soldier recognized Yamato's tone. It was the voice of a man who was hanging onto his patience with a finger-tip. He stared at the knife, then at the stand-master's burning blue eyes, and rethought his strategy.

"I serve under _Praetor_ Jadan," he whispered, trying not to breathe and disturb the knife. "There's a standing nation-wide order to find you, _Praetor_ Caylor."

"My name is Yamato," Yamato said through gritted teeth. "Not Caylor, and definitely not _Praetor_. Find me and do what?"

The legionnaire eyed the rock-steady knife. "To kill you," he said simply, "or to persuade you to come back. The Emperor does not like someone with your abilities walking free on Gaea with no set alliance."

"If you're trying to welcome me back into the fold," Yamato bit off coldly, "you're going about it in entirely the wrong way. If your target was me, why did you kill the boy?"

"The boy?"

The legionnaire felt Yamato's knife move beneath his neck, and suddenly found himself talking very fast. "Oh, you mean the kid who came up with the bed sheets? He…he had seen us, and we couldn't afford someone raising the alarm on us. So we-"

"So you killed the unfortunate kid who just happened to be here at the wrong time," Yamato said bitterly. "Of course. I understand." And he did. He used to do that kind of thing himself. "Who else is hunting for me? Answer truly."

The legionnaire stared straight ahead. "Everyone in Khaydarin," he said. "But not actively hunting. We are merely looking out for you. _Praetor_ Locke is the one who is in charge of your hunt."

_Locke_. Yamato's eyes widened in shock as the word sank in. So…his old Centurion. He was in charge of his hunt. "Locke is hunting me?" Yamato said with a sudden ferocity.

"Yes," the legionnaire said, eyeing the blade fixedly. "He's our best _Praetor_, and he's inherited your position, _Prae_-…Yamato, as the Emperor's right-hand man. He has been given command of our best trackers and assassins. It's only a matter of time until he finds you."

"We'll see about _that_," Yamato snarled. "How about now? Are there others looking for me in Candon?"

"Our entire company is here," the legionnaire replied. "We were stationed out in the woods. Two-hundred men on our way to meet up with the main army. One of my men saw you on the road on our scouting trip, and followed you here."

"Does your company leader know of me?"

"Yes," the legionnaire said reluctantly. "There are men combing the inns and taverns along the streets now in their cloaks."

Yamato remained silent. He was not concerned for his own safety. He could easily give the best trackers Khaydarin could throw at him the slip if he wanted to. But there were others that couldn't. And there would be more Eli's out there, dying because they happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time…

"Listen," the legionnaire said. "If you spare my life, I can help you navigate around our patrols, and show you a safe path through to the main road. I can even spread the word that the man my scout spied was not you, but some look-alike. It should buy you enough time to get away."

"Why should I deal with you?" Yamato said coldly. "You're here to kill me."

"Because," the man insisted, "there's no way you can escape from this village without being found. Even if you could get out of the borders, you'll never escape the net in the surrounding woods."

Yamato looked away and didn't say anything for a long moment. The legionnaire allowed himself a brief flare of hope. The former _Praetor_ appeared to be considering it. Cautiously, the legionnaire pushed himself up the wall, trying to ignore the cold knife pressed to his throat. "What of it?" he urged, giving the stand-master a weak smile. "Do we have a deal?"

Yamato turned his eyes back to the legionnaire, and the man suddenly found himself transfixed by the stand-master's glowing blue eyes. The expression of cold fury in them froze the legionnaire's tongue in his mouth. 

"I don't deal," Yamato hissed in a soft, dangerous voice as he leaned closer to the man's face. "First of all, I think you underestimate me. Second of all…" 

His burning blue eyes seemed to fill all of the legionnaire's vision.

"You should not have killed the boy."

Yamato's blade slid across the legionnaire's throat so fast that the man's trachea had been severed before he could scream. The man looked mildly surprised as a river of blood gushed out of the gaping wound in his throat, then clutched at his neck and fell to the ground.

Yamato stepped over the fallen body, calmly wiped the blade on a clean section of the man's cloak and sheathed it. Then he stepped out to the window and carefully moved the curtain an inch. He looked out through the crack.

The streets were deserted to the naked eye. With his stand's eye, he could see the ghostly flickers of two cloaked Khaydarin soldiers walking down the streets, investigating every barn and shadow that they encountered. Yamato narrowed his eyes, and allowed his stand to enhance his hearing. The singing downstairs had stopped. The laughing had stopped as well. In the distance, Yamato thought he could hear someone sobbing with terror. The man was right; Candon was not only surrounded. It was being searched.

_Why is it that wherever I go,_ Yamato wondered grimly, _I seem to bring death and destruction along with me?_

Turning from the window, he hesitated before the three fallen men. For a brief moment, he considered taking their cloaks and donning them. Then he remembered. The cloaks may be invisible to the enemy, but they appeared to glow bright red to another Khaydarin soldier who was wearing a cloak - a feature that prevented soldiers from bumping into one another when fighting. It would be worse than useless for his purposes.

Swiftly, Yamato gathered his cloak from the bedside table and put it on around his shoulders. Drawing up the hood, he bent down to repack his saddle-bag. The three soldiers had gone through his few possessions none too neatly, and it took him a precious minute to repack them. Finally, he straightened up again and picked up his sword from the corner he had cast it into.

As he stepped over the bloody bodies littered across the floor of his room, Yamato hesitated. He looked down upon the body of Eli. The boy had been stabbed repeatedly in the stomach, and it looked as if he had struggled quite a bit before dying. His blood was smeared all over the floor and even part of the bed. Judging from the expression of terror and agony frozen on the boy's face, it had probably been a painful death.

Slowly, Yamato set down his saddle-bag again and closed Eli's terror-stricken eyes. Then he picked up one of the less blood-stained bed-sheets that the boy had been carrying and spread it over Eli's face. "_Saiya namun tayi'san," he said, the traditional blessing for the dead rolling roughly and awkwardly off his tongue. "I'm sorry._

"Perhaps I'll never know whether that apple was bitter or sweet."

Then he stood up and strode out of the room. Slinging his saddle-bag over his shoulder, he ran swiftly down the passageway, his booted feet making no noise on the wooden floor. His head swiveled left and right as he scanned continuously for cloaked soldiers. Running past the staircase, he opened the wide window at the very end of the hall.

The blast of cold night air slapped him across the face like a shower of ice. Yamato cursed as he wrapped his cloak tighter around himself. Checking his saddle-bag was secure, Yamato swung off the windowsill, and grabbed onto some of the vines attached to the wall. Swiftly, he climbed down the vines to the second-floor level.

About halfway down the side of the building, Yamato leapt off the side and landed like a cat on the roof of the stable next to the inn. He winced at the quiet _thud that sounded out like a gong as he landed, and he forced himself to stay on the roof for a moment to see if anyone had heard. When nobody appeared after twenty seconds, Yamato crawled to the edge of the roof, gripped the edge with his hands, and flipped off the edge._

In less than a minute, he had found his horse and saddled him. Yeivan whickered sleepily in surprise when Yamato tugged at his reins, but he submitted to Yamato's firm hand as he led him out of the dark stable. When they reached the wide door to the stable, Yamato checked his horse for a moment, and peered cautiously around the corner.

There were no Khaydarin soldiers anywhere on the street. The two that he had seen earlier had disappeared somewhere. Yamato gazed out upon the empty road, and saw a clear path all the way out into the dark forest beyond the outskirts of Candon. Of course, there would likely be soldiers surrounding the town, but that was something to deal with when he reached the forests.

He gazed up at the inn, and his eyes softened slightly. He _could simply ride off into the night, unseen and unheard, and leave the Eli's of Candon to fend for themselves. It would be more convenient, and it would buy him a lot more time. The way was clear. And yet…_

The remembered notes of one of Old man Locan's songs seemed to touch his ears. Eli's laughing face seemed to flash in front of his eyes. Yamato smiled bitterly as he swung himself into the saddle, and rode into the middle of the street. _I must be crazy_, he thought to himself as he made Yeivan halt in the paved road. _I must be going soft._

With a brilliant blue flash, his wolf-stand appeared beside him. The blue light shone like a beacon in the dark night, and the street was suddenly illuminated brighter than day. Yamato pulled back on his reins, and Yeivan rose up onto his hind legs, kicking and screaming. Drawing his sword, Yamato shouted a challenge into the air.

"_Come and find me_," he roared at the top of his lungs, _"I, Caylor Ga'artred_, _will not be taken without a fight!_"

And with that brilliant display that must have woken up everyone within two miles, Yamato spurred his horse onwards and galloped into the night. Behind him, he could hear the shouts of men as the hoof beats of Khaydarin horses began to give chase. Yamato smothered a smile as he raced along the dark path. If that bit of chest-beating didn't draw their attention, nothing would.

_I must be crazy, _he thought again as he steered Yeivan into the dark forests. _But then again, I can always lose them in the forest._

_These people can't._

**Author's notes: Gah. Sorry about the long wait, people. By all rights, this chapter shouldn't come out for another week, 'cause I'm in the middle of exams, but I just grew so bored of studying, I had to edit and post this, just to put some spice back in my life. Thank you to both my editors, Karissa and Hell's Hauntress, who pored over the first drafts with merciless detail. Thanks a ton girls!

Anyway, sorry for the drought of writing. I hope to make up for it next chapter. Yamato vs. TK, match of the century. And it's 29 pages long! (to give you an idea, this chapter was only 17 pages long) Out sometime during winter break. ^_^


	7. Seihad Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: I don't own digimon. This is commonly known as a fanfic, i.e., not produced for profit. Simply for fun.

** **

**Seihad: Chapter Seven**

** **

By: TK Takaishi

** **

_**May 31st, A.S. 522. One week later**_

Takeru shaded his face as he emerged from the tree cover and paused for a moment to take in the breath-taking view. Even though it was still some time before dusk, the late afternoon sunlight seemed to dance from peak to peak until all the mountains were aflame with golden light and the thick clouds in the western sky were dyed a brazen golden-red. Down the sides of the mountains, the swiftly flowing** streams sparkled like ribbons of fiery jewels as they disappeared into the ancient boreal trees along the sides and bottom of the valley. From his vantage point, Takeru could see the thick carpet of green ripple like the surface of a pond as a stiff wind blew through the treetops. Raising his eyes, he squinted as he looked up at the gathering clouds on the western horizon. _It's going to be windy tonight, Takeru thought to himself as he turned back to the road. __Windy and dark._**

His horse stirred aside tendrils of cool mist as he urged it down the mountain pass towards the bottom of the valley, and Takeru shivered as he adjusted the heavy cloak around his body and the sword sheathed at his side. Ishidan summers came late in the year. And even in the summer, the night chill fell heavily in these forests as cold air came in from the mountaintops and swept the lower valleys.

He had not even bothered to tell Lord Marc before he had left. He hadn't even told the other stand-masters. He knew that they would have insisted upon an armed escort, if they allowed him to go at all. And if Takeru had refused the escort, the Knight would have told his soldiers to follow at a discreet distance anyway. Much simpler to leave a message for Marc to discover after_ he had left. Takeru had simply packed a few belongings, gone down to the stables, chosen the best horse available and left Ardinberg within the day. He could only hope that Marc would forgive him when he returned. If he returned._

As he descended, however, all thoughts of guilt disappeared, wiped away by the familiar sense of awe and peace that the ruined city still inspired in all its visitors. _This is more like the old days, he thought as looked around. __Just me, my horse,** and my sword. No guards, no Lord Marc, and no trumpeting fanfare announcing his passage. At night, there was no soft bed to fall into, or servants to wait upon his every need. Here, when night fell, his fire, silence,**** and darkness were his sole companions. In the morning, when the predawn gray found him already well on his way, the soft chirping of sleepy birds was the only thing speeding him on his way. Surprisingly, he found that he had missed the solitude. It was only in solitude that his thoughts became clearest. It was only in solitude that he knew where others' thoughts ended and his own thoughts began.**_

To the outside world, Palas was little more than an overlooked ruin, and Takeru wanted to keep it that way. To that end, he had not visited the holy city for six years in a deliberate attempt not to draw attention or fighting to the place, and he had wondered if the passage of years had changed it at all. However, as he turned the bend and the city came into view, his fears were allayed. Palas looked exactly as he remembered it.

The light gray walls gleamed in the sunlight as Takeru rode past them. As before, it seemed to Takeru that the city had been painstakingly planned and engineered to blend seamlessly into the landscape, like a temple chiseled right into the mountainside. Before him, the three-tiered levels of the city, separated by sheer rock cliffs two to three hundred meters in height, rose above him, hugging the mountainside like a carpet. Steep, broad staircases linked the three levels of the city, along with the charred remains of gargantuan water-powered elevators large enough to haul up to three teams of horses with room to spare for their cargo. Takeru paused for a moment as he looked up to gaze upon his former home. Then, bowing his head, he nudged his horse onwards.

Immediately, he was beset with memories. The streets and houses still stood as empty and forsaken as before, but Takeru could recall when they were alive and bustling with commerce and traffic. The flagstones were as broken, and the fountains as crushed as he remembered, yet he could recollect when they were whole, unbroken and proud. The air of quiet stillness lay upon the city like a blanket, and Takeru's horse's hooves sounded unnaturally loud as it echoed off the still, stone walls. The white domes, the empty flagpoles, the immense stone buildings…Takeru could recall every centimeter of it.

But where was Yamato?

Takeru glanced at the sun. There was still another two hours or so before dusk fell. It was exactly two weeks after his encounter with Yamato on the thought-plane, so he was here on the right day. Frowning, Takeru opened his stand's eye and began to look around as his horse cantered towards the center of the ruined city.

There wasn't a flicker of life around him. At least, not of human life. The richness of the flora and fauna which had quietly taken over the city created a dull, background hum and glow to the entire valley, but there was nothing human. Takeru checked his horse for a moment as he considered his next course of action.

That did not mean that Yamato was not here. The range of his stand's senses was very limited, and he would not sense his brother until he was within a hundred meters. Far enough to give him some warning before an attack, but not enough to find him in a city this large. Perhaps there was some way to extend a stand's senses beyond that - a way which Yamato might know. After all, he, Takeru, had only scratched the very surface of what the _Perenic thought-plane had to offer, while Yamato had been trained in its secrets since he was a boy. For all he knew, Yamato could be watching him right now._

Or, Yamato could simply be late. That was unlikely, but also in the realm of possibility.

Or…it could be a trap.

Takeru's eyes narrowed as he dismounted his horse to lead it up the first, long staircase towards the second level of the city. It was possible that Yamato had been lying all along on the thought-plane. That he _was still with Khaydarin. If that was the case, then everything was over. He would have told the Emperor all about the conference, and the stand-masters might as well just give up right now. Yet…_

That moment of anguish he had seen in his brother's eyes, moments before they had parted company, had been real. Takeru prided himself on being able to read the subtlest hints in people's expressions. It was a vital skill he had been forced to develop to aid him in his negotiations with former Ishidan Lords.

Yet, despite that, he hadn't been able to read his brother at all, not until the last moment.

Takeru stood still at the top of the stairs for another moment and sighed. Swinging into the saddle, he murmured reassurance to his horse and urged it onwards. His gray horse whickered, then stepped deeper into the middle of the city.

Any of the three ways, Yamato would be here soon. Even if it _was a trap, it would be worth it to walk straight into it just for the chance to see his brother for a moment. A moment was all that Takeru asked for. He didn't care that it was possibly the most illogical risk he could take. If he had tried to conduct himself logically, he would have given up years ago._

Half an hour later, after climbing another set of long stairs to the third, top-most level, Takeru looked up again as his horse stepped onto the flat, broad pavestones of Masaharu's square. Behind him, the flagstones of the square came to an abrupt end over a sheer drop down to the second tier of the city. The third tier had been a level reserved for the Lords and Ladies of Ishida and was thus the smallest of all three levels. The Royal garden was off to one side, as overgrown and unkempt as Takeru had remembered it. The only difference now was that the garden's wild flowers and plants were in bloom, whereas the last time he had been here, he had seen only dead, bare branches. The stage and altar were at the far end of the square, and the afternoon sunlight illuminated the Ishidan crest carved into the stone. 

There was nobody in the square.

The silence weighed heavily on Takeru as he looked around. The only sound that could be heard was the light whisper of the wind sweeping the garden's leaves along the flat square. Takeru pulled on his reins, slowed his horse down to a walk and guided it towards the garden.

When he reached the edge of the garden, Takeru dismounted and looked around one more time. With no gardeners to prune and sweep the garden, a two-inch-deep layer of dry, dead leaves from the wild, untended trees of the garden had accumulated on the ground like a soft carpet. Sighing, Takeru unfastened his saddlebag** from his horse and laid it on the ground. Then, he tethered his horse and attached a feedbag to its muzzle. "Rest for now," Takeru said as he stroked its neck. "You've traveled far and fast."**

The horse whinnied in response, and nuzzled Takeru's palm. The stand-master grinned as he laid a blanket over the horse's back. Then, choosing a comfortable spot on a broad, sun-warmed flagstone, Takeru sat down to wait. If Yamato wanted to play a waiting game, then Takeru was ready.

The hours ticked by. Takeru watched as the sun began to sink behind the western mountains. The last vestiges of blue sky disappeared as the heavens became awash with the crimson gold of sunset. Takeru looked up at darkening sky and hummed an old Kurtalian tune to himself as he waited patiently. Every once-in-awhile, Takeru rearranged his cloak and blew on his hands to ward off the settling night chill, then settled back down to wait as the shadows of the trees behind him began to lengthen. Wearied by the journey, he closed his eyes.

Suddenly, a sliver of blue shot out of the darkness and sliced Takeru's horse's tether neatly in half. The horse whinnied in surprise and fear as it backed away from his severed tether. Another sliver, this one as small as a needle, lanced through the air and struck the horse on its backside.

This time, the horse drew up in panic and clawed at the air with its front hooves as a terrified neigh escaped from its mouth. Without a backwards glance, the horse plunged off wildly into the streets of Palas, trying to get away from the stinging blue slivers that seemed to come from nowhere.

Takeru sighed and sat up. "Yamato," he said reproachfully, "you did not have to scare my horse away."

"I needed to make sure that you would not leave," the familiar voice said. The stones from the square seemed to reflect the sound until the echoes came from every direction. The voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once.

"You needn't have bothered," Takeru said as he stood up. Calmly, methodically, he removed his cloak, folded it and placed it atop his saddlebag, leaving him in his shirt and trousers. "I'm not going to run away."

"You're not drawing your sword," Yamato's disembodied voice said. "I thought you'd learned that lesson about not letting your guard down."

Takeru opened his stand's eye a little. He could sense the slight haze of his brother's spirit at the very limit of his perception. He smiled as he turned to face Yamato. "I'm not here to fight you, onii-chan. I just want to talk."

Yamato laughed. Then a dark silhouette detached itself from one of the garden's trees and stepped out into the light. His already-drawn sword flashed a brilliant, crimson red in the fading twilight as Yamato held it by his side. "That's funny," Yamato said lightly. "I _am here to fight you."_

Takeru held up his hands. "Please, Yamato," he said, "listen to me! Not everything can be resolved with a sword."

"Perhaps not," Yamato said as he advanced. "But it's the only thing I understand."

"You came so that you could understand the source of my strength," Takeru replied. "You came to understand more! Try and see things my way!"

Yamato stopped. In the fiery red of dusk, Yamato's eyes were gleaming blue. "I have had it with your way, Takeru," he said bitingly. "You found your way after only a year of searching. Six years, I have searched _your way. And it has only made me weary. Weary and more and more frustrated."_

"You've been looking in all the wrong places," Takeru said as he extended a hand. "Let me help."

Yamato stood still for a long moment, and Takeru held his breath. Then Yamato swung his sword. The gleaming blade caught the sunlight like a diamond. "Remember what I said six years ago?"

Takeru lowered his hand and let out his breath. His eyes clouded in disappointment. "Yes."

"You heard me," Yamato said. "Even though I didn't say it out loud, you must have heard me through your stand. I said that if you didn't kill me now, I would hound you and hound you until one of us is dead. I said that I wouldn't accept your position as my better."

"You remember my reply?"

"That you never wanted to be my better," Yamato said, grinning sardonically. "But that doesn't change the fact that you are. So far."

"So you lured me out here to satisfy your pride?" Takeru demanded. "To reclaim your title as 'strongest' like this whole war is some kind of…of _tournament?"_

"I don't have to explain myself to you, Takeru," Yamato said as he crouched slightly.

"Why not?" Takeru shouted. "You think that a battle is the ultimate test for truth? You think your sword will bring you salvation?"

"It _will bring me salvation, Takeru," Yamato said calmly as he aligned his sword. "If I lose __or if I win. I will have my answer either way." His right wrist rose and locked into position next to his ear as he turned sideways. His left hand reached out to brace the tip of the blade as his legs coiled like a spring. Dusk-red sunlight reflected from the brilliant blade, and left a band of crimson across the stand-master's face._

"I really suggest you fight back, Takeru."

"And if I don't?" Takeru said. He eyed the blade warily. It was a _gatotsu stance his brother was aiming at him. There would be no warm-up. Yamato was going for the kill._

"Then this," Yamato said, as blue flames danced up and down his sword, "will be a very, very short battle."

And he charged.

Quick as a snake, Takeru's sword cleared its sheath and barely managed to turn Yamato's thrust up and over his shoulder. Takeru gritted his teeth as his brother's blue blade whistled so close to his head that it shaved off a few strands of blond hair. Then, gathering his strength, he shoved Yamato's sword away, and leapt backwards.

"I won't fight!" he shouted again.

"You've learned," Yamato said approvingly as he flicked his sword. "You didn't give me a chance to use my sword's hilt."

"Yamato," Takeru said urgently. "This is not a game!"

"You think I'm _playing?!" Yamato shouted furiously. For a moment, his eyes blazed silver with rage. Without waiting for an answer, Yamato pushed off his right foot and swung into battle again with an ear-splitting scream of rage._

For a moment, the stand-master's speed was so great the edges of his body blurred into a blazing blue streak. The only thing that could be seen of Yamato was a line of whirling sand and leaves that streaked towards Takeru like an arrow. Biting off a curse, Takeru lifted his sword again.

_Ichibou met Yamato's charge with a resounding crash and the battle began in earnest. In a heartbeat, both swords were suddenly consumed in the auras of their masters as both fighters stepped into an intricate, breath-taking dance. Thrust was met with parry; slash was met with block. The wide flat square echoed to the musical ringing of the two swords as their wielders savagely smashed them together. Their struggling shapes, silhouetted by the golden dusk light, danced across the entire square as their swords left liquid arcs of blue and gold in the still, cold air. Showers of orange sparks and screeches of tortured steel erupted from the blades as their masters pitted them against one another with all their strength._

His sword flicking in and out like a snake, Takeru deflected as many of Yamato's surgical stabs and slashes as he could. Those he could not turn aside, he dodged desperately. As he ducked under Yamato's slash, Takeru hissed as the blow smashed one of the garden's trees into flying bits of kindling. Flying wooden chips pelted both stand-masters. Before Takeru could gather his breath, Yamato's sword was drawn back, and Takeru brought his sword up just in time to block the savage downwards slash. The two swords slid against one another with an earsplitting screech until the hilts met with a resounding _crack. The blades locked._

"You can't stop me like you did before, Takeru," Yamato said as he leaned heavily on the blade, forcing Takeru down to the ground. "I've learned."

Takeru, panting heavily as sweat poured down his face, didn't waste breath responding to Yamato's taunt. His sword was slowly being shoved downwards until Takeru was forced into a crouch. His arms trembled with the effort. _I can't hold it, he thought as gritted his teeth so hard he could hear his jaw creaking. __I can't hold it…_

Suddenly, a golden streak erupted across Takeru's back. The gauntleted arm of his stand emerged out of his left shoulder and aimed a swift blow at Yamato's midsection. _Just enough to stun him, Takeru thought desperately. __I have to get away…_

Yamato smiled. There was a corresponding blue flash and another whirlwind of leaves as his wolf-stand closed its iron jaws on the golden stand's speeding fist.

Takeru paled as he felt his left hand go numb. Looking up to his sword's hilt, he saw his left hand beginning to tremble as streams of blood began to pour from the teeth marks embedded into his knuckles and palm. Grimly, Yamato leaned even harder on his sword.

"You may have learned, _ototo-kun,"** he said. "But I've learned too. You tried that on me, six years ago. And once I've seen it, it won't work on me again. Not even your precious **__Shun-Ten-Satsu."_

"You…," Takeru grunted as he was forced to his knees, "apparently didn't learn enough. Or you wouldn't have come here."

For a moment, all the shadows in the garden were driven away as a brilliant flash of golden light illuminated the entire square like the mid-afternoon sun. A mighty gust of wind blew downwards and scattered the loose dirt and leaves around the dueling stand-masters like a small explosion as six wings snapped out from Takeru's arched back and flapped downwards. Takeru's stand's _right hand emerged like smoke from his right shoulder, and plunged itself deep into the stony ground. A __real explosion of flying rock shards and shrapnel whistled in front of Yamato's face._

More startled than harmed, Yamato unlocked his sword and leapt back, shielding his face from the sudden light, the flying sand and the whistling rock shrapnel. Takeru flipped himself upright, and his stand's wings flapped furiously as they whipped up a smoke screen from the leaves and dirt on the ground. Backing away cautiously, Yamato threw an arm over his face as he narrowed his eyes against the barrage of sand.

The smoke screen was not perfect. Yamato could still see Takeru's dark silhouette in the cloud he had created about himself. Even as he was flying backwards, Yamato's left hand whipped to his waist and drew his long dagger. Immediately, the blade flared a dazzling sapphire. "_You fool!" he shouted. "__I can still see you!" And with that, he coiled his body in mid-air and threw his dagger._

The blazing blue dagger sped into the heart of the dust cloud and pierced Takeru's middle. The roar of the whistling cloud obscured the younger stand-master's scream. Yamato sucked in a breath as he saw his brother's silhouette fold around the blade…

Then the blade and flew out of the other end of the dust cloud, carrying Takeru's white cloak along with it.

Yamato cursed and looked around wildly. It took him a precious second to see Takeru speeding towards the southern edge of the square. Across the flat ground, Takeru had obviously let out all the stops and was dashing as fast as he could to reach the edge of the square, which overlooked a dizzying drop to the lower city. So great was his speed that the only thing that could be seen of him was a rapid series of still images alternately glowing gold and white.

Yamato took off in pursuit. "_Takeru," Yamato shouted after him. "__You're running away?"_

Takeru paused for a fleeting instant at the lip of the drop and all the images of him stretched over the square merged into one. His face looked sad as he cast Yamato a quick glance. "You think I'm running?" he said softly. "Onii-chan, _I'm surprised at __you."_

Then he leapt off the lip.

Yamato raced up to the edge and looked down. There was Takeru, dropping like a stone. Then, his stand emerged from his back and the young stand-master suddenly snapped upwards and forwards, soaring on the wind like an eagle. 

Behind him, left on the edge of Masaharu's square, Yamato cursed as he looked down at the sheer, two hundred-meter drop. Not even a stand-master could survive a drop like that. Turning, his form blurred and disappeared as he gave chase along the ridge-top.

**********

Takeru's chest heaved for breath as he soared above the ruined city of Palas. He didn't know what he hoped to accomplish. He only knew that if he stayed in Masaharu's square, the battle would be over in seconds. He would either be forced to seriously fight back, or be killed just as Yamato had said. He had to find a way to draw the battle out longer. To stretch out the fight. To give himself more time to think. More time to talk.

Once he was about a kilometer away from the edge of Masaharu's square, Takeru looked up at his stand. Promptly, the angel folded four of its wings, leaving only the middle two open. Takeru felt the wind roaring in his ears and whistling through his hair as stand-master and stand angled into a steep dive. Looking down, Takeru saw the streets, merely thread-thin ribbons of white before, rushing up at him with alarming speed. It was all in the timing. Too soon, and Yamato would see where he had landed. Too late, and he would die.

Then, a mere ten meters from the ground, Takeru's stand snapped all six of its wings open again. In a breathtaking moment, Takeru gritted his teeth and felt his stomach lurch as his stand's wings strained to halt his reckless descent. Then, a second later, Takeru's feet touched the ground as softly as if he had stepped off a ten-centimeter drop.

Takeru let his stand disappear as he caught his breath. As he did, he used the precious second to look around. He knew he was near the western outskirts of the city as he had seen the edge of the great gray wall less than five kilometers away as he had descended. A kilometer away to the south, the city dropped another three hundred meters down towards the bottom of the valley towards the first and lowest tier. Judging from the size of the large size of the buildings around him, he was in what had been the commercial district of Palas.

If he was not mistaken, he was on the main road that led directly from the front gates to the castle of Palas. Behind him, more than a kilometer away, a very long series of broad stone steps scaled the cliff that Takeru had just leapt off of. Although some of the streets were now unrecognizable underneath the rubble of burned and gutted buildings, Takeru could still distinguish some of the smaller roads that branched off from the central pathway, each of them looping gracefully back from the main road, hugging the landscape subtly like the tributaries of a river might hug a rocky mountainside.

Quickly, Takeru looked behind him and searched in vain for his brother's blue form. He had no doubt that Yamato could find him eventually. But he was not ready for him. He needed time to think, to plan. He had to keep moving. For a moment, Takeru considered unfurling his wings again, then thought better of it. He was as visible as a sitting duck in the air, and it would only make it easier for Yamato to find him. He would have to go on foot.

Choosing his direction, Takeru set off at a dead run due south. A curious raven turned its head in bewilderment as the young stand-master raced past so fast that he was distinguishable only as a smooth, rapid series of still images, and his passage discernable only by the dim golden trail he burned behind him. Less than a minute later, vaulting over broken flagstones and pits of ash and shattered stone, side-stepping broken carriages and pieces of debris from the burnt buildings, Takeru looked up as he ran. 

The way was clear all the way to the outer gate, more than five kilometers away. He could see it from here. But the road was far too straight and far too open. Plus, it was the road he had landed in. It would be the first place Yamato would look. But if his stand's memory served, this road was not the only way down to the first tier.

The land had risen on both sides until they resembled sheer, stone cliffs on either side of the road. Ishidan architects had built the causeway so that it seemed to lead through a ravine, with tunnels and narrow roads that lead off of it, through the cliffs, and out to similar tunnels and streets on the lower level. Twenty meters above him, buildings, houses and other roads were built on the raised land on either side of the street, as if the city had been built on two levels.

Takeru tacked left, or due east.

Although the roads of Palas were graceful in their loops and gentle curves, they also followed a logical layout. Without hesitation, Takeru turned off the main road and into a dark tunnel that led beneath the arches of the higher levels. Shafts of red dusk-light came down into the darkness through holes in the ceiling of the tunnel designed for just that purpose. Soon, he could hear the faint bubbling of a shallow stream of rainwater running alongside his path, and he leapt into it without hesitation. Running through the shin-deep water, Takeru pressed onward.

Takeru allowed himself a small, grim smile as he slid to a stop beside the turbulent, swift-flowing river _Mukaibo. It was as he, or perhaps his ancestors, remembered. The river __Mukaibo flowed through the center of the city after passing through a grilled culvert beneath the northern city walls. It was a swift-flowing stream that ran straight and true, but Ishidan architects had long ago built high dikes on either side of the river bank to protect the city from flash floods. Takeru could see them right now, towering above him and the __Mukaibo river. The tunnel had led him exactly where he wanted to go. __Through the dike and right to the very banks of the river. Stone dikes had obviously been far too durable for even Khaydarin to destroy, for, down here, the destruction that had devastated the rest of the city was hardly apparent._

Takeru hesitated for a second, then turned right and resumed heading southwards along the bank of the river. His ancestor's memory had not failed him yet, and he saw no reason not to continue trusting it. And he was proven right when, a few minutes later, he came around a slight bend, and saw the waterfall less than a hundred meters ahead of him where the _Mukaibo poured over the edge of the three hundred-meter cliff to continue on its course in the lower city. Takeru allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief as he ran for the waterfall. There should be a small, access ladder hidden somewhere beside the waterfall. Yamato would not be watching that way down to the lower city, he would be watching the major stairways. And once in the lower city, there would be plenty of places to hide._

_And then what? Takeru thought._

He had not been lying when he had promised Yamato he would not run. Yet he still didn't know what to do. He simply needed time to plan. Perhaps to try and take Yamato by surprise and disarm him. Or trap him somehow, so he would listen. Perhaps wait until nightfall, then try and track his brother down in the darkness. He had seen Yamato fight firsthand. He was older, more experienced with his stand, and perhaps even stronger. Takeru had only won by a hair last time, and even then he had been so severely wounded he hadn't been able to breathe properly for two weeks. The only thing Takeru had left at his disposal was his speed. That, and the element of surprise. And he would need both of them. As he ran, his mind raced ahead, and the beginnings of a plan started to form…

Takeru heard the faint hiss of Yamato's thrown dagger a mere split second before he threw himself backwards and saw it whistle past a centimeter from his nose. The instant he hit the ground, Takeru was already rolling sideways into the shallow river as Yamato's stand lunged and blew a two-meter wide crater in the artificial river-bank reinforced with dressed stone. Panting, Takeru whirled around on one hand and flipped upright in a fountain of foam, sword drawn and at the ready.

On the opposite side of the river, above the dikes, Yamato stepped out from behind a pile or rubble. He said nothing.

Takeru brushed the water out of his eyes, adjusted his grip on his sword and smiled ruefully. Of course. What a fool he had been. I should have realized. You know this city just as well as I do.

You can't run, Takeru, Yamato said grimly as he stepped off the twenty-meter dike as if it was a curb, and landed lightly on the river's level. Beside him, his stand trotted up and passed him his dagger. Without looking, Yamato sheathed his dagger, then gripped his sword with both hands. His stand crouched on the river bank, its lightning-blue eyes staring fixedly at Takeru.

If I wanted to run, Takeru replied as he raised his own sword with a flick of his wrist, I would be a lot farther away by now.

It wouldn't be far enough.

Yamato, put down your sword, Takeru pleaded. Listen to me!

I'm done with listening.

If you would only-

"I waited _six years," Yamato screamed out loud. "You __know how long that is! Two words, Takeru. __Two words! Easy enough to say, but to live them? It hardly does justice to the eternity of purposeless wandering you condemned me to!"_

Takeru backed away slightly, and crouched into a defensive stance in the middle of the river. "Yamato…."

"_You!" Yamato roared as he advanced. "You and your…your __rabble of stand-masters. You and your ridiculous ideals that somehow seem to __work! The very puzzle of your existence vexes me. I can't sleep without dreaming of you. I can't run away from you, no matter how fast and how hard I ride. I When I turn around, you are __always there, with that insufferable smile on your face. _I can't escape it!_"_

"Yamato," Takeru said urgently, stepping forward in an attempt to calm his brother. "Listen to yourself. That's exactly why you should-"

Yamato's voice rose even higher, if that was possible. Each word was punctuated by a wave of blue fury that rippled across the river's surface and stirred up white-crested waves. "I ran, Takeru. I tried to forget you and it nearly drove me insane. I tried to go on my own pilgrimage and I found nothing. Nothing makes sense anymore. I don't know whether Khaydarin is right or wrong, whether you're insane or brilliant, or whether you're _both wrong. __You are driving me mad!"_

Then, Takeru's eyes widened in alarm as Yamato's stand lunged forward again.

Automatically, Takeru's own stand appeared in front of him, staff held out and at the ready to deflect the mad charge. But the blue wolf didn't seem interested in charging him. Instead, it plunged into the middle of the river, exactly halfway between him and his older brother.

A geyser of water and even a shower of small pebbles erupted skywards, forcing Takeru to shield his eyes and step back. The blinding shower of white foam obscured Yamato like a veiled curtain. 

Then every droplet of water in the air seemed to glow with a brilliant, fierce blue as Yamato's stand let loose a burst of light as blinding as Takeru's own burst. But this time, it was magnified a hundredfold by the flying geyser of water as each individual drop refracted and reflected the light like a prism. The source of light was no longer apparent.

Instead, for a fleeting instant that lasted an eternity, Takeru was blinded by a veritable wall of blue light.

Takeru recognized the smoke screen for what it was an instant too late. By the time he had gotten over his initial shock and surprise, Yamato was already charging through the wall with a wordless roar of fury.

For Takeru, the world suddenly seemed to go into slow-motion as he allowed his stand to flood his mind. He could hear the splashing of the _Mukaibo as it surged around his boots. He could feel every tiny droplet of water that fell upon his face and shoulders. He could see every detail of Yamato's sword as it thrust at his throat with terrible force, count every facet of light that reflected of its brilliant steel with startling clarity. And he gave up trying to think his way through the battle._

He only reacted.

Stepping backwards, Takeru twisted aside and barely managed to turn the first blow aside. The resounding ring of colliding swords echoed in the narrow ravine. As Yamato twisted his sword to push Takeru's blade away, Takeru turned his body sideways, shifted his grip to divert the force of Yamato's thrust behind him, and slipped away from Yamato's push like a wraith. Yamato lunged past Takeru as his younger brother slipped around behind him, his own sword raised to deal a crippling blow.

But Yamato wasn't there anymore. Instead of planting his feet and turning to face his enemy, Yamato put on a burst of speed. By the time Takeru was still turning around, Yamato was already hurtling towards the other wall.Tucking into a shoulder roll, Yamato flipped around in the air, landed feet-first against the sheer wall of the _Mukaibo's western dike with his legs already coiled into a spring, and was already charging back for another pass when Takeru was still raising his sword. And this time, the glint of a drawn dagger flashed in Yamato's left hand._

Takeru's stand appeared, and its staff blocked Yamato's dagger as Takeru's sword blocked Yamato's sword. Yamato smiled thinly. Then he blurred, disappeared, and the battle began in earnest. Again.

The fight was unlike any other that Gaea had ever seen. Stand-masters and stands whirled through the narrow _Mukaibo ravine like a typhoon throwing up huge geysers of water and foam. The stone banks of the river blackened, cracked and crumbled from the force of their auras as they passed. The stone dikes flickered and flashed with the brilliant explosions of blue and gold light each time their weapons clashed. Swords, dagger, staff, claws, fists, elbows, knees and feet whirled through the air, each seeking and failing to find the weak point in the other's defense._

_This isn't going to work, Takeru thought desperately. __He'll kill me. Or I'll kill him. One way or another, one of us is going to die! Think Takeru! __Think! He put his sword and staff together to block a particularly powerful thrust and was still smashed back a few paces from the impact. __Unless…unless…_

Slowly, Yamato began to push Takeru back with his attack. Grim-faced, bleeding from a dozen different wounds, Takeru surrounded himself with blazing clouds of silver and gold as his sword and staff deflected Yamato's frenzied attack. Step by step, Yamato forced Takeru backwards towards the eastern dike of the river where he could be trapped and destroyed. Takeru gasped as Yamato's dagger flicked out and slashed his right leg, and his sword faltered. Yamato doubled his attack. Takeru was driven back another few meters.

_Unless…, Takeru thought as he leapt backwards. __Perhaps…_

His stand appeared in front of him. The whirring staff snapped to a standstill as the angel gripped it firmly. Swiftly, it leveled one end of its staff at Yamato's forehead, spread its wings, and lunged.

Yamato swung his sword upwards and smashed the staff aside. The former _Praetor grinned as the stand wavered like a hot flame and disappeared as it stumbled past him._

A grin which faded an instant later when Takeru himself came charging in right behind his stand.

Yamato did not have a chance to recover.

Takeru's sword struck the hilt of Yamato's sword, and instantly a series of explosions rippled up and down the blade. Yamato's sword went flying into the river. 

_Yes!_

Then Yamato's dagger whipped around.

A spray of red blood erupted as its keen blade sliced deep into Takeru's right forearm. The blood splattered across both stand-masters as Takeru dropped his sword. Yamato roared as he withdrew his dagger for the final death-blow.

But again, Takeru reacted faster.

Yamato would have grudgingly admitted to himself that his brother was_ fast. __Very fast._

He would have, if he hadn't been so flabbergasted by Takeru's unthinkable move.

Instead of leaping back, as Yamato would expect of an unarmed man this close to an _armed one, he leapt __forward, his hands extended into claws._

Yamato halted for an instant from the sheer audacity of it.

Takeru's golden staff snapped around and struck his dagger. Yamato felt his left hand go numb as the weapon sailed away and landed in the river further downstream. Then Takeru fist caught him full on the jaw.

Yamato staggered backwards, then disappeared as he dashed away. Neither of them bothered to go for their weapons, which were hidden somewhere along the riverbed. Instead, they went at it with their bare hands and their stands. Around and around the ravine they fought, using every last trick they knew of to gain the advantage. The battle whirled past far too fast for the eye to follow as strikes and kicks were deflected and holds were broken. The constant roar of the waterfall was almost drowned out by the small explosions that rocked the ravine. The water alternately flickered blue, gold, and finally blood-red as the brothers sparred savagely.

Finally, Yamato slapped aside Takeru's thrust so viciously that Takeru staggered. Rushing forward, he overwhelmed his brother with a quick series of jabs and thrusts. Then, drawing back slightly, Yamato darted forward and planted both fists on Takeru's chest and stomach.

Takeru felt the breath rush out of him as the blow lifted him off his feet. Soaring through the air, he collided with a bone-jarring crunch with the dike behind him, then slumped down to settle in a broken heap at the base of the dike. Dimly, he saw Yamato smile triumphantly. Raising a hand, the older stand-master sent his blue wolf stand springing forward. The stand's roar seemed to fill the whole ravine. Before he could move, Takeru felt the wolf's paws crush his shoulders as the stand opened its steel-like jaws to rip his throat out…

Takeru closed his eyes…

The wolf's fangs halted a fraction of a centimeter from Takeru's throat…

Takeru opened his eyes.

Yamato was standing very still in the middle of the river. Behind him, with all six of its wings raised for balance, Takeru's stand had its staff poised a millimeter from the back of Yamato's head.

Rocked, both stand-masters stood locked in their impasse for a long moment. On the bank of the _Mukaibo river, Takeru's back arched as he coughed up blood. Every rib and muscle in his body ached with a vengeance. It felt as if Yamato had cracked, if not broken, a couple of ribs. Before him, Yamato stood less than ten meters away from the edge of the waterfall. He did not appear to be in any better shape. His wet blond hair was matted to his head with a mixture of water and blood from when Takeru had smashed his head into the riverbed. A thin trickle of blood ran from the left corner of his mouth._

"You could have killed me," Yamato said softly. "You had your stand behind me the whole time, didn't you? You could have killed me anytime."

"We would have joined one another in death," Takeru replied, grimacing at the effort it took to speak. "And what would be the good in that?"

"It would end my existence," Yamato said. "That is reason enough, don't you think?"

"No!" Takeru said vehemently. "Isn't that exactly what Tichon wants us to do? Destroy one another in hate?"

"So?" Yamato shot back. "He may still be right. And if he's right, then we _deserve to die."_

Takeru was silent for a moment. Then he looked up. "Yamato, you asked me six years ago where my God was in the midst of all this."

This time, it was Yamato's turn to be silent.

"Look around, Yamato," Takeru said. "See what we have done so far, and what we are _going to do in the next few weeks. Ishida is beginning to reunite. Jakt and Fan-Tzu have reconciled. Even Sheid and Yagami have begun to cooperate. The Taelidani are supporting Ichijouji. Yamato, do you think that we managed to do this __alone?"_

Yamato still said nothing.

Takeru arched his back as he tried to sit up, but the wolf pressed him down. Staring into the wolf-stand's eyes, he said, "Yamato, take away your stand. There's no reason to kill me anymore. There never _was a reason to kill me."_

"No," Yamato said hoarsely. "You remove your stand first."

"You think I'd kill you?"

"Never let your guard down. I _thought you'd learned that lesson by now."_

Takeru allowed himself a slight grin. "And what guarantee do I have that you won't kill me immediately after I take away my stand?"

"You don't have any." Yamato's voice was beginning to fray with madness.

Takeru paused for a long moment. Then, slowly and cautiously, his stand's staff pulled away from Yamato's head. The angel stepped back onto the bank to rejoin its master, then phased into nonexistence.

Yamato stared at Takeru. "You shouldn't have done that. I can kill you right now."

"Well, I did," Takeru said. "My life is in your hands. But I'm betting you won't."

"Why?"

"Because you're not here to kill me, you're here to find the truth."

Yamato stared at his brother. His eyes grew wide and his hands trembled. This was the moment he had been waiting for the past six years. The man who had caused him so much torment, so much agony was fight in front of him, at his mercy. The man who had managed to defeat him in a sword-fight, and then _spared him to a fate much worse than death. His stand's eyes flashed with indecision._

A far-off rumble began to build-up from upriver. Both stand-masters turned at the noise. The rumble was getting louder, like the ominous rolling of threatening thunder, except this rumble was constant and unceasing. A faint sense of unease began to settle over the dueling pair and Yamato's stand closed its jaw as it too turned to stare upriver.

Then a flash of a half-remembered memory struck Takeru like a lightning bolt. "Yamato!" he shouted. "Run! It's a-"

He was too late. Suddenly, the rumble became deafening. The roiling white wall of a mountain flash flood cleared the corner of the ravine less than a hundred meters away. Within moments it was right on top of the stand-masters.

Again, it was Takeru that reacted faster. Pushing off Yamato's unsuspecting stand, he gathered his legs under him and leapt upwards to safety on top of the twenty-meter high dikes. Turning around, he felt his heart stop.

Yamato was standing stock still in the middle of the river, gazing impassively at the flash flood that loomed over him like a wall, making no move to leap to safety.

"Yamato!" Takeru screamed. "Get away!"

Yamato turned at his brother's voice. When he spied Takeru on top of the dike, he gave him an anguished stare. Takeru was struck again by the anguish and the torment in his brother's eyes as Yamato opened his mouth. For a moment, a moment that broke Takeru's heart, he saw a single tear escape Yamato's eye to trace its way down his blood-caked cheek.

Then he was swept away by the flash flood.

Normally, this wouldn't have been a problem. A stand-master could survive a flash flood with minimal injuries.

But not when there was a three hundred-meter waterfall less than ten meters downriver of him.

Again, the world seemed to shift into slow-motion for Takeru as he allowed his stand to flood his senses. Again, he didn't think. Only reacted. Only moved.

His stand flashed into existence, superimposed on top of Takeru's own body like second skin. In the blink of an eye, Takeru went from a standing start to a burning dash. The flagstones on top of the dikes cracked and burned away as he passed. In an instant, Takeru reached the edge of the cliff just before the falls went over their hundred-foot drop. And without hesitation, he leaped off.

Folding all six wings tightly around his body, Takeru dove as he had never dove before.

**********

Yamato felt the white water envelop, pound and claw at him as he was borne along with the raging current, completely helpless to resist it. He didn't fight it. He only surrendered himself to the white flames around him and embraced death as his warrior code demanded he should. He had lost again. Takeru may have made it sound like a tie, but his stand had been ready all along. He had lost.

So what was the point? 

He had his answer now.

Then perhaps this was the only fate that he deserved.

Yamato felt himself lurch as the flood threw him off the edge of the falls. Tumbling amidst the roaring thunder of white water like a small fig leaf caught in a hurricane, Yamato allowed himself a brief smile as he contemplated the sharp rocks more than three hundred meters below. It was over. His pilgrimage was finally over.

His head slammed into a jutting rock, and for a brief moment, Yamato saw stars. His mind already only semi-conscious from the blow, Yamato frowned as he saw a white streak of foam traveling _upwards against hundreds of tons of pouring water. Must be his imagination. The mind did funny things when it had taken as much punishment as his had. He closed his eyes._

Yamato didn't even feel that jarring crash as Takeru caught his falling body in the middle of the falls. He was already unconscious. Gritting his teeth, Takeru called up reserves of strength he didn't know he had, and flapped his stand's wings one last time. That last feeble thrust ejected them from the falls. Then, utterly exhausted, Takeru could do nothing to stop the crazy tumble that he and his brother had fallen into. Nor was he able to soften their descent from the twenty-meter fall.

With a thunderous splash, the two stand-masters hit and rolled along the shallows of a small sandy cove at the foot of the falls. Takeru wrapped himself around his brother's unconscious form and rolled into a ball as they bounced along the sandy shallows, slamming into river boulders and bits of debris and rubble. It seemed to be an eternity before the shifting and tumbling stopped, and they finally rolled to a rest half in and half out of the water.

Takeru released Yamato, turned on his side and retched. River-water and blood splashed over the sand. Utterly drenched and completely exhausted, Takeru shivered as he huddled in a wet bundle. Every muscle in his body felt as if it had been strained, hammered, and twisted by the falls. For long minutes, Takeru lay on the beach beside his unconscious brother, trying to regain his strength after that last Herculean flight. It was all he could do to remain conscious. Even breathing seemed to him an arduous task as he waited for his strength to return.

Several minutes later, Takeru rolled over and got to his feet, albeit rather unsteadily. His boots splashing in the water, he grabbed the unconscious Yamato and hauled him onto dry land. Then, he bent over his brother's still form. The bleeding from the wound on the back of his brother's head had already mostly stopped. He would be all right. Once he woke up.

Once he woke up…

Takeru stared at his brother's peaceful face. When he woke up, it would start all over again. They would be locked in eternal combat until one or both of them died. Yamato's warrior code allowed for no other way. Takeru almost cried with despair. _No! he thought desperately. __I can't let that happen again!_

_I refuse __to let it happen again!_

So Takeru took a deep breath. Lifting one hand, he placed it gently on top of Yamato's face. No-one had ever taught him this, but he had read about this technique in his studies of the thought-plane. More by instinct than by reason, his thumb and middle finger found their places on his brother's temples. Then he closed his eyes.

He saw the picture. Formed the world.

And made it real.

**********

_ _

_Yamato opened his eyes._

_ _

_He stumbled, and fell onto his knees._

_ _

_Wearily, he looked around._

_ _

_He felt no surprise at his surroundings. It seemed he had been among these barren, stunted trees for years, centuries, millennia. The dry, rolling land, cracked and parched like a piece of withered parchment, was broken only by random stands of broken boulders and clumps of leafless dusty trees. All of the trees seemed to be dead and it didn't seem as if it had rained here in years. Yamato stayed on his knees for a long moment as he caught his breath and tried to ignore the oppressive heat that weighed on his weary shoulders like a physical burden._

_ _

_The desert stretched away to the north, south and west as far as the eye could see. Yamato knew there was nothing there but more sand dunes, boulders and dead trees. He knew because he had spent centuries scouring them meter by meter, kilometer by kilometer. Coughing through his parched throat, Yamato turned his gaze eastward. The long rift that divided the desert into two stretched from the northern to the southern horizon. Yamato had also been there. The kilometer-wide rift was completely impassable. He had thrown rocks off of the edge and watched them descend into the dark abyss. No matter how many seconds or minutes he waited, he had never heard the thud __of the rocks hitting the bottom. A truly bottomless pit. Yamato was far too weary to try to understand how that could be._

_ _

_Lifting his gaze, Yamato looked longingly at the far side of the rift. There were people there. He could see them from here, living happily on the green-filled land in peace and contentment. He could see the rivers that coursed through the land on the other side and spilled their endless waters off of the edge of the abyss. Quickly, he wrenched his eyes away as tears began to form in his eyes. He was desperately thirsty, but he couldn't reach the water. He had never been able to._

_ _

_Slowly, unsteadily, Yamato got to his feet and began to shuffle forward as he always had. He continued to scour the edge of the rift, trying to find a way, any way, across to the other side. An outcrop of rock, a way to the bottom of the rift. Anything. He continued to search as he had for millennia. All he had left was hope. He would not allow even that to be wrenched away…_

_ _

_"Are you lost, friend?"_

_ _

_Yamato turned and blinked._

_ _

_The hooded stranger had appeared from nowhere. Perhaps he had stepped from behind one of the clusters of boulders that dotted the desert. His dark brown cloak rippled in the wind and disturbed the hood, but Yamato could see nothing of the face inside. Yamato's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Who are you?"_

_ _

_"A friend," the stranger said, with a touch of amusement in his voice. "Just a friend, traveler. You look weary."_

_ _

_"I'm trying to get to the other side," Yamato said as he pointed across the rift._

_ _

_"Ah," the stranger said, as if that explained everything. "And do you know the way?"_

_ _

_"No. But I am searching for it."_

_ _

_The stranger's voice turned grave. "That is not good. You cannot find the way on your own."_

_ _

_A spark of rebellion flared in Yamato's heart. His gaze hardened. "I will find it. By myself. I am strong." His words sounded childishly petulant even to his own ears, but he didn't care. It was the truth._

_ _

_"Strong enough to fly, my impulsive friend?"_

_ _

_Yamato didn't say anything._

_ _

_The stranger extended a hand. "Come and follow me. I know the way across, and I will show you."_

_ _

_"How can you know more about this rift than I?" Yamato challenged. "I have explored the edge of it for centuries. I know every meter of it."_

_ _

_"Yet you do not know the way."_

_ _

_"If I cannot find the way," Yamato said as he drew himself up, "then there is no way, and the people on the other side is only an illusion."_

_ _

_"Such certainty." The stranger's shoulders shook as if he was trying to hold back his laughter._

_ _

_"You cannot know the way," Yamato said firmly. "Not if I don't."_

_ _

_"Yet know the way I do," the stranger replied. "I am from __the other side."_

_ _

_The world reeled. Yamato put a hand to his head as he tried to collect his wits. "You're lying."_

_ _

_"Why?"_

_ _

_"If you have been to the other side," Yamato said as he gestured to the green, fertile lands opposite him, "then why would you come back to this wasteland?"_

_ _

_"To guide others," the stranger said simply. "To show them the way that I have found."_

_ _

_"But you can simply go to the other side and stay there, can you not?"_

_ _

_"I can," the other admitted readily. "But I choose not to."_

_ _

_"What do you want in return for your guidance?" Yamato asked._

_ _

_"Nothing, my friend. My services are free."_

_ _

_"I'm not your friend," Yamato said bitterly. "Stop calling me that. And I still don't believe you."_

_ _

_The stranger's shoulders slumped. When he spoke again, his voice was disappointed. "You will die if you remain here. Forever. The only way to get across is my way."_

_ _

_"Then I will die with my chin up and my dignity intact," Yamato said as he turned his back and resumed his search. "I will not sell my soul to you."_

_ _

**********

Yamato opened his eyes.

_ _

He gasped and instinctively flung his hands across his face. As if by magic, his sword materialized in his hands and he barely turned aside the spear-thrust that came at his face. Yelling, Yamato swept his opponent's sword aside with a vicious effort, and killed the soldier behind it with a single upwards swing.

As the man fell, Yamato staggered backwards, his chest heaving with the suddenness of it all. Hadn't be been…where was the…but no…he had been here all along, hadn't he? This darkness. This cold, this dampness.

There was no heat here. Instead, it was a cold, barren mountain of granite rocks that looked as if it had been carelessly piled together by a giant. On all sides, a nearly sheer-drop to the granite plains below yawned beneath Yamato's feet. Underneath his right foot, a piece of rock crumbled and Yamato jerked forward away from the edge. Swinging around, Yamato's disbelieving eyes swept across a vista of lead gray dust and black rock, of low, threatening storm clouds…and of teeming masses of men. All below him, surging upwards, storming the top with singular purpose.

The next fighter reached Yamato - a large man clad in the tattered red uniform of Fan-Tzu, dressed in his nation's full regalia and wielding two swords in his hands. Yamato had no time to think. Instinctively, he raised his sword and blocked the man's downward swing, then spun around and lashed out with his foot. Roaring with frustration, the man fell from the steep pile, smashed against the jagged rocks more than a hundred meters below him, and rolled into an unmoving heap at the base of the mountain.

But Yamato had no time. The next was already upon him. This one wasn't even human. Yamato caught a glimpse of a hunter-seeker's crimson red eyes and snow-white teeth before the creature was upon him in a storm of slashing claws and ripping teeth. Yamato staggered as the creature opened deep wounds on his thighs with a single slash, and almost fell when the hunter-seeker leapt for his throat. Then a deep, red rage overtook him. Roaring with anger, he reached out and grabbed the creature's throat with one hand. As rich black blood ran warmly over his hand, Yamato closed his iron fingers, crushed the hunter-seeker's throat, and threw the lifeless carcass down the mountain.

But more were coming, surging, pressing, tearing. Yamato's sword flew of its own accord, severing limbs, heads, weapons and armour. Ishidan soldiers, Yagami soldiers, Khaydarin soldiers, Taelidani, stand-masters, _mirrireid-bearers, __Praetors…they all came surging forwards and were all promptly killed. As the blows came in thick and fast, Yamato gasped as a sword scored across his chest. A glancing blow from a spear furrowed his side and sent a quick flash of pain ripping across his torso. Then he staggered and nearly went down as a hunter-seeker sunk its teeth into his thigh. Tearing loose from his attackers, Yamato threw his head back and roared. A brilliant blue burst erupted from him and for a single, blessed moment, everyone was thrown backwards from the cliff. Roaring and screaming, they tumbled down the sides of the mountain_

The point of Yamato's sword plunged into the ground as he collapsed onto his knees and panted. As he fought for breath, a stream of blood from a cut on his forehead trickled into his right eye, and Yamato angrily wiped it away. As he did, his eye fell upon the teeming masses gathered around the base of the mountain. Hundreds. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Men from every nation and tribe and tongue, friend and foe, all waving weapons at him and roaring in their lust for the top. As the next wave began charging up the hill, Yamato staggered unsteadily onto his feet and raised his sword with trembling hands. No…the top was _his! They would not have it! They would never have it!_

"Do you plan on defeating _all of them?"_

Yamato did not have to turn. He had heard Takeru's voice in his dreams so many times before he could recognize it instantly. Neither did he have to turn to envision the piercing stare Takeru was undoubtedly leveling against him. 

"Not even _you can do that," Takeru's calm voice continued._

Yamato hefted his sword and grunted. "This isn't real."

"But of course it is." Takeru said as he stepped up beside his brother and gazed downwards at the roaring, charging masses. "It's what you do everyday. What Emperor Tichon would have you do in his deceit."

Then the brothers could talk no longer as the next wave was upon them. Desperately, Yamato swung out with his sword, but already he could feel his limbs stiffening and his mind wandering. Each hit lessened his chances of blocking the next, and the next…and the next…. Helpless, Yamato felt himself being dragged under… 

Takeru's sword made a scything golden arc as it carved a huge chunk out of the granite cliff. A screaming Khaydarin legionnaire disappeared under a barrage of falling rocks as the granite rockslide went thundering down the mountain-side. Again, peace descended.

"Only the best deserves to rule," Takeru said quietly as he watched the men pick themselves up to begin their charge again. "And you are the best. So you must be the one to strike down everyone else so you can take your rightful place at the top. But, Yamato, what happens if someone arises that is stronger than you?"

Yamato snarled. "Then I don't deserve to be here, and that someone does."

"Then the war starts all over again," Takeru said. He turned, and Yamato was suddenly aware of a strong hand gripping his shoulder, of blue eyes filling his vision. "Don't you see it? Even the biggest of us will fall eventually. If not by our enemies, then by the slow decay of time."

"Then what would you have me do?" Yamato roared. "Surrender myself to those swords to save them the trouble?"

"And what would that accomplish?" Takeru challenged. "All the others would then turn on the one that defeated you, and this would start over again."

"It won't happen," Yamato gritted. "They won't defeat me."

"Listen to yourself, Yamato!" Takeru shouted. "Even if all that you hope for comes true, even if you defeat me and claim your title as 'strongest', even if you shatter every kingdom, king, stand-master and people in the land, Khaydarin cannot hold. The one-ness of the kingdom it seeks to establish cannot last, because eventually, one of _them," Takeru gestured violently at the gathered attackers below, "will rise up and cast down their rulers. Yamato, you are stronger than all of them. But they will keep coming and coming until you are cast down. To ensure that the strongest will always hold sway in Gaea means that the __war will never end!"_

"No," Yamato said hoarsely. "I will destroy the others."

"But they will keep trying," Takeru said as he eyed a Shienar soldier struggle upwards towards them. "You can't stop them, Yamato, from constantly rising against their rulers. It is in their nature. Until you cure their base lust for violence and power, you will have to keep striking them down every year, every day, every moment. And _eventually, they will overwhelm you. In a year, a decade, a hundred years, a thousand…it will happen."_

"No!" Yamato said fiercely. "I will destroy them utterly! They will not get a chance to come at me."

Takeru's eyes looked sad as he swept an arm out to encompass the grim spectra before them. 

"But Yamato, if you have to destroy every person in Gaea to bring peace to it, can you really say you seek to save our land?"

**********

_Yamato opened his eyes._

_He wiped the sweat out of his eyes as he paused to rest his aching arm. Then, for what seemed like the thousandth time, he drew back the hand that was holding the rough tangled rope. The long rope rested in a coil at his feet. One end of the rope was tied around a tree behind him. Taking a small step forward, Yamato cast the other end as far as he could across the void._

_ _

_He stifled a despairing laugh as the looped end of the rope fell pathetically short of the other side, again. Gracefully, it descended into the depths of the void and disappeared into the gloom. Yamato felt the hope fade from his heart as he looked down. Then, he bent down and untied the knot around the tree. The rest of the rope followed into the dark gloom of the void. Wearily, he turned and stumbled onwards along the edge._

_ _

_A century later, he stopped. The edge still went on, arrow-straight, all the way to the horizon. Yamato sank to his knees, and his shoulders shook with despair. There was __no way across. He had tried everything. No matter the years he searched, the rift did not end. Always it extended all the way to the horizon. There was no bridge, no narrow ledge he could leap across. The land remained divided into the blessed and the cursed, and the rift was as wide and impenetrable as ever. He must have been walking around in circles, for all the good that his searching had done him._

_ _

Is this hell?_ he wondered. To be imprisonedon this accursed land, forever hungry and thirsty. To be condemned to an eternity of wandering and searching for the way across, while all the time the blessed land lay tantalizingly in sight._

_ _

_"It's unfair!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "There is no way! Damn you all! Damn you!"_

_ _

_He slumped forward and pounded the ground with his fists in frustration. Hot tears of rage and torment carved tracks on his dirt-caked cheeks. He didn't even know who he was cursing. He only needed to curse something. It was someone's idea of a cruel punishment. There was no way. There never had been._

_ _

_A smothering blanket of despair flooded through him like a tidal wave. Forcing himself to his feet, Yamato staggered slightly with exhaustion as he looked down. The darkness looked inviting. Perhaps that was the answer. Anything was better than this unbearable existence. He should have done this a long time ago. His feet seemed to move of their own accord, and he slowly shuffled forward, until he was poised right on the edge of the precipice. A flash of white-hot rage broke over him. He would not __be someone's plaything. He refused __to act as the amusement for those on the other side. Taking a small step forward; his right foot dangled over the darkness._

_ _

_Closing his eyes, Yamato's cracked lips curled into their first smile in over a millennium as he leaned forward and felt himself beginning to fall._

_A hand darted forward, grabbed Yamato's shoulder, and pulled him back._

_ _

_Completely losing his balance, Yamato fell backwards onto the desert in a graceless heap. In a flash, he spun around in the dirt and was up again on his feet, his fists raised to fight._

_ _

_The cloaked stranger stepped back out of range._

_ _

_Yamato lowered his fists. "You had no right!" he shouted._

_ _

_"You would have died," the stranger said._

_ _

_"That was the point!__"_

"_You don't understand!" the stranger said. "If you had leaped off that edge, you would only come back to this desert. Only then, even I would not be able to help you find the way. The way would be forever closed."_

_ _

_"I would have escaped," Yamato hissed._

_ _

_"You would have condemned yourself to an eternity in this desert!"_

_ _

_"I am already __condemned to an eternity here!"_

_ _

_"No," the stranger objected. "You are not. I told you. I can show you the way."_

_ _

_"I have looked for centuries!__" Yamato roared. "There. Is. No. Way!"_

_ _

_"You think you can find it by yourself?"_

_ _

_Yamato paused. "Why not?"_

_ _

_"No matter your power or ability, there is nothing you can do to get yourself to the other side," the stranger said. "You need to admit that you were wrong __and helpless before I can help you"_

_ _

_Yamato shook his head as he looked down. A memory stirred. He looked up, suspicious. "Are you Takeru?"_

_ _

_The stranger laughed. "No," he said. "I am not Takeru. But he…led me to you."_

_ _

_"Unveil yourself," Yamato demanded._

_ _

_"No," the man replied evenly. "I will not."_

_ _

_"Why not?"_

_ _

_"The time will come when I will lower this hood," the stranger said cryptically. "But that time is not yet."_

_ _

_"And when will that time be?"_

_ _

_"Soon," the hooded man said. "But it is not for you to know exactly when."_

_ _

_"But you know the way," Yamato said flatly._

_ _

_"Yes."_

_ _

_Yamato paused for a long moment. He looked at the barren desert, at the bottomless rift, and at the blessed land on the other side. Then he took a deep breath._

_ _

_"Tell me…," he said hesitantly, each word forced through his mouth with an immense effort. "'Tell me…friend…what must I do to find the way?"_

_ _

_The stranger's head lifted, and Yamato had the distinct impression that a broad, delighted smile had spread across the man's face._

_ _

_"That rift," the stranger said as he gestured at the gap, "has already been conquered. I have gone before you, and fallen into that rift. Then I rose again. I have seen the bottom, and defeated it. I __am the only way across that rift."_

_ _

_"But what must I do?" Yamato said, broken and defeated._

_ _

_The stranger held out his hand before Yamato. "Why, nothing my friend. Like I said, there is nothing you __can do to conquer the rift._

_ _

_"The only thing you have to do is to take my hand. And never, ever let go."_

**********

Yamato opened his eyes.

It was night-time. He could tell by the dark, misty cold that enveloped him, and by the pale blue stars that twinkled overhead. He was lying flat on his back on his back under some pine trees. Someone had carefully placed a rolled up bundle of cloth under his neck so that the wound on the back of his head would not touch the ground. Another cloak had been spread over his body to keep him warm. He could hear the crackle of a nearby fire and the faint, sweet scent of burning pine resin.

"Am I still dreaming?" he muttered.

This time, no, Takeru's voice answered in his head. You're really here.

Yamato's eyes snapped open in shock.

Takeru was sitting on a fallen log on the other side of the fire. He had his chin cupped in his hands, and was staring at Yamato with an expression of concern. As the last cobwebs of unconsciousness were swept away by the cold night air, Yamato noticed that Takeru was dressed in only his trousers, boots, and sleeveless tunic. Beside the fire, Takeru's wet shirt and cloak hung steaming on a rough trellis fashioned with tree branches. Lying on the ground were the two swords that had been lost in the river. Apparently, Takeru had recovered and cleaned them. Around them, the dark shapes of the ruined buildings of Palas loomed silently.

Gingerly, Yamato probed the back of his head. A clean white bandage had been wrapped around his head to stem the bleeding. The wound throbbed with pain but it didn't seem like it was getting infected either. Takeru had cleaned it. "What have you done to me?" he said hoarsely as he tried to sit up.

Takeru made no move to stop him. Slowly, Yamato sat up and instantly regretted it. The headache behind his eyes exploded and the world swam in and out of focus. Taking a deep breath and fighting the vertigo, Yamato looked over at his brother.

I caught you when you fell off that waterfall, Takeru said simply, poking at the fire with a long stick. You must have bumped your head on the way down, so I cleaned and bandaged your wound.

You saved me? Yamato hissed incredulously. Why?

I told you, Takeru said. I'm not here to fight.

Yamato stared at his brother from across the fire. Takeru sighed and put down his stick.

I'm here to save you, Yamato, he said. To show you the way you've been looking for all these years. Not to kill you.

Why? Yamato demanded.

Takeru didn't answer right away. Instead, he picked up his stick again and nudged at the logs burning in the fire. The rejuvenated flames danced in his blue eyes as he considered his answer.

It is said, Takeru said, so softly that even Yamato had to strain to hear him, that no man can walk in the darkness too long to return to the light. He looked up, and Yamato was startled by the intensity behind those previously passive eyes. I…had always hoped, ever since I knew you were still alive…that I could make peace between us, one way or another.

Yamato had to clench his teeth to stop himself from laughing out loud. I would have killed you!

Takeru touched his right forearm with his left hand. For the first time, Yamato saw the stained white bandage that was wrapped around the wounded forearm. He thought he could see another bandage wrapped around Takeru's chest beneath his sleeveless tunic, and one wrapped around his left hand. Many people have tried to kill me, Takeru said. Davis and I nearly killed each other the first time we met. Some of the Ishidan lords tried to execute me on sight. If I had been concerned with revenge, half of my allies and friends would be dead by now.

I could kill you right now, Yamato said in a stronger voice. I could summon my stand and have your throat ripped out before you could blink.

You could, Takeru agreed. And even I wouldn't be fast enough to stop an attack from that range.

Then _why _are you doing this?

When I came, I knew that this would have to start with a certain measure of trust. I might as well be the one to offer it.

You _fool! Yamato shouted. If you live by __that, then there is __no possible way you could have survived this long, much less gained the success that you have. __How?!_

Takeru smiled. That, _onii-chan, he said, is the gift of a stand-master. The greatest gift of all._

Yamato didn't say anything, so Takeru leaned back.

You say to the world, Takeru said, 'Only I must be strong. So in order for me to grow, the rest of you must make room for me.' That, Yamato, is what Khaydarin has taught you. And that, _onii-chan, is wrong. If I followed that philosophy, you would have died by my sword six years ago, and Gaea would most likely be crushed by now._

But you obviously don't, Yamato murmured. Because I'm not dead, and Gaea is still putting up a hell of a fight.

Takeru smiled. No, I don't, he agreed. Instead, I gave of my strength to help the weaker, and they in turn, came to aid me in my times of weakness. I don't want to follow Adun, and establish an uneasy truce between separate nations. Even Adun was not satisfied with the Council, but he was powerless to change it. He wasn't the Tenken, and he knew it. The prophecies didn't concern him.

Takeru opened his hands, and gestured at the mountains around them. His voice rose with the strength of his vision. 

I want to create _one nation. Where the citizens of Yagami will think of the people of Fan-Tzu as their own. Where Ichijoujans will love the Shienar as their brothers. To __change them, so that the eternal war for the top of the mountain will end as people see the…the futility of it all. My strength is your strength, and your weakness is my weakness._

You're a fool, Yamato said. A deluded one. You…you're nothing but a…but a farmer! You knew nothing of war, of history, of lore. Do you even _know _what you're proposing? Howcan you…how did you…

I was weak then, Takeru said. And so was Kari. We didn't know anything. We didn't know who we were. We didn't even know we had stands. But look at us now. Would you say that we are weak _now?_

No, Yamato answered truthfully. You are the strongest fighter I have ever seen, and the best diplomat as well. And I have heard enough about Lady Hikari to know that I should not underestimate her.

Takeru raised a finger as if he was instructing a wayward student. So, he said. How can you be sure that the people of Gaea are**_ weak?_**

Because they are divided, Yamato snapped. They are petty, lacking vision and purpose.__

But they are already growing, Takeru said with a smile. In time, they will be strong again. Gaea will be beautiful once more, once the old scars of hatred and fear heal over. Remember, Yamato, not only the strong deserve to be preserved. The most beautiful and the most precious things among us, are sometimes the most fragile as well.

They cannot grow that much.

_I did._

Yamato stared at Takeru's completely sincere expression. Then he leaned back and laughed. You're mad, he said. You're…you're being even more ambitious than I am! You plan to achieve what _Adun could not!! __Conquering Gaea is one thing. __Changing it, willingly, Takeru, you ask the impossible!_

And why is that?

You cannot change the essence of humanity, Yamato said, shaking his head as he tried to put into words the vague conviction in his mind. I _told you that the last time we met! You…you can't change who people __are! At best, you will be another Adun. Your legacy will fade with time, and the __Seihad will continue until the end of time. The good works of the few are invariably overwhelmed by the evil that lives on after men have died. You __can't do it!_

Takeru sighed. _I can't do it, he said. You were right, Yamato. My way would be the fool's way, the dreamer's way, if I didn't have my faith. I believe what I cannot see, I have faith that the Creator will deliver us, his Creation. And He has not let me down so far._

You're dreaming.

Then explain how we've managed to reconcile Yagami and Sheid, Takeru challenged. Explain how I'm well on my way to reuniting Ishida. Explain how we've convinced every single leader in Gaea to attend the conference, where every one of them is deadly enemies with everyone else.

You're a good diplomat, Yamato grunted. And you were lucky.

_You are a student of history and a son of Emperors. Do not insult me, Yamato. I know you're smarter than that._

Yamato opened his mouth, and…nothing came out.

In time, Takeru said, smiling again. You will understand how we did it. Or perhaps, I should say, in time you will understand how we did _not-_

Why are you doing this? Yamato whispered.

When Takeru frowned in confusion, Yamato looked up. The faint firelight flared briefly in the night, casting flickering shadows across Takeru's face. The pregnant silence continued, until Yamato could bear it no longer. 

Why do you keep trying to convince me? he said quietly. Twice now, you have had the chance to kill me, and twice you have withheld your sword. At great risk to your life, you've come for…what? For a chance to _talk to me? Why, Takeru? Why is peace between us so important to you?_

Takeru looked down. For a moment, the wind stopped, as if the sky was leaning in for the young stand-master's answer. Finally, when he spoke, Yamato could barely hear him.

You should know, Yamato, he said with quiet conviction, that even if _you never accept it, I love you._

Yamato sat up slightly, but Takeru continued with the dogged air of a man trying to confess something before his nerve deserted him. I love you more than I love this mortal, temporary life. There is absolutely _nothing you can do to me that will change that. It doesn't matter what you've done. It doesn't matter who you've hurt or killed. If you are ready to come home, I will always be ready to forgive you. And I will __always love you._

Yamato sat on the ground, stunned into silence. For a long moment, he couldn't even move or breathe as he struggled to comprehend could _possibly inspire such…such unconditional __love in a person. The shock numbed him to his very bones, as if those simple words had cut deeper than Takeru's sword ever could. For a long moment, Yamato could do nothing but stare at Takeru with dazed, disbelieving eyes._

Takeru seemed to understand. He didn't press for Yamato's answer. Instead, he dropped his stick and leaned back against the log he was sitting on as he waited patiently. I hope you heard me, he said, with a slight smile, because I _really don't want to have to repeat that._

Yamato didn't smile. Instead, he took a deep breath, and was surprised to feel a large, leaden lump in his throat. There was a hot ache in his chest and in front of his face. His vision suddenly blurred, and Yamato blinked to clear the stinging tears in his eyes. And in some far off corner in the back of his mind, a thought kept repeating itself despite his best efforts to silence it.

_The Emperor never loved me…_

I…I would have _killed you! Yamato repeated through a throat that was suddenly too tight to breathe through._

You are a warrior, Yamato, Takeru said. You understand only the sword. But me? I am a healer. I build what has been shattered and seek out that which has been lost. But in the end, we are both after the same thing. You see, _onii-chan, your****__ goal and mine aren't****__ that far apart after all. Except, where you sought to accomplish your goal through conquest…I want to do it through the love the Creator has given me._

And that, Yamato, is the greatest gift of the stand-master.

Yamato sat in silence, trying to absorb what Takeru was telling him. So that was his brother's way. That was his real answer.

Love. 

It was that elusive quality about Takeru that inspired those around him to fanatical loyalty. Not only to him, but to each other. Yamato had commanded respect from his men. He had inspired pride and confidence. His men had followed him into battle because they knew he would always lead them back out.

But Takeru's men would follow him to death itself without a word of complaint. If Takeru told his people to go out into battle and purposely sacrifice themselves, they would do it. Because his brother inspired all that, and more. Takeru inspired love in his men.

Takeru leaned forward slightly on his log, and for the first time Yamato caught sight of the raw emotion in his brother's eyes.

I know it's not enough, Takeru said slowly as he held out his hand, but I'm going to ask you to take a leap of faith.

I have shown you what I can in the time that we have. You now know what it is I work for. You know from where I take my strength. And most importantly, you have seen the way to the other side. You wanted what you don't have? I offer it to you now, for free. But you have to trust me that I am doing the right thing.

Yamato stared at Takeru's outstretched hand in silence. Takeru paused for a moment as he regarded his brother's expression. When he spoke again, his voice was husky with emotion. Please Yamato, he pleaded. For your own sake, I beg of you. Abandon this foolish, hopeless battle with me. Put down your sword for once, come with me...

Help me save our land. Help me move the mountain.

Yamato felt light-headed. The world was spinning around him and he felt as helpless as a leaf caught in a hurricane. Despite himself, he could not tear his gaze away from Takeru's outstretched hand, and the ray of hope that it represented. His guts seemed to wrench violently within him as everything that had ever been important to him was wrenched away a second time.

Except…

Except this time, the wrenching didn't seem quite as painful as before…

Except this time, for some reason, his shoulders felt lighter than they had ever been before…

Except this time, an incredible _peace seemed to have descended upon him, as he felt himself relieved of a burden he didn't know he carried, as he finally allowed his wearied soul to halt its search. Because…_

Takeru _knew. He knew what he had done, the heinous crimes and massacres he had led, the countless innocents he had killed._

And yet, he _loved._

Yamato's right hand slowly lifted from his side. Staring at his own hand, as if seeing it for the first time, the pilgrim watched in wonder as it reached out and took Takeru's outstretched hand.

Immediately, Takeru pulled in his brother's hand, flung his arms around Yamato's neck and embraced him. Tears flowed unabashed from Takeru's eyes and stained Yamato's shirt. Tears of relief. Tears of elation. Tears of joy.

Stunned, Yamato sat there and let his younger brother embrace him. No-one had embraced him since he was a toddler. It felt strange. Locke had been a friend, but a distant one, always held at a distance with a salute. The Emperor had been a mentor, but certainly never a friend. In his youth, his fellow soldiers had always been kept away by his cold stare, ever envious of his power, ever jealous of his brilliance. Awkwardly, he raised his hands to push his brother away, then lowered them again. Somehow, the embrace felt right. It felt safe. It awakened feelings that he didn't know he had, unlocked memories of his mother and father he thought he had lost. 

And most of all, it felt comforting to know that despite all that he had done, at least one person in Gaea still loved him.

**********

Half a kilometer away, on the ridge at the very edge of Palas's second tier, Locke lowered his spy glass from his eye as the brothers embraced. Beside him, his Centurion shifted slightly to a more comfortable position on the ridge, then lowered his spy glass as well and looked at his superior, as did the twenty other cloaked men that comprised the small scouting team. Locke did not deign to reply to the officer's questioning gaze.

Tracking Takeru across Saldea had been no easy task. But now, the stand-masters were within his grasp. Even without the spy-glass, he could see the glow of Takeru's fire as plainly as if the stand-master had built a beacon specifically for him. Locke knew that, if he so wished it, he could have the entire city surrounded in half an hour. The brothers would never be able to escape.

_Kill them, something whispered. __Now! They're helpless! Kill them! Locke shook his head as if to clear it, then frowned._

"Yvan, did you say something?"

"Me? No sir."

Locke looked around once more, frowned, then dismissed it as his imagination. He turned his gaze back to the two stand-masters.

The _mirrireid burned and tingled on his chest, and Locke realized that the metal didn't seem quite as cold as before. It was not burning with hate or rage anymore, as it did whenever Tichon touched it. Despite the evening chill and his light black cloak, Locke did not feel cold at all. Looking down, he drew the __mirrireid out into the open and examined it. The violet-blue aura that seemed to surround the __mirrireid at all times was glowing brightly in the dark. It was burning with joy. With peace. Locke didn't know how he knew. He just did._

Just like how he knew how to interpret every thought-shape that the two brothers had used to talk, from the beginning to the end. He had heard everything. The _mirrireid made all that and more mere instinct to its bearer._

One part of him was soothed. One part of him was calmed. But the other part…

_It hurts…, the voice whispered again. __It burns. Sick. Ill. Weak. Destroy it now. Stop it now. Now!!_

Locke frowned again. What was that? "Yvan, if you have something to say to me, say it now."

"We should go back soon, _Praetor," Yvan replied softly. "We have seen what we came to see, and the Decurions will become suspicious if we stay out any longer than we already have. They won't believe us if we say we found nothing."_

"That's not what you said before."

"Sir?"

"Didn't you say something?"

"No sir." Yvan looked askance at his superior. "Did you hear something?"

Locke still didn't answer. Instead, he reached up and tugged the hood of his cloak down, exposing his ears. Perhaps it had been interfering with his hearing. He shook his head uncertainly. "I…nothing Centurion. Your suggestion is noted."

He cast another glance down at the stand-masters. He raised his spy glass to his eye and looked at Yamato again. The words of six years ago came to the fore of his mind again.

"_We didn't fight for Khaydarin. We…we fought for you."_

If only…if only he had the time to go down and speak with his master again. If only he could be free of Tichon's watchful eye for another hour…

"Sir," Yvan said urgently. "If we do not go now, the Decurions will be suspicious."

Locke carefully retracted his spy glass and put it back into the sheath at his belt. His Centurion was right. He had seen what he had come to see. And if he had not done what he had come to do, then that would have to wait for another time.

"Then let's go, Centurion," he said as he stepped back from the ridge, and swung into the saddle of his horse. "We have work to do."

Yvan said nothing as he mounted his own horse, but Locke could feel the curiosity building in his subordinate. Wordlessly, the cloaked men behind them leapt into their saddles as well. As the Khaydarin soldiers nudged their horses and sent them racing along the ridge to return to their army, Locke felt the decision crystallizing in his own mind, forming like a solid shape in the fog.

Yamato had finally accepted Takeru's hand and had stepped off the blade's edge. It was time for him to do the same.

"Centurion," Locke said as he rode. "When we get back, I want you to discreetly assemble all the Decurions that you can trust into my tent in the morning. Make it look as if it's a routine report, but do emphasize that they should be there."

"Not all the Decurions, my Lord?" the Centurion said.

"No, not all," Locke said as he smiled. "Use your judgment."

_Traitor… the voice whispered. It was more insistent now. Demanding.The countermand almost rolled off his lips before he realized what he was doing and stopped himself. But the voice continued. __Betrayer. Worm. Not right. We know your thoughts. Dangerous thoughts. Useless thoughts. Traitor…_

Locke sucked in a breath and clenched his teeth in frustration. He looked around wildly, then looked down. He reached into his shirt and pulled out the _mirrireid. _

The talisman was glimmering with a baleful red light as opposed to its usual cool blue. The metal wasn't as cold as before, but it seemed to be pulsing wrathfully. Locke stared at it for a moment longer. Then he ducked his head and slipped the talisman off his neck.With the air of a man trying an experiment, he reached down as far as he dared and slipped the talisman into the depths of his saddle bag.

The moment his fingers let go of the metal, the voice stopped. Locke took a deep breath and swallowed.

He had never know the _mirrireid could do that. The Emperor was a master indeed. It would not do to underestimate Tichon ever again. Silently, he resolved never to don the __mirrireid unless absolutely necessary. He could only hope that the Emperor had not heard the __mirrireid's fell voice._

Straightening up in his saddle, Locke cast one final glance at the mountain's crater. Then he cantered forward. "We're going to be talking treason tomorrow," he said to his Centurion, his voice tinged with quiet certainty. "Choose those that you don't think will react…adversely. We'll have to watch our step from now on."

**Author's notes: *wipes forehead* This was a _tough _chapter to write, as you can imagine. Well, I can only hope you liked it. I spent a lot of time on…well…everything. And so did my editors, Kari and Hell's Hauntress. Give'em a hug when you see'em! They've been a huge help, and without them this chapter wouldn't be what it is now.

Preview of chapter eight: the stand-masters finally meet face-to-face again after years of separation at Ardinberg, but will they accept Yamato into their ranks as Takeru apparently has? And, as a special bonus feature, there is a Takari scene next chapter! A…uh…long one. So, stay tuned!


	8. Seihad Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: Me no own Digimon. Seihad: Chapter Eight 

****

By: TK Takaishi

_**June 8th, A.S. 522. Eight days later**_

The man nervously raised the hood of his Ichijoujan robes as he strode quickly through the broad, paved streets of Halidan, the capital of Ichijouji. He adjusted the strap of the leather satchel he carried over one shoulder. Although the war had thinned the traffic of merchants, citizens and traders somewhat, there were still many stubborn people who refused to abandon their home nation, war or no war. As a result, the streets were still crowded. The only difference was that the crowd was no longer the usual bustle of hawkers and merchants, chanting loudly to attract customers. Now, armed soldiers seemed to be everywhere one turned, and citizens walked by with their heads down and their mouths shut. Even the stubborn hawkers that were left seemed to be merely talking rather than shouting to avoid attracting the attention of the wearied and harassed soldiers.

As the man turned the corner, he shook his head at the evidence of a recent riot. A major one seemed to happen almost every week now.  The situation with foreign traders had always been bad, but fear from the war was fanning the sparks of ethnic hatred to a dangerously high pitch. Ken's forces were stretched to their breaking point just trying to get them to stop lynching every Shienar or Yagami trader that frequented the harbours. The windows of three shops were smashed, and hastily patched up again with patches of canvas and makeshift lengths of rope. The signs of several more shops were conspicuously missing; they had probably been destroyed by the crowd. Someone had conscientiously spread sawdust on the paved street to mask the blood. And most telling of all, there were two bored guards that stood at the intersection, keeping an eye on the street.

Quickly, the man pulled his hood even lower and turned away before the guards could see him. Despite his disguise, they might have recognized him and he couldn't afford to be delayed with polite but awkward questions. He was already late. Nervously, the man checked over his shoulder again as he strode off. There was nobody there. Turning back, he silently rebuked himself for getting too jumpy as he readjusted the strap of his satchel again. He had taken every precaution. There was no way that anyone would be able to find him. Even Ken didn't have an inkling. Still, he couldn't stop himself from reaching into his pocket and fingering the cold, metal _mirrireid _within. He didn't know why, but although touching the thing made him slightly sick to the stomach, he was always reassured when he did it. The calm, soothing voice, full of dark power, smoothed over his frayed nerves, and now he found himself depending on that voice more and more…

Finally, the man turned the corner and stepped into one of the poorer streets in the city. He grimaced with distaste as he passed a midden heap and the run-down shacks that the peasants of the country were forced to live in. Despite himself, he could not help but hold his robes a little higher, lest the hem be soiled by the ground. When he was halfway into the street, the man looked up and a small lump of nervous fear and expectation shot through him. The _Notch was one of seediest and most secluded bars in the city. Rarely frequented by anyone of notable rank, the place was a gathering place for the dregs of the city, like the common peasants, the rural farmers who came in often to sell their wares, and petty criminals who did not want to risk being discovered by the officials. Which made it perfect for his purposes. Scurrying furtively to the dirty door, the man paused for a moment as he checked both sides of the street again._

Seeing no-one, he took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Stepping inside, he paused for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the gloom inside after the bright sunlight on the street. Squinting, he peered around the bar, trying to determine which table to sit at.

The patrons cast quick, uncaring glances at the stranger. They saw only a short, aging man with his hood down, and no visible weapons. One glance was all it took to determine that he was no threat, and one by one they turned back to their drinks without a word. All of them, that is, except one.

The man felt a tight lump of fear forming in his throat as he made himself walk across the bar to the table in the back corner. The patron that sat at the table looked completely ordinary. He was clad in the plain linen of a middle-class worker, and his open and honest face was the type that people forgot after two minutes. Before him was a mug of ale and a pipe, which he was in the middle of filling. A perfectly acceptable past-time for a farmer. Indeed, the only odd thing about the man was the black cloak that lay folded neatly on the chair next to him, despite the noon-time heat.

As the man set down the satchel beside his seat and sat down at the table, the patron looked up with a slight smile that did not quite reach his pale eyes. "You're late," the farmer said quietly.

"There was a riot yesterday in the main street," the man replied nervously. "There were some watchmen guarding the street. I didn't want to be recognized, so I had to take a detour."

"Don't let it happen again."

"No, of course not," the man mumbled. Then he sighed. "Must I come out all this way to speak to you? The guards seem to be buying the excuse that I need to stretch my old legs on an afternoon walk everyday. But I _do have appearances to uphold in the Ichijoujan court…"_

"I cannot get to you in the castle," the farmer said calmly. "My cloak is useless against Emperor Ken's stand senses. It would be unduly dangerous, for both of us, if _I _were to come to _you."_

The man nodded reluctantly. He didn't mention the possibility of reporting straight to the Emperor through his _mirrireid_. The miserable failure with the assassination of King Aidan had banished that possibility from his mind right away. Indeed, it would be impossible for Emperor Ken to _not _notice him the instant he used his _mirrireid_.

"Do you have what I came for?" the farmer continued.

The man nodded again. He reached down and patted the leather satchel he had been carrying.

"It's all in here," the man said. "Everything you asked for. Detailed information on the deployment of the Ichijoujan troops, straight from the general's tables. Weaknesses of the walls. Troop strengths. It was not easy having to memorize everything at one glance, then draw it out again at night. But…"

"But?" the farmer said, frowning.

The man shifted uncomfortably. "It's in the satchel as well," he said slowly. "But I may as well tell you now. Ichijouji has received fresh reinforcements of close to two thousand soldiers from various nations. Apparently the stand-masters have been busy. That includes seven hundred Taelidani warriors, from _T'rakul _Davis's _staven_ as well."

The farmer raised an eyebrow. "We will adjust our strategies accordingly," he said, without betraying a hint of alarm. "This is a setback, but rest assured, it is only a minor one." Then the farmer's pale eyes narrowed, and his voice lowered to a menacing hiss. "But did you find out anything about the conference? Specifically _where?_"

The man shook his head. "No," he admitted. "Emperor Ken tells me many things, but not this. He tells me that it's not that he doesn't trust me, but only because it would upset the other stand-masters if he told me. In truth…," the man sighed. "I won't have the faintest idea until we set out."

"That's not acceptable."

"I've tried _everything_," the man said desperately, gripping the table until his knuckles turned white. "You have to believe me! Emperor Ken won't write it down, so I can't steal it. He won't even tell Talin, his personal Captain. None of the generals know. They've only been told to prepare enough troops to protect the Emperor on his journey there, and to stock enough provisions for a ten day trip."

"A column of men can ride a long way in ten days," the farmer hissed. "We are running out of _time_, bearer. The conference is less than two weeks away, and we don't know where it is yet. We'll need at least several days to get our troops there!"

"The stand-masters are not stupid," the man said desperately, "they protect their secrets well. Is there no-one else that can find out the place?"

"No," the farmer said. "No spy is as close to a stand-master as you are."

"Then…then…"

"Then there's nothing for it." The farmer reached across the table, grabbed the man's arm, and pulled him close until their faces were only inches apart. "This is your most important mission yet, bearer, so listen carefully."

"I'm listening," the man stuttered, trying to ignore the shooting pains up his arm from the vice-like grip.

"If we can't find out where the conference is taking place," the farmer hissed. "Then you will have to make _sure _that you are on the team that Emperor Ken selects to go with him to the conference. Even if you tell us where it is, it is likely we won't be able to get forces to where you are in time to disrupt the conference, so you'll be on your own. Once there, you will have to stop it somehow. Kill the stand-masters if you can. If you cannot, target the monarchs. Anything. _Make certain that it fails_."

The man gulped his fear down. "I…I've never killed anyone before…"

"Then you'd better learn fast," the farmer said. The man suddenly looked down. The farmer was pressing something long and cold into his hand. When he saw what it was, he suddenly began to shake all over. His hand trembling, he held the object up to the light. The ten-inch long piece of cold evil glittered faintly in the bar's dim light.

"I hope you know what that is," the farmer said as he stared into the man's eyes.

"I…I've never used anything like-"

"You will have only one shot," the farmer continued impassively, "then you'll have to spend several minutes rewinding the spring for another shot. But it will be one shot they won't expect. Use it well, bearer."

He released the man's arm, and sat back in his chair, his face as composed as if the incident had never happened. "You should also be certain that you leave the Ichijoujan delegation leaves Halidan within the next ten days."

The man rubbed at his sore arm. "Why's that?"

"Because, bearer," the farmer said as he struck a match and lit his pipe, "ten days from now, cloaked Khaydarin forces will lay an impenetrable siege around the city. Emperor Ken would not be able to go to the conference, and you would not be able to disrupt it."

An icy tingle of fear ran down the spy's spine. He opened his mouth, then closed it again as he worked frantically to untie the knot in his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was a strangled whisper. "That soon?" he croaked. "You never told me…"

"We're telling you now," the farmer said. "With the tactical information you are going to hand over to me here, our forces should be able to mount the final push in a week's time. Without Ken Ichijouji to guide them, the victory will be swift." His expression softened slightly, and his eyes took on a faintly fanatical gleam. "This destructive war will be over much sooner because of your help, bearer. Remember the lives you are going to save…" Then the farmer extended a hand. "Now, if there is no further business, give me the satchel, and we will conclude our meeting.

The spy stared at the hand a second too long. When the farmer started to frown, the man hurriedly reached down to the leather satchel beside his seat, and hefted it onto the table. He was about to hand the satchel over to the farmer when his hand started to shake.

Both men looked at the shaking hand, less than an inch from the farmer's outstretched palm. The fingers were spasming and the man had to struggle to hold onto the satchel, lest it drop onto the table.

"What is wrong, bearer?"

Sweat poured down the man's face. Contorted expressions raced across his face as the shaking spread to his arm. "I…I don't know. I…I…I can't hand this bag over to you. There must have been something I forgot, but…"

"You will hand that satchel to me now, bearer," the farmer said quietly.

The muscles in the man's left cheek began to twitch in a nervous tic. "I…I can't. There was…there was…."

"Remember where your loyalties lie, bearer," the farmer intoned, as if chanting from some hidden scroll. "Remember the Dark Lord. Remember his strength. Hold onto that strength…"

The shaking increased. The man's fingers closed tightly on the leather satchel, and the hand began to move back. "No…," he muttered as tears began to streak down his face. "This is wrong…this is…"

The farmer sighed around the pipestem and held up his own hand. A _mirrireid was tied to his palm. He reached over, and pressed the _mirrireid _into the man's forehead._

The talisman flared a brief red, then faded again. The man gasped as the shaking instantly ceased, and his eyes turned blank. His tic disappeared and his face relaxed into a neutral expression. An audible sigh escaped his lips as he appeared to deflate in his chair.

Satisfied, the farmer retrieved his _mirrireid_. "Give me the satchel, bearer," he said softly.

The other started. "Of…of course," he said quickly. Handing over the satchel quickly, he put the bag into the farmer's hand.

"Good," the farmer said, smiling that hollow grin of his again. "Remember the Dark Lord. Remember his strength. Hold onto his strength…"

"Forgive me," the man said. "I forgot."

"See that you don't forget again," the farmer said as he got up to leave. "You're doing the right thing. Trust me…"

Then, the farmer hefted his black cloak over his shoulder and tossed the barkeep some change to pay for his ale. The man saw the farmer open the doors, check both sides of the street carefully, then turn left with the satchel held securely under his arm.

The man himself stayed at the bar for a long time. His brow furrowed as he tried to remember what had happened. Something had happened, but he couldn't recall it. It was as if someone had taken a sponge to his memory. For half an hour, he stayed at the table, staring off into space. It was only when the barkeep threatened to throw him out that he got up, nodded to the barkeep, and started on his way back to the castle.

Something had happened, yes, but it would have to wait to be sorted out. He hadn't been lying to the farmer. He had appearances to keep up with. If he did not get back soon, his place on the Ichijoujan Council would be missed.

**********

_**June 20th, A.S. 522. The day before the conference**_

Kari heaved a sigh of relief as they finally emerged from the deep pine forests. Beside her, Cody relaxed visibly as he released his grip on the yew bow he had been carrying for the past week. Stepping out of the deep shade of the forest they had been traveling in for the past several days, Cody squinted and sheltered his eyes with his hands as he looked at the afternoon sun hovering over the mountains' edge. Then he turned and locked gazes with Kari.

"We made it without incident," he said with a slight trace of wonder in his voice. "After what Davis and Yolei went through, I can't believe it."

Privately, Kari agreed. She still couldn't believe that the rough but large fortress that stood at the bottom of the green mountain valley before them was really Ardinberg. Aside from her first glimpse of Palas, Kari didn't think she had ever seen a more welcome sight in her life. The white turrets and battlements rose proudly into the air, reflecting the bright morning sun until they resembled impregnable walls of light. Even from here, Kari could see the busy traffic of Saldean soldiers as they rode in and out of the main gate of the castle, and patrolled the top of the wall's ramparts. Some of them had already seen her party, and already the clear notes of horns were filling the air as their presence was announced. Atop their many towers and arches, the proud colours of Ishida were soaring in the wind. Kari smiled as she saw the familiar golden meteor arcing across a field of deep royal blue. The flag that had not flown for more than twenty years was finally flying once again. Takeru had raised the banner of Ishida.

Behind them, Cody's group of thirty Shienar soldiers were accompanied by Kari's own group of thirty Yagami soldiers, diplomats and councilors. The sun glistened off their polished green and white armour. Aidan had agreed that his men should look their best when attending an event of this magnitude. A murmur was already passing through the group of men as they looked around the valley and at the large fortress hidden in the depths of the mountain wilderness.

"We made better time than I had hoped," Aidan said as he rode beside Kari and Cody on his white stallion. Dressed in his best robes of Yagami white and silver, the King fairly shimmered in the sunlight. "We may have time for my men to rest for a little before the negotiations begin." He blinked as another round of horns sounded out. "And the Saldeans are certainly giving us quite a welcome."

"They certainly are," Kari agreed as the huge bronze door began to swing ponderously open to admit them. Several guards dressed in Royal Ishidan blue rode out of the door on swift horses. Without a word, they rode up to meet the Yagami party, the fell into formation on either side. This time, Kari even saw Cody smile. An honour guard. Lord Marc and Takeru had really outdone themselves this time.

Although Kari had been to Ardinberg before, it had been so long that it took her a moment to recognize the familiar features. Behind the fortress, the large sedimentary shelf of the mountain ended abruptly over a three hundred foot drop of sheer, smooth stone, completely unclimbable, and on both sides the mountain cliffs rose upwards like twin sentinels guarding one of Ishida's last remaining bastions from harm. The only route into the fortress was through the front, and _that _was protected by a layered, twenty-foot thick stone wall that fairly bristling with turrets and arrow-slits. Ardinberg was one fortress that would not go down without a fight.

The forest around Ardinberg had been cleared for two kilometers around the fortress so that no enemy could approach the fortress unseen. Even so, the trip from the edge of the forest to the gates of the fortress took less than ten minutes. The trio did not speak further as they rode down the path to Ardinberg. Indeed, they could not. The trumpets that the guards on top of the fortress's ramparts made conversation impossible. For the first time in weeks, Kari allowed herself to relax as they rode into the protected walls of Ardinberg, possibly the most secure fortress in Gaea. If they were not safe here, they would not be safe anywhere.

Inside the fortress's walls, more soldiers dressed in the colours of the Ishidan royal guard (blue and gold), had formed up on both sides of the central pathway to the building itself. Aidan looked around amused at the honour guard that stood stiffly at attention on either side of him as he approached the building itself. Only the captains were carrying were carrying their ceremonial jeweled swords, which they held stiffly at their sides. The rest of the men were unarmed.

"I had never known," he muttered as he leaned towards Kari, "that Lord Marc had managed to organize such an effective force. I had always thought Ishida had been shattered beyond repair."

"Whatever doesn't kill the Ishidans," Cody grunted, "can only make them stronger." There was grudging admiration in his voice as well.

"Were you expecting tents and picket lines, with unshaven, ill-fed soldiers guarding them?" Kari said with a twinkle in her eye.

Aidan hesitated, but Kari could read the answer in the slightly bemused expression on his face. "I thought so," she said.

"An impressive feat indeed," Aidan murmured as they approached the building itself. "An organized army, a fortress, and apparently the capacity to support it all in the fields I saw earlier. I must meet this man who rebuilt this province in less than fifteen years. We may have more to discuss than I thought…"

"You will," Kari assured him. "There is Lord Marc. And…" Her voice caught in her throat.

"Ah," King Aidan said as he squinted ahead at the two figures in front of the fortress. "I see."

Their mounted Ishidan honour guards stopped before the steps of the fortress, and the Yagami and Shienar delegation ground to a halt as well. Before them, two men stepped forward from the front steps. The larger and older one, who had a neatly trimmed brown beard flecked with gray, stepped up to Lord Aidan with a wide smile. "As Marc, son of Martin, Lord of Saldea, I welcome you to Ardinberg," he said, holding out his hands to encompass the three of them. "King Aidan of all Yagami, Lady Hikari, Lord Cody, we are honoured by your presence, and illumined by your wisdom. May the Lord God light your path always."

Kari looked at Cody, and the younger stand-master tilted his head. Neither of them said a word as Aidan dismounted slowly, then stepped forward.

"We are gratified," the King said graciously. "May the Lord be with you and your kin forevermore." Reaching out he took Lord Marc's hand and shook it gravely. "So…you are the man behind all this? I must say, my Lord, I am most impressed."

The grin on Marc's face warmed. "I had help, my Lord. I have heard of you, King Aidan, and I have long wanted to speak to the man that held a struggling nation together in the wake of her Queen's death. We must talk sometime."

"Oh yes, indeed," Aidan said as he turned to look at the man beside Marc. "And…would you do me the honour of introducing me to this young man?"

"Oh!" Lord Marc said, looking surprised. He shot a brief look at Kari, who only shrugged. "Where are my manners? I have forgotten to introduce you." He swept out his hand to indicate the second man. "This, King Aidan, is Emperor Takeru of all Ishida."

Cody saw Aidan start visibly at the name, then turn to focus his hawk-like eyes better at Takeru. It was an understandable mistake. As usual, Takeru was not wearing anything exceedingly royal. His white silk shirt was elegant and form-fitting, but not any more formal than Lord Marc's own clothes. The deep blue cloak that hung from his shoulders bore the royal crest of Ishida, but then so did most of Ardinberg's soldiers' cloaks. He wore no crown and no signet ring, and the sword _Ichibou_ was sheathed in a plain scabbard at his side. Next to Aidan, who was dressed in the full regalia of the Yagami King, he seemed like nothing more than a servant.

Kari however, was struggling unsuccessfully to hide her joyous grin behind a calm exterior. Her crimson eyes were fixed on Takeru, as if she could see nothing else besides him. Cody's mouth twitched as a hint of something approaching amusement flickered across his face.

For his part, Takeru merely stepped forward. Smiling slightly, he extended his hand to shake Aidan's. "Welcome to the conference, King Aidan of all Yagami," he said softly.

Aidan rallied valiantly. Closing his mouth, he reached out and grasped Takeru's hand warmly. "Takeru…Ishida," he breathed. "Forgive me. Of course…your age…your hair…how could I have not known? So…you are the stand-master that has so inspired Lady Hikari."

"Hmm," Takeru said thoughtfully, as he turned to give Kari a quick glance. Kari merely arched an eyebrow, an amused smile playing on her lips. Before she could say or send a thought-shape however, Takeru had turned back to Aidan.

"I'm sure she had many things to say about me," he said, carefully choosing his words so that they sounded as neutral as possible. "And in the coming week, I'm sure you will be able to know me first-hand. But for now, I'm sure that your men are wearied from the journey. I trust you had a safe journey?"

Aidan nodded, looking relieved. "We did indeed. We have traveled hard and fast, but thankfully, we did not encounter Khaydarin."

"Thank the Creator for that," Takeru said simply, but with heartfelt expression. "But where are my manners? My servants will show you to your quarters immediately. Your men must be wearied by the journey. All other delegations, save the one from Ichijouji, have arrived already."

Kari's expression did not change, but beside her Cody's gray eyes flicked towards her as he felt her thought-shape frown suddenly. Takeru, she thought anxiously. I had been hoping that we could-

"Lord Marc would be happy to give you a tour of Ardinberg," Takeru continued smoothly as his gaze flickering briefly to Kari. There was a hint of reproach in his eyes, so faint that Kari was sure she was the only one who had seen it.

Did you really think I would forget? His returning thought-shape seemed positively hurt.

Kari schooled her face into an expressionless mask to hide her smile as Takeru continued as if nothing had happened. "The attendants will take care of your horses and your supplies. If you have any problems or concerns, please do not hesitate to bring them up with Lord Marc."

Aidan frowned. "Are you not joining us?"

"I will, later," Takeru assured the King. "You will certainly see me at the banquet tonight. And believe me, I would love nothing more than to accompany you on your tour. But you must understand. I have much to prepare before my presentation at the conference. And…," he leaned closer, "it…would not do…for appearances."

A look of understanding flooded Aidan's face. He raised his eyebrows as he peered into Takeru's eyes.

Takeru could not be seen showing favour to any one King or Queen. Lord Marc, as a monarch himself, was allowed to interact with the others. The stand-masters were allowed to ally themselves with their respective countries. But Takeru was supposed to be the Ishidan Emperor, the one nation that had not involved itself in a war with any other country. The one, truly objective arbitrator. The monarchs had only agreed to come because they would be under the protection of the stand-masters. However, despite the fact that all the monarchs _had decided to come, only a fool would claim that tensions did not exist._

In the end, Takeru was purposely distancing himself from the others. At least, for now. If he was seen giving one King or Queen more attention than the others, ugly accusations would surely start to fly. In many ways, the conference had already begun. The game, at least, had started. Aidan looked at Takeru with a new expression of grudging respect. Takeru was staring back with real regret in his eyes.

The silent flash of thought between the two men lasted only a few seconds. Aidan made a mental note to himself to never try manipulating this man. And heaven help any foolish enough to try. So very young. And yet, already so well-versed in the political game of nations.

"Of course," Aidan said, nodding imperiously. "I look forward to the conference. We have much to discuss as well."

Takeru's face split into a broad smile. "So do we all." He swept out a hand to indicate the door. "I hope you enjoy your stay, King Aidan."

"I'm sure I will," Aidan said, returning the smile. Then he motioned to his men and the Yagami delegation followed Lord Marc into the depths of Ardinberg.

For a moment the three stand-masters were left standing alone outside the door.

Then Kari turned and hugged Takeru. Hard. No amount of self-control could repress the laugh that now burst forth. Clearly embarrassed, but nonetheless pleased, Takeru returned the embrace with a smile.

"I'm hurt," Takeru murmured into her ear. "Did you really think that after several _years apart, I would be more interested in escorting a King around Ardinberg?"_

Kari didn't say anything. She didn't dare open her eyes, lest the tears in them become visible. Instead, she laid her cheek on Takeru's shoulder, and allowed herself to be swept away in his warm embrace. "I didn't doubt you for a moment," she said into his shoulder. Then she lowered her voice as she leaned closer. "What say we finish that kiss we started?"

A faint blush crept across Takeru's cheeks. He laughed out loud, then gently pulled her away. "Not now," he admonished. "Time enough for that later."

Cody stepped forward, and Takeru gave him a bear hug of greeting as well, which Cody returned awkwardly. "Still as stiff as ever, I see," Takeru teased. "You haven't changed a bit."

"Sticking by the rules is what has kept me alive," Cody returned indignantly. He paused for a moment. Then conceded, "Though I suppose in other times, it should be all right to let loose a little."

"Of course," Takeru said, matching his solemn tone. "You're absolutely right." His expression softened slightly. "You don't know how good it is to see you two."

"You too," Cody said as he smiled. "May I say that you haven't changed either."

Takeru ran his hand through his hair. "All this royalty stuff is getting to me," he admitted. "Sometimes, I wish I wasn't the Emperor. At least I would be free. Free from all the bureaucrats and diplomats, and this awfully…_tedious game of politics."_

"You're good at it," Cody observed.

"I have to be," Takeru said, making a face. "But I hate it."

Kari laughed as she slipped her arm around Takeru's and clasped his hand. "I know exactly what you mean," she admitted. "Have the others arrived yet?"

At this, Takeru stepped back. "Come with me," he said, in a strangely guarded tone.

Kari and Cody exchanged glances, then decided to keep their mouths shut. Whatever the answer to Kari's question was, it was clearly something that Takeru did not want to discuss in public. So, holding her curiosity in check, Kari followed Takeru into the fortress. Swiftly, Takeru led them through the rough, bare stone of the lower levels to the staircases, where they climbed up into the slightly more luxurious second level. Here, the hallways were carpeted, and wide windows opened onto the inner courtyard of the fortress. Someone had made an attempt to soften the interior by installing bronze torch scones along the walls every few meters. There were even some paintings of past Saldean lords and suits of armour that dotted the hallways. 

Despite the luxurious fittings however, Ardinberg was still a fortress, not a palace. Kari noted that the windows that looked inward on her right were the only ones that were wide. The ones that looked outward were spaced far apart and were nothing more than narrow slits. Looking through one of the wide windows on her right as she passed, Kari spied large gardens of fruit and food being tended by servants and gardeners in the inner courtyards. Sources of food to shore up supplies in the case of a siege. Kari was willing to bet that somewhere underground, in the foundations of the fortress, Marc had ensured that there would be at least several wells sunk into the rocky ground.

Finally, Takeru turned aside, and pushed open one of the many oak doors that led off the corridor. Without hesitation, he stepped through the tall portal and disappeared into the room. Kari and Cody exchanged glances again, then followed him together.

Inside, the large conference room was all but empty. A huge mahogany table, polished by the servants until it gleamed like a mirror, dominated the center of the chamber. Tall, padded chairs surrounded it, each with a corresponding candle-stick placed in front of it. At the moment, none of them were lit. The only illumination came from the large window that looked over the courtyard. The morning sunlight that came slanting in through the glass lit up the golden dust motes that floated lazily in the still air. Kari took in all of it at a glance.

Then her eyes widened as she saw the people sitting by the table.

"Davis!" she exclaimed. "Yolei! You're here!"

The Taelidani leaders rose from their chairs as Kari hurried towards them. When she reached them, she gave them both a big hug. "It's good to see you again," she said sincerely as she released Yolei at last. "I trust that the rest of your journey was uneventful?"

Davis nodded his head with a rueful grin. "After that fiasco in the bamboo forests outside Fan-Tzu, the patrols seemed to leave us alone. Or perhaps, they were too busy trying to recover that they didn't even notice that we passed. King San and Queen Ida are now safe in Ardinberg."

Kari's face turned serious. "And did you hear from any of your men?"

The grin on Yolei's face faltered. "Some of them have started to trickle back in groups, just like we ordered them to," she said. "So far, out of a hundred men, only…sixty came back. And by now, anyone who isn't back…probably isn't coming back."

Cody stepped forward. "It is the Taelidani way to die in battle," he said solemnly.

Davis shook his head and grinned as he embraced Cody. "A right ray of sunshine you are," he teased. He was grinning his usual boyish grin, even if it did seemed slightly strained. "You haven't changed a bit since we last saw you. Lighten up a little. Their lives will not be sacrificed in vain."

"No, they will not," Takeru affirmed from the other side of the room. "They certainly will not." The four stand-masters turned to see him closing the thick, sound-proofed doors to the conference room. Once he had, he sighed, rearranged his robes, and came over to join them at the table.

Something about his demeanor halted the friendly banter between the four stand-masters immediately. Takeru no longer seemed to hold himself as upright as before. In the privacy of the conference room, he had abandoned his Emperor's mask. He still looked calm. He still looked gracious. But now a weariness could be seen in his blue eyes and in the slight slump of his shoulders.

Takeru pulled out a chair for himself and sat down in it. "I have news of some importance," he said as he folded his hands on the table. "But first, I want to hear from you. Kari, Cody, look around. Tell me what's missing."

Kari looked around in puzzlement, then her frown deepened as she realized what Takeru was talking about. "Where's Ken?" she asked. "It's not like Ken to be late for something of this importance."

"I don't know," Takeru confessed. "I was hoping you would have some news about him, and why he's late."

Cody shook his head. "Sorry, no," he said. "We were pretty out of touch when we were traveling here. The last time we saw him was a week ago, on the Perenic plane along with the rest of you. As I recall, he was pretty hard pressed, but he promised to be here on time."

"Can't you contact him on the thought-plane?" Kari asked.

"We tried last night," Davis interjected as he shook his head, "when we were reasonably sure nothing disastrous or urgent was happening. No luck. Couldn't find him on the thought-plane." He frowned. "I can't imagine why he'd be ignoring our summons. He should be able to feel them even when asleep."

"Can we try now?" Kari said worriedly.

"Things may have gotten worse in Ichijouji," Davis said tightly. "It would be terrible if he fell into a trance in the middle of a battle."

"I was thinking the same thing," Takeru affirmed. "And I was also hoping that you two would bring me some news. Davis and Yolei have already told me they didn't have any."

"You probably know more than me," Kari confessed. "Sorry, no help here."

Takeru sighed and leaned back in his chair. He exchanged grim glances with Davis. "I think it would be best," Takeru said, "to send out scouts right away. If I could trouble you one more time, my friend, would you send out some of your fastest mounted scouts to Ichijouji by this afternoon?"

"Why not use some of Marc's Saldean soldiers?" Cody interjected.

"Taelidani are much better at hiding themselves," Takeru explained simply. "If…well…if the situation in Ichijouji has indeed taken a turn for the worse, I want the scouts to return alive."

Davis nodded. "I will see to it."

"Thank you," Takeru said. Then he took an almost imperceptible breath.

Kari was immediately on the alert. Takeru was good at hiding his emotions when he wanted to, but he had never managed to hide them from her. The signs were all over him. The slight stiffening of his shoulders, the way his face had frozen as if he was steeling himself to do something. If she really concentrated, she bet she could even pick up the slight increase in his breathing. Something was up.

"I have a confession to make," Takeru said. "I have been keeping something from you during our last few meetings. Something of utmost importance."

At that, Davis, Yolei and Cody, who had not picked up the signs, sat up straighter in their chairs as well. As one, they looked at Takeru with expressions of intense interest. Takeru paused for a moment, then continued.

"Remember two weeks ago, what Davis told us about his encounter with that _Praetor that saved him? And what he revealed about Yamato?"_

The stand-masters nodded. Takeru went on. "Actually, I already knew that he wasn't with Khaydarin anymore. I knew almost five weeks ago. When Yamato met me on the thought-plane and challenged me to a duel to the death."

In her chair, Kari suddenly turned sheet white. Davis and Cody exchanged stunned glances. Yolei stood up so abruptly, her heavy chair teetered briefly on two legs before settling back with a loud thump. "You _knew?" she said sharply._

"I accepted the challenge," Takeru continued calmly.

"You _accepted_?!" Yolei shrieked. "Takeru, I have never met this…this brother of yours, but I _did _see the wound he carved in your side. _Are you insane?!_"

Takeru only smiled slightly in response, and raised a hand to forestall any further shouting or protests. "Yolei, calm down. I knew the risks. I am not a reckless boy anymore."

"Yet you walk into the risk _anyway_," Yolei said, refusing to be calmed. "Doesn't that make you even _more reckless?!"_

"It doesn't matter," Takeru said. "It paid off. We met in real-life and dueled almost three weeks ago."

This time, even Yolei was stunned into silence. She sat down slowly, as if she still didn't quite believe what she was hearing. Davis and Cody were similarly frozen. By now, Kari had turned so pale that her face almost matched the colour of her snow-white Yagami cloak. Her slim hands were clasped together so tightly that the knuckles were turning white as well.

"And?" she asked, so quietly that Takeru had to strain to hear her. "What happened?"

Takeru unfolded his hands and pressed them palm-down onto the table. "I managed to get out of the 'death' part of the duel," he said flatly. "Nobody died. I _obviously didn't die, but I didn't have to kill Yamato either."_

"Instead, we talked." Takeru stared at each stand-master in turn, as if pleading for their support. "Even…even if he's done some terrible things before, he's still my brother after all. He is _still _Ishidan, and part of Gaea. Doesn't that mean that we should at least try to save him? To show him our way, as we do to everyone else? After all, the Lord's love is unconditional. Why should we be any different?"

Davis shook his head. "You…you tried to convince him to join our side," he said. "You're out to save _everybody._ Even those that try to kill you. That's just so…so _you."_

"Just about everyone at this conference has tried to kill each other at some point or other," Takeru pointed out, "If they are not willing to forgive, then what's the point of this conference?"

"Point," Davis said, nodding reluctantly.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Cody rasped.

Takeru blew out a breath from his mouth, and folded his hands again. "I'm sorry," he said, "but I thought that…before the duel…it would be best to not give you a chance to talk me out of it. I was determined to see this through, and I didn't want to worry you. After all, it's my brother, my problem. It didn't concern you. And _after_, well, I thought it would be best to tell you what happened in person. It was only important. Not urgent."

"_Didn't concern us?" Yolei repeated. "No, Takeru, that is _not _how it works." Standing up, she jabbed a finger at Takeru. "Friends don't do that to one another, and friends don't worry about each other's reactions. Look, we stick together, okay? To the rest of the world, you may have to play 'Emperor'. But here, you're among friends. When you've got a problem, it's __our problem."_

Takeru sat back, a slightly touched expression in his eyes, as Yolei paused for breath. She glared at Takeru for a long moment.

"From now on," she continued, "I don't want there to be any secrets between us. If you have anything that's bothering you, _tell us_, and we'll face it together. We're a family, the only one any of us have left. We…." Her voice broke, and Yolei had to stop to clear her throat. "We care for you," she finished, in a quieter voice.

There was a long moment of silence, in which Yolei awkwardly sat back down. The other stand-masters nodded agreement as they all looked at Takeru. Takeru smiled. Not one of his hollow ones for the Kings, but a genuine, heart-warming smile.

"Thank you," he said. "I don't know what to say. It was my mistake in the first place. I'm sorry."

Kari reached across the table and put her hand over Takeru's. "We forgive you," she said softly. "Now, TK, tell us what happened."

"It worked," he said out loud. Then he tilted his head back. Kari caught him sending out a fast thought-shape. Caught off-guard, she only managed to catch the tail-end. _Something something…in now…_

Before she could puzzle out the thought-shape though, Takeru turned back. "Please don't be alarmed when I say this," he said. "But I succeeded."

Behind him, the door to the conference room opened with a slight creak. Every eye in the room turned to regard the opening door. Hesitantly, a man stepped through the door. The golden sunlight from the window illuminated only his boots. Carefully closing the door behind him, the man began to step forward.

Kari felt her breath catch in her throat. Her heart was suddenly pounding a mile a minute. She couldn't help it. Even before the light from the window had crept up enough to illuminate the man's face, she could already sense the amazingly strong spirit of a stand-master tingling in the air. Even Takeru's warm golden glow seemed to pale in comparison with this ice-cold, hard as nails aura that raised goosebumps on her bare arms. When the sunlight finally washed over the man's head, it revealed a fair, fine-boned face, framed by long strands of blond hair tied back in a neat ponytail. The almond-shaped blue eyes and arched eyebrows only served to confirm her suspicions. 

The man looked like nothing more than an older and taller version of Takeru.

The three Taelidani immediately stood up in alarm when they too sensed the man's spirit. Almost immediately, all three of them had their stands awake and ready to be summoned, just beneath the surface. Kari could sense the sudden, charged hum in the air that indicated a stand-master's readiness. Davis's hand automatically went for the kodachis at his sleeves before he remembered himself and dropped his hands.

Kari remained seated. She cast an incredulous glance at Takeru. "Is he…is he…," she said, faltering.

Takeru stood up, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to have a former Khaydarin _Praetor _in the room. "My friends," he said, extending a hand to the man at the end of the table, "meet Yamato Ishida. My brother."

Four pairs of eyes locked onto Yamato's face. No-one spoke for a long moment. Kari was not sure she could have even if she wanted to. It felt as if someone had stuffed a ball of thorns down her throat. Judging from the expressions on everyone else's face, they probably felt the same way.

Standing still on the carpeted floor before the large conference table, Yamato looked small and felt anything but. A patch of sunlight washed over him like a lamp. The silence stretched into an eternity as he stood stock still before the stand-masters with his legs apart and his hands hanging loosely at his sides. Beneath his royal blue Ishidan cloak, his sword hung sheathed from his leather belt.

Finally Yamato cleared his throat. "So…," he said. "You're the stand-masters I've been hearing so much about. All over the land."

"And you're this brother _we've _heard so much about," Davis said bitingly. "_Praetor_ Caylor, was that your name? What are _you _doing here?"

Yamato's eyes flashed slightly, then clouded over again. But the slight flash in his eyes hadn't been of anger or annoyance. Kari was surprised and she frowned as she struggled to place it. _Sadness? Disillusionment?_

"I was invited," he said in a surprisingly gentle voice. "I came to defect to the Alliance of the Stand-masters, and to subject myself to your judgement."

"So what that _Praetor _said was true," Yolei said behind Davis. "You _are _no longer with Khaydarin."

"That's right," Yamato said. "I left six years ago. When I finally realized what Emperor Tichon had in mind for Gaea, I couldn't justify in my mind what I was doing. I left."

"And now," Davis said in a deceptively calm voice, "you presume to walk in here as if nothing happened? As if we could simply forget everything you've done?!"

At that, Yamato stopped. He cleared his throat and looked away. When he looked back, Kari was again startled by another flash of his eyes. "For what it's worth," he said. "I do regret my actions. You can believe it or not. But no, I don't expect you to forget."

Davis snorted, but was silenced by a sharp glance from Yolei. Yamato took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "After what I've done…I was convinced that it would be impossible for me to…set things right. Deal with me as you will. There's nothing you can do to me that I haven't deserved. Takeru tried to tell me otherwise, but then," he glanced at Takeru, "he's always been an optimist."

His voice faltered as he looked around at the stunned faces of the stand-masters. Kari's eyebrows moved up in sudden surprise as she opened her stand's eye a little further. For a moment, his cool exterior had cracked slightly. In that brief instant, Kari read a lot of things in the man's spirit. Reading Yamato was like trying to read a scroll by a madly flickering candle. There were moments of utter darkness when she could see nothing, and then…

"You're right," Davis interrupted abruptly, as he walked around the table. "Takeru _is an idealist. And he's been getting worse every year." He swung upon Takeru. "Takeru, _a___re you mad? If he deceived you, he might be contacting Tichon right now! He could be-"_

"I brought him here blindfolded," Takeru said firmly.

"It doesn't matter," Yolei said tightly, glaring at Yamato. "He can still completely wreck the conference by himself. He doesn't need to call in reinforcements."

"Yamato has-"

"How do we know you're not a spy?" Davis accused as he swung around to face Yamato. "That you're not here to…betray us?"

Takeru stepped forward. "I vouch for him," he said.

Cody frowned. "Takeru, this man tried to-"

"I vouch for him," Takeru said firmly. "If he betrays us, I will bear the consequences."

"This is no matter that can be settled just because you _vouch _for him," Yolei said from where she sat at the table. "Takeru, the consequences might mean the end of Gaea itself!"

"But he has changed!" Takeru insisted. "He wants to atone! We've all made mistakes in the past, some worse than others. Why is he less deserving of that chance than any of us?"

"The stakes are too high this time," Davis said firmly.

"What if he _is _sincere?" Kari said suddenly. All eyes turned to her as she looked at Yamato. "You all knew from the beginning that this initiative is going to take trust, on all involved," she continued, swinging around to appeal to the others. "Always, we have been the first to offer it. We have walked into death-traps before, all for the sake of this conference. Why should we stop now?"

Takeru shot her a grateful glance. The others, however, seemed unconvinced. "And how can we know that he's sincere?" Yolei said.

"How can we know that this conference will work?" Kari countered. "We don't. But we have faith that it will. In the same way, why shouldn't we-"

"Kari," Davis said bitingly, springing upright and pointing accusingly at Yamato, "_This man has leveled entire cities and toppled nations, all in the name of Khaydarin. He was responsible for the deaths of over half of my _staven's _warriors when we clashed outside Sai Auia." He glared at Yamato. "You remember?"_

"How could I forget?" Yamato's voice was a whisper. "I still carry the scar."

Davis stared at the man for a moment longer, then stepped forward. Before anyone could stop him, he had summoned his stand. In the blink of an eye, a streak of red slashed through the air…and snapped to a standstill. Takeru stood up in alarm as Kari's hand automatically darted to her own _wakizashi_.Yamato turned his head slightly to look at the gleaming dragon claws quivering a hairsbreadth from his jugular. His hands, however, remained at his sides.

"You're not going to stop me are you," Davis said darkly.

"I said," Yamato repeated, "there's nothing you can do to me that I haven't deserved."

"If it were up to me," Davis said, still with his stand's heavy claws poised on the edge of a kill, "I would have killed you six years ago. When I saw what you had done to Takeru, believe me, there was nothing I wanted more than to slit your throat. What do you say to that, _Praetor?_"

Yamato closed his eyes and said nothing.

"Davis…," Takeru said warningly, "don't-"

"I won't kill him," Davis bit off. Slowly, he stepped back and willed his stand to disappear. A grudging hint of admiration shone in his eyes. "But it appears, Takeru, that your brother is sincere about one thing at least."

Yamato only stared back calmly, as implacable and resigned as a stone statue. He made no attempt to draw the sword at his side. No attempt to fend off a deathblow, if that was what Davis decided to hand out. "Perhaps you should have killed me," Yamato replied. "It would have been what I-"

"Of course it's what you deserve," Yolei said sadly. "But then, if you're going to start counting past sins, all of the kings and queens here should be put to death as well. No, Yamato, we are not in the business of dealing out death."

"Still-"

"Stop," Cody said tiredly. He glanced at Yamato, and was met with a steady ice-blue gaze. The stand-master withstood the debate without batting an eyelid as he awaited a verdict. When Cody continued, his voice was much softer. "Perhaps you are sincere. Perhaps you really do want to change."

He glanced at Takeru apologetically. "But this is too dangerous, I'm sorry. Forgiveness is one thing. If you are sincere, we offer that immediately. But if you are not sincere, then the consequences are too disastrous for us to risk. Trust…you will have to earn."

Takeru spread out his hands in frustration. "All right. Then what do you want to do?"

The stand-masters looked at each other for a few moments as they mulled over Takeru's question. Takeru sighed, ran his hand through his hair and sat back in resignation. Kari squeezed his hand in a comforting gesture, but Davis and Cody directed hard, flat stares at Yamato.

"If the situation was reversed," Yamato said as he turned his icy eyes on Takeru, "I would have killed any of you immediately. Why that hasn't occurred yet is beyond me. If the question is one of trust, however, there is a simple solution. You could restrain me."

Takeru sat up, looking alarmed, but Davis immediately shook his head. "We don't have the manpower to guard you, stand-master," he said with a grim chuckle. "And I doubt any of Ardinberg's cells are strong enough to hold you against your will."

"Then send me away from Ardinberg," Yamato said as he stared levelly at Davis. "It doesn't matter where, as long as it's far, far away. At least until after the conference. Then you can decide what to do with me."

Takeru looked pained, but said nothing. Davis stared at Yamato for a long while, then narrowed his eyes, but he too said nothing. It was Cody that finally nodded reluctantly. "We can do that," he said slowly.

"But where can he go?" Kari chipped in.

"He can go with my Taelidani on their scouting mission," Davis said hollowly. "They can keep an eye on him, and can lead him away blindfolded as well, so he doesn't ever find out the way here."

Everyone looked at Takeru, who sighed and leaned forward again. Staring at the table, he rubbed his fingers together in thought, then looked up. "Then it's decided," he said. "Yamato will go to Ichijouji." He stood up to go.

Davis reached out a hand to him. "Takeru, I…"

"You should be with your kings and queens," Takeru said brusquely. His voice was no longer warm. "Pray, don't let me disturb you."

**********

"Your time is up, _Praetor_." Tichon's menacing voice seemed to echo off the bare stone walls of the familiar, enclosed room. "And you have not worn your _mirrireid _at all times like I told you to. When I reached out for you yesterday, you were not there. Why?"

Locke schooled his face into a polite expression of neutrality. He didn't dare let any of his fear show. "The chain broke yesterday," he said. "I had to hand it to my weapons smith to repair. I have worn it at all other times. I am sorry if you were not able to reach me."

He didn't even dare cross his fingers behind his back. Who knew what the Emperor could see in this thought-plane? With baited breath he watched Tichon glare at him suspiciously. Did he have spies that could deny his story? But no. Even when he had worn the _mirrireid _as instructed, he had worn it under his shirt. No-one would have been able to notice when he'd simply taken it off.

"_Praetor," Tichon hissed as he leaned on the table. "My orders are not to be taken as mere suggestions. When I ask that it be worn at all times, you _will _obey me. If I reach out for you again, and you are not there…"_

Locke carefully swallowed the hard ball of fear in his throat. Bowing low to the ground, he swept his hand out graciously. "Of course, my Lord. I live to obey your every word."

Tichon grunted as he sat back and steepled his fingers. "Now, report. You have run out of time. Have you found _Praetor _Caylor?"

Locke squared his shoulders, and unconsciously donned his commander's mask. Obediently, his face froze into the still, expressionless expression he found himself using more and more often. "Yes, my Lord," he said precisely. "I promised that I would find him, and I did."

"And?"

"He is dead, my Lord," he lied. "I saw him die with my own eyes."

Tichon rose from his seat. His burning red eyes transfixed Locke like a snake's gaze might transfix its prey. "How?"

_How much does he know?_ Locke thought furiously. _How well-positioned are his spies?_

"My gamble paid off, my Lord," he said without a hitch, betraying none of his inner thoughts. "My scouts tracked down Takeru Ishida. When we found him, he was traveling en route to Palas. Or what remained of Palas."

That was the truth. He could get away with that. Now what?

"When he reached Palas," he continued calmly, "he entered the city and climbed to the top tier, the Royalty's tier, and waited in Masaharu's square. At the time, I was with a scouting party and the bulk of my army was stationed in the next valley. I decided to wait rather than call up forces to corner the stand-master immediately. I knew that the stand-masters would be able to sense the massed spirit of an army if they were close enough."

Still the truth…

"Presently, Yamato came. We were right, my Lord. He _had _been deciding to do something drastic before the conference. Takeru seemed to be expecting him. The two stand-masters almost immediately started to duel. None of my men dared to near them as they fought. We saw parts of the city collapse in the conflict."

"Collapse"was an understatement. "Explode"might have been a better word, but it was still close enough to the truth. Quickly, Locke ran over in his mind who had been in his scouting party that night. Yvan he was fairly certain was not a spy. And the soldiers that had accompanied him had all been handpicked by Locke personally. All of them had served long enough to have been there when Yamato still led the corps. If anybody could be trusted, it was them.

Silently, Locke consigned his life into the hands of his soldiers. If any of his scouting party had been spies, he would be killed immediately after finishing the next few sentences. But there was nothing for it. For all his wit, his agile mind could not think of another way.

"When Yamato appeared and the fight began," Locke continued. "I sent men to alert my main army at once. But the fight was over as quickly as it began. I saw Takeru strike down Yamato less than a minute after the men were gone. When the _Praetor fell, he was swallowed by the __Mukaibo falls. When my army finally arrived, Takeru had disappeared. The body of Yamato was never recovered."_

The last part, at least, was true. By the time his army had arrived, both stand-masters had been gone. Of course, Locke had conveniently neglected to inform them until after he was certain they _had _been gone. But that didn't make his last statement false. For the rest of his army, they _would _have remembered scouring Palas and the riverbanks of the _Mukaibo_ for a whole day and finding nothing.

Tichon stared at Locke unflinchingly for a long moment. Despite the fear that was now threatening to crack even his commander's mask, Locke couldn't help but notice that Tichon had thinned again. Parts of his hair were beginning to come off. The lines of his face had grown deeper still until his eyes seemed to have been cast completely into dark shadow. They resembled nothing more than hot, glowing coals glaring balefully out of the deep, dark night.

"So Yamato is dead," Tichon said finally. "Takeru did our work for us. There is hope then, if a servant of God can be corrupted to do our bidding. Perhaps our work has not been wholly undone after all."

Locke let the breath he had been holding out through his nose. Very very slowly. "Yes, my Lord," he heard himself say from somewhere far off. "Even the proud Ishidan line is not innocent of the madness that seemed to possess the other stand-masters at the end of the Age."

"But rather convenient, isn't it?" Tichon continued. Locke's heart stopped. "Only a scouting party for witnesses. No body. Nobody even saw Takeru except you. You wouldn't be lying to me, would you Locke?"

Locke put on an expression of puzzled innocence. "I do not understand."

"Do not pretend with me, Locke." Tichon's voice had risen to a dangerous snarl. Standing up, he suddenly seemed to tower over Locke, to fill the whole room with his presence. The air around him dimmed and twisted into a visible black aura of evil that stifled and suffocated the light from the fire like a cloud of smoke might stifle a candle. "I know you are more intelligent than that. You know exactly what I am talking about."

Locke allowed his body and face to stiffen into an offended expression. Since he was beginning to stiffen with terror anyway, it was not hard. "If you are questioning my loyalties, my Lord, have I not proven my devotion to you in the past? Of all your _Praetors_, I am the _only one who has not failed you once. Through countless battles and decisions, I have supported you all the way. If it were not so, you would have torn this _Praetor's _insignia from my chest years ago."_

Emperor and _Praetor _stared at one another across the table for a long, dangerous moment. Then Tichon nodded. The red glow in his eyes subsided as he sat down again. The black aura disappeared.

"You are right," Tichon said. "You have been faithful, Locke."

This time, Locke didn't even dare release his breath again. Tichon looked up at Locke.

"But be warned, _Praetor_," Tichon said in a quiet whisper. "The moment, the _instant_, you betray me, I will know. And when I know, you will die."

Locke didn't allow a muscle to twitch. He merely inclined his head and bowed again. "I will not betray you," he said smoothly.

Tichon smiled. For a moment, Locke caught sight of a row of long, sharp teeth that gleamed silver white in the darkness. "Good." 

The Emperor sighed and looked at the table. A goblet of wine, clearly made of the finest silver in the land, appeared in front of him. Leaning back, he appeared to relax visibly as he sipped the goblet. Locke forced his fists to relax, and he placed them flat on the table, hoping that the Emperor wouldn't notice the sheen of sweat on them.

"Good work, _Praetor_," the Emperor said. "You managed to track down _Praetor _Caylor after all. Now that your assignment is over, however, I have a new job for you."

"Of course. I live to serve."

"Gather your entire corps," Tichon said, "and go join the other two _Praetors on the eastern seaboard. Go along the south, where we have already secured the outer provinces of Ichijouji. Your main function, however, will __not be to attack, but to reinforce my defenses at the site of the __sangrias."_

"The _sangrias?_" Locke frowned. "I thought it was not scheduled to be completed for another two months."

"The schedule has changed," Tichon said. "It will be completed in about three weeks."

Locke felt a current of shock pass through him as the words sunk in. "That soon?" he whispered. He hoped the expression on his face would pass for excitement, and not dread.

"Yes," Tichon said, smiling. "That is why the site must be protected."

Then he leaned forward.

The distance between them suddenly shrunk to nothing. The red eyes filled Locke's vision until he could not see anything else. A blinding black light raged all around him, as if a dark fire had sprang to life at his feet. It burned at his eyes and clawed at his body but he could not look away. A frightening paralysis had frozen his entire body until he could do nothing but sit and endure it.

"Only a little further, my faithful servant," Tichon whispered. There was a manic edge to his voice, a hint of insanity that seemed to hide within that deep, cultured voice. "Only twenty-three days…

"Then the glory of Khaydarin will spread out to embrace all of Gaea. Once the _sangrias is complete, nothing will stop us. Not the stand-masters. Not their pitiful armies or stands. They will all be swept away like chaff. Their strongholds will crumble like sand castles before the rising tide. Their proud kingdoms will burn into ashes. A year today, I tell you, we will both stand on the charred corpses of our enemies and survey the fires of our victory. _We are almost there!_"_

Locke forced an expression of frenzied excitement in his eyes. He felt his stiff lips turn upwards in a savage smile as he clenched a fist. "I look forward to that day," he declared. "The glory be to Khaydarin."

The words tasted like poison on his lips.

Tichon laughed. The fires raged higher. Locke felt his mask finally crack as he took a step backwards, shielding his face from the flames. From the painful black light. From the blistering heat. A great roaring sound pounded at his ears and shook his bones to the core. Surely he was being burned alive. Surely Tichon already knew, and this was his punishment. Primal terror crawled from his belly to possess his limbs. His mouth opened in a soundless scream…

Locke snapped upright in his tent, thrashing to free himself from the suffocating covers. The sheets tore with a loud shriek as they gave way to his panicked struggles. Still writhing as if to put out the invisible flames, Locke rolled off his pallet and onto the hard stone ground.

The unexpected pain brought him to his senses. Slowly, the red veil lifted and Locke opened his eyes to peer about him blearily. He was breathing heavily. His clothes and brow were soaked in cold sweat. His heart was beating so fast it felt as if it would jump straight from his chest. Shivering as a draft blew past him, Locke held up his hands and tried to brush the sweat-soaked hair from his eyes. When he discovered that he couldn't, he peered at his hands. They were trembling so hard, he couldn't control his fingers. Clenching them into fists, Locke gritted his teeth and forced himself to calm down. To calm down…

Then he remembered the _mirrireid. _Scrabbling at his chest, he drew the talisman out and almost threw it away before he remembered the Emperor's words. He stared, panting at the silver symbol, then slowly, reluctantly, put it back. The voices would come in time. He would simply have to resist them for as long as he could.

The game's stakes had risen again. The danger, which seemed to have been so far off, was now clear and present. The Emperor was really suspicious now and not even bothering to hide it. Scrubbing the sweat from his eyes, Locke took a couple deep breaths to calm down. He couldn't do this. It was too dangerous. He wasn't good enough. Much easier to succumb to the voices. Much easier to carry out his duty. Much easier to-

_No!_ In a blind panic, Locke shook his head vigorously. The voices were becoming more subtle now. They were disguising themselves as his thoughts, as his feelings. Desperately, he recalled what Yamato had taught him, and hung onto them like they were his lifeline. He fought for Gaea. For the good of Gaea. Not for Khaydarin. Not for the Emperor. _For Gaea!!_

Repeating the words under his breath like a mantra, Locke tried to clear his mind. The _sangrias _was going to be completed in twenty-three days. Time had almost run out. He _had to warn Yamato and the stand-masters, or it was going to be too late. But even now, it was as if he could feel the Emperor's watchful eye watching his every movement. The spy situation had to be resolved. How? How could he flush out the spy, or spies? He was fairly certain he could trust those that had served under Yamato. But six years had been a long time. There had been casualties, and replacements. Reinforcements and transfers. And although he had tried to keep his corps as intact as possible, he could no longer trust _everyone _in the corps. The spies could be anywhere…_

Then he frowned as the numbing fear began to lift. What was that that the Emperor had said? That he would know the _instant _he betrayed him? Well, obviously, it had been an empty threat. Locke had already betrayed him, and he apparently didn't know yet. The _mirrireid didn't give him away automatically. But the Emperor had known something. Perhaps he hadn't meant to let it slip but…_

Then the solution hit him. It was so plain that he almost laughed out loud. _Of course! he berated himself. __Why didn't I see it before? Suddenly, he knew exactly how to find the spies._

They were the ones with _mirrireid_.

**********

In the half-darkness of the stable, Yamato sighed. With a final tug on the leather straps, he secured his saddle-bag to his horse's flank. As he swung his traveler's cloak around his shoulders again, he felt an intense weariness descend upon his shoulders. So that was that. He was off on the road again, as he had been for six years. He had hoped for one, insane moment that they would accept him without question. But he should have known. _If it seems too good to be true_, he thought bitterly, _it usually is_.

Takeru was there, leaning against the door to the stable, his face stony. He shifted slightly as he saw that Yamato was ready to leave. "I'm sorry about this," Takeru said.

"Don't be," Yamato replied. "It's the only sensible thing to do. After all, even stand-masters can't read each other's minds."

"I will convince them," Takeru said simply. "I still believe in you."

Yamato smiled wanly. "Thank you," he said. "But you've done enough as it is. If nothing else, you've already saved me from myself."

Then both brothers turned as Davis emerged from the dark door behind Takeru. "My scouts are ready to go," he announced. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Yamato said.

Davis walked over. Although Yamato was almost a head taller than Davis, the shorter stand-master's glowering face seemed to dominate the room. "The Staven leader knows who you are," Davis said, "but the others do not. They think you're an Ishidan soldier Takeru sent to accompany them." His voice darkened. "Rest assured, if the rest of my men ever found out who you are, even your stand would not save you. For now, they are under orders not to harm you. But if you so much as draw a blade against them…"

Yamato's eyes remained as calm as ever. "I understand," he said solemnly.

Davis glanced over at Takeru, who said nothing. Then, stiffly, he nodded at Yamato. "Just accompany them for the mission," he said, slightly less belligerently. "Follow the staven-leader's orders. I…hope you have a safe journey."

Yamato said nothing. Instead, he stepped into his horse's stirrup and mounted quickly. "Goodbye," he said brusquely. Then he was gone.

The two remaining stand-masters stood in silence in the dim light for a moment, watching as Yamato's black horse rode down the green slope. This far north, the sun was already beginning to set. From between the stable doors, they could see his figure, silhouetted against the red light, joining with the twenty or so Taelidani scouts already waiting on the plain. Once he joined them, the entire group turned and disappeared into the forest at full gallop. When the last rider was gone from sight, Takeru stirred and turned to go.

Davis's hand clamped firmly onto Takeru's shoulder. "Wait."

Takeru stopped.

Davis cleared his throat. "I'm sorry," he said. "About your brother, I mean."

"_Your _brother too," Takeru said in a quiet voice. "If, that is, you still think we're a family."

"We are."

"Then what was that?" Takeru gestured angrily at the open door. "Why wouldn't you give him a chance? Don't you see that he needs one now more than ever?"

"He will have his chance."

"Chance?" Takeru snapped. "Are you just saying that? I expected _you_, Davis, to understand this better than anyone. The first time we met, you almost _killed Kari!"_

Davis's face hardened into granite and his lips compressed into a thin, bloodless line. Takeru looked away, his face flushed with anger. For a moment, he strode around the stable, swinging his arms, and taking deep breaths. Davis folded his arms and watched as Takeru visibly struggled to contain his disappointment.

"I…I'm sorry," Takeru finally said. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you shouldn't," Davis said tightly. "I thought we had put that to rest years ago."

"You're right," Takeru said as he held up a hand. "It won't happen again."

Davis looked back out the stable door. "Takeru, don't you see?" he said pleadingly. "If it wasn't for you, I would have killed Yamato six years ago. And if it wasn't for you, I would have killed him just now. But I didn't. Because I trust you when you say that people can change _that dramatically. Because if they can't, then all our efforts have been in vain."_

"So you don't kill him, but send him away," Takeru said, a trace of bitterness creeping back into his voice.

"I am your friend, Takeru," Davis said gently. "That doesn't mean I have to agree with everything you say. Even _you _are wrong sometimes. And when you are, I wouldn't be your friend if I didn't say anything about it. In this case, I feel that you are wrong to trust him so quickly. I have no regrets."

"Then what would it take for him to convince you?" Takeru said.

"Less than you might think," Davis admitted.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Davis walked over and laid a hand on Takeru's shoulder, spinning him around until Takeru was forced to look up. "Believe me," he said firmly. "There is nothing that would make me happier than to discover that Yamato has truly turned to our side. If he has done that, I will be the first to apologize and welcome him. Forgiveness, Takeru, is immediate. But trust…that takes time."

"We have little time," Takeru murmured.

"If we rush, we lose everything," Davis said. "But yes, Takeru, I know that we have little time. I promise you that, if nothing else, I will accept him if he proves himself."

The two paused as Ardinberg's bell tolled softly. Once…twice…six times. As the soft tones faded away, Takeru could hear a few restless scuffles from the walls at the very edge of his listening range as the guard shifts changed. A couple horses neighed around them at the sudden nose, then silence descended again.

"It's six o'clock," Takeru said.

"I know."

Silence.

"The banquet will start soon," Takeru said as he looked down at his clothes. Fine clothes, but plain. "We should get ready."

A ghost of a smile touched Davis's face. "Yes, we should."

Takeru reached up and brushed Davis's hand off. "I will remember what you said," he said. He turned to go. This time, Davis didn't stop him.

The banquet was a success, which meant that nobody insulted or killed anyone else. For three hours, Takeru sat holding his breath from where he sat at the head table, half-expecting a disaster to happen at any  moment, but thankfully, none came. There were a few insincere speeches, and Takeru himself got up a couple times to address the gathered delegates, but for the most part, the evening flew past like a dream. He vaguely remembered the delegates introducing themselves, of the stand-masters circulating the floor like shadows, staying close to their respective nation's delegates. The food was good, plain fare, but nobody seemed to notice.

By the end of it, Takeru was glad to see the last delegate leave the table for their chambers. The other stand-masters, having completed their duties, seemed to breathe sighs of relief from where they stood around the chamber. As Takeru looked around, a wave of exhaustion seemed to break over him and for the first time that evening he allowed his shoulders to slump. Although the other stand-masters were still in the room, he suddenly didn't feel like talking to them. In fact, he didn't feel like talking to anyone. Murmuring that he was going to get some rest to Marc, he left the chamber before the others could reach him.

As he approached the long stairwell that would lead him back to his room however, Takeru hesitated. Although the corridors were still well-lit, they were already beginning to quiet down as the delegates returned one by one to their chambers in preparation for the conference tomorrow. _Why did I stop again? Oh yes._

Of their own accord, Takeru's feet steered him away from his own chamber. No, there was no way he could sleep now. Not when his mind was still in turmoil. The conference was tomorrow and his stomach was literally tying itself up in knots in his gut. He needed somewhere to be alone and…think. Sort things out a little. Try to untie his stomach at the very least.

Soon, Takeru found himself climbing another stairwell, to the third level of the fortress. Slowly, he pushed open a heavy wooden door and emerged onto a terrace along the side of the keep.

The cool night air whistled through Takeru's hair and he wrapped his cloak tightly about himself before continuing. This far north and this high up, summer days were swelteringly hot and summer nights were unusually cold. It was not freezing, but chilly enough to cut through a man's robes and make him wish he was indoors. Fastening the additional strap on his cloak to make it stay in place, Takeru looked up and out. Perhaps a hundred meters out, Ardinberg's high defensive wall cast a deep, dark shadow on the broad courtyard. Behind the wall, Takeru could still see the shadowy shapes of guards and soldiers changing watches, and the occasional glow of lanterns as delegates went from one building to the next in preparation for the night. His stand and his ears told him everything he needed to know. So he directed his attention beyond the wall and out into the night.

In the mountains, where the air was clean and crisp, and the surrounding land devoid of the lights of large cities like Maitzin, the glowing stars were spread out in all their glory across the night sky like gemstones on a dark, satin cloth. The starlight and the full moon was so bright that it illuminated everything as clearly as day. As the ever-present mountain breeze ran its icy fingers through his hair, Takeru took a deep breath of the quiet calm. Yamato was out there, somewhere. The Taelidani scouts he was with were probably still riding, and wouldn't stop until morning. When Taelidani didn't want to be seen, they almost never traveled by daylight. For a brief moment, Takeru wanted to be with his brother. To explain to him why they had sent him away. To reassure him that he still loved him. But it was impossible. They had not arranged a time to meet on the thought-plane. And Yamato already knew anyway.

Takeru looked up as he padded along. Soon, he could discern the dim shape of another tower looming before him. Wordlessly, he passed through the dark doorway and mounted the narrow spiral steps towards the top. Several minutes later, when he reached the end of the wooden steps, Takeru pushed open another wooden door and emerged onto a broad, flat, battlemented tower. He had been far too busy to visit the place in the last few weeks. But now, with his proposition prepared and all his duties completed, it was no longer time that he needed. It was peace.

This far up, the mountain breeze blew even more briskly. Takeru had to shield his eyes for a moment as the unexpected slap of air struck him across the face. With a sigh, he shed his cloak and hung it on a metal nail protruding from the wooden door behind him. Then, he quickly unbuttoned and shed his shirt as well, leaving only his sleeveless linen tunic. He welcomed the cleansing chill that buffeted his body and raised goosebumps on his flesh. Grasping the sword strapped to his side, he unfastened the sheath from his belt, withdrew the metal blade, and discarded the sheath to the ground. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward.

The movements to the kata came naturally, so long had he practiced them. Smoothly, fluidly, his limbs moved through the motions, sending his sword-point flicking swiftly and surely through the air. Before long, the familiar sense of faint fatigue, of tingling burning in his limbs appeared in his limbs. A faint dew of sweat appeared on his forehead and streamed into his eyes. Takeru grunted slightly as he turned and slowed the tempo slightly, balancing his sword on his finger-tips as an artist might balance a brush. His feet moved of their own accord, and he was lunging again. Leaping, somersaulting, sliding. Yes, this was what he had come for. To allow the exertions of the body to blank out the tiredness of the mind. It was only then that thoughts seemed to untangle themselves and make themselves known clearly.

"You presume to walk in here as if nothing happened" Davis's voice seemed to ring in his ears. "As if we could simply forget everything you've done?"

Takeru's lips thinned as he worked. Swinging his sword a little too savagely, he almost broke the rhythm of the kata. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he willed his heartbeat to slow again. No, he had to focus. Automatically, he tried to push the thought away.

Then he paused. Why? Wasn't this what he wanted? Time to think?

_"This man has leveled entire cities and toppled nations, all in the name of Khaydarin. He was responsible for the deaths of over half of my staven's warriors when we clashed outside Sai Auia. And you want me to trust him?"_

A faint burning began in his chest that had nothing to do with his exertions. Takeru's eyes narrowed as he launched himself into a roll. He had hoped they would accept him. He had _expected _that they would accept him. And although he had appreciated Davis's attempt to reconcile, the fact was that Davis's words had wounded him. Why couldn't they see? It shouldn't have to be like this. Yamato should never have had to be captured. He should not have spent the first twenty years of his life being an unknowing slave to the Emperor. Now that he had finally believed, there were his friends, his very brothers and sisters, rejecting him. Hadn't he suffered enough?

_"Send me away from Ardinberg,_" Yamato had said. And although that was all he had said, Takeru could almost hear the words he had not uttered.

"_Perhaps I'm not worthy after all_."

Takeru stumbled as he missed a step, and he realized with a shock that his sword was chopping now instead of flowing. But he didn't care. His breath hissing through his mouth, he whirled around and slashed violently at the air, not knowing what he was fighting, or even why.

The most haunting thing though, was that he could not find it within himself to blame his friends. It was as if some colder and calmer version of himself was silently agreeing with them, questioning his decisions. It only made sense. You couldn't simply take a man's word at face value. The world wasn't like that anymore. Things had changed; things were still changing. Or maybe it had always been like that…

But if that was right, if even the _stand-masters couldn't find it within themselves to accept one of their own, then what was the point?_

_"You're right,"_ Davis had said. "_Takeru _is _an idealist. And he's been getting worse every year."_

A cold hand of near-panic clenched his heart and guts in a vice-like grip. For a moment, Takeru could scarcely breath. What if he was wrong? What if he had been deluding himself all these years? If forgiveness was not possible, if a human could not change that much, then what was he fighting for? What was this _conference _for? If even the _stand-masters _couldn't find it within themselves to forgive, then how could they expect anyone else to? Yamato would be right. The Seihad would repeat itself. Age after age, generation after generation, until finally the war becomes so devastating that Gaea would rip itself apart beyond all hope of reconciliation or healing.

_No!_

A wordless yell ripped loose from Takeru's throat as he lunged forward one more time. With a sharp _boom_, the burning golden blade smashed into the solid stone battlements, cleaving the roughly-hewn rock into two. A rippling shockwave of gold expanded outwards, sending a sheet of dust and small pebbles flying from the edge of the tower. A huge chunk of masonry fell off from the wall, toppling from the tower to fall lazily and gracefully towards the bottom.

Dropping onto his knees, Takeru panted for breath. He had mangled the kata so badly, there didn't seem to be any point in continuing what was left of it. In a moment, the flushed heat from his exertions was whipped away. The indifferent wind seemed to slice right through his sweat-soaked tunic and he started to shiver. Clenching his numb fingers into fists, Takeru stared hard at the rough, stone ground as he fought down the nauseating feeling of panic. Since when had it gotten so cold?

He had played the diplomatic game for years now. Tomorrow, all his efforts would either fail and condemn all of Gaea to death, or succeed and save them all. It was at times like these that the weight of the whole world seemed to press down on him heavier than ever, until he felt like he wanted to curl up and wish that it would all just…go _away. All those years of work couldn't have been wasted. He couldn't have been wrong._

Could he?

Suddenly, Takeru was aware of a soft footstep beside him. Before he could protest, someone was draping a soft white cloak over his shoulders, still warm from its former owner's body. 

Startled, he looked up.

Kari was kneeling beside him. Giving him a faint smile, her gentle fingers tugged her cloak tighter around Takeru's shivering body. Shaking his head in protest, he tried to push it back towards her, but her fingers were surprisingly firm. "I'm fine," she said. "I've still got my_ shirt on. You on the other hand…what were you thinking?"_

Takeru shook his head, unable to answer for a few moments as he caught his breath. Kari seemed to understand. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew a clean white kerchief which she handed to Takeru. Gratefully he accepted it and tried to use it to wipe his face and neck before he realized that he was perfectly dry. The wind had whipped away his sweat even as it formed. No wonder he was so cold. As he did, Kari pushed him to a sitting position behind one of the low battlements that guarded the tower-top, where the wind did not blow quite as viciously. Then, scooting over to sit beside him, she drew her legs to her chest and watched as Takeru wearily leaned his head back against the rough stone.

"Or," she said slowly, "I should say, what were you trying _not to think about?"_

Takeru shook his head. "You should be resting," he rasped. It was all he could manage through the burning in his throat and chest.

"Same goes for you," Kari retorted. "In fact, you should be anywhere _but on top of this freezing tower catching a cold."_

"Couldn't sleep," Takeru muttered. It was a good enough explanation, and it _was true._

In the semi-darkness, Takeru thought he could see one corner of Kari's lip twitched upwards slightly. "To be honest," she admitted, "neither can I."

There was silence between the two of them for a long moment. The wind died down slightly and with it Takeru felt some of the numbness in his fingers recede. Hunkering up against the wall, he clutched the soft fabric of Kari's cloak tightly to himself and took comfort from its warmth. He made no effort to go for his own cloak or shirt. _Ichibou _lay forgotten at his feet, the naked blade gleaming in the moonlight. At least some things never changed. Kari had always been there with a warm cloak when he needed it most. How had she found him anyway?

"I had a feeling I'd find you here," Kari murmured, as if she had read his thoughts. "You liked high, clear places. It brought you closer to the sky, the stars."

Takeru cleared his throat and sighed. "What do you mean?"

"Don't you remember? You used to camp out on roofs to look at the stars back in Kurtal. It used to be your favourite spot at night. And when Richard got you that crude spyglass to look at the stars with, you were _fascinated."_

Spyglass? _That _stupid thing? How long had it been?

"As I recall," Takeru said dryly, "a certain girl also liked it so much she borrowed it for a night and broke it."

"Hey, I gave you a another one didn't I?" Kari said, still grinning. "A better one, in fact."

"Yeah," Takeru said slowly. "I remember." He sighed. "I never knew that you knew. That I camped out on roofs, that is."

Takeru could feel Kari shaking beside him, as if she was suppressing a silent giggle. "I didn't. Until one day you didn't show up in the morning, and Richard found you fast asleep on the roof. Afterwards, you were down for days with a cold. He could scarcely stop laughing when he told me all about it."

Takeru groaned. "I was _seven_, Kari. Give me a break."

"You're twenty-one," she quipped. "And here you are."

"I'm not asleep!"

"You sure were catching a cold."

Takeru snorted but said nothing. Kari had lowered her head onto her arms, so Takeru couldn't be sure, but he had the distinct impression that she was struggling to smother a grin. Folding her hands around her knees, she hugged them tightly to her chest.

"By the way," Takeru murmured, "thank you."

Beside him, Kari stirred. "For what?"

"For backing up Yamato earlier today."

Although he could not see it, Takeru could hear Kari's light smile. "I didn't need any proof, TK," she said. "I could see everything in his face and in his spirit. I don't think he has ever been more serious or sincere in his life." She paused, and Takeru had the distinct impression that a hint of mischief had crept into her smile. "If nothing else, I think he's quite the gentleman."

"Huh?"

"I talked to him for a while before he left," Kari explained. "Things were…understandably strained. But he has the most impeccable manners I've ever seen. Even better than yours."

Takeru snorted. "He's had a royal upbringing!" he protested feebly. "So if you'll excuse me if my humble peasant's manners can't compare."

"You realize you're insulting _my _childhood as well."

Takeru groaned and closed his eyes. "Kari, did you just come up here to insult me? That's twice in the last minute."

"No, silly," Kari said, her voice turning unexpectedly tender as she reached out to ruffle his hair. "I came to see if you were all right. You really did have me and the others worried. It's not like you to avoid us, TK."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Takeru's face and for a moment he felt warmer. It was just like Kari to do that. But the moment passed all too quickly. The simple effort of smiling seemed to have exhausted him, and the weariness seeped even deeper into his bones. Privately, he wondered if he was ill. He said nothing.

Kari seemed to understand. Leaning over slightly, she rested her cheek on Takeru's right shoulder and waited until he was ready to speak, one hand absentmindedly fiddling through his hair. The clock struck ten. Somewhere out in the forest, a wolf howled, and was answered by a pack. The eerie echoes faded away.

"Then…you believe in him?" Takeru finally whispered.

Kari sighed into his shoulder. Takeru could be _so _dense at times. "Yes."

Takeru breathed a sigh of relief. "At least one of you does," he murmured. "I suppose I should take that as a blessing."

"This is extraordinarily hard to swallow," Kari said gently. "They will come to accept him. But things like this take time. Don't be discouraged."

"I'm not," Takeru said.

"You're a bad liar, TK."

Takeru fixed his eyes on a point in the paved stone floor and stayed silent. What was the point? Kari knew everything. He could hide nothing from her. The faintest tremor in his voice, the slightest flicker in his eyes, she could read them all. It was at once refreshing and frightening to have someone who seemed to know him more thoroughly than he knew himself.

He started slightly when Kari's slim fingers closed over his own. Looking up in bewilderment, he watched as Kari gently placed her other hand over his palm, rubbing his freezing fingers gently to keep them warm.

"In a perfect world, TK, we wouldn't have to turn away people like Yamato," Kari said. "In a perfect world, the hurting will always find healing." She paused as she brought his hand up to her mouth and breathed gently on it to warm it up even further. "But this is not a perfect world. We are not perfect people. And that's why we're fighting. To better ourselves. To better the world. If we were already there, then what would be the point?"

"But what if I was wrong?"

"Wrong? About what?"

Takeru could not control the slight quaver in his voice as he confessed his deepest fear. "What if all we're all deluding ourselves with a massive, empty dream? If even the stand-masters couldn't do it, then how can we ask anyone else to?"

"Dreams can't come real," Kari pointed out. "And ours is already beginning to."

Takeru shook his head. "Don't lie to me, Kari," he said tiredly. "Don't say it because I want to hear it. If you're going to-"

"Takeru, if I thought you were deluding yourself, I certainly wouldn't have followed you for six years," Kari said. "If you're deluded, then we're _all _deluded as well." She snorted lightly. "None of us followed you just for your sake, Takeru. We followed you because we also believed in what you believed in. You're not wrong."

Takeru didn't say anything. Beside him, he could hear Kari make an exasperated noise through her nose.

"TK, look at me," Kari ordered.

Obediently, Takeru looked up to meet Kari's concerned eyes.

"Have you forgotten the vision already?" Kari said.

Takeru's brow lifted. The vision. It had been…

"Six years ago now, TK," Kari continued. "Remember? I was standing beside you. I saw everything you saw. The day we finished our pilgrimage and were commissioned _by the Creator himself _to go out and change the world."

"King Corin," Takeru said suddenly, his eyes suddenly sparkling. "My father and mother. Captain Adun of the Mesaidan guard."

"That's right," Kari said. "Remember them? Do you remember what Adun said?"

Takeru paused, then whispered, "Yes."

"Then if you doubt everything else we've done so far, if you doubt the evidence of the new alliances being forged every month, don't you _dare _doubt what you saw that day in the _kondou_."

Takeru felt tears come to his eyes as he felt some of the weariness leave his shoulders. Suddenly ashamed of himself, he tried to look down. Anywhere but those clear crimson eyes that seemed to see too much. But Kari's fingers on his chin remained firm.

"You are the _Tenken_, Takeru Ishida," she said softly. "There is no doubt about that in my mind, in the other's minds, or even in Tichon's mind. You _are _the one that will bring eternal peace to our land. You are the one who will save us _all_. But if you doubt yourself, and if you _forget the vision, then there is no hope left…for any of us."_

She let go, but Takeru didn't look down. Yes, he was a fool. Here he was, smashing bricks, and there was Kari reminding him that he had forgotten the single most vital thing in his quest. As he sat there, it was as if the ice on his shoulders was melting, the unbearably heavy load on his back cracking apart. It was still heavy. The gloom was still there. But now, it was as if someone else had crawled under the mountain with him. Smiling faintly, he reached out and embraced Kari warmly. 

"Thank you," he said simply. "I needed that."

As if sensing that Takeru was going to be all right, Kari pulled back slightly, and a mischievous light sprang back into her eyes. "Just promise me," she said, "come see me before you start smashing up walls, okay?"

"I promise," Takeru said gravely. "Whatever would I do without you?"

"Well," Kari said, leaning back, "you'd catch your death of cold within a week, for one thing. I don't know how you survived all those years without me beside you."

"That is true," Takeru said softly. "In more ways than you might think."

Kari turned slightly, the question evident on her features. When Takeru saw her, he grinned softly. "I was…lonely," he finally said. His voice had lost all of its weariness. Instead, it was soft and thick, quiet with recollection. "It was difficult without the rest of you. Especially you, Kari. I…I guess we had been so long together - hell, we _grew up _together - that I had gotten used to the idea that you'd always be by my side when I needed you. For the longest time, I kept wanting to reach out for you, ask you questions, try to talk to you, before I realized that you weren't there. I missed you…a lot."

Kari squeezed his fingers as her heart fluttered. "Really?" she said innocently. "Tell me again, just how _much _did you miss me?"

Despite the darkness, Kari could see Takeru blush a bright red. Turning, he gave her a reproachful look. "Honestly Kari, it's great to see you and all, but do you have to-"

Kari laughed and put a finger to his lips, shaking her head. "Joke, Takeru," she whispered. When Takeru closed his mouth, she took away her finger. "You saw me every one or two weeks on the thought-plane," she pointed out.

Takeru pulled a face. "It's not the same."

"No," Kari agreed. "It's not. I know how you feel."

"At least you had Cody with you," Takeru pointed out. "I bet he was great company."

Kari punched him in the shoulder. "You _know _it's not the same. Honestly, men can be so _thick-headed _at – " She stopped as a new thought hit her, and it was suddenly her turn to blush crimson. "Hey! What were you implying? If you even _suggest that I…uh…with Cody…"_

Takeru couldn't help it. The laugh seemed to come from some half-forgotten recess from deep within him, and before he knew it, he was snickering.

"Really, Takeru," she muttered. "That's like saying…you…and…uh…Yolei or something." She glared at him. "Or Lady Isendre! It's like saying you fancy Lady Isendre!"

The snickers turned into giggles, and then into chuckles. Before long, Takeru was forced to clamp his hand across his mouth to stop the laughter from bursting forth and waking up half the castle. He couldn't help it. _Why am I laughing? _he thought. _It's not even that funny!_ But it didn't seem to matter. It was the type of joke that they used to tease each other with when they were _children. It was just the…the __absurdity of the thought of him and…Yolei? With Lady _Isendre? _That cold fish? Wherehad Kari gotten __that idea?_

"It's not funny!" Kari hissed as she punched him again. But the corners of her lips were trembling too, as if she was trying to hold back her laughter.

"That's not what I meant at all," Takeru gasped. "Your words, not mine. Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something." He stopped and cleared his throat, then continued in a lower, more conspiratorial tone. "Actually, I think it's _Ken _that's after you. Think of all the times he's walked in on us…"

If Kari was red before, it was nothing compared to the candy apple crimson colour of her face now. "Don't even go there," she sputtered, trying to sound ominous as she struggled unsuccessfully with her own giggles. "I mean…can you picture_ his _reaction_ if I…uh…confessed my…uh…"_

The mental image of Ken's flabbergasted expression as Kari confessed her love to him was too much. Both of them were forced to lean on one another as they collapsed with laughter. Takeru buried his face in Kari's white cloak in a vain attempt to stem the guffaws coming from deep within him. For her part, Kari was shaking so badly with mirth, Takeru feared she would choke. It was ridiculous. It was the night before what could be the biggest event of their lives, and here they were tittering over hypothetical pairings like a pair of school-children. Yet, it felt strangely right. _How long has it been? Takeru wondered, __since I've laughed like this? It seemed like forever. Nowadays, there was precious little to laugh about anymore. Yet…laughter seemed to come naturally with Kari._

It was a long time before either of them could stop laughing. When his giggles finally died down, Takeru leaned back and took a long, shaky breath and wiped away the tears from his eyes. Something about the laughter seemed to have made the weight on his shoulders dissolve into the thin air. Beside him, Kari leaned in even closer, resting her head on the hollow between his shoulder and his neck. Without really thinking about it, he wrapped his arms around her slim shoulders and allowed his own head to fall onto her soft, chestnut hair. The idea of it was awkward, but it felt…right, somehow, to have Kari leaning on him like that. As if she completed some part of him that he hadn't known was missing until now.

Takeru didn't know how long they remained like that. Minutes. Hours, maybe. Who cared? The wind had died down. The darkness seemed to cast a tranquil spell on the two of them that made time tick by like treacle. Takeru could feel her shoulders moving slowly as she breathed, could feel the soft beating of her heart in his chest. He could smell the sweet fragrance of her long hair as he rested his cheek against the top of her head. Every moment, every heartbeat was too perfect to be true.

"We have a big day tomorrow," Kari murmured at last.

Takeru nodded agreement. "We do."

Another long pause.

"We should go back. Try to get some rest," she tried again.

"We should."

Neither of them moved.

Then, impetuously, Kari suddenly twisted her head around and pecked Takeru's closest cheek. As surprise flitted across his features, she pulled him upright and hugged him, hard. "I missed you," she murmured into his shoulder. "A lot."

For Takeru, the world seemed to spin. Slowly, his hands moved across her back and brought her even closer. The sensation of her small, perfect form pressed against his own brought up memories and emotions that he thought he had forgotten. The blood rose into his face and his cheek tingled where Kari's lips had grazed it. The soft touch of her hands, the sweet scent of her long, chestnut hair, the delicate shape of her shoulder-blades, the feather-light brush of her cheek, everything was as he remembered it: absolutely perfect.

"It was really strange," Takeru managed. He didn't want to let go. She felt as if she were made for his arms, so perfectly did she fit into them. "Not having you there. I mean it."

Kari said nothing. Instead, she shifted slightly until she was almost kneeling on the ground, facing Takeru. With a small sigh, she leaned closer and lowered her head until their noses were almost touching. Half-wondering whether he had_ fallen asleep and was now living in a dream, Takeru wonderingly ran a hand up the soft curve of her back and into her silky hair, twisting and turning it through his fingers. "I love you," he whispered into her ear as he stroked the back of her head._

Kari braced her hands against Takeru's chest and leaned back slightly. As she did, the moonlight caught the dark aura of her hair and turned it into a beautiful silvery white, illuminating the fine features of her face and the pale red of her eyes. The sight took Takeru's breath away. She was so beautiful. So amazingly beautiful…

"I'll never get tired of hearing that, you know," she said quietly.

"When this is all over, you can hear it ten times a day if you want," Takeru promised.

Kari giggled, then lay her head back down again. Stroking her cheek with one hand, Takeru looked up.

"Kari," he murmured. "Do you know where the others are?"

"Last I saw of them, they were heading for their chambers," Kari replied. "Why?"

"So they're probably not looking for us?"

Kari stirred slightly. In the darkness, Takeru could feel rather than see her impish grin. "If any of them walk in on us, well, they can just walk back out."

Takeru shook with silent laughter. "I'm glad you feel that way," he said. "Because if they do, I'm not stopping."

Then Kari's eyes widened as Takeru shifted under her. Suddenly, she was the one on the ground, and it was Takeru that was leaning down towards her. Gently, his finger lifted her chin until she was looking right into his eyes. The normally clear blue eyes seemed slightly unfocused. And, before she could breathe or protest, he leaned forward.

The contact of their lips was so gentle, Kari could barely feel it. Kari felt her heart stop a she instinctively let go of Takeru's arm and wrapped her hand around his neck instead, pulling him closer, pulling him deeper into the kiss.  She could feel Takeru's hands around her waist, running across the bare skin of her arms, playing tenderly with her hair. It all felt the same. As exhilarating and shocking as ice; as warming and soothing as the calm starlight. Overwhelmed, she closed her eyes and surrendered to the magic moment.

Cocooned in the warmth of Takeru's arms, Kari felt truly safe for the first time in years. Though tomorrow would bring its share of  troubles, tomorrow could wait.

For now, Takeru was holding her. Takeru was kissing her. Just in that same moment, just in that same heartbeat, there was already a world to explore in itself.

****Author's notes:** The reason why this chapter took so long was because it underwent major, major rewrites. The original version, especially the ending of the original version, looked _nothing _like this one. My posting this now is a bit of a leap of faith because there are a lot of things in chapter nine that have to change because of the edits to this chapter, and I'm not entirely sure that this is the best way, but I don't want to delay any longer.

I don't think subsequent chapters will be quite as long as this one. This one was 31 pages in Word, or 18,000 words. _ I need to control my chapter lengths a little better.

Writing the Takari was an…interesting experience. I hope you enjoyed it, because there probably won't be another one, or at least one as developed as this one, for the rest of this story. Like I said, Seihad ¹ romance! *shakes head* And to think…I had vowed never to succumb to throwing out fan-service…


	9. Seihad Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer: Digimon does not belong to me. 

**Author's notes: Since it's been so long since I've posted, this is a short summary of what happened in chapter eight. It opened with a scene where the Ichijoujan spy is talking with a Khaydarin agent, discussing what to do with Ken. Locke continues his deception with Emperor Tichon, and learns that something called a _sangrias _will be completed soon. Then it switches to the scene at Ardinberg. Kari, Cody and Aidan finally arrive at Ardinberg. The stand-masters decide to send Yamato with the Taelidani scouts down to Ichijouji to see what is going on, as well as to get him away from Ardinberg in case he turns against them. It ends with the longest and most involved Takari scene I've ever written (which is still not saying much…) Anyway, on with the story.

Seihad: Chapter Nine 

By: TK Takaishi

_** June 21st, A.S, 522. The first day.**_

Takeru stood as still as a statue on the balcony above the conference room, watching the open door with an impassive calm that betrayed nothing of the tight knots in his stomach. Gripping the wooden railing with both hands, he gazed blankly at groups of delegates that were walking through the double-arched doors and into the chamber. The Kings and Queens, accompanied by their small group of Councilors, looked especially impressive in the full regalia of their Royal robes. The early morning sunlight, still nothing more than a faint, hazy gray that hovered over the horizon, gleamed dully off the jewels of their crowns and scepters. Whenever a delegate passed through the doors, the two attendants on either side of it would rap their gilded staffs against the ground and loudly announce the presence that was about to grace the room.

In a few moments, Takeru knew, all the delegates would be assembled. The doors would shut, and the negotiations would begin. Some small part of his brain still couldn't believe this was actually happening. He had always been working _for this conference. Making sure that the delegates would come, carefully maneuvering himself into a position of sufficient power to enact the changes he needed to enact. Months, and even years of preparation would culminate in the next few weeks. Now that the conference was actually _here_, Takeru found that he had a hard time focusing on his task. He took a deep breath. Much better to think only of success. That way, he wouldn't run the risk of breaking down halfway through the conference from sheer terror._

"It is time, my Lord," Knight Corin said quietly but firmly beside him. "The delegates are almost all here now."

"The Ishidan Emperor must take his place at the head table," Lady Isendre said in her customarily cool and composed tones, "else the conference cannot begin."

"I know," Takeru murmured in reply, before Marc could interject his comment. He made no move. Beside him, he heard the Lord of Saldea shift slightly as he rearranged his blue cloak about himself. Cast with the light blue and cyan of the House of Saldea, Lord Marc nevertheless had the rising meteor of Ishida embroidered onto the chest and shoulders of his cloak with golden thread. Taking a deep breath, Takeru shrugged his shoulders as he tried to get used to his new attire.

He himself was dressed in a blue cloak of similar colour, but radically different cut than Marc's and even more resplendent. In the end, even Takeru had been forced to agree with Marc; the delegates would take it as nothing less than an insult if Takeru did not dress his part as Emperor of Ishida. His cloak was trimmed with silver, and the layer of cloth draped over his cloak was fringed with tassels of gold as a symbol of his nobility. Beneath his cloak, he wore a snow-white sash of silk across his chest as a symbol of his righteousness. At his side, Ichibou was sheathed in a special scabbard that bared the Ishidan crest for all to see, a symbol of his strength.

"Has there been any word from Ichijouji?" Takeru asked.

"None, my Lord," Lord Marc said, shaking his head. "The Taelidani scouts have not returned yet, and we have not received any messages explaining their absence. But we cannot wait."

"I know," Takeru repeated. He decided to let Marc's patronizing tone go. The Lord was probably just as nervous as he was. He sighed. "Then we'll have to start without them. Perhaps they shall arrive in time to ratify the charter, if we succeed in drawing one up."

Finally, the last of the delegates entered the chamber, and the attendant's staffs rapped the ground to admit them. Takeru turned away from the banister and strode swiftly towards the stairs that led down to the conference chamber. "Come then," he said as he gestured at the three knights. "We should enter as well."

Lord Marc didn't reply as the trio approached the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Marc saw Takeru take a deep breath and close his eyes. With interest, Marc turned slightly to observe Takeru as he muttered a few silent words. Then Takeru opened his eyes again and strode forward through the doors.

"Emperor Takeru of all Ishida!" the attendants called out. Was that a touch of pride that coloured their voices? "Lord Marc of Saldea! Lord Andre of Corin! Lady Salatrel of Isendre!"

The low buzz of conversation instantly halted as Takeru led the Ishidan delegation down the hallway towards the center of the chamber. Every eye in the chamber turned and fixed itself on the stand-master - the visionary who had crafted this entire conference together in the midst of the worst civil turmoil in five hundred years. Takeru looked up and gazed at the sunlight that was coming in through the wide, slatted windows lined along the round ceiling of the large, airy conference room. 

The dim light of morning calmed his racing heartbeat a little. It was going to be a bright and clear day, perhaps it meant that the Creator was watching him this morning. That realization alone lifted a small burden off his shoulders. Yes, months and even years of preparation were about to culminate in the next few weeks. But whatever happened would be what the Creator willed. And no matter what the Creator willed, Takeru could live with it.

With that renewed resolve, he looked back down.

Right in the heart of Ardinberg, the conference chamber looked like a larger version of the room in which the stand-masters had reunited only yesterday. Tasseled tapestries depicting each of the six stand nations lined the walls, illumined by the gray sunlight that came in through the windows above. Smaller tapestries placed between them displayed the crests and banners of lesser nations. Behind the panels of cherry wood that had been used to line the walls, the building itself had been constructed with the finest blue-veined marble imported from Jakt. The blue veins gleamed and glowed softly in the gray light so that the entire room seemed to have been cast into cool, smoky shadow.

Delegates from the lesser countries, such as Arei and Novinha were already seated at the semi-circular tables that had been carefully arranged in tiers around the center of the room, leaving a single, wide corridor that stretched from the double-arched doors to the center of the hall. Slowly, Takeru let his eye travel from the doors of the chamber, down the long, wide corridor between the tables, and finally to the center of the conference room, to which he was striding.

A large oak table dominated the center of the chamber. The masterpiece of carven wood had been a relic of the masters of the Age of Gods. Large, flat lobes, each with many padded chairs arranged around it, thrust out of the central hub like the points of a six-spoked star. A large, crystal statue rose out of the hub, each of its six facets glowing with the intricately carved symbols of each stand-nation. Where the sunlight struck its point, the white light split into a rainbow of dazzling colours which splashed across the oak table like rivers of liquid jewels. It had taken a master crystal-smith three years to painstakingly sculpt the precious crystal and inscribe the detailed symbols, yet it looked as if it would fall apart if someone breathed on it.

We're ready when you are. Kari's gentle thought-shape brushed across his consciousness as lightly as a feather.

Good of you to join us. Davis thought, his thought-shape tinged with its usual sarcastic humour.

Here we go. That was Yolei. There was no mistaking her breathlessly excited thoughts.

Takeru nodded politely at the stand-masters as he passed her on his way to his own place at the head table. Kari nodded back slightly and smiled wanly. On the point to her left, Cody merely raised his eyebrows in greeting from where he sat in the midst of the Shienar delegation. The other four stand-masters were already seated at their ends of the Head table, on the right hands of the monarchs of their respective nations. None of them exchanged a word.

Takeru swept past them until he reached his own point on the Head Table. Once there, he stood by his seat as his delegation settled themselves around him. Lord Marc sat on his right side. Corin and Isendre settled on his left. Once he was certain that they were settled in, Takeru raised his hands.

In her seat, Kari turned, the better to observe. Something about Takeru had changed. The fear was still there. The nervousness was still there. But somehow, they seemed to have been smothered in the blanket of overwhelming…_peace…that had wrapped itself around Takeru's spirit aura. And when Takeru raised his hands, he seemed to tower over the entire chamber by virtue of that peace. The one, steadfast rock in the storm of confused and tense feelings in the entire room._

"Honoured Kings and Queens," he began, "Worthy delegates of Gaea.

"Today, we, the nations of Gaea, have come to put aside our differences, after more than twenty years of hatred, to come together under one banner, the Ishidan banner, to discuss the faint, but _real _hope of reconciliation. The hope of an alliance against our common foe, against the flood of evil that threatens to engulf us all. The hope, honoured delegates, of a new era of peace and understanding that will be more beautiful by far than the Age of Gods itself. Yes, beyond a doubt, today is a historic day."

Takeru paused for a moment. "Whether it will be a _great _day, however," he added, slightly quieter, "remains to be seen.

"I urge you, honoured delegates, to leave your petty hatred at the door of this chamber. In here, we will discuss unity, not division. In here, we will discuss rationally; not wildly. Strip yourself of your pride as we have done; become poor to endow later generations with riches beyond your imagination. It is a sacrifice that _we _stand-masters have borne gladly for all our lives. We ask only for a tiny fraction of what we have given up in return."

Takeru lowered his hands, and looked around. Marc watched as his Emperor somehow managed to make eye contact with every person in the room.

"I call to order," Takeru said, in a soft voice that reverberated throughout the silent chamber, "the first session of the Conference of Ardinberg, on the five-hundred, twenty-second year, _priori Seihad_. I shall begin, honoured delegates, with my proposal."

Then he stood back, as an attendant strode forth with a long scroll in one hand, and handed it to Takeru. Carefully, the Emperor untied the string holding the scroll together, and unrolled the yellowing paper. Dust flaked and fell off of the aging parchment as Takeru blew on it and exposed it to its first glimpse of sunlight in centuries.

" 'Preamble,' " he read. " 'We, the peoples of Heaven's Land, stand united this day, November 1st, on the first year, _priori Seihad_, to declare our determination to spare succeeding generations from the wrath of war. And to this end, we, the Kings of Heaven's Land assembled in the city of Palas, Ishida, hereby lay our crowns and all our authority at the feet of the Council of Stand-masters, and submit to their authority as the servants of God on Earth. The Age to come, which shall rise from the ashes of our mistakes, shall forever after be known as the Age of Gods.' "

Takeru looked up at the delegates gathered. He saw their awed expressions. "Do you recognize these words?" Takeru asked, glancing at each of the four kings seated before him.

There was a long moment of silence. Then King San cleared his throat. "The Preamble to the Charter of the Council," he said. "We all memorized it as children, Emperor Takeru."

"Good." Takeru rolled up the parchment again, and tied the string around it. "This is not the original, of course. The original was lost along with Palas and my nation." Slowly, he began to walk around the table, tapping the Charter rhythmically against his palm. "Then you will agree with me, honoured delegates, that though the principles in that Charter, while being the most beautiful ever uttered in this land, were also, in the end, flawed? The promise that the Age of Gods would last forever, was, in the end, just a promise?"

There was a murmur of consternation throughout the chamber. The Lords and Ladies had not expected this. Was the Emperor Takeru, a stand-master himself, defaming the Council to which he rightfully belonged?

"Yes, it was only a promise," Takeru said, answering his own question. "It was proven to be false less than twenty years ago. It was not so long ago that you would have forgotten. You remember the day my nation was invaded and broken. The day Palas, the holy city, was defiled, and my parents were killed. The day Queen Leanne, stand-master of Yagami was found in her chamber, the Shienar knife that had been plunged into her breast still warm with her smoking blood. Yet, these were not what made the promise false."

Takeru shook his head as he continued to walk around the table, his voice rising and falling with his speech. "What proved the promise false," he said, "was the way we _responded_."

"You must remember those days as well," he said, his voice rising with new strength. His tone did not sound accusatory, but…sad. Almost regretful. "In fact, some of you probably took part in them. The day Lord Ngumo of Yagami declared war upon Sheid in Queen Leanne's stead. The day Fan-Tzu evicted every Jakt citizen within their borders and condemned the ones that remained to the dungeons and to the headman's block. The day Emperor Formar, stand-master of Chironsala, was ambushed by Areian soldiers and killed on his way to mediate the conflict between his own nation and Jakt. The day five hundred years of peace was exposed to be more fragile than a crystal snowflake."

Takeru stopped suddenly and looked up at the delegates around him. "The truth, honoured delegates, must be faced before we can move on. If we do not, we will merely build another era that is destined to fall again. And the truth is, the Age of Gods collapsed because the principles on which it was built was wrong. In other words, _this Charter," Takeru waved the scroll above his head, "is incomplete."_

There was a moment of deathly silence. Takeru cocked his head.

"I hear no protests," he said, with a mildly surprised expression on his face. "Is this what you had expected? For me, a stand-master, to have the audacity to admit that Adun was _wrong_?"

Aidan frowned behind his steepled fingers. "Adun was a great man," he said mildly. "I'm surprised at your audacity, Emperor."

"Oh, he was," Takeru agreed. "There is no doubt about that. He brought order to chaos. He suppressed the evil for a time and allowed the good to shine through. He hid our selfish desires and our sins so well and for so long, some of us came to believe that he had succeeded in wiping them out."

He resumed walking again. "But when he and his followers were gone, what then? When the Council was gone, when the stand-masters you had depended on so much for guidance, were _gone_, what happened?"

Takeru let his words sink in for a long moment as he continued walking around the Head Table. When he reached his own place again, he put his hand on the table and ran his fingertips across the smooth wood. It felt strange, to finally be putting words to what he had believed for so long. What he had _known for so long. It didn't even feel like it was him talking. The words came out of his mouth unbidden, as if some other was speaking through him instead._

"Even Adun knew that his work was incomplete," Takeru said with utter conviction. "Note, honoured delegates, that he said nothing about the Age lasting forever. There is nothing in the Charter that indicates that. The promise was founded by generations that came after. Generations who thought that evil that was hidden, was evil that was vanquished. But Adun _knew_. He prophesied of the real Seihad, where the Tenken would lead Gaea in the last battle it would ever know. He knew, and he wrote it all, in this book."

Another attendant came forward, and placed the leather bound _Prophecies on the Head Table. The delegates of the lesser nations leaned forward with perplexed frowns on their faces. In stark contrast, the monarchs at the Head Table, who had all read __Prophecies nodded as sudden understanding flooded their faces._

"But today, we will change that," Takeru said, his soft-spoken voice ringing with determination. "Today, we will no longer be content with _hiding the evil. We will cut it from our hearts like a malignant growth. We will purge it from our land like the disease that it is, for the real Seihad is upon us. But unless we stand together, united in our strength and cause, the Last Battle will not bring salvation. It will bring death for us all."_

Putting the original Charter aside, Takeru looked around.

"Honoured delegates," he said boldly, "I move, not for a return to the first Charter of Palas, but for the completely new drafting of _another Charter of the Council."_

**********

_**June 22nd, one day later**_

The oppressive noonday heat weighed down on Yamato's cloaked shoulders like a physical burden, but he ignored it as completely as he did the creeping stiffness that was spreading through his legs and lower back as he rode on the bouncing saddle. It was barely midday yet, and already the stiflingly heat of the Ichijoujan plains was making waves of sweat roll down his neck and back. Some far off part of him kept on urging him to take off his cloak, light as it was, but he crushed it firmly. Taking off the cloak meant giving up his camouflage, a move that could prove fatal in the open plains which offered nothing in the way of cover except long, waving grass and occasional stands of wooded copses. The only concession he allowed himself to make was to tie a damp kerchief to his forehead, as much to cool himself down as to keep his sweat-slicked blond hair out of his eyes.

All around him, the Taelidani scouting party, all with their cloaks on, rode swiftly and silently through the long grass. Despite the heat, nobody seemed to notice it. They didn't even seem to sweat.**Yamato was too new to their group to be certain, but he would bet a good sum that nothing short of an earthquake would be able to wipe that stony, emotionless expression from their face. Maybe not even that.**

Despite himself however, Yamato could not help but be impressed by the men riding around him. They had not stopped riding since they had left Ardinberg almost twenty-four hours ago, save for brief fifteen minute stops to regain their bearings and for quick cold meals. All of them were dressed in mottled dark brown and gray cloaks that would have blended with a boreal forest as well as it would have blended with a barren desert and everything in between. Holes in the back of their cloaks allowed the long hilts of their swords to protrude over their right shoulders within easy reach of their hands, and each also carried a long, broad-bladed knife on their belts. Some of them had arrows nocked onto short horse-bows and full quivers attached to their belts. Although some might have seen the Taelidani as mere desert savages, Yamato had been an army general too long to miss the deadly, wolf-like grace with which they moved, or the skilled ease with which they hefted their weapons. The very best of his own Khaydarin troops, even with their invisibility cloaks, would have been hard-pressed to be as efficient, swift or invisible as these desert-hardened men. He shook his head as he guided his mount along the rough path with occasional twitches of his knees. If Takeru had an entire nation of these warriors backing him up, it was small wonder he had managed to hold Gaea together for so long.

Raising his head a bit, he looked on ahead. Axum, one of Davis's few _staven leaders that had survived the fiasco in the forests of Fan-Tzu, seemed to notice Yamato's stare as he turned around to meet it with his own. A tall, lean man with light brown hair and a light coloured scar tracing its way down one leathery cheek, Axum was the only one in the group of twenty that knew of Yamato's true background. Thankfully, Axum had not told the others about him. Not yet, anyway. And if the others were curious about why Takeru had decided to send along one Ishidan soldier to follow on their scouting mission, they hid it._

"Why have we not been confronted yet?" the soldier beside Yamato suddenly grunted softly, as much to himself as to any nearby listeners. "We crossed the border almost half a day ago."

"Because we're just _that_ good?" said a younger man behind them, grinning impishly. When the soldier turned around to glare at him, his grin faded. "Well, we _are!_"

"You've got a lot to learn, Roban," the man growled. "Just because you're the best sharpshooter the _T'rakul_ has ever seen doesn't mean you get to be cocky."

"Ichijouji has no need to guard its northern borders anymore, Razul." Yamato turned around slightly in his saddle to look at both of them. Roban was already twenty-three, but he looked eighteen beside Razul. "Perhaps Ken has simply diverted his men elsewhere."

Razul glared around suspiciously. An older man, with streaks of gray mixed in with his dark, swept back hair, he always seemed to glare suspiciously. "We should have seen some sign of life," he growled quietly. "Some patrol or other to make sure nothing comes slipping through that border. But there's nothing, and it's making my spine tingle."

"You worry too much," Roban quipped under his breath. "It's turning your hair gray."

"We may yet meet someone soon," Yamato said as he turned back to scanning the horizon, as much to forestall an argument as to answer Razul's questions. "It may have been coincidence. Twenty men traveling cross-country is easy to miss." Despite his words however, he could not help but feel a heavy ball of dread solidifying in his stomach. Razul was right, the border _was _too quiet. Even if Ken didn't guard the northern border, he would at least have put sentries there to warn him if something came his way from Ishida, sentries which should have challenged them by now.

All three of them fell silent as Axum glanced sharply behind him. Then, without another word, Axum abruptly adjusted their course towards the west. The column trotted silently onwards for another few miles before Yamato realized that they were traveling upslope. Within a few minutes, Axum had led them into the borders of the wooded copse on the crest of the hill. Yamato felt a tinge of relief as the cool green shade washed over him, but Axum did not stop to let his men enjoy the shade. Pressing onwards, he led them through the tiny thicket until they had reached the edge of the short hill where the trees began to fade. There, and only there, did Axum finally dismount.

 "Take a short break," the Taelidani leader said gruffly. "Break out some rations. We move in an hour."

Everyone dismounted and before long the horses had been hobbled and cold camp rations were being passed around. An hour was not long enough to build a fire and prepare a hot meal, so Yamato accepted his share without complaint. As usual, the Taelidani _chakren_, a kind of stale, flat traveller's bread baked into paper-thin wafers, was as tasteless as it was boring, but he bit into its stale crust anyway. He would need all the strength he could get to keep up with these men. As he ate, he tracked Axum out of the corner of his eye. The man did not even take a portion. Instead, he dug out a spying glass from his saddle bag and disappeared into the undergrowth, heading south along the crest of the hill.

Yamato sat back and finished his frugal meal as he forced himself to wait. Following the man immediately would have made it obvious that he was watching the _staven leader. When Axum still had not returned after fifteen minutes, Yamato got up, brushed off the dead leaves on his trousers and cloak, nodded at Roban's questioning gazes, and stepped after him._

He did not have far to go. A short distance away, partially hidden by the undergrowth, Axum was sprawled on his stomach as he aimed his spying glass out towards the plains beneath the hills. Yamato waited for a moment behind him, but when the _staven _leader did not seem to notice him, Yamato cleared his throat.

Axum did not look up. "What are you doing here?"

"Checking up on you," Yamato said, walking up uninvited. "What do you see?"

Axum gave him a sharp glance, and Yamato had the distinct impression of being cut up, analyzed and weighed, all in that one stare. Then the _staven leader's mouth twitched grimly as he shifted to his left to make space for Yamato. Getting down onto his knees, Yamato peered out from the undergrowth._

"Over there," Axum said softly, pointing to the south-east. He passed the spying glass to Yamato. "Take a look and tell me what you think."

Yamato passed the glass back. "No need," he replied. With his stand-enhanced vision, he could already see what had intrigued Axum.

Down below in the shallow valley, years of traffic in the Age of Gods between Ishida and Ichijouji had prompted the nations to create a broad, paved road. Twenty years ago, there would have been a constant stream of merchant's wagons, traders and farmers traveling on it. Now, of course, the traffic had all but disappeared along with the trade that had caused it. To the best of Yamato's knowledge, nobody save the occasional farmer had used it in almost a decade.

Which was why the distant smudge of a moving caravan crawling towards them was so intriguing. Yamato frowned as he strained his eyes.

"They're following the road and moving north, for the border," he said after a moment. "And there must be a lot of them if we can see them from here. Several thousand, at least."

Axum chewed his lip as he put the spying glass to his eye once again. "Five thousand, maybe," he agreed. "Not moving too fast, but moving nonetheless. Who are they?"

Yamato grunted noncommittally. "I can't tell," he admitted. "They're not flying any banners."

Another sharp glance from Axum, and this time the hostility in his eyes was not so veiled. "Could they be Khaydarin?"

Yamato hesitated at the hard glance. Yes, Axum definitely knew of his background. At least that knowledge didn't stop him from asking for his opinion. He turned back to look at the advancing column as he considered the question. Could they?

"I don't think so," he said after a long moment. "It's not their style. Khaydarin columns almost never follow roads; they prefer to cut across country. And if for some reason they _had _to follow a road, they'd almost certainly be cloaked at all times. They've…always prized stealth over brute force until the last moment."

"The conference in Ishida might have inspired them to abandon stealth in favour of speed," Axum said darkly.

When Yamato said nothing, Axum grunted. "Thought so. Damn sons of whores always find a way to ruin everything."

Yamato took a deep breath. "So what do we do now?" he forced himself to ask. If the man hated him, fine, but he would _not _be baited. The least he could do was submit himself to Axum's authority.

Axum's frown deepened. "I had originally planned to split up once we were deeper into Ichijouji," he muttered. "But now…it might be better to stay together." Straightening as if he had made a decision, his voice strengthened as he continued. "We have to get closer," he said simply. "Find out who it is."

"What if it _is _Khaydarin?"

"We'll find that out for sure before we go sounding the alarm to Emperor Takeru and _T'rakul Davis," Axum said tightly. He glared at Yamato, and for a moment his face almost turned purple. "Do…do you know a way to counter invisibility cloaks?" Each word sounded as if it had been pulled out of him with a fishing line._

In a flash, Yamato understood. After the Taelidani's miserable failure against Khaydarin stealth cloaks, the man was asking for help. From a former _Praetor. No wonder he looked like he had swallowed a live frog. "I can sense people, even invisible ones, from one hundred paces away," he said plainly. "It's not as good as sight, but I can give you _some _warning before we stumble into an ambush."_

A flash of gratitude and relief flitted across Axum's face before he caught himself. Gratitude because Yamato wasn't rubbing it in, and relief because Yamato _did _have a way to counter cloaks. His gratitude, however, didn't stop his skeptical streak. "Even _T'rakul Davis couldn't sense anyone over fifty paces away."_

"I've been trained in the art of manipulating the _Perenic_ plane since I was five," Yamato said flatly. "_T'rakul Davis knows only what he has discovered for himself in the past five years. I assure you, I can sense them." Then he hesitated. "There is also…"_

"Yes?" Axum prompted.

Yamato paused reluctantly, then shook his head. "There's no guarantee it'll work," he said. "Forget I said anything."

Axum stared at Yamato for a long moment, then abruptly stood up. "Fine," he said gruffly. "Just…tell me the _moment _you sense anything," he ordered as he stood up.

Yamato gathered his cloak about him as he backed away from the undergrowth and straightened up. "Then am I to assume that our break has been cut short?" he asked wryly as he watched Axum brush loam and leaves away from his cloak.

For answer, Axum turned and began trotting for the rest of his party. The moment he got back, he began snapping orders. "On your feet, and start cleaning up this place. I'll be on point, and we start moving double-time in three minutes. Move!"

And the _staven _leader meant it. Three minutes later, to the second, the party of mounted scouts began trotting down the southern side of the hill. If Yamato thought they had been moving fast before, it was nothing compared to the half-gallop, half-canter pace that Axum now set. Keeping to the wooded thickets whenever he could, and fairly sprinting across the open ground when he could not, Axum cut a zigzag intercept course with the mysterious caravan across the countryside.

One hour passed, then another. The miles flew by like water under a bridge. As they grew closer, Yamato began to feel more and more tense. Axum seemed to become more cautious as well; every so often he would pause in a thicket's deep shadows for minutes on end as he anxiously scanned the land before him. For his part, Yamato fingered his sword uneasily as he stretched his stand senses as far as they would go, ever on the lookout for cloaked Khaydarin soldiers. It was an effort to draw on his stand for so long, but Yamato dared not let it go. They should be close by now, and all of Axum's scanning would be useless if the enemy was using cloaks.

The road came into view, but Axum avoided it. Running a parallel course to it perhaps a mile to the west, he traced it south like a hunting hound on a scent. Another mile passed, and Axum abruptly paused. Here, the road began a long, gentle curve to the west to avoid the long, low hill that lay in its path. Sizing up the land swiftly, Axum changed directions and began to head for the hill to the road's east. When they were once again safely ensconced in a wooded thicket on top of a hill, Axum stopped.

"Dismount," he ordered. "Find a place to hide where you can see the road. We wait here."

Wordlessly, Yamato dismounted with the rest of them and led his horse deeper into the thicket and tied his reins to a short sapling with a loose, easy-to-untangle knot. Around him, men disappeared into the shade, some heading north, some south, and some even went east, away from the road. Unfastening his sheathed sword from his belt, Yamato let it lean against his shoulder as he crouched in the deep underbrush. Here, they were as safe from prying eyes as they could be, surrounded as they were by deep green foliage. Somewhere to his left, the cry of a forest falcon sounded out, answered by a few rustles of small animals as they scurried away to safety. Yamato ignored them as he cast his gaze southwards in search of the caravan.

A little distance away, Axum stood in the cover of a large oak and raised his spying glass to his eye, but it was Yamato who found them first. The travelers were no longer an indistinct smudge against the horizon, and although Yamato still could not make out their colours, he could already tell that there was something wrong. There was barely any order to their ranks, and at the center of it, there was no order at all. But whatever it was, it _was large, larger than it had appeared at a distance. Yamato frowned as he tried to estimate their numbers. Five thousand? Six?_

"What the hell," Axum muttered as he leaned forward with the spying glass. "Who _are they? It doesn't even look like…"_

"They're not flying any colours," Roban said, squinting at the distance. "No banners, nothing."

"Not only that," Yamato said in confusion, "They're not wearing uniforms, or armour. Well, at least the center isn't. Look, you can see the different colours from here."

"Wagons," Razul grunted. He pointed at the rear. "Lots of them. See those dust trails? If those weren't kicked up by wagon wheels, I'll eat my saddle."

"They don't look like an army," Axum concluded as he lowered his spying glass. Behind it, his eyes were perplexed. "Not all of them, at least. The ones in the middle certainly don't."

There was another forest falcon's cry, closer than the first one, and this time Yamato frowned in consternation. Turning around, he scanned the forest behind him. Forest falcons were rare and solitary birds, but the one that had just cried out was a different bird than the first. Looking around, he discovered that no-one else seemed to have noticed.

"Then why such a large group?" Axum continued as he ran his hand through his brown hair. "Why heading for Ishida?"

Suddenly the hairs on the back of Yamato's neck stiffened. Whirling around, his sword cleared its sheath in a heartbeat. "Axum," he said urgently. "There's someone behind us, coming fast."

Everyone stared at him as if he had suddenly sprouted horns. Axum however, cursed viciously. "Where?" he whispered savagely. "How far? How many?"

Yamato concentrated on the foggy, distant glimmers on the edge of his stand's vision, and jerked his head. "East," he said. "Twenty, at least." He cursed. "Scratch that. A _lot _more, behind that forty. Beyond count, perhaps an army, right at the base of this hill." He looked at Axum. "We have thirty seconds before they reach us."

"On your horses," Axum snapped. "North, quickly!"

As the men ran to release their horses' tethers however, another falcon's cry sounded out, this time to their south. Yamato paused in mid-stride as he turned south. "Wait!" he hissed. Around him, the activity suddenly ceased as everyone stared at him again. On instinct, he cupped his hands to his mouth and let loose a cry of his own. As the whistle-like shriek echoed across the hills, Axum's eyes bulged. "What are you-"

"It's working," Yamato said suddenly. "They've stopped."

A confused look came into Razul's eyes. "What?"

"They've stopped advancing," Yamato repeated as he strained his stand's senses. "They're still spreading out, flanking us, but nobody's coming nearer."

Before anyone could bat an eyelid, Axum had drawn his sword and was advancing on Yamato. "What did you do?" he demanded hoarsely. "What was that cry for? How did you-"

"If I wanted to betray you, do you think I would have given you _any warning at all?" Yamato snapped. "I called out because they were using bird calls as signals. Khaydarin __never uses bird calls; they have __mirrireid bearers to communicate for them!"_

"What the _hell's_ going on?!" Roban interrupted. He was staring at Yamato, then at Axum, and back again. "Why would Lord Matt _betray_ us? What are _mirrireid bearers? How do you know there are men around us?"_

There was a tense moment of silence in which Yamato and Axum locked glares hard enough to strike sparks on wet wool. The rest of the twenty men looked as confused as Roban, but one glance at the pair's stony faces was enough to hold their tongues. Half of them looked ready to out sword at the drop of the proverbial pin. The other half looked poised to start running.

"Ten of them started moving again," Yamato said softly, yet piercingly. "The rest are staying back. The ten are moving slowly, not running. You should be able to see them now."

"Be ready to out sword," Axum said angrily, "but don't draw them yet." With that, he turned to face east.

In moments, ten half-formed shadows rose like mist from the surrounding trees and appeared in a ring around them. Even Yamato's eyes had a hard time distinguishing their blurred shapes from the forest background. Each was clad in a mottled brown, gray and green cloak that blurred and shifted their outlines nauseatingly with the slightest movement, and each carried spears which were leveled inwards. There was not a single black cloak or golden insignia in sight. Before any of them could say a word, one of the hooded figures stepped up. "Sen-brother Axum, is that you?" It was a woman's voice.

Axum snapped a sharp glance at Yamato, who pointedly ignored it. "At ease," he muttered, and the twenty men of his scouting party relaxed slightly. With a grunt, the staven leader threw the hood of his cloak back so they could see his face properly and stepped forward boldly. "It's me. Put up those spears, sen­-sister," the staven leader said irritably. "We're not Khaydarin."

The hooded figure raised a hand and instantly the ring of ten Taelidani warriors behind her relaxed. Yamato took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose as he forced his hand to release the hilt of his own sword. There would be no bloodshed here, despite their worst fears. Then the leader of the ten Taelidani lowered her own hood as well and Yamato blinked. 

Beneath it, short dark reddish hair, tied back in a slim ponytail, framed a young, sun-darkened face and startlingly light gray eyes. The woman could not have been any older than Roban, yet she was obviously in command. Axum's eyes widened as well as he stepped up. "Jana? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," the Taelidani leader replied in a relieved tone. "When you didn't answer the bird calls, I almost assumed the worst. Last I heard, you were with T'rakul Davis. Is he with you? Have you brought help?" A hint of hope crept into her youthful voice.

"T'rakul Davis is at Ardinberg," Axum said. "And no, I brought only the men you see here. That, and Lord Matt," he gestured at Yamato, "We were only supposed to scout for what had happened in Ichijouji that was delaying Emperor Ken."

The hopeful light in Jana's eyes faded. "You received no message?"

"What message?" Axum said in confusion. "We received nothing."

"Then Trakand must have been killed on the way," Jana said, her voice bordering on despair. "He set out five days ago, and it should have taken him only three to run to Ardinberg."

"What message did he carry?" Axum demanded, stepping forward again. "Actually, no. Jana, you'd best take me to T'rakul Ramon."

"T'rakul Ramon is dead."

Axum blinked. "Then the next in command. T'rakul Carlin."

"Carlin is dead as well," Jana said bleakly.

"Then who's T'rakul here?!"

"I am!"

"How is that possible?" Axum exploded. "You were only sorvin-leader to staven-leader Han a month ago! How can you be T'rakul over three thousand swords today?!"

"They're all dead, Axum!" Jana all but shouted. A wave of fury, frustration and uncertain terror flashed across her face so fast Yamato almost couldn't tell one from another. "Don't you see? There are only seven hundred of us left!"

Horrified murmurs rippled through the twenty scouts and for a moment, even Axum's rock-hard façade cracked. "How?" he croaked.

Jana looked so close to tears Yamato could not help but stare. Taelidani were never distraught. "Halidan fell four days ago," she said, her stark, unwavering voice at odds with her trembling hands. "They burned the city and everyone in it: all ten thousand men, women and children. No prisoners as far as we can tell."

Axum's face went deathly white as if he had taken a blow to the stomach, and the murmurs stopped as if they had been cut with a knife. Icy shock lanced through Yamato's heart like lightning and his mouth was suddenly very, very dry.

"Ten thousand," he whispered. "Ten thousand burned alive." He felt sick to his stomach. Everything suddenly made sense, though he wished it didn't. He forced himself to point down at the ragged column along the road. "Is that all that's left?" he asked softly. "The survivors? You're trying to bring them into Ishida, aren't you? You hope that Takeru will protect you?"

Jana nodded. "They're the few thousand survivors that we managed to round up in our retreat towards the north. They were lucky enough to live outside the city." She swallowed, clearly forcing herself to go on. "The Second, Third, Fourth and Eigth Imperial Corps have been completely wiped out. So were the first five stavens under T'rakul Ramon's command. And still the Khaydarins pursue us as if they haven't drunk their fill of blood yet. Stavik, the ruthless, light-blinded sons of-"

"How did this happen?!" Axum barked. "How did Emperor Ken let this-" He stopped and his face blanched even further at Jana's suddenly hollow expression. "No…"

"He's not dead," Jana said, turning her gray eyes on the staven leader. "But he was struck by a poisoned arrow when he turned back to help."

"He's dying, isn't he," Yamato said flatly. No wonder Takeru hadn't been able to reach him on the thought-plane. No wonder Ken had been delayed. The pieces were falling together so fast Yamato's head spun. "The healers don't think he'll make it."

Jana hesitated for a long moment, then looked down. "No," she admitted faintly. "Mistress Nova is trying to slow the poison down, but she says that if he doesn't get the right medicines by tomorrow, he will die."

In the thunderous silence that followed in the wake of her revelations, the Taelidani scouts exchanged horrified glances. Ken had always been as stalwart as the kingdom he led: solid, implacable, and as eternal as a weather-beaten rock. Ichijouji…gone…the thought boggled the mind. Yamato shivered and wrapped his cloak tightly around him as he tried to ward off the sudden chill that had possessed his limbs. It can't be…some far off part of him kept repeating shakily. Not so soon…not so fast… There must be some ray of hope in this…some victory that could still be salvaged…

Jana however, looked hollow and defeated. "And now, you tell me that Trakand never reached Ardinberg, that there is no help coming. You tell me that Emperor Takeru doesn't even know that Halidan has fallen."

She looked around with eyes blind with despair. "The Creator save us," she said flatly. "We're going to lose this war."

**********

Locke forced his fingers to stop fidgeting as he resisted the urge to stick his head outside his tent and check for eavesdroppers. It was mid-morning, and it was perfectly normal for the _Praetor _to call a meeting of select Decurions at this time of day. He had ordered the guards outside to stay at least twenty yards away, and to keep anyone else from coming in without his express permission, so they should be safe from prying eyes or ears in his tent. Still, the sense of being watched had grown stronger as the stakes had risen higher. It was all he could do now not to be overwhelmed by his, sadly justified, paranoia. With an effort, he dragged his attention to the meeting inside his tent.

"_Mirrireid," Centurion Yvan was saying flatly as he held up the glittering talisman by the chain. The silver pentagram twirled slowly in mid-air before his eyes._

"Yes," Locke said. Around him, the five Decurions in his tent shifted uncomfortably as the implications sank in. Six out of the ten present in his camp, but they were the only ones Locke dared trust. They had been the ones that Yvan had assembled for the first meeting. "The _mirrireid _bearers are our enemy. All of them."

Without thinking, he reached for the talisman, and Yvan surrendered it. Carefully, Locke put it back on. After last night, he had been afraid to take off the _mirrireid even for a moment, for fear that he would miss the Emperor Tichon's summons again and arouse further suspicion._

"Begging your pardon, _Praetor_," Daerid, one of the older Decurions said skeptically, "but how can you be certain that the spies are the ones with _mirrireid?_"

Locke gave the man an exasperated glance. If anything, the man's age had only served to make him more cynical than ever. Daerid would not have believed the sky was blue today if he had not seen it himself.

"They would need one to be able to communicate with the Emperor," Locke explained for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. "To report their findings and to receive new orders."

"There are other ways to communicate," Daerid countered. "Birds, messengers, horsemen…"

"Yes, but none as fast as the _mirrireid,_" Locke said as he stood up and began pacing around the confines of his tent. "And I would have noticed any messengers leaving my camp. Besides, even if there were spies like that in our army, we don't have to worry about Emperor Tichon hearing of our treachery through them. It takes at least a month for a message to get to Khaydarin from here. By the time he hears, the _sangrias will be complete, and it will no longer matter whether Tichon knows or not."_

"I never knew," Damas hissed from his corner. The stocky, mustached Decurion stared at the _mirrireid _around Locke's neck as if it was a live adder. "I thought _mirrireid bearers were only here to maintain our men's cloaks. Never did I guess they had such abilities."_

The others did not nod, but the atmosphere of grim fear confirmed Damas's words. No-one had liked the _mirrireid _bearers. After all, they were not there to be liked, only tolerated. The story behind their presence in every legion was that they were there to make the invisibility cloaks work, and it held true to a certain extent. Every Decurion knew that once a soldier strayed a few miles from a _mirrireid bearer, he became as visible as any other man in a black cloak. Still, their silent, black-hooded presence was not easy to bear under any circumstances. There was something…not quite __human about the way they glided and hissed like snakes around the camp that unnerved even the most stoic man._

"Assuming for a moment that the _mirrireid _bearers are all here to guard us," Damas continued, "what do we do about them?"

"I don't understand the trouble," Marnak grunted. "We know _who and _where _they are. Sakin, Turak, Jael…there are twenty of them in this legion right now. Even if they are spies, they still have to appear as if they follow your orders, __Praetor. Why don't we simply send men to kill them tonight? I could have it done before dawn tomorrow."_

Locke sighed again. Marnak was a brave warrior and competent in battle, but he would never have survived the Game. "It's not that simple," he explained again. "Tichon would know the instant they died. If we killed one or two, I might have been able to explain it as unfortunate casualties in battle, but if all twenty died at once…he would never buy that."

"It may not be possible to get rid of all the spies without Tichon knowing," Yvan said as he frowned in thought. "If we do it quickly enough, we may be able to kill all of them before any of them can turn against you, but Tichon will know. The good thing is, it may be weeks before another corps can reach us, perhaps more if we hide."

Yvan shook his head as well. "We still don't know much about what one can do over the thought-plane," he said. "For all we know, it may be possible to kill someone over the thought-plane. The moment we get rid of the _mirrireid _bearers, _Praetor Locke may die scant moments afterwards."_

"There's an easy way to take care of that," Marnak said heavily. "_Praetor Locke can take off the _mirrireid_. Then we'd only have to worry about outside corps."_

"No," Locke said flatly. "Gentlemen, that is not an option. I haven't revealed our little rebellion to Emperor Takeru and Lord Yamato yet, but once we do, I think they would agree. We're more valuable to them inside than outside."

Damas sat back as he fingered his mustaches. "Then we can only keep an eye on the _mirrireid bearers," he said, just as flatly. "We can keep them away from you, keep certain orders from them, place special guards around them and hope they don't notice, but you'll never be able to move completely freely until the last moment."_

"Even without the _mirrireid_," Daerid murmured, "is the army ready to follow _Praetor _Locke yet? It is pointless to hide from Tichon a rebellion that doesn't exist."

"You already represent more than half of this legion," Yvan said, nodding in affirmation. "If you can swear for the loyalty of your men, that's already twenty thousand armed and trained men. Some of the Decurions in this camp are being approached as we speak, and we haven't even started looking at _Praetor Locke's legions operating abroad. Centurion Duvas is already on his way east and south to give aid to the hunt going on near Halidan, and Centurion Lars is stationed to the south-west. Let's not forget that they carry at least forty thousand men each."_

Locke nodded as well. "Even if only two out of every three men follow me," he said, "we'd still have nearly eighty thousand fighting men to present to Emperor Takeru on the day of the Last Seihad. The challenge here is rallying those eighty thousand without that last forty thousand finding out."

"And what makes you think that that many will follow you?" Daerid said, ever the skeptic. "Even if we did manage to ask them without being hanged for it."

"Oh, but don't pretend that you haven't noticed it," Locke said as he began pacing. There was not much space in the tent, especially with twenty men crowding it, but he made do with what he had. "Surely the rumours have reached you."

There was a hesitant silence. Then Damas blew a breath out. "Rumours," he said roughly. "Mere talk among the men. It could mean everything, or it could mean nothing."

"Talk is the best way to gauge the mood of an army," Locke said without breaking stride. "But the important thing is, you've noticed it too."

Damas nodded reluctantly. "I have heard some…discreet talk."

"So have I," Judim added, one of the Decurions that had remained silent thus far. "Some of them are beginning to question as well. Some quietly, some boldly. And recently, what with some of the orders we've been given…"

"It was the order to kill _Praetor _Caylor," Yvan said suddenly. "That was what started it."

Locke grinned triumphantly. Strictly speaking, it had not been necessary to tell his men exactly who they were hunting, but he had purposely made as big a deal of it as he could manage without seeming insubordinate. Telling the men that they were hunting for their former _Praetor _had been one gambit that seemed to be paying off.

"Most of these men," he said as he stopped pacing and turned to face the others directly, "served under _Praetor _Caylor. The man's command was short. But you, Yvan, you were there. Daerid, Damas, Marnak, Judim, all of you, you were there. We served together during his reign. Do you remember what it was _like?_"

Yvan looked up. His eyes were clear as he nodded. "He taught us to fight for Gaea," he said softly. "Not for Khaydarin, but for the ideals that Khaydarin represented. It was like fighting for a God. He drove us like slaves, and cared for us like children. I would have died for him. Not the Emperor. For _him."_

"I felt the same way," Locke said fervently. "The Emperor's orders to kill him may not have gone down _too _well with most of the men." He turned to stare at Daerid. "Now Daerid, how many are there _like us?"_

Daerid hesitated, then nodded slowly. "More than we might think," he admitted.

"Then we have to reach out to them," Locke said as he locked gazes with his Centurion. "Extend our influence even farther than the five companies directly under your collective command."

"That doesn't solve the problem," Damas grunted as he frowned in frustration. "How do we reach out to them?"

"Well," Marnak said, chortling, "if we didn't know that _mirrireid bearers are Tichon's personal spies, then nobody else does either. As long as we keep rumours from spreading to them, we can be fairly certain that news of your recruitment efforts will never reach Tichon."_

"It's not that simple," Daerid said dryly. "Rumours spread with the speed of lightning in a camp. One misstep, and the _mirrireid bearers will know. It could take months to spread the word covertly, even with our fastest messengers."_

"We don't have months," Locke said tightly. "We have days, Daerid. _Days!"_

"_Praetor, you ask for the impossible," Judim said as he came to Daerid's defense. "I can send out messengers to Lars and Duvas immediately if you think it's safe to trust them, but even they cannot spread the word to their army's Decurions so quickly without the __mirrireid bearers in their legions noticing. Haste in this case is a recipe for disaster."_

Locke sat down with a bump and ran his hands through his brown hair. By chance, his eye fell on a mirror in the tent, and he felt a small shock as he saw his own face. He was barely twenty-five, yet his face looked as wearied and hardened as if he was forty. Self-consciously, he reached up to touch his hair. Was that a hint of white he saw?

With a weary sigh that seemed to come from his bones, Locke let his hand drop and rallied his wandering attention. Only a few more weeks, and the Game would be over. He had played it so long, he couldn't afford to stumble now. "Then send out your messengers immediately," he said to Judim. "Make sure it's someone you can trust, and make sure they know how little time they have. The timing can't be helped, but I'll be damned if I face the last Seihad unprepared. We'll gather as much as we can in what time we have. In the meantime-"

Suddenly, the sharp crunch of running footsteps on the rough ground outside made Locke shut his mouth with an almost audible click. Judim and Marnak, the two Decurions closest to the tent's closed entrance whirled around, hands flying to the hilts of their curved scimitars, as the rest of them tensed visibly. The footsteps paused outside the entrance, and for a moment, a horrible silence descended upon the collected rebels. Then…

"_Praetor," Milan's voice sounded. "A messenger from Mordaen brings an urgent message that you should hear."_

Locke motioned for the two Decurions closest to the door to let go of their swords and open the tent entrance, which they did with an almost visible expression of relief. Milan was one of Locke's guards outside the tent, which meant that his order was being followed. Two men strode through the opening. Milan had his helmet tucked under his arm and he only bowed briefly to Locke; the _Praetor had never stood on ceremony. His companion however, fell to one knee on the ground. The green stripes on his shoulder contrasted with the blue on the shoulders of everyone else in the room, and marked him a member of _Praetor _Mordaen's corps._

"My Lord _Praetor _Locke, my name is legionnaire Tael of the second legion of _Praetor _Mordaen's corps," the messenger said curtly before he was bidden to speak. If he was surprised at such a large gathering of Decurions, he did not show it. "_Praetor _Mordaen sends me to tell you that his scouts have found a large party of Ichijoujan refugees, perhaps five to six thousand of them, trekking north for the borders of Ishida. Two days ago, they were seen on the Murin plains, perhaps twenty miles north of Halidan and thirty west of the coast. It is estimated that they are less than four days from the border and _Praetor _Mordaen requests your help in stopping them."

Locke's eyes narrowed as he stood up. "Get up, Tael," he said brusquely. When the man had risen, he fixed him with his hardest stare. "Why is Mordaen interested in a band of mere refugees? Why should we not let them run? They are beneath our notice."

"Emperor Ken is with them," Tael said simply. "If he is not stopped before they reach the border, he may regroup, rearm and come at us again. _Praetor Mordaen finds the risk…unacceptable."_

 Locke's tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth, but he forced himself to nod. "Send this message to Mordaen," he said to Tael. "I, and my entire corps, will be coming to aid him in this hunt. I will send scouts to appraise him of our positions and findings every half day. Go quickly. We will be riding behind you."

Tael nodded, then pressed his fist to his heart. "The glory be to Khaydarin," he intoned.

Locke made himself clench his hand and press it to his own chest. "The glory be to our Emperor," he said. Satisfied, Tael stood up and ran from the tent.

Locke paused for a moment, then nodded at Milan. "See him out of this encampment," he ordered. The man nodded then disappeared outside as well. The moment he was gone, Locke spun around. "Get those messengers out to Duvas and Lars now," he said hoarsely to Judim. "Tell them what we discussed, but add that they are to join us in our march north as if to intercept those refugees, but to come slowly enough so that they won't arrive until it's 'too late'."

"The same excuse won't work for us," Daerid said as he stood up as well. "If Tael is correct, Mordaen will be suspicious if we can't intercept them from here. And we have enough swords here to kill every one of those refugees five times over."

"I'll figure out something when we get there," Locke muttered. "In the meantime, get everyone on their feet and ready to march. I want to be moving within three hours, and scouts out within half an hour. You can be sure that the _mirrireid bearers in this camp have heard of this message already. I am notgoing to give them an excuse to suspect anything." He glared around. "Questions?"_

Nobody said anything. The _Praetor's _directions were clear enough, even if their probability of success was near zero. Locke nodded. "Dismissed," he said brusquely.

Immediately, all the Decurions in the tent picked up their helmets and left, one by one, through the tent exit. Locke watched them be silhouetted against the bright sunlight outside as each of them pushed open the tent flap and went off to prepare their own men. Despite their best efforts to hide it, he could see the doubt in their eyes; but it didn't matter. The important thing was, they would follow him. The appropriate gears would be set into motion, whatever their feelings were.

As the tent flap closed for the last time however, Yvan still remained in the tent. Locke's eyebrows went up, but he said nothing. Instead, he crossed his arms and waited. If the Centurion had something to say, he could do it himself.

Yvan looked at Locke for a moment, then spoke suddenly, "It's too risky."

"I never said it would be easy," Locke said as he fought down a wave of irritation. "But it will all be worth if I can maneuver freely in the Last Seihad."

"With all due respect, _Praetor_, we will not be able to maneuver at all if we're dead."

Locke's eyes narrowed. Yvan had never been so forward before. "Yvan," he said slowly. "When have I, as _Praetor_, ever sent my men into a hopeless battle?"

Yvan took a deep breath. "Never."

"I know the risk I am taking, Yvan," Locke said softly. "We've taken gambles before. What's wrong with you this time?"

"Never a gamble with such high stakes," Yvan replied tightly. "Nor with such bad odds."

"Then how would _you _propose we start expand this little rebellion," Locke said, making an effort to keep his voice calm.

"Don't go from the top down," Yvan said immediately. "Go from the bottom up. Spread rumours among the soldiers, not among the Decurions, and have them decide whether to join or not, but _never _let people see your hand in it. Let Tichon think that the rebellion is headed by someone else, not you. That way, if the rebellion is discovered, all would not be lost."

"That could take _months!_" Locke snarled. "Need I remind you that we have a scant _three weeks?_"

"Haste can ruin us!" Yvan said heatedly. "_Praetor_, I must object to your plan. It would take a miracle for the _mirrireid bearers not to hear of this within the three weeks we have left."_

Locke felt his jaw tighten with irritation. Yvan had never been so insubordinate. He was a good man, but that did not excuse this. "The discussion is closed," he said coldly. "The plan has already been set into motion, and I have no intentions of changing it. Now, _Centurion_, if you have nothing else to discuss…"

Yvan knew a rebuke when he heard one. Accordingly, he toned his voice down forced his fists to unclench, but the frustration in his eyes did not fade. "There is one other thing."

"Yes?"

Yvan looked up. "How shall we warn the stand-masters?" he said quietly. "They _must know of the __sangrias's completion within the next few days. Organizing our own rebellion is all well and good, but it would all be for nought if we can't let the stand-masters know we exist."_

Locke sat down and gave Yvan a deadly grin. "You spread the rebellion and let me worry about warning the stand-masters." He held up his own _mirrireid. "It's time to use the Emperor's own weapons against him."_

Yvan's eyebrows rose slightly, then lowered again. A small ghost of a satisfied smile twisted the corners of his lips upwards. "Understood, _Praetor," he said formally. "I shall see about your plan."_

Locke nodded once and Yvan left. As the tent strip flapped closed, Locke leaned forward and rubbed his face with his hands as he ran over his plans one final time. The pieces had been set in motion, and the maneuvering had begun. The game was nearing its final stages. As he pondered, Locke could almost recall the quiet, cold voice of _Praetor _Caylor as he instructed his young Centurion in the intricacies of treachery:

_"The game must be played with an ice-cold heart, a steady hand, and ruthless unwavering precision. The first part of the game is merely maneuverings, a shifting of shadows and testing of allegiances, but don't let that fool you. Often, the game's end will be swift, sudden and violent._

_"Be careful of your every step, Centurion. Be absolutely certain you are right, for every move you make could well be your last."_

**********

"Take me to him," Yamato said urgently as he grabbed Jana's arm. "I may be able to help."

Jana stared upwards at him and a glimmer of Taelidani suspicion and defiance glinted in her eyes. "Sen-brother Axum," she said slowly. "Who is this man?"

The ten Taelidani in Jana's party all turned to look at Axum, who glared at Yamato. There was a moment of uncertain silence as Yamato glared back, holding his breath. Then Axum looked away and turned to Jana. "He is Lord Matt, of Ishida, part of Emperor Takeru's own circle of Knights," he said brusquely. "You can trust him."

Yamato blinked as a wave of surprise and gratitude flooded through him. Axum's glare did not lessen, but he nodded slightly in his direction, as if to say "you can thank me later." Jana inclined her head slightly and her band of men relaxed their grips on their weapons.

"The best healers in Ichijouji are doing the best they can," Jana said. "What more can you hope to do?"

"I have…experience with Khaydarin weapons and poisons," Yamato said roughly. "Enough to keep a man alive for three more days. Let me help."

A murmur of hope broke out among Jana's party, which was quickly silenced by a wave of Jana's arm. "Then come," she said brusquely. The despair she had shown earlier was nowhere in evidence. "We have little time."

Yamato ran back to untie his horse, then mounted it and began trotting after her as she disappeared into the forest. He didn't have to look behind him to know that Axum was following as well. As they emerged from the woods on the other side of the hill, Jana pursed her lips and gave a shrill whistle. Almost immediately, men emerged like mist all around them, and joined them as they trotted onwards. As they did, Yamato took a rough count. Twenty men now. No, thirty. In moments, forty soldiers were trotting along their sides. A grim smile creased Yamato's lips. Looked like the old senses were still bang on.

In moments, it seemed, they had cleared the edge of the forest. Jana began sliding down the gravel-coated side of the drumlin. Yamato followed swiftly, his cloak billowing around him. At the foot of the hill, Jana skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust, and abruptly raised both her arms to wave them above her head; once, twice, three times. As Yamato reined his mount to a stop beside her, there was an answering whistle of a hunting hawk. Satisfied, Jana turned to her own men. "Continue the sweep," she ordered. "I will take these men back to the caravan. Carsin, you're on point. If you see anything, you know what to do."

Carsin, one of her men, nodded, then gestured at the rest of her men. Wordlessly, they split up into groups of three or four and disappeared in all directions. Jana jerked her head sharply. "This way," she said roughly at Yamato, Axum and their men. "The Ichijoujans should be told of your presence." Without waiting for a reply, Jana strode off in a seemingly random direction. Again, Yamato and Axum followed.

Within moments, it seemed, they were all on the main road walking towards the approaching caravan. Again, Jana raised both of her arms and waved it over her head three times in what Yamato now recognized as a pre-set signal. In acknowledgement, the vanguard stirred. Yamato's sharp eyes saw several horsemen detach themselves from the front to speed back into the bulk of the caravan, even as one man, presumably the vanguard's commander, stood up in his reins and waved his own arms over his head.

"It's safe to go now," Jana muttered, as if to explain, then trotted forwards. Yamato nudged his horse forward as well as the vanguard opened up before them to create a path. His clothes, blond hair and blue eyes, which labeled him as plainly as a sign as a non-Taelidani, earned him curious glances as they passed, but nobody challenged them.

Yamato kept his expression carefully neutral, yet was unable to stop the stirrings of disquiet as he looked around. The men around him were tattered and bloodied, and their normally gleaming green Ichijoujan uniforms and armour were chipped, frayed and sometimes absent. There was order to their ranks, but the nervous glances the men kept directing at the woods around them betrayed them, as did the dull look in their eyes. These were men that had lost hope.

Behind Yamato, Axum stirred as well. "How many are left?" he asked tightly. Yamato turned to Jana for the answer.

Jana's eyes looked dead as she led them onwards. "The remnants of the First, Fifth and Sixth Imperial Corps," she said. "And about seven hundred Taelidani. Almost all the Lord-Captains in the Imperial Army have been killed as well."

"That leaves you with less than three thousand men," Yamato said grimly.

"Yes, I know," Jana snapped. "Why do you think we're running?"

"On the road?" Yamato said, meeting her gaze. "If we could see you ten miles away, so can the enemy. And you have three days left before the border."

"Look around you, Ishidan," Jana bit off as she gestured around. "We are not an army. We carry old, infirm, wounded. Would you have us leave them behind so that we can travel cross-country?" Her piercing gray eyes burned into his. "Khaydarin has taken many things from us, but they cannot away our honour."

Yamato followed her arm's sweep, and his eyes narrowed. Jana was right. Within the pathetic protection of the joint Ichijoujan and Taelidani army, he could make out civilians. Most of them were either very old, or very young, struggling along in weather-beaten carts and tired horses. In the cloud of dust, whipped up by the late afternoon wind, their tired, despairing features were coated with gray, making them look like walking corpses. In the distance, the wail of frightened infants could be heard over the creaking and rumbling of hundreds of farming wagons. Jana cast him one more scornful glance, then turned back to the road.

Yamato stayed silent. So that was it. He exchanged glances with Axum, and a silent moment of communication passed between them. These people are not going to make it.

Wisely, Axum kept his mouth shut as they moved deeper into the caravan. To take away what little hope these people had left would be to destroy them. Instead, they made the rest of the journey in grim silence. Soon, Jana had led them into the heart of the caravan, where an armed contingent maintained a vigilant guard around a lone wagon. As they approached, Jana waved again, and an officer spied them. Wheeling his horse around, the man heeled his horse to a gallop. Within moments, it seemed, he was drawing to a stop before them.

"Jana!" the man said as he dismounted quickly. "We weren't expecting you until dawn. Has something gone wrong?"

"No," Jana said as she shot a sidelong glance at Yamato, Axum and his men. "But you can say that something came up."

It was then that the officer noticed them. In a moment, his sharp gaze was looking them up and down. "Jana, who are these people?"

"Staven­-leader Axum Staja," Axum said as he gestured at his men. "This is my scouting party."

"Lord Matt of Ishida," Yamato said shortly as he dismounted. "We came from Ardinberg."  He did not have to look up to see the man's eyes light up.

"Ishida?" he said hopefully. "Then you have brought help?"

"No," Jana said flatly. "Apparently, Trakand didn't make it to Ardinberg. Emperor Takeru still doesn't know what has happened."

Before Yamato's eyes, the man seemed to shrink in on himself. His dark eyes lost focus for a moment as his shoulders hunched. "They…don't know?" his voice was a whisper.

"We are all that Ardinberg has sent," Axum confirmed.

The man was silent for a moment, then ran his hand through his hair. "The Creator wills what the Creator wills," he muttered. Then he straightened up. "Has Jana told you all that has happened?"

"She has," Axum said with a nod of his head. "And you are…"

A small smile creased the man's face. "Lord-Captain Talin, second to Emperor Ken Ichijouji," he said as he saluted wearily. "I wish we had met in better circumstances, Lord Matt, staven­-leader Axum, but I'm afraid-"

"I can help," Yamato said suddenly. "Let me."

Talin paused, then looked him in the eye. "Pardon me, my Lord, but you are only one man. What can you do?"

"If you show me Emperor Ken, I believe I can help combat the poison," Yamato replied.

"Our best healers are working on him. I very much doubt-"

"I would like to try," Yamato said urgently. "I have knowledge about Khaydarin poisons that…your healers may not have."

Talin raised an eyebrow, then glanced at Jana who shrugged. Axum however, stepped forward. "I suggest you listen to him," the staven­-leader said reluctantly. "Lord Matt has had…unique experiences with Khaydarin combative arts."

Talin narrowed his eyes at Yamato, then nodded. "Someone will take care of your horse," he said. Handing off his own horse to a subordinate, he gestured for Yamato to do the same. "Come with me. Jana, wait here with Axum."

Yamato followed the man as he trotted towards and climbed into the still-moving wagon. Inside, Yamato paused for a moment as he allowed his eyes to adjust to the hot, dim interior of the wagon-bed. Even before he moved further in, however, he could already tell he was in the right wagon.

The medicinal scent of herbs and antiseptics filling the interior could not quite mask the smell of vomit, blood and sweat. As Talin nodded at the healers' questioning gazes, Yamato sidled over in the cramped space to kneel beside the prone figure on the ground of the wagon. His lips compressed into a thin grim line as he looked at the pale, drawn face of Ken Ichijouji.

Yamato had never met Ken before, but the man before him fit the descriptions he had heard: a tall, lean man, with straight, chin-length dark hair. The faint smudge of stubble on the otherwise clean-shaven chin and cheeks was laced with pale-coloured vomit and blood despite the healers' best efforts. Slowly, Yamato reached out and removed the water-soaked cloth that had been placed over his forehead and eyes. The pale blue eyes beneath slitted eyelids stared unseeingly into space beneath the man's fevered brow. Placing one finger beneath Ken's left eye, Yamato pulled the eye open, and watched as the pupil contracted slowly and weakly.

"How long ago?" he said grimly.

"Earlier today," Talin said as he settled onto his haunches opposite Yamato. Placing his hand on Ken's brow, the Lord-Captain winced as he felt his Emperor's fever. "He was with…the rearguard, trying to cover our retreat. He's been running a temperature ever since."

"Who is the head healer here?" Yamato asked.

"I am," a woman in the back spoke up. "Mistress Nova, my Lord."

Yamato glanced at her, then looked back down at the drawn face of Ken. "Where was he struck?"

"In the upper arm," the healer said, nervously bobbing her head up and down.

"Did you keep the arrow?"

The healer looked insulted. "Of course." Crawling even deeper into the depths of the wagon, she rummaged around in the piles of herbs, medicines and bandages until she produced a long, cloth-wrapped cylinder. "Here it is."

"Pass it," Yamato said, holding out his hand. Talin wordlessly passed the cylinder along into Yamato's hand. Carefully, Yamato unrolled the cloth around the arrow, taking care not to prick himself with the tip, and held it up to the sunlight outside. Leaning in closer, he squinted. Was that a hint of purple he saw?

"Could someone give me a lighted lantern please?"

"It's broad daylight outside, my Lord."

"Just do it."

There was a hurried scuffling, then a scratch of flint on steel, and a small lantern flickered to life. Yamato accepted the small lantern and opened the glass cover. Then, with infinite care, he placed the tip of the arrow into the flame.

"My Lord, what are you-"

"Shh…" Yamato's steel blue eyes were fixed on the steel arrowhead. Talin's forehead creased in bewilderment, but he kept his mouth shut as he too stared at the flame. At first, nothing happened. The orange flame burned as it always did. Then…a faint trace of purple appeared in the orange.

Yamato kept the arrowhead in the flame for a few more seconds to be sure. When the purple colour increased, he hurriedly pulled the arrow out. Even vapourized poison in such small amounts could knock a man out. "He was poisoned with Magenta Yin," he said as he rolled up the arrow again.

"I've never heard of that poison," Nova said, frowning.

"Of course not," Yamato said softly. "It hasn't been used for more than five hundred years."

"Can you treat it?" Talin said beside him.

"No," Yamato said flatly as he stared down at Ken's pale face. "I have neither the knowledge nor the skill. But I can slow it down."

"For how long?"

Yamato bowed his head. "I do not know," he said honestly. "But I guarantee you, if I don't do something now, this man will die by nightfall."

Talin's face tightened as he turned to glance at Mistress Nova, who nodded surreptitiously. "How do you know all this?"

"As Axum said, I have some experience with Khaydarin combative arts. I've studied them at some length all my life," Yamato said, being careful to keep his face completely straight. Well…it wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth.

Talin looked back and forth between Yamato and Ken's waxen face, then took a deep breath. "All right," he said as he let it out slowly. "I suppose it's all right to trust an Ishidan Lord. I…the Ichijouji peoples…would be most grateful if you could…keep our Emperor alive."

Yamato glanced up at Talin. The man was not much older than himself, yet here he was with the weight of a nation on his back. He looked gray with the strain. "I will do my best," he said softly. "In a few hours, I should know whether he will make it to Ardinberg."

Talin nodded. "Make sure Lord Matt has our full cooperation," he said to Mistress Nova. "Whatever he wants, see to it that he gets it." Then with a swing of his cloak, he was gone.

Yamato looked down at Ken again, and took a deep breath. His talents had never leaned towards healing. What little he could remember about Khaydarin medicine and poisons seemed woefully inadequate in the face of this dying man. Not for the first time, he wished that Lady Hikari was here. If even a tenth of the rumours about her legendary healing skills were true, Ken would be up and walking within the hour. Still…he had promised.

"Please bring me a basin of water and some soap," he said as he took off his cloak and rolled up his sleeves. "After that, tell me everything you've done so far…"

**********

**Five hours later**

Yamato wiped the sweat from his brow as he carefully lifted Ken's hand and felt his pulse one last time. It was weak, but at least it was steadier than it was five hours ago. Lifting away the blanket covering Ken, Yamato checked the neat white bandage wrapped around Ken's left bicep. Then he placed his palm on Ken's brow and felt his temperature. Finally satisfied, Yamato leaned back wearily and reached for his cloak.

"Keep him under the blanket," he ordered the healer beside him. "And check his temperature every half an hour. If it goes up even by one degree, tell me immediately. I'm going out to report to Lord-Captain Talin."

Mistress Nova looked up blearily and nodded. Yamato felt a stab of sympathy. "I'll be right back," he assured her as he rested his hand on her shoulder. "Then you can go get some rest."

Again, Mistress Nova nodded. She's too tired to protest like she used to, Yamato thought to himself as he swept his cloak about his shoulders and stepped out of the wagon. I wonder if she's left his side at all since he was struck.

Outside, Yamato stretched his tall, lean frame gratefully, then bounced around on his toes a few times to restore circulation to his calves and feet. The wagon was spacious enough, but it had never been built to accommodate three people and several months worth of medical supplies. He blinked as he looked around. Was it dark already?

He knew the wagon had stopped almost two hours earlier, but he had never paid it much heed. The caravan was stretched around him in all directions, and the glowing embers of cooking fires provided a soft, ambient glow to the ground. Beyond that, Yamato's eyes, which had been accustomed to the relative brightness of the wagon's interior, could see nothing except a ring of watch-fires around the camp's perimeter, the nearest one being perhaps three hundred paces away. Yamato tucked his hands within his cloak to shield them from the night chill, and leaned against the side of the wagon as he waited for his eyes to adjust. Report to Talin, he had said. But where to begin looking?

One of the four guards that Talin had assigned to the wagon stepped up to Yamato. "Lord Matt?" he said. "Is all well?"

Yamato inclined his head. "Take me to Talin," he said quietly.

The guard looked troubled, but he merely motioned for Yamato to follow him, then stepped off into the darkness. Yamato did so, relishing the cool night breeze against his tired face, and the crunch of gravel beneath his boots. Around him, a few soldiers looked up from their campfires, but let them pass unchallenged. In a few moments, the guard seemed to find what he was looking for: a brightly lit tent, larger than the others, that stood not too far from Ken's wagon. "Come with me," the guard said softly.

Yamato's eye fell upon the silhouettes cast on the tent's walls by the lamp inside. "Is Lord-Captain Talin holding a meeting?"

"Yes, my Lord," the guard said. "But he told me that he wanted to hear from you as soon as possible." He swept out a hand towards the tent's entrance. "If you will, my Lord, I must return to my post beside Emperor Ken."

"You may go," Yamato said noncommittally. Then he stepped into the tent's entrance.

The chatter of heated voices washed over Yamato as he stepped into the tent's brightly lit interior, and once again Yamato was forced to pause to allow his eyes to adjust. As he paused in the relatively shadowy shelter of the tent's entrance arch, he used the opportunity to survey the scene before him. 

Talin seemed to be holding a meeting of some kind. He recognized Talin, Jana and Axum clustered around a table littered with maps and parchments, arguing heatedly. But with them were at two others, dressed not in the green of Ichijouji's Imperial Army, but in the richer velvet purple of the Court of Councilors. Curiously, Yamato's eyes were drawn to the tall, white-haired man that stood at the Councilors' front. Whatever else he was, he was important, if the gold-rimmed white sash that bound his chest meant anything.

"-to get off this road," Axum was saying, stabbing his finger down to the paper in emphasis. "Surely, you know how visible you are."

"And will the hills be any different?" Talin said doubtfully. "There is very little in the way of cover in these parts, staven-leader. And we would lose speed as well."

"Not if you follow this river valley," Axum argued, tracing something on the map. "Look, it leads all the way to the border, and it will only take several hours of hard march from here to reach it."

"We'd have to abandon the wagons," the old man said grimly. His voice was deep and gravelly, yet somehow soft-spoken. It was not the voice of a commander or a warrior. "Some of our wounded cannot walk."

"They can be carried on horses," Jana offered cautiously. "It would not be comfortable, but it would work. The real question is-"

"Our soldiers would be hampered in a fight," one of the Councilors said smoothly. "T'rakess, we've been over this countless times."

The debate had the sound of something that had been going on for hours, with no real progress. In any case, Yamato had had enough. He coughed into his hand and silence dropped like a stone. In a moment, every eye in the room was on him. Aware that normal human eyes could not see in the darkness as well as his could, Yamato took several steps forward into the light.

"Lord Matt," Talin said, a hint of tension in his voice. "Is…is the Emperor…"

"He is resting," Yamato said shortly. "I…I believe he will live through the next four days, though I am not sure. I am no healer."

Talin exchanged glances with Jana. "And…after that?"

"If he does not get to Ardinberg before that," Yamato said bluntly, "he will die. The poultices I have given him can only slow the poison down."

Talin's shoulders slumped, yet he still managed a wan smile. "I thank you. It seems that your research into the Khaydarin Arts may have saved our Emperor's life."

The old man looked back and forth between Talin and Yamato. "Lord-Captain, begging your pardon, but who is this man?"

"Oh, I am sorry," Talin said as he rose. "Councilors, this is Lord Matt of Ishida. He came in earlier today with staven-leader Axum, and he has volunteered to apply his expertise in Khaydarin poisons to help our Emperor." Turning to Yamato, he gestured at the tall, white-haired man. "Lord Matt, this is Councilor Micah, head of the Ichijoujan Court of Councilors."

Yamato turned to look at the old man. Now that he was closer, he could recognize the stylized flame insignia over his left breast that marked him as the head. Of course.

"This is Councilor Dinar, Recorder of the Court," Talin continued as his hand swept out to indicate the second man beside Micah. "They are here to represent the Court."

Yamato's eyes swept up and down Dinar in an instant. His black hair hung limply in long locks, and his narrow face had a sallow, unhealthy look. For all that, his eyes were as bright and inquisitive as a bird's, and they twinkled as he extended his hand in greeting. "Lord Matt, it seems Ichijouji is indebted to Ishida. Again."

"Not just to Ishida," Micah said softly, "but to you as well. I thank you on behalf of the Court and of the people."

Yamato inclined his head at the old Councilor. He could grow to like this man, but it was painfully obvious that he was a diplomat, not warrior. "Ishida considers it her duty," he said tersely. He had no idea whether it was true or not, but it didn't matter. It was certainly what Takeru would have done in his place. "In the meantime, what's our status?"

Jana shot a quick glance at Talin, who nodded. "We're following the main road…here," she said gruffly, tracing the long, brown ribbon with her finger towards the north. "We just passed the crossroads several hours ago, which means we're about…here." Her finger tapped a point about forty miles south of the Ishidan border.

"At the pace we're setting," Dinar said as he rubbed his chin, "assuming we are not caught by Khaydarin patrols, we'll be at the border in two days time. At Ardinberg in another day."

Axum snorted angrily. "Lord Matt," he said bitingly. "You are a military man. What do you think the chances are that they won't be caught?!"

Before Yamato could answer, Dinar cut in angrily. "We are not an army, staven-leader. We have wounded. We carry the very young and the very old. That's why the Court is here, to represent them. How many of them do you think can keep up if we leave the road?"

Micah placed a hand on the Recorder's shoulder and shook his head slightly. When he spoke however, his blue eyes were no less determined. "I'm afraid he's right," he said firmly. "The people will not go far without the wagons."

Dinar nodded. "So you see, leaving the road is not an option."

"This is not a democracy," Talin interrupted coldly. "The final decision rests with me, and I'll thank you to remember that."

Dinar whirled on the Lord-Captain. "But-"

"I have heard the Court's voice," Talin cut in. "And it has been noted."

Dinar glared for a moment, then subsided. "As you wish."

"So," Yamato concluded. "three days if we stick with the road and all goes well. How many if we leave it?"

Jana shook her head hopelessly. "We don't know," she confessed. "Another day, at least. More if our bad luck has anything to say about it."

"Then if all goes well," Yamato said, "Emperor Ken will live."

Talin nodded. "But if we're delayed…"

"Which we might be if we leave the road," Dinar interrupted.

Talin gave him a warning glance. "If we're delayed, Ken may…die." He looked around. "I don't have to explain what that might entail."

There was a brittle silence as everyone considered that possibility. If the stand-masters were to start falling, again, then Gaea was doomed. Without Ken, Ichijouji would truly be dead. There was no way around it.

Talin fixed his eyes on Yamato. "Can the Emperor be moved?"

Axum snorted. "Of course he can be moved. He was moved all day."

"You misunderstand the Lord-Captain," Micah said gently. "Can he be mounted on horseback, and moved that way? Can he be taken out of the wagon?"

Now, Yamato understood. "You want us to take him to Ardinberg for you." It made sense. Twenty men could move much faster than an army of three thousand with another three thousand civilians in tow, even if they were carrying an injured man. It would also be a lot easier for them to hide as well.

Talin sighed, and ran his hand through his hair. Yamato watched as the Lord-Captain looked at his hands, then spread them on the table-top as if trying to stop them from fidgeting. "Can he be moved?" he repeated in a low voice.

"I don't know," Yamato said bluntly. "The slightest exertion may strain his heart and kill him. I can tell you that he could not be moved when I first saw him. Now…"

"In your opinion," Talin said, quietly yet keenly, "do you think the risk is worth it?"

Yamato straightened his shoulders. "Yes."

Talin exchanged glances with Jana and Micah, then turned back to Yamato and Axum. "Then, please consider it a formal request on the behalf of the Ichijoujan Court of Councilors," Talin said formally. "Could you please bring Emperor Ken to Ardinberg as fast as you are able? The Ichijoujan peoples…would never survive his death."

The irony of the situation seemed to strike Yamato in the face. He had been sent from Ardinberg because the stand-masters did not trust him. Yet here he was now, precisely because he was sent away, being bestowed with a task of even greater danger. And it was all because Talin didn't know who he was. For a moment, Yamato suppressed an insane urge to laugh. No, he had to tell him. It wouldn't be fair to Talin if…

"We'll do it," Axum said calmly.

Yamato looked up slightly and caught the man's eye. The staven-leader's returning glare had a hint of warning in it, as if he was telling him to remain silent. "Rest assured, Khaydarin will never find us."

"Lord-Captain," Yamato said, still staring at Axum. "Before you ask me that, there's something you-"

"Yes, indeed," Axum interrupted smoothly. "Lord Matt has exceptional skills at tracking people, even those wearing invisibility cloaks."

Jana snorted. "After seeing him with those poisons, I don't doubt it."

Yamato frowned. "That's not what I-"

"Lord-Captain, if you'll excuse us for a moment," Axum said as he suddenly took hold of Yamato's arm and began leading him out of the tent.

Micah looked from one man to the other, and frowned. "Gentlemen, is there a problem?"

Yamato narrowed his eyes at Axum. "No," he said slowly. "No problem. Yet. If you'll excuse us…"

Talin nodded slightly in confusion, and Yamato allowed himself to be pulled out of the tent by Axum. Once outside, Axum crooked a finger, beckoning Yamato to move away from the tent. Once they were a safe distance away, Yamato rounded on Axum.

"I thought you were the one who didn't trust me," Yamato said, his voice steely.

"Think, Yamato," Axum snarled. "With you, Emperor Ken stands the best chance of making it back to Ardinberg. You're the only one among us who can sense invisibility cloaks. Without you, he stands no chance, even under our protection."

Yamato couldn't believe he was having this conversation. "Do you know what Talin will do to me if I don't tell him?"

"Do you know what he'll do to you if you do tell him?" Axum said heatedly. "At best, he'll retract his plea for help. At worst, you'll be killed. Either way, Ken will die."

"A peace through ignorance," Yamato said softly. "Is that how it is, then?"

"These are desperate times," Axum bit off grimly.

"Why are you vouching for me?" Yamato demanded. "Only this morning, you didn't trust me any farther than you could throw me."

For a moment, Axum paused. Then he sighed and swung his cloak about himself. "The way I see it," he said softly, "we have two choices. Ken can stay here. And no matter what Jana says, if this band of fools continues to stay on the road, staying here means certain death. Or, he can leave." Here, Axum looked up, and his eyes burned into Yamato's. "And have a faint hope of surviving. Even if that hope rests in the hands of someone like you."

Axum let out his breath irritably and began pacing around the dirt. "If you had wanted to kill Emperor Ken, you would have done so already," he continued. "You could have slipped him a slow-acting poison, or anything at all when you were treating him. So, the decision to trust you or not has already been made, however inadvertently."

Yamato smiled slightly in the darkness. "What you really mean to say is, it makes no sense to trust me with his treatment, and not with his evacuation."

Axum nodded. "No sense going back on a decision that's already been made," he muttered. "If disaster is going to fall, it's fallen already. Might as well trust in the Creator, stick it out, and hope for the best."

Yamato grin turned wry. "People are just probabilities to you, aren't they?"

"In war, you have to stay cold," Axum said as he began striding back for the tent. "I'm sure you, of all people, would understand. There's just one thing I don't get…"

"What?"

"The T'rakul could contact another stand-master if he was on the other end of Gaea," Axum said guardedly. "Why can't you just contact Emperor Takeru right now and have him send for help?"

"Yes, I was wondering when you'd ask that," Yamato admitted. "The truth is, I can. But then, I'd be overheard by every mirrireid-bearer within ten miles. If I did, I can guarantee you that we'd be attacked within half a day."

"You know," Axum said in frustration, "you're mentioning these 'mirrireid-bearers' a lot. So what, exactly are mirrir-"

The rest of his sentence stuck in his throat as, with the suddenness of shattering glass, a distant scream rent the air.

As both men whirled to the sound of the scream, the sound of a trumpet blast rolled over the slumbering camp. Neither man recognized the pattern of the trumpet call: four sharp blasts, pause, and repeat, but they understood the urgency behind it. Danger: enemy attack. All around them, men in various states of undress and disarray streamed out of their tents and began rushing south, where the blast had come from. A roar of confusion and urgency drowned out even the trumpet.

Axum and Yamato exchanged swift glances. Then Axum turned and began running south.

"No!" Yamato shouted over the sudden confusion as he grabbed onto Axum's sleeve. "Ken!"

He watched as understanding dawned in Axum's eyes. In an instant, both of them were running flat out for Ken's distant tent, pushing past the river of roaring men that flooded the other way. Yamato unsheathed his sword and held it low to the ground, so as to not accidentally impale someone while he ran. Beside him, Axum reached behind his back and withdrew his own blade, muttering a Taelidani epithet under his breath. All around them, the camp was going crazy. Civilians huddled together in groups, some on their knees with their eyes shut tightly in prayer, others running north in a panic. Frightened mothers scurried every which way as every able-bodied man seized a weapon and began running south. "Stay down!" Yamato roared at the women as he waved wildly with his free hand. "Stay down! Stay calm!"

Axum took up the call. "Get down, you fools!" he bellowed. "And shut up! Let the boys do their job!"

Neither of them paused to see if their cries had done any good. Soon, Yamato could see the wagon in front of them, with the healer's tent pitched nearby. When he did, a ball of ice settled in his throat.

"Stavik!" Axum spat. Even from this distance, two unmoving bodies could already be seen lying sprawled in the dirt. Ken's other two guards were fighting fiercely with a whole band of shadowy figures which blurred, shifted and disappeared altogether in the wavering firelight. Cloaked Khaydarin assassins. "How did they get there so quickly?" he shouted. "How did they know which wagon?!"

When Yamato didn't answer, Axum turned around. "Yamato?"

But the stand-master wasn't there.

Axum felt his heart stop. Frantically, he looked around as he continued running. "Yamato?"

But the stand-master was nowhere to be seen. And up ahead, another guard fell to the shadowy wraiths that danced, darted and shimmered around the wagon. In a split second, Axum made up his mind. Defend Emperor Ken first. Kill Yamato for his treachery later. Roaring, Axum hefted his sword and ran forward, aiming at the closest assassin's head…

A silver arc of liquid moonlight flickered across Axum's vision and the Khaydarin assassin's head exploded like a ripe melon. Astonished, Axum staggered forward, his sword scything into the already dead man's falling shoulder. Before he could pull his sword out, Yamato was beside him.

"Cover the wagon's entrance!" Yamato roared at him. "I'll take care of them!"

"You can't-"

Yamato glared at him. "I can see them! You can't!" And with that, he was gone.

Axum jerked his sword free, then sprinted for the wagon's entrance. With a single leap, he cleared the wheels and landed in the wagon-bed, his tall form already curling into a shoulder roll that brought him upright with his sword ready. Only then did he understand Yamato's strategy.

The wagon had only one entrance. The sides and front of it were blocked off with wood and canvas walls. If someone wanted to come in and kill Ken, they would have to approach from the narrow doorway through which Axum had just leaped. The doorway which he was now guarding.

The wagon rocked slightly beneath Axum's feet as the clatter of footsteps on hard wood touched on the staven-leader's ears. With a roar, Axum brought his sword down blindly on what seemed like empty air, and was only half-surprised when a blossom of crimson blood erupted out of thin air. As an unearthly shriek of shock and rage pierced his ears, Axum drew his sword back and thrust it forward as hard as he could. There was a jerk as his sword impaled the cloaked soldier. The shriek faded to a faint gurgle, and Axum felt the man fall backwards off his sword, even as his cloaked form suddenly shimmered into view.

Breathing hard, Axum readied his sword again. As he did, he risked a quick glance out to see how Yamato was faring.

"Stavik!" he breathed.

Somehow, in the midst of the confusion, Yamato had gotten hold of a Khaydarin scimitar. With his own sword in his right hand, and the scimitar in his left, his arms seemed to blur like a windmill gone mad as he swept through the shadowy forms. His blades trailed blood as they carved and slashed through their invisible targets and screaming figures fell away from him like chaff thrown from a fire. Axum's eyes, sharp as they were, could not follow him. The only thing he could see was a whirlwind of blue tearing through the shadows like a wolf through sparrows.

The fight was over in seconds. Suddenly, Yamato could be resolved again as he slid to a stand-still, looking away from the wagon. With a disdainful expression, he whipped his left arm forward like a striking snake, and the silver Khaydarin scimitar left his hand like chain lightning. One final scream rang out as Axum saw a brief blossom of blood in the darkness, and heard the heavy thud of a falling body.

A numbing coldness gripped Axum's spine. The man could have killed all of them in a moment if he so wished. After witnessing this, there was no longer any doubt in Axum's mind about Yamato's loyalties. As Yamato stooped calmly to wipe his sword clean on the tunic of a fallen soldier, Axum shivered. He had been careful to keep an eye on Yamato the whole time. It was a sobering thought to realize that it would have done absolutely no good if Yamato had chosen to betray them.

There was another trumpet blast from the southern front and both men turned to look. The sounds of a skirmish had escalated to one of full-scale battle, and it seemed to Axum's eyes that the orange glow of the watch-fires had brightened. Some of the tents must have caught fire in the confusion. He exchanged worried glances with Yamato.

"I didn't think they'd find us this soon!" Axum shouted above the frightened hum of the civilians around them.

There was an uneasy set to Yamato's jaw as he shook his head. "I'm surprised they took this long," he said tersely. "We should-"

"Lord Matt! _Staven_-leader Axum!"

Again, both men turned to see Talin riding his horse towards them. "There you are!" he shouted. "I've been looking for you!"

As he drew to a stop before them, he looked around and his face grew pale. "Is this…"

"Someone came to kill your Emperor," Yamato said tersely as he sheathed his sword. "We stopped them."

Axum grunted. That was an understatement. "Stopped" was not the word. And as he watched Talin look around at the corpses scattered around and over Ken's wagon, the _staven_-leader could tell that Talin was thinking the same thing.

"Is he alright?" he asked urgently.

"He is now," Axum said gruffly. Just to make sure, he leaned back to check on the Emperor's still form in the wagon. The man looked no better than the last time he had seen him, but he looked no worse either. "They didn't touch him."

"Good," Talin said. An explosion suddenly rang out from the south, and a dark violet cloud mushroomed into the sky. Axum stared wide-eyed at the cloud. He had only ever seen fireworks explode, and those were colourful, harmless bursts of light in the sky. Not like this destructive ball of purple. What was going on?

Talin cringed as he heard the explosion, but he didn't look back. The set to Yamato's jaw turned even more grim, as if he had been expecting this. Without pausing, Talin suddenly dismounted and ran up to Axum. "Can you take Ken away?" he said breathlessly. "Now, without delay."

Axum stared down at Talin. "Is it that bad?"

"You can't see them, can you?" Yamato said as he strode up.

Talin nodded. "Before, Khaydarin forces have always had to decloak before entering battle. But now…they seem to be fighting with their cloaks on."

"And you can't cope," Yamato said flatly. "No…of course you can't."

Talin looked ready to chew up his saddle in frustration. "Our lines are falling back. The men can't fight an enemy they can't see. I've set fire to some of the tents to create a wall of fire, but it won't hold for long. Either the tents will burn down, or they'll find a way around it. You have several minutes, at most."

"Several minutes to leave?" Axum said incredulously. "I need to gather my men! They're scattered across this camp!"

"There's no time!" Talin snapped. "Look, if you two leave right now with the Emperor, you'll stand a chance. I don't think they've managed to flank us. Yet. But if you delay, all will be lost!"

"And what about you?" Axum snapped back. "What about this army?"

Talin squared his shoulders. "We will hold them off for as long as possible. With luck, some of us may be able to escape."

"No…" Yamato's voice was almost a whisper. "There are not many of them. They are only a scouting legion. They haven't flanked you because they don't have the numbers to do it." He looked up. "The main army must be a ways off yet."

Talin looked surprised. "How do you know?"

"I know because I can see," Yamato said. As he talked, his shoulders seemed to slump in resignation. "If only you could see…"

Axum felt a pang of unwelcome alarm. Leaping down from the wagon, he grabbed Yamato's arm. "Have you forgotten the plan?" he hissed in his ear. "You're giving yourself away!" Then he noticed the glazed expression in Yamato's eyes. "Are you alright? Did they hit you?"

"I'm fine," Yamato murmured. "Just fine." And indeed, the expression on his face was one of intense concentration, not of pain. "Don't worry, the likes of them cannot scratch me."

But then Axum was shoved aside by Talin, who grabbed Yamato's arms. "How do you know all this?!"

Yamato remained silent. When Talin saw that he could not shake an answer from Yamato, he turned to glare at Axum. "You know about him, don't you? You two are keeping something from me. What is it?"

But Axum was silent as well. For a moment, the three men stood beside the wagon, ignoring the calls of battle. Then…

"The soldiers you are fighting are invisible because there are five _mirrireid _bearers fighting with them," Yamato said softly, "That's where the explosions are coming from. Even though there are only a hundred of them, you can't win. Tichon must really be desperate to stop you if he's willing to risk his bearers."

Talin's eyes looked hunted. "How…"

"Look, forget how he knows this for a moment, alright?" Axum snarled. "What matters is that this man can help. Here, now, if you'll only listen to him."

There was another moment's pause as Talin considered this. Then, slowly, he let go of Yamato's arms. "Is this true?" he said tightly.

Yamato hesitated, then nodded. "I know of a way…to save your people. All of them, not just Ken. It's never been done before, but I think I can do it. But afterwards…" he licked his lips.

"Yes?" Talin prodded.

To Axum's eyes, it looked like Yamato had made a decision. His blue gaze grew sharper and he straightened up. "At best, what I'm about to do will knock me out for three days," Yamato said quickly. "At worst…it may kill me. So listen carefully to what I'm about to say, because you'll only hear this once from me."

Talin paled and Axum put out a hand in protest, but Yamato rode right on through their questions. "After this, every Khaydarin army within ten miles of here will know where we are, but they'll also be completely visible. None of them will be able to cloak. So right afterwards, you need to run as fast and as hard as you can."

Yamato paused and took a deep breath. "Another thing. Emperor Takeru and the others will be able to sense this back at Ardinberg, so I'm fairly certain you can expect help, in some form, in under two days. So stay on the road, where they can find you." His eyes flickered back to the wagon. "It may still be a good idea to send Emperor Ken up ahead though. If all else fails, the blood must not."

"I don't understand…," Talin said weakly.

Yamato smiled and reached out to clasp the Lord-Captain's hand warmly. "You don't have to," he said slowly. "If this works, Axum can explain it to you in detail when you're on the road. And if _I _survive, I'll explain it to you myself." Then he let go and gave Talin a slight push. "Now go. Your men need you. In a few minutes, you will be able to see your enemies."

Still looking confused but determined, Talin stepped back, then saluted Lord Matt. "Whatever you do, Lord Matt, and whatever you're hiding," he said hoarsely, "you are a true friend of Ichijouji. You will live, because I will consider it an affront to my honour if I cannot repay this debt."

Yamato inclined his head slightly, and Talin turned, mounted his horse and sped away. When Yamato turned to Axum, however, the man was already shaking his head. "You won't get rid of me that easily, stand-master," he said crustily. In one smooth motion, Axum drew his sword. "Knocked out for three days? Well, rest assured. No Khaydarin scum will touch you when you're out." He bared his teeth. "I'll stake my honour on it."

Yamato laughed softly. "No wonder," he murmured to himself. "Takeru, I see it now. No wonder…"

Then, feeling blessedly free from any doubt for the first time in his life, Yamato planted his feet and opened his arms up wide. Axum was forced to shield his eyes as Yamato's stand appeared, brilliant electric blue in the darkness. The explosion of light dwarfed all others, and even the violent purple mushroom clouds around the camp were driven back, howling in shock, rage and fear. A howling wind blasted the nearby tents flat and people fell back all around the stand-master as his stand lifted its head to the heavens and howled. And as Axum staggered back from the light, he could hear a faint noise over the high-pitched crackling and swirling of blue light.

Yamato screaming in soul-rending pain.

**********

Halfway across the encampment, an Ichijoujan screamed in pain as he ran. It felt like someone had doused his entire head in burning lamp oil that pressed and seeped into his skin, burning away his skin and flesh and searing at his skull. Panting, he tore his cloak away from himself and flung it away just before the last of his strength gave out and he collapsed face-first onto the rocky ground.

Just before he passed out, his dimming eyes focused incredulously onto the white-hot _mirrireid_ as it burned a hole cleanly through his cloak.

**********

Twenty miles away, _Praetor _Locke suddenly crumpled in his saddle as a crushing, burning weight crashed upon his head. Screaming, he fell, clutching at his temples in agony. "AAAHHHHH!" he screamed wordlessly through a blinding haze of pain. He could see nothing but shooting stars of pain. Feel nothing but the sensation of a thousand white-hot needles being pressed into his skin.

But curiously, he could still hear. He could hear the chorus of otherworldly animal screeches that rang out around him…

**********

On the thought-plane, Tichon recoiled in shock as a brilliant blue explosion engulfed the darkness, washing over the ever-present swirls of purple light. He watched incredulously as each violet spark screamed in the grip of the writhing blue lightning, flared uselessly against the overwhelming tide of energy, then imploded in flashes of blinding red light.

Then the burning blue wave crashed upon him, and Tichon howled as it seared away his flesh from his bones. Cursing and screaming in shock, rage and agony, he fled, his robes in tatters. Away, away from the blinding light. Away!

**********

One hundred miles away, in the Council chamber of Ardinberg, surrounded by delegates, kings and queens, Takeru felt an iron band constrict abruptly around his temples. His vision blanked out in a haze of red and a sharp shout of pain escaped him before he reached the state of _Kenjitsu_, _Kohara_ and banished the pain of the assault. Even then, the agony threatened to overwhelm him. Clenching his teeth until his jaw creaked, he crumpled onto the table, his fingers digging into his temples, only barely keeping the burning sensation at bay. All around him, he could hear chairs scraping as the delegates rose, shouting in confusion. Marc was pounding on his back, shouting something incoherent. No, it wasn't enough…he couldn't maintain _Kohara _any longer…

Then as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The iron band disappeared, and Takeru slumped gasping onto the wooden table. "-re you alright?" he could hear Marc shouting beside him as he shook him roughly. "Call for the healer! Someone!"

"No," Takeru gasped. "I'm alright. I'm _alright_! And _stop that! _It hurts!" Still rubbing his throbbing forehead, Takeru looked up.

Before him was a strange sight. Each of the stand-masters had a cluster of delegates gathered around them, shouting if they were alright. As far as Takeru could tell, they all were. Kari looked as pale as a ghost, Yolei was nursing a bruised elbow and Davis's forehead was bleeding where he had struck the edge of the table on his way down. Even the normally stoic Cody looked more than slightly sick.

"What was that?" Takeru rasped as he pushed Marc aside. "You felt it too?"

"Are we under attack?" Aidan said in alarm as he stood up. "This kind of thing happened in Maitzin."

"No, it's not that," Kari said, reaching up to grab the King's sleeve. Her face was still pale, but she was gradually regaining her colour. "This is different. It's not dark, not disgusting. Merely…"

"There was too much of it," Cody coughed. "Overwhelming. It blinded and burned."

"Yamato," Davis growled as he picked himself up from the floor. "An attack?"

"I don't think so," Yolei said. Her voice sounded unnaturally raspy. "If he wanted to kill us, we'd be dead. And I don't feel any ill effects." Her glazed eyes began to focus again as she grinned wryly. "Aside from a splitting headache."

"Then what was it?" Bjorn called from his table. "What did you feel?"

"I don't know!" Kari admitted. "I…I've never felt anything like it."

Takeru nodded, feeling the blood rushing from his face again. He turned to Marc. "Get the army ready to move. Leave only a skeleton defense. They can march through the night."

Marc looked down in confusion. "And where, may I ask, do you plan to send them?"

"Send you," Takeru corrected. "I want you to lead them south, to Ichijouji, to see what's going on down there." He shook his head at the Knight's protests. "Please, Marc, just do it." As Takeru looked out on the confused delegates and the pale faces of his friends, his voice turned grim.

"And do it quickly. Something must have gone horribly wrong."

**Author's notes: Sorry this took so long. My excuses are as follows: Final IB exams, writer's block, summer job, writer's block, a week spent up in the Bruce Peninsula and in Ottawa, and did I mention writer's block? *makes a face*

Yeah…sorry again. I realize that I must have lost most of my readers, but it really couldn't be helped. *winces* I will do my best to make sure chapter 10 comes up faster…

(btw. This chapter is 33 pages in Word…)


	10. Seihad Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: I don't own digimon. 

**Author's notes: Recap from last chapter. Even as the conference begins, Yamato finds the Ichijoujans and discovers that Halidan fell days ago. Ken has been poisoned, and the Ichijoujan refugees are being pursued in their flight across the Ishidan border. At the end of the chapter, the encampment is attacked by cloaked Khaydarins. Yamato does some weird thing on the thought-plane and everyone around him starts getting major headaches.

Seihad: Chapter Ten 

****

By: TK Takaishi

_**June 23rd, A.S. 522**_

In the midst of the noise and the confusion of the midnight attack, Councilor Micah shuffled across the camp ground as fast as he could, trying to keep up with the lightning pace of the two guards beside him. Talin had ordered them to bring him away from the conflict, to the center of the camp where it was safest, but Micah wouldn't have been able to tell if the soldiers were leading him _towards_ the fighting. The constant stream of soldiers and civilians staggered, ran and crawled past in seemingly random directions, and the roar of battle seemed to surround him.

"Come on, Councilor!" one of the guards cried. "Faster!"

"Humour an old man," Micah puffed. "I'm coming as fast as I can!"

Suddenly, Talin emerged out of the melee of running people. "Micah!" Talin roared. "Where are you?!"

"Over here, Lord-Captain!" one of the guards shouted, waving his sword above his head.

Talin saw them almost immediately and galloped over. Once he was there, he shook his head with relief.

"Thank goodness you're safe," he said. "The enemy made an attempt on the Emperor's life. I was afraid they would try the same thing with you."

Micah put a hand to his chest and tried to concentrate on breathing. "Ken…," he wheezed. "He's not…"

"He's fine, thanks to Matt and Axum," Talin said quickly. He looked at the officers beside the old Councilor. "Head north. The enemy is coming from the south. Stay with him at all times."

The two soldiers nodded, but Micah was not finished.

"Talin! You…you have to…take the fighting…away from-"

"I know, Councilor," Talin said reassuringly. He nodded at the soldiers, who both began hustling Micah away from the fighting. As they did, Talin whirled around. "_All soldiers, rally to me!_" he bellowed. "_MOVE!_"

All around them, green-clad Ichijoujan soldiers and brown-clad Taelidani fighters struggled to make their way to their commander through the morass of milling people. Talin stayed where he was, fighting the urge to charge the front madly. Instead, he turned south and strained his eyes. Yamato had said a few minutes. Which meant it should be…

Suddenly there was a brilliant blue explosion of light behind him. Startled, Talin whipped around. For a brief moment, the blue light flared like a miniature sunrise in the middle of the camp, blasting tents and scattering fires away with its sheer brilliance. Remembering what Yamato had said, Talin whipped back.

In horrid fascination, Talin suddenly saw five corresponding pyres of violet light flare into life to the south. It was like watching a fireworks display unfolding on the ground, except this display was flaring perhaps twice as slow. Talin had the presence of mind to shut his eyes and turn away quickly before the light destroyed what was left of his night vision, but he could not close his ears. Forcing himself to keep his eyes closed until he could no longer see the violet glow behind his eyelids, Talin flinched as otherworldly screeches of agonized shock raked across his ears.

When the glow finally faded, Talin opened his eyes. Before him, five burning mounds of…something littered the battlefront. A moment later, Talin blinked as the ground all along the front began to shimmer like air on a hot summer's day and resolved into a multitude of gray-clad figures wielding silver scimitars.

Just as Yamato said they would.

Talin wasted no time trying to figure out what had happened. "CHARGE!" he roared, lifting his sword high as he heeled his horse to a full gallop. With a collective roar of rage, the small but enraged group of warriors behind him charged. As they swooped down on the enemy, Talin saw several of them look up, as if it had just occurred to them that they were visible. On the closer ones, Talin saw an expression of surprise form on their faces. A very _brief expression of surprise._

The Ichijoujan wave crashed into the flat-footed Khaydarin front and sliced through it like a battering ram through paper. Overwhelmed, black-armoured men flew away from the charge on all sides like the rippling crest of a wave. Talin gave them no mercy. Flailing systematically about him with his sword, he slashed through armour and shields, removing limbs and heads with ruthless precision. A second roar rang out from the front as more soldiers, finally seeing the invisible foe that had been harassing them, rushed out eagerly to get even.

The second wave broke the Khaydarins' back completely. The front dissolved before the onslaught as gray-clad Khaydarin soldiers struggled to get away, splintering into tiny groups that fled into the darkness. Talin pursued them for several hundred paces, cutting them down as he went, before he finally reined in his horse. 

"HALT!" he shouted. "HALT!"

A ragged cheer went up among his soldiers as they watched the Khaydarins scatter before them, all traces of order smashed out of them. Talin watched for a few moments to make sure that the Khaydarins weren't simply retreating and regrouping for a second charge, but the enemy simply faded away into the darkness, leaving half of their comrades lying dead or groaning behind them.

Taking a deep breath, Talin turned back. "_Reinforce the front!_" he shouted. "_Bring all wounded to the healers! Hop to it!_"

As his soldiers scrambled to obey, Talin rode back to the camp, his head already full of strategies and priorities. First things first. He had to get his people out of here now; celebrate the victory later. The force they had just defeated had been little more than a task force. The main army must not be far behind. When reinforcements arrived in the morning…they had to be long gone.

"Angborn!" Talin shouted as he looked back and forth. "Where are you?"

"Here!" someone shouted. Talin looked down as the lieutenant hurried up, wiping his sword on the torn remnants of his cloak. "Lord-Captain?"

"Break camp!" Talin ordered. "Spread the order around. We move quickly. Everything that might slow us down, leave it."

"What about the tents?" the breathless lieutenant asked.

"Leave them." Talin looked around at the ruined remains of his camp. "Half of them are beyond salvage anyway. We'll be a little cold for the next two days, but that can't be helped."

"_Talin!" someone shouted from the distance. "_Over here!"__

"The wagons?"

"Keep those," Talin snapped. "We're still following the road."

"_We need help with the wounded!_" another voice shouted from the front.

"Rally volunteers from the civilians," Talin ordered. "I'm sure some of them will help." In the melee, he spotted Mistress Nova. "How long will it take you to tend to these people?"

Nova ran an expert eye across the battlefront, assessing the damage. "Two hours," she said curtly.

"You have one," Talin said. "We break camp half an hour after that, so you and your healers had better work-"

"TALIN!" Micah shouted as he stalked beside the Lord-Captain.

"What _is_ _it_, Councilor," Talin snapped, trying to hold his patience as best he could. "I'm very busy right-"

"Talin, it's Lord Matt," Micah rode over the Lord-Captain angrily. "You'd…better come see this."

Talin's blood ran cold. He had almost forgotten. Dismounting quickly, he passed his horse onto his lieutenant. "See to it," he said urgently. "I'll be right back to help." He waved at Angborn. "Tell someone else to relay the order. You're with me." Without waiting for the surprised Angborn to acknowledge, he followed Micah through the camp, winding his way past the queues and triage centers being hastily set up by Nova and her scurrying healers. Ignoring the thousand other voices that clamoured for his attention, Talin made a beeline through the camp to Emperor Ken's wagon, beside which he had left Lord Matt.

In moments, he was there. Talin slid to a halt beside Axum as he stared, stricken, at the prone form of the blond Ishidan Lord lying on the ground. Behind him, Micah puffed as he staggered to a stop as well; Angborn had to hold the old man up. But Talin's horrified eyes was focused only on the male healer tending to Lord Matt. "Is…is he…"

"He's not dead," the healer said. "But I can't snap him out of it."

"What happened to him?" Angborn demanded as he stared down in horror. "Was he hit? Was he wounded?"

"No," Axum said, shaking his head. "I…I don't think…"

But Talin wasn't listening as he knelt down to get a closer look. In the feeble light of the healer's lamp, Lord Matt looked pale, almost sickly. A thin sheen of sweat coated his features, making his skin look waxy and unreal. Putting an experimental hand on the man's forehead, Talin frowned as he felt the skin's ice-cold temperature. Everything about him, his heartbeat, his breathing, his complexion, everything was shallow, laboured and faded. As if he had simply run out of strength to keep himself alive…

"What can you do for him?"

"I can treat his symptoms," the healer said uncertainly. "Give him something stimulating. Keep him warm. But beyond that…"

"Go do it," Talin snapped. "Quickly. We owe our lives to this man."

As the healer ran away to look for a blanket and his medicines, Talin swept off his own cloak and laid it over the Ishidan Lord, tucking its edges in to preserve as much warmth as possible. Then he sat back on his haunches and drilled Axum with his most penetrating glare. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

Allowing Micah to hold onto his arm, Angborn stared back and forth between the two men. "Was…that blue flash. Was that…him?"

Axum stared hollowly at the lantern that the healer had left behind. In its flickering light, his lean cheeks looked sunken and leathery. Slowly, he nodded.

Talin scowled. "_Staven_-leader Axum," he said testily, "I know that we owe our lives to both of you, but I dislike secrets, and it's becoming painfully obvious that-"

"That man is a stand-master," Axum said woodenly. "His full name is Yamato, First Prince of Ishida. Don't ask me whether he's the Emperor, because I don't know. He was formerly a Khaydarin _Praetor_. Has been until about six years ago. That's how he knows so much about Khaydarin combative arts and tactics. He…defected to Emperor Takeru. He's on our side now, and we're damn lucky he is because if he wasn't, we'd all be dead." He looked up and smiled grimly. "Surprised?"

Talin couldn't speak. He couldn't even move. The world was reeling beneath his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Angborn's mouth working soundlessly.

"Wha…?" the lieutenant mumbled. He cleared his throat and tried again. "_Whaaa…?!!"_

"Pardon me?" Micah said weakly.

"He's…supposed to be dead!" Talin managed through his throat, which seemed to have tied itself into knots.

Axum looked down at Yamato. "That's what I thought too," he said.

"Well?" Micah finally seemed to have found his voice. "Then how can he be-"

"I don't know," Axum said, shaking his head. 

"A _Praetor?" Talin said incredulously. "A stand-master served as a _Praetor?!_ Is that even possible?"_

"I don't know why he served as a _Praetor_," Axum said in frustration. "I don't know why he changed his mind and defected. I've told you everything I know."

"I let a _Praetor_ treat the Emperor?" Talin said in a slightly crazed tone. "I asked him to-"

Axum looked up sharply. "Lord-Captain Talin, with all due respect, whatever this man is, he is no longer a _Praetor_. I would _think _that he's made his loyalties painfully clear by now."

There was a tense silence as the four men stared at one another, then looked down at the body lying before them. Axum's hooded eyes flickered from the face of one to the other, the young, nervous face of Angborn, the old, seasoned face of Micah, and the younger, but dangerous visage of Lord-Captain Talin.

Finally, Talin sighed. "You're right," he said. "Whatever this man did, the Ichijoujan people _still_ owe a blood debt to him."

Angborn stirred, as if shaking himself out of a deep sleep. "Then what do we do?" he asked, his voice marginally calmer.

"We need to get him to Lady Hikari," Axum said without hesitation. "This is beyond normal medicine to heal. Perhaps Lady Hikari, being a stand-master herself, can do something…"

"The Emperor needs help as well," Micah pointed out. "If I remember correctly, Lord Ma…Prince Yamato said that if he didn't get help within four days, he would die from the poison."

Talin rubbed the bridge of his nose in thought. Four days. They could make it to Ardinberg in less than four days; perhaps two if they were lucky and help arrived to keep Khaydarin at bay. But how long would Yamato last? More importantly, how likely was it that they wouldn't be attacked? Talin would be the first to admit that a second attack would be inevitable if help did not arrive soon. Would they be able to fend the second wave off? How long would it delay them?

He glanced sharply at Axum. "How long will it take for you and your party to take both Ken and Yamato to Ardinberg?"

Axum looked doubtfully at Yamato, who lay sprawled on the ground. "They'll slow us down," he said as he rubbed his chin. "Perhaps two days. Less if we _really_ push…"

"What if you run into the enemy?" Micah said.

Axum grunted. "The Taelidani are good at hiding," he said flatly, as if that was obvious. "If we can't take them there safely, nobody can."

Talin didn't hesitate. "Angborn," he said without turning. "Go with them, and follow Axum's orders. When you arrive at Ardinberg, make an official request for sanctuary from Emperor Takeru and Lord Marc of Saldea, 'cause we'll be coming right after you."

He looked up and gave both Axum and Angborn a swift smile.

"Go," he said, nodding quickly. "You have my blessing. May the Creator illumine your path."

"And what about you?" Angborn objected. "Khaydarin's going to mount a second wave before you get to the border. Are you sure you can-"

"We'll trust in the Creator," Talin said bleakly. "It's no less than what we've always done. Now _go!_"

**********

Locke opened his eyes and immediately wished that he hadn't. The pain behind his eyes was intense, as if someone had taken a blacksmith's hammer to his cranium. Repeatedly. Groaning, Locke screwed his eyes shut and put his hand over his forehead.

"Good grief," he moaned out loud. What…what had happened?

It was coming back to him now. He remembered getting a message from _Praetor Mordaen about helping him to pursue the Ichijoujan refugees. He remembered going despite his misgivings that he was doing the wrong thing. He remembered the crushing, burning iron band that had crushed his temples, driving him screaming to the ground in agony, until sweet unconsciousness had finally washed over him. Unsteadily, Locke levered himself upright from his tent's pallet, trying to find his bearings._

"No, my Lord," someone said nervously. "You must not exert yourself. Whatever happened, you're still-"

"I've taken worse than this," Locke lied as he swatted the healer's arm away. Suddenly, he was aware of a low, dull buzz of urgent voices and running feet all around him. Locke forced himself to open his eyes again and train his bleary vision around him. He was still in his tent, and it was still dark outside. Someone had laid him on his pallet and spread a blanket over him. What was going on?

"I'll go find Centurion Yvan," the healer said meekly, and ducked out of the tent. When he opened the tent-flap, the dull buzz of urgent voices rose slightly, and Yvan saw a squad of his soldiers, fully dressed and armed, marching past. In the dead of the night. Resolutely, Locke settled himself back on his pallet and closed his eyes again, willing himself to relax. Yvan would explain everything. 

He'd better, or Locke would have his tongue.

The tent-flap opened abruptly. "At last!" Yvan exclaimed as he slipped inside with the healer close behind him. Locke could not recognize his Centurion's face, but he could recognize his face. "You're awake!"

"How…long was I out?" Locke mumbled through a mouth that felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton balls.

"Only two hours," Yvan said as he swiftly knelt beside Locke and nodded at the healer beside him. Taking the hint, the healer left the tent. "But a lot's happened since then."

Locke put a hand to his pounding temples. "What…happened?"

"Perhaps you should take something for the pain?" Yvan suggested as he looked at Locke_ with concern. "The healer can-"_

"No, none of that," Locke muttered through gritted teeth. "I need to be able to think. Just…tell me what happened." A fresh wave of pain pounded his head, and he groaned. "Softly…please."

"As you wish," Yvan said, obediently lowering his voice. "You remember being knocked out?"

"Yes."

"Well, you were actually really lucky." To Locke's bleary eyes, Yvan's face held an odd mixture of relief, fear and worry. "You weren't the only one."

"I wasn't?"

"All of our _mirrireid _bearers were killed. They suddenly started screaming in unison; then this weird violet light poured out of their eyes and mouth, just before they fell. There was no warning."

Locke felt a rush of…what? They had been puzzling over how to get rid of them. Now, here it was, some freak occurrence that he still didn't have a clue about had done the job for him. Locke only wished that he knew whether to be glad or apprehensive.

"Have you examined the bodies?" he rasped. "Found out what caused this?"

Yvan shook his head. "There's nothing left," he said. "Their bodies burned up. Just…caught fire and went up in a cloud of purple smoke." He fished around in his pocket. "The only thing they left behind were these."

Yvan withdrew his hand, which was clutching about ten or twelve silver pendants on chains. Locke watched in horrified fascination as Yvan dumped them on the ground and wiped his fingers distastefully. The _mirrireid were almost unrecognizable, half-melted as they were. It did indeed look like someone had cast them into an intense fire._

"So we have no _mirrireid _bearers left?" he croaked.

Yvan shook his head. "None."

"So we can't cloak?"

"No," Yvan said. "We'll have to rely on good, old-fashioned hiding from now on."

"No bearers," Locke said as he leaned back in his pallet. Against all odds, he felt a weary grin break out on his lips. "Yvan, my friend, it looks like fate has finally dealt us a good hand."

"Perhaps." Yvan looked doubtful. "Though I still don't know what happened here, or even why you were spared."

"I've only received my _mirrireid _for a few months," Locke said as he unconsciously reached for the pendant he kept around his neck. "They've been handling it for years. _And they were in active contact with the thought-plane, maintaining our cloak. Perhaps that's why…whatever that was…affected them more than it did me."_

"I've got your _mirrireid_, sir," Yvan said as he produced it from his breast-pocket. "I was afraid that whatever it was might happen again."

Locke put his hand back down. Now that Yvan mentioned it, he had no intention of donning that thing again any time soon. "Good thinking." He rubbed his face as he tried to think. "Let me see…our next step should be…" He looked up. "Did you send out scouts? Try to see who or what might have perpetrated this attack?"

"They left two minutes after you fell, sir. All of them has since reported back. There is no army in wait, no sign of a follow-up to the attack. We're safe for now."

"What about messengers? To Mordaen, to tell them what happened."

"They left an hour and a half ago." There was a hint of reproach in Yvan's voice. "They should arrive perhaps an hour before dawn. If Mordaen sends a reply, we can expect it by mid-afternoon."

Locke smiled slightly, but said nothing as he frowned in thought. No bearers, a perfect excuse not to have to wear the _mirrireid _for a little while…

He looked at Yvan. "Are we alone?" he whispered.

Yvan nodded. "We can talk, softly," he said. "I made sure the guards are a little ways away, and I sent the healer off as well." The beginnings of a nervous smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Let's not be too hasty,"'' Locke cautioned. "A single rider that escapes to inform _Praetor Mordaen can still ruin us."_

"Judim reported to me earlier tonight," Yvan said as he folded his hands together to stop their fidgeting. "Bakaul has joined us, and so has Lorne."

"So we have six out of the ten Decurions," Locke mused. "Not bad."

"However," Yvan cautioned. "Daerid tells me that he thinks Decurion Fora might be a problem."

Locke knuckled his forehead, trying to quell the pounding within. "I see," he commented.

There was a silence, then Yvan continued, his voice softer. "_Praetor, with all due respect, I don't think you'll ever be able to gain the full support of your army. Not without a bloody battle that a mountain wouldn't be able to hide."_

"Then get me as much of it as you can, Centurion," Locke said quietly. "Do whatever it takes. If Decurion Fora is a problem, then…" he hesitated.

A deadly silence fell between them. Yvan looked away and narrowed his eyes. "Then what?" he questioned slowly.

Silently, Locke cursed Emperor Tichon a thousand times for forcing him to stoop to such low measures. But this was war. A war for survival, for life and hope. There was nowhere to hide, no place for the neutral, no alternative except to kill or be killed. "I'll deal with him," Locke said distastefully.

"_Praetor," Yvan said, a hint of warning in his voice, "some of the Decurions on our side are asking when we can abandon the pretense. Why do we have to march under this accursed-"_

"We will not show our colours until I order it," Locke said calmly. "And not a moment before."

"Six tenths of your army are ready to move when you say so, _Praetor," Yvan insisted. "If we catch the others by surprise, we can-"_

"I am not prepared, Yvan," Locke said sharply. "And I am not eager to kill my comrades, no matter who they support. I intend to give them every chance."

Yvan knew a rebuke when he heard one. "Yes, _Praetor_."

Locke rubbed his head. Yvan was a good man. Just…over-eager at times. "We will reveal our colours," he promised. "And we will do it when it counts the most. Trust me Yvan, we will do our part yet."

His voice didn't sound trustworthy even to his own ears; it sounded more like the croak of a dying man. He _really _wished the headache would let up. But the words, if nothing else, seemed to encourage Yvan, judging from the savage smile on his face. Trying to focus again, Locke took a deep breath. "How many hours of darkness do we have left?"

"About two hours."

"Then we'll stay here for five," Locke slumped back wearily on his pallet. "Delay, Centurion. If nothing else, this attack has given us the perfect excuse to delay."

"The Ichijoujans should be marching by now," Yvan warned. "A five hour lead would give them almost ten miles."

Locke smiled thinly. "That's the point."

Yvan chuckled. "Get some rest, sir," he advised. "I'll advise everyone else of our schedule."

"Oh, but I won't be resting," Locke said. Reaching out, he took up the _mirrireid that Yvan had deposited beside his pallet. "It's time to use the Emperor's weapons against him."_

**********

Takeru peered out towards the pre-dawn gray atop a high balcony on one of Ardinberg's tallest watch-towers. The ethereal mist, yet to be burned off by the morning sun, stirred and wrapped itself around him, and the slight, damp breeze made him grateful for his cloak. Anxiously, he strained his eyes towards the distant forests and mountain passes, looking for any sign of life.

"See anything?" someone said softly behind him. Takeru turned slightly to smile in greeting at Kari, but turned back again almost immediately.

"No," he said reluctantly. "The mist is obscuring everything."

There was a moment of silence as Kari came up behind him and leaned against his shoulder. For a moment, Takeru could feel her channeling her stand to her eyes as she too directed her gaze outwards. Then she shook her head. 

"You can't expect an answer so soon."

"I know." 

"There are five lookouts that have been doing the exact same thing every hour since Lord Marc left," Kari added. "One more really won't make a difference."

"I know," Takeru said, an uncharacteristic hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "It's just…

There was a silence.

"…you're worried," Kari finished for him with a slight smile. "And somehow, you just _have to do it yourself. Make sure nobody's messing up."_

Takeru however, did not smile. When he looked down, Kari frowned when she saw the bags under his eyes, and his slightly ashen complexion. "TK…how much sleep did you get last night?"

"Not much," he said as he looked back out.

Kari waited.

"Alright, I couldn't sleep at all," Takeru confessed. "It's just…well, all our work these few years is either going to succeed, or be undone in the next few days. Whatever's happening…can't have come at a worst time."

"Everything's going to be just fine," Kari said, tugging at his arm. "Come on, the conference is about to start again."

"I hope you're right, Kari," Takeru muttered as he allowed himself to be pulled away from the balcony. "For all our sakes."

**********

_Yamato opened his eyes._

_The last thing he remembered was the sensation of being burned from within as he had unleashed the force of his stand across the thought-plane. When he had done it, he had expected several things. Either he would die immediately from the backlash, or Talin would kill him when Axum told him the truth, or…Talin would care for him. At least until he woke again. Since he was opening his eyes, he was most certainly not dead. Which meant…_

_But what greeted his eyes was not the familiar ceiling of a tent or a wagon. In fact, he was not under any covering at all. Yamato frowned as he levered himself to his feet._

_The sky was stained red above him. Not with the fiery reddish-gold of sunset or sunrise, but with the deep crimson of burning blood that Yamato knew so well. The sun was quite simply gone. The red light seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Dark clouds and shadows chased each other across the sky as if fleeing from the hungry, vicious wind that swept the land. In the distance, the heavy crashing of ocean  waves against the steep rocky coast resounded across the land, occasionally drowning out even the incessant screaming of the turbulent gale that buffeted Yamato's body. Yamato raised his hand to shield his eyes from the flying grit and sand as the waves of malignant red light swept over him like waves._

A dream?_ he wondered. No, not a dream. Everything was clean, crisp and real. The tang of sulphur in the air, the sharp grinding of gavel beneath his feet. _A thought-shape?__

_No, that was not it either. He couldn't control it._

_Caught halfway between a dream and a thought-shape, Yamato felt an irrational wave of fear, hatred and shame…oh so overwhelming shame…crash through him. Gasping, Yamato put a hand to his heart and forgot about everything. _Why?_ some far off part of him demanded. Why am I feeling this? This heart is not my own!_ But it didn't matter. The rest of him was swept by the moment, engulfed by the alien consciousness just as the blood-red wind engulfed and buffeted his body.__

_As the blur of tears from the wind faded, Yamato saw more. The ground was frozen, pitted and rutted beneath his feet. The barren earth was dusty and scattered with the ashes of recently burned fields and charred corpses. Looking down, Yamato grimaced despite himself as he realized that corpses dotted the entire field. Unseeing eye sockets stared accusingly at him, their empty, rotting mouths open in fiendish grins that mocked and laughed at his confusion. The wind picked up the ashes so that clouds of black danced across the desert landscape, across the rolling mountains and along the ridge of a ruined, stone wall that snaked off all the way to the horizon._

Yamato's frown deepened as the faint whispers of memory turned the landscape from alien to familiar. The wall was scorched with burn marks, and its ramparts and stones had been blasted apart with engines of destruction so that huge sections of it had fallen into ruin, but the distinctive, snaking shape of it was unmistakable. So were the lookout towers that thrust upwards out of the wall every few kilometers, with the unmistakable hump of fire-ready beacons perched atop the ramparts. It was one of the Ichijoujan walls that defended the outer provinces from invaders. There was no other nation on Gaea that had defensive walls that long and broad. Even Khaydarin had had no use for defensive walls such as these. The rocky coast line had provided all the defense the Emperor Tichon ever needed.

_But it _couldn't _be!_

Ichijouji had green, rolling fields, and tidy farms; Yamato had seen them himself. The flat plains had seemed to stretch out forever, broken only by the jagged line of rocky cliffs that kept the raging sea back. He remembered peaceful villages and well-ordered fields of crops. He remembered the broad rural roads running across the land as straight as an arrow. The soil had been fertile, soft and dark. Not dusty and dry like this barren desert. The weather had always been mild, and heavy gales like this one had not blown across the nation for hundreds, or even thousands of years…

A great roar rose above the shrieking wind, and Yamato turned in surprise. The sound reverberated across the empty plains, swelling and thinning like the elusive wail of a far-off thunderstorm. Looking around, Yamato began to run up the low hill on which he had been standing on, and cursed as the sharp rocks slid and crumbled beneath his black-booted feet (since when have I ever worn black boots?) and the wind whipped his gray, serpent-embroidered cloak about him (I haven't worn this in six years!). As he reached the edge of the ridge, Yamato blew out a breath and was surprised to see white crystals form before his mouth. As the white cloud cleared, Yamato squinted his eyes and peered through the black haze that filled the air.

What he saw took his breath away.

A great pentagram, miles wide, had been carved into the dusty soil. The lines of burning red seared across the land like a bloody scar, the flames leaping fifty feet into the air or more. At each of the five points of the fell symbol, Yamato saw black towers sparkling with violets, reds and blues, trembling with the unimaginable forces that bound the symbol together. The sparkling colours leaped and danced hungrily from the tip of one tower to the next, like animals snapping at the crackling air. Yamato had to be more than two miles off, yet even from here, the light was blinding to the eye.

Yet what truly defied his wildest imagination was the middle of the pentagram. The storm and black clouds centered and twisted in a vast vortex around the center of the miles-wide rune, where the air seemed to twist, shimmer and fold as if reality was a cloth being forcefully ripped apart and folded back by a giant, invisible hand. Yamato felt his mouth turn dry at the sight, even as his mind automatically began to observe, quantify and catalogue. From this distance, it was hard to tell, but the rift was at least a mile wide, and a mile and a half high. The rift's ragged edges shimmered and shifted erratically, twisting and writhing as if struggling to close the hideous wound in reality. White-hot needles of pain stabbed at his temples, yet he was unable to look away. A horrible fascination had taken over his body, a fascination that pushed away the revulsion, the fear, and the pain.

Out of the rift, great streams of black poured out onto the land like an unstoppable flood of ants. The thunderous roar was louder now  as the regular, deadly roar  of war drums began to fill the air. Low horns and high-pitched shrieks of hunter-killers let loose assaulted Yamato's ears and nerves. They swept across the barren land like an unstoppable tsunami, now released to wreak its final havoc upon the free lands of Gaea. There was no resistance to meet them. The dust, ashes, and even the wind itself fled howling from the black-clad demon army's thunderous charge. When the flood reached the wall, the wall crumbled into dust before Yamato's startled eyes, the flagstones ground into finger-sized pebbles in the blink of an eye.

The roar reached deafening proportions as the wave of soldiers crashed across the landscape towards him. The ground was shaking now, heaving like a cloth being snapped repeatedly by a giant. Rocks and mountains split apart and crumbled under the onslaught, and entire sections of the cliff fell into the raging water, throwing up huge fountains of white water.

 Yamato shook his head as he stepped forward. A numbing despair spread across his limbs. Before he could think, his sword was at his side. He laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all as his familiar blue aura enveloped his body and his blade. One man against an army of hundreds of thousands. One stand-master against the world. Defiantly, he stood his ground as the roiling waves of black leather, gleaming silver scimitars and whirling gray cloaks bore down on him. As they neared, Yamato raised his sword high above his head, his eyes gleaming with battle lust. Glorious! Glorious!

As the tide of black swept over him however, Yamato found himself scything at nothing. The blackness of the soldiers turned into the blackness of night, as if someone had cast a stifling dark cloak over him. Struggling, Yamato flailed with his sword, spinning and tumbling over and over until he realized that he was not falling. The ground had disappeared.

Letting his body go limp, Yamato wrapped his hands around his knees and waited. Slowly, his wild tumble slowed until he felt himself stop. He opened his eyes, expecting to see the familiar black nothingness of the Perenic thought-plane, when no thought shapes were occupying it.

Instead, he saw the grayish crimson of dying sunlight.

Yamato took another deep breath. This time, the air was as cold as glacial ice and tinged with a sharp tang of ash and blood. The scent raised the hackles on Yamato's neck as it invaded his nostrils. It was the cloying smell of a battlefield. A smell he had sensed too many times in his young life. Around him, the land was no longer dusty and barren, but rimmed with the early frost of winter. A light layer of snow coated the ground and crunched beneath his leather boots as Yamato turned around to take everything in. 

The ground had grown rockier, but less barren. Above him, the sky had turned from blood red to a leaden gray as the heavy clouds hovered so close to the earth, it seemed to Yamato as if he could reach out and touch them. A light snowfall descended from the sky, blowing and drifting on the wind until the veil of white obscured and blurred everything in the distance. Through the dancing snow, Yamato could see that the land had also grown more mountainous, the formerly gently rolling hills turning into steeper buttes and small fells. Copses of boreal trees dotted the tundra landscape, uniformly bent one way from the constant, stiff wind that blew in from the north. He recognized this as well. The Ishidan-Ichijoujan border, where rolling plains gave way to rocky mountains. Early winter.

The thundering of war-drums sounded on Yamato's ears and the stand-master turned. His heart leapt as he saw a great army coming from the north. The weak gray light gleamed from their armour and their bright lances like fire, their heavy cloaks whirled about them in the wind. Cavalry and footmen, supply wagons and siege weapons, archers and slingers, swordsmen and spearmen,  hundreds of thousands of them, swept from the high mountains with all the majesty and grandeur of the armies of old. Great banners flew proudly along the entire length of the vanguard, borne by swift scouts on tall, proud horses. Yamato spied  the gray of Sheid. The bright red of Fan-Tzu. The cyan of Jakt. The dark brown of the Taelidani. The silver and white of Yagami. And the royal blue and gold of Ishida. The greatest and best of Gaea, united into one unstoppable front. Yamato saw, and hope leaped in his breast.

_Then an unearthly shriek shattered his thoughts. Yamato whirled around, and his unwilling eye was drawn to the sea of black that surged forwards from the flat plains of Ichijouji. An army greater and grander by far than the united free peoples of Gaea. He saw violent purple fire wreathed in smoke. He saw rank upon rank of shrieking hunter-seekers. He saw unending regiments of black-cloaked demons, marching with unerring precision across the despoiled plains. He saw silver steel upon writhing golden serpents. The soul-rending shrieks and cries of the bloodthirsty hunters echoed across the valleys, drowning out the proud ringing of Gaea's silver trumpets. As the last great stand of Gaea hurtled towards its doom, Yamato saw and all hope left him._

_The blackness descended._

_The blackness lifted._

_Again and again, no matter where Yamato looked, he saw signs of warfare. The _Saera _desert, littered with the bones of the fallen. Ardinberg, collapsing in on itself in the flames of its own timbers as the screams of the demons shattered its walls. The green bamboo forests of Fan-Tzu crawling with black-clad Khaydarin like ants on an anthill. From the harbours of Yagami, he saw ships of war put out to sea, only to be sunk and gutted on the high seas by bolts of flaming lightning that lanced from the skies. Across the forests of Sheid, he saw armies of swift horsemen riding like the wind, rushing to their death in the teeth of the endless Khaydarin armies. He saw long lines of slaves, bound by chains, cruelly whipped and urged on long marches across the land as they were forcefully dragged from their homes. All of Novinha was aflame with a great fire that consumed entire mountains, turning the once green lands into valleys of smooth black glass._

_Then the visions got worse. He saw Davis and Yolei fall in battle, leading their Taelidani warriors in a futile charge, buying with their blood a few more precious hours for the Shienar peoples to retreat. He saw Cody, his green eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling of his own chamber, lying in a pool of his own blood. At the border of Novinha, he saw Ken, naked save for a filthy loincloth, dragged into a square where huge crowds cheered and shouted as the headmen executed him with one stroke of his axe. Before the flames of Maitzin,  he saw viciously barbed arrows pierce Kari's heart as she stood defiantly in front of the already dying Takeru, shielding her lover from the hopeless odds with her own body._

_"Is there no hope?!" he cried. "Even united, is there no hope of salvation?"_

_The blackness descended._

_Yamato collapsed onto his knees, shaking with shock_

It can't be true_, his tortured mind protested. _This can't be true. Khaydarin can't do that. They can't defeat all of Gaea, even if we are united…

_He couldn't think around the ice that had frozen around his mind. It couldn't be all in vain. He had only just come to know the truth. It could not be snatched away from him again so quickly. The Creator couldn't possibly be so cruel…_

_He looked up._

_The blackness had not lifted._

_Shakily, Yamato looked around, not even trying to lever himself off of his knees. He doubted if he could stand in his current state._

A dream_, the words brushed across his mind, though he did not know from where. _Only a dream…

_He looked down._

_Although he could not see it, there was a ground here. Hesitantly, Yamato reached out with one hand and brushed the invisible surface. It felt mirror-smooth and as cold as ice. Shakily, Yamato looked around, not even trying to lever himself off of his knees. Yes, there was a ground here, but that was it. No more horrific images assaulted his brain. No more thought-shapes tortured his fevered imagination. The only thing that he could see on all sides was infinitely deep blackness._

Soon, the great conquest will begin. And no man, sword or army will be able to stand against the demons.

_Yamato sprang to his feet and whirled around in alarm. But there was nobody there. Raising his sword to the ready position, Yamato turned in a circle, scanning high and low for any sign of a foreign presence. But he saw no-one._

If united they stand, then united they shall fall, for none can hope to stand against the inevitable flood. Their strong places are as sand castles before the coming tide, their armies as mere bands of brigands before the coming horde. Their war is without hope of victory.

_"NO!" Yamato roared. "YOU'RE WRONG!"_

_But the voice continued as if it hadn't heard. Eighteen days, the voice continued, as if relishing every word. In eighteen days, the sangrias will be completed. In another week…and all will come to pass. Then it lowered to a whisper. But the future is only what may be. Not what must be._

_Yamato looked up. _

_Until now, it had been like someone was talking to himself, gloating over the victory. It was as if he had been let into a stranger's dreams. But that last sentence…someone was trying to tell him something. _

_It was a warning. Hope lifted once more in his heart as he realized that there was still time. That there was still a chance, the slightest sliver of light in the endless gray horizon he saw in front of him. "Who are you?!" he called out. "And why are you telling me this?"_

_There was a long pause in which nothing happened. Yamato scanned the darkness. The sky. The infinite horizon. Nothing. _

_Then…_

I didn't fight for Khaydarin. I fought for you.

_The words sent an electric jolt of recognition shooting up Yamato's spine. He stared, wide-eyed, at the blackness around him._

_"Locke?" he called. "_Locke?!_"_

_A wind began to pick up around the edges of his vision. Slowly, the ground began to dissolve around him, closing in a circle around his feet. Yamato felt his whole body tingle, as if a thousand pellets of ice were being pressed against his warm skin. Startled, he fought the sensation, fighting to remain on the thought-plane. In the thought-shape. "_Locke!_" he shouted. "_Is that you?!_"_

_Then the ground dissolved altogether as the tingling overwhelmed all of his senses._

**********

_**June 24th, A.S. 522. Mid-afternoon**_

A single liveried servant strode nervously down the stone-laid halls of Ardinberg and paused before the tall, heavy doors of the conference room. Quickly smoothing down his uniform, he conversed briefly with the guards posted around the door, who promptly opened the door a crack. Bobbing his head in thanks, the attendant slipped through.

Inside, the attendant paused for a moment to get his bearings. Several of the delegates nearest the door gave him indifferent glances, then turned away, absorbed by the King San's presentation on the balance of power to be set out in the Charter. Spotting the head table at the center of the circular room, the attendant walked softly along the carpeted sides until he was right behind the Ishidan table. Surreptitiously, he padded to Takeru's side.

"My Lord?"

Takeru turned slightly in his chair at the head of the Ishidan delegation's table to give the man standing beside him his ear, while still pretending to listen to King San's argument with Queen Ida about the Charter. "What is it?"

"You gave orders to be notified immediately if something was seen approaching Ardinberg," the servant whispered in Takeru's ear.

Takeru frowned slightly. "Someone is coming?"

"The lookouts sent me immediately," the attendant said, nodding in affirmation. "Twenty-three Taelidani, judging from their cloaks. We can't be sure, but it looks like several of their number are wounded. They're riding hard for our gates, and should arrive in a few minutes."

"Twenty-three?" Takeru muttered. "We only sent out twenty scouts, plus Lord Matt."

"The lookouts are adamant that it's twenty-three."

"Has the healer been notified about the wounded?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Takeru chewed on his lip for a moment as he watched King San slap the table for emphasis. "You did well to tell me," he finally said. Several of the delegates were already looking at him, obviously intrigued by whatever message the attendant was telling him, but Takeru wasn't ready to announce anything. Yet. Instead, he looked at the stand-masters.

Twenty Taelidani are approaching this fortress, he told them silently. Some of them seem to be wounded. Kari, can you come with me? Davis, you'd better come too. Yolei and Cody, stay here and keep an eye on things. I'll be back.

Takeru waited until both Kari and Davis had nodded. Then he stood up. "Excuse me, honoured delegates," he said. "There is a matter I must attend to. I will be back shortly."

King San stopped in mid-sentence, and fixed Takeru with a suspicious glare. "Is something wrong, my Lord?"

"No, nothing is wrong," Takeru said as he picked up the sheathed _Ichibou_ and re-attached it to his belt. "Please continue in my absence." Ignoring the delegates' confused murmurs, he motioned to Kari and Davis and walked out of the room with the attendant.

"Return to your post," Takeru told the attendant when they stepped out. "If anything else comes in after them, tell me immediately." The attendant bowed swiftly, then hurried off. Takeru turned the other way and began walking towards the front gate.

"They're not supposed to be back yet," Davis said worriedly as he kept pace with Takeru. "Even Axum can't move that fast. I wasn't expecting him back for another week."

"Something's obviously happened," Kari said as they descended a flight of stairs. "If several of them were wounded."

"I agree," Takeru said shortly. "That's why I asked both of you to come."

The rest of their short trip to the gate was made in silence. Soon, they descended a second flight of stairs and padded down a stretch of corridor and found themselves in the main hall of Ardinberg. Takeru nodded at several servants as he passed, but did not stop to talk as he normally did. He walked straight to the front door, unlatched it and pushed it open.

All three stand-masters shaded their eyes as they walked out into the early morning sunlight. As they approached the front gate, Takeru saw and nodded at the cluster of healers waiting by the broad, bronze gates with four stretchers, ready to bear the wounded to the Infirmary at once. Several groups of soldiers were also waiting by the door, ready to assist in what way they could, while several lookouts shaded their eyes and peered into the distance atop the wall's ramparts. One of them turned around and leaned over the wall's inner ramparts. "They're here!" he shouted at the healers in the courtyard.

Takeru suddenly felt Kari's hand on his shoulder. "Takeru," she murmured urgently. "Can you feel it?"

Takeru paused as he opened his stand's senses, then exchanged grim glances with Davis. "Yes," he said curtly. "A stand-master's aura." Feeling more than a little worried, he stepped up his pace. "Open the gates," he ordered as he stopped beside the healers. Beside him, Kari and Davis drew to a halt and stared at the gate curiously as several soldiers worked the complex gears and ropes that pulled the immeasurably heavy bronze gates open. Once they were halfway open, the column of Taelidani horsemen streamed in.

Two of their number were slumped in their saddles, held up only by the rider with whom they shared their mount.

Takeru and Davis sucked in a breath of shock.

"Oh no…," Kari said in a stunned whisper. "Oh no, no, no…"

Then she was running for the column of men, waving at them to stop. "Bring the stretchers!" she shouted, heedless of the horses' dancing hooves as their riders drew them to an urgent stop. "Takeru, get Ken, I'll get Yamato!" Reaching up, she held up her arms and caught Yamato as the Taelidani holding him lowered him from the saddle. Slinging one of Yamato's arms over her shoulder, she carried him away from the horses and lowered him as gently as she could onto one of the stretchers the healers brought up.

"What happened?" she cried as she turned back to help Takeru carry Ken to another stretcher. "Oh, _merde_, this looks like poison!"

Takeru looked, aghast, at the faces of his friend and his brother. Both of them were pale as ghosts, their faces shiny with a sickly sheen of waxy perspiration. As Kari hurriedly wrapped them in blankets, Takeru laid a hand against their foreheads and flinched at the clammy coldness. "Can you help them?" he demanded.

"I don't know," Kari said as she hurriedly took off her cloak and rolled up her sleeves. Her face, normally so calm and composed, was pale with shock and fear, but Takeru had never seen her look so determined, or so focused, in all the years he had known her. "But I'm damned well going to try."

"Emperor Takeru! _T'rakul!_"

Two of the men from the column of horsemen dismounted swiftly and came running to meet the stand-masters. As Kari knelt beside her friends to examine them, both of them stopped in front of Takeru and Davis.

"What happened here?" Davis demanded as he stepped up to Axum. "Who did this?"

Axum exchanged glances with the other man. For the first time, Takeru saw that this man was not dressed in the customary brown and gray cloak and tunic of the Taelidani, but in the deep green of the Ichijoujan Imperial Army. His uniform was so splattered with mud, dust and blood that the lieutenant's stripes on his uniform's left shoulder was almost obscured.

"_T'rakul_ Davis," the man said as he bowed graciously. "And…am I in the presence of the famed Emperor Takeru of all Ishida?"

Takeru nodded. "I am Takeru," he said shortly.

A look of awe and relief flickered across the Ichijoujan lieutenant's face. Without a moment's hesitation, he got down on one knee before Takeru and laid down his sword at the stand-master's feet. "I am Lt. Angborn Turion, of the Ichijoujan 1st Imperial Corps. I bear a most urgent message from Lord-Captain Talin of the Ichijoujan Imperial Army."

"Rise, Angborn," Takeru said urgently as he put a hand on the man's shoulder. "What is your message?"

Angborn rose slowly and took a shuddering breath…

Five minutes later, the doors of the conference room slammed open as Takeru stormed inside. "Honoured delegates, I'm afraid that I must adjourn this meeting until further notice," he announced without preamble, his voice cutting through the indignant babble like a knife.

"What?!" Bjorn rumbled as he lurched to his feet. "Why?!"

Cody leapt to his feet as well, but held his tongue when he saw Takeru's chalk-white face. As the other delegates stood up, shouting and arguing, Takeru spread his arms to silence them.

"Halidan fell four days ago," he said flatly. "Ichijouji. Emperor Ken is gravely wounded and near death, and six thousand refugees are on their way here with a Khaydarin army on their tail. I must tend to the situation."

Dead silence fell in the wake of his drastic announcement.

"Oh, _stavik_," Cody said faintly.__

"I will call a meeting in an hour's time to update you on developments," Takeru said softly in the resulting stunned silence. "In the meantime…please…return to your chambers." He glanced at the Ishidan table. "Isendre, Corin, you're with me. The war seems to have come to us before we were ready." With that, he turned around and was gone as quickly as he had appeared.

**********

In all of its short life, Ardinberg had never moved so fast or so decisively. Scarcely twenty minutes after adjourning the conference, Davis's small contingent of Taelidani mounted their horses and spread out over the mountains to find the Ichijoujan refugees. Five minutes after that, the remainder of Ardinberg's armies rode out of Ardinberg's bronze gates with orders to make for the border and hold it in case Khaydarin decided to invade Ishida as well, even as the skeleton defense left behind prepared fervently for a siege. The underground shelters were opened and provisions were hastily stocked into them while swift, running scouts ran the length of the three secret passages that led away from the fort and into three different hidden mountain caves to ensure that they were still open.

Within two hours, an army of nurses, healers and volunteers had transformed Ardinberg's Infirmary into a triage center ready to treat the wounded that would surely flood the fortress when the refugees arrived. The beds were removed and their sheets spread on the ground so that more could be treated at the same time. Fresh linen and bandages were prepared ahead of time, and cauldrons of hot water were readied. All who were willing were given a quick course in bandaging and sewing wounds, as the team of healers there would surely be overwhelmed.

However, nobody could be said to be as busy as Kari. Without even bothering to change her clothes, she merely pushed back her sleeves, tied back her hair, and transformed from a calm, composed stateswoman into an intense bundle of focused manic energy. After swiftly preparing and administering the appropriate antidotes, she laid Ken and Yamato onto their beds and assigned a nurse to look after their symptoms. Then she waded into the thick of the triage preparations, industriously folding bandages, preparing poultices and sterilizing operation instruments. When the Head Healer finally noticed her and protested that a Lady such as Hikari should not concern herself with such menial tasks, Kari had fixed him with such a glare that the poor man took a step back. "When it comes to saving lives," Kari had said, "we are all equal. Lady or commoner, young or old, we all have our duty."

However, despite the gloom that seemed to have descended over Ardinberg, there were a few small pinpricks of light. King Bjorn of Sheid volunteered to send for help from his own nation, whose border was only half a day's swift ride from Ardinberg. Halidan was a large city, and Ardinberg did not have the resources to feed or care for all of its citizens. Gratefully, Takeru accepted the offer of medicines, food and protection, and the Shienar messengers rode out from Ardinberg almost immediately. Corin and Isendre both sent out for aid from their own provinces as well, and some of the Ishidan warlords reluctantly offered to commit their own forces to holding the Khaydarin pursuers at the border if they decided to come. Aidan and San both committed their honour guards, four hundred of the best warriors in their nations, to Takeru's command for the purpose of holding the border.

So it was decided. Scarce minutes after their first update meeting, messenger after messenger rode from Ardinberg's gates and bolted north, south, east and west, bearing urgent pleas for aid and news of the Ichijouji's disastrous fall. Joining them was a flock of pigeons that speared through the skies for their respective destinations with the unerring precision of arrows. Takeru watched them go from the heights of Ardinberg's towers with grim satisfaction. By this time tomorrow, every sect in Ishida would know of what had happened. By this time next week, every kingdom in Gaea would know as well.

By the time first dark began to fall, an intense, eerie kind of calm settled over Ardinberg as the last preparations were finished and everyone sat back to wait for the refugees to arrive. Davis looked up as he finished his last patrol of Ardinberg's walls. Checking the walls for battle-worthiness was a waste of time. The fortress was _always _ready for battle. As the light began to fade and torches were lit around the fortress, Davis checked the locks and shoring of the bronze gate one last time and strode into the main building itself.

He found Takeru in the hallways, talking rapidly with the chief provisioner, who was scribbling hurriedly in a long scroll. "-six thousand, at least," Takeru was saying. "Can we provide?"

The provisioner looked worried. "Not long, my Lord. We'll be reduced to siege rations. Nothing but bread and water for everyone except the delegates and my Lord."

"I'll take the siege rations, and so will the delegates," Takeru said harshly. "How long?"

The provisioner pursed his lips. "A week perhaps. We needn't worry about water. It's the flour stores that worry me…"

"Get your men grinding more at once," Takeru said. "When they get here, I want to be ready."

"Takeru," Davis said as he walked right up to his friend. "We have to talk."

Takeru gave him a harassed glance. "Can it wait?"

Davis cocked his head. "Well, yes. But honestly," he waved at the provisioner's notes. "Can't _this _wait?"

Takeru gave him a sharp look, then back at the provisioner. The man was positively wringing his hands, and he was already busying scrawling more notes and calculations on his scroll. "Go then," Takeru said. "I leave this in your hands." As the provisioner scurried off to his kitchens, Takeru turned to Davis, leaned against a wall and crossed his arms. "I'm listening. Go on."

"How's Ken?" Davis said worriedly. "Do you know?"

Takeru smiled briefly. "I just came from the Houses of Healing and managed to corner Kari for a few minutes. She's given Ken the antidote and he's responding favourably. She thinks he might wake up sometime tonight."

"Good." Davis closed his eyes in relief, then hesitated. The next question was thornier. "And…Yamato?"

There was a pause. When Takeru answered, his voice was noticeably cooler. "He'll be all right as well. Kari really can't do much for him except make him comfortable and give him time to sleep it off. She thinks he'll come out of it sometime tomorrow."

"Right," Davis said as he opened his eyes. "Does she…what exactly is wrong with him?"

"As far as she can tell, it's like he simply collapsed from exhaustion," Takeru said simply. "Like something had drained so much strength out of him that for a few hours he had trouble making his heart beat. But he's recovering, slowly. It might take a few days before he can be up and about though."

"Hmph," Davis grunted. "If I had set loose a blast that big on the _Perenic _thought-plane, I wouldn't have been able to move for a _month_."

An awkward silence descended between them. Then Takeru adjusted his cloak. "You didn't come here merely to talk about their welfare," he said bluntly as his impatient blue eyes bored into Davis's own. This was an Emperor at war. Well then, if he wanted to cut to the point…

"What are we going to tell the others about Yamato?" Davis said, lowering his voice to a hiss.

Takeru narrowed his eyes. "All the stand-masters heard Axum's briefing, Davis. I don't know what there is left to tell."

"Not 'us' us," Davis said, gesturing impatiently. "I'm talking about the delegates."

"What about them?" Takeru said, shifting his weight impatiently. "He's an Ishidan Lord that's researched the Khaydarin combative arts, and he was in the right place at the right-"

"Takeru, I've been talking to Angborn," Davis hissed. "Axum told the Ichijoujans everything. Lord-Captain Talin knows. Angborn knows. Even Micah knows. Remember him?"

The first hints of worry began to crease Takeru's forehead. "What? I thought we told him-"

"Remember what Axum told us about how Yamato ended up how he was?" Davis cut in.

Takeru's intense blue eyes burned into Davis's own. "Of course," he said curtly, and it was true. It was one of the first things Kari had asked when she had taken Yamato into her care. They had made Angborn and Axum repeat it several times, especially the sequence of events, and the stand-masters had mostly filled in the blanks with their own knowledge. They now knew where that blinding burst of pain last night had come from and what its purpose had been.

"Well, _think_, Takeru," Davis continued fiercely. "I'm not saying that Talin and Angborn can't be trusted to keep their mouths shut about his identity if we ask them to. But after a light show like that, the Ichijoujans are going to be asking questions. The delegates will hear them once they arrive. What are we going to tell them?"

Takeru remained silent for a long moment. Davis took the opportunity to look furtively down both ends of the long corridor. The closest person was a band of soldiers that hurried along the rough stone courtyard at the end on their way to their next post. Servants and porters scurried this way and that, much too absorbed in their respective tasks to take notice of two men speaking quietly in a dark corner. They were safe from prying ears. For now.

"How could I have forgotten," Takeru said, the first traces of anger surfacing in his normally calm voice. "It was obvious. How could I-"

"Well, nobody's asking, yet," Davis hissed. "But I'm reminding you now…"

"Have you talked about this to the others?"

"No."

"_Merde_," Takeru said as he bit his lower lip. "This isn't like me. I guess…we don't have a choice anymore."

"You're going to tell them?"

"How else can we explain away a light show like that?" Takeru demanded. "And we can't pretend we don't know anything about it either. Someone's going to put two and two together when they arrive."

"I'm not sure they're ready," Davis said bluntly. "You tell them who Yamato is, and half of them might leave Ardinberg right then and there."

Takeru paused, and his blue eyes narrowed. "Better they hear it from us, than they figure it out themselves and find out that we've been hiding it from them."

There was a moment of silence as Takeru's words rang between them. In the absence of words, the quiet chatter of busy soldiers and servants washed over them. In all that time, Takeru never took his intense gaze from Davis's face. Davis's face was flushed as he bit down on his lip and looked down.

"Listen," he said reluctantly. "I think I owe you an apology. I'm sure the others feel the same way."

"No you don't," Takeru said firmly. "You were-"

"I should have listened to you," Davis continued stubbornly. "It's precisely because of stupid words like that that-"

"You weren't being stupid," Takeru said as he grabbed Davis's shoulder. "Look, I've been doing some thinking. I don't want you guys to ever get afraid of making me mad. Because if you do, how will I know if, well…if…"

"If you're not just deluding yourself with half-cracked fantasies," Davis grunted. "Yeah, Takeru, you came close several times."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Takeru couldn't help but grin wanly at the quip. "That wasn't permission to walk all over me, Motomiya. You try and you're in for a rude surprise."

"Yes, Ishida, I found out the hard way," Davis said with a mock-grimace. Then he turned serious again. "You will not have to worry about our loyalties, Takeru," he said without a trace of a smile. "We're on your side, and we believe in Yamato. It's the delegates you have to worry about."

"We tell them," Takeru said firmly. "I've always found honesty to be the best policy. Now-"

"_Emperor Takeru!_"

Both stand-masters turned to see a soldier running up to Takeru along the granite-lined corridor. When he reached Takeru, he threw a hasty salute. "Fann, footsoldier, first-class. The lookouts have spotted them."

Takeru and Davis exchanged a quick glance.

"Come with me," Takeru said briskly. Then he strode for the main gate at such a burning pace that Davis had to run after him. "We have work to do."

Davis took a deep breath as he rounded the corner and set off for his Taelidani. Yes, work to do. From the looks of it, none of them would be sleeping that night.

**********

_**Six hours later, June 25th, A.S. 522**_

It was long past midnight when Kari stepped back from the operation table before her, allowing the veritable army of nurses and healers to finish sewing and cleaning up the ghastly sword-wound. After she had washed her hands free of the man's blood in the basin of now-cold water, she took a deep breath and brushed a stray strand of brown hair back behind her ear. Reaching behind her, she wearily untied the knot holding her hair back and allowed it to fall around her shoulders. 

Despite the late hour, the hallways of the Houses of Healing were still well-lit with lanterns and candles as healers, looking as exhausted as she felt, padded this way and that treating the other Ichijoujans. Row upon row of injured Ichijoujans filled the ward, leaving only narrow trails between them through which nurses bearing bandages, hot water and disinfectant walked. The piercing tang of the soaps and antiseptics in the air could not quite mask the smell of sweat, grime and rot that permeated the air. To Kari's practiced eye, however, the edge of the controlled panic was gone from the room. The worst of them had been treated. All they could do now was give them a warm bed, food, and lots and lots of rest.

"That's the last of them," the nurse beside her confirmed as she glanced out the door and saw only a blessedly empty stretch of corridor. "Everyone that needs it has been treated."

Kari said nothing. She put her hand to her temple and swayed slightly. Immediately, she felt the nurse grab her arm. "Lady Hikari?" she asked urgently. "Are you quite all right?"

"I'm…fine," she murmured. "I just need to get some fresh air, that's all. That and about a week's worth of sleep."

"Yes, you do that, my Lady," the nurse said firmly. "We can handle the rest. The ministers can wait until tomorrow."

Kari couldn't really make out what the nurse was saying anymore. It all sounded like jumbled syllables to her. Somewhere in her exhausted brain though, a stray thought latched onto one of the nurse's words. "Ministers?"

"You've forgotten?" Now the nurse's gaze was genuinely worried. "They came, demanding to see you about Ken almost immediately after they arrived. You threw them out and sent one of the healers to talk to them instead."

"Yes," Kari said irritably. "I remember now. What about them? Didn't the healer show them to Ken's room?"

"Well," the nurse said apologetically, "several of them still want to talk to you. They're waiting in the Emperor's room. The stand-masters have joined them as well."

Despite her exhaustion, Kari felt a stab of guilt. "They're still there? Goodness."

"They can wait," the nurse said firmly. "You can deal with them tomorrow. Right now-"

"No, no," Kari said as she peeled off the smock she had been wearing, dumped it into a nearby chair and smoothed out the plain but serviceable white gown she had been wearing underneath. The brush of cool air against her sweaty skin felt like heaven. "They've waited this long, a few minutes can't hurt."

The nurse looked skeptical but merely picked up Kari's smock. "As you wish, my Lady. Don't worry about us, we'll finish up what's left."

Kari gave her a wan smile as she walked away. In front of the door, she paused and looked in the mirror. There were deep bags under her eyes and she looked as pale as a ghost with exhaustion, but that couldn't be helped at this point. Trying vainly to smooth out the wrinkles in her dress, Kari opened the door and stepped through. Walking along the corridor, she peered blearily at the labels until she found the next ward. She walked through.

As she closed the door behind her, she blinked as everyone in the room surged to their feet and quickly surrounded her. "Hikari!" one of the older ministers cried as he rushed forward. "I…is that _you?_ Thank you, _thank you!_"

Kari's protests were muffled as the man folded her into a crushing embrace. Squealing indignantly, Kari tried to push her way back out, but the man didn't seem to notice that she was being smothered. "You cannot imagine what this means!" he went on. "I knew you could do it, child…I knew you could-"

"_Excuse me!_" Kari cut in desperately. "I…I mean…" As gently as she could she pushed the other man's arms off her and stepped back. "But, who are you?"

"Why, Kari, you must be even more tired than you look," Yolei said, sounding amused. "Don't you recognize him?"

Kari opened her eyes again, and stared hard at the man's face. The shock of white hair seemed familiar. So did the lined face. The old, bright eyes…

"Micah!" she exclaimed. Then with a sheepish laugh, she embraced the old minister warmly. "I'm so sorry! I didn't see you properly in the candlelight."

"It's all right," Micah said, visibly holding back tears. "All right…"

Kari drew back to get a good look at the minister that had helped them so long ago. "You look exactly as you did when I first met you! You didn't age a day!"

Micah grinned. "I'm sorry, my child, but I really can't say the same for you. My, how you've grown! How beautiful you've become!" The old minister lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I bet rich and powerful young men are falling all over themselves to get to you first!"

Then both of them turned as Davis's snort of laughter interrupted the old minister. Beside him, both Yolei and Cody were giving Takeru knowing looks, whose normally calm face had turned decidedly pink. Micah looked at the silent Takeru. Then at Kari. Then back again. "Ah," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Have I happened on something? Some private joke perhaps?"

"Oh no, nothing at all," Davis spluttered as he pounded his chest with his fist. "I choked on something. S'all."

Micah squinted at Takeru with the stern eye of a teacher. Takeru stared back as calmly as he could, but his ears gave him away. Even in the candlelight, they appeared flaming red. An almost imperceptible grin tugged at the corners of Micah's lips as his expression turned from suspicion to bemusement. "Ah," he repeated.

"Now is not the time," Takeru muttered, abandoning the hopeless pretense.

Micah's grin remained, but he nodded in acknowledgement. "All right then, my son. You can tell me all about it afterwards. _Every _last detail. I _have _been young, you know? Once upon a time…"

"Good Lord," a voice rasped. "Micah, I never knew…"

Kari looked past Micah at her patient and felt her mouth tighten at the sight. In the single candle's flickering glow, the Emperor of Ichijouji's face looked pale and drawn; his steel blue eyes stood out in startling contrast with his waxen complexion, as did the alarming blotches of red that stained the white bandage wrapping his left arm from elbow to shoulder. Still…he was sitting up, and that was a good sign. Things always looked rosier when a patient managed to sit or stand up.

"Ken!" Kari exclaimed. "You're awake!"

"He just woke up not too long ago," Takeru explained. "You got here just in time."

"Kari," Ken murmured hoarsely. "It's good to see you in the flesh again. I just wish I looked…or felt…better."

"You shouldn't move," Yolei admonished concernedly as she placed her hand on his shoulder. "Kari said overexerting yourself could be dangerous."

Ken opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Shaking his head, he cleared his throat, then tried again. "I'm fine," he insisted. "Fine…"

"He looks fit to me, leave him be," Davis said with a mischievous grin. "Maybe Kari just wants revenge for all those times Ken's walked in on her and Takeru."

Cody snickered and both Takeru and Kari coloured. Micah leaned back, raising both eyebrows in an expression of intense interest. Hurriedly, Kari changed the subject. "Well," she grumbled, "at least your stubborn streak survived just fine." She sat down beside Ken and checked his bandages with a practiced eye. "How _are _you feeling?"

"All right," Ken grunted. "I suppose."

"That's the spirit," Kari quipped as she affectionately patted his cheek. "You'll be fine."

Another minister spoke up. "How long will it be before Emperor Ken recovers?" he asked.

Kari turned to address the other minister, then frowned as she tried to place the face before her. Like Micah, it looked vaguely familiar. The thatch of brown hair, streaked with dark lines. The angular face and lean profile…

"Forgive me, Hikari," Micah apologized. "I have forgotten my manners. This is Minister Dinar, Recorder of the Ichijoujan Court of Councilors. And minister, I believe that you know of Lady Hik-"

Kari snapped her fingers. "I know you," she said suddenly. "I never forget a face I've seen before. I met you at Sai Auia, when we presented ourselves to the Emperor for the first time."

Dinar smiled wanly. "How could I forget?" he said sheepishly. "It was the day I made the biggest fool of myself in my life."

Takeru shook his head as he placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Forget it," he said lightly. "We've faced far worse."

Dinar's eyes gleamed in the candlelight. "I…forgive me for my brusqueness. But the Ichijoujan Court of Councilors must know what to tell the people in the morning. When will Emperor Ken recover?"

"Yes," Ken said, his voice regaining its usual somber timbre. "What exactly did they get me with anyway?"

Kari sank wearily into a chair before answering. "It was Magenta Yin, a derivative of the Purple Yin poison," she said. "A neural toxin. It works by paralyzing its victim's nervous system so that the heart stops beating and the lungs stop working. If Lord Matt hadn't given you the poultice when he had…well, let's just say that beyond a doubt, he saved your life."

She smiled as she looked around. "As for when he will recover, it seems Lord Matt treated you before the poison could do any real damage. You should be up and about in a week's time."

Dinar leaned back and his shoulders slumped in relief. "That is certainly good news," he said. 

"Yes," Ken said vaguely, in the same dead voice. "Good news…"

A moment of awkward silence descended in the wake of that. Kari exchanged glances with Takeru, who was sitting opposite her. They didn't need thought-shapes to convey their unease. This wasn't like Ken.

"Ahem," Kari coughed politely. "Minister Dinar?"

Dinar looked up. "Lady?"

Kari leaned over and murmured quietly in his ear, so as not to disturb Ken. "Minister, if you do not mind," she said softly, "would you be so kind as to find a servant and ask for a tray of food and drink to be brought to the Emperor? I do not think he has eaten since this morning."

Dinar hesitated, then bowed. "Certainly, my Lady," he said smoothly. "I will be back." Getting to his feet, Dinar exited through the chamber doors.

The quiet creaking of the chamber doors swinging shut on their hinges filled the room, then the door shut and quiet reigned again. Kari sat back and looked at Ken. "All right," she said. "You're among friends now, Ken."

It was an invitation. An invitation to rant, to let loose, to cry if he had any tears left. As everyone leaned forward to peer concernedly at Ken, Kari knew that they understood as well; for a moment Kari felt an almost overwhelming surge of pride and love. This was their family, and they were here to support one of their own.

But Ken did not cry. He did not shout or rant. If anything, his eyes grew even more sunken and unfocused, as if he was peering into himself. In the faint candlelight, he looked like a shadow of his former self; deflated until he resembled nothing more than a skeleton wrapped by a thin layer of skin. When he spoke, his voice was a barely audible whisper.

"My people?"

He did not have to say any more than that. Everyone looked at Takeru, who cleared his throat.

"They have been welcomed into Ardinberg, and have been clothed and fed," he said gently. "The ones that were wounded are being treated in this House. My men have set up campsites and temporary shelters in the fields around Ardinberg. Do not worry, they are under my sovereign protection now."

Ken shifted uncomfortably. "Micah?" he asked. "How many survived the crossing?"

Micah took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "Only four thousand survived Halidan's fall," he said, "Of those four thousand, five hundred more died on the journey from Khaydarin ambushes and pursuers. With what's left of our Imperial Army, we number approximately six thousand. We will have a better idea of the numbers in the morning, when we can conduct a more thorough count."

Takeru went over to Ken side and clasped his friend's hand.  Kari could see Takeru's hands trembling as he sat down by Ken's bedside. "Ken," he said softly. "I'm so sorry…. It was my fault. I shouldn't have-"

"You've never second-guessed yourself before, Takeru," Ken said dully. The rims of his eyes were red, as if he had been weeping for hours, and he sounded exhausted. But despite all that, his words remained encouraging. "You really shouldn't start now, this close to success."

"Still," Kari said gently, "we pushed you to it. If you didn't have to hold out until now, Halidan would have been deserted by the time Khaydarin got to it. None of your people would have died."

Ken shook his head. "No," he rasped. "They sneaked past our lines in their thrice-damned invisibility cloaks, came and took us by surprise, just like the siege of Palas. One day, my people just woke up to find themselves completely surrounded by a vast Khaydarin army, even though the front was still miles away. Nobody foresaw it, and nobody could have done anything about it. If I hadn't been able to summon the 3rd Corps from the western front to help me, I doubt any of us would have survived..."

"How about the rest of your nation?" Cody asked, troubled. "Now that Halidan is…there's nothing left to protect them. There are millions still within those borders."

Ken leaned forward, and rubbed his face with his hands. Yolei wasn't sure, but she thought that she saw a glimmer of tears in his face. His shoulders heaved with emotion for a long moment of awkward silence. Kari stood up. "Perhaps we should leave Ken alone for-"

"No," Ken interrupted suddenly. His voice sounded decidedly husky. "I will be fine. Just…give me a moment to gather myself."

Kari sat back down, and they all waited patiently as Ken took a deep, shaky breath. "I…I can only hope that Khaydarin would not simply…exterminate them. Even casting them into slavery would be better than that. For the pockets of resistance that still remain free…I pray that they know enough to run for their lives while they still can."

Ken's breath caught for a moment as if there was something stuck in his throat. He took another deep breath before continuing. "Though…I cannot imagine where those refugees would run. There are millions of them. What a mess…"

Cody stepped forward and laid a hand on Ken's shoulder. "We've been talking to King Bjorn of Sheid," he said. "In light of recent events, and because _I'm _throwing my weight behind it, he is prepared to accept Ichijoujan refugees into his country and into his sovereign protection. If your people are up to the journey, they can leave as early as tomorrow for the Shienar border and the nearest city, which is only two day's march away. And if we can get word out to the others still within the Ichijoujan borders, they would be welcome in Sheid as well."

"Bjorn?" Micah murmured. "He is willing?"

Davis grinned as he turned to the old minister. "Perhaps we should take it as a sign of progress."

Ken looked up, hope glittering in his eyes. "How is the conference proceeding? Has there been any significant steps?"

Takeru sighed. Cody shook his head. Even Kari looked down.

The hope in Ken's eyes faded. "I see," he said flatly.

"The conference hasn't ended yet," Takeru said with false cheer. "In fact, you interrupted us in mid-session. I'm hoping that your kingdom's sacrifice will show just how desperate our collective plight is. If this can't convince them, then nothing will."

"It all rests on tomorrow," Davis said as he leaned against the wall. "We'll see what their 'official' reactions will be, after they've spent the night discussing policy. This may sound cruel, Ken, but this may be the dose of reality they all need."

"I should have done more," Ken said, his voice ringing hollowly.

"You couldn't have known-"

"I _should have done more!_" Ken rasped forcefully.

Another awkward silence filled the room. Kari felt like she was suffocating in it, drowning in the despair that crowded out every last glimmer of light. Even the candle-flame seemed to flicker and stutter on its wick. Ken raised a trembling hand to his face to brush back his hair, and visibly composed himself again.

"This man…Lord Matt," he said slowly. "He…saved my life?"

Kari froze. Across from her, Takeru stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Yes," she said, trying to keep her tone light. "He did."

"How did he…find me?"

"When you didn't show up at the beginning of the conference," Davis said, "we got worried. Takeru asked me to send off a team of Taelidani scouts to see what was going on around Halidan. And…," Davis looked at Takeru, uncertain of exactly how much to tell Ken. "…well, Takeru sent Lord Matt to accompany my Taelidani, to establish it as an Ishidan team, if ever my Taelidani made contact with your people."

"They found your caravan on the road," Yolei continued. "They saw your dust cloud, actually, and went to investigate. And then…"

One by one, they filled Ken in on what had happened since he had fallen unconscious, from how he had been found by Axum and the others, to how "Lord Matt" had treated his injuries and slowed down the poison, all the way until the midnight attack by a cloaked Khaydarin legion. When they got to how Yamato had dealt with the cloaks however, they hesitated.

"We were attacked?" Ken said, frowning. "And they were all cloaked? How did we get out of that?"

"Well…," Davis said desperately, then looked at Takeru. "Takeru, I…we can't do this."

"Can't do what?"

"We've been omitting something," Kari explained. "Um…Ken, this might come as a bit of a shock."

"Let me guess, this 'Lord Matt' comes into it somehow," Ken sighed as he closed his eyes. "How come I've never heard of this man?"

"Well…yes," Takeru admitted. "He…he set off some kind of explosion over the thought-plane. Big enough to kill anyone who was connected to it at that time. Since the _mirrireid _bearers were in touch with it at that time, drawing power from it to maintain their soldiers' cloaks, they…died," he finished lamely.

"I saw them," Micah interjected. "They didn't just 'die'. They burned up where they stood."

"Wait a minute," Ken said hoarsely. "He _what?_ How did he do that? I can see how it's possible, but even _we _don't know how to do it."

"That's because…well…," Kari said, struggling. "It's…that's what we're trying to tell you. Matt is not a normal man. He's a…"

"A stand-master?" Ken said, incredulously. "He'd have to be, to pull off something like that, right?"

The silence that followed his exclamation confirmed his suspicions. Sitting up straighter, Ken glared around. "How is that possible? _We're_ the stand-masters! There aren't any others like us in the world!"

"Well, no, that's not strictly true," Kari said, floundering. "Because you see, Lord Matt's real name is-"

_Tap tap._

They all turned as someone knocked softly on the door. Kari shut her mouth with a click, then looked at Micah. Micah raised his eyebrows and shook his head. No, Dinar didn't know about Yamato.

So Kari said no more. Later, she warned Ken. Ken looked nonplussed, but he settled back into his pillows with a grunt. Yolei, catching Kari's nod, stood up and opened the door and admitted Dinar, who was bearing a tray of steaming food. He lifted the tray slightly. "Lady Hikari," he said.

Ken took one look at the tray and groaned. "Really, Kari," he protested. "I am not so weak that I cannot walk to the dining hall and dine there. Must I have my meals in bed like an invalid?"

"You can barely stand, much less walk," Yolei chastised as she took the tray from Dinar and carried it over to Ken. "You're in no shape to get to the dining hall."

"I apologize that I took so long, Lady Hikari," Dinar murmured to Kari. "But as you can imagine, the kitchens were all but deserted. It was difficult finding a servant who would prepare a meal for me."

"It's all right," Kari said soothingly. "We were still talking any-"

She froze in place.

"You don't have to be here, Minister," Micah said kindly. "You could have sent a servant to come up with the meal. Perhaps you should retire for the night…"

Dinar rubbed his hands together and cast Kari a strange glance. "You're right, you're right," he murmured absent-mindedly. He ran a hand through his hair. "Perhaps it would be best if we let the Emperor retire for the night as well."

"We will," Micah explained. "After he has finished his meal and asked all his questions."

"Yes," Dinar murmured. "Then I leave the Emperor in your capable hands, Micah." With a discreet nod, Dinar turned to go.

Meanwhile, Yolei handed the tray to Ken, who took it reluctantly. Sitting up in bed, Ken picked up the fork and twirled the silverware listlessly in his fingers. "I'm not hungry," he muttered.

"But you haven't eaten anything since this morning," she protested. "Kari's right, you should keep your strength up."

Kari closed her eyes and concentrated as she had never before. There was something in the air that had not been there before. Of course, she could smell the food, but there was something else. A vaguely familiar scent, lost somewhere in the depths of her memories. She stayed perfectly still, not daring to stir the air around her, as she searched for the elusive scent both in the air and in her memories. In frustration, she clamped her eyes shut and focused only on the air. What was it? Where was it?

Ken sighed. "If you insist," he said. Then he put down the fork and picked up a piece of bread with his hands. Breaking it apart with his fingers, he looked around self-consciously at the other stand-masters. When they all stared firmly at him, he sighed one last time and lifted the bread to his mouth.

"_Stop!_" Kari shouted.

Ken froze in mid-motion, just on the verge of biting into the loaf. Dinar froze, one hand on the doorknob. Everyone turned to stare at her in shock.

Kari felt numb with fear as she ran forwards. Snatching the piece of bread from Ken's hand, she cast it down on the plate. Then, grabbing the whole plate, she hurried to the basin of hot water the nurse had prepared, the horrible suspicion crystallizing in her mind with each step.

"Kari?" Ken said, bewildered. "What-"

"Wait!" Kari said. Rolling up her sleeves, she quickly selected some herbs from beside the basin, and shredded them with her bare hands. If she remembered correctly, then the _aethilan__ plant would work. Plunging the roots into the water, she wiped her hands quickly and grabbed the candle on Ken's bedside table so she could have some light. As the roots began to soak into the water, Kari gingerly took the piece of bread that Ken had been about to eat, and immersed it into the water. Then she sat back and waited tensely._

In seconds, the water turned very faintly purple, as if a drop of dye had fallen into the basin.

Kari's eyes widened in shock. "Oh, _merde," she muttered. She leapt onto her feet to face the bewildered stand-masters._

"_Get Dina-_"

But Councilor Dinar was already moving. With a strength born of blind panic, he knocked the surprised Davis off his feet with a savage roundhouse blow to the jaw. As Davis fell to the ground, Dinar lashed out with his other hand, and caught Cody a crushing blow to the temple. Reeling, Cody staggered into the wall as Dinar's hand reached into his cloak.

Takeru and Yolei's eyes widened as his hand came out clutching a seeker-bolt. The candlelight gleamed off the silver shaft and the long spring, powerful enough to shoot the steel-tipped bolt through an inch-thick wooden wall, groaned with a series of metallic clicks as Dinar flicked the safety off. Then, his eyes filled with fear, Dinar's arm jerked up convulsively, and leveled the seeker-bolt at Ken.

Time froze. Every second stretched into an eternity and ticked by with agonizing slowness. Too far away to do anything, Kari was helpless to do anything but watch as the horrible drama unfolded before her.

"_No!_" Micah roared. Shooting to his feet, he lunged for his Emperor…

Desperately, Takeru's stand materialized and sped for Dinar…

Davis rose, shouting, one hand drawing a _kodachi _out of his sleeve. Too slow…too slow…

Dinar pulled the trigger….

Blood splattered all over Ken's sheets….

A horrific scream shook the room's walls….

Then time snapped back to normal as Takeru's stand reached Dinar, grabbed him by the lapel and slammed him against the wall so hard that the wooden lining cracked. Dinar screamed as his bones creaked and the glowing silver eyes of Takeru's angel stand filled his vision. Weakly, he kicked his legs to free himself, but Takeru's stand was holding him off the ground. His legs waved impotently in mid-air.

Ken stared in horror and struggled to catch Micah as he fell backwards into his arms. The old minister's blood gushing from the horrific wound in his chest. Micah groaned weakly in pain as Ken finally freed his arms with a curse and grabbed him tightly. "Kari!" he cried weakly. "Kari, _help!"_

"No, no, no," Kari moaned as she hurried forwards and pulled Micah off Ken, laying him flat out on the floor instead. Yolei ran up to her with one of Ken's bed-sheets, which Kari immediately pressed around the ugly steel bolt still embedded in the old man's chest. "Someone go get help," Kari panted. "Quickly! Bandages, lots of bandages. Needle and thread… Oh, just tell them what happened and they'll bring what I need! We have to stop the bleeding!"

Yolei nodded. Then, springing to her feet, she opened the door and dashed out. "Where is the head healer," she shouted as she sprinted down the corridor.

Takeru ran forward to search Dinar as his stand held him still and found no other weapons on the minister. Then, his stand lifted the minister bodily and slammed him face-first into the ground with his arms locked firmly behind his back. The minister struggled vainly until Takeru made his stand lean forwards, increasing the pressure on Dinar's arms. There was an ominous creaking noise and the minister stopped moving.

"Cody," Takeru hissed at the young stand-master, who was still recovering from the blow, "help me tear his cloak and tie him up. Or if you can find any rope, that would be best."

"Coming," Cody said, shaking his head as he staggered upright. "Coming…"

Then all the stand-masters in the room froze as a chilling wave of slimy mud seemed to wash over them. Davis, who had been leaning on the wall as he rose, dropped onto his knees again and threw up on the floor. Takeru covered his mouth as his own gorge began to rise. Even Kari, who had experienced it before, had to grit her teeth together and clench her stomach. Everyone turned to stare at Dinar as a faint red glow began to envelop him.

"OH NO YOU DON'T!!" Cody roared.  Rushing forwards, he forcefully pushed Takeru's stand off of Dinar. The minister howled as he struggled, but he was powerless as Cody swiftly turned him over onto his back and pinned his arms and legs with his stand. The red glow surrounding the minister was brighter now, flickering like flames tinged with black. Takeru gasped as an invisible hand carved the five fiery lines of a pentagram onto the floor, the lines surrounding the two struggling men: the minister and the stand-master.

As the familiar wind began to sweep through the room, Cody scrabbled frantically at the man's shirt and cloak with his bare hands, tore them open, and reached in. With a furious flick of his wrist, he pulled the _mirrireid from around Dinar's neck, snapping the silver chain on which it had been hung. Dinar convulsed as the chain snapped away, and his bloodcurdling scream rattled the windows of the room a second time. The wind died down as suddenly as it had sprung up. Furiously, Cody stood up, and his stand effortlessly flipped the man around and slammed him back into the ground, face-first._

"Thought we wouldn't know about that?" Cody gritted, leaning down to glare at Dinar as he leaned mercilessly on the minister's back. Takeru had never seen his young apprentice so angry. "Did you? You _stavikan murderous son of a-"_

"Forget him!" Kari screamed from the other side of the room. "Cody, just _hold _him for now! I need help over here! Hurry!"

"How can I help?" Davis said urgently, shaking his head and rubbing his jaw.  

"Get a blanket and cover him," Kari snapped at him. "Keep him warm! Grab me that pillow! Bandages! More bandages! _Davis, don't touch that bolt!!_ Oh _merde_, there's so much blood!"

Ken wasn't listening. He had slipped out of his bed, and was kneeling beside the minister, heedless of the hot red blood that he was covered with. Micah's blood was seeping into the carpet now, staining the white rug red. "Please, no," he murmured over and over again. "Micah, you didn't have to do it… it's not fair… Please…."

But Micah's head was already sinking onto Ken's lap. "Ken," he whispered. Then his lips pulled into the faintest of smiles, like the last defiant bloom of red on a fading rose. 

"Don't speak," Kari said urgently. "Save your strength, Micah. Time enough to say anything once we've got this-"

"No…," Micah murmured. "No more time. Not enough."

Trembling all over now, Ken shook his head vehemently now. "Don't say that…"

But Micah didn't seem to hear. In the dim candlelight, it was hard to be sure, but Ken thought he saw the faint glimmer of tears in the old minister's eyes. "Not enough time…"

"No," Ken said desperately. "Kari will save you. She saved me. She can heal anything. You'll outlive us all. You'll-"

"…there…"

"Micah, I can't _do _this without you!" Ken shouted. "Ichijouji needs you! Hell, _I _need you! I _order _you to-"

"There!" Micah murmured. His clouded eyes lifted to the heavens, staring past Ken at something behind him. "Can't you see it? Can't you?"

"No…," Ken choked. The tears, which had not flowed at the fall of his own kingdom, at the death of his own people, began to flow now. "No…"

"Pity…," Micah sighed. "…beautiful…." 

Then for a single lucid moment, his eyes cleared. He looked up and Ken was startled into silence by the quiet peace in his minister's old face. Slowly, Micah reached up and touched Ken's arm.

"My child," Micah whispered gently, "don't despair. You _will_…"

With that, Minister Micah Dornak, Head of the Ichijoujan Court of Councilors and friend and mentor to Emperor Ken of all Ichijouji, closed his eyes and exhaled his last breath.

And behind him, still pinned to the floor, Minister Dinar, traitor to the Gaean peoples, began to laugh.

**Author's notes: The story is beginning to wind down. Or up, to the climax. However you wish to view it. But the point is, times, dates and numbers are getting increasingly hard to keep track of. I've tried as hard as I could to keep the numbers such as dates, times and army sizes consistent, but if you spot mistakes or contradictions, please excuse them. It's part of what happens when you're kind of writing on the go. 

As usual, if this was a perfect world, I'd have time to check over this chapter again, but I want to post before I head off to University on Sunday morning. Sorry again for the long wait! Right now, I'm writing chapter twelve. Stay tuned people, it gets really heated!

Again, reviews and criticisms are welcomed. For the loyal few who've stuck with me all this way, thanks and sorry for the long waits! For the many who've grown bored and stopped reading…I really can't blame you. *sweatdrops*


	11. Seihad Chapter Eleven

**Disclaimer: I don't own digimon, and this fanfic will not be sold.

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**Seihad: Chapter Eleven**

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By: TK Takaishi

_**June 25th, A.S. 522. One hour later**_

Yamato opened his eyes.

For a moment, he thought that he was still trapped in the eerie half-calm between a thought-shape and a nightmare. The darkness that surrounded him was almost as absolute. But no…there was definitely something beneath him; he could feel the fabric of a mattress beneath his fingers and the stifling warmth of starched white sheets as they entwined his twisted body awkwardly. Pale light from the dying moon flooded in from the arched window above him and illuminated the unfamiliar walls of a…

…bedchamber?

His eye fell upon the basin of herbs and medicines beside him as well as the long rows of neatly stacked white bandages. 

A healer's ward then.

A faint gust of wind blew in from the narrow window and raised goosebumps on his bare arms. Shivering slightly, Yamato looked down and was only dimly surprised to discover that he was completely soaked in cold sweat. His sheets too, were damp with perspiration. As another gust blew in and sent another wave of goosebumps rippling across his back, Yamato automatically hugged himself in a futile effort to stay warm. He was peeling off the damp covers when his memory caught up with him. 

Sitting up properly, he put a hand on his chest and tried to calm his racing heartbeat. His mind reeled from the images that it had just witnessed. _There is still time_. The message reverberated again and again through his consciousness, driving all other thoughts from his head. _There is still time_.

As the seconds ticked away and his heartbeat slowed, Yamato slowly became conscious of something else on his senses. There were other people close by. In fact, beyond the empty healer's ward, a virtual sea of humanity surrounded him on all sides; and almost all of them were in pain of some sort. There was urgency. Desperation; fear and shock. But most of all…there was grief. A slight moan escaped him. Grief beyond belief, from so many hearts…all at once…

With an effort, he dimmed his stand's eye and the feeling faded. _Where _am _I? _Yamato thought to himself as he looked around. He looked down, and saw that someone had dressed him in a plain white gown which swung loosely about him with every movement. _Who dressed me?_ Almost instinctively he cast about for his sword and clothes, but they were nowhere to be found. A twinge of panic shot through him.

_Am I a prisoner?_

Pushing himself up, he strode unsteadily away from his bed, cursing his wavering limbs the whole way. Stumbling into the door and fumbling with the doorknob, Yamato grunted with surprise as the unlocked portal unexpectedly gave way. Unable to stop himself, Yamato fell headlong into the corridor.

There was a frightened gasp. Yamato turned around, halfway into the dimly lit hallway, to see a young nurse scramble upright from where he had been sitting slumped against the wall. "My…my Lord!" he spluttered. "You're awake!"

Yamato panted for breath as he squinted at the man. His eyes couldn't focus, as if they had been coated with some thick plastic. What was _wrong _with him? "Where…," he rasped. "Where…"

"Ardinberg, my Lord," the nurse said as he jumped to Yamato's side and took his arm. Yamato tried to push him away, but stumbled and ended up leaning on the man instead. "Lady Hikari treated you," the nurse said as he guided him back into the room. "You arrived almost half a day ago."

"Ardinberg…" Yamato twisted his head to look at the man. "Hikari…she treated…"

"Yes. You and Emperor Ken. You should be resting…"

Yamato stopped at the door. "No," he muttered. "No time. I need…to see Takeru…"

"The Emperor must be asleep-"

"Then _wake_-" Yamato gritted, then he gave up. Pushing the nurse away, he leaned on the doorway instead. "If you want to help, go get me my clothes!"

"Should I tell Lady Hikari?"

"No need," Yamato said, waving impatiently. "I'll tell her myself."

A look of confusion spread across the man's face, but he knew better than to stay and argue with the irate stand-master. As he backed away, Yamato reached out for the thought-plane. Takeru? he shouted soundlessly. _Takeru, where are you?_

There was a long, tense moment. Then…

Lord…Matt?

It was an unfamiliar thought-shape, from an unfamiliar thought-plane communer. Yamato squeezed his eyes shut. Ichijouji? he said in wonder. You're-

Yamato? Takeru finally responded. You're awake?!

You shouldn't be up! That was Hikari. If you push yourself-

Are you alright? Yolei cried. You can still-

Then the others came. Pouring in, one after the other, an excited, yet tense clamor of greetings, questions… Yamato reeled from the onslaught. Stop… he tried to shout. It came out more like a wisp. Just…quiet!

Blessed silence fell like a stone.

We need to talk, Yamato panted. Something has…something is _going _to happen.

There was a pause. Then…Is it urgent? Takeru said, his thought-shape tinged with exhaustion.

Yamato took a deep breath and restrained himself. Did Takeru really think that he, Yamato, would be shouting his head off like that if it _wasn't _urgent? Did he not realize that every thought-shape felt like an exploding firecracker inside his brain? Yes, Takeru, he gritted. Urgent. As in _right now_.

Calm down, his brother said soothingly. You're not making sense. What's going to happen? How do you know about it?

The _sangrias!_ Yamato shouted. It's going to be finished in eighteen days!

A clouded feeling of muted alarm and faint recognition immediately spread across Takeru's thought-shape. As his addled brain finally caught up with his mouth, Yamato realized that he had no idea why. Takeru should have no idea what a _sangrias_ was. 

If thought-shapes had expressions however, Davis's would have looked nonplussed. What's a _sangrias_? he asked.

That's why we need to talk! Yamato all but roared. Takeru, we-

Yamato, Kari cut in bluntly, her thought-shape sounding strained. Councilor Micah was just murdered an hour ago.

The world shook. …what…? Yamato asked weakly. We're in Ardinberg. How…how did it…

You remember Dinar? Cody interjected.

Yamato nodded over the plane. A horrible suspicion began to settle in his stomach. Did he…

He tried to kill Ken, but Micah…

Another pause. Yamato couldn't speak past the throbbing waves of black at the edge of his vision that threatened to overwhelm him.

As if sensing his brother's shock, Takeru began speaking slowly and deliberately. Yamato, stay where you are, we'll be right there.

Takeru was as good as his word. In two minutes, the six of them appeared at the end of the corridor, hurrying past startled nurses and healers as they went about their midnight rounds with the patients. Seeing them, Yamato braced himself against the wall and struggled to get up, but Kari reached him first and pushed him back down.

"You just stay right there," she scolded him softly but firmly. "You shouldn't even be out of bed."

"You're as bad as your nurse," Yamato grunted as he swatted her hand away.

"And _you _are as bad as Ken," Kari said as she glanced at Ken. For the first time, Yamato noticed that the man was trembling and leaning on a cane. "So don't think you'll get rid of me that easily."

"We don't have time for-"

"You try to get up by yourself and you just might knock yourself out," Kari retorted tartly. "And, according to you, we can't afford the time to wake you up."

"In other words," Davis inserted helpfully, "shut up and listen to healer's orders."

"We can't talk here," Yamato objected hoarsely.

Takeru looked around. Yamato was right. The unexpected presence of all six stand-masters in the healer's ward at this hour was already attracting the attention of everyone nearby. It was not that a crowd was gathering, but everyone was shooting them curious and reverent glances. No, they could not talk here.

"One of the conference rooms then," Takeru said as he crouched next to Yamato. "If you leaned on me, can you walk?"

When Yamato nodded, Takeru wordlessly slung one of Yamato's arms over his shoulders and stood up slowly, letting Yamato rest his full weight on his body. When they were both upright, Takeru beckoned to the others with a flick of his head. "Come," he said brusquely and strode off without waiting.

To Yamato, the semi-familiar corridors seemed to pass in a blur, as if they were not passing at all. Stumbling along beside Takeru, his muddled mind automatically collected random sights and instinctively processed them for any nugget of information. 

The healer's ward was not simply full with wounded, it was _overflowing_. The corridors outside were jammed from end to end with hastily made pallets of sheets, on which were resting patients with varying degrees of injuries. Despite the late hour, an air of tension surrounded the entire fortress; patrols of soldiers, not all wearing the same uniform, trotted along the battlements and courtyards periodically, nervously staring out into the black unknown. Once, as they passed one of the narrow windows overlooking the southern wall, Yamato glimpsed a sea of watch and cook-fires spreading beyond the wall and out over the rolling plain between the fortress walls and the edge of the Ishidan forest.

"The Ichijoujans made it?" he murmured beside Takeru. "All of them?"

He felt Takeru turn his head to look at him. "Yes," his brother said, not without a touch of gratitude. "They're under my protection now." Then… "We're here."

This part of the fortress was deserted. There were no debates or councils to be held at this hour, and even the ever-present guards did not bother to patrol this level, which held nothing but conference chambers. Only ever second wall scone held a lit torch. Ken opened the chamber doors and stepped through. One by one, they filed into it.

It was the chamber where the stand-masters had first met Yamato. As the weary and grief-stricken stand-masters settled themselves into the high-backed chairs around the mahogany table, they watched as Takeru carefully guided Yamato into a chair, then prowled the edges of the room to ensure that the doors were locked and the windows were barred. When both chamber doors had been closed and locked, Takeru padded over to a side cabinet for servants and withdrew flint and steel. He tossed them to Kari.

As Kari deftly struck them together and lit the candlesticks on the table, Takeru quietly closed the curtains over the high, arched windows overlooking the central courtyard. As the cold, hard light of the moon was replaced by the weak but warm candle-light, he turned back. Striding quickly to the head of the table, he did not sit down, but placed his hands on the tall back of the chair in front of him and regarded the others.

"What happened to Micah?" Yamato asked urgently.

Takeru's face seemed to age before Yamato's eyes as he glanced at Ken. Yamato followed his gaze to where the Ichijoujan Emperor sat stiffly in his chair like a pale wax doll, utterly inhuman in his rigidity. When Ken said nothing, Takeru sighed, drew back his chair and sat down.

"Allow me to explain."

Silence reigned as Takeru concisely laid bare everything he knew from the flight of the Ichijoujans across the Ishidan border to the dramatic arrival of Axum and his wounded to the lack of progress on the Council. His words trembled with crystal clarity on the still, silent air of the conference, as stark and grim as their message. When Takeru got to Micah's death, his voice broke slightly and he cast an apologetic glance at Ken, but when the Emperor still said nothing, he forged on.

"Dinar's in our custody now," Takeru finished. "He and his _mirrireid _are under separate guard. We can deal with him in the morning. Meanwhile, the healers are preparing Councilor Micah's body for…burial."  
  


With that, Takeru trailed off and the tense silence, held at bay by his calm, methodical voice, surged back with a vengeance. Unwittingly, Yamato found himself looking not at Takeru but at Ken, whose pale face registered…absolutely nothing.

"I'm sorry," Yamato said softly. He had not known Micah well, as the others did, but he did not have to be a stand-master to sense the intense grief, fresh and sharp, that filled the room. Even to him, the small sound seemed pitifully inadequate.

"What is done is done," Cody said harshly. "What is so urgent that it cannot wait until morning?"

Yolei frowned. "Show a little empathy, will you?" she said sharply. "Do _you _not care? Don't tell me you-"

"People die around us everyday." Cody's voice chilled all of them. "If we can't deal with it, we have no business leading anyone."

Yolei flushed. "You're wrong," she said tightly. "I'm not you, I can't just cut out…"

"Yolei," Kari said worriedly. "It's-"

"I didn't 'cut out' anything," Cody replied tautly, an edge of rising anger in his voice. "I'm just saying that that this is not the time for grief."

"Not even a moment?" Yolei demanded. "For pity's sake-"

"Yolei, stop, you're not helping," Takeru cut in firmly.

It was the wrong thing to say. Yolei's eyes flared as she snapped, "Takeru, since when did _you_ start ordering _me_? I'm not another queen, I am a _stand-master_, and I won't-"

"I think," Davis said worriedly as he put a hand on her shoulder, "that you should calm down, Yolei, before you start saying stuff you don't-"

"What is the _matter_ with all of you?" Yolei shrieked. "_Micah just_ _died!_ _Do none of you_ CARE_?!!_"

There was a silence after that. Again, everyone glanced at Ken and just as discreetly looked away.

"It's not that we don't care, Lady Yolei," Yamato said, choosing his words carefully. "But I promise you, if you don't listen to me now, you…we are going to lose this war in less than a month."

That got their attention. Cody, Davis and Kari sat up straighter in their chairs. Takeru drilled Yamato with a hard glare. Even Ken, who had not said a word so far, seemed shaken slightly out of his stupor. 

"What?" Takeru said sharply. "What do you mean?"

"We've survived this long," Davis said heatedly. "I think, Yamato, that you're underestimating us a little."

But Yamato was already shaking his head before either of them had finished. "You don't understand. It's not that I _think _we'll lose this war. I _know _we'll lose this war." He hesitated, then glanced at Ken. "Um…does he…"

"Do I know who you are?" Ken said, his voice flat. A collective chill gripped everyone in the room at the ice-cold edge of tightly controlled despair in his tone, his eyes. "Yes, _Praetor_, you may speak freely. Takeru has explained everything to me already."

Yamato cleared his throat. "Very well…"

"The _sangrias_ is going to be finished in eighteen days," he said bluntly. "When it's fully operational, and it will be within twenty-five days at the most, Tichon's armies will be able to move directly from Akeldama onto Ichijouji."

Again, there was a flicker of recognition and alarm, mixed with puzzlement, in Takeru's eyes. Again, Takeru steepled his hands and remained silent. Before Yamato could question him about it though, Cody was already shaking his head. "We have never heard of…a _sangrias_…whatever that is," he said. "And what do you mean 'move directly'?"

"More to the point," Davis said, narrowing his eyes at Yamato, "how do you know all this? And if you knew all along, why didn't you tell us at the beginning?"

"That's because I didn't know it all along," Yamato countered. "I just found out about this twenty minutes ago!"

"You were unconscious twenty minutes ago," Davis objected skeptically.

"Yes," Yamato said, nodding. "That's why it worked…"

He stopped. They were looking at him with the slightly puzzled, slightly patronizing expressions of the sane regarding the insane. "Look," Kari said sympathetically, as if confirming Yamato's suspicions. "Are you sure it wasn't a nightmare?"

"It was NOT a nightmare!" Yamato gritted. "It was…" He looked around. "Alright. I see that if I'm to convince you, I'll have to start at the beginning."

"That is generally a good place to start," Cody said, nonplussed.

"Fine," Yamato snapped. If it took days, he _would _convince them. They couldn't afford to dismiss him now. "You remember how we stand-masters can contact one another over long distances by communing over the thought-plane. To do it, we have to…go into a trance. A kind of dream-like state."

"Yes…" Cody said cautiously.

"Remember, the transition from dream to thought-plane. That rushing sensation, of ascension, from this…plane to the next."

"I know what you're talking about," Takeru said. "What about it?"

"There is a plane between them," Yamato said, casting about awkwardly to explain his idea. It was not that it was new. He had known about it the whole time. It was just so difficult to _explain_. "A state, halfway between dream and thought-shape. There…thought-shapes aren't controlled by you, but by the dreamer. You can't…"

He stopped. By the blank expression on everyone's face, he knew that he had lost them. As if to confirm, Davis cleared his throat. "Uh…you're going to have to try again."

Yamato looked down as he tried to force the concept into focus. He had to _know _what it was he had experienced before he could begin to explain it.

"All right," he said, "let me start again."

He rapped the table in front of him with his knuckles. "This," he announced, "is the real world."

He put his hand to his temple. "On the thought-plane, I can produce a replica of this table. It will be similar in every aspect. It will be solid. It will be made of mahogany. It will be the exact same height, but it will not be real. It is, quite literally, a figment of my imagination that I have _made_ _real _on the thought-plane. However, although it was _I _that made it, it doesn't stop someone from changing it, erasing it, or putting a cup of tea on it. The thought-plane is everyone's and no-one's. It is an objective reality."

He looked around. Judging from their nods, everyone was still with him so far. "And if there ever is a conflict regarding the thought-shapes on the plane," he continued, "it becomes a contest of wills and strength. I want this table to be three feet high. Takeru wants it to be four feet. Whether it is three feet, four feet, or some height in-between depends on our relative strength. If I'm stronger, it remains at three feet. If I'm not, lo and behold, it's four feet."

"Go on," Takeru nudged.

Yamato took a deep breath. "Now, think of a dream. In our sleep, our imagination creates objects. Let's say I dream of this table. The table appears real to me, but it is not_ objectively _real. Not in the physical sense, nor in the thought-plane sense. It is a reality unique to me, as only I perceive it. Since only I perceive it, it is not objective."

"But it isn't, is it…," Kari said cautiously. "The ability to contact the thought-plane in the dreamer. That changes the dream?"

"Changes the nature of the dream," Yamato said, nodding. "Again, let's use Takeru and I. If I have a powerful dream, the images and the _subjective _reality of my dream can sometimes spill over onto the thought-plane. And, if Takeru is caught unawares, he can be drawn into my dream. Because of our link over the thought-plane, Takeru gets to experience _my _dream. My dream's reality becomes objective."

Several of the stand-masters were beginning to look uncomfortable or skeptical as the implications began to sink in. "It's a rare phenomenon," Yamato assured them. "And almost always, the dream has to involve the other person in the first place before that person can be drawn in. But it _does_ happen. And when it does, there are several differences between a shared dream and a thought-shape.

"Firstly," Yamato said, rapping his hand against the table again, "this is _dream_. Not a thought-shape. In a dream, I can fall, bump my head against this table and end up with a terrific bruise _in the dream_. When I wake up, the bruise is gone because it never happened. In the same way, whatever happens to the person that is drawn in does not happen in real life. If Takeru bumps his head on the thought-plane, he will emerge with a bump on his head. If Takeru is drawn into my dream and bumps his head there, he won't even wake up with a headache. A dream is not the _Perenic thought plane."_

"But secondly," Yamato continued, staring around, "the person drawn is drawn in someone else's dream. He has _no _control over what happens. For those without the discipline to control their own dreams, this means that it is possible to become enmeshed in someone else's dream and not realize it until they compare it with the other person. But for those who can…it is painfully obvious."

"Excuse me," Cody said politely. "This is interesting, but…" His searching gaze finished the question.

Yamato rubbed his forehead as he tried to gather his thoughts again. "Sometimes," he said slowly, "it is possible for someone to not only control his dreams, but also to…willfully project them onto the thought-plane. Onto another person."

There was a long pause after that. Then Davis shifted on his chair. "You mean, someone could snatch me into their dreams? By will?"

"Yes," Yamato said, nodding. "It would require intimate knowledge of the other person to craft a convincing dream concerning them, and thus draw them in. With sufficient discipline and knowledge however-"

"You were contacted," Ken said flatly. "Not by thought-shape, not by messenger, but by a dream."

Again, Yamato nodded.

"Who?"

"My former Centurion, now _Praetor _Locke Dimak," Yamato said without hesitation. "Who…it seems…is now also a _mirrireid_ bearer."

There was a sharp hiss from Cody, but Takeru nodded. "That was how then," he said.

Yamato folded his arms on the table and leaned on them. They _had _to believe him. "Listen carefully," he said as his intense gaze bored into each of them in turn. "I believe that we have been warned. And before you ask, yes, I _do _know the difference between a bad dream and a warning."

Over the course of the next ten minutes, Yamato coldly and methodically laid out everything he had seen and heard in his vision. Gradually, the stand-master's expressions turned from one of weary annoyance to quiet concentration, and finally to grim alarm. Yamato spared no detail. He spoke of every vision, from the black rift in the red sky, to the hideous flood of soldiers he had witnessed. He spoke of the mysterious voice that had spoken to him and its message of warning. He even spoke of his visions of each of their respective deaths. As he spoke, he watched as Yolei and Davis flinched at the images. Cody and Ken remained stony, without betraying a hint of emotion, while Takeru and Kari exchanged troubled glances.

When he had finished, the room was silent. Yamato shifted his chair closer to the table. The scrape of the padded legs against the wooden floor echoed loudly in the still silence. Folding his hands on the table, Yamato sat back and waited.

Finally, Davis stirred. "And you think that all this is…a message," he said as he waved vaguely, as if he was trying to pull the words out of the air. "Sent from…this…Locke Dimak, your old Centurion. To warn you. No…to warn _us_."

"That's right," Yamato said.

Davis frowned. "And now, that man is a _Praetor_, commanding your corps."

"Yes," Yamato said, nodding. He glanced at Takeru. _And you've met him before, he thought silently. _

"Why didn't he just contact you by a normal thought-shape?" Ken asked tightly. "They _can _do that, can't they? _Mirrireid _bearers?"

"I don't think you understand the function of a _mirrireid_," Yamato explained. "Perhaps you should examine the one you took from Dinar more carefully. They're small metal pendants that allow the bearer to draw and focus powers from Tichon. For Locke to contact me and warn me through a direct thought-shape…would be like asking Tichon to contact me on his behalf. Obviously, Tichon would have known immediately."

"And that's why he has to resort to this kind of convoluted dream?" Ken said skeptically.

"Even so," Yolei said, tapping a finger against her chin. "Tichon can still overhear the dream, can't he? There's still a risk?"

"If Locke can't convince the Emperor that he was simply dreaming of success and victory," Yamato said tensely, "yes."

Yolei sighed. "So…he is warning us at great personal risk." She looked up. "Why? And how do we know that we can trust him?"

Yamato spread his hands flat out on the table. "To be perfectly honest," he confessed, "I'm not sure we can."

The frankness of that statement raised a few eyebrows. Strangely, however, the skepticism on Ken and Cody's face did not darken, but faded as Yamato continued. Takeru and Kari exchanged meaningful glances as if sharing something secret between them, through a bond even more intimate than thought-shapes. Yamato did not know what was going on, but he plowed on determinedly.

"I have always groomed and taught him to keep the bigger picture in mind," he explained. "To keep the end in sight, and make sure that you are always striving for that end. It became obvious to me after my first battle with you that Khaydarin had lost sight of that end. So I left. It may be that Locke has simply…come to the same conclusion as I have."

"So the Khaydarin army is just _full of idealists like you," Ken said sarcastically. "Why don't we just _preach _to them? Show them the error of their ways? They'll _flock _to our banners then."_

Everyone turned to stare at him. Kari frowned. "Ken…that doesn't sound like you speaking."

Ken looked down at his clenched fists on the smooth table for a long moment. When he looked up, his face was calm again. A mask to contain the rage. "I make no apology," he said harshly. Turning, he drilled Yamato with a hard glare. "Answer my question."

Yamato sighed as he steepled his fingers, "I realize that this might sound rather far-fetched to you," he admitted. "And as for your question, I'm afraid it's not true. Preaching will not win over the Khaydarin army."

Then he stopped as he frowned, his blue eyes lost in thought. Then he amended, "at least…not totally true."

This time, the collective gaze turned to Yamato. "Explain," Cody said, with typical curtness.

Yamato looked up into the gloomy recesses of the conference room's arched ceiling as he carefully phrased his answer.

"In retrospect," he said slowly, "I think the Emperor made a mistake, trying to turn me over to his side. For thousands of years, he has slowly been turning and directing the minds of his underlings to total and unswerving obedience to him. If he asked them to cut off their own heads at a whim, they would do it. That is why, Ken, I say that your assertion is not true. Preaching will not win over the Khaydarin army.

"But when he made me one of them, no matter what he did, he could not instill the same devotion in me. He only had fifteen years or so to work with me. I was too independent. Too questioning. So he compromised. 

"Over the course of fifteen years, he twisted, hammered and brainwashed me with conventional and unholy techniques, but he could not make me loyal to him personally. He made me follow the same _cause as he did. Or at least, he twisted it so that my young mind would follow it. In my youth, I __thought I was loyal to Khaydarin. In retrospect, I know that I was not loyal to Khaydarin, but to what Khaydarin represented. What Khaydarin sought after._

"When he gave me a corps of ten thousand men to command, the first thing I did was to ensure that the hearts of my men were in the right place. I encouraged my Centurions and Decurions to think, to question my orders when instant obedience was not critical. To decide for themselves what they fought for. To me, a soldier who did not believe in our cause did not deserve to be in my corps."

"In other words," Yolei said, tapping the table with a thoughtful finger, "although you served Khaydarin in name, you had been sowing the seeds of dissension all along. What Ken said may not be true of the Khaydarin army, but it _may _be true of your corps."

Yamato nodded. "Given the chance," he said, "I don't know how many of them will respond. I admit, even I'm a little doubtful about Locke's intentions, but his defection would not be entirely unexpected."

Suddenly, he frowned and cut himself off. The others stared at him, then as one, they looked to the door. Footsteps were coming down the hallway. A moment later, there was a quiet rap at the door. "Lord Takeru?" an attendant's voice called out. "Lord Takeru, are you in there?"

Yamato relaxed slightly, and Takeru gave him an amused smile. "Yes, Gornar. Come in."

The liveried servant opened the door and stepped into the room. "Lord Takeru," he said quietly, "the conference is due to start in less than an hour. It is time for you to get ready."

Startled, Yamato looked at the window. The gray light of dawn was already beginning to seep around the edges of the drawn curtain. Was it that late already? Takeru turned and met the gazes of the others. Kari shook her head slightly, and Takeru nodded in agreement. "We will come when we are ready," Takeru said. "If we are not there by seven o'clock, tell the delegates that we are…delayed, and will be with them shortly."

Gornar swept into a low bow. "Understood, my Lord, and forgive my intrusion." Turning on his heel, he walked out of the room and closed the door. The clicks of his footsteps echoed down the hallway.

There was a moment of silence as the stand-masters tracked his fading spirit aura until it passed out of sight. When he was sure that the man was gone, Yamato, the one with the widest range, nodded slightly. Kari shook her head as she leaned forward in her chair. "Wait a minute. Back track a little. Before we decide whether or not to trust this…Locke, let's decide just _what_ he is warning us against. Yamato, you said that the last thing you heard was the voice. A warning. Something about…still having time."

"Eighteen days," Yamato confirmed.

"Two and a half weeks," Yolei repeated, "before… 'the _sangrias opened'." She looked around helplessly. "What is a _sangrias_?"_

Yamato squared his shoulders. "I…I thought it was impossible," he said flatly. "But then…in theory…"

"Then you _do_ know what it is," Davis said stubbornly from the other end of the table. 

"If you know," Takeru said, gently but no less firmly, "then tell us. Every little bit helps."

"You already know," Yamato accused him.

Everyone turned to Takeru, who merely sat back in his chair. "I suspect," Takeru clarified. "That is all."

"A _sangrias_," Ken repeated, rolling the word through his mouth like a connoisseur tasting wine. He looked sharply at Yamato. "Lord Corin of Fan-Tzu?"

Yamato felt a wave of powerful relief flood through him. "So you know what it is?"

"An obscure historical essay," Ken said as he shook his head. "The musings of an old man, fantastic theories that were never tested. And yet…"

"They fit, don't they?" Yamato urged, staring at Ken, challenging him to deny the facts. "They fit with the warning."

All at once, it seemed to Yamato that he, Ken and Takeru were the only three awake in a room of blissfully sleeping ignorants. As ugly realization dawned on Ken's face and alarm grew on Takeru's, confusion bloomed on everyone else's. "Look, you two," Davis growled. "I don't know about any of this 'oh look at me I'm so smart I know my history inside out' act, but if you two don't start explaining I'm going to start breaking bones."

Ken cast the Taelidani a worried glance. "Lord Corin, who, by the way, has no relation whatsoever to our present Lord Andre of Corin, was Emperor of Fan-Tzu and very much taken by the endless possibilities of the thought-plane. The _sangrias _was first conceived by him as a remote possibility, about ten years after the end of the first Seihad."

"The word 'sangrias' comes from the root word 'sangrisse', which in Ancient Gaean meant 'tunnel'," Yamato explained. "'Sangrias' then, affixed with the 'ias' suffix which means "grand" or "large", can be taken to mean 'archway' or 'gateway'. That is, in essence, what a _sangrias is, or was supposed to be. Lord Corin postulated that _theoretically_,__ if a host of technical issues could be overcome, a _sangrias _could be constructed: a gateway between the real world, this corporeal existence we call reality," Yamato rapped his knuckles on the hard table-top for emphasis, "and the _Perenic _thought-plane."_

"If three conditions could be met," Ken added quietly. "There had to be a stand-master of sufficient strength of body and mind. There had to be some way or technique of focusing all of his or her energies into a point. And there had to be some way of anchoring the _sangrias into real space, lest it drift away from our dimension and become useless."_

"But we need no such gateway," Kari said, frowning. "I don't understand. We ascend to the thought-plane all the time."

"But your physical body is left behind," Ken countered. "Only your spirit goes. So far, the thought-plane has been accessible only to stand-masters and to _mirrireid _bearers. A _sangrias _would eliminate even that. It would be a physical doorway that would allow a normal person to _walk from this world to the world of thoughts. And then, presumably, allow them to walk back out."_

Davis snorted. "You're right," he said flatly. "It's impossible. But even if Tichon had managed to construct such a thing, how is that a threat to us? They can't do anything to the real world from the thought-plane."

"It would be a _deadly _threat," Yamato said grimly. "The _Perenic _thought-plane has no dimensions. Whenever we ascend, it is _we that construct three dimensional thought-shapes, since we cannot think any other way. When we first arrive, before it is filled by thought-shapes, there is no near. No far. No up or down, left or right. Two points are simultaneously miles apart, and right on top of one another._

"The _sangrias_ would be able to bridge the real world with the imaginary. An army would be able to walk through. Then, if another _sangrias _was built and opened, it would bridge the imaginary_ with the real. But since the imaginary has no dimensions, an army can walk into the entering _sangrias _and out the exiting _sangrias _in seconds."_

Yamato looked around as understanding began to flood the others' faces. Understanding and alarm. "You see?" he said. "With such a tool, Tichon can transport his soldiers across a vast distance in the blink of an eye. He would have no need of ships to cross the Strait of Akeldama. It would not take months for him to complete the ferrying of his armies across the Strait. It would take scant days."

"But that _is _possible!" Cody exclaimed. "The dark sorcerer in Yagami. And only a few hours ago, we all saw Minister Dinar summoning a spell. The pentagram, the wind. He was trying to escape through a _sangrias!_"

But Yamato was already shaking his head. "No, you do not understand," he insisted. "Those were _sangrisse_, opened only by _mirrireid _bearers. Corin himself developed the technique, though it has since been lost to all but the Khaydarin. _Mirrireid _are rare, and people who have the strength to bear them are even more rare. The threat of _sangrisse is real, since no amount of security can stop them. The only saving grace is that we, as stand-masters, can always feel the opening of a _sangrisse _when it comes. Nevertheless, the _sangrisse _was how many of the assassinations of the first stand-masters were carried out. __Sangrisse are not nothing __new._

"But on the scale that I saw in my vision? A mile-wide _sangrias? Impossible! It takes tremendous skill to summon a _sangrisse _large enough for one bearer. There are only a handful of bearers that can do that. A __sangrias large enough for an army, none of whom bear a _mirrireid_ is…unthinkable. The war would be over in a matter of months if Tichon had the ability to transport his armies anywhere he wished."_

"Yet," Yolei said, hollowly, "that is what Locke is warning us about."

"That," Yamato said, shaking his head, "is what I do not understand. Why portray the impossible?"

The other six stand-masters exchanged troubled glances, and Yamato stopped. He stared around at the others, a leaden ball of dread settling in his stomach. "What is it?" he asked, frowning in confusion. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Yamato," Yolei said quietly, "have you ever read _Prophecies?"_

Yamato raised his eyebrows. "No," he answered truthfully. "I meant to, but I have not had the time yet."

Takeru sighed as he pushed back his chair and stood up. Folding his hands wearily behind him, he padded over to the window and looked out. The sun was beginning to rise in the eastern mountains, and already the air around Ardinberg had lightened slightly from an impenetrable black to a foggy gray. Wisps of mist wreathed the deceptively peaceful landscape. Peaceful, but not for long.

"The _sangrias_ is real," Takeru said, his voice heavy.

Yamato's eyes narrowed as he looked around. He did not protest. Takeru never asserted something he was not sure of. "You _do__ know something," he accused Takeru._

Takeru did not say anything. Instead, it was Kari that answered Yamato's question. " _'Lo!'_ " Kari recited out loud, " _'I saw a great gaping mouth. Painful to see, it was, blinding the eyes with an unholy black light. I cowered and hid my face in my hands, but the angel touched my shoulder and bid me watch. Streams of black issued forth from that rotten mouth like water might burst from a dammed river._" She looked ill as she finished the verse with the reference. " _'Prophecies 31:19-21'_' "

"That's not it," Takeru added without turning around. "I never realized it until now, but I've heard the word 'sangrias' before."

Yolei and Davis looked around with expressions of surprise. Yamato merely folded his hands. Yes, Takeru had heard the word before. As a former _Praetor_, Yamato had enough skill at reading people's expressions and spirit auras to tell that much. But where?

"In the past couple weeks before the delegates arrived," Takeru explained, "I have taken the opportunity to study the book in even more detail. You know it was written in Ancient Gaean, right? Well, you should know that translations aren't perfect."

Davis frowned. "What are you getting at?"

Takeru turned from the window. "In an effort to find exactly what Adun meant, I took that passage, and several other similarly obscure passages, and examined it word for word _in the original language_. Some words translated perfectly, but others had several meanings. The word the translators translated into "mouth" was…"

It dawned on them. "_Sangrias?_" Ken said incredulously. "Why didn't you tell me? I could have told you what it meant!"

"I was not familiar with the works of Lord Corin, so I never realized the significance of the word," Takeru said harshly. "I merely noted down the alternate definitions of the word: 'door' or 'gateway', 'tunnel', and…yes, 'mouth'."

Yamato's mouth felt dry as he looked around. "That…came from _Prophecies?_"

"That, and a whole lot more," Davis said gruffly. "And so far, that book hasn't lied once. It's a safe bet that it's not going to lie, ever. Don't worry, Yamato. We're taking you very seriously indeed."

"So," Ken said quietly as he rubbed his face wearily, "Locke was not being figurative. He was showing you _exactly what was going to happen. Somehow, Yamato, Tichon has found a way to do the impossible."_

Yamato shook his head in disbelief. "The amount of dark magic alone," he muttered. "Enough to rip a mile-wide hole in reality. That's…unthinkable. The amount of preparation that must have gone into this _sangrias! Decades! Centuries!"_

"Now we know what the prophecy was talking about," Takeru said from where he stood by the window. "The mouth that Adun saw was a _sangrias. We also know that that mouth is going to open in two and a half weeks." He turned to face the others._

"So what do we do?"

Cody rubbed his chin. "I don't see what we can do about it," he confessed. "If…the exit point of the _sangrias can truly be anywhere on Gaea, then there's nothing we can do to defend against it. Wherever we place our army, Tichon can merely have his people come out somewhere else…"_

"No…," Ken said, leaning forward. "No, that can't be it. I remember now…for the _sangrias _to work as a bridge between vast distances…"

"There needs to be two of them," Yamato finished for him, nodding. "One for the entrance, and one…for the exit."

Yolei leaned forward. "So the exit point of this particular _sangrias _will be fixed?"

"For the first one," Yamato said, nodding. "I…let me explain."

Yamato patted his pockets and, finding nothing there, got up wobbly to cast about. He found two unused candles in a servant's side-table and brought them back to the main conference table. "This is a crude illustration," he said apologetically, "but it'll have to do. Listen carefully."

He set down one of the candles on the flat table, with the wick pointed towards the others. "Let's say that Tichon, the real, physical Tichon, and his armies are located at the base of this candle. Since distance has no meaning on the thought-plane, let us also imagine that this candle starts at the base but extends to infinity. Tichon can create a tunnel through the thought-plane that follows this line, but he cannot determine its length."

"So, he has to construct a second _sangrias_, somewhere along the course of that line, to create the exit," Ken said.

"Right," Yamato agreed. Carefully, he set down the butt end of the second candle onto the first.  Holding the second candle perpendicular to the table, he looked at the others. "This first candle, from the base to where the second candle intersects it, is your tunnel through the thought-plane."

"But afterwards…" Kari prompted.

For an answer, Yamato swung the first candle out from under the second, then laid the second candle flat on the table as well. Then he swept the two candles on an arc until their wicks touched, forming two sides of a triangle. "Well then," Yamato said. "Corin postulated that where two of these lines meet…another opening would form. Which means…"

"A parallax," Takeru breathed as it dawned on him. When the others stared at him, he gestured at the two candles. "The position of an object cannot be determined by one observer alone, but by two observers standing a little ways apart. That's what you're describing, a parallax. The point is…that once Tichon completes two _sangrias_, he has two lines which he can swing in any direction. Where those two lines meet, an exit will open. Thus, he can open a _sangrias_ anywhere he wants."

"Yes," Yamato said reluctantly. "That's exactly what I'm saying. A _sangrisse _did not need any focusing points, since they were only transporting one person. But something of this magnitude would need something to…_guide _the entrance and exit points. To anchor them in real space before they could reach out to the thought-plane. If nothing else, there must be…some kind of tower there. In fact, I saw it in the vision! Five towers, describing the points of a miles-wide pentagram, remember? I bet that we'll find it somewhere along the Ichijoujan coast. Something that large can't be missed."

But Kari was frowning. "That doesn't make sense," she objected. "Why can't Tichon build both towers on Akeldama's soil where he's all but invulnerable? Why risk the second tower on Gaea, where we can get at it?"

Everyone looked at Yamato, who sighed. "Takeru," he said, turning to his brother, "do we have a map here?"

Takeru nodded. "Which region?"

"All of Gaea, if you have it."

Takeru got up and went to a cabinet next to the door. He had to pull out several cabinets before he found what he was looking for, but when he did he hurried back and spread the cream-coloured parchment on the table. "Here it is."

Yamato looked at the familiar shape of Gaea, his eye tracing the outline of Bornir's Bay in Sheid and the Garadin Fingers off the Yagami coast. The Ichijoujan coast made a rocky, jagged line that stretched from the north-east to the south-west in a rough line. "Here," Yamato said as he jabbed his finger down, somewhere in the ocean east of the Ichijoujan coast. "Whoever drew this couldn't have known it, but the Island of Akeldama is here, extending in a more or less narrow spit of land from east to west."

That was all he had to say before Ken began to catch on. "The parallax only works when the position of the object does not lie on the same line as the two observers."

"Exactly," Yamato said, nodding approvingly. "If Tichon had built his two towers on Akeldama, the only places he would have been able to reach would have been the extreme north and the extreme south of Gaea. Which severely limits the _sangrias's _usefulness. So to remedy that-"

"His towers must be oriented north and south of each other to be truly effective," Ken finished for him. "So he builds one on Akeldama and…one somewhere on the Ichijoujan coastline."

"So, the bottom line:" Kari said cautiously, "if we somehow manage to get an army that deep into Ichijoujan territory, find the towers and…destroy them, the _sangrias _would not be able to open?"

"Sounds simple doesn't it?" Yolei commented. "Except of course, we would have to somehow muster the force, fight past a full five corps of Khaydarin soldiers, that's two hundred thousand men…"

"More," Yamato corrected absent-mindedly. "Perhaps three hundred thousand."

"…and find a way to destroy solid stone towers _within three weeks!"_

Davis groaned as he lowered his forehead onto his forearms. "Couldn't your man have cut it any closer?" he mumbled sarcastically into the table.

"Locke would have a good reason for not letting us know," Yamato said, defending his former Centurion automatically. "Perhaps he didn't know until now. The Emperor never told his subordinates more than was necessary for them to carry out his orders. And I think we have more time than that."

Everyone drilled him with a sharp glance. "What do you mean?" Takeru asked urgently.

"Something Locke said…," Yamato said, frowning. "His exact words… 'In eighteen days, the sangrias will be completed. In another week…and all will come to pass.' Now…at first I thought he was referring to the same time, but then…eighteen days isn't exactly one week, is it?"

"You mean a week _after_ the eighteen days?" Takeru asked. "As in twenty-five days?"

"Yes," Yamato said, his mind racing. "But this has never been done before. There could be any number of reasons that would render the _sangrias _unusable for a week after its completion. Perhaps the edges of the hole must be healed. Or Tichon needs one week to focus the energies necessary to punch the hole. Whatever. The physical towers will be completed in eighteen days. But the _sangrias_ will not open until perhaps a week after that."

"And even then," Ken said, a faint gleam coming back into his eyes, "we'd still have time. Corin calculated that to focus the _sangrias_ takes tremendous energy. Tichon can't possibly keep it open twenty-four hours a day. It will have to close for him to rest from time to time."

"Just give us the point," Davis growled. "You mean that it will take time for Tichon to move his people from Akeldama to Ichijouji, even though they only have to walk through some weird tunnel in limbo. Well? How fast can he move people?"

"No-one knows, Davis," Yamato said worriedly. "It's…it's never been done before. Even I don't know how strong Tichon is, or how long he can go before he burns himself out. It could be that he can keep the _sangrias _open for an hour a day, or only ten minutes a day. So…two weeks for thirty thousand men? One week? _No-one knows!_"

Davis subsided. In the quiet that ensued, the faint chattering of early morning birds could be heard outside the conference chamber's windows. A gray pool of light was already beginning to form beneath the drawn window. As Yamato watched the light intensify, he was conscious of a feeling of mild panic grip his limbs. 

Precious hours had already slipped by, hours they could ill afford to lose. How many did they have left? How could they hope to be _ready?_

"Eighteen days," Takeru said heavily as he got up and began pacing around the room. "Plus one week before the _sangrias _opens. Then they start coming through. How fast, we do not know. How many, we do not know. We do not even know _where_ save that it's somewhere along the Ichijoujan coastline. All on the word…," he shot Yamato an apologetic glance, "of a Khaydarin _Praetor_ named Locke, whose loyalties are unclear, but whose warning we dare not ignore. Have I missed anything?"

Silence dropped like a smothering blanket. Nobody breathed. Slowly, Takeru picked up the small tin cap on the servant's cabinet, walked over and extinguished the small candle on the table-top. It was no longer necessary.

"Then it appears, ladies and gentlemen," he said grimly, "that we have our work cut out for us. It's time we got down to it."

"And what do you propose?" Cody said.

"First things first," Takeru replied as he set down the tin cap. "There have been enough secrets around here. It's time we got rid of them."

**********

_**one hour later**_

Marc sat like a statue in his chair, his mind reeling as Takeru and Yamato finished laying out everything they knew before the delegates in the conference chamber. Marc did not need any great skill to discern that the two of them had held nothing back. Which was not to imply that what they had already said hadn't been shocking enough.

They had spared nothing. From the identity of Yamato, to his dream about the _sangrias_, to the implications of such a weapon in the hands of an Emperor like Tichon. They had explained that even if the free nations of Gaea were to be united, they would still be unable to stand before the invasion that would come after the _sangrias_ had been opened. To Marc, it felt like the air in the chamber had dropped five degrees. The morning sunlight that flooded in from the wide, slatted windows of the chamber's roof no longer seemed warm and welcoming. It looked pale and cold. Insufficient.

"-eighteen days," Yamato was saying as he finished. "Plus one week, which is twenty-five days in total. Then you will know war as you have _never_ seen it before." He looked around, his pale blue eyes narrowed with frustration. "Even if you are not a tactician, surely you can see the implications if Tichon can transport his troops anywhere on Gaea, instantaneously."

Talin raised his ashen face from Ichijouji's section of the Head Table. "It wouldn't matter how large our armies are," he said woodenly. "The capitals would fall in a matter of months. The war would be over in a year."

Silence.

"Permit me to be the voice of reason," San said cautiously. "But it seems to me that all of this information comes from the other side."

"It _does _match the description in _Prophecies_," Takeru pointed out.

"Yes," San said skeptically. "In a manner of speaking, it does. But that prophecy could have been applied to anything. How can you be sure that Adun wasn't talking about something else?"

"Begging your pardon sir," Kari cut in firmly, "but if you read the entire chapter, you will see that Adun could have been talking about nothing _but _the _sangrias_. He even used the word earlier on."

San turned to her, looking offended. "Lady Hikari, I have read all of Lord Takeru's research on the book. Not once has he ever mentioned this word."

"And that," Kari said, still gently, "would be because you read Takeru's research, and not the book itself. Takeru…perhaps you should explain."

"I'm at fault," Takeru confessed. "The translated sentence that you are familiar with reads: '_Lo! I saw a great gaping mouth._' The _original_ sentence reads: '_T'air! Yon lumos l'agai dutzin…sangrias_.' The translators, who have evidently never read Lord Corin's works, translated the word 'sangrias' into the word 'mouth'. And I, in my ignorance, did not catch their oversight."

A murmur of unease and even alarm spread through the chamber. "You can check the sentence yourself if you like," Takeru added. "And chapter 31, verse 19 is not the only place where the word '_sangrias_' is mentioned."

"The point is, King San," Davis explained, "it is quite clear that the _sangrias_ is what Adun was referring to when he wrote this book."

"The book never mentioned when the _sangrias_ would open," Ida pointed out.

"No, it doesn't," Takeru agreed readily. "It just says that it will."

"Then there's no reason why it has to happen now."

At first, that seemed like an absurd objection to Takeru. No reason for it to happen now? There was no reason for it _not _to happen now. It wasn't until Nyarc gave a barking laugh from his end of the chamber that he understood.

"I think what our esteemed Jakt Queen means is this," the Ishidan warlord said. "Just because this dream matches _Prophecies _doesn't mean that this…Locke…could not have read _Prophecies_, and tailor-made his dream to fit it," he said coldly. Around him several of the delegates began to nod and the alarm began to disappear from some of their faces.

"I urge you to think before you speak, Lord Nyarc," Cody cut in coolly. "There is only one complete copy of _Prophecies_ known to exist, and it is upstairs in Lord Takeru's study. How do you think Locke, a Khaydarin _Praetor_, would ever have the opportunity to read it _in the original language, much less tailor his dream to fit one of the prophecies?"_

"What makes you think that Khaydarin doesn't have a copy?" Nyarc objected.

"_Prophecies_ was written by Adun," Cody said. "It was never copied, and only excerpts of it has appeared in historical books. For its entire history, it has been kept in the Ishidan _kondou_, under secure guard during the Age of Gods. For some reason, that was Adun's wish. Perhaps he was afraid of the consequences of allowing the enemy to know what he had seen would transpire in the future. Whatever the reason, after the Age of Gods, nobody even remembered its location. Unless you're telling me that Adun purposely gave a copy to Khaydarin…"

The grin disappeared from Nyarc's face. "I don't know how Khaydarin got a copy," he growled. He swung out an accusatory finger at Yamato. "But then, if someone like _him _has been allowed to attend a conference as delicate as this…"

The unfinished sentence hung in the air like a suffocating smoke. 

Yamato's face remained calm, but Takeru's eyes narrowed into cold, glittering slits as he gathered his cloak and stood up. "Let's not beat around the bush," he said bitingly. "That sentence can mean one of two things. Let's start with the first. Are you accusing me of collaborating with Khaydarin?"

Nyarc took a deep breath. "No," he said evenly. "But I-"

"Does anyone here suspect that we stand-masters are collaborating with the enemy?" Takeru demanded, cutting Nyarc off. He glared around the chamber. 

"_Well?_"

Silence.

"Alright," Takeru said. He ticked off one finger, raised another and transfixed Nyarc with another glare. "Then are you accusing Lord Yamato of collaborating with Tichon without our knowledge?"

Nyarc was beginning to look cornered, but he valiantly rallied his features into a stern mask. "I…yes. I am," he said awkwardly.

"Then at last, the elephant in the room has revealed itself," Takeru said. "So…just _can we trust_ a former Khaydarin _Praetor_?"

"Is that meant to be a question?" Nyarc sneered. "I wouldn't wager a copper on his word!"

A murmur of assent began to spread through the room. Encouraged, Nyarc stood up and tried to match Takeru's icy gaze. "This man was a _Praetor!_" Nyarc said as he pounded his table for emphasis. "Not just a foot-soldier, a _Praetor!_ The highest-ranking general in the Khaydarin Imperial Army! He is responsible for the wars, responsible for the burning of untold numbers of cities and innocents."

Some of the delegates were beginning to nod now, and an ugly buzz of angry calls resonated in the chamber. Nyarc again pointed at Yamato. "And you ask us to go to war on this man's word? Am I the only one in this room who has not lost his senses? He should hang for his crimes!"

At that, Takeru opened his mouth, but it was too late. The Council chamber was in an uproar. Almost every delegate rose to his or her feet, shouting questions or roaring for everything from Yamato's death to Yamato's imprisonment. Some of them even reached into their robes and withdrew their swords, brandishing them at Yamato in fear or anger. Around the Head Table, the Kings and Queens stood up as well, yelling incomprehensibly over the din. Several of the stand-masters rose with the monarchs, waving their arms as they tried to restore some semblance of order.

Yamato felt an eerie numbing sensation descend upon him as the entire chamber's mood turned murderous. Was this it then? Were they going to listen?

"_SILENCE!!_" Takeru thundered furiously.

His booming voice cut through the babble like a knife. As one, the white-faced delegates turned to look at Takeru with wide eyes. Uneasily, the bodyguards shifted their grips on their swords as they stood in front of their charges. Not daring to put up their swords, but not daring to attack either.

For Takeru was standing next to Yamato, and his eyes were glowing a brilliant silver. His hands were gleaming with a faint golden light, and a small breeze seemed to have wrapped itself around him, stirring up his cloak and his hair. And while _Ichibou _remained sheathed, Takeru's right hand was resting on the hilt.

"This man," Takeru said, his voice deathly calm, "is under _my _sovereign protection. Anyone who lays a _finger _on him will answer to _me_."

"Are you threatening us, my Lord?" Nyarc said tauntingly, his shrill voice ringing in the still air. "It is unbecoming of you."

But when Takeru answered, his voice held no rage. "You are _all _under my sovereign protection. I am merely threatening to uphold the promise I gave all of you when you were invited. _There. Will. Be. No. Violence. Here._"

"He should _die _for what he has done!" Nyarc shouted, spittle flying from his mouth.

"Lord Nyarc," Cody countered quietly from his seat. Despite the hubbub, the young stand-master had remained seated. "Despite the fact that you were responsible for the death of hundreds of Saldean, Corin and Isendre soldiers, an invitation was extended to you. No one has started to threaten _you _with death yet." He cocked his head. "Do you think we should begin?"

Nyarc spluttered and his mouth opened and closed several times, but nothing came out.

"If it comes to blame," Cody continued, looking around. "_None_ of you are innocent. But when you walked into this room, you committed to leave your accusations at the door. This man has defected to our cause, and is offering the vital information that he has to our advantage, at the cost of your scorn and perhaps…and let us be honest here…his life. I notice that none of _you _have committed your armies yet. I hope that you would keep that in mind before you start judging him."

A deathly quiet descended upon the chamber as the delegates all stared at Yamato. For his part, Yamato sat calmly with his hands folded in front of him. His returning stares were not defiant, but they were not defensive either. He merely stood there, absorbing the incredulous, hateful and fearful stares that were cast upon him. It was a silence charged with a tension so thick, Yamato thought he could hear it crackling in the air as the silent seconds ticked by.

"I believe him," a lone voice said. Everyone turned to see Talin unfold his arms and stand up from where he had been sitting by the Head Table. "This man risked his life to save my people and my Emperor. I saw him do it with my own eyes. Whatever he has done, the Ichijoujan peoples owe a blood debt to him. I have no doubt as to his loyalties." Talin hesitated and glanced at Ken.

But Ken was nodding. "If Micah was still alive," he said quietly, "I have no doubt he would feel the same way. The Ichijoujan Imperial Corps…what's left of it…will follow the decision of the stand-masters."

Takeru nodded gratefully at Ken and Talin, but did not sit down. "Delegates," he said urgently, almost desperately. "You _must_ listen to him. If not to his words, then at least listen to his deeds. He is no longer the same man!"

Aidan steepled his fingers and wearily rested his brow on his thumbs. When he looked up however, his eyes were bright and sharp. "If we take this warning to be genuine," he said cautiously, "what would you have us do?"

"Is it not obvious?" Yamato said. "We strike now, before the enemy can use this weapon against us!"

"From the intelligence my men managed to gather," Marc rumbled from the Ishidan table, "all the five corps in Gaea are being assembled in Ichijouji. That's more than three hundred thousand men. They have had a week to entrench themselves, rebuild the walls they shattered, establish secure supply lines from Ichijouji's fields…a week to do anything they choose. Getting past them is no easy matter."

"Perhaps for one nation," Kari objected. "But not if we combine our armies."

"Lady Hikari," Aidan said solemnly, "you realize you are proposing we commit all our forces to the largest military campaign in the history of Gaea, on the word of one man, let alone a former Khaydarin _Praetor_. If this is a trap and Khaydarin invades our nations while our armies are on a wild goose chase…"

"But he's _right!_" Kari all but shouted. She wanted to jump up and shake some sense into all of these stubborn, stiff-necked delegates. Couldn't they _see?_ "Even _Prophecies _agrees with him. What more do you _want?_ The word of ten men? A thousand men?"

"You are not a tactician," Aidan said cautiously, "so I do not blame you for not understanding. But know this: if we are wrong, the war wouldn't be over in a year. It will be over in a week."

"Perhaps we could send a team of scouts to investigate before we commit our forces," Ida suggested.

But before she had finished speaking, Davis was already shaking his head. "No," he said, "we have tried to sneak past Khaydarin's invisible patrols in the past, and it ended in disaster. Whatever happens in Ichijouji is closed to us here."

"Besides, it would take too long," Bjorn said, his sharp eyes lighting on Ida. "Twenty-five days is barely enough time to muster our armies. If we had to wait for scouts, Tichon would have nearly three weeks to prepare his forces." 

"We have no time for this," Kari said abruptly. "We don't have a year to debate this out and resolve every single issue before we decide to act. We have scant days, and we have already wasted almost two precious hours."

As the delegates murmured amongst themselves, Kari looked at each delegate in turn, trying desperately to catch everyone's gaze. "Put aside your fear and your doubts for just one moment," she pleaded. "Weigh the evidence fairly!"

"We have," Aidan objected. "And we find it lacking."

Kari stood up from the Head Table and spread her hands. "Have we really?" she asked. "Let's be frank here. The only reason why you doubt this warning is because Yamato delivered it. If this intelligence had come from one of our own scouts, our forces would already be in motion."

She paused. She could tell that she was right by the sudden silence in the chamber. They knew she was right, and they knew that _she knew it too. Encouraged by the admission, she pressed on._

"Very well then, look at what he did for the Ichijoujan peoples. Would a spy help save the life of a stand-master? Would a traitor risk his own life to save his enemy?"

Kari almost felt like wringing her hands. They had to understand her. They _must!_ "It is said," she said, "that the currency of trust is weighed with deeds, not paper nor speeches. If so, then this man has done more than all of you! And you stand there accusing him of treason?" 

She shook her head. "Forget about what your people would think. Forget about your pride. Look past your borders, past your people, for one moment. Think not of how to uphold the honour of your respective nations, but of what is _right!_ We are not merely citizens of Yagami, nor Sheid, nor Ishida. We are citizens of _Gaea! We are not your enemy, Khaydarin is! Time is running out! Make the right decision!"_

Takeru watched as the delegate's expressions began to change. Kari's words were hitting home because they were, undeniably, _right. Even a fool would have figured out that the war between them was foolish and pointless years ago, yet the war was still going on for much the same reason great wrongs are never righted: these men, the most powerful in the known world, had become so caught up in their foolish nationalist pride, they had stopped considering __Gaea as their nation, at great cost._

Across the table from him, Takeru saw the tiniest of frowns crease Ida's smooth forehead. Beside her, San shifted slightly in his chair. Takeru could read the tiniest trace of guilt on their demeanors. And with a blinding flash, Takeru realized…

…that in their beds, in the quiet hours when the deepest, most disturbing thoughts of the heart could not be held at bay by the business of the day, every delegate must have seen the same thing. The same thought must have crossed, however fleetingly, across every man and woman's heart at some point or other. After all, none of them were fools. They _knew what needed to be done. _

It was simply a matter of making them admit it.

A quiet calm came over him at the thought. At the very edge of his consciousness, Takeru was conscious of a faint whisper. It was but a tiny wisp of thought, but it offered a glimpse of such infinite wisdom, majesty and grace that Takeru knew, at once, that it was not him.

_Now…_ it whispered.

Takeru closed his eyes. _As you wish, he replied, with a faint smile._

He placed both hands flat on the table, and such was the quiet authority that he wrapped up in that action that every delegate in the room fell silent and stared at him in wordless awe. No longer was he the quiet, gentle young man that the delegates had seen at the gate of Ardinberg. Here was one of high nobility, the last of the glorious Council of stand-masters that had dared to change the world around them, and remake it to their Creator's image. The delegates saw, and their hearts leaped.

"I echo Lady Hikari," he said gravely. "You have all the available information: we have received a clear warning; a warning heralding the greatest invasion that Gaea has ever seen. Victory and death are separated by the thinnest of lines and to waver is to fall. It's time for you to choose.

"Let me remind you that this is no longer a battle for land, for territory, or for foolish pride. This is a battle for survival. If we lose, our peoples will be reduced to slaves. Our traditions, our customs, our cities…all desecrated. All that has stood will fall, and the beautiful dream of peace that inspired the Age of Gods will be forever shattered. Think about that, and then think, not about whether you should trust this warning, but whether you _dare_ to _not_ trust this warning.

"Let me also remind you that you cannot hide from this war. If those who go in your place lose, you will lose as well. You cannot claim neutrality because Khaydarin will stop at nothing but total domination. You can stand with us, or you can fall alone. Let every man decide _now_ which side he will fight on. There is no neutrality. No third party. And no time."

Takeru squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. "As for me and my House, I will serve the Creator. I see before me a slim and dangerous path, but I will follow it because I see _life _at the end of it. When the muster of our lands is complete, the united armies of Ishida, including the combined strength of Saldea, Corin, Isendre, and the Imperial Army of Ichijouji, will march for the _Aides _wall. My challenge is this: who among you will come with us?"

Nobody spoke at Takeru's blunt and forceful words. Even Nyarc was uncharacteristically silent as he sat on the edge of his seat, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. The hostile silence seemed to stretch on forever as the air thickened with tension. Nobody breathed.

Bjorn stood up. "I realize that time is short," he said gravely, "but I request a recess of three hours of this Council. Such an important decision of state is not to be made lightly."

Takeru nodded. "Of course."

"I also ask," Bjorn added slowly, "that the stand-masters be excluded from these deliberations."

At that, Takeru frowned. "Why?"

"You have presented your case, stand-master. Now let us consider it. Carefully, and without prejudice, just as you have asked."

Takeru stared at the Shienar King, then turned to regard the other delegates at the Head Table. "Does anyone second that motion?" 

After a moment of hesitation, Aidan raised his hand. "I do."

Takeru let out a long breath. "Then we shall have a recess," he said slowly. "We shall reconvene in three hours. As you wish, the stand-masters will not participate in your deliberations."

**********

As the delegates gathered in their own chambers to deliberate, Kari followed the other stand-masters into one of the conference rooms left further down the wing. As she walked into the sunlit room, she was conscious of a clammy feeling coating the inside of her hands and her throat. She felt feverish, and a dull roar thudded in her ears. Never before had she longed so much to be at Aidan's side, to guide him and to convince him of the veracity and urgency of her case, but the door to Aidan's delegation room was shut.

As the door closed behind them, she exchanged glances with the other stand-masters. Their faces mirrored her own frustrations.

"I feel helpless," she confessed.

"We are," Ken said softly.

"I feel like we should be doing more…," Yolei muttered.

Takeru looked at the others. "There is one thing we can do."

Davis, Ken, Cody and Yamato all looked up. "What?" Yamato said hoarsely.

Takeru pushed up his sleeves and sank onto his knees. "Pray," he said simply. "We have done our part. Now it's time for the Creator to do his…"

So the intolerable minutes passed. And for three interminable hours, as the future of Gaea swung precariously on the brink between death and life, the stand-masters prayed. And prayed. And prayed…

_The mountain will move_, Kari thought silently to herself, over and over again. _It will, because it must…_

*********

Three hours later, she watched with a dry mouth as the delegates gravely filed back into the conference room. Her knees ached from kneeling for three hours, but she did not regret it. It had been the only way she could have survived the wait. Never before had they prayed so fervently, nor with such conviction. As Takeru said, it was out of their hands now.

Aidan walked up to the Head Table, inclined his head in greeting and took his place at the head of his delegation. Kari could discern tension in his face. Hope. Fear. Urgency. But she could not guess at what it meant. Slowly, she returned the nod. Her throat was so tight, it was all she could do. One after the other, the announcer's loud voice rifled through the names of the assembly.

"King Bjorn of all Sheid!"

"King San of all Fan-Tzu!"

  


Kari tuned them out. She turned to look imploringly at Takeru, but for once she could derive no solace from him. His face looked as taut as she felt. His trembling grip on the edge of the High Table was so tight his knuckles were white. So, she rubbed her sweaty palms together and folded them into her lap, forcing herself to sit still as the last of the delegates filed into the room.

Finally, the announcers called out "Lord Corin of Isendre!" and rapped the floor of the chamber loudly with their gilded staffs. "The assembly is complete!"

When the echoes had died away, Takeru stood up. "The recess is over," he said quietly. "Do the nations have a response?"

Kari couldn't breath. She could barely hear anything over the thudding of her own heart. She felt like her heart would burst. _Please, she prayed one last time. __Please…_

Bjorn stood up.

"We have reached a decision," he announced without preamble. Turning to allow his gaze to sweep across the Head Table, his eyes finally alighted onto Takeru. "Lady Hikari, was right about one thing.

"The currency of trust is in deeds, not words nor treaties. And it is in that currency, and no other, that we trust…." He smiled briefly. "We may not trust each other…but we trust you."

And with that, Bjorn squared his shoulders. "I," he said formally, "King Bjorn of all Sheid, pledge the full support of my soldiers to the service of Lord Takeru, Emperor of all Ishida."

A stunning electric bolt shot through Kari's heart. Sitting bolt upright, she stared at Bjorn. _Yes…_

As Bjorn's words faded away, Aidan shifted beside Kari and stood up. Reaching out, he rested one slender hand on Kari's shoulder. "The stand-masters," he said with utter conviction, "have shown nothing but wisdom and compassion to me and my people. As they have aided me when all I gave them was hatred and scorn, so I will aid them when they call. The full might of the Yagami military stands ready to serve."

San grunted as he rose to his feet. "I have seen these men and women work miracles that I cannot hope to comprehend. They have brought peace between nations when years of effort had done nothing. To reject their counsel now seems to be the height of foolishness to me. Fan-Tzu will go."

"It is no foolishness to rally behind the best and brightest hope for us all," Ida said coolly as she rose as well. "Jakt will come to do her part in the final _Seihad."_

Kari couldn't believe her eyes. It was as if the leaders of the Head Table had broken an invisible layer of ice, through which a torrent of hope now poured. Her heart leaped as one by one, the most powerful men and women in Gaea stood and proclaimed their allegiance to the alliance. Some proudly, some reluctantly, some fearfully and some with ill-concealed contempt, but in moments, the floor was a forest of rising, chanting lords and ladies, pledging their support of the march. It was working.

They had done it.

_They had done it!_

When the last delegate had stood up and given his pledge, Bjorn rose again. After receiving nods from all the other delegates at the Head Table, he placed his hand over his heart. "The armies of Gaea will march the slim, dangerous path with you, Lord Takeru," he said solemnly. "For we too, now see life at the end of it."

It was the sweetest thing Kari had ever heard. 

Completely uncaring about what others thought of her, she sank into her chair, buried her face in her hands and wept. She wept with joy. She wept with newfound hope. She wept as the overwhelming power of the Creator swept through the room like a whirlwind. The scars were still there. But the healing had at last, at _long last_, truly begun…

_Thank you_, she thought fervently. _Thank you!_

"Then let it be known!" she heard Takeru shout over the roaring in her ears. "Let it be known that this great day, the final alliance of the _Seitzin _ the Holy Warriors,_ was born!"_

**********

And so it was recorded.

As Gaea neared the brink of history, an ominous stillness settled over the land. For the first time in over twenty years, there were no battles and no skirmishes. The warfront between the nations quieted as formerly deadly armies called a general cease fire, and the land fell eerily silent in the absence of their warcries. Khaydarin armies mysteriously withdrew from all their battlefronts and disappeared into thin air, leaving besieged cities behind as the people cautiously opened their doors and ventured out, wondering what had caused the unexpected retreat. At a time when the summer sun should have filled the land, an impenetrable gray mantle of clouds covered all of Gaea. Yet no storms blew. Not a whisper of wind stirred the grassy fields of Yagami, the dry dust of the _Saera _desert, the boreal trees of Sheid or the summit snows of Ishida and Novinha. For weeks, the sun did not shine on the once warm lands of Gaea, and farmers looked up in puzzlement as they stood in the middle of their cold, gray fields. It was as if nature herself was becoming still. Gathering herself, as it were, for the final, great storm.

In the middle of this great stillness, the nations of Gaea began their final, greatest muster. Every last soldier was called from reserve, and carefully armed and supplied. All across the land, clear, silver trumpets rang across the land, bidding armies to rise and follow in the great muster. Yagami's harbours were beehives of activity as men frantically loaded food and supplies onto already overburdened and under-crewed ships, and sent them to Akansata, Sheid in preparation for the _Seitzin's final push. Across the southern __Saera desert, great clouds of dust roiled into the land as tens of thousands of Jakt soldiers trekked out of their own realm and across the wasteland to join their Fan-Tzu allies. Everywhere, swift Taelidani scouts could be seen riding across the land like the wind, bringing the news of the Conference to every stronghold and fortress of every nation, large and small. Wherever they visited, the muster began anew. In Ishida, the ragtag but hardy guerilla armies of the Ishidan lords streamed out of the mountains and across the myriad borders into Ardinberg valley like hordes of ants. In Sheid, the master-smiths furnaces glowed white-hot day and night, as men laboured to produce swords, halberds, spears, shields and armour for the determined but ill-supplied Ichijoujan army. As if taking a deep breath, the peoples of Gaea mustered the greatest army that had ever been seen on Heaven's Land. Two hundred and fifty thousand it numbered, with skilled fighters from every nation and power in the land. The leaders of Gaea gathered their fighters, and prayed that it would be enough. For now, the darkest hour of the __Seihad was upon them, and the grave truth was in the air, though men did not speak of it. It was time to do battle, or die._

For the stand-masters, it was a time of even greater preparation as they attended meeting after meeting with the leaders of all the land. Painstakingly, the invasion of Ichijouji was carefully laid out from detail to detail as they pored over maps and charts. Party after party of scouts were put out to skim the borders of Khaydarin-held Ichijouji, probing and testing the strength of their enemies, then riding back to report. It seemed that none of them had time for sleep anymore, and even Davis had given over to the grim frenzy of work before the final push.

Yet, every now and then, Kari would pause from her work. She would look up from the map she was studying, or away from the leaders she was talking with. She would look away, and she would smile. Cocking her head, she would hear it. The tangible rumbling, so slight and so gradual that nobody else seemed to notice. And yet, it was real.

_The mountain was moving…_

**Author's notes:

Sorry for not posting. I seem to spend a lot of time apologizing don't I? But well…University happened, and believe me that's a pretty big adjustment already. Then I got distracted with playing around with Photoshop, developing a fanart of Kari, then with Chrono Cross…well, a lot happened. Sorry about that. I've probably lost all my readers by now. Ah well. I can't say I blame you…*sweatdrops*

I really don't like this chapter, and I have no-one to blame but myself. If it seemed contrived, well…yes it is. It's because of lack of planning. That's why I should never start posting until the whole story has been written ^_^. But then if I did that, it would take about a year between posts, so this is the best compromise.

Hope you liked it. (yeah right). I'm not even sure I like this story anymore, but I'll finish it just because I've already spent so much time on it and it would be a pity to let it go to waste by not finishing it.


	12. Seihad Chapter Twelve

Disclaimer: I don't own digimon. Seihad: Chapter Twelve 

By: TK Takaishi

_**July 10th, A.S. 522, Fifteen days later**_

"A message for you, my Lord."

Locke looked sideways at the messenger who rode beside him, holding out a rolled-up scroll of parchment. Judging from the blue patch on his shoulder, the man was from his corps, but Locke could not tell whether he was in the rebellion or not; his face was expressionless. So Locke schooled every hint of tension from his face as well. "From who?"

"Centurion Yvan," the man replied. "He sent me this morning, and told me to deliver it with all due haste."

Locke reined his horse to a standstill and the scout stopped obediently beside him. There was no real haste to what he was doing anyway. The men digging the defensive trenches and repairing the breaches to the Ichijoujan walls around him could continue their work without his instruction. Whatever Yvan thought was important enough to risk contacting him by courier, it was definitely more important than this routine inspection of the defenses.

Locke took the parchment and inspected the seal carefully. Satisfied, he broke it, unrolled the parchment, and was presented with a string of gibberish.

"It's been encoded," he said, putting a note of feigned disgust in his voice. "Really, as _if_ this message could have been intercepted."

The messenger's expression did not change. "Standard procedure, _Praetor," he said flatly. Locke wondered if that was a hint of boredom he detected in the man's voice._

"Well, it's irritating nonetheless," Locke said as he swung his mount back towards the main encampment. "Come, let us see what this message is."

In truth, Locke was glad that Yvan had encrypted the message. Either the messenger was a really, really good actor, or he was not part of the rebellion. He was simply a routine courier, doing his job. When they reached his tent, Locke dismounted and shook his head at the messenger. "You're dismissed for now," he said shortly. "Return in an hour's time and I will have your reply ready for you."

The man nodded and led his horse off to be fed and refreshed and fed. As he left, Locke nodded at the guards around his tent before he brushed the flaps open and entered. He smiled slightly when they automatically took two steps farther away from the tent, effectively widening the guard perimeter. His obsession with privacy was becoming something of a legend, even within his own corps. The guards didn't need to be asked anymore.

Sitting down on his chair, Locke took the encoded piece of parchment and stared at it for a moment. Then he reached into his drawer and pulled out a locked box. Producing a key from beneath his cloak, he unlocked it and withdrew several pieces of paper containing the key codes, as well as a sheaf of blank paper, an ink bottle and a quill. Sighing, he spread the parchment flat on his table, opened the key codes beside it and began to decode.

Five minutes later, Locke sat back and studied the message he had written on the blank parchment. It read:

Hvea esteablishfed pgerimetqer rnd suthqern flenc. Dcurin Glnr apted dfnse westyrn sktr. Aides waull scre wit twnttousam, wit tnntousam rsve.Yvn 

It was horrible spelling, but that was to be expected. All encrypted Khaydarin messages were spelled as unintelligibly as possible even before it was encrypted to make it more difficult to crack. After dealing with such messages for years, Locke had learned to translate it all in his mind even as he read it: 

_Have established perimeter around southern flank.__ Decurion Galinor appointed defense of western sector. Aides wall secure with twenty thousand, with ten thousand in reserve. Yvan._

But this message was not routine. Locke frowned as he read it over again. Decurion Galinor. That was the Decurion Yvan had said there might be a problem with, and as a result Locke had effectively isolated him from the rest of the army and subtly stripped him of all his connections and alliances. Galinor was as powerless as Locke could make him without dismissing him. In fact, Locke had already appointed assassins to kill him the moment they revealed their colours. Why would Yvan give him command over the defense of the south-western sector?

Yvan was trying to tell him something.

Casually, Locke glanced around his tent to ensure that there were no shadows outlined against the tent walls. When he found no eavesdroppers, he took out the locked box again and drew a small letter opener from its depths. Then, he took up his sheathed sword and took out the blade, leaving only the scabbard.

Carefully, he reached into the scabbard with the letter opener and slowly pried off the inner layer of leather. Once the worn leather had been detached slightly, Locke reached in with a finger, probed gingerly, and withdrew it.

Clutched between his index and middle finger was a small scrap of parchment, as thin as onionskin and just as fragile. With infinite care, Locke smoothed it out on the table, then looked at the original, encrypted message. It was time to try again. With the real cipher this time.

It took longer this time, because this cipher was much more complex. It made use of the nulls, or meaningless symbols inserted into the original code, so Locke had to go back and re-highlight the nulls, but eventually Locke felt an electric tingle shoot up his spine when he realized that his hunch had been right. The cipher in his hands, the one used only by the rebellion, was yielding semi-intelligent words. Ten minutes later, Locke put down his quill and stared at the message beneath the first.

Dvs, Drd, Mnk, Srl rdy. Pln? 

In other words:

Duvas, Daerid, Marnak, Saril ready. Plan? 

So Yvan was reporting on the recruitment's progress. Daerid and Marnak he had known about. Centurion Duvas and Decurion Saril were new. It was too much to hope that all of Centurion Duvas's division had joined, but even so, it was safe to assume that another twenty thousand had been added to the fold, bringing the total up to slightly more than forty thousand. It was perhaps less than the number that would have followed given the chance, but given the time frame, it was more than he had expected. Locke felt his breath catch in his throat as he realized the enormity of what he was accomplishing. Against all odds, the recruitment was succeeding. Forty thousand was nothing to be laughed at. Given a choice whether to follow the Emperor, or to follow him, the men were opting to follow him.

And yet…

Plan? 

Plan? He had no plan! In frustration, Locke glanced at the map spread over his table, recalling, for the hundredth time, the position of his forces. His corps had been charged with the protection of the _sangrias's _northern and southern flanks. He was stationed north with elements from all five corps, supervising a defensive line that stretched ten miles inland from the coast before it began to arc south. Likewise, Yvan was stationed to the south, perhaps half a day's journey from his position.

Grabbing the map, Locke scrutinized it in more detail, then put it down again. No, there was no way he could formulate a plan. Too much depended on what Takeru was planning to do. Would he go for a straight frontal assault? In that case, it would be better to collapse inwards towards the center, annihilating as much of the central defences as possible before Takeru's path. But what if Takeru attacked in prongs? If so, from which direction? What if he came from the sea? Which way should his army move? Should they move to engage, or simply get out of the way?

Not for the first time, Locke wished there was some way he could re-establish contact with Yamato. But it was too risky. He had almost been unable to convince Tichon that his last contact had simply been a dream. So…the only reliable strategy was…

Narrowing his eyes in concentration, Locke bent over his parchment and began to write:

_Dms_, Jdm n I rdy.___ W strk whn thy strk. Nt bfre. Imprvse. I trst u._

**********

On the morning of July eighteenth, the five hundred and twenty-second year of the new Council's calendar, the long, silvered call of trumpets resounded across the city of Atun'dar, capital of Sheid. After three weeks of hasty preparation, the first stage of the _Seitzin's plan was put into motion. Takeru, Kari and Yamato watched silently from a nearby hilltop as one hundred and fifty thousand war-worthy men wheeled away from the great walls of Atun'dar and turned east for their fateful march through the Shienar forest. Like a great wave of gleaming steel and dark armour, troop by troop, regiment by regiment, they rode forth, grim-faced, onto what might be the last march of their lives. The entire peoples of Atun'dar stood silent and unmoving on the mighty city's walls, watching with heavy hearts as their beloved King rode off to war. There were few cries of sorrow or despair, for the Shienar were a stern and dignified people, but scarcely an eye remained unmisted by tears as the last gleam of sunlight glinted off the _Seitzin's _spears or helm. As the streaming banners of the _Seitzin_ disappeared from the horizon, Shienar trumpet-callers raised their horns to their lips and let loose a mournful dirge. What remained of the city guard turned eastwards, and stood stiffly at attention as they raised their hands in salute. It was the time-honoured tradition of honour and blessing. _Return swiftly_, the silent gesture said. _Return victorious.__

For the first time in twenty years, the gray of Sheid did not ride alone. The blue-gold of Ishida rode beside it, as did the white and silver of Yagami and the bright red of Fan-Tzu. The Taelidani had no banner, but their mottled cloaks could be seen guarding the flanks and rear of the company, flitting in and out of sight as they blended into the landscape, though they traveled in the open. And in the very front, at the apex of the massive steel arrow of men, their Kings rode beside their banners, leading them all on the first and last march of the _Seitzin_. Proud and tall, strong and grim did they appear as they rode on their mounts, and many took heart at seeing them unbent and unafraid.

_And to think_, Kari thought as she turned away with the others to join the march, _this scene must be happening all over Gaea right now. For she knew they did not ride alone. Even as Atun'dar rolled out of sight beneath the horizon, she knew that Ken and Yolei were watching Ardinberg disappear behind a mountain crevice, and Davis and Cody were watching Falin, capital of Fan-Tzu, disappear behind the forest. She cast her gaze north, to where she knew Ken and Yolei were, then south, to where she knew Davis and Cody were. No, they were not riding alone._

They rode hard and fast through the wide forests of Sheid, following the ancient causeway that linked Sheid, the kingdom of the north, with Ichijouji, the kingdom of the sea. To their flanks and far ahead of the main host, swift Taelidani scouts scoured the land for ambushes and surprises. Their course ran to the east and south, and soon the foothills of the Ishidan mountains, their peaks wrapped in low-lying misty clouds of gray, could be espied on their left. Presently, their path began to run alongside the swiftly rushing _Alph_, which raged with the white meltwaters of the mountains' snowy summits. The great tall pine forests of the north gave way to the thicker, mixed forests of the south, then into the long, waving plains of tall grass which marked the beginning of Ichijouji. At the bend in the river _Alph, just before it turned eastwards for its final run to the ocean, the _Seitzin _camped that night, poised on the junction of three borders: Sheid, Ichijouji and Ishida._

That night, as the _Seitzin _settled for what rest their troubled minds could find before sunset, the stand-masters dined together in the darkness. It was meagre fare, but none of them could have stomached any more as it were. Silently, they stared onto their plates as they ate, each lost in their brooding thoughts.

"I do not like it," Kari said at length as she looked eastwards onto the borders of Ichijouji. The wide flat plains blushed in the pale, eastern moonlight, as empty as the void sky above it. "The border is unguarded. Not a single patrol. It's as if they are inviting us in."

"Perhaps they do not have the power to guard all of Ichijouji," Takeru suggested. "They may have fallen back to the inner provinces."

"The Emperor will only have to hold onto _Paen province," Yamato affirmed as he too cast his almond eyes over the empty plains. "He might have withdrawn his forces to protect only that province. He knows that everything else will fall later if he can hold onto that province for another week or so."_

That was all they said on the subject. Shortly after their meal, they bid each other a good night, and retired to their tents. The long hours of night seemed to draw on forever as they hunched, sleepless, in their shelters, their minds tormented by troubling thoughts and the eerie silence that surrounded them. There were no cries of wolves or animals, no breath of wind across the wide plain, no sigh of crickets in the long grass. In the darkness the land lay like a dead thing in the moonlight, unmoving and silent.

Dawn broke dim and cold, but the _Seitzin _paid the ill omen no heed as they ventured across the threshold of Shienar territory and onto enemy soil. Despite the fact that it should have been the middle of summer, the _Seitzin _shivered and huddled in their thick cloaks as their breath steamed from their mouths, as the sun was obscured from the cold earth by brooding clouds. The once fertile and green fields of Ichijouji had turned into gray fields of blasted slag and dying grass seemingly overnight. Gone were the neat, tracts of farmland. Gone were the farming carts and trading merchants that frequented the causeway that they now marched upon. The only sound to be heard was the murmur and chatter of the _Alph as it continued on its course due east for the ocean. _

But as they rode, their bold advance was not challenged. There was no sign of black Khaydarin armour, no ambush unlooked for assailed their flanks or their vanguard. What cities they encountered were burned out husks filled with black, lifeless skeletons. Uneasily, the men marched even as despair and fear darkened their hearts and weighted their limbs with dread. The air of evil in the dying land could not be shaken, and even the bravest among them felt their hope wane.

The third day, the _Seitzin's _course departed from the river Alph. Turning south-east, they left the wide river behind them as they struck deeper into Ichijoujan territory, still following the ancient causeway boldly through the dying grass plains. Now, the silence that enveloped them was absolute without the constant chatter of running water. The air that they breathed became drier and laced with a slight tang of ash, as if a fine cloud of black dust had settled over the land, a black dust that gradually worked its way into every crevice of armour, and stung at the eyes constantly. Even Yamato could not tell what it was, and what kept the dust in the air, for there was no wind to speak of, but it did nothing to harm the men, so they marched on with all haste.

It was near the end of the fourth day, as the host ended their march, that the first sign of the enemy appeared. The Taelidani scouts returned swiftly on their mounts, and reported that Khaydarin patrols had fallen into place on either side of the party, just out of sight of the main host behind the shallow, rolling hills. Whenever the scouts approached, the patrols had cloaked, and the Taelidani had been forced to retreat lest they blunder into an ambush. None of the patrols seemed inclined to charge, merely to watch the movements of the _Seitzin. _Nevertheless, Takeru had the _Seitzin _double their guards around the perimeter that night, and plant huge bonfires two hundred paces out from the camp, so that no enemy could approach unseen. Although not unexpected, the confirmation of an enemy presence thickened the tangible aura of evil and fear that clutched the men's hearts. "Well," Yamato said grimly as he looked out at the dark horizon, "if they didn't know we were coming before, they certainly know now."

"We are ready," Aidan said firmly. "Let them come. If we meet on the plains tomorrow, Yagami will do its part with pride."

But Takeru shook his head. "We will not meet them tomorrow," he said. "They will make their stand closer to the _sangrias_. These plains are too open. If they meet us out here, it would be easy for us to manoeuvre around them. The closer to the _sangrias _they stand, the less territory they will have to defend."

His prediction turned out to be true. As their journey stretched into their fourth, and then their fifth day, the realm of Ichijouji turned wilder and more desolate around them. At last, even the long, hardy grass began to give way to fire-blasted black earth, bare and rocky underfoot. As they rode, the wind began to stir again, sending foul cold gusts of ash-scented air sweeping across the barren earth. Above them, the gray clouds grew thicker and lower, hanging overhead like an overbearing mountain of gray. Night and day could scarcely be told apart now, as the rising and the setting of the sun could not be seen, and what daylight could be seen had grown as dim and cold as the dead of winter.

Finally, near the end of the sixth day, forward Taelidani scouts ran back with the inevitable news. Khaydarin had entrenched themselves along the _Paen wall, just as Yamato had predicted. They could go no further without using force. Takeru immediately called an early halt and an urgent council of war as the __Seitzin set up camp for the final time, less than ten miles from the border of _Paen _province. As men pitched their tents, many uttered prayers under their breath. For tomorrow, the final battle would begin. One way or another, the greatest battle of the __Seihad would be fought. Victory would mean life. Defeat would mean death, either immediately, or in the ensuing years as the black tide raged across Gaea. Men murmured to their horses, stroked their manes, and gave them an extra handful of oats in their feedbags. A last killing edge was put on weapons; bowstrings were painstakingly oiled and prepared for battle._

After she had finished the council-of-war with the monarchs and the stand-masters and the much longer meeting with the _Seitzin's triage staff, Kari took a walk around the vast encampment. She was no military expert; she preferred to leave such matters to people like Ken and Davis, but she could sense morale. And as the soldiers around her settled in for what rest they could find in the long hours before dawn, their anxiety, their hope and their numbing fear suffocated and entangled her. The men were scared._

She looked up at the starless sky and felt a lancing pang of despair. Even the stars to which she had looked for reassurance in times past had hidden their faces from her, as if they could not bear to watch the events that would surely ensue the next morn. The wind was muted, like the low rumbling and stamping of some savage tribal song, holding the promise of sudden, lethal violence. Sighing, she bowed her head against the gritty wind and trudged across the dusty ground towards the customary meal of the stand-masters.

When she reached the circle of light cast by the single fire on the ground, she discovered that Takeru and Yamato were already present. Neither of them were speaking as they sat on the ground or on small pieces of rock. Silently, Takeru handed her her plate of stew and gave her a wan smile of welcome, but that was it. Accepting the plate, Kari sat down at her place in the circle with a slight sigh.

"We meet tonight," Takeru said shortly. "As agreed."

Kari ate her meal in silence. It would be good to see the others again, even if it had only been two weeks since she had seen them last. Yamato, who had already finished, quietly ran a wet stone repeatedly across his sword's edge. Takeru looked repeatedly at the night horizon, checking the progress of the moon. When Kari finished her last mouthful, Takeru accepted her plate wordlessly. "Come then," he said, not unkindly. "Let's go."

Kari wiped her mouth with her kerchief, then nodded. Yamato put down his stone, sheathed his sword, and settled, cross-legged against a nearby boulder. The last thing Kari saw before she closed her eyes was Takeru putting away her plate.

Moments later, she was on the thought-plane. Whoever had arrived first had plainly been too tired to think of an imaginative setting, and had simply recreated his or her own circumstances. She was sitting next to another campfire, almost identical to her own. The dark, frozen land around her was the same, as was the gritty wind that stung her face. When her eyes cleared from the silver flakes that always settled across her vision when she ascended, Kari saw Ken, Yolei, Davis, Cody and Yamato already sitting around the fire. Wordlessly, she took her place in their midst.

When Takeru appeared beside her out of a hazy shimmer of light, it was Yolei who spoke first.

"Takeru," Yolei said as she stared up into the sky. "Did you take a look over the horizon? With your stand?"

Beside Kari, Takeru sat down heavily and shook his head. Yolei lowered her head to stare unseeingly into the flames. Takeru looked around at the faces of his friends, all of them cast into grim, unmoving lines. Slowly, his brows drew together into a frown. "That bad?" he said.

"Their campfires," Yolei whispered. In the firelight, her face was as pale as paper. "That's all I could see in the darkness. Takeru, they covered the land like a city. It was like looking at the night sky. Except these stars were red."

"We will face them tomorrow then," Yamato said calmly. "We hardly expected any less."

Davis laughed gruffly. "At least we know now it wasn't a wild-goose chase," he snorted.

"Oh yes," Takeru said quietly. "We certainly know it's not a wild-goose chase. Are you in position?"

"Yes, arrived at around dusk," Ken reported. "Right at their doorstep. It'll only take a few hours march tomorrow morning for us to reach the outer wall."

"We arrived late afternoon," Cody reported for his group. "The Jakt and Fan-Tzu men are nervous, but they're ready. They know that Khaydarin knows we're here."

"Let's hope that Khaydarin is even more nervous than we are," Takeru sighed.

"Oh, they're nervous all right," Davis said, baring his teeth. "Let's see them turn _this army back…"_

Silence descended upon them again. There was no need to voice their feelings. They had been brothers and sisters for so long, had shared in each other's sorrows and triumphs for so long that there was no need to. Even thought-shapes were no longer necessary to read each other's thoughts. They all felt it, and they could all see it in each other's eyes and read it in each other's auras. Kari played with the ends of her hair aimlessly as she looked down. Hope seemed to be in short supply.

Yamato looked up at the sky. The shadows of fatigue and despair beneath his eyes were cast into prominence by the flickering flames. "Those are thick clouds hanging over _Paen _province," he commented noncommittally. "I can't see the light at all."

Kari knew that the thought-plane's clouds did not reflect the weather in real life, but she knew that Yamato was right. The clouds had not lifted ever since they had ventured into Ichijouji. Day by day, the dark gray mantle weighed heavily on her shoulders and on her mind. The cold did not bother her. She was used to cold. But the numbness that had wrapped itself around her limbs and her mind was undeniable. She felt muted. Stifled. And so unbelievably tired.

"I could," Takeru's soft voice said.

"Really." Yamato's voice was flat.

"When you look," Takeru said reassuringly, "just wait. You'll see it eventually."

For the briefest instant, the thick gray clouds parted slightly. The merest sliver of velvet sky appeared between the opaque lead-gray covers, and a single beam of starlight lanced down through the dark black dust that covered the land to illumine the cold earth. Only for a moment. Then, before Kari could smile in amusement, the clouds closed again, and the sliver of starlight disappeared.

"Takeru," Yolei's voice sounded resigned. "You know that just because you can make the clouds go away in this plane doesn't mean you've made the clouds go away."

"Oh, you'll see before you go to sleep," Takeru said, grinning enigmatically. "The trick is to see it."

Yamato arched an eyebrow. Davis snorted with amusement as Cody looked back and squinted, trying to see what Takeru was referring to. For the moment, the despair did not seem quite as keen. The dread did not hang quite so heavily. It was still there. But it no longer crushed them. At least one of them could see starlight. That alone was enough.

"I can see," Yolei said dryly, "that Takeru's back in his 'dramatic' mode. Just like that time we stargazed."

Yamato looked up. "What happened?" he said curiously.

Yolei glanced at him. "Oh yeah," she said. "You weren't there were you? I guess no-one told you?"

When Yamato shook his head, Yolei sat back. "Well," she said, shooting a sidelong glance at Takeru, "that was quite awhile back. But as I recall, there were some interesting ideas about what stars were."

And so they talked. Of everything. Of themselves. They talked of the stars. They talked of Kurtal. They talked of some of the stranger Taelidani customs. They talked of the Pilgrimage. They talked of the occupation of Shin'Tajikai, and their favourite food. They talked of the battle of Ridgewood, and their families, surrogate or otherwise. They talked of _Prophecies, and for the first time Yamato understood just how incredibly specific its prophecies were. It was just like the old times, when they would sit down around a fire and talk until the dawn broke over the distant, misty horizon. Just like it was before they had gone their separate ways to shoulder the mantle of leading their respective kingdoms. What they talked about did not seem to matter. The sounds meant more than the words as the hours slipped away like seconds. Not once did they talk of the battle coming tomorrow, nor of their chances of success. Not once did they hint at the fact that tonight may be the last time they would see each other this side of heaven. They did not mention that one, or two, or all of them might die the very next morning. They did not even say goodbye._

Finally, as the fire began to burn down nearly four hours later, Takeru sighed. "I trust you all know the plan for tomorrow?"

Kari nodded along with the others. How could they not? The intricate battle plan had been drilled into their head hundreds of times already. Takeru, however, seemed to draw strength from their affirmations. He stood up. "We should get some rest for tomorrow," he said sensibly. "We will need it."

However, as the other stand-masters nodded and stood up as well, Takeru did not walk away. The others looked at him questioningly as he stood by the fire, his blue eyes gleaming unusually bright in the firelight. Then, slowly, Takeru stepped forward and embraced each one of them in turn. When he had finished, he stepped back. "I love you all more than words can express," he said softly. "No matter what happens…remember that."

Then he turned and slipped off into the darkness. As Kari watched his back recede, her vision became blurred with tears. Takeru was not one to be open with his feelings. His sudden declaration of love had been more than just that. 

It had been his subtle way of saying farewell. 

Closing her eyes, she slipped back into her body.

**********

_**The Western Front**_

When Kari awoke a few hours later, the _Seitzin were already moving. From her tent, she watched silently as the Ishidan, Shienar and Taelidani regiments efficiently rolled up their tents in the darkness. Although it was hours before dawn, some of the advance cavalry and scouts were already being dispatched; they disappeared east into the pre-morning mist like ghosts. Others were carefully packing pre-cooked field rations into their saddlebags. The veterans knew that on the field, there would not be time to prepare a fire to cook. Meals would be something to be snatched between charges._

She heard the crunch of Takeru's boots on the gravel before she saw him emerge from the dark mist. "Everything is going according to plan," he said softly behind her. "Ken's group and Davis's group should already have departed. We leave an hour after them. Are you ready?"

Kari didn't answer.

"Of course not," Takeru answered for her as he touched her shoulder.

"TK, it wouldn't matter if we had a hundred years to prepare," Kari said, disgusted at the slight tremble in her voice. "Nobody can be ready for something like this."

This time, it was Takeru's turn to be silent for a moment.

"We leave in an hour," he repeated. "Ready or not, Kari, we're going to win this war, or die trying."

Then he was gone, off to check on someone else in his army. Kari turned to watch him go with a pang of sorrow in her heart. Takeru was treating her like any other commander in his army, as if he was distancing himself. The battle hadn't even begun and he had already started to mourn her in advance. Well, perhaps he was hoping she wouldn't notice.

But then, Takeru had always been hopelessly naïve about such things.

The next hour passed in an intolerably slow blur. Numbly, Kari went through the motions of preparing for battle. She checked her _wakizashi, which she had honed to razor-sharpness last night. Despite her misgivings, she donned the uniform she had been given: armour she had been given: a pair of small gauntlets to protect the back of her hands and forearms, a lightweight chestpiece for her upper chest and shoulders, a heavy leather belt with to hold her weapons and sturdy, calf-high boots. She moved her limbs experimentally. Although the chest-piece was hot and uncomfortable, it was wonderfully light and supple in the right places. Kari nodded approvingly. She had never worn armour before this one had been pressed on her by Ardinberg's weapons-smith, but it wasn't as bad as she had thought. The chestpiece was so slim, it almost blended into her white and silver shirt. Made of the finest lightweight steel, the weapons-smith had told her. Hard to believe it was supposed to stop all but the most determined of head-on thrusts. There was even a sheath for her _wakizashi _mounted over her right shoulder. After tightly tying her hair into a single braid, Kari was as ready as she would ever be._

When the hour was up, Takeru raised his hand and the _Seitzin surged forward. The trumpets were silent as the companies embarked on the final stretch of their journey into the inky darkness. It had become far too dangerous to send out scouting parties out this deep in enemy territory, so the Taelidani marched alongside the flanks of the host instead, flitting invisibly through the fire-blasted slag. Soon, the eastern horizon became gray with first light, revealing the desolate, evil landscape around them. Kari shuddered as she watched the weak glow splash across the sky, outlining rather than illuminating the thick gray clouds. The smell of the air. The parched, dusty earth, the gritty black dirt-storms. The colour of the sky, the cracked clouds, thick as mountains, that obscured the sun…it was all the same as Yamato had described it. They were indeed nearing the __sangrias, where the waves of evil had blasted and poisoned the land for miles around, and turned it into the wasteland it was now._

Soon, the Taelidani scouts that had advanced yesterday warned Takeru that the edge of Khaydarin entrenchment began over the next hill, scarcely a mile away. Takeru called a halt, and the _Seitzin_ waited tensely at the foot of the low hill as several teams of Taelidani spread out across the edge of _Paen's_ first defensive wall. But Kari knew that Takeru wasn't waiting for any intelligence from them. He was waiting for the signal.

Fifteen minutes turned into twenty. Twenty minutes turned into thirty. The _Seitzin _waited restlessly in the hill's shadow, wondering what in heaven's name was going through their commanders' minds. Kari ignored the army's murmurs as she sat patiently beside Yamato, who was leaning against a boulder. Above her, Takeru stood on the rock's apex as he scanned the wall with a spying glass.

Forty minutes later, Kari saw Takeru lift his head. She didn't need to ask for what had caught his attention. She could sense it too.

Davis, are you ready? Ken asked.

Waiting for you, came the terse reply.

Then we're going in.

Godspeed, Takeru whispered to both of them.

Then he got down from the rock and exchanged glances with Kari and Yamato. Again, there was no need for words. Both of them simply started running back towards their horses. "Rally the men!" Takeru shouted at Aidan, Bjorn and Marc as soon as he came into range. "_We march!_"

**********

_**The Northern Front**_

Atop the wall, Centurion Foran suppressed a yawn as he surveyed the northern horizon. It was still dark, and by all rights he should have been in his tent, but scouts had been reporting a large _Seitzin _host for days. The men had to see that he expected nothing but constant vigilance, which regrettably meant that he had to exhibit it himself. Wrapping his black cloak tightly around his shoulders, Foran walked along the length of the wall, rubbing his eyes occasionally to stop sleep from forming.

It was so quiet. Not a whisper of wind disturbed his cloak, but the chill that hung in the air was unbelievable. Foran blew on his bare hands and rubbed them together as he walked, taking comfort from the slight rustle of his armour and the thud of his footfalls. At least it was something to break the silence. Above him the indigo night was just starting to give way to the grey of pre-dawn and stars were beginning to disappear. Impatiently, Foran looked up and willed the light to become brighter. His shift ended with dawn.

He climbed the steps up to one of the watchtowers that dotted the _Aides _wall every five hundred paces. On top of it, a sentry leaned silently on his spear. When the man saw Foran, or perhaps when he saw the golden stripes of rank on his shoulder, he snapped to attention. "Centurion! I-"

"At ease," Foran murmured. "Anything?"

The sentry relaxed slightly. "Nothing all night, sir," he muttered. "Not so much as a breath of wind. It's unnatural, this calm."

"There is no natural or unnatural," Foran replied sternly. "We only speak of what is. Choose your words with better precision."

"Yes sir."

"But I see what you mean," Foran said as he leaned on the wall and looked out. "But according to our scouts, they're coming. It's just a matter of when and where."

"Not a whisper here sir," the sentry said helpfully. "Perhaps the invasion is elsewhere."

"Perhaps," Foran said thoughtfully. In the back of his mind, he wondered what _Praetor _Locke would do if _that _ happened. If Takeru bypassed him altogether. Well, a problem to be solved later.

He stayed on the wall for a moment later, staring out into the darkness. A slight rustle of wind disturbed his hair, but Foran ignored it. A quiet night indeed. The calm before the storm. Well, the storm would break when it did. There was no sense driving oneself crazy waiting for it.

"I'll be heading back to camp," Foran said to the sentry. "Keep watch. The dawn relief should be coming soon."

There was no response. Foran frowned and turned to rebuke the man, then stopped. The man was slumped over the walltop. Angry now, Foran reached out, grabbed the man's shoulder and pulled him back.

The soldier flopped limply in his grasp, an arrow through his neck.

Then a hail of arrow descended from the night sky and Foran was shocked into action. He threw himself behind the wall's battlements, even as a round of arrows embedded themselves on the wooden scaffolding behind him. "ATTACK!" Foran yelled. "SOUND THE ALARM! ATTACK!!" Then he looked around desperately.

His voice was not loud enough. He could barely hear himself over the whoosh of incoming arrows. Moaning with fear, Foran struggled desperately against the heavily armoured body of the dead soldier. Pushing the man off, he groped for the flaming torch set in the wall, hardly daring to look up for fear of an arrow through his eye. Cursing his clumsy limbs, he finally grabbed the torch and threw it into the pit on the watchtower.

The wood, coated with dried pine resin, immediately caught on fire. Risking a look over the battlements, Foran saw the sentries on the watchtowers on either side of his immediately lift their bugles to their lips and sounded the alarm. Cries of alarm were beginning to call on the Khaydarin side of the wall now as men struggled and fought for cover from the incessant hail of arrows. The screams of the unfortunate were mingled with odd clanging noises.

Stunned, Foran twisted on his side to look behind him. All along the wall, grappling hooks were being cast onto the wall. Ten, fifteen…dozens of them flew up and caught neatly against the square battlements. Frantically, Foran turned the other way.

In disbelief, he watched as flares lit up all along the wall, as far as the eye could see. Already dark shapes could be seen swarming up the ropes and doing battle with the sentries. One of the watch-towers was already engulfed in flames. And still more flares were lighting up. And more…and more…

Diversions. Hundreds of them. Foran's breath caught in his throat as he realised the enemy's strategy. There was no way an army the size of the _Seitzin _could approach the wall without being detected. No matter how fast they rode, Khaydarin would be waiting wherever they attacked. But small groups of two or three score _could_ make it undetected. And with dozens of these groups attacking across a miles-wide front…Khaydarin would have no choice but to spread out their forces. The enemy would be free to thrust hard at one point and break through.

He choked on a ball of fear as the first clash of steel reached his ears. The pre-dawn grey, so calm just a moment ago, were shattered with a fresh round of horns.

The _Seitzin_ were coming!!

**********

_**Akeldama**_

Tichon looked up from his cloak and hissed furiously at the weak, pale sunlight. Beside him on the jeweled summit of the _sangrias_ on Akeldama, Korvan shifted uneasily. The gathered bearers shuddered from their Emperor's sudden wrath.

Standing on the jewelled summit of the _sangrias_ on Akeldama, Tichon raised his face to the sky and sniffed the air. He grew so still that even the vicious wind could not stir his suddenly leaden cloak. Around him, the great, gathered masses of Khaydarin's armies stilled themselves.

"So they dare," Tichon breathed as he lowered his head. "Come then, my foolish friends. No matter how desperately your struggle, you won't be able to stop the sun from setting…"

**********

_**The Northern Front**_

Locke released a long breath as he watched the enemy charge. Even from his perch a fair distance back from the _Aides wall, he could see the green and purple glimmers of Ken and Yolei's stands clearly. Never before had he seen a mightier sight, and his heart quailed within him. Yes, this was the moment he was waiting for. The game was almost over. The gloves were off. He could finally start to unveil himself._

_Traitor…traitor…_the voices hissed. _Die…die…die!_

With an effort, Locke shrugged the _mirrireid's sibilant whispers off. He narrowed his eyes as reports from other _mirrireid _bearers began to come through on his _mirrireid_. Two other fronts, one attacking the southern border, one main thrust coming from the west. All timed with such precision that it was a safe bet that each was being led by at least one stand-master._

Yvan could not know of this yet, not having a _mirrireid of his own, but he would. In less than fifteen minutes, one of the _mirrireid _bearers in his company would tell him, then he would see the bigger picture as well. But Locke knew __now. So Takeru had deployed his forces in prongs. A small grin tugged at the corners of his lips. Now, he could start planning his own strategy._

He picked up his bow and selected an arrow with care. Then he looked out. Yes, there was Centurion Foran, who had been assigned by _Praetor Karensky to be his second, shouting orders on the wall top. Licking his lips, Locke forced his trembling hands to wait the required fifteen minutes. If he acted too soon and was suspected, Yvan would die. Calm…he could not afford to be careless now._

But oh…the game was _almost over!_

**********

_**The Southern Front**_

"_Ladders to the front!_" Davis roared. "_Archers to the back!__ I want to see this sky hailing arrows!"_

There was a great roar, like that of a gale ripping through a field of long grass, as hundreds of archers loosed their shafts and dropped behind the shield bearers. Precise as clockwork gears, another row stood up to loose theirs. Arrows flew thick and fast, rattling against the _Aides wall, thudding into their targets with vicious accuracy. Impaled black bodies fell from the wall top to land with sickening crunches on the hard ground below. Davis watched with satisfaction as the Khaydarin men were forced back from the suddenly humming front._

Beneath the canopy of shrieking arrows, teams of men bearing long ladders and grapple-ropes ran to the base of the wall. All along the front, dozens, then hundreds of ladders settled against the wall and were promptly swarming with _Seitzin _soldiers. Davis scanned each ladder hurriedly. Yes, it was working. There was no way Khaydarin could hold off all those ladders for long.

But they knew that. Their objective would not be to defeat them at the wall, but to delay them while the _sangrias could be pressed into service. And Khaydarin was adapting already._

Without warning, a storm of arrows flew over the wall and thudded into the ranks of the _Seitzin_. Davis was forced to summon his stand to stop several of them, but screams rang out as surprised soldiers fell where they stood. The _Seitzin's _shower of arrow faltered and at least half of the ladders fell from the wall as defenders took advantage of the lull. The first casualties had been inflicted. The Khaydarin archers had taken to launching blindly over the wall, and with fifty thousand men pressed against the wall's base, they were bound to hit someone.

"_Legions one through twenty, launch over the wall!_" Davis heard Cody shout. "_The rest of you, keep scouring the wall top!_"

A good strategy, Davis thought silently, but in the end, Khaydarin had the advantage. They had spotters on the wall that could tell the archers approximately where the _Seitzin forces were stationed. We're merely shooting blindly. We can't even tell whether we're hitting anything._

So in the end, everything depended on getting someone onto the top of that wall, as it always had. Davis checked the ladders again. They were making progress; fights were already beginning to break out on the wall top, but it wasn't fast enough. By the time they gained control of the wall, Khaydarin would have succeeded. After all, Khaydarin didn't have to win this encounter; they merely had to delay and weaken.

"We have to blast down the wall," San shouted beside Davis. "Should I bring out the catapults?"

"No!" Davis roared back. "Save the catapults for the _sangrias_ itself. Don't waste a shot on these walls!"

Another wave of arrows whistled over the walls and felled another rank of _Seitzin_. Already the fields beyond the wall were strewn with dead. San's face looked grim in the gloom of the morning sun. "The wall is costing us, stand-master."

Davis grabbed San's arm. "Then prepare a column of your men to charge," he gritted. "I'll blast that breach myself. When I do, I want it swarming with _Seitzin _the instant it stops smoking!"

San nodded, wide-eyed, then ran away to do Davis's bidding. Davis glared at Cody. Ready?!

Cody calmly hefted his staff. His returning thought-shape was wry. I thought you'd never ask.

Davis grunted as he unsheathed his kodachis with a swift flick of his arms. Then he was off, sliding down the gravel ridge before the wall, roaring wordlessly as he charged the line. It didn't take long for the Khaydarin archers to see them and start directing arrows at them, but the _Seitzin _archers, seeing their stand-masters finally make their move, redoubled their efforts. Thousands of shafts raked the wall-top and the Khaydarin archers had no choice but to retreat behind the battlements. The few arrows that did reach the two stand-masters were brushed aside contemptuously by the raging wind that enveloped them both.

Davis reached the wall first. Across the whole front, men turned to stare in amazement at the star that erupted in their midst as Davis summoned his stand. For a single ephemeral instant, the red dragon could be seen shimmering over the wall, its scales gleaming, its eyes glowing golden, its claws as brilliant as white lightning. Then the instant was over and the stand became red thunder. The ground shook concussively as an immense explosion blossomed over the battlefield and huge chunks of debris arced high into the sky. Screaming _Seitzin _and Khaydarin alike covered their heads and ran for cover from the falling bits of masonry; those closest to the blast were blown cleanly off their feet.

As men were picking themselves up, Cody reached the wall a hundred paces away from Davis. The Khaydarin on the walltop, having seen what Davis had done to their comrades, struggled to get away as Cody began summoning his own blow. Some fled screaming along the wall's parapet, others simply leapt off the wall, braving the twenty-foot fall over the cyan warrior that descended upon them like a breaking wave. A second explosion rocked the Ichijoujan countryside and almost the entire front was knocked off their feet. The unlucky few that had been caught on top of the wall when the explosion struck were hurled from their feet and tossed like rag dolls over the battlefield.

As his ears gradually stopped ringing, Davis lowered his hands and stared at the wall. Through the thick, acerbic smoke that now billowed across the front, a gaping hole now yawned in the once solid wall. The entire rampart was gone, and the bricks were now a third as tall in that section as they were anywhere else, easily scaled by a tall man. Beyond it, the gap was nearly devoid of black Khaydarin armour. Behind him, he could hear San roaring for the _Seitzin's _advance and the clatter of armoured feet as the _Seitzin _pressed forward to flood the gap. It was working!

Summoning his stand again, Davis made the dragon reach upwards and grab the edge of the parapet. Hauling himself upwards with his stand's arms, he flipped swiftly onto the wall top. "_Forward the _Seitzin!_"_ he cried atop the wall as he wildly waved his kodachis above his head. Below him, the charging soldiers took up the call. "_Forward the Seitzin! Forward! Forward!_"

As San's column crashed through the gap and began doing battle with Khaydarin soldiers behind the wall, Davis began running along the wall top, slashing with his kodachis at all who stood in his way. He didn't have to look behind him to know that Cody would take the hint and start charging the other way. Behind him, more _Seitzin _swarmed up the ladders and grapple-ropes that he had just cleared, and fierce battles broke out along the entire wall top. In such close quarters, bows and arrows were cast aside as both sides drew steel and clashed with a thunderous roar. Beneath the humming storm of arrows that almost obscured sight, men fought and died like ants on a flame. Screaming soldiers fell off both sides of the wall, crushing comrades or foes who struggled to mount the wall and join battle. Soon, the entire wall top was slick with blood. Grimly, Davis ducked under a screaming Khaydarin's axe-blow and neatly ran the man through. As he withdrew his blade and kicked the dying soldier off the wall and onto his comrades below, Davis paused to watch the battle unfold and his mouth tightened. Their superior numbers were beginning to tell, but the Khaydarins weren't giving up without a fight…

**********

_**The Northern Front**_

Locke scanned the battlefront. Years of experience taught him what to look for: Ken and Yolei had both smashed breaches in the walls, and _Seitzin _were running along the top doing battle with his men. Behind them, more pressed onwards to flood through the breaches, but as long as his own men could hold the narrow gap, they could not bring their numbers to bear. Ken was a worthy tactician, but he was attacking an entrenched enemy. There was little he could do except send his men off to die in waves. Locke knew that if he wished it, he could make his stand here for several more hours and make the _Seitzin _pay dearly for the wall.

If he wished it.

He forced himself to count out the final minutes in his head before he acted. As he did, he glanced around at the Decurions on his side. Damas and Judim stood silently beside him, watching his every move with bright eyes. They were ready and waiting for the slightest word from him. In fact, they were probably wondering what was taking him so long to make his move.

In his head, the final seconds counted down and Locke stirred. Surely Yvan had formulated the same plan as he had by now. Taking up his bow, Locke drew the arrow he had selected out of his quiver and notched it on the bowstring. "Prepare to sound the retreat," Locke murmured at his Decurions. "Don't give anyone time to argue with you."

Damas and Judim nodded and unhooked their trumpets from their belts. Taking a deep breath, Locke drew the arrow to his cheek and leveled the bow at his target: Centurion Foran. The twanging of his bowstring sounded like a crack of thunder in Locke's ears. He was _finally_ going to show his true colours.

The shaft flew straight and true. Foran didn't have time to scream before the arrow pierced the back of his neck and lodged in his throat. Scrabbling at his throat, Foran gurgled pitifully as he fell headlong off the wall and onto the waiting _Seitzin_ forces below him. Locke knew that even if the man didn't die from the fall and the arrow, the _Seitzin _would finish off a man in a Centurion's uniform just as quickly. As he put down his bow, Locke smiled thinly. 

The only command officers left on the northern front were now loyal to _him_. There would be no-one to countermand his orders.

"_RETREAT!!_" Locke bellowed. Beside him, Damas and Judim took up the call with their trumpets. Four sharp blasts, a pause, then four sharp blasts again. "_RETREAT!!_" Locke roared again at the top of his lungs. Then he paused to savour the confusion that erupted before him.

The call was being taken up by field officers and within moments every soldier on the mile-wide front had heard the order. Those loyal to the rebellion had been expecting this and they abandoned their posts with alacrity. Those unaware of the rebellion looked around in confusion. The battle, while not going entirely in their favour, was not beyond salvage. Precious moments were lost as soldiers tried to confirm the retreat order. Whole sections of the wall guard retreated even if their section was going well, thinking that the another section was nearing defeat. Others stayed obstinately and fought as their comrades fled all around them, leaving them easy pickings for the _Seitzin's_ redoubled hail of arrows. In seconds, the Khaydarin front had dissolved into a formless mob devoid of order, helpless to resist the sudden flood of _Seitzin _footsoldiers that poured through the breaches like ants.

Locke turned to go. "Form up the legions for retreat," he said grimly to Damas and Judim. "Let _Praetor _Karensky's corps members form the rearguard. I want those loyal to our cause to form the vanguard. We retreat south." Then he mounted his horse and rode away. 

The first part of his plans was complete. _Now_, he prayed silently, _Creator, if you can hear me, give me courage for the second part…_

**********

Ken watched in amazement as the black line of Khaydarin soldiers on the wall suddenly crumbled and fell. "Whats happened?" he demanded, whirling around to look at the captains on either side of him. "What's going on?"

"They're retreating!" Lord Corin said, his voice disbelieving. "Look! They've abandoned the north post!"

Indeed, black armour was streaming from the North tower as water might pour from a holed bucket. Taking advantage of the disorderly retreat, _Seitzin _field captains urged their forces onwards, through the breach and all along the walls. Beside Ken, Yolei loosed her last shaft, then lowered her bow as she too stared at the rout. "The battle's only just begun!" she shouted.

"Is something going on?" Talin said suspiciously beside Ken. "A trap, perhaps?"

But Ken could tell from the Lord-Captain's voice that even he doubted that. The retreat was turning into a rout. Disregarding even that, Ken could not think of a single advantage to be gained by yielding the wall to their enemies. Ken exchanged glances with Yolei. "Take a look over the wall with your stand," Ken shouted above the battle cries around them. "If you see anything that _remotely _resembles a trap, sound the horn and tell everyone to retreat. But for now, we'll take their retreat as what it is."

With that, Ken drew his sword and leapt up. "_Forth__, Seitzin!_" he cried. "_The wall is ours!_"

It was the signal that his army had been waiting for. The footsoldiers that Ken had been holding in reserve just out of bowshot roared forward now, following the green banner of Ken's stand into the breaches blasted into the wall. Defiant arrows zipped from the last Khaydarin stragglers, but they rattled impotently against the advancing army's armour. In a flash, the spearhead broke upon the remaining black ranks like a lightning stroke, and the foolhardy few Khaydarin that remained were swept away like flotsam. 

In moments, Ken was on the other side hewing down what little resistance that remained. At his command, footsoldiers were already establishing a beachhead for the cavalry to come riding through. Further down the wall, Ken could see two similar advances breaking through the wall. The fiercest fighting was dying down already.

Casting his eyes south, he could make out the rearguard retreating out of sight behind the next ridge, leaving behind a nightmarish field of their dead or dying comrades. The field was so littered with Khaydarin casualties that the ground looked black with their armour and blood. The retreat had cost the Khaydarins dearly.

"We've won!" he said, half in amazement, half in disbelief. "I can't believe it!" The battle had lasted scarcely an hour, and already the Khaydarins were running for their lives.

As if to confirm it, Yolei's thought-shape came on the heel of his words. They're running due south, she said incredulously. All of them. No ambushes that I can see, no counterattacks. They're simply…retreating! Should we pursue?

Ken hesitated, for a moment, then nodded. I'll organize two rider parties to harass and keep an eye on them, he said. You get the rest of the men over the wall and start marching due south after us. I'll clean up on this end. With that, Ken turned and scanned his own forces. "Talin!" he roared.

"_My Lord!_" The Lord-Captain came riding up on his steed.

"Take the First and the Third Corps and pursue them," Ken commanded, pointing at the retreating Khaydarins. "We'll be following as fast as we are able."

"Immediately." There was an edge of grim enjoyment to Talin's voice as he swung his horse around and began rallying the Ichijoujans. As Ken turned away and mentally prepared himself to tell Takeru what had happened, he couldn't help but share Talin's satisfaction. 

The invasion of _Paen _province had begun in earnest.

**********

They've breached the _Aides_ wall on all three fronts, Korvan whispered in the darkness. As near as our scouts can make it, they're riding on a direct route for the _sangrias_, hard on the heels of our retreating armies. The outer territories have been taken.

Tichon paused to consider the glowing map that shifted in front of him. Before him in the floating darkness of the _Perenic _plane, the glowing green, brown and grey representation of _Paen _province, detailed down to its rivers, rolling hills and ridges and walls, blinked and shifted as new information came in from his _mirrireid _bearers stationed with his landside corps. Three red arrows advanced slowly across the land, sweeping in from the north, the west and the south. He could already see parties branching off to widen the front as much as possible, to ensure that the three prongs could not be flanked.

The southern stretch of the _Athelas_ river has been taken as well, Korvan continued. They've destroyed all of the bridges except one. We can't get across. A dot began glowing on the map, south and west of the _sangrias_. Following that, all intelligence of the enemy's eastern flank has been cut off. We do know that they're using the remaining bridge to transport their armies to the eastern shore, but we cannot stop them. As for what they're doing west of the _Athelas_…we can only guess.

The northern prong?

Smoke from the fires has obscured them from all our scouts. Korvan answered grimly. _Praetor _Locke reports that Emperor Ken has sent riders to harass his retreating armies, but he's not entirely sure where the main bulk of his forces are. We think they may  be following the Ishida-Ichijouji causeway, but that's merely a guess.

Tichon leaned back and allowed himself a moment's pleasure. _A worthy strategy_, he thought admiringly. He didn't need to ask about the western prong. The north and south prongs would effectively prevent any attempt to flank or cut them off.

This was no disorganized rabble that was invading _Paen _province. The stand-masters had begun to discover for themselves the incredible power of their stands: the power of communication and coordination. One by one, as towns and strongholds fell, roads, rivers and walls were coming into the enemy's possession and they were using them well. They had even started fires; there were five of them raging across the wide grasslands, effectively blocking or slowing down the passage of any counterattacks. There were no weaknesses in their advance, no holes through which Tichon could send his army, no rifts he could pry into divisions, no traps into which he could force them. They were coming, and they were coming _fast_.

My Lord?

Tichon ignored him as he looked at the map again. The pleasure turned into amusement. Yes, it was good to fight against a worthy foe again, but their unity had come too late. The _sangrias_ had already been completed. Out from the _sangrias_, in the vast tracts of _Paen _province, there was room to maneuver. There, brilliance, skill and guile was giving the _Seitzin _the battle. But when they drew closer, there would be no room to maneuver. When the final confrontation began at the foot of the _sangrias_, brilliance would count for nothing. Only then would numbers begin to tell.

Slow them down as you can, bearer, Tichon murmured. Harass them, do not let them advance without cost, but do not make a stand. Yield when you have to, and strike elsewhere.

Korvan shifted. Tichon could tell that his lieutenant was uncomfortable. We can stop them at the inner wall, he protested.

There's no need…, Tichon sighed into the darkness. Let the _Seitzin _come. Let them see victory before their eyes. That way, when we crush them like the vermin they are, their anguish will be all the greater.

**********

_This day_, Takeru thought as he leaned, panting, on his sword and surveyed the battlefield. The choking black dust that swirled about him muffled his breath and stung his eyes but he refused to rub at them, lest he miss something. _This day…_

_…will it ever end?_

This latest battle, the third one they had fought today, had lasted almost an hour, with both sides exchanging charges and retreating. The field before him was a nightmarish scene of destruction. The blood of dead horses and armoured soldiers, clad in the black of Khaydarin or the colours of the _Seitzin_, covered the churned and blasted earth with a carpet of red. The clash of steel and the groans of the dying could still be heard over the swirling black wind, but the edge of controlled panic was fading; the choking fear and fury of battle had disappeared.

Dizzy with relief and adrenaline, Takeru watched as Yamato's band of riders pursued the last of the Khaydarin ambushers over the nearest hill. A few skirmishes were still being concluded on the fringes, but the heat of the battle had passed; the remains of the Khaydarin entrenchments that had held them for over an hour lay strewn at the foot of the hill like a collection of broken black dolls, wholly defeated and destroyed. A ragged cheer went up among the _Seitzin _vanguard as the last of the stragglers disappeared beyond the last hill.

Suddenly the world was spinning. The field before him shifted abruptly out of focus. Closing his eyes, Takeru felt himself swaying on his sword. Beside him, Kari ran over in alarm, her _wakizashi_ still bloody from the last charge.

"TK!" she shouted as soon as she was close enough. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Takeru wheezed. He forced himself to straighten up and wave his arms to show her he was alright. "Just winded."

"You're tired," Kari said worriedly.

Takeru snorted. They were _all _tired, but they had miles left to cover before they reached the _sangrias_. "How are we doing?"

"King Aidan's doing a count now," Kari said grimly. "Our best guess is, we lost another hundred in that last charge."

"How about the other teams?" Swiftly, Takeru ran over in his head the relative positions of the five other sub-prongs he had split his army into after breaching the wall.

"Still advancing, as near as we can tell," Kari said worriedly. "We haven't heard anything yet at any rate. Seems that this ambush was only for us."

"They'll be coming for them soon," Takeru predicted grimly. "Tell them to be on their guard."

Kari's eyes were troubled. "And us?"

Takeru stared at her uncomprehendingly. "What?"

"Are we stopping?" Kari pressed.

"We have thirty miles left before we reach the _sangrias_," Takeru said in disbelief. "We can't stop _now!_"

"Takeru, take a look around you," Kari snapped. "Do you think you have a choice?"

Takeru paused and looked. The battle was winding down, but the ambush had done its job. The entire right flank, which had taken the brunt of the ambush, was in disarray. Their ranks were liberally strewn with the dead or dying. Already some helpful soul had organized a detail to help sort through and treat the wounded, but many of those they looked at were left lying on the field. They were already dead. Or worse yet…they were alive, but too far gone to bother treating. Even those carrying their comrades to the healers looked like they should be treated themselves. 

Most of the others looked like how Takeru felt: dead on his feet.

They had come far and fast; as near as Takeru could put it, they were perhaps twenty miles from the wall and thirty from the _sangrias_, but by the Creator, Khaydarin had made them fight for every bloody inch of it. Nipping, hiding, rushing and retreating, they were costing the _Seitzin _dearly with every league they took. The once gleaming army was now in rags, trailing their dead behind them like debris. The advance had gone too fast to pause and dig graves.

"Takeru," Kari pleaded as she touched his arm, "if we don't stop soon, Khaydarin won't even have to fight us. Men and horses will start dying from exhaustion. At least give us a few hours!"

"All right!" Takeru snapped. "Two hours, that's all! Tell them to break out some rations; we're not stopping again until ni-"

The world went black.

At once, Kari's arms were around him, holding him up. Takeru heard a clang as Kari kicked away his sword so he wouldn't accidentally cut himself, then lowered him gently to sit on the ground. Muttering angrily, Kari groped for the canteen at her belt, hurriedly uncorked it and handed it to Takeru. "TK, you really are the worst," she said in frustration. "You can't even walk yourself, and you want to go on?"

Gratefully, Takeru took the canteen and sipped at it as Kari swiftly and professionally checked him over for any wounds. When she found nothing serious, she settled on her haunches and watched as he corked the canteen and handed it back to her. "Still want to go, you mule-headed fool?" she said tartly as she accepted the canteen.

"Two hours," Takeru rasped. "No more. And have a runner tell Isaac to get his men moving again. They've rested for long enough."

Kari's lips thinned. Isaac had only stopped three hours before, and his men couldn't be in any better shape than Takeru's. Still, she stood up and sheathed her _wakizashi_. "Rest," she said softly. "I'll take care of everything." Then she was off, and Takeru could hear her light, running footsteps fade away.

Thank you, he called after her as he struggled to his feet, retrieved _Ichibou_ and limped back to the main body of his army.

Two hours later, and not a second after that, the last rations were put away as the _Seitzin _saddled up again. As his men busied themselves with tending to the damaged wagons however, Takeru looked up at the darkening sky in concern. 

It was barely the fifth hour after high noon, and already darkness was creeping over the land as if it was the eighth. If anything, the wind that had sprung up around mid-day had thickened the black fumes that hung across the sky like dirty curtains, not cleared it away. In the weak sunlight, everything around him looked sickly and pale, as if the colours of the world were being washed out right before his eyes. Casting his eyes east, Takeru frowned as he saw the mantle of grey clouds hang lower than ever, rumbling ominously. There was bad weather coming.

When the all-clear was given, however, Takeru resolutely put the matter out of his mind. Determinedly, he raised the banner and marched forth. The advance must continue.

So the longest day wore on. Struggling through the barren wasteland that just weeks ago had been Ichijouji's countryside, the _Seitzin _wended their way across broken and rutted roads, burned copses and gutted villages and strongholds. Barely an hour into the march, scouts reported that they were being tracked again by large armies on either side and in front of their advance. Takeru immediately put out more scouts to their flanks to alert him to any attempted flanking maneuver, but the Khaydarins didn't seem interested in flanking them. They seemed content only to watch. It did not matter though. The mere shadow of their presence was enough to put the men on edge.

Grimly, the ragged, hollow-eyed remnants of the once-gleaming army followed their Emperor deeper into fume-ridden hell. The calm of the morning gave way to vicious, whipping winds that blew the smoke of their fires and the ashes of the ruined land into their eyes and nose, until at times it seemed as if they were riding through a cloud of ash, not air. Takeru however, refused to be deterred. Keeping a close eye on his enemy's movements, he forged ahead with all speed, pausing only now and then to set a new fire or destroy another bridge. Their hope was in their speed; their strength in their determination.

Several hours into the march, Takeru veered off the main road and onto a northern loop that led around a patch of deep forest. After sending scouts to comb through the forests on their flanks, Takeru set about the difficult task of cutting cross-country to the Ichijoujan 6th Road. The long, dead grass of the plains, which had once gleamed green and gold in the dark afternoon sunlight, lay in lank, greasy clumps across their path, tangling the wagons' wheels and slowing the footsoldiers. Dangerous fissures of broken rock and sharp boulders lay hidden beneath the grass, ready to ensnare the unwary's foot. And as Takeru rode through the ruined land, he realized with a pang of guilt that he was, deep down, very _very_ glad that such a fate had yet to befall Ishida.

"What happened to this land?" he murmured to Yamato as they rode together at the vanguard. "I was here scarcely a year ago, and it was nothing like this."

Yamato didn't answer at first. Then he unsheathed his sword and swept down with it, severing several long strands of grass. Hooking the limp yellow strands with the dull edge of his sword, he flicked them up into his other hand. "You see the black motes?" he said gruffly.

Takeru took the strands and examined them closely. The grass was absolutely coated with the omnipresent fine black dust, but underneath it all, ugly black and brown stains covered the dying green like open sores. Disgusted, Takeru flung the strands away from him. "What are they?"

"I'm not sure," Yamato said, staring straight ahead. "But they're everywhere on Akeldama. And people that are exposed to them for too long…they get them too. On their legs and arms. If it's really bad…on their faces."

A chill ran up Takeru's back as he turned to look at his brother. "A disease of some kind?"

This time, Yamato did turn. But when Takeru caught sight of his brother's eyes, he almost wished he hadn't. Yamato's blue eyes were dead, haunted with unwelcome recognition. "The most basic kind," he agreed. "Do you know why _mirrireid _bearers are forever hidden in cloaks?"

Takeru stared at his brother in horror, then looked back down at the hideous brown sores on the grass. "They…"

"I saw one uncovered once," Yamato continued as he turned away. "The sickness had consumed him so thoroughly that the flesh on his forearms had quite literally melted away. You could see the bones of his hands amidst the black rot. That is, if you could endure the stench long enough to take a good look." Takeru sensed a slight shudder in his brother. "I was seven at the time," Yamato added quietly. "I had nightmares about it for years."

Takeru felt his jaw clench with nausea, but he forced himself to ask the crucial question. "Will it affect the men?"

"It cannot touch us standmasters," Yamato murmured, "and a few days will not hurt the men. The _mirrireid _bearer I saw had been immersed in it for thirty years. But in the end, Takeru, nothing is immune from evil. Not even the soil."

After that, they rode in silence. Before them, another murky forest appeared to the north, its trees bare skeletons standing in a sea of dead, rotting leaves, and Takeru was forced to veer around it again. To the south, the causeway they had been pacing alongside of angled sharply south and out of sight into the dark mist and for a stretch the _Seitzin _were forced to navigate blindly. Luckily, an old farming road appeared before long, and while it was crumbling in parts into the dried river ravine beside it, it was better than traveling across the morass of sharp grass, especially since night had almost completely fallen by now. With an impenetrable mantle of bruised indigo and crimson clouds obscuring the faintest glimpse of star or moonlight, Takeru reluctantly gave the order for the men to light and carry fire torches.

But he would not stop. When the wagons began breaking down, he ordered the provisions salvaged and carried on the backs of what steeds could be spared, then forged on. A manic madness and fever seemed to possess him despite the shaking exhaustion of his limbs, but as it possessed the men too, nobody complained when Takeru told them to keep moving when the last light had faded. The eighth hour flowed past like silent water. The ninth. The tenth.

Then the news came. Runners from Isaac and Isendre's branches came with word of ambushes and attacks unforeseen, of beasts that came out of the night like shadows and exploded onto the men like wolves. Isaac had lost almost half his men and had been forced to stop and salvage what forces he had left. Isendre had been luckier, advancing as she was on the open Long-ridge Esker, bare of all forests and cover, but she too had been forced to a standstill in the night. Yamato glanced meaningfully at Takeru.

"We're next," he said softly.

Takeru nodded, his throat dry. There was no word from the other three branches he had put out, but to pretend that they had not been attacked as well would be foolishness. Like it or not, Khaydarin was coming once more, and it sounded like they had finally let their hunter-seekers loose. Reluctantly, he raised his hand again. "We stop here for the night," he ordered. "Double guards, and I want a ring of fire around this entire camp!"

Exhausted as the _Seitzin _were, they sprang to it. They had settled in a little knoll where the gap between the north and the south forest widened slightly; there was ample space for the encampment. Those without any duties fell to the ground in their ranks at once. Field rations were passed out in the darkness and hastily consumed as the guard shifts were organized and the watch-fires planted. Soon, a complete ring of small fires encircled the camp a good hundred paces from the edge of the encampment. But within the encampment, only cook fires flared in the middle, well out of bowshot from the edges. 

Few men bothered to set up a tent, but even so Takeru's heralds insisted on setting up his for him. It was only when Takeru pointed out that the foolishness of setting up a tent for a three hour nap that they subsided.

"One of us must stay awake at all times," Takeru told Kari and Yamato when the heralds finally retreated to their posts. "If they come after us with cloaks, we must be ready."

"Oh, I doubt that," Yamato said quietly. "All their _mirrireid_-bearers would be around the _sangrias_, pouring their energies into it to make it work. If they could have used their cloaks against us, they would have already."

"Nevertheless," Takeru said firmly, "we will be ready. I'll take the second shift. What about you two?"

Kari and Yamato exchanged glances in the dim firelight. Then Kari reached out and took his hand. "TK," she said gently, "take the last shift. I'll take the second. That way you'll get five hours of uninterrupted sleep. If you take the second, you won't get any at all."

Takeru felt annoyed. Was he _that _transparent? "And how about you?"

Kari shook her head. "TK, I know you well enough to know that you are dead on your feet."

"And you're not?"

"Takeru, cold as this might sound, the _Seitzin _needs you more than they need…Kari," Yamato pointed out.

Takeru said nothing.

"I'll take first shift," Yamato said firmly. "Kari will take the second. Takeru, you can take the third." Before the two of them could argue, Yamato drew his cloak about himself and stood up. "Get some rest you two," he said sensibly. "I'll wake you when it's time." Then he slipped off into the night like a wind through grass.

Kari and Takeru looked at each other, then at Yamato's receding back. For a long moment after his footsteps had faded away, they sat staring at the small fire at their feet. Then Kari sighed and drew her own cloak about her. Shuffling along the gravelly ground, she settled in by Takeru's side. "He has a point," she said softly. "Tomorrow…well, we'll need our rest."

Takeru nodded wordlessly. She didn't need to elaborate. They were still seven miles from the _sangrias_, and the going was only going to get tougher the closer they got. Still, he made no move for his roll. "I can't sleep," he confessed.

Kari's concerned eyes bored into his. Then she reached up and touched his face lightly. "Try," she ordered gently. "For me."

A few minutes later, as Takeru lay wrapped in his own cloak and staring up at the murky darkness, he tried for the last time to recall the map of _Paen _province that seemed to be his constant companion. A hundred worries crashed through his mind, like a raindrops making ugly ripples on a serene pond, echoing insistently until he wanted to get up and shout at them to go away. Tomorrow would be the day of final effort or disaster. Tomorrow, three hundred thousand men would be looking to _him _to lead and make critical decisions. He _had _to rest. Squeezing his eyes shut, he willed them to go away. _We've come far today_, he thought silently to reassure himself. _The fastest invasion in history.__ Fully twenty-two miles in one day._

And they answered, _none of it matters if we can't press all the way to the end._

_We have them on the run!_

_They're not running anywhere. They're letting you take the land. To them, only the _sangrias _matters._

Irritated, Takeru took a deep breath. He wished there was some way to turn off his mind. If he didn't like what he saw, he could close his eyes. But how did one close one's mind?

Closing his eyes emphatically, he tried again. _We are winning, _he told the voice in his head firmly._ Tomorrow, the _sangrias _will come down. It will. It will!_

There was a long blessed moment of silence.

_Then why are you crying?_

Takeru blinked his eyes open.

His vision blurred with tears. He had not cried in so many years, the sensation felt foreign. Unwelcome. As if something hot and wet was gripping his throat, covering his face and smothering his breathing. As he lay there waiting for the jagged blanket of sleep to cover him, stripped of the shelter of adrenaline and business, Takeru felt as if some dam had burst within him and every hurt and fear he had carefully pushed away flooded out to drown him. All his discipline, all his training gone, Takeru curled up on the ground and whimpered like a child. A part of him was furious with himself, for breaking down now when everyone needed him the most. The other…

The other was afraid. So very deathly afraid…

He felt Kari caress his shoulder comfortingly and almost died with shame. But because it was Kari, he reached up wordlessly and clasped her hand, drawing strength from her warmth. The touch said more than any words, any thought-shapes, but he had to try.

"Don't go away," he pleaded weakly as he shivered. "Please…"

"I won't," came the whispered promise. "Not now, not tomorrow, not ever. Now, get some rest."

If the day was long, then the night was an eternity. Takeru lost track of the time as he lay there, shivering, tormented, and unable to sleep. Now and then there was a gap in his memory as he dropped off fitfully, but he was always jerked back to wakefulness mere minutes afterwards by nightmares. As if sensing this, Kari curled up beside him, letting her warmth comfort him. Whenever he jerked awake, it was never long before he heard Kari's light breathing and felt her silent, protective warmth on the edge of his consciousness, reassuring him of her presence, calming his fears and worries like a balm.

Then the first attack came and Takeru was roused instantly. Pausing only to exchange a wide-eyed glance with Kari, he snatched up his sword and dashed off. A Khaydarin charge managed to push through the outer guard before they were repelled, but when they were they melted into the darkness like wraiths. A brief, bloody battle later, the northern flank was in tatters.

"They've arrived," Yamato concluded grimly. "Just as we said they would."

"A countercharge?" one of the junior officers suggested.

"No use," Yamato growled. "They'll simply bolt. They're not trying to kill all of us; they're trying to keep us from getting any rest. Look!"

Indeed, Takeru's stand-vision could see small metallic glimmers of gold and black armour in the darkness, moving in ceaseless patrol around the encampment. Too far out to distinguish entirely, they flitted in and out of sight like ghosts. Disgusted, Yamato turned away from the Khaydarin skirmishers. "They're baiting us," he said wearily. "Let's not play into their hands. Get what sleep you can. They won't be letting up anytime tonight."

It was a treacherous night. Arrows whistled out of the gloom to take any that wandered too close to the watch-fires. The Khaydarin never showed themselves against the light, so after a few desultory shots against the watch-fires, the sentries gave up and returned to their silent, weary vigil. Sometime in the night, Kari got up to relieve Yamato and Takeru felt lonelier still. His limbs were numb with exhaustion, but try as he might, he could not sleep. Sick with fear and tension, Takeru closed his eyes and prayed. _O Creator_, he cried silently. _Give me peace. Give me strength!_

Four more times, the Khaydarins attacked, each time from a different direction. Four times, Takeru was brutally roused from his thin, rocky sheets to repel the invaders anew, and four times they disappeared wraithlike into the darkness, leaving behind a mess of dying men, overturned wagons and scattered watch-fires. The fourth time, Khaydarin unleashed a pack of hunter-seekers into their midst, which ran too fast to be tracked by arrow. That time, the charge almost reached the heart of the encampment before the last beast was killed. To Takeru, the night felt like it would never end.

When Kari came to wake him up for his shift, he was almost grateful. Even standing on guard in a freezing cold night was better than tossing around fitfully on a bedroll, being tormented by nightmares. He rose without complaint, murmured a quiet "thank you" to Kari as she wordlessly stumbled past him to her bedroll, took up his sword and began pacing around the camp.

Sighing as he let the cold night air wash away the sleep, Takeru looked around. "You can't defeat me," he said quietly but determinedly to the night. "You can try. But like it or not, we are coming after you…"

**********

To Yamato, it felt as if his head had scarcely hit his pillow when Takeru was shaking him awake again. Wearily, he opened his eyes but swallowed his groan as Takeru's grim expression and ashen complexion registered on him. He knew he was tired, but Takeru looked like _hell._

"What is the hour?" he asked instead.

"About two hours before dawn," Takeru told him. "Ken and Davis's branches have already started to move. It's time to march again."

Then he was off to go wake Kari. Yamato sat up and stretched, trying to work out the kinks in his back. As far as he could remember, the Khaydarins had attacked twice more that night, brutally rousing everyone in the camp from what little slumber they could find on the rocky ground. He felt sick with exhaustion, which was a bad sign, but it couldn't be helped. Wordlessly, he rolled up his groundsheet, shook the dew from his cloak and donned his armour. As he fastened the last piece, he looked up to find Takeru's intense gaze on him.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yes," Yamato lied.

"Then let's go."

In half an hour, the _Seitzin _were ready. Without fanfare, Takeru raised his hand and the _Seitzin started on their final march. Yamato rode silently alongside Takeru and Kari, numbly following the rhythmic clinking and clanking of their horses' stirrups and hooves. Behind them, the men were similarly silent, each soldier lost in his own thoughts. There was nothing to be said that had not already been said. Every prayer had been made, every farewell had been spoken. As before, Takeru had drawn his scouts in to cover only the army's immediate area, but they had little to report. The morning was as quiet as a tombstone._

Finally, Kari shifted in her saddle and looked around. "Do you think we're still being shadowed?" she asked.

"I don't think so," Takeru answered. "Sometime just before dawn, the hunter-seekers disappeared." He paused, then added, "And I have a good hunch where to."

He did not elaborate, and Kari did not press. The obvious thought remained unspoken. Khaydarin was mustering their final stand. These last few miles were nothing but the calm before the storm to end all storms.

They were getting close. Yamato could tell because he was beginning to suffer from more than the stifling cloud of ash and soot. Every now and then, a twinge and ripple in the thought-plane would send a wave of nausea shooting through his stomach, making him glad that he had not eaten much for his morning rations. With every mile they marched, the feeling became more intense. Beside him, Takeru and Kari seemed to be in similar discomfort, though they tried in vain to hide it. _Well_, Yamato thought to himself as he grimly fought down another wave of nausea, _at least there won't be a shadow of a doubt that the sangrias _exists anymore.__

After another hour, as the gray tendrils of sunlight began to caress the horizon, Yamato lifted his head. On the cold, dry air, he could smell the unmistakably salty scent of the ocean; a scent that not even the omnipresent fumes could obscure. Almost automatically, he looked left. Sure enough, he could just make out the long line of the _Aides wall straddling a far-off ridge, arching left and right to follow the peaks and summits of the shallow hills on its way south towards them. _

Just like his dream.

Grimly, Yamato turned in his saddle to look at Takeru. Takeru too, had noticed the scent and the wall. Yamato could tell by the subtle shift in his brother's spirit aura. But Takeru said nothing, and did nothing as they mounted the ridge. Silently, one hundred and fifty thousand _Seitzin followed. They crested the ridge._

Automatically, Yamato cast his eye to the north and the south. At the edge of his vision, Yamato could make out with his naked eye the red and green glimmer of Ken and Davis's armies waiting in the shadow of the rolling valleys. A flood of irrational relief coursed through Yamato at the sight of their coloured battle banners and gleaming armour. He knew they had made it, of course. But even at this distance, the sight of thousands upon thousands of neatly arrayed ranks was an impressive and a heartening sight. After a two-day invasion, the three branches of the _Seitzin _had finally met at the center.

He looked down, and sucked in a long breath through his teeth.

The innumerable hosts of Khaydarin's five corps were arrayed in full view along the immense, flat plains, dwarfing the united armies of the _Seitzin_. Neatly set out into five separate companies, their lines stretched for miles both north and south, running almost to the horizon. As far as the eye could see, the plain was covered in black-clad soldiers, standing as still as statues in the glaring red light of the sky. Rank after rank of bristling spears and shimmering, unsheathed scimitars twinkled and flashed in the glaring red light, more than the sands on the seashore, or the stars in the sky; more than the eye could count or the mind comprehend. Behind them glimmered the five towers and the miles-wide lines of red that Yamato remembered in his vision. The crystal tips were already beginning to pulse like a quickening heart as waves of wind washed around the towers as they would around the eye of a storm. 

There were no roars, no trumpets, and no stamping of feet. Instead the deadly purposeful silence pressed in on the _Seitzin from all sides; a great gulf of dark fathomless water. A murmur of unease rippled through the _Seitzin _as the great host suddenly seemed far too small and alone._

Takeru held up a hand and the _Seitzin ground to a halt. As the wind scoured the valley, the two greatest armies gathered throughout the course of Gaean history stared at one another in silence with scarcely a mile separating their bristling fronts. In despair, Yamato closed his eyes. Just from the first glance he could already tell that they were outnumbered nearly two to one. Any general would have retreated and saved his army to fight another day. Except there were no other days. Retreat was not an option._

_Meaningless_, Yamato thought bitterly. _It will be a meaningless battle. We were too late…_

Then…

_Yamato opened his eyes._

"_What…,_" _he murmured._

_Above, below and around him, he could see nothing but a familiar black void. No matter how hard and how far he strained his eyes, nothing revealed itself against the dark gloom. Yamato raised his hands and stared at his glowing fingers. The translucent, sourceless light that illuminated everything here confirmed his suspicions. It was as if he had just ascended and had yet to form his thought-shapes except…_

_…he had not ascended._

_And he was not falling._

_Carefully, he raised his foot and brought his toe down upon a hard, flat, and entirely transparent ground. So he was not falling. Someone had went to the trouble of making an "up" and a "down", but that was it. Suspicions and more than a little alarmed, he was about to step out of the plane when he noticed it._

_In the distance, something was happening to the dark void. A dark, pulsating column of violet, spearing upwards and downwards like an infinitely tall pillar, sparked and writhed violently. Tendrils of power arced out for miles. Paces? In this plane, where even such fundamental concepts of distance was an illusion, Yamato could not tell how far away it was, nor how wide it was. It was only there. The darkness rippled outwards in waves that were getting larger and larger by the moment. Instinctively, Yamato widened his stance to keep his balance as the swelling crests and troughs washed over him, leaving faintly tingly sensations running across his entire body. In bewilderment, he reached out at the waves, only to the phantasmal black wash between his fingers like flowing mist. What was this stuff? Was this what the _sangrias _did to the thought-plane with its mere existence?_

_"My time is short," someone said. "So I shall be brief."_

_Yamato whirled around. The man behind him grinned broadly as he slowly raised one clenched fist to his heart in a salute. "Yamato," Locke said. "That is what you go by now, isn't it? It has been a long time…"_

_Even Yamato could not entirely hide his shock. "Locke?" he whispered. "Did you…bring me here?"_

_"It was the only way I could talk to you," Locke said as he lowered his hand. In the dark violet light of the plane, Yamato could not be sure, but Locke's eyes looked unusually bright. "I could not speak with you before because I could not betray my position. But now that it has come to this…it doesn't seem to matter anymore, does it?"_

_The two men made no move to approach one another. Instead, they stood several paces apart (or was it kilometers? Centimeters perhaps?). It was inappropriate for commander and subordinate to come too close. Locke looked different. Six hard years had carved their indelible mark on his once-young face. The former Centurion's face was lean. Full of intense purpose, with hooded gray eyes that betrayed nothing. It was a strong face, but not young. Not young anymore._

_An eternity of unasked questions crashed into Yamato's mind. He had had so much to ask. How had Locke come to defect? How had he found the truth as he did? How had he managed to stay hidden? Where was he? Yet, faced with the gray eyes of his former Centurion, Yamato found that it didn't seem to matter anymore._

_"I can see you in the real world," Locke said, in a seemingly offhand manner. "Perched on that ridge. My, but it does make for an impressive sight. But I doubt that we will meet, Yamato. Not in the real world. You know battle. People tend to get…lost."_

_"Was it you that sent me that vision?" Yamato finally said. "The one about the sangrias?"_

_Locke tipped his head. "Yes," he said. "It was the only way I could get a message to you fast enough."_

_"It was not fast enough," Yamato said bitterly. "We cannot win. Even Takeru cannot move this mountain."_

_"But Takeru will," Locke said. His gray eyes gleamed with a strange peace, as if there was some subtle humour to be had in the grim battle ahead. "In fact he already has."_

_Yamato looked up. "What do you mean?"_

_"My corps is in the middle of those five ranks you see before you," Locke said, the amused sparkle in his eyes fading. "And I have made sure over the past few years that they served _my _cause. Not the Emperor, and not Khaydarin. Forty thousand men are ready to move at my bidding."_

_Yamato felt his heart skip a beat. For a moment, a single shaft of starlight lanced down out of the smothering darkness. "You don't mean…"_

_"It no longer matters whether the Emperor can see me," Locke said softly as he took a step forward, drawing nearer in the distanceless void. "Because in a few minutes, when the charge begins, my corps will show their true colours anyway. We might be able to create enough confusion for you to shatter the lines with your first charge. If you see a hole opening in the lines, it's not a trap. It's my men beginning their move. With luck, it may buy you enough time to get to the _sangrias _and destroy it."_

_"You're surrounded on both sides," Yamato said through a throat that was suddenly too tight. "You will be slaughtered."_

_His gray eyes burned into Yamato's own. Then, slowly, tentatively, he reached out and took Yamato's hand in his own. Clasping it tightly in his rough, battle-scared palms, Locke continued, his voice beginning to tremble._

_"Yamato," he said, "the cloaked stranger visited me too."_

_Yamato stared. He didn't understand how, or why, but suddenly, everything made perfect, undeniable sense. He hadn't known it, but that was all he really needed to hear, all he needed to know. The answers to all the other questions were secondary. He now had absolutely _no doubt_ about Locke's motives._

_"I understand," Yamato said. And he did. He understood Locke as he had never understood him before._

_"If you survive," Locke murmured, "don't let the world forget us. We were lost and deceived, but don't let them forget that in the end, ,we _did _finally come to our senses. I know that our sins are more than we can atone for, but we tried nonetheless." A spasm of emotion crossed his face. "It's…the least we could do for Him who promised to save us despite our past."_

_Yamato peered into the face of his former subordinate, and saw the grim eyes of one who did not expect to see the next sunrise. He saw, and he was moved to tears. So Locke had been true all along. He could see the man's heart  so clearly now. His anguish and his struggles. His eternal fight to repay the debt that could never be repaid. Why had he ever doubted? Why had he ever feared?_

_"The world will not forget," he promised as he folded his own hands over Locke's. "Your name will surely take its place beside ours in the saga of the last _Seihad_. Goodbye, my friend. And thank you."_

_A ghost of a smile touched Locke's lips as he nodded._

_"Farewell then. We have a battle to win and a world to save…"_

**********

Yamato opened his eyes and looked around.

A handful of dust swept into his face, and he was forced to shelter his eyes as he looked. The wind that swept across the land was shrieking now with anticipation, and the clouds of dead dust billowed this way and that in its fierce grip. Around him, the Seitzin had spread themselves out along the ridge top. For at least a mile in both directions, Yamato could see the multicoloured banners flying eagerly from their poles, lending an air of silent anticipation to the entire, surreal scene. Apparently, the entire exchange had only taken a few moments.

Seeing that the other stand-masters had already dismounted, Yamato hurriedly swung off of his mount as well. Patting his horse on the back, he passed the mount on to his banner bearer, who mounted the horse gravely. To a stand-master who could run faster than a horse for short distances, a horse in battle was more of a hindrance than an aid. Drawing his sword and holding it easily at his side, Yamato looked out.

In the dim red light, the massed black armies of Khaydarin stood as silent and ominous as ever. Suddenly, inexplicably, he felt a great laugh building up inside his chest. His shoulders began to shake with mirth. So Locke was out there. He could scarcely believe it. His former Centurion was _there, scarcely a quarter of a mile away. The vast black army no longer seemed so impregnable. He had a friend in there, and that was all that mattered._

Further down the line, Takeru raised his sword high into the air, and somewhere in the back of the army, the rumbling tattoo of the nations' war drums started. _Boom…boom…boom_…they called, rolling through the land like thunder. A loud, ringing note burst forth as every soldier unsheathed his sword and held it at the ready. Suddenly, the ridge top was bristling with the silver glimmers of bright steel blades. Slowly, almost casually, Takeru lowered his sword.

"The _Seitzin _will advance at a march," he called.

The banner-bearers lifted their banners higher, and grips on weapons tightened in eagerness. Like a great lumbering beast, with a loud groan and creak, the _Seitzin _surged forth as one man and began to descend down the ridge. Yamato stepped forward, and was surprised at how light he felt. His whole body was tingling and his blood was boiling. But it was not the old blood lust that was overtaking him now. It was something different. Softer. Calmer. Far more powerful.

At the spearhead, Takeru raised his hand again. "The _Seitzin will advance at a trot," his voice called. Automatically, Yamato broke into a light run to keep abreast of the soldiers on either side of him. He looked up. The black armies were beginning to move as well. The front ranks were rippling as shield bearers brought their shields to bear. The shrieking wind carried the faint rattle of clacking arrows as Khaydarin strung their bows. Despite everything however, Yamato was surprised to realize that he felt not the faintest trace of fear. The black dread that had hung over him only a minute ago was gone. Instead, a great stillness had laid itself over him. And while he did not exactly feel joyous, or happy about riding into battle, he felt…peaceful._

"The _Seitzin _will advance at a run," Takeru said, louder this time, his voice hardening like rapidly cooling steel. At once, the army broke into an easy loping run, eating up the remaining meters between the two fronts. Yamato raised his sword to the ready position. Yes, it felt right. This was putting things right. Perhaps he had been born for just this purpose. For a moment, he saw before him the great rift of his dreams. The black mass became the black gulf. He did not shudder or blink. Why had he not seen this? Why had he not realized before? It was so clear. So clear…

He looked up. The men were ready. Their faces were alight with fire. He was ready. The other stand-masters were ready. He could see them all along the line, gathering themselves for the final charge. Silently, he turned to look at Takeru, who marched in front of them all. A lithe, powerful figure, unbent with fear or dread, his sword's uncovered blade glimmering at his side. _We are ready…_Yamato said silently. _We are ready…_

Takeru raised his sword high above his head. All of a sudden, a pillar of gold lanced down from the sky and enveloped him in its glow. With a shout, Yamato summoned his own stand along with the others. Five other pillars of light flew down and blazed before the _Seitzin, forming the greatest banner of all. The command that rolled from Takeru's lips was like steel striking stone. _

"_The Seitzin will CHARGE!!!!_"

**********

Locke's heart leaped as, with a mighty roar, three hundred thousand Gaean warriors, drawn from every nation on the land, thundered down the ridge towards him. The six pillars of light that led them blazed ever brighter as the shouting soldiers charged. The earth trembled like a writhing beast under their pounding feet, the air shook with their reckless roars. Yes, this was the moment he was waiting for. The game was over at last. The gloves were off. He could finally unveil himself.

_Traitor…traitor…_the voices hissed. _Die…die…die!_

Locke shuddered. With an effort, he nodded at his banner-bearer, and the man hastily dropped the black banner. Raising a trumpet to his lips, the bearer blew three short blasts. Slowly and deliberately, Locke drew his sword as the trumpets around him picked up the call. Beside him, Yvan already had his sword drawn, and was turning his horse around. As he faced Locke however, the Centurion sat up straight in his saddle and saluted his _Praetor. Once._

Locke returned the salute, not trusting himself to say anything past the lump in his throat. Yvan was a good man. He would understand.

Yvan nodded, then turned his horse the rest of the way, and rode off to the left on a tangent to the main Khaydarin army. Not daring to watch his Centurion's retreating form, lest he lose the perfect void of concentration he had crafted for himself, Locke nodded at his bearer, who promptly turned around, locked his gaze forward and rode off to the right. Around him, the trumpet ringing was almost continuous now. Murmurs of confusion were spreading through the other corps around Locke's, but Locke's forty thousand merely threw off their cloaks and cast down their masks. Turning silently, they split themselves down the middle. One half followed Yvan. The other followed Locke's bearer. Riding in different directions, they opened up a huge hole in the formation.

_Fool!_ The voices screamed. _You are weak! You will die! For nothing! Nothing!_

The other corps were beginning to realize that something was seriously wrong as they watched Locke's men riding on tangents towards the _sangrias_. As the rattle of drawing weapons filled the air, Locke reached inside his mail tunic, withdrew the _mirrireid_ and yanked savagely on the chain. The thin links broke with a defiant shriek. The voices screamed at him. They hollered, savaged and bruised his ears. Then they stopped.

Locke laughed out loud with relief as blessed silence descended upon him for the first time in weeks. Suddenly, it was all so clear. All his doubts and fears fell away like a shed cloak. Swinging the _mirrireid about its chain, he threw it as far away from him as it would go and watched it lose itself in the midst of the roiling masses of soldiers. When the last twinkle of the hated talisman was gone from his sight, he swung his mount around and urged it forward to a trot._

**********

Kari had seen war before. She had seen death. She had ridden at the heads of countless armies throughout her time. Although she was a healer by nature, it was not as if she had never dealt out death, or been threatened with it. But this…this was something else altogether.

As she rode at the head of the _Seitzin, thundering down the ridge towards the massed black ranks, she felt as if she was flying. The edge of adrenaline, fear and rage combined to make her entire skin crawl with electricity. When she saw Locke's army split, she allowed herself only a small measure of surprise. She did not truly hear Yamato's screamed thought-shape telling everyone to charge ahead into the gap. She would have done so anyway._

Then the vanguard of the _Seitzin crashed into the front ranks of Khaydarin's confused defenders with enough force to send their first three ranks flying, and Kari was flung into hell. She was surrounded by wave after wave of scything swords and spears and enveloped by a hail of barbed arrows. Summoning her stand like a protective shield, Kari charged resolutely onwards, carving a path through the forest of black, felling soldiers left and right with her __wakizashi and her stand._

Together with Takeru and Yamato, she felt a long shout of defiance tear from her throat as she led the keen edge of the _Seitzin's blade driving relentlessly through the middle of Khaydarin's line. A relentless barrage of shouts and screams, shrieks and rattles assailed her ears and covered the plains like a thick, smothering blanket. Strangely, she felt no fury and no rage. The fear and dread that had weighed heavily upon her shoulders had slipped off. She felt nothing save the fiery tingle of her stand singing in her veins and through her limbs, flowing past her fingertips and into the tip of her __wakizashi. Waves of black came from all sides, and she whirled through them like a reaper plowing through a field of corn. The blazing white tip of her weapon left trails of fire wherever it touched, be it through leather armour, metal shields, or soft flesh. Screaming men burst into flames at the mere touch of her blade, and disintegrated into ashes at the blast of her stand. The frustrated enemy's spears and swords thrust and scythed at thin air as she danced ever closer, a wavering, elusive steel-edged phantom. Whoever she touched, she killed; she left no wounded in her wake. She did not merely let the charge break upon her. She moved into it. Screaming men fled from her sight. She was too far away to strike, too close to defend from, too fast to see…_

On either side of her, the _Seitzin pushed determinedly onwards. Though they lacked her stand's awesome power and speed, they made up for it in sheer determination. Dozens, hundreds of men died in the initial rush, only to be overtaken by others surging up behind them, screaming, yelling, slashing, ever onwards. Forward…forward…_

But the Khaydarin were beginning to recover from their surprise. The initial clash had been lost, yes, but it was sheer numbers that would decide the battle in the end. On both sides, the flanks extended and looped forward to swallow the _Seitzin's_ reckless charge, despite the _Seitzin's_ best efforts to protect their sides. The charge slowed as the black ranks dug in their heels and stood their ground. Khaydarin catapults behind the front lines began to rain burning balls of rock down upon the _Seitzin. Blossoms of fire carved huge wounds in the Gaean army's ranks, and those not immediately killed by the flying shrapnel were set alight by the splashing flames and broke rank to run screaming to their deaths. Kari slowed, then ground to a halt as those around her were forced back. "__No!" she screamed. "__Forward! Forward!"_

There was a thundering noise behind her, and Kari turned around. An entire legion of riders thundered past, peeling off to the left and strafing the fraying black lines with arrows. Yolei's burning orange shafts left vivid lines of colour on Kari's retinas as they zipped through the air and into the enemy. As swiftly as they had charged, the cavalry was retreating again, looping around for a second pass.

The _Seitzin _raised their weapons and cheered raggedly as hundreds of Khaydarin soldiers died from the first salvo. Before the rest could recover from the confusion, Davis was already leading in another wave of Taelidani and Fan-Tzu riders. Again the deadly hail of barbed arrows filled the sky. Those who were not immediately killed broke rank and fled. The footmen advanced another fifty paces. Kari felt the words leaping from her throat to join the Seitzin's singsong chant.

"_Forward!_" she shouted. "_Forward! Forward!_"

**********

As his corps's men marched further away from their former comrades, Locke marched in the opposite direction, right into the heart of the Khaydarin defensive formation. If somewhat puzzled by his lack of a mask and cloak, the Khaydarin soldiers in front of him parted when they recognized the _Praetor's crest on his chest. Privately, Locke allowed himself a grim smile of amusement. The Emperor was not omniscient after all. Surely he had made his last mistake allowing him to remain __Praetor. Going in was too easy. _

As for coming out, he would likely not live that long anyway.

There was something strangely liberating about that knowledge. Locke felt lighter and younger than he had in years, as if some huge weight, some oppressive gaze had been lifted off of his shoulders. The game was almost over. The time had come to play his final card. And after that, he could finally rest, free from the voices, from the fears and from the doubts.

The roar of combat was getting louder as the front approached. On both sides, Locke could see his own men beginning to darting recklessly in and out, tearing up the flanks of the Khaydarin formations. There was Yvan, galloping at the head of a roaring column as he led yet another charge into the waving forest of steel. Every time they came away, the daring raiders did so with thinner ranks. Yet their losses paled in comparison to the carnage they wrought on their confused "comrades". Silently, Locke congratulated Yvan on a job well done. It was working…

Men around him surged forward, determined to stop the _Seitzin onslaught. Nobody paid Locke much attention as he rode to the tall, Khaydarin banner in the center of the formation. He was a _Praetor_, and if he chose to head in the wrong direction, it was not up to them to question that. It was not long before Locke could hear Karensky's shouted orders as he directed his troops onwards._

Soon, the _Praetors _themselves came into view. The surviving four Khaydarin warlords, minus Caylor and Yaerin, were set in formation in one rank, shouting at their men to fall into their places behind them. The Khaydarin horn was sounding almost continuously now as the _Praetors_ rallied their troops for a countercharge. 

Laughing a little, Locke drew his sword, leaned down low in his saddle, and urged his horse to a full gallop for his final attack run. They were making it too easy for him. All the pieces had fallen into place so neatly that he could scarcely believe it. Yes, they would sing of this for the next thousand years. The daring, last charge of Locke Dimak, _Praetor _of Gaea's first and only Khaydarin corps as he descended upon his unsuspecting victims. Silently, Locke breathed a prayer under his breath as he rushed forward. _Creator, give me strength…_

Kirishima spotted him almost immediately. Standing up in his saddle, the _Praetor_ waved his sword above his head wildly. "_Locke!_" he shouted. "What is your men _doing?!_ Why did they…"

Locke couldn't hear any of it through the pounding pulse in his ears. His eyes were already judging distances and measuring angles. He was approaching from the south. From this angle, he could see all four of them strung out in a row. Jadan, Mordaen and Karensky were too absorbed in trying to rally their troops to take much notice of him. Suddenly, the black forest of armour around him was gone as he broke into the relatively empty circle around the _Praetors_. As if realizing he had finally trodden past the point of no return, his heart missed a beat within his chest, even as Caylor's words seemed to roar in his ears:

_"You must strike with pinpoint accuracy and brutal force where the enemy is weakest…"_

Kirishima was frowning now, as if he was perplexed by Locke's silence. He continued to shout. Locke forced himself to lower his sword slightly so it didn't look so threatening. They must not suspect until the last moment. He could hear snatches of Kirishima's shouts over his horse's pounding hooves now. "_Rebellion…counter…help?_"

He was closing so fast that Locke needn't have worried. Just as he had done a hundred times before in drills and in battle, Locke automatically began to raise his sword above his head for the killing stroke. Kirishima's expression turned from confusion to alarm as Locke galloped into striking range. "_Traitor!_" he screamed as he struggled to unsheathe his own sword. "_You son of a-"_

Locke's first stroke took Kirishima's head off. Before the decapitated _Praetor _had fallen to the ground, Locke was already racing onwards, hunkered low in his saddle, his sword held at his side like a scythe. The others had definitely noticed him now. Jadan was turning towards him, struggling to bring his bow to bear. Mercilessly digging in his heels, Locke spurred his horse on to an even greater burst of speed. At the last moment, Jadan threw his bow aside and scrambled for his sword. Locke's sword made a sound like wind running through silk. Jadan's head tumbled to the ground.

As Locke tacked towards his next target however, Mordaen was already charging. Before Locke could bring his sword to parry, Mordaen was upon him, his silver scimitar whirling. With instincts sharpened by years of combat on horseback, Locke tapped his reins to make his horse hop sideways and twisted swiftly in his saddle. Even so, he was not quick enough to avoid the Mordaen's stroke as it sliced through the flesh on his left arm from his shoulder to his elbow.

Locke reeled from the explosion of pain, and black dots danced on the edges of his vision. His breath caught in his throat as he swayed in his saddle, and his horse involuntarily took a few steps backwards. Triumphantly, Mordaen raised his sword for another blow and charged forward.

Desperately, Locke parried. Back and forth the duel went as the two _Praetors _strove to gain the upper hand. The horses snorted and pranced, darting in and out at the bidding of their masters. Sword-points flicked and slashed through the air like angry hornets. The swift singing of grinding steel drowned out even the incessant roar of the invading _Seitzin_. Finally, Mordaen swung his sword so hard that Locke's sword was almost smashed out of his grip. Reeling in his saddle, Locke was helpless to parry as Mordaen dashed in, eager for the kill.

_"Always make certain of your first strike, Centurion, for you will never, ever, get a second shot."_

But Mordaen had no way of knowing that Locke had long since abandoned any hope of leaving the battlefield alive. He no longer cared for his wounds, no longer cared for leaving an escape route open. Instead of backing off and defending as he would have done, Locke nudged his horse forwards. His black warhorse's hard shoulder slammed into Mordaen's mount, and Mordaen cursed as his horse staggered under the impact and threw off his aim. Instead of taking off Locke's head, the keen sword raked painfully across Locke's torso and tore into his side. As Mordaen struggled to control his dancing horse, Locke reached out and stabbed the man cleanly through the chest.

Mordaen's mouth opened in a soundless scream of fury. His grip tightened spasmodically on the hilt of his sword. "Traitor," he wheezed through his bloody mouth. His glassy eyes shifted upwards. Slowly, he slid from his saddle and landed with a crunch on the hard, stony ground. Locke heard the grisly snap of the man's neck as he collapsed. If Mordaen had not died from the sword-wound, he was most certainly dead now.

Locke gritted his teeth to stop himself from moaning in agony. Slumping in his saddle, he wrapped his trembling left hand to his side. The paralyzing pain from his wounds was incredible. The black specks were falling like thick snow now, obscuring his vision in their rapidly expanding flashes. _No! _his mind screamed at his battered body. _Don't black out! Not yet! Not yet!_

There was a rattle of arrows, and Locke looked up. Through the haze of drifting black specks, he was vaguely aware that the men around him were screaming and shouting in alarm, and that most of them were leveling their bows at him. A groan of frustration escaped him. Straining forwards, he urged his horse forward at a staggering trot, half-expecting to be pierced by a dozen steel-tipped arrows with each step his horse took. _Not yet! Not yet!_

"_Hold your fire! This one's mine!_"

With a disgruntled murmur, the Khaydarin soldiers lowered their bows and arrows. Incredulously, Locke opened his eyes.

Karensky waited silently on top of his black horse just out of striking distance. As if to enforce his command, his unsheathed silver sword rested at his side daring an archer to disobey. For a long moment, Karensky did nothing but stare at Locke, as if he was trying to fathom a perplexing specimen. His lip curled in disdain. 

"So…Caylor's treacherous legacy continues..."

Locke said nothing as he sized Karensky up warily. He had pressed the element of surprise for all it had been worth, the proof of which lay in the three still-twitching bodies behind him. But now, it was gone. Karensky was ready and waiting. Even in his prime, Locke wasn't sure if he could best the man in a straight duel. Now, wounded as he was…

"Congratulations, traitor," Karensky spat through gritted teeth as he turned his horse towards Locke, and settled into an attacking posture. Raising his sword, he kissed the pommel like a duelist. "You played the game well. To outwit the Emperor must have taken some pluck. And I suppose we also have _you _to thank for the confusion along the front."

Locke carefully tested his left hand by clenching his fist. Good. Although he was rapidly losing feeling in his hand, Locke could still move it. He could still grip his reins. It would have to be enough.

"Oh God I hated you," Karensky continued, spitting in disgust. "Your too-perfect record, the sickening favours the Emperor lavished on you. Your young genius! Caylor was bad enough. To have his Centurion, a mere _Centurion_, ascend to his place overnight! I wanted to kill you, and now I know why!"

_Yes, _Locke thought silently. _Get angry. _Angry people made mistakes. Angry people became arrogant and careless. So he remained silent. Despite everything, he felt an ironic smile twisting the corners of his lips. What did it matter if he died trying? He had resigned himself to do just that from the very beginning. Karensky didn't know that. Perhaps he could use that to gain an advantage. Instead of wasting breath defending himself, Locke concentrated on gathering his strength for one final burst. _Just one more…_

"Answer me, _traitor!_" Karensky screamed, spittle flying from his lips. A hush fell around the assembled soldiers as they watched the confrontation between the _Praetors. "Or am I too __low for you? Am I __unworthy of an answer?"_

Locke forced himself upright, and leveled his sword beside him like a scythe. Sneering, Karensky did the same with his own, and the two _Praetors _readied themselves for the final charge. "Do you really think you have a chance against me?" Karensky taunted. "Look at you, you pathetic son of a whore. _Look at you! Not so high and mighty now, are we? No army to back you up? No Caylor to look after you? Oh my, has our little Locke gotten into __trouble?"_

Locke coughed out blood. Then he raised his eyes, and smiled. "Not half as much as you," he rasped.

Karensky's eyes bulged. With an enraged scream, the _Praetor _leaned forward and began the charge. Locke felt a wordless roar tearing loose from his throat as he spurred his horse onwards as well. Like two tournament duelists, the _Praetors _charged one another with their blazing swords aloft. Great arcs of blood-tinged dirt flew skywards in their wake, and the air turned as thick as treacle with tension. The flying hooves ate up the distance rapidly. Fifty paces. Thirty paces. Twenty…fifteen…ten…

At five paces, Locke steeled his legs beneath him and did the truly suicidal. Gathering himself, he leaped from his saddle and hurtled straight towards Karensky with his sword-point first.

_Don't forget me…_

Flying through the air, Locke saw Karensky's arrogant sneer turned into disbelieving alarm. The black-haired _Praetor's sword swung upwards instinctively, and Locke felt the burning cold point slide into his stomach, tear through his gut and erupt out of his back. There was a brief moment of unbelievable pain as white fire obscured everything. Then the two men collide with a vicious __crunch and Karensky was knocked flying._

Locke could not even scream as they hit the ground and Karensky's icy sword twisted within him. There was a splintering sound as both their swords snapped. Over and over they tumbled in the dusty dirt, battered by rocks, gravel, and armour. The black specks that had been whirling across Locke's vision was like a thick, winter blizzard now, and a terrible cold swept over the young _Praetor _as he felt all feeling evaporate from his limbs.

When they finally slid to a stop, Locke found that he could not move. He could not even blink. With each weakening beat of his heart, he could feel his hot blood pouring from the hole in his belly, spreading over the ground like a pool. But Locke didn't care.

It was difficult to focus what little vision he had left. But by some freak chance, his tumble had left his face pointing towards Karensky. 

Towards the broken sword-hilt that impaled the _Praetor's_ throat.

_Yes…_he thought wearily, yet happily as the blackness descended to claim him forever. _I've done it. I've won the game…_

**********

"The last of them has died," Korvan said into the darkness, an edge of worry creeping into his voice. "My Lord, Locke has killed all of them."

Tichon stared at the scene unfolding before him, seen through the eyes of one of his _mirrireid _bearers. A ripple of shock and rage shuddered across his otherwise emotionless brow. So Caylor's treachery had run much, much deeper than he had thought.

"Our lines are beginning to crumble," Korvan said urgently. "My Lord, the men are leaderless!"

Tichon did not respond. His gaze was fixed on the broken body that had just moments ago been one of his most trusted _Praetor's. Locke had played the game very well indeed, much better than he had given him credit for._

"My Lord!"

"_I heard you bearer!_" Tichon exploded. Korvan subsided into silence as Tichon turned back to consider the picture before him. Indeed, the lines were crumbling. Although the Khaydarins still had the superior numbers, their ranks were dissolving with panic and disorder. Yes, Locke was dead now. But the fact remained: Locke had cost him very dearly indeed.

Tichon felt the last traces of amusement disappear. In its place was grim wrath. The time for play was over.

"Takeru…," Tichon hissed, spitting the word out like a bitter herb. "I think it's time I showed you what 'Seihad' is all about…"

**********__

Suddenly, the tone of the trumpets changed.

Ken looked up for a moment, a lone, green-clad figure in the middle of the immense, dusty desert, and cocked an ear to listen. Yes, there was something different. It was not the _Seitzin's trumpets that had changed. The harsher-sounding Khaydarin horns had changed. Four blasts now, in rapid succession, instead of the long, drawn out one. Warily, he raised the tip of his swordto eye level and shifted to a more defensive stance. What did it mean?_

Before him, the black ranks rippled and moved. Khaydarin soldiers turned and began to flee before the _Seitzin's _onslaught. Although they still had the advantage in numbers, Ken watched in amazement as rank by rank, company by company, the black-clad forces began to retreat and peel off towards the ridges to the north and to the south. All along the miles-long front, ragged cheering broke out among the _Seitzin as confused but delighted soldiers lowered their weapons._

Beside him, Lord Marc raised his hand, and the Saldean forces stopped their advance. Slowly, Ken lowered his bloodied sword. _Why?! _Ken thought disbelievingly as he watched them scatter like chaff. _They are far from defeated. They still outnumber us!_ Whatever it was that had happened at the North wall yesterday, it was happening again. The Khaydarin were turning tail and running for no apparent reason. The _Seitzin had managed to push right to the foot of the __sangrias. What possible advantage could they gain by abandoning their five towers _now?__

Still cautious, Ken summoned his stand and let it hover over him for a moment, scanning in all directions, but he could see nothing amiss. There were no reinforcements unlooked for approaching over the nearest ridge, nor were there any obstacles left between them and the _sangrias._

_Something must have happened at the top_, Ken thought in amazement. _But what could possibly have shocked them into yielding such a tactical advantage? _

Casting his eye south, Ken could make out the other stand-masters in the distance, their forms silhouetted against the bright colours of their stands. All of them seemed as baffled as he was. Further downhill, he saw Yolei lower her bow. What's going on? she demanded. They're running away!

Cody's thought-shape was hazy with disbelief. I don't get it. They still had the upper hand, and they just threw it away!

Well, I say we smash them now, Davis cut in. Already, Ken could see several companies of Taelidani mobilizing along the northern front and setting off to pursue the retreating Khaydarin forces. No sense in passing up this-

"No!" Ken shouted. As Marc turned to him in alarm, Ken motioned urgently that he was all right, but that he could not speak for the moment. Instead, he focused on his thought-shape. Forget them! There's a clear path to the _sangrias. _Let's destroy that first, then worry about this!

There was a moment of silence. Then…

Ken's right, Yamato said, quietly cutting through the fading roars of combat. I don't understand why they left, but whatever they're doing, the _sangrias _comes first.

Pass on the word, Takeru said urgently. Every stand-master, advance with your respective nations. Yamato, Kari, you're with me. Davis and Yolei, you're the fastest; head for the farthest towers. Ken, Cody, take the nearer ones. Yamato, Kari and I will take the closest towers. Use the siege weapons we brought with us. Go!

Takeru's orders were accepted as the common sense they were. Within minutes, the _Seitzin _were on the move again, racing down the middle of the gap between the fleeing Khaydarin armies towards the _sangrias_. For Ken, the half-mile run seemed to be the longest in his life. All over the miles-wide front, Khaydarin and _Seitzin _passed each other as everyone closed on the _sangrias _with single-minded purpose. Desultory shots flew between invader and invaded, but the _Seitzin _made no move to stop the enemy from retreating. Now, their eyes were only for the _sangrias._

Ahead of him, Ken could see Takeru, Kari and Yamato's column leading the wave, favoured as they were by the relatively flat terrain they had to cover. Further to the south and slightly behind them, Ken could make out Davis and Yolei leading the Taelidani, Fan-Tzu and Jakt forces on a mad dash for the southern tower. Turning back to his own assigned tower, Ken concentrated on running. Behind him, he could hear the rattle and grumble of the siege wagons the Ishidans had brought along with them roaring along the broken ground.

Ken tuned them all out. The towers were there, larger than life and ready for the taking. The path to them was blessedly free of obstacles. Fixing his eyes on his tower, he memorized the long rings of red that lined the ground and the concentric circles of bronze that circled the center; burned the image into his memory, and hurtled for it with every last ounce of speed he could muster. He could scarcely believe it as his feet carried him swiftly towards his goal. 

_They were there! Victory was at hand!_

Perhaps that was why the first wave so utterly destroyed him.

"AAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOGGGGGHHHHHH" Ken screamed as the most repugnant wave of slime he had ever felt washed over him. The world exploded into multi-coloured stars and cracks, shifting into false colour and back again with such nauseating rapidity that Ken tripped and sprawled headlong onto the ground. Huddling helplessly into a shivering ball, he threw up every last thing that remained in his stomach. Shrieks and screams filled his ears, and sharp nails raked his skin. He was being pulled into a bottomless pool of filth by desperate phantoms that screeched for his blood. His stand's eye could see them clearly, shimmering against the cold dark, tattered and piteous, reaching for his soul. Horrified and disgusted, he writhed on the ground, slapping and scratching at himself convulsively. Over the shrieking that filled his head, he could vaguely hear screaming and shouts of alarm as the ground heaved beneath him.

The ground was heaving…?

With a Herculean effort, Ken slammed his stand's eye as tightly shut as he could and weakly propped himself up on one elbow; only to find that the nightmare that greeted his eyes was hardly better than the one that greeted his stand.

The center tower of the _sangrias was pulsing with red, malignant waves. The six-foot high crests of crimson foamed across the gray land like mist, snapping the ground like a giant as it went. Everyone around him had been flung violently off their feet by the earthquake. Any who tried to get up were promptly blown back down by the frigid storm that had whipped up all around them. In moments, the charge was halted completely._

Ken was suddenly conscious of a sinking feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with his nausea. "No…"

The desert was turning into a surreal nightmare. The sun was now nothing but a circle of  black ash, and the sky was glowing malignant blood-red. The mantle of lead gray clouds opened up and screamed with thunder, vomiting forth showers of meteors that exploded in fountains of flame upon striking the ground. The earth heaved and split apart like a dying animal. Before Ken's eyes, an entire section of cliff along the coast cracked and disappeared into the raging surf with an earsplitting _boom_. The clouds whipped back and forth until they formed a vortex around the _sangrias_. And in the middle of the five towers, the central bronze ring started to turn and shimmer.

_Takeru!_

Ken twisted on his side and scanned the battlefield desperately for a glimpse of gold. Takeru, Kari and Yamato had been ahead of him, and must be even deeper within the storm than he was. For a few frantic moments, he could see nothing but whirling dust and bloody snowflakes. Noise and confusion so overwhelmed him that he couldn't see the ground in front of him, never mind where Takeru was. Hauling his shivering body upright, Ken shaded his eyes from the hurtling sand and searched the mirk desperately. "TAKERU!"

Then he saw them. Kari, Takeru and Yamato, barely a hundred yards away, clinging to each other as they struggled to their feet. Despite all odds, Takeru seemed to hear him as he turned at Ken's voice.

For a single moment, their gazes locked. An instant of shared fear. Shared dread…

Then Takeru whirled towards Kari. A flash of gold seared across the field as Takeru extended his arms towards her. 

Ken shielded his eyes as he caught a glimpse of angel wings unfurling…

Takeru opened his mouth, as if to yell something back…

Ken's vision exploded. Every dark colour blazed with light. Every patch of light became soiled with black. Faster than the eye could fully see or the mind comprehend, a sphere of malignant dark violet expanded violently out of the center tower, rushing towards the three struggling stand-masters…

As suddenly as it happened, all the colours of the spectrum reverted back to their original appearance. Ken staggered and almost fell again as his vision snapped back to normal. Shaking his head and scrubbing soot from his eyes, Ken turned back.

In the roaring storm of stinging grit, he could see no sign of them.

In their place, the mile-wide rift of Yamato's dreams stood like a rotting, black mouth…

**Author's notes: Wow, I haven't posted so soon for a long long time. Luckily, the next chapter has already been written, so I'm pretty sure it will come out soon. I'll save my comments for then. In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. And as always, please review! I like to hear feedback, good or bad, so that it doesn't feel like I'm simply posting into a vacuum.


	13. Seihad Chapter Thirteen

** I don't own digimon.

****

**Seihad: Chapter 13**

****

By: TK Takaishi

Before Takeru's eyes, the world stretched and shrank to a pinpoint, then ballooned like a blooming flower; the passage of time slowed until every beat of his heart felt like a life-age of the universe. Dark shadows of stars wheeled overhead, leaving fiery black trails that burned brighter than the most piercing white light. Revolted, Takeru turned away and closed his eyes, but the stars were there behind his eyelids as well; everywhere he turned violent plumes of dark light writhed and contorted in ways the mind was not designed to comprehend. His skin prickled and burned with a million pinpricks of burning heat and cold; he was wet, then he was dry; he was gulping in air, then he was gulping in sand; his mouth tasted sweet and then it tasted bitter…Takeru felt his stomach clench with nausea as his legs gave way underneath him, only there was no ground to fall onto. He was falling…falling…

Visions passed before his eyes. Mountains heaved and the seas formed. Empires rose, building great legacies and cities, only to leave behind mysterious monoliths and ruins, their names forever concealed within languages long dead before the birth of Adun and the first Seihad. Millions of names and stories passed through his consciousness, lives of people who had walked the earth when Takeru's line had yet to be born impressed themselves upon his memory. The entire life age of Gaea compressed itself into a single instant and burst upon his like a wave of foam breaking over rock. Moaning, Takeru curled into a ball and clutched his head. It was too much to take…too much to remember…too much to experience…

_Too much!_

Takeru gasped as cold stone slapped against his bare flesh, and suddenly the nightmarish ruin of a reality was gone. Shivering and gulping down air as fast as his parched throat would allow him, Takeru remained curled on the ground for long moments as he waited for the world to stop spinning. Presently, he turned onto his side and threw up…except there was nothing to throw up. His stomach could heave up nothing but air. 

For once, Takeru was thankful that he had not eaten anything since the night before.

When he finally felt strong enough, he opened his eyes.

An unfamiliar, dark gray ceiling greeted him. Slowly, as his senses returned to him, Takeru began to see more. He was in a small stone room, completely devoid of all furnishings save a small, crude wooden bench against one narrow wall. Beneath him, the stone chilled him with its cold, as if the sun had not glanced here for a long, long time. A single door made of some kind of roughly cast metal led into it. And to his left…

With a moan, Takeru propped himself up onto his elbows, then levered himself upright. Grinding his sword point into the ground, he staggered to the open window slit set into the thick wall. Reaching the wall, Takeru leaned against it for a few moments as he willed the world to stop spinning. When the nausea in his stomach finally died down, Takeru braced himself against the window-sill and looked out.

He was on a tower of some kind. As he looked out over the gray battlements, the now familiar vista of gray horizon and dead plains greeted his eyes. Automatically, Takeru looked up, trying to find his bearings or, at the very least, gauge how much time had passed since he had been knocked out, but it proved to be a hopeless cause. Strain his eyes as he would, he could see no hint of sunlight through the omnipresent cloud of gray fumes that covered the sky, and it was so dark he could scarcely tell whether it was night or day. He sighed and watched as the white streamers of his breath faded away. After almost a week of staring at such a sky, he had come to expect it. But the air…

The air smelled different.

The air of  _Paen__ province had smelled rotten, as every living thing in the land was wasting away with sickness from the curse that had been cast upon it. Yet the air here did not smell of anything but dead dust. As if nothing had grown here in so long that even the smell of rot and decay had faded away. Wherever "here" was, the curse had been here for centuries…_

He looked out again, this time with greater care. Yes, the dead plains had struck him as familiar, but on closer inspection, he could see that wherever "here" was, it was not _Paen _province. _Paen _province had been coated with fields of yellowing, dying grass; here there was nothing left but gray dust. Where the sea had still been green and blue off the coast of Ichijouji, here the sea was nothing but a heaving sheet of iron, utterly dead. And the tower…

Takeru looked down and caught his breath. He was so high that he could not see the ground for the billowing gray clouds of grit that blew around the fortress's base. Black gate rose against gray flagstones, soaring towers rode upon jagged battlements, arches flew upon thrusting towers…ever higher and higher until it seemed to him that he was at the peak of some gigantic, organic mountain of stone slabs and steel bars. Banners whipped wildly from the top of some of the towers, and Takeru knew what he would see before he saw them: the golden serpent of Khaydarin.

Yet for all its might and splendor, the fortress was empty. The walls were intact, the gate shut, but Takeru could see no sign of patrolling soldiers or servants tending to the myriad tasks a fortress this size must require. He could hear nothing but the eternal shriek of the wind as it tore hungrily at the snapping black pennants, and a strange, distant roar that swelled and dwindled away like waves on an ocean shore. He could not tell what it was; the sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Slowly, Takeru backed away from the window until he could no longer hear the roar, and sat down. 

What was going on?

There was nothing here save spirits and dust.

Takeru firmly pushed down the rising feeling of panic. He leaned his head against the stone wall behind him, closed his eyes again and focused on forcing air in and out of his lungs. When he felt calm again, he ground the tip of his sword into the ground again and forced himself onto his feet.

Once again, he regarded the dark door. There was no doubt in his mind now. He had been sucked through the _sangrias to the other side. If Yamato's descriptions were anything to go by, he was now standing in the middle of Khaydarin's capital, on Tichon's own fortress._

Takeru thought back over the last few moments. He had seen Ken, standing fifty paces away, struggling to get to his feet. Kari and Yamato had been beside him when the darkness had struck and everything had gone to hell. He remembered turning to Kari and summoning his stand to throw her clear. But by the time his stand had reached her, the storm of sand had grown so thick that he couldn't see them anymore.

Takeru looked out over the courtyard. The question now was how large the _sangrias' _opening had been and whether the others had been caught in it. Was Yamato in this nightmare with him? Had he managed to throw Kari clear or not? And Ken? Had the opening reached him?

And where was Khaydarin?

Resolutely, Takeru turned to the doorway and sheathed his sword. One thing was certain. There were no answers to be had on this windswept tower top. He tested the door and, finding it unlocked, marched through.

Inside, the only light came from feeble, sputtering torches set into iron holders in the wall. A set of spiral stairs led downwards into the bulk of the fortress. The footing was treacherous and steep, so Takeru was forced to summon his stand. His stand's staff appeared promptly in his left hand. Holding its glowing tip before him like a torch, Takeru put a hand against the wall and began the dangerous task of descending the stairs.

For several minutes, he crept carefully downwards, one hand holding his staff before him, the other resting on the hilt of his sword. Down and down he went, around and around, until Takeru lost track of all sense of direction. Once, he paused as he willed the world to stop spinning again. In the darkness, he could hear nothing save his own breathing and the slight humming of his stand as it flowed from his fingertips. After a few moments, Takeru gathered his strength, straightened resolutely and continued downwards.

At length, he came upon the end of the stairwell. In the side of the rock wall, another narrow archway appeared, even darker than the first. Cautiously, Takeru extended his staff through the opening, intensified its glow and looked both ways. Seeing nothing, he stepped out into the corridor.

"Which way now?" he muttered to himself. 

To his right, he could see the corridor lead to a series of steps that led even further into the depths of the fortress. To his left, he saw the corridor extend for several hundred paces before it reached a sharp bend to the right. Behind the bend, he could see the faint gray glow of the outside. Wherever the corridor led, it led to someplace with windows. After a moment's thought, Takeru turned left. It would be best to explore this fortress systematically, and a search from the top down was as systematic as any.

He reached the bend and looked around it. At first glance, it appeared to be some kind of multi-purpose hall. The walls were lined with narrow slits that let in air and light and little else from the outside. Here and there, strange, barbaric designs had been carved into the walls; patterns that teased the mind and evoked images of snarling jaws and snapping snakes. On top of these designs, richly embroidered violet banners lent a regal air to the entire hall. In the middle, long tables made of some kind of coarse-grained wood filled the floor in strictly regimented rows. At one end, a large, unlit fireplace was set into the wall. A mess hall of some kind for the captains of Tichon's army, perhaps.

Takeru let his staff disappear from his hand as he stepped forward. With the added light from the window slits, it was no longer necessary. He scanned the walls, the tables, the windows, anything for a clue of what was going on, but he found nothing to dissuade him of his first guess: this was nothing but a deserted mess hall. In bewilderment, he tried inspecting the designs along the walls, but soon gave up. If it was a language, then it was not any that had learned before. And if it was art, a glance was enough to convince him that he didn't want to meet the artist.

He inspected the exits. Three other doorways, four counting the one he had come through, led into the hall. All of them came in from a corner, all of them looked identical. Takeru regarded them blankly. His path had forked again. Which way to take?

Frowning in thought, he turned back to his original doorway. Drawing his sword, he channeled a bit of his stand's energy into it until the blade glowed golden, then slashed a mark into the rock. If he ever needed to find his way back, such marks would be invaluable. Turning, he was about to start down the next corridor to the left when he froze.

Footsteps were coming down the center corridor.

Hastily, Takeru ducked back into the darkness of the corridor he had come from. Cautiously, he extended his stand's senses again, but could tell nothing about the person through the omni-present haze of death that permeated the entire fortress. He cursed silently. He had not realized until now just how much he depended on his stand's senses. Without them, he felt half blind.

Long seconds passed as the footsteps grew louder. Presently, a slim figure, shrouded in shadow, appeared at the far end of the mess hall. Takeru raised an eyebrow. It was a woman.

Woman or not, he had no intention of betraying his presence. Takeru held his breath as he watched the person peer about the large room as if searching for something. When she saw the designs on the wall, she leaned against it to inspect it. Takeru watched as the woman slowly stepped along the wall towards him. Tightening his grip on his sword, Takeru hunkered deeper into the shadows. If she came any closer…

Then the figure stepped into one of the dim pools of light from the windows, and Takeru blinked.

"Kari?" he called as he stepped out from the shadows. "Kari!"

Kari turned at his voice. "TK!" she cried. Abandoning her inspection of the walls, she hurried across the hall and threw herself into Takeru's hasty embrace. "I thought I would never find anything breathing, much less you!"

"Me too," Takeru said as he held her tightly. Mixed feelings of disappointment and relief flooded through him. So his last minute throw had not been enough to clear her from the mouth of the _sangrias. Yet she was safe. That was something. Pulling back, he inspected her carefully. "Are you hurt?"_

Kari shook her head. "Aside from a bad case of nausea from the trip," she said, "not a scratch. You?"

"I'm fine," Takeru reassured her. "Did you see anyone else?"

"Not a soul," Kari said worriedly. "Do you think the others are here as well?"

"We were ahead of everyone else," Takeru said tightly. "But…"

"If we're here, then Yamato must be as well," Kari finished for him. "He was right beside us."

"Right." Takeru said, nodding. "And there's no guarantee those behind us weren't caught as well. But I don't understand something."

Kari gave him a blank look. "What do you mean?"

"Both of us were caught when the _sangrias' opened," Takeru said tensely. "But why were we sent to different places?"_

"Tichon designed it that way?"

Takeru frowned. "I don't think so. Why would he possibly want it to do that?"

"Who knows?" Kari arched an eyebrow at him. "But just because we don't know, doesn't mean he doesn't either."

Takeru nodded reluctantly. "Alright," he conceded. "But more importantly…," he looked around. "Where is Khaydarin?"

At that, Kari nodded. "I was thinking the same thing," she said. "At first, I thought they had all gone through, but that's absurd. At least _someone_ must have been left behind. Yet…the castle is empty."

_It's more than empty_, Takeru thought as he looked around, suppressing a shiver up his spine. There wasn't a single soul, human or otherwise, that impinged upon his stand's senses. Not a single rat or cockroach, bird or predator prowled either the inside or the outside of the castle. Something was very wrong. It was almost as if someone had deliberately emptied the castle, so that there would be…

"All the more space for us, Lady Hikari," a smooth, silken voice said.

Takeru and Kari sprang apart. In an instant, both their weapons had been unsheathed and both stands were standing beside their masters, claws and staff at the ready.

Whether the man had walked into the room, or had been hiding in the room all along, Takeru had no idea. The man had simply appeared where previously there had been nothing but empty space. Shifting his sword grip uneasily, Takeru frowned in confusion. There was something wrong…

The man had strong, handsome features. A mane of dark brown hair fell about his broad shoulders, and a pair of hazel eyes, bright and darting as a bird's, took both of them in in a single glance. His fine dark cloak shimmered and shone strangely as the man casually walked around the table separating them. As Takeru had done hundreds of times before, he allowed his gaze to take the measure of the man, to observe the easy grace with which he carried himself, to notice the quick, firm power of his step. Warily, Takeru brought up his stand's staff and crossed it with his sword in a guard. No, this man was not to be taken lightly.

"Stop right there," Takeru heard Kari say sternly.

One corner of the man's mouth twitched upwards in an arrogant smile as he stopped obediently. "It is customary," he said airily, "for the intruders to introduce themselves before the master of the house."

_The master of the house…_Takeru tightened his grip as his stand leaned forward. That could mean only one thing. But to think that this man…

"But I already know who you are," the man continued, "so I suppose introductions are moot." A bright, cold smile lit up his face. "And I suppose you must have figured out who I am by now."

Takeru could tell that Kari had come to the same conclusion. Her posture, merely wary before, was now positively bristling with aggression.

"Emperor Tichon, of all Khaydarin. Lord of Lies, the Great Deceiver," Takeru said flatly. "We meet at last."

"We do indeed," Tichon said as he swept into a low bow. "So this is the next Adun? The man who has single-handedly derailed my campaign." He regarded Takeru with an appraising stare, then sneered. "I thought you would be taller."

Takeru felt the petty insult slide off the sheer surface of his calm rage. "And I thought you would be prettier," he retorted.

Tichon's gaze hardened. "You are in my way."

"You will not go through the _sangrias," Takeru said firmly. _

Tichon's eyebrow arched upwards in an amused gesture. "Oh?"

"Your reign of terror is over," Takeru said, his voice flaring with rage. Slowly, he leveled his sword. Beside him, he felt Kari bracing for her attack. "This ends, today."

"You're right, it will," Tichon agreed. "But I think you don't understand something." Reaching up, he unfastened his cloak's broach with a click. With a slight rustle, the nauseatingly shimmering cloak fell away from his shoulders, revealing the long sword buckled to his side. Slowly, almost casually, he drew the sword and threw away the sheath, revealing the midnight-black blade that glowed with the same dark light as the _sangrias _had.

"This," Tichon said, as if relishing every word, "is _my domain."_

Kari shifted. "Go on then," she taunted. "Call your men! We'll destroy you after we're done with them!"

"Oh, my Lady Hikari," Tichon said with a sigh. "How naïve of you. I sent my men away for just this reason." His eyes glinted. "So I could enjoy this."

"You knew we were coming," Takeru said flatly. "You opened the _sangrias _to trap us here."

"Of course," Tichon said loftily. "I know everything, my dear boy."

"No you don't," Kari said through gritted teeth. "You didn't know about Locke."

Tichon glared at her. "He has paid for his crimes," he said, his voice betraying only the slightest hint of anger. "His betrayal is inconsequential."

"Oh no it isn't," Kari said as her eyes began to glow silver. "It let us get to you."

Tichon grinned, revealing twin rows of perfect teeth. "Ah, the idealism of-"

"Enough."

Tichon's outline blurred and disappeared as Kari's silver-white bolt smashed the tables behind him into a thousand spinning splinters. The rapid clatter of their landing filled Takeru's ears as he dove, rolled, then dashed away from Kari. He knew without looking that Kari was already circling in the opposite direction to trap Tichon between the two of them.

The blur that was Tichon resolved itself for an instant atop one of the tables. Another bolt from Kari's stand sent him flying again, but this time Takeru was waiting for him. Gathering his legs beneath him, Takeru leapt onto one of the tables and spread his stand's wings. As Tichon's shadow passed over him, Takeru unleashed his stand and, with a roar, exploded straight upwards.

A resounding clash shook the chamber as their swords met. For a moment, Takeru was blinded by the shower of sparks that exploded between them as, unbelievably, he felt the same slash that had destroyed the walls of _Paen _province slow to a halt.

It was a moment too much. Before he could gather his wits, Takeru felt his blade being shoved sideways and downwards by Tichon's expert parry. Surprised, Takeru was forced to grab _Ichibou_ with both hands to keep it from being wrenched from his grip and in a heartbeat, he had been sent into an uncontrollable tumble past his opponent.

"_Takeru!_" he heard Kari shout. "_Watch out!_"

It was the faintest breeze brushing past his hair that alerted Takeru to Tichon's passing. He could not see his opponent with his back turned, but he could sense him. Somehow, Tichon had pivoted along his parry until he was on top of Takeru.

_Merde…_

Takeru twisted desperately as he tried to bring his still trembling sword to bear, but it was too late. With a laugh, Tichon brought his sword down.

Takeru summoned his stand.

The golden staff of his stand appeared an inch from the back of his neck and Tichon's thrust was diverted up and past Takeru's shoulder. Takeru's heart skipped a beat as he saw the point of Tichon's black blade whistle a hairsbreadth from his face. But even as his mind reeled from the closeness of the encounter, his body was already moving.

Curling into a ball, Takeru lashed out blindly with his legs. As he had intended, he felt his left leg wrap around Tichon's neck and shoulder. Once the hold was secure, he pivoted again, curling even more until he had flipped completely around in midair and could see Tichon. With his stand's staff still trapping Tichon's sword, Takeru reached up, grabbed Tichon's sword arm and, with a shout, rammed his right knee as hard as he could into Tichon's midsection.

Except Tichon's arm was already there. Instead of meeting soft flesh, the point of Takeru's knee hit only hard sinew and bone. Takeru's mind reeled with disbelief. Was this man _human?_

Then he had no more time to think as Tichon's elbow smashed into the side of his face. Takeru's vision wheeled with stars as he felt his opponent slip away like a snake. Takeru felt three more hard blows, two to his stomach and one to his sword arm as he fell away, then Tichon was out of reach. Gasping with shock, Takeru could do nothing as his left shoulder slammed into a table as he fell, demolishing the crude wooden construct into tinder, then the world went white with pain as his shoulder hit the unyielding stone ground.

Automatically rolling with his momentum, Takeru emerged from the fall crouching on his haunches, but the damage had been done. Twenty paces away, Tichon landed lightly, completely unscratched. He laughed. "Oh come now," he taunted. "I expected more from the almighty Emperor Takeru, master of the _Shun Ten Satsu_,_ the legendary __Tenken!"_

Takeru said nothing. His vision was still spinning from Tichon's elbow, his sword arm was numbed from the nerve strike, and his left shoulder was a throbbing mass of pain. For a few minutes at least, both of his arms were useless. There was no doubt that Tichon had won that little encounter. Although he tried not to show it, his sword was trembling in his grip. He had taken the measure of his opponent.

There was no way he could win.

Before he could think more though, Tichon swung his sword over his head and charged. Takeru gritted his teeth as he willed his sluggish limbs to move. _Move…_ he screamed silently at his battered body. _Move…move!_

"_Takeru!_"

Mere paces from Takeru, Kari slammed into Tichon. Despite her diminutive size, the force of the tackle sent both of them flying sideways. For a few moments, they rolled and grappled desperately along the ground, each trying to gain the upper hand. Too close to use their swords, both fighters used everything they had at their disposal: knees, elbows, fingernails, feet, and even teeth. Blood and spit splattered across the stone ground as the assailants raked each other mercilessly. Wincing at the pain in his shoulder, Takeru struggled to his feet. "_Kari, get away from him!" _he shouted. "_Get AWAY!!_"

Whether she heard him, or whether she figured it out by herself, Kari complied. With a quick twist of her hips, she planted both her feet on Tichon's chest and pushed up hard. With no other choice, Tichon threw himself backwards, and the fighters sprang apart. The instant Tichon was out of striking range, Kari twisted, cat-like, onto her feet and drew her weapon. At the same time, her stand roared to life before her. In an instant, the air was suddenly filled with a shower of white shards, flying straight for Tichon.

But Tichon would not be deterred. He did not merely allow the attack to break upon him. Takeru watched incredulously as Tichon deftly advanced into the shower, smashing aside the thick stream of explosive white bolts as one would swat away flies. Once again, another resounding _boom rippled across the stone ground as their blades met. Takeru shielded his eyes as the glow of Kari's stand brightened to almost blinding proportions. He had never seen Kari draw so much on her stand's power. And __still, she was being pushed back. __How can this be? he thought incredulously. _How can this man be defeating the two of us so handily?__

Pushing down his disbelief, he summoned his stand, and a groan escaped him as the sudden pain drove him to his knees. Shocked, he looked over his left shoulder. The normally pure-white feathers of two of his left wings were now covered with golden blood, and the joints were bent at an odd angle. There was no way he could fly.

Another resounding clang jolted Takeru to his senses. Gritting his teeth, he levered himself up onto his feet and began a stumbling run across the hall. He had to help Kari. He _had to! "_Get back!" _he screamed as he willed his stunned body to move faster. "__Get back!"_

Again, Kari tried to retreat. Swift as a silver streak, she flipped backwards and pushed off her hands. Just before she was about to leap away however, Tichon leaned forward into his charge and snapped both arms forward. The heels of both palms caught Kari squarely in the belly, and she was sent flying almost twenty paces away. Takeru watched in disbelief as Kari slammed into a chair with a scream and collapsed onto her knees, clutching her midsection.

Kari had the fastest reflexes among all of them, even Takeru, and this man was outmaneuvering her as if she was moving in slow motion. _This isn't possible!_

"_You can't run from me!_" Tichon roared as he charged. 

Desperate to help the obviously stunned Kari, Takeru spun on his heel, cocked his arm and launched his stand's staff like a javelin as hard and as fast as he could. _Please hit!_ he prayed desperately. _I have to slow him down!_

But it was if Tichon had eyes in the back of his head. An instant before the staff reached him, he ducked and grabbed the staff with his back hand. Before Takeru could blink, his own staff was hurtling towards _him._ Leveling his sword, Takeru caught the golden staff on the steel blade, but the force of Tichon's blow was enough to push him cleanly off his feet, parry or no parry. Again, Takeru was sent rolling and sliding across the rough floor. Slamming into the stone wall, Takeru felt his breath leave him in a loud _whoosh and for a moment, the world went black as his head hit the hard brick. The next thing he knew, he was slumped face-first on the ground, completely paralyzed with shock and pain. __Merde, he swore silently. __Merde, merde…merde!_

Kari, however, had not wasted Takeru's distraction. Even as Tichon had launched Takeru's staff back at him, her own stand was already lunging for the Emperor with a bloody roar, claws and fangs extended. Swift as lightning, Tichon turned and slashed at the beast's face. For a moment, the flash of light obscured the two combating figures as the stand and the blade struggled for supremacy.

_Yes_, Takeru thought. _Do it Kari!_

Then the moment was over and Kari's stand was falling to its side with a dying roar, disappearing like morning mist. And before his fallen opponent, Tichon stood, his blade dripping with the silver stand's blood, his chest heaving with the exertion. Takeru's heart sank. _No…_

Kari, however, was not done.

"_Forward_," she screamed, "_the SEITZIN!_"

Even as Tichon's blade was halfway through its slashing motion, Kari was already charging in, heedless of the long, gash across her temple, her _wakizashi_ held high for a killing blow. Caught completely flat-footed, Tichon roared as he struggled to bring his longer and less maneuverable sword to bear, but it was too late. Faster than the eye could truly follow, Kari was upon him.

Takeru watched with his heart in his throat as for an eternal instant a burst of writhing, electrifying light illuminated the entire chamber like bright sunlight as the stand-master and the demon struggled for supremacy. An explosion of stone splinters and wood chips flew outwards from the titanic clash, slicing apart the remaining tables like paper and forcing Takeru to summon his stand and shield himself from the shrapnel. Not daring to take his eyes away from the fiery explosion before him, Takeru grabbed one of the few surviving tables and levered himself upright.

Then the light faded away, revealing the two combatants, and Takeru almost fell again with shock.

A dark creature, broadly shouldered with the body of a man but the face of a snake, hovered like solid smoke between Kari and Tichon. Patterns of dark blue and black ran across the monster's glowing orange eyes and across his arms and torso, and a shimmering, grey cloak whipped around wildly in the turbulent air. One clawed hand held onto Kari's _wakizashi as if the razor-sharp blade meant nothing. The other gripped Kari's neck, lifting her cleanly off the ground as a giant might lift a child._

Unharmed, Tichon leveled his blade and smiled. "Takeru," he said coldly as his blade began to glow a malignant black, "this might be news to you, but…

"…you're not the only ones with stands."

Then wordlessly, he stepped forward and, with one smooth motion, thrust his sword hilt-deep into Kari's left breast, through her heart and out her back.

Takeru felt every drop of blood drain from his face as the world faded to black around him.

_No…_

He saw Kari's mouth open with shock, but no sound came out. He could hear the splatter of the river of blood that poured from her breast, see the flickering aura of white around her body splutter and die away as her feeble struggles faded away into nothingness.

_No…_

With a grunt, the black stand lifted Kari's limp form higher as Tichon grabbed his sword's hilt with both hands. Kari jerked convulsively as he twisted the blade deeper into her chest, then roughly wrenched it out, but could do nothing as Tichon's stand spun her around and tossed her across the room like a rag doll. Scrambling, Takeru dove for her falling body and managed to break her fall, but it was too late…

_No!_

"Leave her, Takeru," Tichon said as he casually flicked Kari's blood off his blade. "We have business to conclude."

Takeru ignored him. Kari felt limp and ominously silent in his arms. Frantically, almost fumbling with fear, he turned her over and laid her gently on the ground. Tearing off his entire cloak, he pressed it to the ragged hole in her breast, but even as he did, he knew it was a useless gesture. Blood was seeping like rivers around his fingers, soaking her clothes and spreading in a pool on the ground. Already her face was as pale as snow, her breathing laboured and difficult. He had seen it before, too many times. And every time it had been this bad…

"You can't die," he whispered fiercely. "You can't die!"

Kari arched her back as she convulsed violently, turned on her side and vomited a stream of blood onto the ground beside her. Hurriedly, Takeru tore off a piece of his cloak and wiped her mouth clear of blood, trying to keep her airway open, but if anything her breathing became more laboured. Taking her face in his hand, he turned her around until he could see her rapidly glazing eyes. "_You can't die!_" he shouted. "_You promised me!_" His heart twisted with each word, as if willing them to come true. "_Kari!"_

Against all odds, Kari seemed to hear him. Her mouth opened as if to say something but nothing came out. Instead, the faintest whisper of a thought-shape brushed across his mind. _Help,, she breathed. A single tear fell from her dimming eyes. _Takeru…__

"I'm here!" Takeru said urgently as he grabbed her hands as tightly as he could. "Don't move, Kari. Don't-"

_Live…, _Kari whispered. 

"I can't," Takeru choked through the lump in his throat. "Not without you!"

_Live…_

Then even that whisper faded away as her the torrent of blood from her chest slowed and stopped. Takeru froze in disbelief as the ragged movement of her chest stilled, then abandoned his makeshift cloth compress to hold onto her face with both hands as he searched desperately for a sign, _any sign of life. _

But her eyes, once so bright and lively, were now as blank as pale glass. 

"Kari…," he choked. "No…" Numbly, he checked her pulse, then her breathing, but he knew he was just going through the motions. He had seen death enough times to know when it had struck once again.

Kari was dead.

Takeru bowed and pressed his forehead against hers. He couldn't move; he couldn't breathe. The sharp pain in his chest was so intense he felt he would die.

A part of his heart had withered and died with the woman before him.

_No…no…_

"Leave her," Tichon said again, this time his voice markedly colder and harder. "There is no pleasure in killing an opponent with his back turned. But I am growing impatient."

Takeru turned.

"Ah, you hate me?" Tichon said as he saw Takeru's eyes, a pleased smile twisting his lips. "Good. Because perhaps now, you will finally know an _inkling_ of what you and your kind…" Tichon's eyes flared a malignant red. "…have done to _me."_

But Takeru did not strike. He did not even advance. Instead, he gently lifted Kari's limp head and untied her hair ribbon, then fastened it to his sword's scabbard.

"I will live," he whispered as he laid her head back down gently. "I will live…"

Then with a bound, he leaped into the air. At the apex of his leap, his stand appeared behind him, superimposed over his own body, and a thousand bolts of golden lightning slammed into the ground around Tichon, throwing up an impenetrable screen of smoke and whistling shrapnel. For a moment, Tichon was forced to wrap himself in his stand's dark aura to repel the rock shards. As the smoke became so thick that Tichon lost track of Takeru however, the dark stand turned to stand back-to-back with Tichon. Narrowing his eyes, Tichon crouched to his haunches and peered intensely into the thick debris cloud. Where would Takeru come from?

But as the seconds ticked away, no attack came. When the smoke finally cleared, Tichon straightened in confusion.

Takeru was nowhere to be seen.

For a moment, Tichon could not believe that Takeru had run. When no sign of the stand-master revealed itself however, red rage filled Tichon's vision. With an inhuman scream, he turned and smashed a gaping hole in the fortress's wall. As the flying bricks fell to thunderous crashes on the dusty courtyard outside, Tichon threw his head back and roared.

"GAEA IS MINE, TAKERU! YOU CAN'T STOP ME!!!"

**********

Prowling the desolate corridors cautiously, Yamato heard, then felt the tremendous crash that shook the fortress to its foundations. Looking up, Yamato scanned the damp, rotting walls of the dungeon in bewilderment, then broke into a dead run.

He had awoken down here, and although it had been years since he had last seen this fortress, he could still remember the correct routes to take him to the top. The locked wooden gates and iron bars posed no problem for him; a quick slash and a kick always left little to obstruct his passage. Skidding down the slimy dungeon flagstones, Yamato rounded a corner, then paused at a forked passageway. Both ways led to the top but to different sections of the castle. Frowning, he looked to the left, then to his right, trying desperately to recall any slight detail that might help him make his decision. _Which way should I go?!_

As he debated with himself, Yamato heard a series of dull booms, not unlike that of boulders striking rocks, break the brittle silence in the dungeons. Although not as loud as the first explosion, these ones were still loud enough to echo across the endless corridors like dull thunder. Yamato looked up once again, this time with a hint of apprehension. By the sound of it, whatever had exploded up there had demolished an entire wall of the fortress. Yamato knew of very few things in the world that had the destructive force to do that, save…a Stand.

The explosions had come from the right. Judging from the time between the first and the second thuds, the explosion must have occurred somewhere near the top of the castle. Without pausing to think, Yamato took off in that direction. Privately, Yamato reflected on the irony. While others ran away from the danger, he could inevitably be found running towards it.

It was the story of his life. Perhaps that said something about his character.

Then he pushed all such trivial thoughts from his head. Reaching the spiral staircase that led upwards, he smashed the door down and proceeded to mount the stairs three at a time. Yes, here he was at the guard's quarters. He ignored them; he was still too low. Gathering his stand beneath his legs, he vaulted from one staircase to another, then resumed his upwards dash. Perhaps there he'd find some answers.

As he mounted his tenth set of stairs however, Yamato paused just before he emerged from the stairwell. If he recalled correctly, this was the first of the main levels, where corridors became much larger and longer. Cautiously, he raised his head above the bottom stair and peered both ways.

The corridor was deserted. Every few paces, narrow window slits had been carved into the brick walls, and the omni-present gray light that Yamato remembered provided the only source of illumination in the otherwise dark hallway. After checking with his stand to ensure that there really were no one, Yamato straightened up cautiously, his sword drawn and at the ready.

It made no sense. Even at its quietest, the castle had always had some sign of life about it. There should be servants tending to the generals, soldiers tending to the animals in the stables, prisoners to be fed, guarded or executed in the dungeons…there was no end to the tasks a fortress of this size required. Yet the fortress was utterly devoid of life. Uneasily, Yamato shifted his weight slightly, then set off to his left, to where he remembered the next stairwell would be. There was something afoot. He just wished he knew what it was.

Then all uneasiness deserted him when he turned the corner and almost ran into a man.

Springing backwards in alarm, Yamato raised his sword and prepared to summon his stand. How had he not heard him? _Idiot! he shouted at himself. __You-_

"Yamato?" Takeru called. "Yamato, it's me!"

Yamato blinked as he slid to a stop. Takeru stood before him, hands raised cautiously. Yamato felt a rush of relief as he lowered his sword and hurried to his brother. "Thank goodness you're-"

He stopped and frowned. "What's wrong?"

For a moment, Takeru couldn't seem to speak. His face contorted in an odd mixture of despair, rage, and overwhelming grief as tears poured down his cheeks. As Yamato drew closer however, Takeru drew in a ragged breath and wiped away the tears that obscured his vision. Shaking his head, he grabbed his brother's arm. "We have to go," he croaked urgently. "You've been here before?"

"I was brought up here for a time."

"We need a place to hide," Takeru said haltingly between odd, uneven coughs. It took a few moments for Yamato to realize that Takeru was sobbing. "A place to plan. Can you think of one?"

Yamato nodded. "Follow me," he said as he squeezed his brother's arm. Then he turned and took off at a dead run. Behind him, he could hear Takeru's swift footsteps following him. Rounding the corner, he raced down the stairwell he had just come up, sliding down the rail where there was one, taking the steps four at a time where there wasn't. It did not take long for the two of them to descend seven flights.

When they reached the end of the stairwell, Yamato paused, then checked both sides of the corridor. Once satisfied that they were alone, he beckoned to Takeru and tacked right. If he recalled correctly, they were back in the lower catacombs which contained nothing but smithies, spare armouries and storage rooms. Few ever ventured down here.

As he led Takeru past several more rounds and bends, Yamato slowed down slightly as he began to look for a suitable room. He needed something small and infrequently used. Something easily missed.

There.

He grabbed the small armoury's door and yanked at it, but it was locked. Muttering under his breath, Yamato drew his knife, channeled the blade blue, then inserted it carefully into the gap between the door and the doorframe. Sliding the blade down, he felt a small hitch as it sliced neatly through the deadbolt and the door opened easily. Ushering Takeru in, Yamato checked both sides of the corridor again, then stepped in himself and closed the door carefully.

Inside, Takeru had already summoned his stand's staff to shed a little light on the dark interior. Grabbing a nearby crate of arrowheads ready to be fitted to arrows, Yamato wedged it against the door to keep it shut, then swung on Takeru.

"We will be safe here," he said hoarsely. "At least, for a little while. Now tell me what happened."

Takeru didn't answer. Instead, he leaned against the nearest wall and slumped to the floor as if the last of his strength had given way. He buried his face in his hands.

"Takeru?" Yamato said as he drew closer. "Takeru?"

Takeru drew a ragged breath. "Kari is dead," he answered in a flat monotone. "Tichon killed her."  
  


Yamato felt his breath leave him in a giant _whoosh as he, too, slumped to the ground. "_What?_" he hissed._

"Tichon killed her," Takeru repeated automatically.

"You're sure?" Yamato said as he clenched his fists. "You saw…"

"I _saw_," Takeru said through gritted teeth, "Tichon stab her through the heart with my own eyes. I _saw_ him wrench his sword out and throw her away. I _saw_…," his voice broke and a gasp of sorrow racked his body. "I saw…I saw her die in my arms."

"Maybe you-"

"Don't insult me, Yamato," Takeru said, his head still buried in his hands. "I know death when I see it. The Creator knows I've had enough practice."

Yamato said nothing. There were no words in all the tongues of Gaea, from the East coast of Yagami to the West coast of Ichijouji, dark enough to describe the despair he now saw on Takeru's face. Before him, Takeru seemed to fold in upon himself as he finally gave full vent to his sorrows. "Yamato," he moaned. "What are we going to do? What am I going to…Kari is…I can't…_what am I going to do!!_"

Yamato shuffled over and touched his brother's arm awkwardly. He didn't know what to do. He had never seen Takeru like this before. This was not an Emperor of Kings who sat before him. It was a wretched, broken man, wholly defeated and ruined.

"Takeru," he said, trying not to sound harsh. "Listen…"

When Takeru did not respond, Yamato took a firmer hold on his brother's arm. "Takeru, listen to me," he said more firmly. "Look at me!"

Takeru looked up.

"We can grieve for Kari another time," Yamato said. "This, is not it!" Even as he did, he knew how harsh this must sound to a man who had just lost what Takeru had lost, but it simply had to be said. "You saw Tichon?"

Takeru scrubbed his face with his sleeve and took a deep breath. "Yes."

"You're certain it was him?"

"He was dressed in a black cloak, the type Khaydarin soldiers wear, except this one was tinged with a richer violet," Takeru said mechanically. "He had dark brown hair and eyes and a good build. His blade was black."

"That _sounds _like him," Yamato said doubtfully. "But it could just as well have been-"

"And he had a Stand."

At that, Yamato frowned. Takeru turned to his brother. "I don't know how he ever received it," he whispered. "But he had one. I saw it with my own eyes. And when you think about it, it makes sense, doesn't it?"

Yamato nodded reluctantly. It did make sense. How else would Tichon have been able to open a _sangriaswithout command over the thought-plane. Come to think of it, why had he not concluded this before?_

"We fought in some kind of hall on the upper floors," Takeru continued. "But he was too much for us…" He looked up. "Did you see anyone else? We'll need all the help we can get."

"Not a sound or a clue," Yamato said, shaking his head. "I saw no _Seitzin _in here. Neither did I see any of our friends." His brows knitted with worry. "Though that does not mean they are not here. I couldn't see them when the _sangrias engulfed me."_

"Then perhaps they _are _here."

"Perhaps," Yamato said cautiously. "But I would not stake so much on a wishful fancy. We may well be the only two left."

"You're right," Takeru said as he slumped against the wall again. "We need a plan."

"Tichon is not invincible, Takeru. We have a chance."

"What _chance _do you think we have, Yamato?" Takeru hissed violently as he bolted upright. "You didn't fight him. _I _did! He brushed Kari and me off like ants!"

Yamato felt his jaw tighten. "I am stronger than Kari."

"Not by much," Takeru said darkly.

"We can-"

"Yamato," Takeru said quietly as he slumped again. "We are fighting in his home. He knows this place. He's got us figured. We don't."

"What are you saying?" Yamato sad suspiciously.

"This," Takeru hissed, "is a fight we cannot hope to win, Yamato. We must flee."

At that, Yamato paused. His eyes grew colder. "This is not the Takeru I know, to admit defeat so easily."

"This is _not _defeat," Takeru gritted. "We will come back. But we cannot face him here, by ourselves. We have to fight him with our rules, not his."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Yamato said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. 

"The _sangrias _is outside, and it is open."

Yamato's eyes must have betrayed his skepticism, because Takeru straightened up defensively. "I saw it on my way down, through one of the windows," Takeru said. "With both _sangrias _open, Tichon can transport people to any corner of Gaea, but the tunnel between the two anchor-points _should _remain open the whole time. If we can make it there, we can make it out."

Yamato couldn't believe his ears. "You want to turn tail and run?"

"A retreat," Takeru said tightly, "is not a defea-"

Then both brothers fell silent again as another boom rocked the fortress. This time, the explosion was much closer than before.

"He must be destroying entire rooms and walls searching for us," Takeru whispered in awe. "He's half mad!"

"Either way, we aren't safe here," Yamato said as he straightened up suddenly. "Come, we must leave at once."

"Are we going for the _sangrias_?"

"I see no other choice," Yamato said tightly, "if you will not fight with me. I cannot fight him alone."

Takeru averted his eyes. "I told you why."

Yamato closed his eyes. Yes, his brother had indeed told him why, and in a dark way, Yamato understood. 

Takeru was broken, perhaps beyond repair. He had seen it happen to others, but never in his wildest dreams had he thought that it could happen to Takeru. His brother had always seemed a pillar of strength, rock steady against the fiercest storm Khaydarin could send their way. A wave of dread surged through his stomach. It should not have happened.

But it had.

Yamato leaned down, grabbed Takeru's arm and hauled him upright. "We can argue about this later," he said roughly. "Let's just get out of here."

The brothers hurried to the door. Yamato opened it a crack, then peered down both sides of the hallway. When nothing revealed itself after a quick glance, he pushed the door all the way open and began running towards the right. "This way," he hissed. "We need to get higher to get to the main level, then we need to clear the dry moat."

Silently, the stand-masters sprinted down the hall, then up yet another flight of stairs. Yamato glanced left and right uneasily as they ran. There was no mistaking it; there was something about this place that clouded his stand's eye like a veil. Robbed of his stand's senses, he felt half-blind. Where would Tichon come from? Where was Tichon?

They went up past the servant's quarters, then the soldiers barracks, which weren't much grander. Pausing slightly at one, Yamato poked his head into one. Mostly, they were nothing but narrow stone rooms with rows upon rows of small cots. The weapons, armour and gear that Yamato was accustomed to seeing there was gone, as if their masters had taken them with them when they left. Wherever they had gone to, they obviously had need of their gear.

_Not a good sign. _Yamato thought grimly as he turned back and continued running. The suspicion in his gut was hardening to knowledge now. _Not a good sign at all…_

When they reached the main hall, Yamato paused.

They were perched on a broad, railed balcony overlooking a huge hall. Around the room, similar balconies broke the smooth walls in a circle of tiered steps. Yamato's eyes narrowed.

He remembered this hall. It was Tichon's throne room, a mere stone's throw from the great black gates that led to the outer courtyard. It had been here that his young mind had been twisted and coerced against its will. There was the solid gold serpent embedded into the floor which he had kissed when he had first been sworn into Tichon's service; and there were the soaring marble pillars which had so intimidated him when he had first been led into this hall. As he looked upon them now, he saw that had not underestimated the hall's size; four men joining arms would not have been able to surround the smallest pillar; a thousand men would have fitted into the hall with room to spare for their mounts and wagons. High overhead, the black, jagged arches he remembered so well from his childhood stabbed downwards like menacing stalactites. Unbidden, dark memories boiled before his eyes. Oh yes, he remembered this hall very well indeed.

Behind him, he heard Takeru gasp. "It's huge," he whispered.

"Yes, huge," Yamato muttered darkly. "Be very light on your feet. Tichon designed it so that the unwary's footstep would echo like a gong in here. It's saved him from many assassins in the past."

Grabbing the banister with his right hand, he flipped over it and landed cat-like on the smooth marble floor. He winced slightly as the small _thud _of his landing echoed across the chamber. For a few moments he stayed there, crouched on his hands and knees, ready to explode in any direction should danger present itself.

But nothing came whistling out of the dark shadows beneath the arches. Releasing a small breath of relief, Yamato straightened up as Takeru leapt down after him. _We're lucky_, Yamato thought as he turned to see Takeru stand up from his crouch as well. _Tichon hasn't arrived yet. Motioning quickly to Takeru, he started running for the exit._

As he did, he allowed his thoughts to wander and plan their next few minutes of action. What should come next? Some way to get to the _sangrias_, that was what Takeru had said. If he had seen it, then it could not be far, though it might still be a good idea to steal some horses. Where were the stables again? To the south, somewhere. It had been a long time since…

"_Yamato!_"

Before Yamato could gather his thoughts, he pitched forward as something slammed into his back, even as Takeru's shout turned into an agonized scream. Twisting like a snake, he was raised his nails and was about to tear into whoever had tackled him when he realized what had happened.

"Oh no…," he muttered in shock as he cradled Takeru's shaking form. "Takeru…"

A shard of dark light longer than Yamato's forearm lay smoking in the ground a few paces behind Takeru. It did not take Yamato long to realize what had happened. Takeru had dodged the one intended for himself, but…

…had taken the one intended for Yamato.

Another shard, longer than the first, had thrust itself so deep into Takeru's lower back that Yamato could see its bloody point protrude from his brother's belly. With each pained breath Takeru took, the jagged edges of the blade tore the ragged wound a little wider. Yamato felt cold.

That was a fatal wound, even for a stand-master. 

Takeru squeezed his eyes shut as he curled around the blade that impaled him. "…can't…," he hissed in agony. "…can't…breathe…"

Then there was no more time to talk as a hail storm of the shards descended. Roaring in defiance, Yamato grabbed Takeru by the lapel of his tunic and with a burst of desperate strength, flung him bodily across the room. Takeru howled as he fell and skidded across the slippery-smooth marble, but he, at least, was out of harm's way.

With the shards almost upon him, Yamato channeled as much of his stand's power into his sword as he dared and flung it in a wide arc about him. The blade glowed such a brilliant, lightning blue that all else in the room was driven into shadow as he surrounded himself with its whirring slashes. A cascading torrent of brutal clashes, whistles and shrieks filled the throne room as dark shards smashed against the lightning-blue nimbus around Yamato and ricocheted off with brutal force. The reflected shards flew everywhere, carving long, ashen furrows in the marble floor or exploding against the slender pillars with earth-shattering force. Shreds of the violet tapestries hanging over the throne and around the pillars were reduced to floating shreds in a heartbeat. In moments, the once grand throne room was reduced to a ruin.

Then the attack was over and Yamato slumped against his sword, panting with exhaustion as he regarded the ruined hall around him. He gritted his teeth as he tried to take stock of his injuries, but soon gave up. His body was covered with slashes beyond count.

But none of them had pierced him. And none of his limbs were broken. He could still move.

"Impressive, Yamato," Tichon said as he descended slowly from the third tier on his dark stand's shoulders. "You've mastered a heavenly defense."

Yamato turned and glared, but he did not reply. "Takeru!" he shouted instead, not daring take his eyes off Tichon. "Takeru, are you alright?"

There was no answer. Yamato felt a cold hand close around his chest. "_Takeru!_"

"You know as well as I do that no-one can survive a wound like that," Tichon said coldly. "Not even a stand-master as remarkable as Takeru."

Yamato looked up, furious. "Keep your venom to yourself, _snake," he gritted. "You know __nothing of Takeru!"_

The smile on Tichon's face slowly faded away as he got his first good look at Yamato's face in years. "You've changed, child," he said coldly.

Yamato gritted his teeth. "_Takeru!" he roared. "_Answer me!_"_

There was no answer. Yamato felt the clammy grip around his chest tighten further. He ached to turn and see for himself what had become of Takeru, but he dared not turn his back from Tichon. He felt a trickle of sweat run down his back. What to do?

"Takeru has done something to you."

And then, all of a sudden, his fear was gone. He knew now that Takeru could not help him. With a wound like that, he knew that his brother would not live to see the sun set. He might even be dead now. The thought drove every doubt aside like a storm would drive away mist. Pure, unadultered rage flamed up to take its place.

"Takeru," Yamato spat as he stepped forward, "did nothing." Another step. "He's only undone what _you've done to me!"_

Tichon watched, bemused, as Yamato advanced, step by ominous step, upon him. "You could have ruled with me, Yamato," Tichon said with a sigh. "Unlike the so-called '_Creator'_ you serve now, I share my pow-"

"Spare me your drivel!" Yamato snarled. He felt hate, cold as ice and deep as the rift lend strength to his limbs and urgency to his step; hate so strong and overwhelming he could hardly think. Here before him was the man who had killed his family, destroyed his people, and made him _help. "You still have the __audacity to preach to me?! __After all you've done to me and my kin?!"_

Almost before he knew it, his forward step had turned into a charge. Impassively, Tichon raised his sword and their blades clashed. Undeterred, Yamato spun on his heel and brought his sword crashing down again. When that was blocked as well, Yamato abandoned all pretense of an ordered attack and began hacking away like a possessed man. Incoherent screams tore from his throat as, stroke by shattering stroke, he drove Tichon back with the sheer ferocity of his charge.

Tichon's mouth tightened. With a quick flick of his wrist, his sword met Yamato's at a strange angle and the edges slid against one another with an ear-splitting shriek. Locking Yamato's hilt with his own, Tichon pushed his opponent's sword away, then spun and planted a brutal kick on Yamato's chest.

"_Phwhoa!_" Yamato felt his breath explode out of his mouth as he flew backwards. Helpless to stop himself, he landed on his back and slid along the marble floor, coming to rest some twenty paces away from Tichon.

"Yamato," Tichon said wearily as he straightened up from his kick. "I thought we had been over this…"

For a long moment, Yamato could not breathe, much less answer. Clutching his side, he waited until the tight band around his chest loosened and he could draw air again, then coughed as he painfully levered himself onto his hands and knees. "We have indeed," he rasped painfully. "But I was a child then. You won't deceive me again."

"I'm not trying to," Tichon said plainly.

A flash of white rage seared across Yamato's vision. "Twenty years," he snapped as he stood up, "and you _still _speak in riddles. Get to the point, then. What are you trying to do?"

"I'm merely-"

"Because," Yamato spat, "if you're only trying to wax eloquent about your coming reign on Gaea, then _let your sword do the talking!"_

Tichon's eyes narrowed. "Well said, Yamato," he said slowly. "But I'm only trying to convince you that your fight is without hope of victory."

"Oh," Yamato chuckled as he forced himself to stand up. "I don't think you can, old man. No matter what you say, I'm not going to stop…"

Tichon's eyes flared. "And what chance do you think you have?" he demanded. "What chance do you think you have against me?"

"More than you might think," Yamato gritted. "I have not wasted the past five years."

"Then what chance do you think your _friends have against my armies?"_

Yamato laughed. "I have news for you!" he spat scornfully. "We smashed your armies! Last I saw, _they _were the ones running. Not us."

"I taught you better than that, Yamato," Tichon said sternly, as an elder might scorn a young fool. "A retreat is not a sign of defeat. You of all people should know that."

Yamato felt cold as the import of Tichon's words sank in. "You _let _us approach the _sangrias?" he said incredulously. "You drew your armies away on purpose?" His gaze hardened. "I don't believe you."_

"Well, it seems to be working so far, doesn't it?"

"What are you talking about?" Yamato shouted.

Tichon laughed. "I have you three trapped in my own domain, dancing to _my _tune. And your friends…," his lip twisted in a condescending sneer, "don't have the spine to destroy the _sangrias._ Not while there is still hope that you three might still walk out of it."

Tichon's eyes strayed to the broken heap in the corner that was Takeru and an edge of malicious enjoyment entered his voice. "But I know, and yes, _you _know, that that hope is nothing but a fancy. After all," he looked up and met Yamato's horrified gaze with his triumphant one. "Two of you are already dead. The fool's hope they have clung to all this time will finally kill them."

"We have your towers-" Yamato began.

"Not for long," Tichon said as he waved a hand airily. "The moment you three entered, I had my armies turn around. The _Seitzin are surrounded. It's only a matter of time."_

Yamato staggered. The world spun. "I don't believe you!" he shouted. "You're lying! You've done it before, and I won't fall for it again!"

"Then go see for yourself," Tichon said coldly. He gestured towards the heavy bronze doors at the end of the throne room. "Go on. Prove me a liar then."

Yamato stared at him. It couldn't be true, could it?

Almost without thinking, he found himself turning, stumbling, then running for the bronze doors. When he reached them, he threw his shoulder against them and dug in his heels. The heavy doors swung ponderously open to admit his passage. Staggering outside, Yamato spat and coughed as a blast of gray grit greeted him. Shielding his eyes, he scanned the scene before him desperately.

There, there was the _sangrias. He could recognize the five towers and the central hub with its characteristic bronze ring. They were identical in every aspect with its counterpart in __Paen province. Identical, except for one thing._

The bronze ring in the middle was alive with dark violet flames. Shimmering and spinning of its own accord, it flashed with a malignant light so bright that it pierced even the omni-present gray fumes of _Akeldama. In its light, Yamato could see armies after armies arrayed before it, roaring and stamping in fervent, blood-thirsty anticipation for the slaughter ahead. The flash and glimmer of red light on spear-helm or drawn sword stretched as far as the eye could see. It was more than Yamato could count in a lifetime, more than he could hope to comprehend or grasp with a hundred years of wisdom. It was a host great enough to sweep across Gaea three times over. And before them, the __sangrias looked open…_

"Look into the _sangrias_, my boy," Tichon called mockingly from behind Yamato. "If you have the courage!"

Unwillingly, Yamato's eyes were drawn to the ring before him.

"Oh no…" he whimpered.

He could see _Paen _province. It was as he remembered. The _Seitzin_, with their multi-coloured banners, were arrayed in full force around the five towers. But the Gaean alliance made no move against the towers. Yamato could see no flames licking at the base of the _sangrias_, nor could he see the fiery trails of siege boulders crashing into the monstrosity's flanks. Instead, the _Seitzin_ fought desperately against the throbbing waves of black that engulfed them from all sides. The Khaydarin armies that they had sent running had turned around, and were now charging the trapped _Seitzin_ with renewed strength and ferocity. Even from this great distance, Yamato could see the ripples that crashed through the _Seitzin's _ranks as they absorbed each charge stoically, but he knew they could not last. In the midst of a sea of black, the once mighty United army of Gaea looked pitifully small and outnumbered; a small, sinking island of colour in a world of hungry gray.

And in his heart, Yamato realized Tichon was right.

The _Seitzin _would not dare bring down the _sangrias _while the three of them were still here.

And it was going to cost them their lives.

"Do you see now?" Tichon taunted. "Do you really think you have a chance against me alone? I, the stand-master that has walked this earth since before Gaea rose from the sea, do you, a mere child, think you can defeat me? The _arrogance_!"

Yamato's retort stuck in his throat. What was there to say?

"And once I kill you, I can open the _sangrias," Tichon continued, relishing every word. "The __Seitzin will be caught from before and behind. Do you really think _they _have a chance?"_

Yamato felt cold tears sting at his eyes. You fools, he shouted soundlessly at the _sangrias. Bring it down! Forget about us, destroy it!_

But he knew they would not hear. And he knew they would not give up hope. For once, the idealistic optimism Takeru had instilled in his men was going to work against them. They would die clinging to a false fancy, and Khaydarin would triumph.

Tichon was right. It was hope that was going to kill them all in the end.

"Fools indeed," Tichon said. Yamato heard the rustling of the dark Emperor's clothes as he drew closer, but he did not turn around. There would be no sense in killing him now. "You have seen it yourself now. I am no liar. And if you are still not convinced, then you, too, are a fool."

Yamato said nothing as Tichon appeared beside him. Fighting down the dread and loathing in his breast, Yamato forced himself to turn and meet his enemy's gaze. "Get to the point," he said, hating the brokenness he could hear in his own voice.

"As you wish," Tichon said, his voice cold and hard as winter ice. "Fight, and I will _kill all of the __Seitzin and every last man, woman and child in Ishida. I only broke your country twenty years ago. This time, I promise I will completely wipe it out."_

Yamato looked away.

"Surrender," Tichon continued, "and I will spare your people's lives. They will serve me as slaves, but those who do not resist…will live."

"And us stand-masters?" Yamato rasped.

Tichon lowered his sword slowly. Yamato hated the smugness in the gesture. Hated the smugness in Tichon's voice. Hated it because he knew, and Tichon knew, that he had been completely, and utterly broken.

"Since you hate lies so much," Tichon said flatly, "I will be honest. You stand-masters are far too dangerous to be left around. Either way, you and all that remains of your kind will die. Your choice concerns only those that you will leave behind."

Yamato staggered away from Tichon in shock. So it had come down to this. Tichon had not really given him a choice, and he knew it. His death did not concern him. They had all known when they started this war that death could come for any of them at any time. As one that had ridden along the sometimes blurred knife-edge of life and death his entire life, Yamato had lost his fear of it.

But to think that his death would accomplish nothing save to sell his people into bondage…forever…

Was that all he was worth?

_Why has it come to this?_ a voice in his head screamed. _The cloaked stranger promised me he would lead me across the rift. Why then, has he not?_

But it did not matter now. The war was over and Tichon had won. 

The despair that clawed at Yamato's heart was more than he could bear. After a few short weeks of blissful freedom, the life he thought he had escaped was going to return. Looking up, he stared at the _sangrias, straining his eyes to see his friends, the stand-masters who had been the only ones to accept him back from the dominion of darkness. _

He didn't know what he wanted from them. Consolation, perhaps? Reassurance? Forgiveness he didn't deserve? He didn't know and he didn't care. Before he sold their entire world into slavery, he wanted to see them.

It did not take him long to see the four familiar pillars of light, each holding a corner of the hated pentagram, leading their respective nations in the desperate struggle to hold the _sangrias until they returned. Ken held the northern tower, Davis the western one, Cody the south-western and Yolei the southern. They had wisely left the eastern one empty, as the fighting was thinnest there. The sight of their heroic last stand filled Yamato with shame. There they were, giving their men's lives, giving _their _lives, for the mere hope of his return. And, as cruel fate would have it, he would be the one to throw all their hopes away…_

_My friends, forgive me, _he pleaded silently. _Forgive me…_

"Your decision, Yamato," Tichon said quietly. "Now."

Yamato turned. If looks could have killed, Tichon would have been burned to a crisp where he stood. He opened his mouth. "I sur-"

_Wait_.

The voice came from nowhere and everywhere. Yamato's voice caught in his throat as for a moment, the sheer majesty and power behind that simple whisper set his heart vibrating with awe.

"You?" Tichon prompted.

Yamato ignored him as he quickly quieted his heart. Takeru had told him about his encounters with this voice. This whisper that had guided him in the past. _I am here…, he told the voice uncertainly. __What would you have me do?_

There was nothing but the howling of the wind. Then…

_Open your eyes, Yamato._

And see what?

He looked before him. Nothing was different. The great black host was still there, as large and menacing as ever. The bronze ring of the _sangrias _still spun in its wreath of violet flames. Within the _sangrias_, the sight of _Paen _province remained unchanged. The four stand-masters stood at the forefront of their armies as always. _What would you have me see?_

For a few moments, he stared uncomprehendingly at the sight before him as he awaited an answer.

Then it struck him like a feather and a thunderbolt at once.

He knew this scene.

It had been described to him once before.

And it was not right.

He turned to Tichon, his eyes wide with realization.

"You're lying…"

**********

Takeru sprang back as his brother raised his sword. "Yamato?" he said incredulously. "Yamato, it's me!"

Takeru saw a relieved light come into Yamato's eyes as he finally recognized him. His brother extended his arms as he came forwards. "Thank goodness you're-" Yamato paused as he got a good look at Takeru's face. "What's wrong?"

For a moment, Takeru couldn't speak. He knew that he must look terrible, but whatever he looked like, it could never reflect what it felt like inside, as if someone had stuck marble-sized shards of glass right into his heart. As Yamato drew closer however, Takeru drew in a ragged breath and wiped away the tears that obscured his vision. He had to pull himself together. Just for these next few crucial minutes…

"We have to go," he heard himself croak urgently. "You've been here before?"

"I was brought up here for a time," came the reply.

"We need a place to hide," Takeru said haltingly. Silently, he cursed the sobs that racked his body, but every scrap of self-discipline had deserted him. He could only make do. "A place to plan. Can you think of one?"

Yamato nodded. "Follow me," he said as he squeezed Takeru's arm. Then he turned and took off at a dead run.

For Takeru, the journey passed in a blur. After the first three turns, Takeru gave up trying to keep track of their progress and resigned himself to following Yamato blindly down the confusing, twisting passageways. All he knew was that Yamato was leading him down. Down, down and down… 

A few minutes later, Yamato seemed to pick one of the small doors about them at random and tried to open it. Apparently finding it locked, Yamato drew his dagger. Takeru watched numbly as his brother quickly sliced the deadbolt, opened the door and pushed him inside.

It was some kind of small armoury. Shelves and racks of swords and spears lined the walls and crates upon crates of arrows were stacked in a neat pile in a huge chest in the middle of the room. There was no light. Automatically, Takeru drew upon his stand and called forth his glowing staff again as Yamato hurriedly shut the door behind them, plunging the room into darkness.

Yamato grabbed a nearby crate of arrowheads ready to be fitted to arrows and used it to wedge the door shut. Then he swung on his brother. "We will be safe here," he said hoarsely. "At least, for a little while. Now tell me what happened."

Takeru couldn't answer. He felt his legs tremble as they gave way beneath him and he slumped against the wall and to the ground. He buried his face in his hands. 

"Takeru?" Yamato said as he drew closer. "Takeru, tell me!"

Takeru drew a ragged breath. "Kari is dead," he answered in a flat monotone. "Tichon killed her."  
  


Takeru heard a _thump _as Yamato slumped to the ground as well. "_What?" his brother hissed.  
  
_

"Tichon killed her."

"You're sure?" Yamato said as he clenched his fists. "You saw…"

"I _saw_," Takeru said through gritted teeth, "Tichon stab her through the heart with my own eyes. I _saw_ him wrench his sword out and throw her away. I _saw_…," his voice broke and a gasp of sorrow racked his body. "I saw…I saw her die in my arms."

"Maybe you-"

"Don't insult me, Yamato," Takeru said, his head still buried in his hands. "I know death when I see it. The Creator knows I've had enough practice."

For a long moment, Yamato was silent. It was just as well. Takeru did not feel that he had the strength left to answer any more questions. The pain grew so intense it felt almost physical, as if someone had ripped out a part of his chest. Folding around the hole in his heart, Takeru gave up trying to hold his grief in. "Yamato," he moaned. "What are we going to do? What am I going to…Kari is…I can't…_what am I going to do?!"_

"Takeru…," Yamato said uncertainly. "Listen…"  
  


Takeru hugged his legs and curled into a ball. He just wanted to melt into the ground and disappear. He had never felt like this before. Every breath was an effort, every beat of his heart a spasm of pain in his chest. He wanted to die…

"Takeru!" Yamato said harshly. "Pull yourself together, man!"

Takeru looked up in shock. Yamato's face twisted in anguish, but his voice remained as unyielding as the stones around him. "There will be a time to grieve for Kari, but it is not now!"

Takeru had never heard Yamato speak so harshly since their duel at Palas. The sheer shock was enough to drive a bit of the stupor of pain away. "You're right," he said as he tried to control his breathing. "You're right…"

"You saw Tichon?"

Takeru scrubbed his face with his sleeve and took a deep breath. "He claimed to be, yes."

"You're certain?"

"He was dressed in a black cloak, the type Khaydarin soldiers wear, except this one was tinged with a richer violet," Takeru said mechanically. "He had dark brown hair and eyes and a good build. His blade was black. And he had a Stand."

Then he stopped as he saw Yamato's face turn ghostly pale in his stand's light. "What is it?" he said worriedly. "What did I say?"

"He had a Stand?" Yamato said, his voice a hushed whisper. "It's him then, in the flesh. Not merely a _mirrireid bearer."_

Takeru  straightened up even more. "Yes, then, it's him," he said hollowly. "What is the matter?"

"I didn't expect him to come for us personally."

"So what?"

"Takeru, you don't understand," Yamato said as he shook his head. "If it's him in the flesh, then we can't beat him."

"_What?_"

"I've trained under him," Yamato said intensely. "Takeru, I know him. I've fought with him. He's not human! He can destroy both of us with a thought. I've seen him do it!"

"You're talking nonsense," Takeru said heatedly. "Yes, he's strong. But he's not invincible!"

When Yamato said nothing, Takeru shifted his staff slightly to better cast its light on Yamato's face. What he saw there drove all doubt away, and shocked him into wordlessness.

Yamato was deathly afraid.

"You're afraid of him," Takeru said flatly.

"You should be too."

"I am," Takeru admitted.

"Not nearly as much as you should be," Yamato said darkly.

Takeru could not believe his ears. Was this really Yamato, the former _Praetor _of the iron mask? "Then what would you propose?" he said coldly.

Yamato said nothing for a long time. Then…"We need to run."

"I am not running," Takeru said flatly.

Yamato frowned. "I know how you feel about Kari, but…"

"I am _not_ running," Takeru gritted through clenched teeth.

"Takeru, for once in your bloody life, listen to someone who knows more about this than you do!" Yamato exploded. "If you stay, you will die!"

"We only need more help," Takeru said stubbornly.

"And what help, o wise stand-master, can be found in a place like _this?_"

"Maybe the others are here as well. Perhaps the others were taken through the _sangrias_ with us. We can't be sure how far the _sangrias_ extended when it opened."

"They're not here."

Takeru felt something snap within him. "And how the hell do _you _know?!" he hissed. "What is the _matter _with you!"

"Because I saw it," Yamato snapped back. "Moments before we got sucked into the _sangrias. _I _saw Ken , Yolei and the others standing further back. They _weren't _being pulled in Takeru. _We're _the only ones here!"_

Takeru growled as he buried his face in his hands, but even he could not deny that. When he said nothing, Yamato laid a cautious hand on Takeru's shoulder. "Takeru, you want help? It's on the other side of the _sangrias. That's where we have to go!"_

Takeru still said nothing. He didn't know why, but the very idea of crawling back through the _sangrias _rankled him. The fact that he didn't seem to have a choice was more insulting still. For a moment, the sight of Kari's broken body flashed before his eyes and Takeru felt his heart lurch within him once again. He squeezed his eyes shut as he willed the image away in an effort to fend away the wave of pain that accompanied it. Yes, he had promised her that he would live.

But even as he had, he had also promised himself that her death would not go unavenged.

"_Merde…_," he swore viciously. "_Merde, merde, merde…Stolok Merde!"_

There was a moment's silence. Then…"Does that make you feel better?" Yamato said quietly.

Takeru glared at his brother. For a moment, inexplicable hate welled in his heart for his brother as well. He pushed it back down with a twinge of shame. "It does not," he retorted curtly. Then he clenched a fist and smashed it against the wall. "_Merde! It was not supposed to happen this way!"_

"And how would you know?"

"Because I've seen the ending to this war," Takeru said brokenly as he allowed his fist to fall to his side.

"What are you talking about?"

"I've read it in _Prophecies_. I know how it ends. And it does _not…_"

Takeru stopped.

"Wait just one moment," he said as he looked up with wide eyes at Yamato's stony face. "It does _not…_"

"Does not what?" Yamato said impatiently as he stood up. "Come, we have to go!"

Takeru shifted position so that he could see Yamato's eyes clearly. Carefully, he brightened his stand's glow until no trace of shadow remained on his brother's face. "Yamato," he said slowly. "I want to ask you a question:

"What did the cloaked man say to you?"

**********

Around him, the wind crescendoed to a roar as Yamato looked back at the sangrias. A stinging storm of grit stung at his hands and eyes, but Yamato could care less. His mind was elsewhere, to the day before, around the campfire with his friends…

"_Through the rain of fire,"_ Yamato recited in a whisper, hardly daring to trust his own memory, "_through the great heaving of the restless earth, through the red light of the blood-stained sky, I beheld the sight of this land's salvation_."

"I can't hear you, Yamato," Tichon hissed menacingly. Yamato heard an ominous rattle as Tichon raised his sword slightly. He ignored it.

"_Angels dressed in liquid light,_" Yamato continued slowly and carefully, "_stood at each corner of the Devil's Rune, and held back all the world with their mighty strength."_

No, he had not got it wrong. Kari had told him the whole prophecy the night before they had began their last charge. He was certain he had it right.

"_No breath of wind,"_ he breathed, "_no drop of water, no spark of fire; no sword of man, no fang of beast, no arrow of demon…"_ He looked up. "_…will disturb the final Seihad_."

Tichon stared down at him. His eyes held nothing but confusion and rage. "I don't know what you're talking about," he snarled. "But I lose patience. I will not ask another time. Your decision!"

But Yamato refused. He knew now that there were more than two choices. Tichon was not telling him something. "You're lying!" Yamato shouted as he sprang away from Tichon. His sword blazed bright blue once again as he hope stirred in his breast. "This wasn't supposed to happen!"

"You speak nonsense," Tichon said in disgust. "Do you truly believe that will buy you time?"

"Nonsense?" Yamato laughed out loud. "_Nonsense?_" He shook his head. "No, I speak truth. Perhaps that is why _you, O Lord of Lies, can never understand!" He swung his sword out to point at the _sangrias_. "You're missing an angel!"_

Tichon's face twisted in disbelief. "What?"

"You've got the picture all wrong!" Yamato shouted. "There are _five _stand-masters out there right now. One for _each _corner of the _sangrias_. You're missing one!"

"_I _am missing nothing," Tichon hissed. "What is, is. Even I cannot change that. You can see for yourself. There are four out there. _Not five! Have you lost your mind?"_

**********

Yamato frowned in confusion. "Why this all of a sudden?"

"Humour me," Takeru said as he leaned backwards, trying to appear relaxed. In truth, he did not believe he had ever been this tense in his life. "I just want to be reminded. What did the cloaked stranger say to you?"

"The cloaked stranger?"

"You know what I'm talking about," Takeru said. Surreptitiously, his hand crept down to his belt, ready to out sword in an instant if need be. "The one I introduced you to."

"I know," Yamato said testily. "I just don't know why you would want to know at a time like this."

Takeru's intense gaze burned into Yamato's. "Like I said," he said slowly. "Humour me. Please."

Yamato sat back and was silent for a moment. He looked down and his face passed into shadow. Not wishing to alarm Yamato, Takeru resisted the impulse to move his stand's staff closer. He would have to rely on Yamato's voice and answer. 

"He said…" Yamato said at last.

Takeru's eyes narrowed.

"That if I atoned for my sins," Yamato said softly and with utter conviction, "then he would lead me across the great rift."

In a flash, Takeru's stand exploded out of Takeru's chest like a shot. Before Yamato could even blink, the golden angel had crushed the distance between the brothers like a striking snake. The sudden light was so intense in the previously dark room, coloured motes burst upon Takeru's vision like ripples, blinding him for an instant.

_Dear Creator…_

Yamato coughed.

The sudden blast of wind that had ripped through the room with the stand's charge fluttered, then died away.

The motes cleared away and Takeru blinked.

_Why did it have to be Yamato…_

Before him, Yamato staggered backwards. In disbelief, he took hold of the long, golden rod embedded in his chest with one shaking hand, then sank to his knees. He coughed again. Blood splattered across the floor of the armoury.

"Why?" Yamato choked.

"The cloaked stranger said no such thing," Takeru said as he stood up. His gaze, merely intense before, was now as hard as steel. "You cannot atone for your sins, Yamato. They were already forgiven."

"And how would you know?" Yamato wheezed as he collapsed onto his hands and knees. As he fell, Takeru could see that his staff had plunged all the way through his brother's chest. Its bloody end was protruding out of Yamato's back. "How would you know what the cloaked stranger said to me?"

"Because he talks to me too, you know," Takeru said quietly. "All the time."

Yamato looked up. A trickle of blood trailed from one corner of his mouth, but the light in his eyes no longer seemed like that of a man betrayed. Only shock remained. Shock and hate. His outline started to blur with dark light, as if he were a mannequin of smoke beginning to unravel.

"How did you know?" he rasped.

Takeru took a deep breath. "The Last Seihad will be fought between the Tenken and the Lord of Lies," he said. "And only _two will ride forth. There can't be three of us, Yamato." His eyes flashed. "I wasn't sure, but after your answer…I was."_

**********  
  


"None of this is real, is it!" Yamato accused as he circled around Tichon warily, his sword raised. He tossed his head towards the black-covered plain before them. "That isn't real! That isn't a plain, I see. That is not the _sangrias_. Those aren't your soldiers. They're an illusion. I'm seeing nothing but thin air!"

Tichon stared at Yamato and said nothing. Encouraged by his silence, Yamato continued, his eyes alight with excitement.

"You've been deceiving us all along! There were only two stand-masters that entered the _sangrias_, weren't there? Not three! That's the only way there can be five left to defend each corner of the _sangrias!_"

Yamato whirled around and pointed an accusing finger at the crumpled heap that was Takeru. "I don't know if he's real or not, but what he said cannot be true. He cannot have seen Kari die, because both of them cannot have come through."

Tichon stuck the point of his black sword into the ground and rested both his hands on its hilt. Still, he said nothing.

Yamato's mind raced as the pieces fell into place so fast he could barely keep up. "We never left the _sangrias_, did we?" he said, his voice slowing down as the implications caught up with the revelations. "We entered it, but _we never left_." He met Tichon's gaze with his own hard stare. "All this…they're nothing but thought-shapes. And I can't change it because…" Yamato looked around, his eyes wide. "…because…"

**********

"This is all a dream," Takeru murmured. "I can't change it because this is a dream. Tichon's dream. And I'm caught in it."

Before him, the dying Yamato snarled but said nothing. Takeru smiled.

"But because I'm here, in the flesh," Takeru continued quietly, "I can still be hurt. I can still die."

Yamato chuckled harshly. The sound felt like sandpaper scraping together in the small room. "Then realizing it won't help you," he wheezed, "if you can still die…"

Takeru's eyes blazed with wrath. Taking a step forward, he raised his sword high above his head. 

"But so can you."

Yamato raised his anguished gaze to meet Takeru's.

"Are you willing to bet your brother's life on that little fantasy?"

**********

Tichon transfixed Yamato with a cold stare as the stand-master stood facing him, his eyes alight with renewed hope. "Are you quite done?"

Yamato felt doubt take hold of his heart again as he saw Tichon's condescending smile. "Done?"

"Can't you hear what you're saying, Yamato?" Tichon said as he calmly stroked his sword's hilt. "You're raving. I've seen it before. The ravings of a madman desperate to see what he wants to see."

"I'm not," Yamato said, his chest heaving. "I'm not, and you know it."

Tichon said as he narrowed his eyes. "Then you are fool enough to hold the obscure, translated sayings of a five hundred year old text, written by a delusional man in his last days, as sounder evidence than that of your own eyes?"

**********

Takeru sighed. "Yes," he said simply.

Then he took another step and, with one smooth stroke, cut off his own brother's head…

**********

Yamato lifted his head proudly. "Yes," he said simply.

Then he hefted his sword and, with a shout, began to channel…

**********

_And the angel said, "For though the Tenken comes to bring peace, his appearance will herald war. Friends will tear at one another, brothers will kill in anger. Beware the Lord of lies, for his tools are many, but his signs are few. I tell you, have nothing to do with his evil devices."_

- _Prophecies 4:12_

**********

It began as a mere flickering of the shadows, a small tremble in the air. The colours washed away first, like the fading away of an old painting. Then the solid flagstones of the room's walls grew hollow, the scuffle of his boots against the rough floor bricks became tinny and distant. A blanket of dark mist veiled his eyes as everything around him unraveled like smoke, just as Yamato had done. Even the air lost its acrid, tangy flavour as the omni-present haze of grit faded away. Stepping backwards, Takeru held his breath as he held his sword bared and ready.

This time, he was ready when the floor faded away beneath his feet. Falling through the semi-translucent floors of the rapidly fading fortress, Takeru opened two of his stand's uninjured wings and stayed balanced as he descended. Wide-eyed, he looked down as he phased through floor after floor. In moments, he was past the soldier's barracks, and was down among the smithies. Then after that, there were the dungeons. With each transition, a tingle of cold raced up the length of his body and culminated in his spine, making him shiver with shock. It was, to say the least, a strange experience.

Then even that faded away into black nothingness as Takeru's boots made contact with a ground of sorts. Takeru folded away his wings as he spun around in a circle, expecting to see the black infinity of the thought-plane.

What he saw was anything but.

It was, Takeru would later recall, the only sight that would make sense. But that realization did nothing to dull the awe of the moment.

To his left, a huge, mile-wide hemisphere opened to _Paen province. Takeru could see the five stand-masters, one at each tower of the _sangrias_, blazing like five brilliant pillars of light in glory undimmed before the hungry black swells that broke upon them like waves. With a surge of relief so powerful it made him giddy, he saw the pure white light of Kari's stand glowing bright and strong on the eastern-most tower. So she had never entered the __sangrias; her death was nothing but an illusion. He had managed to throw her clear after all. __Thank the Creator, he prayed as he squeezed his tearing eyes shut. __Thank the Creator…_

The picture was exactly as Adun had foretold it. But the dimensions were all wrong. It reminded him of the trick mirror Davis had given him once as a joke; a mirror that warped any image that fell upon it into outrageous shapes. The center receded away and the edges bulged forward nauseatingly, increasing his field of vision until he could see the whole of the _Paen _valley. From this tremendous height, the armies that clashed seemed like mere ants to his sight, scurrying and swirling, charging and retreating. Takeru reached out to it hesitantly and wondered exactly how far away he was from home. How did one tell distance in this dimensionless void?

As he turned to his right, Takeru recoiled at the sight of another huge hemisphere opening unto the familiar gray vista of Tichon's realm. The loathsome towers of _Akeldama_ and the roaring ranks of black soldiers filled the mile-wide opening until nothing could be seen but black stone and armour. He now knew what the roar he had heard in the tower was. It had been the bloodthirsty calling of this host as they stood at the gate of the _sangrias_ waiting for their master to unleash them. In one thing at least, Tichon had not lied. His hosts were as great as he said they were.

"_Takeru!_"

Takeru looked up.

"You both figured it out," Tichon hissed. "_How?__ The illusion was __perfect!"_

Takeru snapped back into his stance. Before him, he saw Yamato do the same as he circled around to trap Tichon between the two of them. Suspiciously, Takeru shifted his stance so that he could see both his brother and Tichon at the same time, but it was as if Yamato could read his thoughts.

"The cloaked stranger said," Yamato shouted, "that if I took his hand and never let go, he would lead me across the great rift."

Takeru released a breath of relief he hadn't known he was holding. "'_And__ the angel said," he shouted back. "__Beware the Lord of lies, for his tools are many, but his signs are few. I tell you, have nothing to do with his evil devices.'"_

Takeru watched as some of the tension left Yamato's face as rage entered Tichon's. "_Adun," Tichon rasped as he heard Takeru's words. "I hate him. I hate him, hate him, hate him…_hate him!_"_

Takeru hissed in shock as Tichon's voice turned into an animalistic scream of rage. "_Five hundred years, and his arm _still _foils me!_"

In horror, Takeru recoiled as Tichon transformed before him. The once strong features of the Khaydarin Emperor sagged as the flesh over his bones melted away like mist. His once long, rich mane of dark hair fell away in long tufts until only a few limp strands remained. His broad cloak and armourpiece creaked as it sagged against his narrow shoulders. Yet even as his body wasted away before his opponents, a manic, malevolent light, more intense and fanatical than the most rabid hunter-seeker entered his eyes. An aura of dark light that sucked and tore at what little illumination there was to be had in this realm of thoughts sprang to life around him like hungry flames.

"_I will not be denied my rightful place!_" Tichon roared. With each passing second, his voice grew less like a man's and more like a creature's. Gone was the cultured accent, the coldly polite tone. Takeru's eyes widened as Tichon's aura of power expanded like an explosion, stinging and burning his face and hands like a blast of freezing wind. Was this still Tichon that faced them, or some beast?

"_You're not human!_" Takeru heard Yamato shout from the other side. "_You're no man!"_

"_FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND YEARS I HAVE WALKED THIS LAND,"_ Tichon shrieked. "_AND THE CREATOR FOILS ME STILL!!"_

And all of a sudden, in a blinding flash of realization, Takeru finally understood his enemy. Understood him perhaps, even more than he understood himself. He knew now what drove this Emperor, this being, to such crazed ventures, to such reckless hate. He knew now the very nature of this pitiful creature that howled like a trapped animal before him.

It was the same thing that had driven otherwise decent people to tear down the Age of Gods in fear and loathing of each other. It was the same thing Takeru had found in himself, and fought against time after time, in the deep watches of the night, when all his newfound power had giddied and intoxicated him like maddening wine.

It was pride.

"_You were created by Him as well, weren't you?_" he shouted.

Tichon turned and snapped at him. Takeru recoiled as a stream of fetid saliva trailed from those snapping jaws. Hiding his disgust, he ploughed on. "_Yet you seek to supplant him," _he shouted. "_You grew proud of your own power!_"

Then Takeru felt the breath freeze in his throat as Tichon looked up and pierced him with his glowing glare. Was it just his imagination, or was Tichon growing larger again? The gaunt, skeletal frame quivered with an eternity of repressed hate and frustration as Tichon drew his sword and advanced.

"_Gaea is His," _Takeru shouted defiantly as he raised his sword to defend himself. "_It has been, and always __will be, His. You will never have it!"_

Tichon's eyes flared with wrath. "_I WILL HAVE IT, BOY, AND YOU WILL NOT STOP ME!"_

But the threat held no meaning for the young stand-master. Yes, he was but a mere boy compared to this immortal, but the power of something far greater and more ancient than him flowed within his veins. Stripped of his lies, the five hundred thousand year old Tichon was no more powerful than Takeru, and both combatants knew it. It was but borrowed power that they wielded, and not their own. Takeru could feel it burning within him. Strength enough to corrupt and desecrate a creature until nothing was left but the hollow shell he saw before him, or strength enough to defeat that corruption. And he had made the choice six years ago, in full witness of the Creator Himself, when he had first embarked on his quest after his commission at Palas _kondou. His eyes hardened as they took in the loathsome creature before him._

It was time to see that choice out to the bitter end.

Takeru drew his sword up until the blade stood straight up before his eyes. Solemnly, he kissed the pommel; a duelist saluting his worthy opponent. "Try me," he said calmly. Then with twin battle cries, both stand-masters whirled into a tight circle of blue and gold around Tichon, completely surrounding the Lord of Lies. 

A glowing circle of light to contain the dark…and crush it.

The last Seihad had begun.

**********

Kari shielded her eyes as another dark explosion shattered the ground mere paces down the line. The tremendous _boom knocked the soldiers around her off their feet; a rain of shrapnel and blood beat out a grisly cadence as they bounced off the __Seitzin's raised shields. Screams and shrieks filled her ears as at least a score of men were hurled bodily into the air and the _Seitzin _line began to buckle beneath the renewed Khaydarin onslaught. "__Courage!" she shouted at the failing Yagami soldiers around her. "__Hold the line! Hold it!"_

Taking heart from the sight of their stand-master standing tall and unafraid, the battered Yagami line rallied and held under the charge. The surprised and frustrated Khaydarin invaders found themselves thrown back for the fifth time as the exhausted _Seitzin's_ sword strokes redoubled in strength and ferocity. Satisfied that her men were still fighting with all they had, Kari turned furiously towards the enemy. Her eyes blazing silver, Kari clasped her hands together before her, and summoned her stand.

The white beast behind her arched its back as it let loose an earth-shattering roar. With a shout, Kari threw her arms open, even as her stand snapped its wings back and unleashed a deadly storm of explosive white shards in retaliation. A dozen explosions tore gaping holes in the Khaydarin line and Kari saw, with no small amount of satisfaction, the _mirrireid_-bearer who had launched the first blow shriek as he crumpled in white flames.

Seeing the enemy fall beneath Kari's attack, the men behind her roared. "_Courage!_" the battle cry sounded up and down the line. _"Hold! Hold!"_

_Riders! Incoming riders!_ Ken yelled.

Stunned, Kari whipped to her left. Khaydarin riders were indeed sweeping across her position in their charge against Ken. In the distance, Kari could see Ken's Ichijoujan soldiers hastily rearrange their formations, pikemen to the front, archers to the back, but it was obvious from a glance that it would not be enough. Their lines were too few, too shallow to stop a determined charge.

"_Archers!_" she shouted. "_Riders!_" Her stand swung its head to her left and loosed another barrage of white lightning, even as she swept her _wakizashi_ at the horsemen. "_Bring them down!_"

All along the line, Yagami archers turned as one. A giant creaking noise filled the air as they drew their longbows, then the sky was suddenly full of a withering rain of shafts. Loud thuds and vicious shrieks mingled with the explosions from Kari's stand as the entire left flank of the rider's charge was instantly hewn down. The Yagami archers managed to get in two more volleys before the charge passed out of range, but it was enough. Ken's own bowmen made short work of the remaining riders and in moments, the charge was broken.

Gasping for air, Kari straightened up as she watched the unending Khaydarin armies fall back and regroup for yet another charge. Behind her, her stand wavered and disappeared. "_Hold!_" she gasped. "_They will come again!_"

I can't hold for much longer! Yolei cried. I don't think I can summon anymore…

Damn those two, Davis gasped. Takeru and Yamato are taking their time aren't they?

They'll come when they come, Ken said, his thought-shape flickering with exhaustion. Until then, we have to hold!

_We will hold,_ Kari shouted. In the distance, the black armies rippled as another wave began their advance. Her whole body shook as she reached deep within herself to some hidden store of stamina and dragged forth the last dregs of her stand's power.

_We will hold for as long as it takes!_

**********

The battle was unlike any that Yamato had fought before. As he and Takeru whirled through the battle, trading blows with the shrieking Tichon trapped between them, Yamato threw caution to the winds and drew on his stand as he had never before, pushing himself and his stand to the utter limit. The electric blue light that roared through him was so intense he felt like he was on fire. The pain from drawing and burning so much of his stand's energy in so short a time was acute, but Yamato's concentration had taken him past pain. He no longer heeded it; it was but a dull ache to be pushed away. 

He lost track of time as he fought. Had they been dueling for minutes? Hours? He didn't know. Such perfect concentration required the ignoring of everything else, including the passage of time. All he knew was that they seemed to have battled forever. He could not remember a time when he had not been struggling with this fell beast that snarled and snapped at its opponents. Some distant part of him knew that he was pushing himself dangerously close to the limits of his stamina, that he must be tiring despite the void of concentration he had surrounded himself with, but a much louder part of him didn't care. The only thing that mattered now was to destroy the foul creature that stood before him. Completely and utterly crush and grind him into the ground, beyond any hope of recovery or recall.

Between them, Tichon spun like a madman as he parried their unceasing blows. With a wrench, he pushed Yamato's charging stand aside and tried to leap away, only to be cut off with a single blow from Takeru's staff. With a roar, the golden stand spun its staff above its head and brought it whistling downwards…and hit nothing but empty space as Tichon spun away. For a few moments, the golden angel and the dark Lord of Lies traded mighty blows as each sought to smash the other away. Before Yamato could bring his stand to join the fray however, Tichon crouched and with a shout, flung his sword about him in a wide arc. So powerful was the wave of dark foam that trailed from its edge that both Takeru and Yamato were forced to pull their stands back. 

Panting, Yamato forced himself to stay upright as he hefted his sword and his stand drew to a stop beside him. Beside him, Yamato could see Takeru's chest heaving as he struggled to breathe.

As he allowed his concentration to dull, Yamato began to notice for the first time the billowing clouds of smoke that surrounded them on every side. Its acrid stench stung his face and lungs and made his eyes water. Huge, half-molten scars traced their jagged path through the once-smooth ground of their battlefield, testament to the awesome power that was being flung around like so much dirt. Dumbly, Yamato looked down at the rutted ground. Had he done that? He hadn't even noticed.

"Yamato," Takeru said quietly.

Yamato opened his mouth to answer, but found that he could not. He had not the breathe.

Takeru straightened slightly. "I don't think I can fight for much longer."

As if to prove his point, the stand behind his brother suddenly shimmered, then phased out of existence entirely before Takeru could pull it back together. Yamato could see the expression of barely contained pain on Takeru's face.

He knew what it was Takeru was feeling. His entire chest was an aching mass of pain; every breath of burning air was a Herculean effort. As the blue glow receded from his limbs, the pain from the dozens of slashes around his body, merely a dull ache before, came sharply to the fore and almost drove him to his knees.

"We need to end this quickly," Takeru rasped between gulps of air.

Yamato looked up, but before he could speak, Tichon straightened from his crouch. Unbelievably, the baleful violet glow around him grew stronger, even as the blue and gold auras of the two stand-masters began to fade. 

"_COME!_" Tichon roared. "_LET'S FINISH THIS!_"

Yamato kept a wary eye on him as he spoke. "Can you use _Shun Ten Satsu?" Yamato asked simply._

Takeru turned to him, wide-eyed. "Maybe," he whispered. "But I'll need time to prepare."

"Then do it," Yamato said as he hefted his sword. "I'll give you the time."

"It won't land!" Takeru said desperately. "He's too fast! And I have strength left for only one-"

"Start preparing," Yamato said quietly.

"Yamato," Takeru said urgently as he grabbed his brother's arm. "If I miss, we will lose this battle."

Yamato turned and met his brother's gaze. Understood what he meant.

Takeru had reached the limit of his stamina, and he knew it. It was not that he had strength left for only one shot at the _Shun Ten Satsu. He had strength left for only one shot at _Shun Ten Satsu, _and then nothing else. It would take all that he had left to unleash his last and most formidable technique. If he missed, Takeru would be so crippled, he wouldn't be able to fight. And if that happened, there would be no way for Yamato to win. Yamato felt his jaw tighten grimly._

But it was not as if they had a choice. If they did not end this within the next few minutes, neither of them would be able to fight. They would lose the battle anyway. So, it was this gamble, or nothing at all.

All this passed in a heartbeat of wordless communication between the brothers. Yamato reached up. Gripped his brother's shoulder. "It will land," he said with grave certainty. "I'll make sure of it."

"Yamato," Takeru said as he tightened his grip. "Don't do anything reckless."

"It's a little late for that, Takeru," Yamato said grimly.

"_I AM THE FIRST AND THE GREATEST!_" Tichon shrieked. "_COME, BEFORE I LOSE MY PATIENCE!_"

"Prepare," Yamato hissed. Then he stepped forward, allowing his body to partially shield Takeru's from Tichon's sight. Behind him, he heard Takeru's sword slide into his scabbard in the first stage of the _Shun Ten Satsu, and he felt a small twinge of relief. At least Takeru was not arguing._

"The first," Yamato said slowly. Even as he stepped forward, he knew he was playing a dangerous game, trying to draw the half-mad Emperor into a conversation, but he had no choice. "The first stand-master. That was what you were weren't you?"

Tichon glared at him. So intense was the hate in those baleful orange eyes that Yamato almost took a step backwards. "_THE FIRST STAND-MASTER?" he boomed. "__DO NOT BE ARROGANT. KNOW THIS, CHILD. THE FIRST CREATIONS WERE FAR MORE POWERFUL THAN YOU WILL EVER BE!"_

"The first creations," Yamato said, his mind racing. "Not a Stand-master. A Stand." He looked up in horror. "A spirit of power."

Tichon roared wordlessly. Yamato doubted he could hear them, or if he could, whether he could understand. With each passing moment, Tichon seemed more animal than human. But now, Yamato knew why.

"You could have been me," Yamato whispered. "You could have chosen to be greater than me, or Takeru, or all that have come before us."

"_I AM!!_"

Yamato shook his head. "But you ceased to serve. And…"

"_SO YOU SEE WHAT HE HAS CURSED ME WITH!_" Tichon's roar was so loud, both Takeru and Yamato were forced back from the sheer volume. "_LOOK AT ME!_" He threw his arms out, as if to show off his rotting body to the stand-masters. "_LOOK!_"

Yamato shuddered as a bead of cold sweat rolled down his temple. He had thought stand-masters to be immune to the taint. Now, as he gazed upon proof to the contrary, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that that would have been his fate had Takeru not rescued him from the dark. It was the only fate befitting a stand-master that did not heed his allegiance to the Creator. Slowly, he took another step forward despite the sudden stench. If Tichon was dangerous when collected, he was deadly when he was half-crazed by hate. Yamato knew he was flirting with death by coming this close, but he had to draw Tichon's attention away from Takeru.

"You were beautiful once," Yamato prompted. "Weren't you."

Tichon threw his head back and laughed. Yamato felt chills run up and down his spine as the screech raked against his ears. "_AND SO I WILL BE ONCE MORE." Tichon swung an arm at _Paen _province, "__ONCE I CLAIM WHAT IS MINE!"_

"Gaea," Yamato said quietly. "You want to be the Creator."

Tichon stared at him and for once, his roars died away, as if transfixed by Yamato's suddenly intense glare.

"You will never be the Creator," Yamato said firmly. "You were never made to be."

Tichon's eyes flashed. "_I AM THE FIRST," he boomed. "__AND THE GREATEST!"_

"The first, yes," Yamato said calmly. "But _not _the greatest!"

"_WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?_" Tichon shrieked. "_DO YOU, A MERE BABE, PRESUME TO TELL ME WHAT I AM AND AM NOT?_"

"Yes," Yamato said calmly. "And today, we shall prove it to you…"

As his last word trailed away, Yamato felt the first wave of golden power explode from behind him. In an instant, Yamato saw the edges of his cloak and tunic singe away in the wake of the expanding golden flames, and he knew that Takeru had started his attack run.

Which meant it was time to start his.

Yamato had turned sideways, presenting his left side to Tichon. As he had done a hundred thousand times before, he raised his sword until it was level with his jaw and braced the tip with his left hand. His sword arm hardened to a coiled steel spring behind his sword's hilt, and in an instant, his posture had turned from that of a swordsman, to that of an archer. With a skill perfected by a lifetime of training, Yamato crafted his sword into an arrow.

An arrow aimed at Tichon's heart.

"_GATOTSU_," he roared.

As they always did when he executed his last, best technique, the seconds stretched into years as his concentration focused to the breaking point. His senses sharpened to unbearable clarity as the universe shrunk to a single point just to the left of Tichon's chest. With a discipline born of determination, his consciousness focused on that tiny, hyper-real point. He would not miss, because that little point was the only thing in the universe to hit.

Gathering every fiber of his being, he forced everything into one last charge to end all charges. A great _boom echoed across the entire interior of the __sangrias as his scream stretched, elongated and faded away entirely with his great speed. With the last of his waning strength, Yamato attacked._

_Hit!_ he screamed silently. _You must slow him down!_

Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tichon's black blade descend. In horror he watched as, in slow motion, it slammed into his own sword and inexorably pushed it down and away. Even before his blade had descended a fraction of an inch, Yamato already knew that his last technique had failed.

He was going to miss.

Tichon would be free to dodge Takeru's attack.

They were going to lose.

But instead of despair, Yamato felt only peace as his sword slid away from its mark in slow motion. Some part of him had known that this was going to happen. And somehow, as if the idea had been rooted in his heart even before he had suggested _Shun Ten Satsu_ to Takeru, he knew what to do. As the light of the clash brightened and began to blind him, as the first rumblings of the titanic boom began to crescendo in his ears, Yamato felt an inexplicable determination rise in his heart. As if his body was already steeling itself for what it knew his mind would eventually come to accept.

He had promised Takeru that his attack would land. 

Therefore, it was time for Yamato, son of Masaharu, heir of the Ishidan Stand, to show his quality…

…or die trying.

All this passed in a heartbeat, so that even before his blade had dropped by a foot, Yamato had already made his decision. As Tichon's black blade continued to sweep away his thrust, Yamato let go of his sword.

He watched as Tichon's parry threw his sword away. Unable to stop himself, he tumbled headlong into Tichon's deadly embrace. Just as he expected, Tichon instinctively raised his sword. Yamato closed his eyes.

Only a loud grunt escaped him as he felt Tichon's burning blade slide through his belly and erupt out of his back. Time snapped back to normal as his concentration promptly shattered into a million shards, never to return. As he stumbled, he felt the blade twist and tear at his gut until the freezing pain spread to every corner of his body. His breath exploded out of his mouth in a loud _whoosh_ as the blue glow of his stand faded away into nothing. 

Was this what he had put Takeru through all those years ago?

He never suspected it would _hurt this much!_

Yamato vaguely heard Takeru's scream behind him, but he didn't care anymore. It took everything he had to fight the rapidly descending dark haze from plunging him into a slumber he knew he would never wake from. He could not die. Not just yet. Looking up, he met Tichon's triumphant gaze with his own.

And smiled.

"You've lost," he told Tichon softly.

Then he grabbed Tichon's sword-arm as tightly as he could and fell to his knees.

"_Get him Takeru!_"

**********

Takeru could not have stopped himself even if he wanted to. It happened so fast that he was helpless to stop it. By the time he saw Tichon's blade erupt from his brother's back, he was already halfway through his attack run. By the time Yamato had fallen to his knees, he was already in the air, his body already starting to uncoil from its tight curl in preparation for the final strike. But an instant before hesitation took hold of his limbs, he heard Yamato's shout.

In the perfect void of his concentration, some distant part of himself understood instantly and steeled his arm before it could waver. Even as the shock sent icy trembles through his entire heart, his body began the final stages of the technique automatically. A great stillness fell upon the chamber as Takeru unleashed his most powerful attack; Creation had waited millennia for this moment and now that it had come, the air itself could only hold its breath as the fate of Gaea rode on a knife's edge. Leaning forward into the charge, Takeru felt rather than heard the shout rip from his own mouth, even as his sword of golden light exploded out of its sheath and swung in a great gleaming arc for Tichon's head…

"_SHUN TEN SATSU!!!_"

**********

It started first as a tremor that passed through the Khaydarin armies. Kari straightened slightly as hundreds of violet flames suddenly lit up among the black-armoured soldiers; a moment later, the thin, reedy screeches reached her ears over the roar of battle and wind. The _mirrireid bearers were dying in droves._

What's going on? she heard Cody ask anxiously. They've stopped attacking!

And so they had. The Khaydarin vanguard was slowing, then grinding to a stop. Chaos broke out in the formerly ordered ranks as the soldiers turned on one another in a panic. Kari threw up her hand to stay the archers as she watched the enemy disintegrate before her very eyes. A murmur of confusion and unease rippled up and down the _Seitzin line. _

For a few moments, the battle died down all along the front. An uneasy stillness descended.

_Takeru?_ Kari thought, hardly daring to hope. _Did you do this?_

Then she turned in amazement as the _sangrias behind her gave a sudden tremor. A great rolling boom like the discharge of a thousand cannons at once rolled over the battlefield like peals of thunder as ripples spread across the velvet surface of the central bronze ring. Then the shockwave struck._

She saw it before it struck her: a solid wall of air carrying a cloud of shrapnel and debris expanding outwards from the central ring, then she was blasted off her feet along with everything and everyone around her. Earth and sky spun dizzyingly for a few moments before she landed with a bone-shattering crunch on the hard ground. Shocked shouts and cries mingled with the great rattle as weapons, armour and soldiers fell around her. Shrieks filled the air as the siege weapons toppled over their masters and great cracks opened in the ground, swallowing unsuspecting _Seitzin _and Khaydarin alike like great gaping mouths.

For a few moments, Kari was too shocked to move. When she could finally breathe again, she forced herself to look up at the writhing _sangrias. Her heart was pounding so loudly in her chest, she could feel her armour rattling with each beat._

_Takeru…_

**********

Takeru howled as he felt something snap within his arm as his stroke connected, but he had not the air left to cry as _Ichibou exploded into a million flashing splinters in the resultant explosion. Like a leaf caught in a gale, Takeru was sent flying backwards as Tichon's otherworldly shriek of outrage and pain shook him to the bone. Helpless to stop his flight, Takeru curled into a ball as he slammed into the ruined ground and skidded across the jagged streaks left by their fight. Sharp splinters shredded what remained of his armour and tunic and tore painfully at his skin, but Takeru could do nothing but wait until the rough ride was over. _

When he finally scraped to a stop some thirty paces away, Takeru found that he could not breathe.

Turning drunkenly to his side, Takeru shook his head as he tried to clear its ringing. Clutching his chest, he forced his lungs to expand and contract despite the fiery pain in his side. His eyes watered as he choked on the suffocating cloud of smoke that now billowed through the _sangrias. It was a long moment before he realized that the light which now fell upon him was no longer the gray, omni-present light of the _sangrias_. Blearily, he turned his head to his side and saw the distorted image of __Paen province mere paces away. The explosion must have carried him all the way to the entrance._

Then he cried out as a sharp flash of pain lanced through his right side. His already swelling right arm was a fiery, twisted mass of pain. He must have broken it. Gritting his teeth, Takeru rolled over onto his left arm and propped himself upright. Scrubbing away his tears as best he could on the shoulder of his ragged tunic, Takeru peered into the cloud with his heart in his throat.

_Did I do it?_

His heart lurched as another unearthly shriek filled the air. Cursing the billowing smoke that obscured everything, Takeru pushed himself as high as he could with his left arm and strained his eyes. It had to be over. It had to!

For all his efforts however, he almost didn't recognize Tichon when he saw him.

The Dark Emperor's right arm was completely gone. A hideous gash trailed from the shoulder-blade above the blackened, smoking stump to the Emperor's left side. Black blood lay smoking in a wide arc on the ground around him, but as if unwilling to bow to death itself, Tichon refused to fall. Even as Takeru watched in fascinated horror, the Emperor staggered around until he could see the fallen stand-master.

Tichon's head lolled limply as he wavered on his feet. Gone was the manic light that had once pierced Takeru to his core. Gone was the mad laughter that had once issued from those rotting lips. Tichon's once grand black robe was now nothing but tatters on a dying body. As Tichon's rapidly glazing eyes fixed on Takeru, Tichon brows flared weakly. He opened his mouth...

Whatever Tichon was going to say to him, Takeru would never know. For even as Tichon staggered toward the paralyzed stand-master, a hand reached up from the billowing dust cloud and grasped the creature's one remaining arm. As Tichon looked down drunkenly, Takeru saw a swift, blue streak travel across the creature's face.

Tichon looked surprised as his face split in two.

A swift bubble of hope welled in Takeru's breast. _Yes…_

As Tichon fell however, the hand disappeared as well; Takeru felt his heart sink again. Completely heedless of the pain that now threatened to swallow what was left of his consciousness, Takeru crawled along the gritty ground on his left side. "_Yamato!_" he croaked. "_Yamato!_"

The dust began to clear and for an instant, Takeru saw Yamato's hunched form in the haze. Then he lost him again as a tremor shook the entire _sangrias_. The twin hemispheres on both sides of the otherworldly bridge shimmered and wavered as a gray film began to grow over their once crystal clear surfaces.

"Don't…don't come any closer!" Takeru heard Yamato rasp.

Takeru groaned as he forced his battered body to resume its crawl. "What are you talking about," he cried. "You're hurt! We need to get you-" 

His voice trailed off as he caught sight of his brother.

Yamato grinned weakly. "You look horrible," he coughed.

"Yamato…" Takeru heard his own voice sob.

Yamato was lying on his side in a pool of his own blood, his right hand clutching at the black sword that he had pulled from his own body. Takeru watched in horror as the stream of blood that poured from the wound in his brother's stomach slow as his brother's heart began to fail. But despite the agony Takeru knew Yamato must be in, his bloodstained lips curled into a smile.

"Hurry," he murmured. "Get out."

Takeru knew his brother was right. Without its creator to sustain it, the _sangrias _was collapsing around them. Already the tall black towers of Akeldama had been obscured behind the veiling gray mist that was spreading across the exit. The ground heaved beneath them like an animal thrashing in its death throes as giant cracks and bottomless chasms opened in the once smooth floor. In moments, Takeru knew, the entrance would close as well and the two of them would be trapped. But Takeru couldn't move. He _wouldn't move!_

"I'm not going without you," he shouted. "Come on Yamato. Get up! Let's go!"

Yamato did not answer for long seconds. Takeru pushed down the panic in his throat as he watched Tichon's broken body fall into one of the cracks. "Yamato!"

"TK," Yamato said quietly. "I can't feel my feet."

"I'll drag you then!" Takeru said as he struggled to get to his feet. "Come on, we'll-"

"TK…I can't feel anything."

Takeru froze, then fell again as another heave threw him off his knees. This time he did not get up. Hot tears that had nothing to do with the dust stung his eyes. "No…"

Yamato's voice was a gentle caress. "Adun said it would happen."

Takeru turned over onto his back. He didn't feel like he had the strength to sit up, much less stand. Not that he cared. It seemed that his life was nothing but one long, unending chain of sacrifices. Why, so soon after he had been reunited with his brother, were they going to be torn apart again? "No…," he groaned. "Yamato, you can't die."

"Why not?"

"Because," Takeru said, his breath catching in his throat, "I still need to…take you to task for…doing something so reckless…_moments after I told you not to."_

Takeru heard a weak chuckle, as if Yamato had not a care in the world. Takeru however, could do nothing but stare upwards at the black void with unseeing eyes. He felt drained as he finally came to accept what was happening to his brother. Drained of everything. Kari would live, but his brother would die. How could that be justice?

"I have one request," Yamato sighed. "Don't forget me…don't forget Locke…and don't forget those who followed the right side when the end came."

Takeru felt his lips tremble. "Never," he swore. "On my honour, Gaea will never forget."

As if sensing his brother's distress, Yamato shifted slightly so he could better see Takeru's supine form. "I'll see you again," Yamato murmured reassuringly. "Don't you remember what He promised?"

Takeru blinked away tears as he nodded.

"A way across the great rift," he intoned.

"And I will see you there," Yamato coughed. His voice began to sound thick, as if there was blood in his mouth. "He promised us that. And after all this, you have to admit that he is most definitely trustworthy."

Takeru felt a weak laugh roll from his lips, even as tears slid down his cheeks. "I suppose." His voice cracked. "I won't say goodbye," he said tightly. "I won't."

"Then I won't either," Yamato said softly.

For a long moment, the two brothers lay there, paces apart, each absorbed in his own thoughts.

"Now…," Yamato's murmur turned into a pained grunt as a weak flicker of blue light danced across the corner of Takeru's eye. "Get the hell out of here, Emperor Takeru Ishida. Our people…need you."

Before Takeru could protest, Yamato's stand bulled into him like a runaway wagon. Gasping as the air was knocked out of him yet again, Takeru felt himself being sent flying by his brother's blow, through the gritty dust of the _sangrias_, through the curtain of real light, through the cold liquid surface of the rapidly clouding hemisphere, and out.

_Out…_

As Takeru slid to a stop in the dusty ground of _Paen province, he looked up to see the first ray of light break through the mantle of cloud and brush the frozen land with its warm glow for the first time in five weeks._

_I knew it, _he thought as he let go and let the dark haze claim him. _You just had to look…_

**********

_Ere two rode forth, only one returned, for the Tenken shall be wrought with the spilling of willing blood._

_Prophecies 52: 17_

_**********_

**Author's notes:

The only thing left now is the Epilogue. You know, I debated for a long time whether to hold the Epilogue back for a few weeks, because I know I would get more reviews. But in the end, I decided against it. Review numbers are very nice, but in the end, not the most important thing. I think I just need to get this whole thing off my chest.

I got bored recently and drew a picture of Kari. After that, I decided to be daring and scanned it in and coloured it with Illustrator and Photoshop. I say daring because I had virtually no experience with Illustrator and absolutely no experience with Photoshop. Nevertheless, I'm being even more daring and posting the thing up for you guys to see. It can be found at: www.princeton.edu/~ashum. Hope you like!

Btw, if you're wondering. The reason why it's posted on the Princeton University server is because I'm a student there. :P


	14. Seihad Epilogue

**Disclaimer: I don't own digimon.

****

**Seihad: Epilogue**

****

By: TK Takaishi

Takeru did not remember the sleep that came afterwards. Try as he might, all he could recall of the days that followed after the Last Seihad was a black, dreamless nothingness even emptier than the thought-plane. The earth could have heaved, the sea could have roared, the sky could have thundered, and it would not have woken him from his coma. He was later told that even his heartbeat and breathing had slowed to the bare minimum needed to keep him alive, as if some voice had bid him enter the deep healing trance the healers knew he needed.

As he looked back on his youth in later years, he would recall the fact as a good thing. For the first time in years, nightmares, visions or troubles held no dominion over his slumber. Time passed like a fleeting shadow; minutes, hours and days blended together into a seamless eternity, eluding all his half-hearted efforts to capture and measure it. He did not know how long he slept and he did not truly care. Despite his still sharp grief, it was as if something within him recognized that his shoulders were free at last of the thousands of cares and burdens cast upon him as the heir of Ishida and the long-prophesied _Tenken. His duty was done. What then was left to disturb his slumber? After a week filled with hardship brutal enough to kill lesser men, his body craved rest. _

And rest, mercifully, was what he got.

As his body gradually healed, the haze fell away in stages. Like a man re-emerging from a great depth, Takeru felt rather than saw the blackness around him turn into gray, then lighten until it parted like mist under the sun's glare. And although he would have liked nothing better than to stay peacefully in the dark forever, he knew it was time to rise.

When he awoke at last, it was to a dry mouth, a pained right arm and yet _another unfamiliar ceiling. After all that he had suffered in his young life however, inconveniences such as discomfort and pain were mere trifles to him._

It was the ceiling that interested him.

_Where am I_?

Weakly he licked his lips. His mouth felt sticky and his limbs stiff, as if he had been lying in bed for a long time. Automatically, he tried to sit up but found that he could not. As his swimming senses finally focused enough to tell him why, he drew in a quick breath as he felt blood rushing to his face.

Kari was seated on a sturdy wooden chair next to him. She must have waited for him to wake all night. Normally that would have been fine, except that sometime in the night, she must have succumbed to sleep herself. Now, she was sprawled, fast asleep, over his chest. 

And judging from the way his sheets were brushing against his body, he was not wearing a single stitch of clothing save the sling around his right arm.

Yes they had kissed before, but they had never done…well…that!

As the initial shock wore off however, Takeru was grateful that he had not given in to the sudden impulse to wriggle his way out from underneath her and find some clothing. As the bright morning sunlight played through her untied dark hair, Takeru caught his breath at the sight of the halo that surrounded her peacefully sleeping face. She was beautiful, he realized for the thousandth time as he reached up to brush her long hair from her eyes. Surely more breathtaking than was possible for a mere mortal. And he would never tire of telling her.

Before him, Kari stirred as she felt his fingers play with her hair. Withdrawing his hand, Takeru smiled nervously as her blurred eyes opened slightly, then snapped all the way open when she saw that he was awake.

Blood rushed to her face as she pushed herself away. "You're awake!" she blurted. "I'm sorry, I must have…"

"No, no," Takeru said as he felt his own face blush again. "It's…um…it's alright. Really," he finished lamely.

"I mean, I didn't mean to fall asleep like that," Kari said as she looked away. "It's just that, well, it was late and…"

"Kar-"

 "…the room was warm and, to be honest…"

"Kari-"

"…I haven't had a lot of sleep in the past few days…"

"Kari!" Takeru said, exasperated. "Calm down! It's fine, you hear? It's fine. I know you didn't mean anything."

At that, Kari seemed to calm down slightly. "I'm sorry we didn't clothe you," she said in embarrassment as she ran a hand through her hair. "It's just that, well…you were covered in so many slash wounds, we'd have to completely undress you every time we changed the bandages. And that would be-"

"Traumatic to the patient and highly inconvenient," Takeru said, nodding sagely. "I understand perfectly."

Kari blushed again. "Don't tease me about it! It was a purely medical decision. Nothing more!"

Takeru chuckled, but stopped when Kari grabbed and raised a pillow threateningly over her head. "Negotiate yourself out of this one, master diplomat," she said playfully. "Laugh again and I'll conk you a good one right where it hurts."

But Takeru couldn't stop laughing. Even as Kari's pillow descended upon his head (lightly, of course. She was a healer after all), he laughed and laughed and surprised himself with the sound. Was that really him laughing? He didn't think it was possible to be so lightheartedly anymore. Not after all that had happened. For a few moments, Kari joined him and together their rich laughter echoed off the walls; as it did, Takeru felt the last of his burden evaporate from his heart, never to return. _Peace is here, he thought in amazement. __I can laugh like this all day if I want to. The thought boggled the mind. _All day!__

It was not long before the sound attracted company. Rapid footsteps paced down the hall, then the room to his bedchamber opened to reveal the eager faces of his friends. "He's awake!" Davis shouted as he ran in. Leaping onto the bed, he gave Takeru a bear hug, completely heedless to his protests. "About time, you lazy piece of-"

"Davis Motomiya, get off him this very instant," Yolei shrieked as she stamped into the room. "The poor man has a broken arm and goodness knows how many-"

"Relax Yolei," Cody said. He gave her a friendly pat on the back as he stepped past her to Takeru's bed. "If Kari doesn't have a problem with hitting him with a pillow, then he must be fine."

The whole room went silent as everyone stared at Cody.

"What?" he said defensively.

"You just told someone to relax," Ken said, poker-faced, as he too stepped into the room.

"So?"

"You're the last person I'd expect to say that," Ken continued, still poker-faced.

Cody's normally grave face went pink with outrage. "_What?"_

"Wow," Davis murmured in Takeru's ear. "This 'peace' thing is powerful. Barely six days and look what it's done to Cody already."

Takeru felt mirth shake his shoulders again. "Oh, leave him alone fellows. He's not that…wait a minute, _six days?!!_"

"You didn't know?" Davis said in surprise. He turned to Kari. "You didn't tell him?"

"Didn't have a chance to," Kari said shaking her head. "He's just been awake for a minute, you know."

"I've been out for _six days?!_" Takeru said incredulously as he sat up. "I must have been-"

"Half dead," Kari finished for him. Her voice was dead serious. "Yes, you were in pretty bad shape when we got to you. But you're alright now, don't worry. Aside from a few scars, you should make a full recovery."

"Where…where am I anyway?" Takeru said, still feeling bewildered. _Six days?_

"At Atun'dar, capital of Sheid," Cody supplied helpfully. "It was closer than Falin or Ardinberg, so Bjorn took you here on his fastest horses."

"He supplied all the medicine and bandages for the wounded as well," Kari said gratefully. "Everything the triage staff needs to treat the _Seitzin, he gave it all."_

"I…I'll be sure to thank him later," Takeru said dazedly.

"Don't talk like that," Ken said as he sat down next to Takeru's bed. 

"Why not?"

"Because," Ken said slowly, "if anyone needs to be thanked, my friend, it is _you."_

At that, a quiet descended upon the room. Takeru felt a prickle of self-consciousness as the jocularity on his friend's faces gave way to grave solemnity. "Amen," Davis said as he gripped Takeru's hand tightly. "Well said. We…all of Gaea…owe you _everything."_

Takeru looked around. The sight of his friends arrayed around him, all alive and well, was too much for him. After all that they had been through, to be here together at the end of their long, arduous task, was the greatest reward he could ever know. No matter what they bestowed upon him, no crown, no scepter, no title could be worth this. Tears rose in his eyes, then spilled down his cheeks. "Not just me," he whispered. "Yamato as well."

A silence fell upon the friends as their leader wept. As one, they bowed their heads. "Yes indeed," Kari said quietly. "When we found you, we knew…we would never find him."

"I have no doubt," Cody said gravely, "that he heard the words we all want to hear at the end of our lives."

Takeru sniffed. "What's that?"

Cody looked up. " 'Well done, good and faithful servant'," he said with a smile. "Now, I want to know what that feels like."

"You can ask him yourself what it felt like," Takeru said with a slight smile, "when you see him across the rift." He shook his head. "Come," he said as he wiped away his tears. "I will not have you grieve on a day such as this. Tell me what happened. Tell me everything."

And so they did. They told him how eighty thousand men fought and died defending the _sangrias _for the crucial hour of his absence; the greatest and bloodiest battle in recorded history. They described to him the sight of a hundred violet fires igniting at once as the _mirrireid bearers died with their master. They told him how the _Seitzin _charged and broke the suddenly leaderless and panicking Khaydarin forces and drove the shattered remnants into the hills. They told him how that even at this moment, a full hundred thousand _Seitzin _were still abroad, searching for and destroying those remnants until not a single soldier remained. With each word Takeru felt…he didn't know how he felt. It was as if his friends were describing some far off tale whose only purpose was to confirm what he already knew in his heart. After twenty-two years of blood, sweat and toil, the war was finally over._

But Takeru sat up straighter when Ken leaned forward and began something entirely unexpected.

"On the second day after the _sangrias _came down," he said quietly, "plumes of heavy smoke were seen rising from beyond the eastern horizon of the sea. At first, we didn't know what it was, and we had no way of finding out. All the large vessels of my country were destroyed when Khaydarin invaded the ports. Only yesterday, however, news arrived of a group of foolhardy men who took a small fisherman's rowboat beyond the horizon to see what was causing it."

Takeru felt his brows knit together. This was something new. "What did they see?"

Ken exchanged glances with everyone else. "They didn't know what to make of it at first," he confessed. "They saw a far off land, which I think we can safely assume is the Isle of Akeldama, but they also said that it seemed to be…on fire."

"What?"

"The mountains there were spewing fire," Yolei explained. "They saw a range of large mountains lining the coast, and out of fully half of them were flowing streams of liquid fire and thick clouds of smoke. Even from a great distance, they could see the tremors tearing the coast apart. They dared not approach any closer for fear of being sucked into the current, but returned with all haste." She glanced at Takeru meaningfully. "Does this sound familiar?"

Takeru nodded wordlessly. It did indeed. It sounded almost exactly like Adun's description of the last battle of Seihad, when the mountains had exploded in great fountains of molten rock and torn the Isle of Akeldama away from the mainland. But Akeldama of the present was nothing but a small spit of land about the size of Ichijouji. For the same explosion to happen there, now, would mean…

"The island is sinking isn't it," he said. "If it's the same force that ripped the Isle from the mainland, then this time it must be enough to shatter it completely."

"That's what we're thinking as well," Yolei said, nodding. "If the streams of fire there left anyone alive, the smoke and ash will kill them within the week. And if that doesn't kill them, well, they will drown when the sea washes over the island."

"Some of us believe it was the collapse of the _sangrias _that triggered the eruptions," Cody said as he pursed his lips in speculation. "The explosion might have unstopped something in the earth." As he looked around at the others however, he shrugged. "But I think that in the end, we will never know for sure. Perhaps it's better to think of it as long overdue…divine justice."

"I saw at least eight hundred thousand war-worthy men through the _sangrias," Takeru said grimly. "And goodness knows how many Tichon had in reserve, not to mention how many women and children stayed behind the lines. To think that __all of them are going to die…although I know I shouldn't, I almost pity them."_

"Almost," Davis grunted. "Yes, I know what you mean Takeru. I _almost feel sorry for them as well."_

"Either way," Cody continued, "Aidan and Bjorn has agreed to send a fleet of his warships to guard the Ichijoujan coast in case anyone tries to escape the Isle by ship and invade the mainland that way. But both of them know it's a remote chance."

"The Creator's justice has fallen at last," Kari said, nodding. "The _entire nation of Khaydarin…will be nothing more than a bad memory now. Forever."_

A silence fell.

Takeru looked up. "What's going to happen to us now?" he said simply. "I mean…it's over."

They all looked at one another. It was a good question.

"I've never given it much thought," Davis admitted. 

"You _never _give anything much thought," Yolei said as she ribbed him.

"Hey, hey," he complained. "All I want to say is that it seems that I've been trying my whole life to defeat Khaydarin. Now that they're gone…"

"Nothing will be the same again," Ken sighed. "The world cannot go back to the way it was. Not in a thousand years."

"In fact, it should not," Cody interjected. "But I know what you mean."

"It's just that…" Yolei said, then paused, as if struggling for words. "…everything seems so _everydaynow. And although I know there's a lot of important stuff left to be done, it just feels like there's, well…_nothing _to be done." She looked around. "You know the feeling?"_

A chorus of murmured assents affirmed her. Kari however, sat back. 

"I'll have to go back to my little farming village in Novinha," she said, pulling a face. "And I'll be a good respectable girl, just like my mother always wanted. I'll tend to the house and crops, marry a solid, respectable man, do the cooking and cleaning, and never venture out at night because heavens above, the wolves will surely devour me alive if I do."

By the time she finished her last sentence, everyone was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down their cheeks. Davis especially laughed so hard that he began to choke, and for a moment panic reigned as everyone began slapping him on the back. By the time it became obvious that he had only choked on a bit of spit and that he was perfectly all right, his back had already turned a bright, candy-apple red. When Kari concernedly volunteered some salve for it, he blew up at her. It was a full two minutes before the laughter died down from _that_ one.

When it finally did, however, Takeru felt a strange sense of determination arise in him.

"There is…," he stammered, "_one _last important task to be done. At least, for me."

At once, he felt five pairs of curious eyes turn towards him.

"What is it?" Ken asked.

Takeru looked around. Now that he thought about it, he knew it had to be done, but did he really want to tell them now? "Um…"

"Takeru," Davis sighed. "You know after an admission like that, we're going to find out eventually. We Taelidani are nothing if not stubborn."

"And curious," Yolei chimed in.

Takeru looked away.

"Takeru," Kari said concernedly as she took his hands. "You're burning up. Is something wrong?"

_Burning up?_ Takeru thought incredulously. _She thinks I'm burning up!_

But then…

Who would he do this with, if not with this band of brothers and sisters? Why _not them? And heaven knows how little time it'd take Davis to find out even if he __didn't tell him now._

He turned to Kari. Never before had his face felt so hot, or his voice so unsteady. The courage that had enabled him to face down Tichon had deserted him at this most critical of junctures. But his decision was made. And this decision would have to be carried out sooner or later, or the Creator burn him, he was going to regret it for the rest of his life.

"Kari," he said as he tightened his grip on her hands. "I…I hope I count…um…in your eyes at least, as a…how did you put it…a 'solid, respectable man'…"

Yolei sucked in a deep breath as both hands flew up to cover her mouth.

"…because I _love_ you so," Takeru continued awkwardly. "I put it off for a long time because, well…you know…I didn't want…one of us to be left alone if something…happened. But now that it's over….well…I guess what I'm trying to say is…"

He looked up. Kari's eyes were as wide as saucers with shock as they gazed into his. Complete and utter silence had fallen in the chamber as everyone held their breath. Takeru's heart twisted in embarrassed agony, but with a Herculean effort, he refused to look to his left and right. He had eyes only for the woman before him. He had eyes only for the love of his life. He took a deep breath.

"Will you marry me?" he finished weakly.

The Shienar healers and assistants paused in their work and looked up in bewilderment as the din of shrieks, roars, laughs and sobs shook the entire healer's ward to its foundations.

**********

_**Fifteen years later. July 25th, AS. 538**_

_THE LAST SEIHAD: EPILOGUE_

_Much has passed in the last fifteen years, and much has been accomplished. In retrospect, I begin to realize that the Last Seihad was, in many ways, only one stage in this land's larger and ever-moving journey, just as my life was only one link in the long chain of stories that will lead to the End of all Things.  It was an important part to be sure, but things did not end when I unleashed _Shun Ten Satsu _into the Lord of Lies. In fact, things had only begun._

_The rebuilding of our land was of course the most pressing priority, and there are days when I doubt the recovery will ever truly cease. Simply remaking what has been shattered has become, for most of us, the work of our lives, but there have been encouraging signs of progress. Halidan is rebuilt now, and while it still bears scars of its razing, it is once again a busy center of commerce for traders around the Gaean sea. Palas too, has been rebuilt. The royal palace is now fully restored, as is most of the lower two levels, but in what many of my counselors called a foolish leap of faith at the time, I have left the walls unfinished. Praise the Creator that I have never had cause to regret that decision._

_Matters were delicate between the nations for the first few years. Without the pressing urgency of the impending Khaydarin doom hanging over their heads, the people reverted, for a time, to their old ways. Retreating to their provincial towns and countries, they haggled and disputed over a myriad of issues too numerous to count. Prophesied Seihad or not, twenty years worth of spilt blood and lost territory are not easily forgotten. Too many times, the people almost broke out in arms again, but always the Creator had mercy on us at the last instant. Refusing to stoop to the fray themselves, the monarchs of the stand-nations rose to the challenge of rebuilding and redrawing the map of our world so that all would be satisfied. Although the redrawing of the Gaean map was obviously only a temporary measure, their help was so invaluable that I feel justified in saying that this age of peace belongs as much to them as it belongs to me and my fellow stand-masters._

_This too, was not the end. On the historic meeting at Ardinberg, I swore to the delegates that I would redraft and see to completion an entirely new Charter of the Council. It took one whole year for the people to decide on the committee that would draft this Charter, then two years for the drafting itself. On June 7th, AS. 529, almost seven years since Tichon was defeated, the draft was completed. One year later, on August 1st, AS. 530, the draft was ratified by the thirty-seven nations of Gaea, all six stand-nations and all six stand-masters; on January 1st, AS. 531, it came into full force and effect. Today, while copies of the Charter can be found everywhere, the original Charter and seals remains immortalized in the great _kondou _beneath Palas where it accompanies the original _Prophecies. _It is fitting that the fruit of our labours be given back to the one who made it all possible._

_With the passing of the Charter, our land changed in ways more lasting and dramatic than any war could have achieved. With one fell swoop, the national borders that had been the cause of untold centuries of war and strife were abolished. It was then that the New Council came into being; a Council not only to mediate between nations, but to rule the land._

_It was decided after much deliberation that the monarchs of the stand-nations, along with the stand-masters themselves, would each have a seat in the ten-member Council. These men and women, the beginning of our land's ruling lines, I list here:_

_Councillor Aidan Trakand, King of Yagami_

_Councillor Bjorn Sheid, King of Sheid_

_Councillor San Farrier, King of Fan-Tzu_

_Councillor Ida Xinar, Queen of Jakt_

_Councillor Ken Ichijouji, Emperor of Ichijouji, Last Heir of the Chironsala Stand_

_Councillor Davis Motomiya, Last Heir of the Fan-Tzu Stand_

_Councillor Yolei Inoue, Last Heir of the Jakt Stand_

_Councillor Cody Hida, Last Heir of the Shienar Stand_

_Councillor Hikari Kamiya Ishida, Last Heir of the Yagami Stand_

_Councillor Takeru Ishida, Emperor of Ishida, Last Heir of the Ishidan Stand_

_With the passing of the Charter, a Councillor no longer has sovereign reign over his nation, but shares his power with the other nine in their rule over all of Gaea. Now, the concerns of Sheid are also those of Jakt. The concerns of Novinha are also the concerns of Ichijouji. One man's strength is everyone's strength, one man's weakness is everyone's weakness. Some have been unsettled by this new system of governance strange and I would be a liar if I said there are none who oppose the New Council, but only time can heal the scars the Seihad left behind. In time, and with the Creator's help, I know that the Council will-_

"Father?"

Takeru looked up from his desk and smiled. Sticking his quill back into his ink bottle, he turned in his chair and opened his arms to the small boy that stood beside it. "Shin," he murmured as his seven-year-old son leaped eagerly into his arms. Laughing a little as he swung the little boy around to sit on his knees, he pressed his chin against the boy's curly brown hair. "How goes the battle?"

"Wonderful, father," Shin giggled as his bright blue eyes eagerly took in the desk before him. "The Master of the kitchens says this year's feast will be the greatest ever."

Takeru suppressed a smile as his son bounced on his lap. "He says that every year."

Shin turned slightly to give his father a mischievous smile. "Ah, but Mother says she's never seen Master Clio this excited. She thinks it's going to be wonderful as well."

"And as we both know, Mother is always right," Takeru sighed.

Shin nodded gravely. "The fifth Rule of a proper household," he intoned. " 'The wife is always right, even if she is wrong.' And the sixth is like it: 'The husband is always wrong, even if he is right.'"

Takeru laughed as he shook his son gently. "Who told you that?"

"Mistress Delphine, Mistress of the Chambers" Shin answered as he squirmed. "She talks a _lot!"_

"I'll have to have a word with her…" Takeru murmured to himself. Some of these so-called 'Rules' were so outrageous that they would put any young man off marriage for life. "What else has she told you?" 

But Shin had lost interest in the subject. He turned once again to Takeru's large desk and stared wide-eyed at the mountainous sheaves of paper that lined every available corner. His father's desk had always been a source of constant wonder to him, filled as it were with a myriad of wonders, stories and pictures. "Are you almost done your book?"

Takeru shifted slightly in his chair so that he could place the inkpot out of Shin's reach. He loved his little boy, but Shin _was _very excited. "Almost," he said. "I just need to finish the epilogue."

"You're taking _ages _to write this," Shin said as he pulled a face.

"That's because it's a very long book," Takeru said as he blew on the ink. Satisfied that it was dry, he closed the leather-bound volume. Shin's eyes widened as he saw the almost inch-thick book slam shut with an appreciable _thump. "And father has to be very careful when writing it."_

Shin twisted again to look at his father. "Why?"

"Because a lot of people are going to be reading this," Takeru said. "Not just now, but in the future, when Mother and Uncle Davis and Uncle Ken and I will be gone. So if I make a mistake, nobody will ever know. And I don't want that to happen."

Shin's eyes grew wide. "Will it be an important book?"

Takeru brushed the surface of the leather bound volume, allowing his fingers to trace the embossed golden print. He read again the title of his first, and greatest work:

_THE LAST SEIHAD_

And underneath it, in smaller gold print:

_Councillor Takeru Ishida of all Gaea, Keeper of the Charter, Last Heir of the Ishidan Stand_.

"Yes," he said softly. "I think it will be."

It was almost five years to the day since Cody had first approached him with the idea of reconstructing and immortalizing the events of the Last Seihad in written form. If the age they had constructed was to last forever, it was important that future generations know exactly how it had began. Instead of allowing rumour and legend to distort the events of the twenty-two-year Seihad into myth, Cody had proposed a project to document, in its entirety, the key events and nuances of the entire war, told only from the viewpoints of those who had been intimately involved in its happenings. And naturally, it had been Takeru, the leader of the stand-masters, and the one who had entered the _sangrias and delivered the blow to end the war, who he had approached first._

"_Adun wrote Prophecies," Cody had said then. "_It is only fitting then that you, the Tenken, the one who surpassed Adun himself, write a book to tell our children how those Prophecies were fulfilled._"_

"_I am no scholar," Takeru had protested. "__How can I hope to pen a book like that?"_

Cody had laughed. "_And mountain farmboys don't grow up to defeat evil Emperors,_" he had pointed out. _"You're Takeru Ishida. Like it or not, you're famous."_

"_I wouldn't know where to-"_

_"Think of this as you have always thought of the Seihad. You are nothing. It is only the Creator that is doing his work through you._"

Takeru had had nothing to say to that.

"_Tell the world how the stand-masters saw the war," Cody had urged. "_Tell them how the Creator saved us time after time. Tell them so that, five hundred years from now, there will be absolutely no doubt that it was the Creator, and not us, that had brought about the end of Seihad_."_

So Takeru had started to work. With Cody's help, he gathered from every source possible every record of every battle, every political maneuver and every fulfilled Prophecy that the stand-masters encountered over the course of the war. He talked extensively with Ken about the invasion of Halidan, with Davis about the encounter with Fan-Tzu and with his wife about the invitation of Yagami, and carefully and painstakingly detailed their answers in his notes. He thought long and hard about his own memories and constructed, on paper, the timeline of the entire twenty-two-year Seihad, seen from the eyes of all six stand-masters, in as much detail as he could muster. 

Then he had begun to write.

Five years and some thirty chapters later, his book was almost complete. Within its lengthy pages were diagrams and charts, bloodlines and alliances, maps of countries and of battles, and page after page of first-hand accounts of the war. All of his friends had contributed; there were passages in the volume both devoted to and written by Davis, Yolei, Cody, Ken and Kari. He had included everything from the destruction of Ishida and his flight to Kurtal to the exile of Sai Aiua before the first Khaydarin invasion to the battle at the _sangrias. Takeru felt a small glow of pride and apprehension as he regarded the book before him. Yes, it was going to be a very important book indeed._

Shin grabbed the book and tried to lift it but soon gave up when it would not budge beneath his tiny fingers. "Father," he exclaimed in disgust. "It's heavy!"

"You're going to have to learn this book sometime," Takeru said as he ruffled his son's hair fondly, then laughed out loud at his son's horrified expression. "Don't worry, you'll have me to tutor you. And after five years, I can probably recite the thing word for word."

"But mother said-"

"Mother said nothing," a soft, melodious voice said. "And mother happens to agree with father. You're going to have to learn it."

Takeru felt a warm thrill shoot through his heart as he turned and saw Kari, dressed in a simple white gown and delicate gold headband, standing in the doorway to his study. After fifteen years, he did not think it was possible that the mere sight of his wife could still do that to him, but there it was. At thirty-eight, Kari no longer appeared young. But neither did she appear old. And if anything, everyone who laid eyes on her swore on their honour that her beauty, like that of a flower coming to full fruition, only became ever more radiant with each passing year.

Men said that her agelessness was due to her Stand, which lent her life and vigour beyond her years. After all, the Stand-masters of old had lived to almost two hundred years. The same agelessness could now be seen in all of them as youth melted away from their faces. Takeru knew that he himself did not look like he was almost forty and the effect would only become even more pronounced as he aged, but whatever it was, he did not care. No matter what happened, he did not think there would ever come a day when he would tire of looking at his wife's face.

As Takeru's face brightened however, Shin's face fell. "But Master Julius already has me working for-"

"I thought," Takeru said as he put on a hurt expression, "that you always wanted to learn more about the _Seihad_. You never seemed to tire of my stories."

Both Takeru and Kari smothered grins as they watched their son pause with a solemnly thoughtful expression on his young face. "You mean," he finally said slowly, "this book _won't _be like those boring scrolls on Old Gaean that Master Julius has me working on?"

"Oh no," Takeru said, shaking his head. "I can't write Old Gaean for the life of me. Besides, I promise you that this book is going to be exciting."

Shin's eyes grew bright. "Really?"

"It's like all the stories father told you beside the fireplace put together," Kari continued for her husband, "It's all about how we rallied together at the last moment, and-"

"Beat the evil Emperor Tichon," Shin shouted as he punched the air. "Yeah!"

"That's right," Kari grinned as she stroked her son's round cheek. "But if you don't want to read it, I suppose we can-"

"I take it back!" Shin said, shaking his head vigorously. "Can I start today?"

"When you are older," Takeru said, shaking as he laughed. "And only if you work hard at your studies. Otherwise, you won't be able to read it even if we gave it to you." With a sigh, he heaved his son from his lap and deposited him on the ground. "Run off now. It's time to prepare for the feast. Go choose your clothes and father will be along soon to help you dress."

With a whoop, Shin ran from the study and pattered down the hall. Kari shook her head as she laughed. "You shouldn't have let him choose his own clothes," she remonished him. "You know he'll choose the greatcloak Davis gave him for his last birthday."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Don't play dumb with me, TK," she said teasingly. "It's far too big for him; it's almost a foot taller than he is! The only reason he wears it is because it looks almost exactly like your Royal cloak. You know Davis's sense of style and size hasn't improved one bit with the years."

"Is that true?" Takeru said in genuine surprise. "I never knew. It was always you that helped him dress."

Kari stepped up behind her husband and rested her hands on his shoulders. Leaning down, she planted a light kiss in Takeru's hair. "He looks up to you, you know," she murmured. "You're his hero. He tells everyone but you, and that's because he doesn't think it's manly to."

Takeru said nothing as he reached up to touch his wife's hand on his shoulder. Of course he knew. He could see it in his sons' eyes whenever Shin thought he wasn't looking. Out of the high window of his study, he could see his young son jumping and whooping with excitement as he ran across the large, open courtyard of stone to his room. It still amazed him that despite his many duties and charges as Councillor and Keeper of the Charter, he still had the time to play with his young son. It was a blessing that he never ceased to thank the Creator for.

"Are you almost done?" Kari asked as she gestured at the book.

"Almost," Takeru said as he patted the leather-bound volume in front of him. "I just need to finish the epilogue, which I'm devoting to the start of the Council."

"Things are still changing," Kari said. "Are you sure you want to-"

"Just a brief mention of the main points," Takeru said reassuringly, "I don't think the book will be complete without it. Are we ready for the Feast to begin?"

"The food is almost ready," Kari said. "The guests will be coming down soon. It's about time we started preparing ourselves. That's why I came to get you. The _Shinas Athan is about to begin."_

Takeru sighed as he took out his quill and carefully laid it aside. After screwing his ink pot shut, he stood up. With a smile, he extended his hand to Kari. "Come on then," he said. "The Festival of Everlasting Peace cannot start without the master and mistress of the house. We have to give the Blessing."

Kari took his hand and together they left the study and entered the Royal Library of Ishida. Walking past the long rows of shelves, Takeru nodded at the gatekeepers as he passed. "Have a blessed _Shinas_," he murmured, and was received with smiles and bows. "May your day be blessed."

Soon, they were descending the spiral staircases that led from the upper floors to the grand hall of the Royal Library. Takeru sighed once again as he saw the mostly empty shelves that lined the gold-inlaid walls. The entire, priceless collection of the original Library had been lost in the first year of the Old Council Calendar, when Khaydarin had besieged and sacked the city in a single night. Despite generous donations from Aidan, Bjorn, San and Ida, it would be generations before the shelves would be filled again. Still, all things had a beginning. With time, the Library would grow. Takeru was certain of it.

Noticing their Lord and Lady passing, the liveried servants who tended the shelves hurried to open the door, but Takeru waved them away. "Away with you," he said kindly. "I can open doors myself! Will I see you at the Feast, young master Lore?"

The servant he had addressed smiled and nodded nervously. "As soon as my duties are finished, my Lord. I would not miss it for the world!"

"Then we shall talk then," Kari said, her eyes twinkling. "Have a blessed _Shinas!"_

Lore bowed. "May the Creator shine on you, milady," he called back as Takeru opened the door and stepped out with his wife.

Although work had commenced scarce months after peace had settled, the rebuilding of the palace of Ishida, set as it were on the rocky third tier of the once ruined Palas where construction was difficult at best, impossible at worst, had taken almost ten years to complete, and it was still ongoing. Many of the priceless artifacts, scrolls, paintings and tapestries that had once graced its halls were irreplaceable. Takeru knew that again, with time, the palace would grow in richness and build a tradition of its own, but he had always felt there was a certain…_unfinished _look to the place when inside. On the outside however, the palace had been fully restored down to the last brick. And it was only when he had first gazed upon this beautiful hall that Takeru had at last fully understood the rich and mighty tradition of his line.

Before him, the white palace of Ishida thrust upwards in all its proud glory until the peak of its highest tower seemed to pierce the sky. The blue roof tiles of the palace gleamed in the fiery dusk sunlight like clouds of sapphires as Takeru and Kari walked, hand-in-hand, through the central courtyard towards their apartments and the Great Hall. Around them, the graceful arches of the gated entranceways cast long, curving shadows on the blue-veined flagstones beneath their feet and the neatly ordered rows of the Royal garden. This deep in the center of the palace, not a sound could be heard save the rustling as blue and gold flowers in full summer bloom, cast in the pattern of the legendary Ishidan crest, nodded in the gentle breeze that brushed through them. Takeru smiled as he saw his son disappear behind the arched entrance to the main castle on the other end of the courtyard, but his step remained unhurried.

He knew that there were four more courtyards just like this one interspersed through the huge grounds of the palace, but this one had always held a special place in his heart. He could scarcely walk through it without feeling his heartbeat slow and his breathing deepen. And this time was no exception.

He paused as he approached the middle of the courtyard. Kari leaned her head on his shoulder as together they took in the white monument before them. Set underneath the shade of a fifteen-year-old Sakura sapling, it was little more than three tiers of marble rock, at one end of which stood two paler-hued stones, each of which were as tall as Takeru. Between and in front of the slabs, the carven likeness of a shed cloak lay, partially covering the broken sword that could be seen beneath it.

Walking forward, Takeru reached out and touched the left stone. He read once again the words engraved on its smooth white surface:

_LOCKE DIMAK_

_Praetor of the Gaean Seitzin_

_Hero of the Seihad_

And on the right slab:

_YAMATO ISHIDA_

_Last Heir of the Ishidan Stand_

_Beloved Friend and Brother.___

_Hero of the Seihad_

As it always did, Takeru's gaze rested on the word "Last" in Yamato's title. A mixed flurry of emotions stirred in his heart as it did. Most people did not know it, but that word that was the greatest sign of peace Yolei could have put on this memorial when she designed it. At least, he felt it was.

Perhaps more would understand why when his book was finally finished.

He knew that neither of their bodies were really there. After Yamato's passing, nobody knew what Locke looked like, so his body had never been recovered. And Yamato…only the Creator knew where his body was now, trapped as it were somewhere on the thought-plane. The graves that stood before him were nothing but memorials, but they still held meaning. Sighing, he looked down.

Below the white cloak, a third inscription had been carved into the rock. It read:

_TO THE UNKNOWN KHAYDARIN SOLDIER WHO GAVE_

_HIS LIFE FOR A LAND AND CREATOR HE NEVER KNEW:_

_MAY YOUR REST BE PEACEFUL_

For a long time, neither Takeru nor Kari said anything as they stood, lost in their memories, before the memorial of the true heroes of the _Seihad. Takeru knew there was a larger one just like it in the main courtyard of the city, just as there was one in the courtyard of Meitzin, capital of Yagami, Halidan, capital of Ichijouji, Atun'dar, capital of Sheid, Falin, Capital of Fan-Tzu, and Caliro, capital of Jakt. He had, after all, given Yamato his word. The sacrifice of his men would never be forgotten as long as these memorials stood._

"He died today," Takeru said softly. "He would have been forty."

Beside Takeru, Kari sighed. "I wonder what he would have made of everything that has happened since his passing?"

"Well," Takeru said as he turned slightly to grin at his wife, "you can ask him when you see him."

Kari made a face. "True," she admitted. "But then…"

"It'll be a long time before you can," Takeru said softly. "I know."

Kari reached out and touched the white tombstones, allowing her fingers to slide across the smooth surface just as Takeru's had. Again, they fell silent.

"I think he would have approved," Ken's voice murmured behind them.

Takeru and Kari turned around. Already dressed in the full regalia of his Ichijoujan uniform, the Councillor that stood before them was a far cry from the plainly clothed traveler that had entered Takeru's courts only yesterday with his three honour guards. When Takeru had questioned him about the rather plain entourage, Ken had only shrugged. "_One does not need a great procession with trumpets and heralds_," he had said, "_when one is simply going to attend a feast with dear friends."_

All that seemed distant now as Ken stood before them with a scroll of paper in his hand and a wide smile on his face. Happily, Takeru extended a hand and clasped his friend on the shoulder. "My, you look smart today," he said teasingly. "And happy too. It seems that the _Shinas spirit affects even you."_

"Actually," Ken confessed as he hefted the package and waved the scroll, "it's this that I'm smiling about. A servant passed it to me not too long ago. I was going to give it to you at the feast, but I saw you in the courtyard."

Curious, Kari took it and spread it open. "What is it?" she asked.

"Read it and see."

However, as soon as Kari turned it over and Takeru saw the trademark sigil of the Shienar seal, he already knew. It was a message inked on the special diplomatic paper that Bjorn used whenever he wished to trade messages with his fellow Councillors. Whatever the letter was, it must have come through with the regular courier that carried messages back and forth between Palas and Atun'dar. Judging from the smile on Ken's face however, this was no ordinary letter.

"It's from Davis," Kari said as she read the front of the scroll. Breaking the seal, she cleared her throat and began reading. 

"_Greetings dear friends,_

_I wish you a happy and meaningful Shinas Athan festival. Our friends Yolei, Cody and Bjorn are all with me as I pen this letter in Atun'dar, and we are all in good cheer and health."_

"Well, this is interesting," Takeru murmured as he put his arm around his wife's waist and started reading over her shoulder. "But since when did Davis start writing letters to talk to us? What couldn't he tell us over the thought-plane?"

"It's not only to us," Ken explained. "It's addressed to Lord Marc, Isendre and Corin as well. They must have thought a personal letter would be better than having us relay a message to them."

"_Preparations for the Shinas festival go well as usual," Kari continued. "__Bjorn tells me his Master Chef seems especially excited about this Feast, the fifteenth Festival, than he has been for years.__ The entire city is abuzz with excitement, as I imagine the rest of Gaea is. I am not one to complain. The mere prospect of mountains of good food has always been enough to raise my spirits, no matter where I am."_

"He needn't have bothered with the special ink seal," Takeru laughed. "That certainly sounds like Davis."

"_Our work goes smoothly as well. Cody tells me he is nearing the completion of his second book on the Shienar history of the Last Seihad. Now, with the history of Sheid and Fan-Tzu complete, he believes he will be moving to Ichijouji soon to start on his third book; Ken, you should be expecting his arrival within a month or so.  If you ask me, he's turned into a stuffy academic ever since he started that project of his ten year's ago, and all the time he spends in the Library and Royal Archives certainly doesn't help. Now don't get me wrong; even I can see why it's important to record the Last Seihad as thoroughly as possible. It's just that I can never see myself doing so much. Even with you, Takeru, writing a book for him, it will take him at least another twenty years to finish writing a volume for every stand-nation. He uses words now that even King Bjorn has never heard of, never mind us uncultured Taelidani savages. A stuffy academic indeed._

_(And yes, he has read this letter. He says that I have no appreciation for history and culture. Who knows? He might be right)_"

Kari looked up. "I'd say Cody's right," she said as she tried and failed to suppress her grin. "But then, who would have thought Cody would have turned into a scholar? He might be the first of his people to do so."

"Just keep going," Ken said as he gestured at the letter. "I'm surprised Davis wrote so much. But then again, better him than Cody. Cody's letters are always ten times longer than they have to be."

"_Yolei and I are both in good cheer, but although the rest here in Atun'dar has been warmly welcomed and sorely needed, I do not believe we will be staying here for more than a week or so despite Bjorn's repeated entreaties for an extended stay. After all, we haven't stayed in one place for more than a month ever since the Charter was signed, and we don't see any cause to start now. As the Taelidani say, 'The call of the wide horizon is loud within us'. Not to offend those of you who have put down roots, but a domestic life is simply not for us._

_"Where shall we go next? We have no idea yet. Perhaps further west, into Novinha and those mountains Takeru and Kari are always talking about. We might spend a few months wandering the valleys and passes. The cool of the mountains should shelter us from the worst of the summer heat. And yes, Takeru, we have been diligently taking notes. I shall be sending them to you via courier in a few days' time. You were right by the way: despite having escaped the worst of the Seihad, there are still a lot of people here in Sheid, particularly the traders and merchants, that need help rebuilding their homes and livelihoods. With my notes, you and Bjorn should be able to come up with a scheme to help them. After all, my dear friend, you always do."_

"What does he think I am," Takeru snorted. "Some kind of miracle worker?"

"Takeru," Ken said in all seriousness, "the whole world thinks you're some kind of miracle worker. Why shouldn't we? And besides, you were the one who suggested this scheme to him."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Takeru muttered. 

"It still is," Kari said reassuringly. "There are a lot of people out there that need help and order. Without Davis and Yolei, a lot of them would probably have slipped through the cracks." She squeezed his arm. "I'm sure you'll think of something. Like Davis said, you always do."

Takeru grunted. "Does he have anything else to say?"

"A little bit," Kari said as she scanned the letter.

"_Bjorn is in good health despite his age, though he cannot travel as often as he would like to anymore. He sends his greetings along with ours, with best wishes on your continuing work. _

_Takeru, I heard from Cody today that you should be finishing your book soon; I look forward to reading it. Knowing you, your book should be a little less boring and a lot more exciting than Cody's._

_Kari, remember to keep Takeru in check. As I'm sure you know by now, he will drive himself far too hard if you let him. Tell Shin that I won't be able to attend his birthday celebration this year, but that Uncle Davis sends his greetings. And I'm sorry about the greatcloak. Perhaps you can find some way to shorten it?_

_Ken, I hear encouraging news from Bjorn about the reconstruction of Ichijouji. Sailors from Halidan tell us that the city port is almost back to its former glory. We have also heard a rumour that for the first time in recent memory, grass has started growing again in _Paen _province. Is this true? If so, I rejoice for you; it may be a sign that the soil is returning to normal. We wish you blessings in your endeavours._

_Marc, blunt as this may seem, you are no longer a young man. If these rumours of you gallivanting about the countryside on the slightest whim is true, remember that if you fall off the horse, you could break your back. It's peacetime! The people can get by with a visit once a month rather than once every week._

_Greet all our friends in Palas for us as well. May the Creator shine on you and shelter you always._

_Your friend and brother,                                                    _

_Councillor Davis Motmoiya_

_Last Heir of the Fan-Tzu Stand"_

There was a silence as Kari's voice trailed off. Then Takeru closed his eyes. "Marc is going to _kill_ him," he muttered in dread. "Why oh why did he _have _to-"

"You know Davis," Kari said as she rolled up the scroll again. "He speaks before he thinks. He can't open his mouth without offending at least _someone."_

"I agree," Ken said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I was getting worried until the end that our Davis had lost his touch."

Takeru sighed. "But he _does _sound happy, doesn't he?"

"And why should he not?" Ken said as he shrugged. "He's doing what he wants, and he knows his friends are doing the same."

As Kari tied up the scroll again, Takeru paused as he reflected on that. _We are?_

When he had departed from the ruined remnants of Kurtal, the only life he had ever known was that of a humble farmer boy. Whatever dreams he had had of glorious adventure and mighty deeds, not even his wildest ones could have predicted that he would become the leader of the stand-masters and a Councillor of All Gaea, much less the long-prophesied Tenken that would bring about and end the Last Seihad. When he had left, he had always assumed that he would go, finish his task, and come back to his crops when fate and destiny and all that stuff had had their way with him. 

It had not taken him long to realize that that wish was nothing but a dream. Too much had happened, both evil and good, for any of them to go back. The world, as Ken had said all those years ago, would never be the same again. And when the Last Seihad had ended, the Creator's hand had simply tugged them in the directions it had, and here they were.

_Are we happy?_

As Ken's words sank in however, Takeru began to see the truth in them. Looking around, he felt the beginnings of a satisfied smile tug at the corners of his lips.

Ken was right in one thing: they were all doing what they wanted. Ken, as a Councillor of All Gaea, had nevertheless maintained strong ties with his home nation and had, years ago, set as his work the rebuilding of the entire Eastern seaboard. The task was mind-boggling. What had taken Khaydarin one month to desecrate and destroy would probably take the remainder of his life, long as it would be, to repair, but his friend did not seem to mind. Progress was slow but steady and the signs were encouraging. Every time Ken gave a report on his progress whenever they met, Takeru could always glimpse a satisfied smile beneath the smoothly polished words.

Those of them that had wanted to put down roots, had. Impulsively, Takeru hugged his wife closer to his chest and gave her shoulders a squeeze as his gaze fell upon the sapling beside the memorial. It would not be long now before the tree he had finally planted all those years ago began to sprout blossoms in the spring. Already they were beginning to see signs of buds on those branches. In time, he knew it would grow as broad and tall as the one that had stood in front of his yard back at Kurtal. Yes, he missed his life as a wanderer, but those days were over. He loved his wife and he loved his son; he would not give his home for anything.

There were those among them that had yet to put down their roots. Davis, Yolei, Cody…it would be a long time before they settled in anywhere. The wild, free Taelidani spirit was still strong in them. Cody's love for knowledge and history had taken him far and abroad, and Takeru knew that his friend would not stop until he had finished his work. Davis and Yolei…who knew when they would stop wandering. If the call of the wide horizon had not waned in fifteen years, Takeru doubted it ever would. And if traveling was what made them happy, then he was glad for them.

"You know," he said thoughtfully as he turned to Ken. "I think you're right."

"Not everything is perfect," Kari said as she shook her head. "But it's certainly a relief to not have to fight anymore."

"There is so much left to do," Ken said softly, "that there are days when I feel it would take a hundred lifetimes to complete. But-"

"If the Lord calls me back right this instant," Takeru finished with a smile, "I would be content with a life well lived and a task well done. Yes, I know what you-"

"_Father!_"

Takeru looked up as Shin's distant voice rang across the otherwise quiet courtyard. Shin was waving wildly at them from the third floor balcony that led from their quarters. Cupping his hands to his mouth, the brown-haired boy yelled again. "_You said you were coming right after me!"_

"I'm coming!" Takeru called back, then gave Ken an apologetic glance. "My son calls me. Kari will take you to the Great Hall. Wait for me there, it should not take more than few minutes."

"The joys of parenthood," Ken said, his eyes twinkling. 

"You don't know the half of it," Kari said with a mock groan.

Ken shook his head. "Don't let me impede you then. We'll see you in a few minutes at the Feast."

**********

"Father?"

"Hmm?"

"You know how you said I would have to learn that book of yours?"

Takeru slowed as he walked down the hall towards the Great Hall and turned slightly to look at his son. "What about it?"

As he walked, Shin's hands unconsciously tugged on the velvet blue cloak that Takeru had put on his shoulders and adjusted the collar of his white silk shirt. The little boy loved dressing up, but it was always a constant battle to keep him from "adjusting" the shirt-hem to a rumpled mess and tugging the little gold buttons loose. Still, Shin looked thoughtful, not excited as he usually did at the _Shinas Athan_. "Will I have to learn the sword too?"

Takeru felt a small frown furrow his brow as he resumed his pace. "Why do you ask?"

"Because they say that it should be about time for my training to start soon," Shin explained matter-of-factedly to his father. 

"Pray tell me who 'they' would be."

"Lord Marc and Master Julius and others. Well, Lord Marc called it something else. Kenja…something."

"_Kenjutsu," Takeru said. "The art of the sword."_

"That's right," Shin said, nodding. "It's tradition, they say, for the Heir of the Ishidan throne to learn the sword."

"The Ishidan throne does not exist anymore," Takeru corrected automatically.

Shin shrugged. "That doesn't seem to bother Lord Marc. He says that if I have any hope of mastering the _Shun Ten Satsu_, I should be starting to train now, when I'm still young."

Takeru did not respond for a long time. Instead, he reached out and rested his hand on Shin's shoulder as they walked. How should he explain this?

For he knew that the answer to Shin's question was moot. Both he and Kari had known, ever since Shin had been little more than a year-old babe that, regardless of his will, Shin would never be able to master _Shun Ten Satsu. At least, not as well as his father had. And it had nothing to do with talent or training._

It was simply because Shin had no stand.

No matter how hard Takeru or Kari tried, they could not sense the slightest spark of the talent within their son. As always, a mixed flood of emotions churned in his heart as Takeru gazed upon his son. There were those that regarded Shin as a freak accident, and those who eagerly waited for Takeru and Kari's next son in the confident expectation that he or she would be a stand-master, but Takeru knew better. He did not believe in freak accidents. He also knew that if Davis, Yolei, Cody or Ken ever had children, they would be as devoid of the talent as Shin. 

Although Shin was still too young to understand, he had been the reason for the word "Last" that was now included in their titles. For the Creator had deemed that the legacy of the stand-masters would end with their generation. The new bloodlines He had created, the Motomiya, Kamiya, Inoue, Hida and Ichijouji families, were not destined to be bloodlines of warriors. They were to be bloodlines of leaders.

In a way, it made Takeru feel sad. Hundreds of years worth of tradition would be lost. The Ishidan stand that had lent its strength to his mighty fathers would no longer run in his line's blood.

But in another way, it made him feel peaceful. For it was the best sign the Creator could have given his people that they would never have to face war, pain and death ever again. The awesome power of the Stand, the symbol of strength that had stood for five hundred years, would no longer be needed.

It was no coincidence that Shin's name was so similar to the name of the Festival that even now was happening all over Gaea. Takeru and Kari had named him "Star of Peace" in the Old Language for a reason. For even as Takeru Ishida had been the one to end the war, Shin Ishida, his successor, would be the one to usher in the peace.

And that was an encouraging thought.

"No," Takeru said slowly. "You won't have to learn the sword."

Shin looked up with his wide blue eyes. "Really? But Lord Marc said-"

"I will talk to Lord Marc," Takeru said reassuringly. "The _Shun Ten Satsu will be meaningless in this new age."_

Shin frowned. "Why?" he said innocently. "I wouldn't mind. It sounds fun."

Takeru paused for a moment as he searched for the words to explain it. "Perhaps some traditions," he said slowly, "old and good as they might be, are meant to simply…disappear."

"Father," Shin said reproachfully, "you're talking all funny again."

"You'll understand someday," Takeru said. As they rounded the corner, his eyes lit up as he saw Kari and Ken, both dressed in their finest, waiting for him at the open oak doors that led into the palace's Great Hall. "Now stop fidgeting with your cloak. You'll rumple it."

As Shin forced himself to lower his hands, Takeru gave Ken a questioning gaze. "Is everyone in there already?"

Ken gestured at the door. "They're all waiting for you," he whispered.

"The Feast can't start without the Blessing," Kari added.

"Then let's not keep them waiting," Takeru said as he straightened his own cloak and shirt. "Let's go."

Together, they walked in. As his eyes lit upon the interior of the Great Hall, Takeru felt a rueful smile cross his face. Clio had outdone himself. Again.

The walls of the Great Hall had been festooned with lanterns and banners of blue and gold silk. The long tables that stood lengthwise across the hall groaned under the mountains of food that had been piled on top of them. As Takeru walked past them, his eye ran across everything from racks of lamb and beef to salads containing every kind of fruit known to Gaea. Flagons of wine stood cooling in basins of cold water every few paces along the tables. When the tradition of the Festival had first begun all those years ago, Takeru had always feared that there would not be enough food for the three-day Feast. As he heard Kari sigh behind him, he chuckled in amusement. Somehow, he suspected that that would not be a problem this year.

The Great Hall was packed with people, and although the excitement in the air was contagious, the din quieted somewhat as the four of them walked down the center aisle and approached the long Head Table set for them at the end of the Hall. Lords and ladies, masters and mistresses, children and servants all turned as one and respectfully fell silent as Takeru stopped in front of his seat. By the time Kari, Ken and Shin took their positions around him, the last murmur and laugh had faded away.

Takeru paused for a moment as he regarded the people before him. Some of them were old; veterans that still remembered the old Age of Gods. Some of them were his age, and like Takeru, had served with him in the Seihad. Some were younger, no more than children to his eyes, the first of many generations to share in the fruits of the _Shinas Athan_, the Everlasting Peace. But all of them gazed upon him with love in their eyes. All of them smiled with the smile of a contented people under the rule of the righteous and loving Creator. And as it always did, Takeru felt the same peace that had sustained him for so many years descend upon him once again as he met their expectant gazes. 

As had been the custom for many years, Ken picked up the goblet set before him, thus beginning the Blessing. A great rustle spread throughout the hall as the people rose as one with their cups.

"To those who gave their lives to build this Age," he said with grave solemnity. 

With one voice, the people took up the Blessing with thankful voices. "_May their glory never dim, and may their rest be peaceful. Amen." And as one, they raised the cup to their lips and drank._

When the goblets were lowered again, Kari stepped forward. "To the _Shinas Athan," she said, her melodious voice rising with conviction and passion. "The Age of Everlasting Peace."_

"_May her everlasting fruits bless our people forever. Amen." Again, the cups went up, and again the people drank._

Takeru stepped forward.

"To the Creator," he said simply as he lifted his goblet. "Through whom all things are possible."

_"May glory and praise be His forever. Amen."_

**THE END**

****Final Author's Notes:**

First off, some statistics:

- Date started: May 8th, 2001

- Date ended: January 15th, 2004

- Time from beginning to end: 2 years, 9 months, and 7 days

- Total word count (approximate): 330,000

- Pages (assuming 400 words per page): 825 pages

This will be my last digimon fic, and possibly my last fic on fanfiction.net. Although Digimon was a great show, I've grown out of it. I want to write about someone other than TK for once; I want to write something entirely my own. So with this, I bid a bittersweet goodbye to the digimon category and all the people who have followed me since I first posted "Yesterday when the War Began". Somehow, I can't help feeling that the digimon genre has entered a new phase. All the "excellent/popular" authors that I used to follow religiously: Kale, Caspian, logan, Time Lady, raine, Hikari Takaishi, etc. have all left. Now, that I'm going to join them in retirement, it's almost as if I'm passing the torch to a new generation of digimon writers. Have fun with your time here guys. I certainly did.

The Seihad trilogy was, beyond a doubt, the longest and most ambitious project I've ever started and completed; that includes the Out of the Ashes trilogy, which is roughly a third the size of this one. And although there were times when I felt like giving up, I have to say that pushing on and finishing it despite writer's block, exams and university applications has given me an incredible sense of accomplishment, fulfillment and pride. Now that it's over, I almost…sad. After watching the characters struggle through six years of war and leading them from Kurtal to the Saera desert, Maran, Sai Aiua, Halidan, Ichijouji, Palas, Ardinberg, Maitzin, the Fan-Tzu forests, and finally to Paen province and Atun'dar, I feel like every one of them has become my friends. I've long stopped considering Takeru to be the kid with the white bucket hat from digimon, or Kari to be the girl with the outrageous pink gloves (someone shoot the person who gave her that, btw). They've grown and matured beyond their digimon personas until they've taken a life of their own in this story. Now that their story is finished, strange as it may seem, I feel like I'm saying goodbye to my friends for the past three years.

In the end, I believe Seihad was a good story. It has more than its fair share of rough edges and contrived plot elements, but I think it was, all in all, a far more down-to-earth and matured piece of fiction than the "Ashes" trilogy was. 

Beneath all its awkwardness and rough edges, Seihad is ultimately a story of six people who gave their lives to a higher calling to fight for their land, their people, and their children. It's a story of a despairing sinner's quest for meaning in life, then the same sinner's journey to redemption. It's a story of a land cautiously setting aside old hatreds in favour of a naïve, idealistic peace despite innumerable obstacles. And it's a story of how the Creator worked through the lives of his servants to move a mountain. Although I do think it could have been handled better, I make no apologies for the prominent Christian themes in this work. Seihad is not, in essence, a Christian work. The land of Gaea is not meant to parallel our world; the peace Takeru ultimately achieved will never descend upon Earth until God returns again. But the theme of redemption and forgiveness, as illustrated by Yamato and Locke's long journey back to the right side, is very much a Christian one. The theme of empowerment, as illustrated by Takeru's commissioning at Palas at the end of Pilgrimage and his constant attribution of power to the Creator, is very much a Christian one. The theme of lies, as illustrated by Lord Tichon himself, is very much a Christian one. So you see, although this story is not Christian, its Christian themes are inseparable.

I hope you've enjoyed this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. A big thank you to all the loyal reviewers who have put up with me for two years and nine months of frustratingly long waits. You don't know how much your reviews mean to me; a lot of the time it's kept me going. A BIG thank you to all my editors: Dreamwalker, Hell's Hauntress and KarissaEB. Without them, this story would not have become what it is now. Their help has been invaluable. Everyone, review and thank them!

And now, just for fun, let's play favourites ;)

Favourite character (aside from TK, duh) – I'd have to say Kari. I like all of the DD, but in writing Seihad I've developed a strange fascination with her. I wish I had more time to expand her character, but suffice to say, giving her the limelight for once has been a lot of fun.

Favourite non-DD character – Locke, obviously, though Talin ranks a close second. Both of them are cool.

Favourite place – Palas. I don't know why, it just is. I've always enjoyed writing about Palas.

Favourite scene – hard to say. I liked Takeru's battle with Yamato at Palas a lot. I still think it's possibly the best fight scene I've ever written. Also, it's one of the most dramatic turning points in the story.

What do you guys think?  What are your favourites? ;D


End file.

Digimon, Adventure, Drama