Prologue

“Father, please, do not do this. Do not take his head.”

Emperor Magnimus paused, the iridescent handled sword stilling in his upraised hands. At his feet, the rebel lord Cathacus, called the Wolf, shuddered slightly, the bare nape of his neck covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He opened dark brown eyes to look at the straw covered stone flagstones below him, just catching a glimpse of the emperor's black boots as they turned away.

The emperor's own hazel eyes, stained with the yellow poison of blood magic, turned to examine his daughter standing behind him--and smiled to witness her barely controlled fear. She looked almost as if she herself could not believe what she had just asked.

Effortlessly, strengthened by the Mandate's power, the emperor shifted his hold on the heavy broadsword, tilting the blade up so that the tip rested itself now against Princess Rhea's throat. She lifted her head involuntarily, willing her chin not to tremble. Behind her, Prince Barish laid a calming hand on the arm of his brother Tallus, who had flinched when their father had shifted the blade. Young twelve year old Princess Danae kept her eyes rooted to the floor.

“And why should I not?” Magnimus asked his daughter.

Rhea licked her lips, “Because I am asking you not to.” She had to fight the urge to swallow, very conscious of the metal nicking her throat.

“That is not enough, daughter,” Magnimus said, still smiling. “This man must die for me to live.”

Rhea smiled, her lips stretching into an ironic sneer, “No, father. If you do not allow the Wolf to live, then you will die.”

Cathacus raised his head at her words, wanting to see the teenage girl that dared face down the most feared man on the Dajan. She was but a thin thing, her long black hair tied loosely back into a braid down her back, hazel eyes like her father's blinking rapidly. Her red dress accented the paleness of her face, but there was something in her eyes that made Cathacus decide to sit up.

Magnimus’s eyes flashed at her insolence, and he pressed the blade closer, cutting a thread of blood on her neck. Barish gripped Tallus’s arm when the younger man jerked again, willing him not to take action, though he was having a hard time keeping his own reactions in check. Rhea herself didn’t flinch. She had gone too far now.

“You would kill me, daughter?” the emperor hissed, the smile finally fading. “For the life of one man?”

“Show me,” Rhea said, her own eyes unnaturally bright, “that you still have mercy in your soul. Show me that the Mandate does not control you.”

Magnimus stared at her a moment longer, then gave a short laugh. Shaking his head, he pulled the blade away and spun it over his head, as if it weighed no more than a feather, causing her to duck slightly and take a step back as it whirred over her head.

“Mercy?” he demanded harshly, “for a killer? A thief? A traitor? No daughter,” he stopped twisting the sword around, resting it on his shoulder, “the only mercy I will show today is that I will not kill you for your impertinence. At least," his eyes narrowed, "not today." He raised the sword, "Now back away, Rhea. You are not worthy of my time this day."

Head still bowed, Rhea closed her eyes in submission and retreated to stand once more beside the throne, her posture radiating weakness. Cathacus' eyes narrowed, and, taking in a deep breath, he straightened up slightly from his kneeling position. Next to Rhea, Barish released his Tallus’s arm, and both bowed their own heads. Danae emitted a tiny hiccup, her clear green eyes filling with tears.

Pleased at their reactions, Magnimus turned again to the still kneeling Cathacus, amused to see that the man had lifted his head in order to meet the emperor’s nearly yellow eyes, as defiant as ever. But when the Wolf dared smile at the emperor, his bruised lips lifting into a mocking sneer. Magnimus's humor fled.

“You've lost, Cathacus,” the emperor hissed, staring down at the man, "and now it's over."

The Wolf just continued to smile, sensing more than seeing Rhea pulling the plain throwing knife out of her blood red sleeve. Next to her, Tallus pulled the knife from his belt, Barish rested his hand on his rapier, and Danae started to cry, the stiletto hidden in her bodice as heavy as lead next to her heart.

"Yes," the Wolf whispered, as the emperor lifted the sword over his head for the killing blow, "it is finally over. Long live the Queen."

Trembling something fierce, Rhea threw the blade at her father’s unprotected back.

Part One: When in Rhea….

Chapter One: From a Distance

“There she is,” Ezra whispered, reining in, a hand drifting up to touch the goddess stone he wore on a chain under his shirt.

Rhea. Capital city of Kingdom of Cathacus. Ancient seat of the Dajan Empire and the crown jewel of the Four Kingdoms.

Out of an unspoken accord, the seven riders stopped atop the first hill that gave them an unobstructed view of the great city, forming a near perfect line. The sun was setting to the Southwest, dropping over the low southern reaches, bathing the castle, the city and the men watching it in a golden glow.

Chris Larabee, paladin of the Brishnian Kingdom, sat astride his old black war horse at one end, dark green eyes narrowing to slits as he looked forward. His customary all black attire was clean but worn, dust streaking the cloth like rust on aged armor. A firmly set square jaw was grizzled by two day growth, and his blond hair was cropped short and unkempt on his head, as if someone had taken a pair of shears to it. The only thing not looking as if it had seen better days was the gleaming iridescent handle of the broadsword on his back. The Sword of Adenn gleamed and sparkled as if it had been forged yesterday.

At his right hand sat the Tillurian Scout, Vin Tanner, dressed in a dun colored leather coat, light brown trousers, and a sky blue shirt that, like the rest of his clothing, looked as if it were regularly patched. A youthful face framed ancient gray-blue eyes, and the sharp jaw was clean shaven. Long light brown hair was tied back into a loose tail behind his head with a strip of leather. A crossbow as long as his arm hung on his back, and the quiver attached to his saddle was brimming with sharply tipped bolts.

The Captain of the Brishnian Guard was next, leaning over his pommel with a smug air. Buck Wilmington’s blue eyes sparkled with mischief, the long black moustache not quite hiding the playful smirk on his lips. His jacket was lighter in color than the scouts, and the cherry red shirt put one in mind of a bright bird. The man was taller than those around him, as evidenced by the height of his dappled gray mare and the way his feet hung low off the horse’s sides, though his slouch might give the impression of laziness. However, you only had to glance at the weapons practically spilling off the man’s saddle to tell you exactly who he was. One of everything, and two of the more useful items. Buck was a soldier.

In contrast, the kid in the funny brown hat sitting aside the short bay only carried a handful of weapons to his name, the main being a fancy rapier and main gauche, a borrowed short sword and a couple of knives, used as much for eating as battle. But the kid’s appearance was as deceptive as the hat on his head – his youth, the lanky dark brown hair, the pathetic attempt at a beard all hid the true nature of the stubborn, war weary twenty two year old. The last battle that the seven men here faced would not have been won but for the strength of J.D. Dunne.

Then again, none of their battles would have been won if it hadn’t been for the lucky--or it could be argued (especially by the man himself), unlucky--heritage of the straight backed young man sitting atop the chestnut horse. Dark brown hair carefully cut and groomed framed a clean shaven angular face, the dark green color of his clothes complementing the permanently shadowed pale green eyes. Lord Ezra Standish was a man of many roles, careers and titles, all designed to cover up his true background, and the one he fought against for more than half of his life--Prince Assizran of Danaeria. He fights it still, preferring to seem a wandering jack of all trades than one of the old blood. Upon seeing the ancient city of the empire before him, however, a small smile graced his lips.

Ezra’s self-proclaimed protector and the unofficial Danaerian champion was as different from his charge as night is to day. Josiah Sanchez gave meaning to the word grizzled, with weary eyes and an even wearier countenance. He was twice as old as the prince, edging on his mid fifties, and the oldest member of the group by at least ten years. But his age was as false as the bowed back and seemingly quiet demeanor – Josiah was as strong as an ox and had a violent temper that, when riled, would frighten a bull from charging. Then there were the pristine white robes he wore, complete with the golden sickle on his saddles and a mage's staff at his side. If the idea that he could break your back doesn't scare you, then the fact that he could burn you to a cinder with a wave of his hand should.

And finally, Josiah's oldest friend rounded off the group. Healer Nathan Jackson was easily the best dressed of the group, wrapped in the finest Moorish silks the color of the sun -- he outshone the others like a beacon of light at the end, the perfect counterpoint to the near black clothes of the paladin. First impressions would suggest an easy mark, and, indeed, upon his first meeting with Chris and Vin, they found that a large number of bandits had made that mistake. The first bandit had received a perfectly aimed knife in his throat within moments of trying to make his threat, and the healer proved he had plenty more hidden in his robes as he stood his ground against the rest. His skill with the black handled rapier at his waist also outstripped any of the others' skill with a sword, except the paladin and, someday, the kid. Meanwhile, as the man himself would be first to say, he'd rather use his skills with the knives he carried for healing – and he had saved the lives of each of his companions more times than they could count.

Seven of the greatest heroes the Kingdoms had ever seen stared down at the great city of Rhea….

And desperately wished they could turn around and run away.

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Rhea was a beautiful city, as beautiful as the ancient queen who gave her that name.

The impossibly blue lake upon which she sat glittered under the bright sun, reflecting light up onto the walls of the island bound castle, making its whitewashed walls shimmer. The turrets, towers and crenellations glittered with mica; the stone balustrades on the balconies were covered with purple wisteria in full bloom; and the purple and gold Cathacun flag waved over the tallest towers proudly.

Moving across the bridge connecting the castle to the city, the shadows grew deeper, but the illusion of grandeur did not diminish. Rhea was enormous--the largest city on the Dajan--and had spread out to accommodate its ever swelling population. The red domes and high towers lorded over short cream and peach buildings, and the late spring air found the entire city in bloom. Petals from the shedding fruit trees floated over the streets, looking like confetti on the air. Five separate and distinct centers rang with life from the markets, and, despite the uncertainty that held the city in its sway, life was still very much going on here.

But the sensation of living inside a city rapidly reaching its boiling point also held most of the population in a stranglehold. No one spent money except on the bare necessities, the university doors were closed, the artisans struggled to survive, and the thieves, bandits, whores and cutthroats were the ones who controlled everyday life. The people felt as if they were trapped, and they continued their daily lives with the hope that someday…soon…stability would return.

The day the White Castle would come alive again.

Because, as everyone knows, kingdoms need kings.

And Cathacus didn't have one.

Chris licked his lips, and turned his eyes to the man next to him.

"We need a plan."

Vin met the glance and gave a short nod. Hell yes.

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Chapter Two: Brishnian Codswollop

Nathan sat down on the rock, rubbing the back of his neck vigorously, betraying the dread that filled him. Rhea was his city, his home, and when he had left all those months ago to find Ezra and Josiah, it had been almost a relief. Now, his six friends stood with him, the same six that had defeated armies and magics more powerful than the Dajan had seen in a millennia, and he wished they were somewhere far, far away from here.

"Map it out for us, Nathan," Vin said, drawing a rough pentagon in the dirt with a stick to represent the city. He drew one line away and marked an X for the castle where the island would be, then handed the stick to the healer.

Licking his lips, Nathan stood and sighed deeply.

"Okay," he said, "As you know, Rhea unofficially has five centers." He drew lines partitioning the city into sections, "and when I left those five centers were controlled by five different organizations."

"Organizations?" Ezra repeated, a little surprised by the word.

"It’s the best term," the healer shrugged. "Here," he pointed to the northernmost sector, "this is Ma Nichols area, called, logically, the Northside. She, her sons and Lydia's Working Girls dominate almost the entire northern half of the city. The folk there are mostly the old working class, servant types, who've lived there for generations. Real salt of the earth people." He tapped a position where her headquarters, The Weepers pub, would be.

"Think Olivia's still with her?" Buck asked, smiling as he remembered the little girl.

"No," Josiah looked at the captain, "the oracle and her mother ran away before Nathan and I even returned to the city. We tried to find them, but it was if they'd vanished. Ma Nichols herself was very tight lipped, but obviously angry at the loss." The mage frowned, not hiding his concern at this. They'd both been afraid that someone might have hurt Olivia, perhaps to get to the Nichols family. Buck's eyes darkened, reading the mage's expression accurately. Nathan cleared his throat to get their attention back.

"Now here," he poked at the northwestern sector, "this is Leeside–smaller than Northside and nastier. Mostly immigrants and poor. Dickie O'Shea controls this part. Greedy bastard--he milks the people dry here, but he has them so scared that they don't dare rise up. At least Ma Nichols affects some leadership qualities. Folks sort of respect her," he shrugged.

"Hard not to," JD said, remembering the powerful presence of the tall gray haired woman. She'd helped them out last time they came through. They were hoping for some of that same help again, though Nathan had seemed skeptical of their getting it. Ma Nichols had been spurred by revenge then, for the murder of her eldest son by Farron. She was not likely to be as receptive now that that vengeance had been wrought.

The healer, meanwhile, was poking at the southwestern sector, "Now this, as Josiah knows, is University Hill. Besides the university, which includes both the mage's and the healer's colleges," he was scratching small X's as he spoke, "this is where the artisans and guilds exist, and, when I left, no one held dominance. The guilds are taking care of themselves, but O'Shea, Ma Nichols and, of course," he pointed to the southernmost section, "Guy Royale are all trying to encroach and get a foothold."

Tapping the southern sector again, "This is Wayside, the wealthy section of town, when JD and I stayed. Guy Royale has aligned himself with the monied classes and they seem to listen to him. Don't ask me how, but he's convinced them that he is going to save them. He thinks he can stop Rhea from changing–not that he has any idea how. In some ways he's worse than Dickie and Ma Nichols, because at least they don't hide what they are."

Last, he pointed to the eastern part of the city, where the bridge to the island bound Castle extended from. "This is Castle Square, where Rhea's statute stands and where most of the middle class live. This is controlled by," he fought the urge to spit, "Mayor Rupert Browner."

"Mayor who?" Ezra frowned. "I don't recall the council having a…."

"We created the position," Nathan muttered, his cheeks darkening with shame. "At the time, trying to create some sort of central authority made sense."

"Rupert Browner," Josiah was shaking his head as he remembered where he'd heard the name before, "the head of the Banker's Guild? That little weasel? Nathan! What the hell were you…."

"You weren't there!" Nathan snapped at the mage. "You don't know! When he was nominated, I didn't take it seriously." He shook his head, "I realized too late just how effectively he'd gotten his hooks into the council. Before I knew what was happening, he was elected, Eban and I were off the council, and the whole Rhean Council was as mired in corruption and as evil as any of the others." He stabbed the Castle Square area again, "and, after that happened, I…sort of lost hope of ever making the city whole again." He threw the stick down, "I still do." He fell back against the rock and buried his face in his hands.

Josiah grimaced, and looked at the others. A sort of collective shrug greeted him. Even Chris raised a helpless hand. The mage narrowed his eyes in annoyance, then moved over to stand next to his friend, laying a heavy hand on the moor's shoulder.

"Nathan."

"What," the healer muttered angrily.

Josiah smiled a little, "You're not alone this time."

The healer sighed and lifted his hands from his face, staring at them. "I know that. But, tell me, what exactly are we going to do? What can we do? Half the city doesn't want to be saved, and the other half is too scared to even imagine being saved. There is no one in control, no one to turn to, no easy answer…."

"Easy answers," Josiah's smile grew, "Now, wouldn't that be a nice change."

Nathan stared at him incredulously then, abruptly, smiled.

"Yeah," he said, chuckling, "it would."

"Well," Chris spoke up for the first time, "Seems to me we got a town in need of some order. We don't have a king, so we need the next best thing."

"Which is?" Ezra asked.

"A Parliament."

"Brishnian codswollop," Nathan muttered. Chris gave him a dark look. The healer shrugged. "Look, Chris, Brishnia and Danaeria have Parliaments because their monarchs began their reigns by sharing their power with the lords and ladies of the land. Tilluria has lords and ladies, but they have no stake in governance—though I suppose that might change now. But Cathacus abolished the aristocracy altogether centuries ago. An absolute monarchy, the immediate family, the Rhean Council, and that's it. There are no lords and ladies here--just people. Who will populate your Parliament?"

"Seems to me there are four lords and ladies right here," Chris pointed to the map, "Lady Nichols, Lord O'Shea, Lord Royal and Lord Browner."

"Lord Browner?" Nathan started to laugh, "Oh, I can see that puffed peacock now when he hears that…."

"You can't be serious, Chris. Making nobility out of murderers and thieves?" Ezra shook his head.

"What was that nickname of his again?" Chris asked Vin, his eyes on Ezra.

"The Danaerian Thief," the scout replied, smiling.

"Oh right," Chris grinned at the prince. Ezra rolled his eyes.

"And who else do you propose to put in this so-called Parliament?" Nathan mocked, crossing his arms.

"Kinya's relatives, wherever they may be."

Nathan shook his head, "Outside the immediate family, they're not kept track of…."

"Then we'll use the castle library to find them," Chris stated firmly. He also pointed to the university, "And of course, representatives of the guilds and the university colleges."

Nathan's eyes had narrowed, and he was shaking his head, "Wait…you're serious about this."

"Yes," Chris said. "I also believe that there should be a second house, one elected by the people. We will spread the words to the other towns and cities in Cathacus for representatives. The second house will make the legislation, and the House of Lords will execute it."

"That's Brishnia's system. You want to make Cathacus over in your country's image?" Nathan stood up, his mouth dropping.

"It has no king, Nathan. It needs a central authority. A Parliament can fill that void."

The healer shook his head, "No, it won't. There needs to be a head of state, Chris. If your Parliament fails for lack of agreement, what happens then? Who will make the final decisions? Brishnia still has a King for that. Besides, you think the Cathacun people will stand for you imposing your form of government on them? They're too proud. Cathacus has always been ruled by one leader, they won't accept a…a congress."

Chris stared at Nathan, his jaw tensing. "How do you know?"

"Because I'm a Catha! I know how my people think!"

"Well then it's time they changed their minds."

"The houses could elect a Prime Minister," Buck suggested, trying to diffuse the tension between the two men. "Brishnia has one."

"A Prime Minister," Nathan glanced at the captain and shook his head. "The Kingdom won't be loyal to a Prime Minister. It's not the same."

"And you can't create nobility out of thin air, Sir Larabee," Ezra added. "Even if they accepted the idea of a Parliament."

"They have a point, Chris," Josiah agreed. "The Castle needs someone on the throne. That is the only way to bring the Kingdom back into balance – until then it will be under the constant threat of falling to pieces. Someone has to be more powerful than the Nichols, O'Sheas, Royals and Browners, someone they can respect, be afraid of, and be loyal to all at the same time. The leader's right to rule must be unquestionable. That's what makes a king a king."

The paladin looked at the mage, then back at the healer. Then he shrugged.

"Well, there isn't a king here, is there?" It was a not a question. "Farron saw to that when he killed all of Kinya's immediate family. The blood line died there. The Kingdom will not accept anyone else, and you know it. Cathacus will just have to deal with that fact, and get over it."

Josiah grimaced, and looked at Nathan. The healer sat back down heavily, cupping his chin in his hands and staring despondently again at the ground.

"So what do we do first, Chris?" JD asked brightly. He believed in the plan, even if Nathan, Josiah and Ezra seemed against it.

"We bring the main players together," Chris said, "in a single place, and try to do the impossible – get them to agree."

"And if they won't?" Ezra asked, his tone bleak.

"Then we'll do what we do best," the paladin shrugged. "We'll force them to."

Buck grinned, "Well now, that's the first thing you've said that I understand." He held up a hand, "Dibs on the Working Girls!" The captain ignored the look JD gave him.

"You and JD have O'Shea, Captain," Chris said. "Ezra and Josiah have Ma Nichols. Vin and I will take Royal."

"Aw, Chris, that's just being cruel," Buck actually pouted. The paladin gave him the same look JD had just attempted, and this time Buck actually looked sheepish.

"What about me?" Nathan asked.

Chris looked at the healer, and his eyes softened slightly. "You find Raine first. Then, when you've rested, see if President Freeman will help you face Browner."

Nathan's jaw dropped for the second time, then his face flushed again as he realized everyone was now watching him--and smiling stupidly.

"Thanks Chris," he mumbled self-consciously.

The paladin patted the healer's back, then looked at Ezra.

"And just in case," Chris's eyes narrowed, "have we got our powers?"

The prince frowned, then he shrugged. He knew Chris meant the often unreliable elemental magic that Ezra somehow provided each of them.

"Honestly," he grimaced, "I don't know. This isn't the Tors, Chris, nor a magical realm like the Border. Things will be different here. What power you have, what power I can give you…." He shook his head.

The paladin's eyes narrowed, "So what you are saying is…."

"Probably not."

The paladin looked down, then around at the others. They all watched him, waiting.

"Perhaps a test," Josiah suggested. "We could try to tap into the elements now."

Ezra gave the mage a dark look, and the others all looked uncertain. For some reason, none of them had attempted to tap into their powers since they had fought with Morpheus, in part because Ezra appeared to want to avoid the subject for some reason, as if afraid of something. The prince had, more than once, tried to impress upon them to rely on themselves first.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Chris said, smiling slightly.

"Just don't expect much," Ezra warned, watching as the paladin closed his eyes.

Chris's face calmed as he searched for the black light of his element, seeking the familiar pulse of color in his mind's eye. In Morpheus' Border realm, tapping into the link that tied them to Ezra had been easy. Effortless. Instinctive. Almost tangible.

After a few moments, the paladin's lips pressed themselves into a frown, and when he opened his eyes, he couldn't hide his frustration. Ezra had been right—it was different here.

"Nothing," he spat. "I don't even know what I'm doing. I don't know how to find the power. I don't know where it is."

The prince shrugged at him. "Sorry," he said, trying not to smile in relief. Curiosity flashed across Vin's face, the only one to see the tension leave the prince's face.

"Well that bites," Buck muttered.

Chris shrugged, "Well, there is nothing we can do about it. For now, we follow the plan, and, whatever happens, we will meet in the Castle library at sunset tonight."

_________________________________________

Chapter Three: Welcoming Committees

They rode in separately, entering through different city gates, not certain of the welcome they might receive. Whether they were recognizable to anyone other than the Nichols' clan and the Working Girls, they didn't know, but anonymity seemed more desirable at this stage.

Nathan went first, slipping in through the westernmost gate, aiming for the University. Raine and her father had moved into university housing after their house burned down, and he headed there first.

He had to fight the overwhelming urge to start grinning the moment he recognized their house, and he started to gnaw on his bottom lip as he approached the unimposing brick building. What if she wasn't there? What if she wasn't the same? What if she'd found someone else? What if she didn't love him anymore? What if….

Before he was even halfway up the stairs, the door flew open, and a breathless Raine stood on the threshold, her dark brown eyes wide.

"Is it you?" she asked, a hint of desperation in her voice.

The healer just nodded dumbly. Raine's eyes filled with tears.

"Oh Light," she whispered, throwing herself into his arms and nearly sending them both off the steps, "I was beginning to think you'd never come…."

Nathan just held her, his head burying itself in her shoulder.

He finally felt like he'd come home.

_____________________________________________

"HRH, I presume," Lydia grinned, leaning over the balcony that Ezra was passing under.

The prince looked up and smiled back. Glancing around, he saw the rest of Lydia's girls hanging out on the balconies overhead, all with come hither looks on their faces…and sharp knives at their belts. Lydia herself brushed back soft brown hair from her face, and pulled a dagger that had been hidden on her back. She twirled it around her fingers.

"Didn't your mother tell you it wasn't nice to play with knives?" Ezra asked coyly.

"Didn't yours tell you it wasn't polite to arrive without warning?" she replied.

"Seems you saw us coming," Josiah rumbled, resting a hand on the axe at his belt.

Lydia glanced at the mage, "True. We've watchers on the north hills. We saw all seven of you arrive…and we saw you also split up. We'd be most gratified to learn what your plans might be." The leader of the Working Girls looked back at Ezra, "That is…if you don't mind." She winked at him and tapped the tip of the dagger against her chin.

Ezra arched his eyebrows, then looked back at Josiah. "I don't know, master mage, do we mind?"

"How could we resist such an invitation, HRH," Josiah replied, grinning at the nickname Lydia had used.

Ezra looked back at the leader of the Working Girls, "You can tell your mistress that we will be at The Weepers presently."

Lydia nodded, shifting to sit on the balcony edge "Certainly. Although," she swung her legs over, cocking her head at an angle, "are you sure you know the way?"

Ezra's eyebrows lifted, opening his mouth to answer when, before he could protest, Lydia was jumping off the balcony and onto the back of his horse. She wrapped her arms around the prince's waist, one hand still holding the dagger in her hand…and kissed the back of his neck with the cold steel before slipping it into her boot.

"Just want to make sure you don't get lost, sugar," she whispered huskily in his ear.

Eyebrows still lifted, Ezra turned to look over his shoulder at Josiah and was just in time to see another woman jump on the back of Josiah's horse. The mage shook his head but didn't say a word as he made his way to Ezra's side on the street.

The prince clicked his tongue at the mage, "Wonderful protection, Champion. You do realize I nearly had a dagger in my back?"

Josiah chuckled and grinned toothily back. "Yes, well," the mage shifted as his girl nuzzled into him, "you have to admit there are a lot worse ways to die,".

"Funny how often I hear that," Lydia said, and rested her chin on Ezra's shoulder. "Shall we go?"

______________________________________________

"So Nathan gets to see Raine, and what do I get? Honestly, JD, of all of us, who most needs female companionship, eh? Who craves it like a man craves fresh water in the desert? Who should have been given at least one day to visit with Miss Lydia, or Miss Cherise, or Miss Molly, or Miss Blossom, or Miss…."

"Buck," JD sighed.

"JD, JD, we've been on the road for weeks! A man has needs!"

"You're more rabbit than man, Buck."

"Oh, oh, steel my bruised heart!" But the captain was grinning as they walked down the dirt and mud street, avoiding the filth that lined the sides and the sewer stream that sludged its way down the center. They'd left their horses--and thus most of Buck's arsenal--back at the hostelry by the east gate, in an attempt to appear less conspicuous. They needn't have bothered.

"We're being watched," JD hissed, spotting someone duck their head into an alleyway.

"Yup," Buck continued to grin, his hands loose by his sides, "almost from the moment we stepped inside the gate."

"Really?" JD looked back at his mentor. "I didn't see…."

"Didn't need to, kid. That's the way men like O'Shea operate. And I fully expect a welcoming committee any moment."

"A welcoming…?"

"Welcome gentlemen!" a voice boomed from a side street, causing JD to jump about ten feet.

Buck's grin only grew as he turned to face the voice, casually leaning on one leg, his hand loose on the sword at his waist. JD froze and turned more slowly, not hiding his unease as both hands reached for the rapier at his belt, ready to pull it out.

A portly man dressed almost entirely in green strutted towards them, pushing back the top hat on his head and tapping the ground with a silver tipped cane. A plastered smile lit a bearded face, and eyes marked with laughter lines met those of Buck evenly. He didn't even bother to look at JD. The three men flanking him, however, had no trouble zeroing on the kid and giving him nasty looks. Movement from the corners of his eye had JD turning around, where he found more men had appeared out of thin air to surround them on all sides. Buck just continued to smile.

The portly man bowed slightly and opened his arms, "Welcome to Leeside, sirs. Name's Dickie O'Shea, and yours?"

"Buck Wilmington," replied the captain, "and this here's JD. Quite a welcome, Mr. O'Shea."

"Dickie," the portly man corrected. "And we like to greet newcomers, especially when they appear to be men of means, as you gentlemen appear to be."

"Men of means?" Buck arched an eyebrow. He'd never been called that before. Quite the opposite in fact.

"You're healthy, sir, as is your young charge, which instantly puts you above most of the rabble in this sector. And that sword at your waist and, particularly, the boy's silver rapier, tells me even more about your backgrounds. That, and, of course, the Brishnian accent you carry." He never dropped his smile, "So tell me, sir, what brings such as yourself to my corner of the world?"

Buck chuckled, "Well, believe it or not, Dickie, we're here to find you."

"Really?" Dickie laughed, "How fascinating! May I ask why?"

"We have a proposition for you."

Dickie's eyebrows rose, and his eyes glittered. "A monetary proposition?"

Buck shrugged, and looked at JD, noting the kid's skittish behavior as he tried to watch all of O'Shea's men at once. He patted the kid's shoulder and looked back at Dickie.

"Could be."

Dickie pursed his lips, then looked at his men. After a moment, he shrugged and walked forward a few more steps until he was looking up at Buck. "Then perhaps we should discuss this in my office." He started walking away, and Buck turned to follow. JD caught his arm.

"Are we sure about this?" the kid hissed.

"He's got four archers above us, kid," Buck replied, strangely jovial, "we don't have a choice."

JD's head shot upwards, and he saw the archers he'd missed before. He gripped Buck's arm tighter, "And if he doesn’t like the proposition?"

"Now JD, one step at a time. Of course he'll like the idea. You just worry about the others not having as good luck as us."

"Oh, I do," JD muttered, putting his hands back on his sword, still as nervous as a trapped mouse, "I do."

______________________________________________

Chris smiled, riding down the cobblestone street as if he owned it. They'd ridden in through the south gate and directly into the Wayside, where all the houses were detached, flowering trees lined the streets, and high walls hid the front and side gardens from prying eyes. The paladin was admiring the attractive streets, completely oblivious to the nervous looks they were getting from the wealthy passers-by.

Vin, on the other hand, would rather have been dancing on hot coals. He shifted for the third time, his head bowed, trying not to notice all the eyes staring at him, measuring him…dissecting him. He repeatedly had to tell himself to breathe, so it was a good thing his horse knew to follow Chris' black without additional commands. They might have ended up halfway to Tallus again otherwise.

Chris glanced back at Vin, noting the tension in the man's back, and smiled more brightly.

"Nice area," the paladin said conversationally. "Lot of care in these old houses. Some really nice woodwork on that old townhouse there." He pointed to one of the houses.

"Woodwork?" Vin lifted his head. "Did you just comment on the woodwork?"

"And look at the frescoes on that house there? That must have taken months to complete."

"You…seriously…architecture? You're talking architecture?"

"I wonder who designed those ones there. Looks like it might have been the same person. See the angles?"

"Chris…."

"Each of those houses contains several sharp right angles, despite the fact that the roof angles are much smaller. And look at the symmetry of the windows."

Vin looked behind him, then to the left and the right.

He was looking to see if someone had perhaps shot a dart that hit Chris in the side of the neck and turned him into a twit.

"And there is an illusion of real size there. The buildings are not larger than each other, and, yet, I would bet that, if you were to stand in front of each, they would seem bigger than the buildings on either side. Clever." Chris nodded to himself, then looked back again at Vin. The scout was watching carefully, one hand gripping the crossbow strap as if he might swing the weapon around at any moment. The paladin started to laugh.

Vin's face tensed, then relaxed, as did the hand on his crossbow strap.

"You're insane, Larabee, you know that?" he hissed.

"Of course. Aren't you?" He slowed his mount and looked at the scout.

Vin let go a small smile, "No. Stone cold sane…at least on Tuesdays."

Chris chuckled, then indicated a building on the corner with a nod of his chin.

"There it is. The Royale Arms."

"What day is it today?" Vin asked, reading the structure and its protection from here. Guards in the windows. Bruisers on the streets.

"Wednesday," Chris replied.

"Oh good, because I'm not sure my sanity can handle the number of arrows pointed at our backs right now."

"Yup. Wondering when you'd mention them."

"Yeah, sorry. Guess I was distracted by the woodwork."

As he spoke, a white haired gentlemen, impeccably dressed in a maroon doublet, walked out of the main doors of the hotel and sized up the two newcomers.

"Guy Royale?" Chris asked. The man's expression darkened.

"Remove your weapons," he replied, his tone cold.

"Or?" Chris smiled.

"They will be taken from you."

Chris chuckled, "Really. You mean you'll fight us for them? Or do you mean you'll shoot us in the back and then take the weapons off our corpses?"

Guy Royale actually smiled back at that, "I don't think my men could beat you in a fair fight, Sir Larabee."

Chris arched an eyebrow at being recognized, then chuckled. "You're right," the paladin remarked, pulling the sword off his back at the same time that Vin undid the strap holding the crossbow on his back. "We'll remove them…as long as we get them back."

Guy Royale's smile grew. "We'll see."

"Oh don't worry," Vin told the man, "We'll get them back."

__________________________________________________

Chapter Four: From Bad….

Eban frowned.

"I know," Nathan sighed, giving the older man a sheepish look, "I don't like the idea either."

"No, no," the University President shook his head, "its not that. It’s the best plan I've heard since you left."

Nathan's eyebrows rose. "Really?"

"Why not. At this point, anything is better than nothing." The older man shrugged.

"Then what?"

"I just don't think I'm the best person to go to the Mayor with a proposition like that." Eban gave a weak smile. "Last time I saw Browner, I threatened to have the dean of the mage's school set his house on fire."

Nathan's jaw dropped, then he started to chuckle.

Eban shrugged, "Not that Dean Sexton is even here anymore. He went to deal with the fay troubles in Eagle Pass. Eagleton was being overrun by kobolds, so I understand it, or was it ogres? Something big and hairy, in any event."

Nathan's smile fell, "Dean Sexton's gone?"

"They're all gone, lad," Eban sighed and stood up from the chair he'd been sitting in. "Teachers, students…all out fighting the fay." Shaking his head, he headed towards the liquor cabinet, "Not that they wanted to stay here. I think the mages felt useless, surrounded by all this chaos and not sure who to back or what to believe. The healers, scientists and soldiers have done the same. Halls are almost empty."

"Is anyone left?"

"Oh, sure," Eban grinned, pouring himself a drink, "the law students–the ones least likely to contribute to a healthy society." Chuckling, he downed the whiskey in one gulp. "They thrive on dysfunction."

"Eban, come on now," the healer shook his head, "weren't you a law professor before becoming president?"

"Exactly," the old man laughed, pouring another. "And see how I am thriving!" His sarcasm was punctuated by his downing another shot. Nathan grimaced. Eban had already appeared drunk when he'd arrived home that evening.

"What he means, is that he's given up," Raine said, walking in from the kitchen with tray carrying a pot of coffee and three mugs, "something I never thought he'd do."

"Leave me alone, daughter," Eban hissed.

"No. Not with Nathan here. He's come with new ideas, father. He'll help save us, I know it." She put the tray down with a bang. "You listen to Nathan now, and help him. He's not going to give up, now, and you should help him." She crossed her arms and stared the older man down. Eban looked back at her, as if measuring her fortitude. After a moment, he let the empty shot glass in his hand fall to his side and he sighed.

"I apologize, Nathan," he muttered. "It's just…it's not been…times have…," he grimaced, and put the shot glass back on the cabinet, "Times have been hard. There's only so much pain a man can take before…." His words trailed off, and he put a hand to his forehead.

Nathan blinked, unsure what to say. Just a little while ago, he'd been as despairing as Eban. Now, hearing Raine's unconditional faith in him brought a flush to his cheeks and determination back to his heart. They would do this; they had to.

"Then perhaps Chris would have a better chance meeting with the mayor than you and I, Eban." Nathan said. "He's meeting Guy Royale now, but…."

"Guy Royale?" Eban looked up, his eyes betraying fear. "Chris has gone to talk to Royale?"

Nathan nodded, "with Vin."

"By the gods," Eban shook his head, "Nathan…no. They're in great danger. Royale is dead set against change of any kind. If your friends try to suggest anything that might affect the status quo that's not in Royale's favor…."

Nathan frowned, "Danger? They've only gone to talk to him, Eban."

"No, you don't understand. Royale knows all about you and the others, Nathan. He knows Chris rides with Farron's heir. He'll think he's here to put Ezra on the throne."

The healer just looked at Eban, dumbfounded. "Throne? The throne of what?"

Now it was Eban's turn to look surprised, "Do not mock me, Nathan. The throne of Cathacus. Farron was the last true blood to sit there. Ezra was his kin. It's only logical that…."

"But Ezra doesn't want the throne!" Nathan replied. "Lords above, he practically had to be forced just to consider, maybe, someday, taking his place as King of Danaeria. He'd rather be spitted and cooked over an open fire before taking the Rhean throne."

"Are you sure about that?" Eban's voice had gotten very quiet. "He's got the same blood, Nathan…."

The healer's jaw tensed, but he still nodded. "I'm sure. I think I know a bit what kind of man he is, Eban. He's not his father's son."

"What about his mother's?"

This time Nathan's pause was longer as he stumbled over what Eban could mean by that. Then he shook his head, "No. He's better than both of them."

"Well," Eban shook his head, "You may believe that, Nathan, but not many in this city do."

The healer watched him for a moment, then frowned. Taking a harsh swallow, he asked, "Does that include O'Shea and Ma Nichols?"

"Well, it certainly includes Browner," Eban said. "He's been very vocal at the council meetings about setting up protections against Ezra ever taking the throne. O'Shea…I don't know. He's not much interested in politics. He'd probably only be worried if he considered someone taking the throne might be a danger to his control of his profits. Ma Nichols…is about as predictable as a tornado. Couldn't tell you how she'd react--although she was mighty pleased with Ezra when she heard the news of Farron's death. She might be the only one to welcome him back."

Nathan blew the air out of his cheeks, his fears about the other's safety somewhat assuaged--at least for everyone except Chris and Vin. Abruptly, he stood and reached for the rapier he'd placed to one side.

"Where are you going?" Eban asked.

"Where do you think?" the healer replied, strapping the rapier about his waist. "I'm going to go find my friends—I have a feeling they might be needing my help."

______________________________________

Ma Nichols stared at Ezra, the six foot tall woman's blue eyes examining his face. The prince, for his part, just stared back, chin raised. She was exactly the same as when they had last seen her– dressed head to toe in black lace, steel gray hair pulled back tightly in a bun on her head, and standing ramrod straight with her hands demurely clasped in front of her. She reminded Ezra a little of one of his tutors—well, except for the three armed Nichols' boys backing her up.

They were standing in the attic room of The Weepers tavern. The atmosphere was oppressively silent and still, with everyone waiting for either the woman or the man to speak.

She had not bound either him or Josiah, though Josiah's staff had been taken from him. The rest of their weapons they were allowed to keep. Josiah was fingering the axe at his belt, fighting the urge to pull it out. Ezra kept his hands behind his back and away from the sword at his belt. Truth be told, neither man exactly understood the cold reception.

"You killed Farron," Ma Nichols stated finally. "I am grateful."

Ezra nodded.

"It also makes me indebted to you. Which is why you are not dead."

This time Ezra arched an eyebrow. "Dead?" Why would she want him dead?

"Why have you returned, HRH?" she asked.

The prince took a deep breath, not sure he liked the nickname but ignoring it for now, and smiled brightly. "Believe it or not, I'm here to make you a proposition."

Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head. "I will not help you take the throne."

Ezra stopped breathing.

Josiah erupted in laughter at her words, and reached forward to slap the stunned prince on the back, which prompted a fit of coughing from the younger man. It took a few moments before Ezra was able to smile brightly and manage a strained: "What?"

"I said," she said slowly, a slight crease forming on her forehead because of their reactions, "that, although I do owe you a blood debt, I will not help you rule here."

Ezra blinked, then started to chuckle. Pretty soon, he was laughing so hard, he'd doubled over. Josiah rubbed Ezra's back, his amused blue eyes meeting Ma Nichols' surprised ones.

"He doesn't want the throne?" she asked him, clearly surprised. Josiah's smile grew.

"About as much as he wants a stake through the heart. The Castle's only draw for him is the treasury. Trust me."

She frowned, and shook her head. "But is he not Farron's son? That is what you all talking about when you left here. And I heard the Captain call him HRH. 'His Royal Highness.' Was that not true?"

"Oh, it is true," Ezra said, straightening, wiping the tears from his eyes, the laughter spent. "I am his son." His eyes met her cold ones, "but I am not my father."

She pursed her lips, then gave a small smile. "Well, that much is true."

"Our proposition has nothing to do with me," Ezra said. He took a deep breath, "I am only here as a diplomat…of sorts."

She grimaced, "a diplomat? For whom?"

"The uh…," Ezra licked his lips, glancing askance at the mage, "the, uh, the brotherhood…."

Her eyes narrowed. "Brotherhood?"

"…of man?" Ezra grinned stupidly.

Josiah sighed, rolling his eyes slightly. "Ma Nichols," he interrupted, before Ezra could say anything else idiotic, "we're here because we want to help Rhea and Cathacus become stable again. And, to that end, we have a proposition for you." He indicated a table to the side, "Will you listen?"

She stared at him a moment, then inclined her head. She headed to the table and sat down primly. Lydia moved to sit next to her, slouching into the chair and draping a shapely leg over one of the chair's arms. Two very different women with, apparently, one mind. Josiah followed, pulling Ezra with him, since the prince was still trying to stop chuckling.

Slowly, carefully, Josiah outlined Chris's plan. For her part, Ma Nichols actually pretended interest, even asking questions. But, in the end, she was shaking her head.

"Even if I agreed," she said, "you would never get the others to agree. Royale, O'Shea and Browner are happy the way things are."

"But are the people of Rhea?" Josiah asked.

"That's not my concern," she replied, shrugging.

"But it should be," Josiah insisted. "The city and the country need stability, Mrs. Nichols. They need peace. Right now, all they know is fear. When O'Shea or Royale decide they want a piece of the Northside, then…"

"Yer a little behind the times, Mage," she said suddenly, interrupting him. "I am already at war with all three, and several others that you probably don't even know about yet."

"Well, there you go," Josiah said. "If you admit you are at war, then you must realize the value of reaching some kind of accord…."

"Nay," she smiled at him then, "You are wrong, mage. I only see value in one thing--and that is winning." She leaned forward, "You see, gentlemen, I want to control this city. All of it. And I will. Rhea will be mine someday." She looked at Lydia, who smiled back.

"All of it?" Josiah shook his head, "Even if you beat the others, what about the university? You think the mages will just…."

"They're all gone, Mage. As are the healers. Only a handful of academes are left. University Hill is nothing now. I beat the others, and that too will be mine." She arched an eyebrow, as if willing him to dispute her.

Josiah just stared at her, stopped somewhere between learning that his university was empty, and the fact that Ma Nichols was so certain of her future. He looked at Ezra, but the prince was staring at the table.

"Now, gentlemen, I think it best if you leave this city forthwith," Ma Nichols said, standing. "Lydia will see you safely back to the gate, and may I suggest you never return. I can not protect both you and myself at the same time."

Ezra looked up, "Protect us?"

"To protect you specifically, HRH," she said. "The others all know who and what you are, and they also believe as I did—that you would return for the White Castle's throne. I consider my debt to you paid by virtue of the fact that I will allow no harm to come to you while you're in Northside."

Ezra inhaled a sharp breath, "they know who I am? How?"

She shrugged, "Because everyone knows the story of Farron's death—that he was brought down by seven men, including his own son. Yer names and appearances are known to all--although I suppose Dickie O'Shea may not have bothered to memorize such things."

Josiah sighed, rubbing at his forehead.

"We can't leave, Mrs. Nichols," Ezra said. "We have to meet the others tonight up at the castle."

She gave him a sharp look, her jaw tensing again. "The castle? Why the castle?" The suspicious tone was back.

"To use the library to track Kinya's extended family," Josiah said. "I already told you that."

"Ah, yes," she shook her head, "Well, I wouldn't recommend it."

"Why, does one of the other's control the castle as well?" he asked.

Ma Nichols shook her head, her cold stare drilling into Josiah, “Nay. No one has entered the castle since Farron’s forces deserted it. There’s just the cook, his daughter and the castle steward there now.”

“Oh?” the mage asked, looking out the roof balcony to the white castle in the distance. "I would have thought the Castle would have been a top prize in your war with the others."

“What use would it be?” Ma Nichols replied. “It’s naught but cold stone and empty space. There’s nothing there of interest.”

“Nothing of interest,” Ezra repeated, his eyes narrowing. “What of the crown jewels? The treasury? The artwork and decorations? The throne itself is gilt in enough gold to feed half your side of town.”

Ma Nichols shook her head, “None of that is of interest to us now. It’s enough to know that whoever wins this war will take whatever is in there…if they want it of course. I’d not touch it meself.” There was an odd tone in her voice, and Ezra looked askance at Josiah. The mage was frowning in thought.

“Why not?” Ezra had to ask. “All that wealth, just sitting there, unguarded….”

She shifted uncomfortably, then looked around the table at the rest of them. “Because…well, because, if I win, I’m not going to become Queen, now, am I? Mayor, perhaps. Or Steward of the city, but I’m not going to rule Cathacus. Why would I want the whole country looking to me? Now, I can’t speak for Guy Royale, that slimy, low-down reprobate, but I do know that he has not gone near the castle either. None of them have. Not even that greedy Dickie O’Shea, and he’s only interested in gold.” She shook her head. “No, no, boys, the fight here is over Rhea, and only Rhea. It has nothing to do with the rest of it. That there will have to sort itself out on its own.”

“But whoever controls Rhea will, in essence, control Cathacus, Mrs. Nichols,” Ezra said. “The farmers will continue to bring their goods here, as will the seamen, and they will expect help from the city when the crops go bad, or the seas drown a ship, or someone tries to burn them off their land or attack them.”

“Then they’ll have to learn to take care of themselves,” Ma replied.

“But,” Ezra shook his head, “they can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Without a central authority, who will keep the budding warlords in line? Who will protect the weak? Who will stop the eventual murdering and pillaging that will happen? Because it will happen, Mrs. Nichols. And once the warlords have set themselves up, where do you think they’ll turn their sights next? First they’ll attack each other. Then they’ll attack Rhea. You’ll have a country devastated by anarchy, half of it burnt, the other half dead, and then, with no farmers or sailors or tradesmen left after they’re caught in the middle of all that…where will you find the food to put on your table, Mrs. Nichols? Where will you find the cloth for new clothes, and leather for new shoes? Where will you be then?”

She stared at him, her dark eyes glazing over slightly. Then she shook her head.

“You speak of a future that hasn’t happened. It has nothing to do with me.” She glared at him once more and walked away from the table. "I suggest you leave now. And if you must go to the castle, be warned—the others will try to kill you if they see you. Once out of the Northside, I will not be there to protect you." And she disappeared through the door leading to the stairs to the main tavern.

“Well,” Ezra mused, “that went well.”

Lydia stretched and stood. Still smiling, she put a hand on her dagger and indicated the door with her head.

"Time to go boys," she said.

"We'd best listen, son," Josiah said, patting Ezra's arm. "Besides, I think the others may be needing our help."

______________________________________________________

Chapter Five: …To Worse

Dickie O'Shea's "office" was his tavern, The Golden Sands, located near the center of the Leeside. At this time of day, it was fairly empty, but the stench of old smoke and alcohol still permeated the air inside the dark structure.

Dickie watched as Buck settled himself in a chair, not surprised that the knight chose the one with its back to the wall. The kid with him remained standing, hovering over the tall soldier with a clearly nervous air. Dickie smiled at the boy, then at the captain.

"Your squire doesn't much like me, Sir."

JD spluttered at being called Buck's squire. Once, he'd begged to have that title, desired it more than anything, but the feeling was long gone–as was the title. Buck chuckled at the reaction, and shook his head at O'Shea.

"He's not my squire, Dickie. He's my companion."

"Oh," Dickie's eyebrows lifted, "Companion? My mistake, Sir Knight, I did not know. I was informed that your conversation on the way here seemed to indicate a penchant for the fairer sex, but clearly you were misheard."

Buck blinked, then started coughing as it was JD's turn to start laughing. Buck rocked back a fist to catch JD in the stomach, grinning at the audible "oomph" from the kid.

Dickie just watched the pantomime with a small smile. As soon as it seemed he had Buck's attention again, the resident leader of the Leeside leant forward on the table and arched an eyebrow.

"So, Sir Knight, to business. What is your proposition?"

Buck nodded, blew the air out of his cheeks, and proceeded to outline Chris's plan of creating a Parliament. The more he spoke, the more the light faded from Dickie O'Shea's eyes. Even when Buck brought up the possibility of a title and an estate, the Erin immigrant didn't react. When the captain finished, Dickie sighed.

"Well?" Buck asked, although he could already see the answer in the man's face.

Dickie smiled again, and shook his head. "I'm sorry sir, you've come here under the false impression that I care what happens outside of the walls of this city."

"Oh?"

"Cathacus, as far as I am concerned, Sir Knight, can go to hell. Since Farron's demise and the collapse of control here, people have been flocking to Rhea from the countryside—coming, specifically, to the Leeside. My Leeside. They arrive, they pay me something to take care of them, and I find them homes and employment. I've grown richer over this past year than in the last forty years of my life, and I'm not about to give that up now. I am King of the Leeside—why would I give that up to be a mere lord in your Parliament?"

"An estate of your own," Buck again suggested, "and a share of the castle treasury. All that gold, Dickie—you could own a piece of that."

"Gold?" Dickie smiled, "I do love gold, Sir Knight, that's true. But the gold you speak of up at the castle is finite in amount—not to mention you said I'd have to share it with others. I don't share well. Now here, I get paid everyday. My wealth grows with each immigrant that arrives through the eastern gate. I have no one to answer to but meself, and all the gold I take from these people is mine and mine alone. Besides, if I wanted the gold up at the castle, all I'd have to do is go and get it. Its not as if anyone guards it." Dickie's eyebrow flexed again.

Buck had to admit he was surprised to hear that. No one guarding the treasury? "Then why don't you?"

Dickie's expression darkened for a moment, then he shrugged. "Maybe I will, someday."

Buck watched him a moment longer, then grimaced, "What happens, then, when all the peasants in the countryside arrive at your gate, and there's no more room for them here? When the warlords out in the countryside decide to attach Rhea in order to get them back? And when you have to start feeding all those mouths with the same gold your reaping from them now? Because, Dickie, at some point, there will be too many for you to deal with…."

Dickie just smiled at Buck, "You've made another false assumption, Sir Knight." He leaned back in his chair, tapping his cane on the ground, "You think I care about the people who come here." He shook his head, his eyes hardening, "If too many come, I'll just start turning them away. I'll let your so called warlords take anyone they please."

"And if the people won't go?"

"Then I'll kill them."

Buck's lips parted, and he searched the man's face. Then his jaw clamped shut, his expression as shuttered as Ezra during a poker game.

"You're a cold bastard, O'Shea."

The self-proclaimed king of the Leeside lifted his shoulders, and smiled again. "Cold? Yes. A bastard. No. Me Da didn't raise no bastards, Sir Knight. Nor any fools." He stood up, "And now I think its time for you to go."

"Go?" Buck asked quietly. "So soon?"

"Aye, unless there is something more you can offer me?"

Buck shook his head no. "But you are also not just going to let us leave, are you," he said.

O'Shea watched him, and sighed. "No. Sorry lad, but I can't have you spreading your ideas to the rest of the city." He turned away from the table. "It was interesting, Sir Knight. Pointless, but interesting." He backed away just as two men with crossbows entered the room from the back.

Buck stood up, hand on the sword at his belt, and JD's hands once more grabbed for his rapier. Both were fully aware that they wouldn't have time to draw them if either archer chose that moment to shoot.

"And, please don't try to escape while in here," O'Shea said to Buck. "I just had the wood floors refinished—and blood is a bitch to remove."

_____________________________________

Vin looked around the stone storage room beneath the Royale Arms, lifting his bound hands so that he could scratch at his face. He'd been thrown in here while Chris was taken to speak to Royale, and had to admit the room was pretty interesting. There were all manners of strange objects in here, from antique furniture chairs, to mounted animal heads, to silver snuff boxes and glass chandeliers. There were crates lining every wall, and a mustiness that suggested no one ever really came down here. Nathan had mentioned that Royale was called "The Collector" for his penchant of taking "gifts" from those he tormented and abused, and the healer had not been exaggerating.

Standing up from the chair he'd been told to sit in, he zeroed in on one object in particular. A dusty unicorn's head was balanced on its side against a box, the extinct animal's horn about the right height and angle. Hopping over to the head, he felt along the edge of the horn. It was still as sharp as a knife.

Setting one arm against the head to steady it, he started sawing away at the ropes on his wrists, and considered what else he might be able to find down here.

_______________________________________

Chris crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair he'd been told to sit on, arching an eyebrow at the silver haired man. This was not quite what they'd been expecting. At least not right off the bat. It was stupid for him not to consider that Royale and his fellow parasites might see Ezra as a threat to their dominance.

Guy Royale sat across the table from him, fingers tapping on the wood. Behind him, two men stood to either side of the one door that led out of the room, both holding swords and standing guard.

"I'm impressed," Royale said, eyeing the paladin, "that you even thought you'd be welcome here. I was tempted to kill you the moment you were recognized, but, fact is, I need to know where the Danaerian prince is. So, I'm willing to offer a deal."

"Oh?"

"Safe passage out of the Wayside if you tell me where Farron's son is."

"Why do you want to know where he is?"

"To kill him, of course."

"Ah." Chris smiled, "So what makes you think I know where he is?"

"Well, I assume you're here because you were hoping to enlist my support to his cause. By now, you'll have realized that such a thing will never happen."

"Actually, I was here to offer you a proposition," Chris smiled, "but now I think Rhea'd be better off with you dead."

Royale slammed the table with his palm, "You think you can threaten me?" he demanded loudly.

"Why not," the paladin shrugged, "you appear to think you can threaten me."

"That's because I can!" Royale slammed the table again, much to Chris' amusement.

"Doesn't that hurt your hand?" the paladin asked, still smiling.

The silver haired man took a deep breath to calm himself, then shook his head. "Now you listen to me, paladin. You have no power here. You are at my mercy. I counted only one member of your supposedly invincible Seven at your side, and he's currently bound and sitting in my store room."

"Is he now?" Chris asked, raising an eyebrow. "Vin doesn't like small, enclosed places. I can't imagine him agreeing to stay there long."

Royale snorted, "Agreeing? You are both my prisoners, Sir Larabee. He doesn't have a choice in the matter."

"He doesn't? Have you told him that?" Both eyebrows lifted this time, accompanied by a smile. "Maybe you should check."

Royale glared at him, trying to read the man's smug attitude, to understand why Chris seemed so certain of himself. The paladin lifted his chin, meeting Royale's gaze evenly. The silver haired man's chin started to tremble with rage.

"Spikes!" Royale shouted suddenly, twisting in his seat.

Chris leaned back in his chair, his eyebrows lifting as one of the ugliest men he'd ever seen shoved through the doors and into Royale's office. He was easily six feet tall, stocky, with a bald head and a patch over one eye. His face was greasy and riddled with pimples and pockmarks, and his clothes put one in mind of a village idiot. And, to make matters worse…he was wearing a top hat.

"Top Hat Bob Spikes," Royale said, introducing the man to Chris. The paladin nodded at Spikes, amused by the nickname—it at least gave the hat meaning. Spikes nodded back. He didn't need an introduction.

Royale stood up and faced Spikes, his right eye twitching. "Did you put the Tillurian in the basement store room as I asked?" he asked.

Spikes's eyes narrowed, "Why?"

"Just answer the question!"

"Of course. Bound hand and foot, as ordered, Mr. Royale."

Guy Royale nodded, then looked again at Chris. The paladin smiled again, still, to Royale's mind, insufferably overconfident. Spikes looked at Chris as well, but didn't react the same way as his boss. He just growled.

"See?" Royale said to Chris. "Tanner is…."

"Are you sure he's still there?" Chris interrupted.

Royale's face reddened. "What?"

"Are you certain my friend is still where you left him? Was someone watching him?"

Royale looked back at Spikes.

"Well?"

"No, no one is watching him."

"Then send someone to watch him!"

Spike's one good eye blinked. Then he grimaced. It wasn't difficult to see that Royale was, for some reason, terrified of Larabee, so, instead of arguing, he merely nodded and left, taking one of the two guards with him. Royale watched until Spikes shut the door behind him, then turned back to Chris.

"Now," he said, sitting down again, "As we were saying…."

"Would you prefer to die intact or in pieces?" Chris asked, tilting his head to the side. "If you say pieces, then that would make the epitaph for your gravestone easy to write. It could say, 'Rest in Pieces.' What do you think? Might get a laugh someday."

Royale's face went from red to purple, "Shut up! I am not the one going to die here!"

"You're not?" Chris leaned forward, his eyes cold. "Could have fooled me. Because if you persist in trying to threaten me or one of my men…." He didn't finish the thought; he just smiled again.

Royale was breathing hard, completely frazzled. His jaw was so tense, it looked as if one hard knock would make it shatter.

"You do not have power here, Larabee," Royale hissed, as much to convince himself as his captive.

Chris never blinked, "So you've already told me, but, tell me, Royale—you've obviously done your homework--how many men did I have when I faced down Farron's army?"

Royale swallowed, and he shrugged, trying to throw the question off. Chris nodded, leaning forward some more.

"Seven, Royale. I was one of seven men. Seven against hundreds. Now, what does that suggest about me?"

Royale shifted in his seat. Sweat trickled down the side of his face.

"I battled and killed dozens of men that day, Royale. And I didn't even get a scratch. Why do you think that is?" His eyebrows lifted, "And what do you think a handful of guards in a hotel could possibly have that all those armed, trained soldiers didn't? Because, I guarantee," the paladin's voice lowered to a whisper, "it is going to have to be something miraculous."

Royale shook his head, "You're…you're bluffing, Larabee." He gave a weak laugh, "You can't bluff me."

Chris didn't answer, he just leaned back in his seat and inspected his nails.

The Collector stood up abruptly, pulling the sword from his belt.

"You don't frighten me Larabee!" he hissed, pointing the tip of the weapon directly at Chris's chest across the table. "And I can get the information I want about the prince from the Tillurian as well as you! We'll see how smug you are when you're bleeding all over my floor!"

Steel green eyes lifted to meet Royale's blue ones, and the head tilted to one side.

"Go ahead," Chris whispered, "I'd like to see you try."

______________________________________________

CONTINUE TO PART TWO: Hidden Resources

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