Nevada swallowed, opened the carbon black gates to the estate, and stepped through. She glanced at the sharp spikes lining the black marble walls to keep intruders out. This place had an ominous smell of smoke about it and it gave her chills that ran down her spine. Her gaze tore from the spikes and she peered across the weedy, sun burnt lawn to the mansion itself. Black and white marble contrasting in columns all around the building displaying its Vormian architecture. It was vast and would have been somewhat awe inspiring if it hadn't been so neglected.

Terencio stepped in behind her and looked around briefly, hawk-like. He cared little for architecture, but plenty for the obvious wealth this place had once had before the owner had been forced to abandon it. He grinned and began to whistle malaguena.

Nevada allowed herself a brief smile despite her fear. That was the signal for the others to move. She forced herself to walk across the weedy lawn, avoiding thistles in an attempt to keep from scratching her sandalled feet. Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of the marines already over the wall and making his way towards the mansion. She began to pray West didn't have an army within.

"You know," said Larel thoughtfully. "This would almost be a good place to train marines. Don't you think? It's kind of out of the way yet near the hub of the city and there's plenty of space for rigors of training. I'll have to ask Willium about it."

"You'll have to beat my bid for it then. I was thinking this would be a fine place to raise Bren. It will need some work to fix it up, I admit, but I've always wanted to try my hand at carpentry," grinned Pothax. He took out a dagger and inspected the blade for flaws that might need to be fixed. "My only problem is all the marble. I'll have to hire a stone mason."

"No reason why we couldn't share the place. It's pretty damn huge after all. We could easily train the marines and raise Bren here together. It would probably be better too because Bren would have a small army to look out for him and it would teach them some responsibility, which Eluth badly needs," she suggested. Her eyes flashed catching Pothax's.

"What do you mean 'we'?" asked the cutthroat. His eyes were locked on hers and she blushed. "I didn't think you'd be interested in a simple cutthroat, especially after Waytorn, or are you?"

Larel struggled to hide a grin and failed. "I've forgiven Waytorn and he me. We were probably never meant for each other anyway. Right now though, I see before me a man who has a lot of feeling and compassion. I've never known a cutthroat to take an orphan in as his own. Let alone be as good a father as you are."

"A good father? I'm the poorest example of a good father you'd ever find! Except maybe my father," he added half-heartedly.

"Au contraire, mon ami," Larel said in old Kinian. "You struggle to teach Bren all the right things, dubious some of them may be, but you've taught him to be good in his heart and that's what will make him into a great man one day. Perhaps as great as you!" She smiled and kissed him.

Pothax returned the kiss, his thoughts whirling as he contemplated her soft lips. His thoughts were interrupted by someone whistling malaguena and the two of them broke away abruptly. "There's the signal," he muttered. "That Cherten has lousy timing."

General Chek glanced back at General Gisoni and Waytorn. "There's the signal." He placed his plumed tricorne on his head and smoothed out his best velvet shirt. His hand went over that damn mustard stain and he wondered briefly if Mathex knew of any way to get out bad stains.

The huge minotaur general went over to the wall and hooked his fingers together to give Waytorn a boost. The cutthroat made it over the spikes easily without a scratch. Chek came next, praying he wouldn't rip his shirt on the spikes. He made it over without too much trouble and turned around to inspect himself. "Did I rip anything?"

Waytorn snickered. "I'll buy you a new pair of pants later. You should be feeling a draft right now."

Chek blushed and wondered if he would ever live down the embarrassment. Here they were invading the enemy and he was fretting over stained shirt and a ripped pair of pants. Waytorn better be buying him a whole new wardrobe when they were done here!

All around the estate people were looking up at the sound of the Cherten tune. Roreed and Eluth stopped wrestling in the dirt, Carlo and Brenda pulled their clothes back on and Wynic reconsidered killing Larry until later. The only other group was a dark haired woman who was a veteran cutthroat and a matador that Nevada had brought with her from Cherte.

The woman was in her fifties, but she was strong limbed and had a dexterity that had been gained over many years of fighting. She was the best fighter among Nevada's men, not much of a cutthroat because she couldn't hit diddly squat with a dagger, but her sword had given her a reputation that rivaled only Wynic Doxon.

Which wasn't that surprising, being his mother and the sole reason she had volunteered to come with Nevada to the mainland. The assassin knew nothing of her presence here in the group, having only nodded respectfully when Nevada had introduced her by her Cherten name Madalena instead of Madelaine. Nevada knew all of this, but had agreed not to say anything.

It was the news that she was a grandmother that had startled her conscious about telling the assassin. And then there was Pothax. He was the spitting image of his father Ror and that scared her.

Ror had been charming at first, convincing her to run off with him into Colnic, he had grown demanding over a very short period of time and it didn't take her long to realize she should have heeded her father's warnings about men like Ror. It was when she told him joyously that she was pregnant that he hit her and she realized without a doubt that this was not the same man she had known a month earlier.

She had escaped for a period of time but when he returned he took her son with him. That was the last time she saw Wynic. Unable to stay in Colnic with her shattered heart, she had escaped to Cherte where Ror would never look for her.

Only now with the news of Ror's death did she dare to come to the mainland. But now she found that she wasn't so sure about telling the assassin, especially with his brother around.

Terencio was whistling malaguena. She had loved that song when she had first come to Cherte but now she was thankful for it because she could get her mind off the predicament she was in. A lasso came quickly to her hands and before the end of it had even landed around the base of a spike she had her feet placed against the black marble wall and ready to climb.

The old matador, Lutero was his name, followed her up and over with graceful ease. He landed beside her lightly, much unlike her solid cat-like plunge. As a group, the two crossed the grounds with stealth, using hand signals instead of words. Up ahead was a huge bay window that was their destination.

In order to get there though they would need to vault the rose bushes below. Lutero ran ahead as discussed beforehand and Madelaine got ready for the vaulting process. She had only done this a couple times in the past, but even now she was afraid of missing.

The old woman inside her told her she was too old for this, but she shoved that aside with firm determination and ran with all her might. Her heart pounding in her ears, she spread her legs and vaulted over Lutero's shoulders.

For a bare second she thought of playing leap frog as a child, but with the bay window gaping before her she reminded herself to brace for impact. Her feet came through the window as it shattered, the rest of her torso following like the shaft of an arrow. The glass shards sparkled all around her in the sun, dazzling her. Tucking her legs in, and curling up into a ball, she landed on the floor in a roll, coming to her feet before the last of the glass had stopped moving.

The room, which could have been a parlour at one time was empty. Not so much as a foot stool. She turned around and whistled to Lutero that the room was clear.

The door came crashing down with an ease any other door wouldn't have known had it not been so rotted and the hinges rusted right through. Brenda ran into the room with a flurry of motion but no one to flurry with. The kitchen was empty.

Carlo came in behind her, his sword raised and his eyes searching for a trap. They searched the room, the pantry and several storage rooms. All empty. Not even a crumb for a mouse.

The grand oak doors slid open smoothly after Eluth trying to knock them down several times until Roreed decided to try the door handle. The hall was empty and from Wynic and Larry coming in through the doors to the study and Terencio and Nevada from the doors to the dining room, it was apparent to both of them that the rooms were empty.

"That went without a hitch," said Pothax, entering from the billiard room. "Where is the army we so expected to be here?"

"Moved to a different location," replied Waytorn, entering with Chek and huge Gisoni on his heels. "Problem is I'd think he would have left someone to watch in case we did try something like this. Let's search the rest of the grounds," he said, heading for the door.

The companions nodded in agreement and followed. Several started for the barn, others for the woodshed and the gardenshed. Before they were even off the steps of the entrance though they heard a rustle to the north and a figure making a run for the gate. Multiple crossbows twanged as Dame Larel and the four marines shot immediately. No one would ever know which one killed him because Larel had trained them all to aim for a different vital spot in the body. Larel got him in the neck, Carlo in the heart, Roreed between the eyes, Brenda in the lungs and Eluth in the groin.

"So much for taking a prisoner," muttered Chek.

The princess had been dying to show someone her new dagger for days and to share the secret with, but when Bren did come to visit her he was accompanied by a tall Colnic woman called Phiona. The woman had tattoos everywhere and Bren didn't seem to want to stop staring at her. Meanwhile there was a guard lurking not so far away that Phiona seemed keen on watching. It was one big frustrating circle to Darylinn and she struggled not to appear jealous.

Finally, on the spur of the moment, she suggested instead of staying here with nothing to do that they show Phiona around the city. It was a big city after all. Surely it wasn't that hard for someone to get lost? Of course there was the problem of getting out of the palace and actually losing Phiona in a crowd, but she had most of that worked out.

"Sure," said Phiona eagerly and forgetting all about the guard. "Let's go."

Bren, of course, agreed and said that was a great idea. It was the way he said it that annoyed Darylinn: "Ya, that's a great idea, Phiona."

Getting out was a simple matter of climbing a tree in the orchard and going over the palace walls. Phiona said she had never climbed a tree before and for a moment Darylinn opened her mouth to say they'd leave her behind if she didn't come. However the woman went up the tree, slipping at one point and the princess hoping she'd fall, but she made it. With Bren's enthusiastic help.

They wandered the streets for the next hour, Darylinn aiming for the big crowds in hopes of losing Phiona. In the end, to the princess's relief, Phiona disappeared on her own, which was somewhat strange and so she agreed to help Bren look for her.

They took to the roofs in order to gain speed and better vantage points, but the Colnic woman was nowhere to be found. Bren was getting worried and she admitted she was getting a fair bit worried too. What if something had happened to Phiona?

They continued to look and finally Bren stopped and suggested they stop and get a drink in this heat. The sky was overcast with what looked like a summer storm but it was still balmy. Darylinn agreed and they went down into an alley into a seedy looking building called the Scowling Skull which reminded her of a tongue twister. "Can you say Scowling Skull in Southport five times real fast?" she started to say.

And then she realized this place was nothing like the Drunken Dragon or the Royal Athexian. For starters there were rats on the floor! Rats! The men sitting around battered and sometimes broken tables looked up at her with scowls and leers, one man even flashing a dagger at her threatening. The place smelled of burnt manure and peat and there were puddles on the rotted floor which she wasn't sure if it was beer or urine. It was too hard to tell they both smelled the same in this place.

Bren walked up to the hefty barmaid who had so many whiskers on her face Darylinn thought it was a man at first. "A bottle of cider and none of this watered down rotgut you serve this slime," he said sternly, slapping down a silver piece.

Darylinn nearly choked as several men moved hands towards their weapons. The hefty woman laughed heartily and cracked a lewd joke in her high voice. The men relaxed. The princess tried to sort through what the joke meant but decided she'd have to ask Bren later.

Bren took the joke in an offhand manner, and muttered something about the woman's hair. He looked awfully tall right now and she stayed very close to him. Several men laughed.

The barmaid scowled and took a small bottle from under the bar and handed it over to Bren, snatching up the silver piece with a deft finger. Bren grinned and headed for the door, Darylinn tagging along hastily.

"Little bantling are getting too bold, I should think," said a man, standing up and blocking Bren's path. "Need a spanking in my mind."

Bren frowned and a dagger appeared in his hand in a flash of silver. "This used to belong to Ror Doxon before my uncle killed him," he said proudly. "Any wagers?" The man scowled, his eyes looking over the dagger greedily. The blade was made of a single clear diamond, perfectly flawless and worth a king's ransom. "Out of my way."

The man's face split into a grin. "May I inspect that dagger for a moment?" One hand with only three fingers snaked forward greedily.

Bren slashed and cut the remaining three fingers off. The man howled but before he could pull a weapon out Bren had stabbed him in the throat. It took Darylinn to notice it, but the little thief beside her also picked his pockets and stole three daggers from him at the same time.

She glanced behind her at the rest of the men. They weren't moving and seemed quite content to watch the young pro before them. One of them was nodding in approval of Bren's prowess. "Let's go," she whispered urgently in Bren's ear.

He nodded and resumed walking for the door. Once outside, Darylinn couldn't stop chattering about how exciting that had been. Bren merely smiled and nodded, seeming a bit worried.

Behind her the door to the Scowling Skull slammed and there was the sound of heavy boots. Bren whirled and met eyes with the man who had been nodding approval.

"You Bren Doxon?"

Bren nodded, his hand on the dagger in his belt.

"Tell Waytorn the Overlord is docked south of here in a village called Kerndun." He winked and brushed by Bren quickly and disappeared around a corner.

Preparations for the rescue began immediately, Savin's warship Icicle began preparing like they were going to take on an entire fleet by themselves. Many of the crew members were Kinian's and were quite patriotic about Princess Kelly which was kind of odd among pirates. The list of people volunteering their services grew constantly and many of the leaders were worried that word might reach Kerndun and the Overlord retreat to more favourable ground, or in this case sea.

The only person who had any knowledge of sea battles was Savin so he had his work cut out for him. He barely spared a glance when Nevada and Terencio came aboard looking for Rades who would have undoubtedly been the first among the ranks to join in the rescue. He gestured towards the docks and then was hauled away by a huge bespeckled minotaur muttering something about problems with the propellers

Nevada started to ask a question but Terencio grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the way before getting hit by one of the ships many booms. "He pointed at the docks and I'd say he was right if Rades in a tavern somewhere close by getting a drink."

Raynard ran towards the knight, picking up momentum and pushing slaves aside with his bulk alone. "Give that back, ye damned bantling!"

"Ye better hurry, Rades!" shouted Waytorn. "Dillard needs some help!"

"I know, but this one's stuck!" replied Rades, trying to yank a huge icicle from the ice floor to use as a spear. "Give me some help, will ye?"

Waytorn dropped the icicles he was looking over and ran over to help the Stornium. They grabbed hold of the base of the icicle and placed their hands firmly on the ice. "Okay, one...two...three!" The icicle came free easily and the two of them fell backwards onto the ice floor.

Dillard tossed the pouch at the minotaur and disappeared into the crowd of slaves. Standing up, Rades saw him reappear behind the minotaur. He swung his sword, this time drawing a line of blood across the minotaur's back. Rades hesitated in his throw.

Raynard swung around angrily with a roar and snapped the knight's head with a single punch.

Rades stood there in amazed shock with the icicle in his hands. Dillard dead? Surely this was some horrible nightmare?

"What are you waiting for Rades? Kill him!" shouted Waytorn.

"Rades?"

The Stornium looked up from his sarsaparilla and at Nevada with his one eye. Why did she have come here now? He was busy drowning his misery for Heaven's sake! "Ya?"

"May I join you?"

"You may," Rades said, glancing at Terencio and Lord Moffat at the bar talking to the proprietor. Terencio seemed to already know the old man.

She sat down, smoothing out the wrinkles of her satin shirt. Her eyes flashed and she glanced briefly at the sarsaparilla. "Don't you ever drink anything with alcohol in it?" she asked.

Rades looked down at the drink and back at her. She was right and he knew it. He hadn't drank wine or so much as a beer since Dillard's death. "I gave it up for Lent," he lied quickly.

"I don't believe that." Her eyes caught his.

Damn her! "Neither do I," he said and took another drink. Why was she all of the sudden so damn perceptive.

"You and Dillard were best friends as I understand it," she stated, studying him intently. Her eyes narrowed. "Why was that so?"

Rades looked up angrily. "He was the only one who understood how it felt to lose everyone you cared about, let alone everyone you knew period!"

"Perhaps, but why should you keep doing this to yourself?"

"You have a better suggestion?"

"Go home."

"I have no home!"

She frowned and bit her lip. "We both know that, but I'm sure there were others that escaped Deltex and might wish to return, if only their Graf were there to lead them in the rebuilding."

Rades looked at her, his one eye squinting shrewdly as he gauged the woman across from him. Inside he was in turmoil. How could he go home to Deltex now? All those memories and no one to share them with to release the pain? Where would he find the funds or the people who would flock to his banner pledging loyalty to the Graf of Deltex? Here in Athex he was a hero, a celebrity, but why would people undertake the hardship just to serve a celebrity? The few people back in Stornium who knew he was the Graf of an empty castle would find it hard to believe that the Graf would actually return and-

Nevada's hand touched Rades', interrupting his thoughts as he looked up sharply. "I've heard," she said slowly, softly. "That the people of Deltex still lie where they died. No one survived the massacre to bury them. They're still there. Is it true that people left unburied cannot rest peacefully until they have been buried?"

Rades stared at her, hoping he wasn't going to have nightmares tonight. Once again she was right. He must return to Deltex. He had debts to pay to his friends and family.

"I'd like to try that theory out sometime," said a voice.

Rades vaulted the table, Nevada's sword already in hand to land between Nevada and the intruder. West grinned and drew his sword lazily. The two faced off as more and more cutthroats moved into the room, Lord Moffat and Terencio jumping to their feet and going to stand protectively by Nevada. The proprietor muttered something and hid behind the bar.

Rades scowled, knowing if they didn't do something soon they'd be hopelessly outnumbered. He tossed the blade to Nevada who caught it expertly and pulled the pistol from the holster. Six bangs like lightning later there were seven dead bodies on the floor, one of the dying men inadvertently stabbing one of his neighbors.

West smiled, glad to see that Rades had spent all the bullets. His blade brilliantly flashed as he brandished it before him. He stabbed deftly at the Stornium.

Rades sidestepped like a pro, twisting his body around the blade and catching the hilt in his hand. West pulled back on the hilt, trying to slash his opponent. By then Rades had gained a firm grip on the hilt though and the blade only slashed air. A punch to the face and the cutthroat went reeling over a table, sword forgotten.

Coming to his feet a bit dazed and a dagger in each hand, West turned to face the Stornium and narrowly avoided a blow that would have severed his head down the middle. Kicking out, he knocked the Graf into a toppled chair, forcing him to stumble. That momentary lapse was long enough for West to gain his bearings and charge the somewhat defenseless opponent.

Rades however had more wits than defenses. During the Ice War he had learned to think differently when fighting. A soldier thought fight, kill, survive. Simple as that. The Graf had learned to be a strategist when fighting now, to assess his opponents strengths and weaknesses. It was a different, more calm way of fighting, lacking the desperation a soldier needed to fight. He deliberately dropped to knees and rolled towards the charging cutthroat.

West had built up too much momentum and couldn't stop as much as he tried. He tripped over Rades' torso and landed on the chair with a crash and the sound of splintering wood.

Glancing about Rades saw that Nevada was fending off her opponent with ease, but Lord Moffat and Terencio were back to back trying to fend off eight attackers. They'd be okay for awhile longer, for now he had to get some work done.

He tossed West's sword aside and drew Dillard's claymore. He had to hold the huge hilt with both hands to properly handle the damn huge thing. It was somewhat rare to find a sword as big as Dillard's claymore. After all it had a forty inch blade and was almost a five feet long in total, to say nothing of heavy.

Bracing his feet as he knew he would need to, he swung, careful to curve his stroke and not spin with the momentum. The table blocking his way broke into a dozen pieces, men quickly backing away. But not quick enough, curving his swing he turned it into an overhand blow and sliced into one man's shoulder, the blade driving down through shoulder blades, smashing every rib and coming out of the man's stomach.

It took a moment to ready his next swing but when it came it smashed through a pair of hastily raised scimitars and disemboweling their owner. The Stornium whirled, pivoting on a broken tableleg and neatly chopping the head off another cutthroat. Having not braced himself properly however the blade kept going and created a notch in one of the posts holding up the ceiling.

"Dammit!" he swore, leaving the sword there for he knew it to be helplessly stuck. Dillard had warned him about overswinging and getting the blade caught in something. Backing off he scooped up a discarded sword and surveyed the area again.

Terencio was limping from a slash to his right leg but was otherwise fine. Lord Moffat was standing up as usual, making up for his comrade's injury with sheer ferocity. Nevada was fending off West now, having killed her previous opponent but she was sure to tire eventually.

Rades vaulted a toppled table and landed on the cutthroat lord with a roll. He lost his blade in the process, but so had West. Reconsidering his position however, he recalled West probably had about thirty daggers total on him. He flailed desperately and pushed himself away from the somewhat stunned cutthroat.

West shook his head and charged at Rades, dagger in hand. The Graf caught the cutthroat's wrist and two struggled briefly back and forth. Then Rades braced a foot and shoved with what strength he had. It was enough. More than enough. The two men went crashing through the rickety wooden wall and out into the cobbled street.

It was pouring outside, and there was a constant flashing of sheet lightning. Neither man had noticed the storm taking place outside so intent on fighting that they had neglected to hear the constant rumble in their ears. Now in ankle deep water they thrashed back and forth, each striving for dominance.

Nevada shook her head in a daze and glanced over at Terencio just in time to see the sword jab that caught him in the side and staggered him. He fell to the floor, clutching his side. She could only watch in shock as her best friend, the man who had accompanied her all the way from Cherte, clamped a hand over the wound that was spilling blood all over and struggled to stand.

Lord Moffat grimly knocked him back down with the flat of his blade. He stood over the Cherten's torso in a defensive crouch, his stature making him seem like he was almost posing for a statue. He was outnumbered five to one and still he stood his ground without fear.

The enemy advanced, certain of success, but the knight took advantage of that and sliced one man's throat with one a deft stab. Four to one. He parried a slash and blocked another with his shield. A stab from behind caught him in the leg and he turned quickly, smacking the man over the head with the flat of his blade at the same time shield bashing another. There was the sound of breaking bones in both cases. Two to one. Again he received a slash from behind and suffered what sounded like several broken ribs. Without a complaint, he turned about, sword swinging and sword bashing. Catching one man in the side of his head and cutting the other's head from his shoulders. But not before one of them managed to stab him in the shoulder and the other in the stomach. He collapsed beside Terencio.

Cursing herself, she ran across the room, knowing she couldn't have done anything before but sure she could make the man's last moments less painful. She kneeled beside him, not sure what else to do, she helped to tilt his head forward.

He smiled, blood spilling out the side of his mouth. "G'day milady. Is there anyway I can help you?"

"Is there any way I can help you?" she said, thinking this man's attitude towards death somewhat strange.

"No, except pray for me perhaps. It doesn't matter really. Regardless of whether I go to Heaven or Hell, it is preferable to have do good deeds. I have done many deeds, most of them good. My time here will soon be done and the Lord will send me elsewhere to serve and I'll have more good deeds to do. That is the way."

Nevada didn't know what to say. She was too shocked to barely think straight. This man, this knight seemed so much more than a mere mortal and yet here he was mortally wounded. She caressed his face as she tried to think of something to say to make him feel better except he didn't seem to need such comfort. "I will pray for you," she said firmly.

"And I for you, Lady Olivia Osmondelias," he said with a slight grin as he closed his eyes. His chest ceased its rhythmic rising and falling, and his ragged breath stopped. She stared at him for a moment, wondering what he had meant by that last part.

Terencio groaned beside her and she faced her friend, sparing a second glance at the fallen knight's peaceful face. "Oh, Dios, I feel like shit!" He opened an eye and looked at her and then around the room. "Where's Rades?"

"Oh shit!" she swore and stumbled to her feet. She ran to the gaping hole in the wall and looked outside to where the two men were still wrestling in the mud. Coming up to them, the pouring rain soaking her to the skin, running down her white satin shirt in colourful rivulets and washing away the sticky blood. It clung to her shape like a glove. She was certain there were men gawking at her as she picked up a discarded dagger and walked over to stand over the wrestling men.

She tapped West on the shoulder and when he turned to face her she stabbed him through the heart. She pulled the dagger back out and discarded it. Stonily, she offered a bloodstained hand to Rades.

He accepted it gratefully, pushing West's corpse off of him.

This time word spread somewhat slowly, but this time there were no rumours of others who might have the guts to oppose her position. A woman named Nevada, a seductress, had declared herself the new lady of the Athex underworld, calling herself the Dark Lady, but with this news came the news that she had the support of the King Culprit. Unofficially the government supported her too.

Her exact location though was unknown and there were rumours that originated from a tavern down in Southport that Nevada wasn't her real name. Very little else was known about her and most other things were considered speculation. Things like her real name was Olivia, she knew Graf Rades personally, among other members of the Crimson Companions, and that she was from Cherte.

"Imagine that," laughed many nobles. "A Cherten woman who no one knows anything about has just taken over the Dark Throne. I don't believe it. Probably no such woman! I think we should see less crime around here for quite awhile!"

Meanwhile a strange and beautiful young woman named Olivia has moved into an apartment at the Osmondelias estate. Many servants whispered that she was the same Olivia but no one else would believe their claim. She just seemed too beautiful to consort with criminals.