Chapter Sixteen

Alhambra, Kingdom of Gallia, 8th day of Ur

"He wants a hostage?"

Suleiman felt sick, the feeling made even worse by all the eyes staring at him.

"What the heck does he want a hostage for?" demanded Saito. "Weren't the letters enough?"

He glanced venomously at Kirche.

"Well don't look at me!" retorted the redhead. "My father's forgers are the best in the business!"

"What exactly did he say?" asked Louise, fixing her pink eyes on Suleiman. "What did he do?"

Suleiman cleared his throat, and recounted what the Baron had said and done. Around him, Kirche, Saito, Louise, Tiffania, Montmorency, Alice, and Maxwell were listening intently. The others were hurrying to get the stage in order; pulling the long, heavy curtains into position. The two wagons had been arranged at right-angles by the stage, providing a concealed backstage area where they could not be overlooked, or overheard.

"So he didn't see through the letters," mused Kirche.

"If not, why does he want a hostage?" snapped Saito. "I thought that Henry guy didn't like having his people pushed around."

"He doesn't, believe me," replied Kirche warningly. "And a bunch of performers out here in the courtyard shouldn't pose any kind of danger. Something's got him spooked."

"I thought he was just being sadistic," said Suleiman sadly. "He seemed to enjoy unsettling me."
"Probably," mused Kirche. "But something tells me he knows more than he's letting on. I think we might have been rumbled."

Suleiman's blood ran icy cold, and a shiver ran around the circle.

"What do we do?" asked Montmorency, evidently frightened.

"It's too late to back out now," replied Kirche firmly. "We knew this was likely to happen. It seems Guiche, by some miracle, got it right."

She paused, the notion hanging rather unsettlingly in the air.

"Well, one of us is going to have to go up there," she went on sourly. "Any volunteers?"

"Not me!" Montmorency crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not going in there with that man! Who knows what he might do?"

"I should go," Suleiman spoke up, fighting down his churning stomach. "It's my fault this happened."

"Suleiman, no!" pleaded Tiffania. "Besides, you're needed here!"

"Exactly, you're our master of ceremonies," insisted Kirche. "And Monmon, you're dancing, remember?"

"I'll go."

There was a brief pause, and then they all realised who had spoken.

"Louise?" Kirche was incredulous.

"I'm not doing anything useful down here, so I should go," insisted Louise coldly. "Everybody else has a job to do except me and Maxwell."

"Louise! No!" Saito rounded on her, thunderstruck. "You can't go up there! I won't let you!"

"Who are you to tell me what to do!" snapped Louise, losing her temper. "It only makes sense!
Besides!" She pulled her wand from her sleeve. "With my Void magic, I can blast my way out if need be!"

"It's too dangerous!" Saito grabbed her shoulders, causing her to eep in surprise. "I won't let you go!"

"Silence, dog!" Louise thrust his hands away. "Don't tell your master what she can and can't do! I won't be useless!"

"You're not useless!" insisted Saito. "I'll go instead! I can handle it!"

"You're helpless without a weapon, idiot dog!"

"She's got you there, partner," added Derflinger, popping up from his scabbard.

Master and familiar stared daggers at one-another, eyes bright with anger and pain.

"Enough of this!" interjected Kirche. "Louise, are you sure you can handle this?"

"I'm sure," replied Louise, her face grave.

"Kirche!" pleaded Saito.

"Sorry darling, but it makes sense," said Kirche. "They won't let you in there with a weapon, and the rest of us have jobs to do. Would you rather we send Maxwell up there?"

"Most definitely not!" snapped Alice, appalled. "He's only a child!"

"Please, mistress," pleaded Maxwell. "I want to help. I want to help Miss Tabitha somehow."

"You're brave, Maxwell," replied Kirche. "But Louise is the best choice. As she said, her Void magic is strong enough to let her escape."

"But the walls will be enchanted," said Alice incredulously. "And the doors."

"My Void is stronger," insisted Louise. "I…I found out, a while back."

"Yes, it was that time when we got Derflinger wasn't it," mused Kirche. "Anyway, Louise, Monmon, come with me. We need to make some preparations."

Kirche led Louise and Montmorency away to one of the wagons. Suleiman glanced at Saito. He was looking down, his eyes shadowed, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Saito…" Suleiman began, hoping to apologise.

"Stupid…stubborn…pettanko!"

Saito stormed off in the opposite direction. Suleiman's heart sank.

"Poor Mister Saito," said Tiffania sadly, moving to stand next to him. "He cares for Miss Louise so much, but they always argue like this."

"I said I would go," complained Maxwell. "Why must she be so stubborn?"

"You're too young, Maxwell." Alice patted him on the head. "If that baron tries something, you'd be helpless. Besides, she's a young noble with a lot to prove."

Suleiman looked from the retreating Saito towards the wagon, then back to the stage.

He could only hope that he hadn't ruined everything.

Fire.

All around Tabitha, the meadows and trees were on fire. The soft green grass was turning black, consumed by the yellow monster that seemed to dance arrogantly atop it, black smoke pouring into the sky in great billowing columns. All she could see was fire, all she could smell was smoke and ash, all she could hear was the crackle and roar.

And the cries. Cries of terror and pain and anguish. But not the cries of humans.

"Sylphid."

Tabitha ducked as a dark shape flew over her, cawing and wailing in dismay. She looked back at its passing, and saw that it was a Rhyme Dragon, its scales the same iridescent blue, its gently-curving head, the great wide wings.

She looked back again, and saw that from which it fled. It was a great tree, bigger than any she had ever seen, so big it might have been the legendary yggdrassil. How beautiful it must have been before, how magnificent its trunk and branches, its soft green leaves and bright flowers. Was it a home to the Rhyme dragons? Their nesting place and refuge?

Now it was a torch, burning so hot and bright that it might set the very air on fire. From amid the burning branches emerged a shape, another Rhyme dragon, flapping its wings, fleeing for its very life.

Then something blasted out of the inferno behind it, a black and terrible shape leaping forth with a roar like thunder. The Rhyme dragon shrieked and struggled as the black dragon grabbed it in hooked talons, beating its vast wings to steady itself. Tabitha cried out in protest as the dragon pressed its claws down harder, its blue-scaled prey crying out in terror and pain.

Her blood ran cold, as she saw it more clearly. It was enormous, its wings many dozens of mails across. Its scales were almost black, almost a scorched bronze; its golden eyes glaring down with ancient malevolence.

A Ruin Dragon.

"Let go!" shrieked Tabitha, raising her staff in reflex. The nightmare head snapped around, fixing her with those golden eyes. It growled, and its throat glowed like a forge beneath its scales.

Something heavy slammed into her, pressing her to the ground. She managed to look up, and saw that it was the same Rhyme dragon from before, pushing her to the ground and curling its wings around itself, around her.

The Ruin Dragon roared, and a gout of flame burst forth from its fanged maw, washing over Tabitha and the Rhyme Dragon. She heard her protector cry out in agony, felt the heat washing over her, sinking into her, burning her flesh. She screamed…

And she awake, panting as if she had run a marathon, her face cold and damp with sweat, her nightgown soaked.

She looked around, half-expecting that black monstrosity to descend from the skies. But there were no skies to be seen, just a stone ceiling.

The same stone ceiling that had been above her the past few days; ever since she had woken up in this small room. Everything else was the same too; the narrow bed in which she slept, the desk and chair standing by the other wall, the door leading out into the corridor – no doubt securely locked and guarded – and the other door leading to the next room.

Where her mother slept.

She drew herself in, hugging her knees. Why that dream? And why now?

Sylphid had never talked about her past much, or her family. She always claimed to have been alone before her summoning; that she had no memory of any other Rhyme dragons, or any place she might have come from. Whether it was her instincts, or the bond she shared with her familiar, Tabitha had been sure she was lying.

Now she understood. Little wonder her beloved dragon had refused to talk about her past. There were few creatures more dangerous, or more feared, than a Ruin dragon. As intelligent as Rhyme dragons, some said, and considerably more aggressive and violent. Tabitha could count on one hand the number of recorded incidences of a Ruin dragon being summoned as a familiar, and it was no surprise. It took a rare will to control one, and those who could were either the greatest of heroes or the darkest of villains.

For a creature of such terrible power, there were no in-betweens.

Her familiar had been unfortunate, tragically so. Ruin dragons were thankfully rare, and their only known nesting sites were in the mountains that divided Yspano from Gallia. They were supposed to have been hunted to extinction.

But then, why dream of such a thing? And why dream of Sylphid? It didn't make sense. The only time she had dreamed about her familiar was the night immediately after the summoning ceremony.
Her eyes widened. Surely not!

A knock on the door drew her from her thoughts. A shiver of irritation ran through her, and not just because her thoughts had been disturbed. She did not know why he insisted on knocking like that, as if she were a guest and not a prisoner. Did he mean it as respect, or as condescension?

"Come."

The door opened, and he stepped inside. She had never seen an elf before her first encounter with him. What little she did know of them came from books, full of contradictory details and melodrama. Had this meeting taken place under any other circumstances, especially not involving her being imprisoned and at his mercy, she might have found this fascinating, exciting even.

He was very tall, as tall as her father had been, perhaps. His hair was the colour of pale gold, paler than Tiffania's, and reached down past his waist. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and his features were finely-sculpted, almost feminine. Were it not for the long ears that crowned his brow on either side, she might have taken him for an effeminate young man.

But she knew better than to underestimate him. She knew something of the intellect behind those pale blue eyes, not to mention the magic. This soft, weak-looking elf had trounced her with barely an effort; she, who had mastered and combined all four elements.

"A band of travelling performers is entertaining the garrison," Bidashal said. His voice was soft, cultured. "You may watch, if you wish."

What was his intent? Was this some deception? A lure to get her away from her mother?

"No need," she said, not bothering to raise her voice, or her head. The elf paused a moment.

"The potion is ready," he went on. "My orders are to administer it at sunrise. Your uncle thought to let you see it one last time, before your mind is stolen forever."

As if she needed a reminder. As if she had forgotten that within a few short hours, at this creature's will, she would lose all that she was.

A whim came upon her. She did not often act on whims, unless they involved large amounts of food, but there was little point in not doing so.

"Why do you serve him?"

She glanced up at him through the corner of her eye; a trick she had learned many years ago. He was a fairly composed sort of elf, but she was sure she had caught him off guard.

"That isn't something you need to know," he replied mildly.

"Are you afraid to answer?"

That got a reaction. It wasn't something a casual observer would have noticed, but Tabitha hadn't survived as long as she had done by not noticing such subtle signs.

"For the sake of my people," he said, after a long pause. "To prevent war, and ensure the survival of this world."

"Do you trust him?"

She looked up, fixing both her eyes on him. His composure had returned, but there was something in his eyes that drew her attention, something she couldn't put her finger on.

"No," he replied.

"Then why serve him?"

"Because I have no choice."

"Then why tell me?"

"Because you deserve to know that much, at least."

Bidashal turned on his heel and strode towards the door, his long coat billowing, only to pause and glance back at her. For a moment, it looked as if he would say something.

He strode out, shutting the door behind him.

Tabitha stood up, and padded over to the desk. Her academy uniform lay upon it, where she had left it only a few hours ago. There seemed little point in returning to bed, not with her fate only hours away. If she was to die – in spirit if not in body – she would do so wearing her uniform.

There was no other uniform she could be proud of, not now.

"Suleiman! Suleiman!"

Suleiman had to force himself to look away from Kirche and Tiffania's double act. If the noise from the crowd was anything to go by, it was going down well.

"What is it?" He stepped down from the stage, and found Montmorency and Siesta waiting there, both looking worried.

"We have a problem!" replied Montmorency. "Come quick!"

Suleiman followed them around to the dressing area, where Saito, Alice, and Maxwell were waiting. Nearby was Irukuku, and Suleiman's heart sank as he understood.

"Gyahhhuuuuuhhh," gurgled Irukuku. She was lying sprawled across a box, fast asleep, an idiotic smile spread across her face. "Big sister…you dance too…"

"I turned my back for just a minute, and the next thing I know she's like this!" complained Siesta, pointing at the sleeping girl. "She just crashed out asleep!"

"Miss Irukuku!" Maxwell leaned in closer, snapping his fingers in front of her face. "Miss Irukuku, please wake up! You're on next!"

"Myaahhh! Huggles!"

Irukuku's arms flashed out and wrapped around Maxwell, yanking him closer. Maxwell let out a muffled yelp.

"Ah…right…" Saito rubbed the back of his neck. Montmorency made a great show of looking away.

"Let go of my squire!" Alice tried to pull Maxwell away, but Irukuku just gripped him tighter.

"What do we do?" pleaded Saito, trying very hard to ignore the altercation. "We can't wait any longer!"

Suleiman knew what he meant. Kirche and Tiffania were due to sneak into the keep with Saito and Alice as soon as the current act was over; and that wouldn't be long. He had seen Saito glancing at the keep ever since Louise had gone inside. He was worried, and he was making less and less pretence of hiding it.

"We'll have to improvise something," he said, sounding more confident than he felt. "But what?"
There was an awkward pause. Even over the roaring and wolf-whistling of the audience, Suleiman could hear Kirche and Tiffania's song. It was almost finished.

"I have an idea!" Siesta spoke up. "Mr Suleiman, do you know The Ball of Kerrymuir?"

"Yes, I do!" And he did. He had heard it sung several times in the taverns and camps in which he had performed on his way through Gallia; and even performed it one some occasions. It seemed to be quite popular, though not to Majid's taste for some reason.

"I know it too," Siesta went on brightly. "Before I was a maid, I worked in my uncle's tavern as a serving girl. We did acts like that sometimes."

"You…did?" Saito had a strange, slightly beatific look on his face.

"So, you do the introduction and the first verse, then I do the second, and we switch like that," explained Siesta. "Can you do it, Mister Suleiman?"

"I think so." Suleiman smiled, trying to hide his nervousness. He was used to improvising, but that was with his sitar; which he had left aboard the Ostland. He had never had to perform like this before.

Applause thundered around the courtyard. Suleiman glanced at the stage, and saw Kirche and Tiffania taking a bow. Time had run out.

"I'll tell the musicians." Siesta disappeared behind a curtain, which concealed the musicians' area.

"All right everyone!" Kirche called out, as she and Tiffania hurried off the stage. "Ready to go, Saito and Alice?"

"Well, I am," replied Saito. Behind him, Alice was still trying to extricate Maxwell from Irukuku's arms. Kirche sighed, and Tiffania looked worried.

"Go now, Miss Kirche," said Suleiman, seeing the look on her face. "Siesta and I can handle this."

All right," replied Kirche, decisively. "Good luck. And keep'em roaring!"

"Thank you. Good luck, Miss Kirche."

Kirche headed over towards the others. Suleiman looked at Tiffania, and Tiffania looked back. Her eyes were sad, and worried.

"Good luck, Miss Tiffania."

"And you, Suleiman."

She smiled. Suleiman did not know what else to say. He fought down a sudden urge to embrace her, and watched her as she went to join the others.

No more time. He cleared his throat, nodded at Siesta, who had just returned, and headed up and onto the stage.

Suleiman scanned his eyes over the crowd. They were in good spirits, and not too much put out by the delay. At least a hundred sat at the long tables set in front of the stage, while many more stood in a cluster behind. All had flagons in their hands, and all were drinking, all smiles and red faces. The beer was having the desired effect.

But there were others who were not drinking. Mage-officers in their rich uniforms, and other mages clad in robes, standing around on the edge of the crowd, watching proceedings. The baron was evidently no fool; he would not let the entire garrison get plastered, and definitely not the officers.

They didn't seem too suspicious though. Best to keep it that way.

"Kirche and Tiffa, the Sheikh of Al-Khali!" Suleiman called out, falling back into his role. "We like a bit of that don't we!"

The crowd roared in approval. Suleiman felt his confidence rise.

"But while we're getting them ready for the next act…" He paused while the soldiers made rude noises. "My friend Siesta and I, will bring you a tale from far-off Albion!"

A chorus of boos and jeers ensued, most of them good-humoured. Suleiman couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but they seemed to be implying that the men of Albion enjoyed doing inappropriate things to dragons. It sounded rather dangerous.

"In Albion's far off northern climes," he went on, as the jeers faded enough for him to be heard. "There lies a place called Kerrymuir!"

The jeers became cheers. The gamble was paying off.

"And on an Advent Festival, in the hall of Kerrymuir," he continued, hamming it for all it was worth. "Therein was held a famous ball, the ball, the ball…of Kerrymuir!"

On cue, the musicians started the introduction. It was a little faster than he'd expected, but it was too late to stop.

'Twas on the first of Yara
The party it began
No'er shall I forget, me lads
The gathering of the clans!

The soldiers bellowed with laughter, so loud that Suleiman could barely hear himself sing. He felt his cheeks heat up, and tried not to think too much about what the strange lyrics might mean.

The audience joined in the chorus, clapping or banging their tankards on the tables in time with the music. Suleiman stepped to one side, as Siesta continued the thus-far improvised routine.

He could have sworn he could hear the Ondines laughing behind him.

Saito glanced back and forward, alert for danger.

Having crept away from the stage, the Infiltration Team's route had taken them through a series of narrow streets, around the side of the main keep. The only door into the keep was the main one in the courtyard; which was guarded and easily visible to anyone not too busy staring at the dancing girls. The nearest door they could use was on the other side of the keep; safely out of sight and well away from the courtyard, where the bulk of the garrison seemed to be.

"Come on," he whispered, turning his head to glance at his teammates. "Let's stick to these streets for now."

"We could cut through this building," suggested Tiffania, gesturing at the long stone building beside which they were creeping.

"No, we can't take the risk," cut in Alice, who was bringing up the rear. "Saito is right, these streets are the best way. You have the map, my lady?"

"I certainly do." In Kirche's hand was a quick sketch of the map she had shown them the night before on the Ostland. "Assuming they haven't changed the layout too much, we should be able to round this corner, creep over to the keep, and there'll be a side-door just there."

"Then let's move," Alice said grimly. "Time's running out."

The quartet all looked to one-another, and nodded.

Saito went first, one hand on Derflinger; who thankfully had the good sense to keep quiet. Tiffania and Kirche followed, wands at the ready. Alice brought up the rear, wand drawn. At her hip hung her rapier, while her holster and belt held two loaded pistols; and Saito had seen her slip a long dagger into her boot.

To Saito's amazement, all was clear. If as many of the guards were watching the show as he had estimated, the rest were evidently up on the walls, or busy guarding the most important places.

All to the good. The sooner they got inside the keep, and got to Louise, the better.

He reached the corner. He could see the wall of the keep, lit by flickering torches. And there was the small side door, entirely unguarded.

One last glance back and forward. But the streets were deserted. He dashed across the gap, pressing himself against the wall right next to the door. He looked again, half-expecting to see guards rushing towards him. But still the streets were quiet.

Kirche, Tiffania, and Alice quickly followed. Alice kept watch, while Kirche stuffed the map into her waistband and turned her attention to the lock. Saito watched, fascinated, as Kirche fixed her eyes on it, the tip of her wand glowing as she whispered strange syllables.

The lock clunked, and Saito pulled the door gently open.

And found himself staring straight into the face of a guard. For a moment, there was stunned, awkward silence.

The guard opened his mouth to yell, but his cry became a strangled croak as Kirche's leg caught him in the crotch. Saito winced as he slumped against the door frame.

"Tiffania!" Kirche hissed. Tiffania raised her wand, and began to whisper a spell. Her wand glowed, and a strange white light settled over the guard. Saito saw his eyes lose focus, and his face settle into a look of blank puzzlement.

"Whuh?" he blithered, blinking in confusion.

"You were just going to see the doctor about your pain," Kirche said pleasantly.

"Oh…oh yes…ouch, that hurts…"

The guard stepped past them and staggered off into the night.

"I'm really starting to like that spell of yours," commented Kirche cheerfully. Tiffania smiled awkwardly.

It was all Louise could do to keep the smile on her face.

The baron sat in his great chair, a wine glass in his hand, his eyes fixed on her. For what felt like an hour or more she had filled his glass, answered his questions, kept him amused with light conversation as best she could.

It was irritating. It was embarrassing. Having to wait on the pleasure of this overweight, balding, slightly malodorous, generally unimpressive specimen of masculinity was far from an honour; especially for one of her noble birth. But what had to be done had to be done.

"I could not help but notice, my dear." The baron smirked up at her. "You changed your hair before you arrived. I'm honoured that you would make such an effort for me."

Louise put on a diffident air, and ran a finger along her curled hair. Never in a thousand years would she have dreamed of copying Montmorency's elaborate curls; it would have seemed like abject surrender. But Kirche had insisted, and they served a purpose that hopefully the baron had not yet figured out.

"It was the least I could do for you, monsieur le baron," she cooed, forcing herself to giggle. "To attend upon a nobleman such as yourself, I simply had to make my best effort."

"And I appreciate it, my dear."

The baron continued to regard her. His gaze was not lustful, which was mercy in itself. But there was something about it that nevertheless set her teeth on edge.

"A question, my dear," the baron said, in a friendly sort of way. "Where did you say you were from?"

"Originally from Tristain, my lord," Louise replied cautiously. Her mother tongue was Gallois, but in Tristain even the nobles spoke it with a distinct accent and dialect. She didn't know how to hide it, and couldn't be sure whether the baron could tell the difference or not. No sense in taking risks.

"I see." The baron sounded intrigued. "Yet here you are, part of a troupe coming from Navarre, whose leader is an agent of Duke Henry."

"I am an orphan, my lord," replied Louise, as casually as she could manage. "Master Suleiman's troupe goes to many places. I joined them in Tristain a year ago."

"Ah, I see." He sat back in his chair, eyeing her. "You have a very fine manner, Louise. So fine I would almost think you were a noble."

It was all Louise could do not to jump out of her skin. Instead she forced out a giggle, cursing Saito and Kirche and her own wounded pride for putting her in this ridiculous situation.

"A noble? Little me? Oh my lord, what a wit! How you flatter me!"

"I cannot help but feel, Louise, that there is something more to you than meets the eye." The baron's smirk widened dangerously. "Are you by any chance a servant of the Duke yourself?"

Louise paused a moment. The baron was evidently suspicious, and would only get more suspicious if she denied it. But was she just wandering into an even deadlier trap?

"I have served his grace in...many capacities, my lord," she replied, cautiously.

"Indeed?" That smirk again. "Does that extend to the private?"

"Oh my lord, what a personal question!" Louise almost shrieked with nervous laughter, all the while resisting the urge to tear his fat head from his shoulders. The idea that she would sully herself with some delinquent rebel, even if he was a duke!

"Of course I meant to say," the baron went on, chuckling. "You have engaged in the Duke's private business. You are an agent of his, my dear."

"I have...concluded some business for his grace, my lord."

"I see. A very dangerous line of work, that."

He chuckled some more, and Louise noticed that his cheeks were a little redder than they had been a moment ago. Between that and his talkativeness, he was evidently quite inebriated.

"Will you not have some more wine, my lord?" She held up the bottle, smiling as invitingly as she could. The drunker he got, the better. A sleeping potion would have helped, but the guards had searched her dress before allowing her entry, and would almost certainly have found it.

Lucky for her, they didn't think to check her hair.

"Unfortunately, my dear, I cannot."

The baron stood up, and Louise flinched as something in his manner changed.

"I'm afraid our little liaison, pleasant though it was, is at an end. "Guards!"

Louise's heart jumped into her mouth as the double door crashed open. The guards stepped around the doors, muskets at the ready, allowing three mage-officers to stride through, drawing their wands.

She moved, her hand flashing up to her hair, to that particular curl Montmorency had told her about. She grabbed at her wand, cunningly hidden in the tube of hair, and pulled it free, pointing it straight at the baron.

The baron stared at her for a moment, then laughed.

"Hiding your wand in your hair? I'll have to remember that one."

Louise glanced from one to the other of her enemies. The three mage-officers wore the green tabards and had swords at their waists, but there was something...not quite right about them. Something in their manner that did not quite fit.

"I see you have noticed, my dear," the baron went on. "Yes, my friends here are personal agents of King Joseph. They have heard every word of our conversation, and that of your friend earlier. I suspect they have some questions for you, regarding your involvement with the troublesome Duke of Navarre."

Louise gritted her teeth. She backed away, trying to keep all of them in her line of sight, shifting her wand from one to the other, keeping them off-guard. The baron just stood there, hands on his hips, smirking in triumph. The three false mage-officers moved cautiously to flank her, wands aimed for her heart, deadly spells on the tips of their tongues.

She could do this. Doubtless those three were formidable mages, able to blurt out a useful spell quickly and efficiently. But unless they had her mother's rare talent, they would never stop her in time.

But what then? Would the explosion not bring more guards? Would those outside hear and see? What about her friends? Had the infiltration team begun its mission?

No! No more pretending! No more playing the simpering flibbertigibbet!

"I...I am a soldier of justice!" she snapped, remembering what Kirche had told her about Duke Henry's agents, and their rhetoric. "I die for Navarre! For King Henry!"

"Treason!" one of the false officers snarled, eyes flashing with momentary fury.

"Now now, my dear," interjected the baron, smirking. "I think you're in a deep enough hole. Do yourself a favour and stop digging."

She was out of options, out of time.

"Explosion!"

As they ascended the stairs to the third floor, Saito kept his ears pricked. There had been remarkably few guards, and those they had not been able to evade were now wandering around the lower levels in a daze, their memories erased by Tiffania's spell.

It was going well, far better than he dared to hope. But that was no cause for complacency. It wouldn't be all that long before someone realised that something strange was going on; and Suleiman and the others had their hands full as it was.

They had to keep going. They had to hurry. Even if Tabitha and her mother weren't up there, they had to at least get to Louise, and then get the truth out of the governor.

They had to get to Louise. They had to get to Louise. He couldn't leave her alone up there, not with that man, and whatsoever else he had hidden away up there.

The stairs opened onto a foyer, much like the ones on the lower floors. The walls were decorated with frescoes and arabesques; all of them in much better condition than those outside. The foyer itself was wide and airy, splitting into a pair of wide corridors that ran the length of the keep. If the layout of this floor was anything like the lower floors, then they would combine into another identical foyer with identical sets of stairs at the other end.

Keep? This was no keep, not like any Saito had known, anyway. He had been inside enough Japanese castles, and the odd European one, on enough school trips to know the difference. This place was more like a palace, a place of pleasure and entertainment. A castle meant for defence would not have such wide corridors, or so many and such wide stairs, or such tall, wide windows.

Saito led the way, creeping up to the right-hand corridor and peering down it. He gestured for them to follow, and Kirche did so, Tiffania and Alice creeping along behind. Once they had reached him, and he was sure no one was coming, he peeked out around the corner.

No one. Where was everybody?

He was about to continue, when a strange sound caught his ear. The tiniest of squeaks, almost like a nightingale.

He darted back out of sight, his heart hammering. He paused a moment, wondering if he was losing his mind.

Then he heard it again, growing ever so slightly louder. He peered around the corner, and his heart jumped at the sight of two green-clad guards advancing down the corridor towards them. He pulled back, took a breath to steady himself, then peered out again.

Their muskets were slung, their stride unhurried. Saito allowed himself to relax a little, watching as the pair continued until around half way along the corridor, then turned to his right and disappeared.

If the layout of this floor was anything like the lower ones, there would be a staircase leading up to the floor above. Were they heading up to the next floor? Or were they relieving guards on the staircase?

"There's at least two of them, probably more," he whispered, turning away from the wall to face his companions.

"If we go together, we can take them quietly," Kirche whispered back. "Lets..."

A roar like distant thunder shuddered through the ceiling above them; so loud that the windows rattled in their frames.

Saito's blood ran cold. That sound, those vibrations. It could only be one thing.

"Louise!"

The sound burst from his throat as a strangled, anguished cry. He erupted from his hiding place, deaf to his friends' protests, and sprinted along the corridor.

"Let's go partner!" called Derflinger, as Saito tore him from his scabbard.

There were four guards, all of them staring up the stairway. But even as Saito rounded the corner, they were turning to face him, wondering what these sudden footfalls portended.

He saw their surprise turn to anger, their mouths open to cry the alarm, musket butts rising to shoulders, muzzles coming about to aim. But he felt Gandalfr's power flow through him, and the world seemed to slow down.

He swung, an overhead cut that brought Derflinger's blade down on the nearest guard's musket. The guard's angry face melted into horrified disbelief as the blade sliced through the barrel as cleanly as if it were a stem of grass. Saito spun, bringing the heavy blade around and up, cutting the hapless guard down.

Another pulled the trigger, the bullet whistling past Saito's cheek, so close he felt the wind of its passing. He turned, raising Derflinger overhead as the nearest guard swung his musket like a club. He swung straight down, knocking the musket down, then stepped forward and drove his elbow into the guard's chin, knocking him backward.

Two guards remained. One dropped his musket and reached for his sword, while the other raised his musket to fire. Saito moved, throwing himself at the swordsman and swinging Derflinger around in a deadly haymaker. It was all the guard could do to parry, but the blow was still strong enough to throw him sideways. Saito heard the powder flash, and threw himself aside as the musket fired, the bullet whipping past his ear and burying itself in the wall. Saito leapt onto the unfortunate musketeer and cut him down.

He looked around, but none were moving. Three were plainly dead, or near dead. The one with the sword lay slumped against the wall, seemingly unconscious.

As Kirche, Tiffania, and Alice rounded the corner after him, Saito bolted for the stairs. He ascended three at a time, Gandalfr's power pushing him onward. Louise! He had to get to Louise!

He rounded the corner, dashing up another set of stairs. The fourth floor foyer was deserted; a pair of scorched double doors lying on the floor where they had been thrown, the doorway they had once guarded leading into a grand chamber.

And there, standing in the middle of the floor, was a bewildered-looking Louise.

"Louise!"

"Saito!" Louise turned to face him, all smiles. "Look! I've..."

But her words became an eep of surprise as Saito flung himself upon her, wrapping his arms around her and crushing her against him. He buried his face in her hair, wanting to see or smell nothing else ever again.

"Louise..." His voice was hoarse. "Louise...I..."

"Saito..."

He felt Louise relax into his arms. He wanted to stay like this forever. He wanted to carry her away in his arms, and hide away with her someplace far away and safe.

"Saito..." Louise sounded bewildered. "Saito..."

"Would you two like to be alone?"

Saito gulped, and turned his head. Kirche was standing in the doorway, tapping her foot impatiently. Tiffania was looking away, her face red. Alice just looked bored.

"Uh...yeah...well..." Saito let go of Louise and stepped away, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh be quiet!" snapped Louise, pushing him aside. "Anyway, as you can see I've defeated the governor and three North Parterre agents!"

She gestured triumphantly around the room. The once grand chamber was a scorched ruin, worse than anything she'd inflicted on her room back at the academy. Three men in the remains of mage-officer's tunics were sprawled on the floor, while the governor lay amid a pile of splintered wreckage that might once have been a desk, his face frozen in mute shock. He seemed to be alive, but he wouldn't be getting up any time soon.

"Oh fine!" griped Kirche, staring at the supine figure amid the wreckage; who looked to Saito like he should have stars flying around his head. "How are we supposed to ask him where Tabitha is?"

"What choice did I have?" retorted Louise, anger replacing triumph. "They were going to arrest me!"

"Calm down!" Saito stepped between the pair, arms raised. "We don't have time for this! We have to..."

Then he froze, as his eyes fell on the window directly behind the desk, and the dark shape growing ever larger in it.

"Look out!" he yelled. The others barely had time to spin around as something dark and terrible crashed into the window. The window exploded in a shower of coloured glass, and the shape shot through, landing on the scorched carpet. Those bent legs, those bat-like wings, and goat-like heads - runes glowing malevolently on their brows - were all too familiar.

"Oh no!" griped Saito, hefting Derflinger. "Not gargolyles again!"

Sir Lancel de Rolet touched down in the inner courtyard, his heart hammering.

Impossible! Surely it was impossible! No one could have that much power, especially not some slip of a girl!

Yet there it was. His comrades, and the Baron too, defeated in a single blast. This was the power of Void magic, the power the King's agent Sheffield had warned them of. He had heard her warnings, and like a fool thought them exagerrated.

No exaggeration. His comrades were down, and had he not gone out the nearest window, trusting his Wind magic to bear him safely to the ground, he would surely have shared the same fate.

He looked up. Gargoyles, the horrific creatures loaned to their mission by Sheffield, were swarming across the sky, piling into the keep through the fourth floor windows. Surprised, he looked back across the courtyard.

He was there, standing on the dais before the harem palace, staring up at the gargoyles as they flew to the attack.

"Lord Bidashal!" Lancel called out, hurring across the courtyard and up the steps towards him. "Lord Bidashal!"

"I know, Sir Lancel," replid the elf, with his customary aloof calm. "They have come."

"Lord Bidashal..." pleaded Lancel. "It was a Void mage! She defeated three of my comrades! There are more of them coming!"

"And more still, in the main courtyard," mused Bidashal idly. "Very clever of them, to disguise themselves as travelling players. It would seem the Baron underestimated them. I take it he is...incapacitated?"

"Yes, my lord." Lancel was starting to get angry. Bad enough that he had to deal with an elf, but the damned man just wasn't taking the situation seriously! "My lord..."

"Calm yourself, Sir Lancel..." Bidashal had lowered his eyes, fixing them instead on the main double-door leading into the keep. "There is more to come."

And that's this chapter done.

I really hope this meets your approval. I apologise once again for the long delay, but I have a lot on and so does Zaru.

One thing that had to change was the Scarlet Tower appearing. They'll have to wait until the next chapter. This thing turned out a little longer than I expected.