At First, I was Afraid

  My name is Rose Reeve the Third, and this is the one-hundred and thirty-first day of my exile. At first, I was afraid. Of my gift, of the world, of these wild places I now call home. This is no longer the case. I discovered my gift while tending my garden after a long day's work. My petunias had been wilting, not enough sun I think. I reached out to them, and when I touched them, they sprang back to life. Their colour returned, and even though they were out of season, they began to bloom. I knew instantly that this was not some metaphorical green thumb, but the real thing.

Now, I have always been an avid gardener. I've put as many hours into flower beds as many have into their jobs. Despite my best efforts, many varieties of plants simply don't grow on this planet. Now that I had this ability, I had the confidence to plant seeds I would have otherwise saved for future generations. Lily and Morning Glory, Lotus and Orchid, my little flower garden had more colours than all the rest of the settlement. That was when I noticed side effects. I could smell the flowers at a distance, and more richly than ever before. I could tell what neighbors were cooking from the street, and even recognize them without sight. Again I was afraid, but there seemed to be no harm in it.

Soon, my neighbors began to suspect something had changed. I was reorganizing the flowers around how they smelled, creating a discordant mix of colours. To the ungifted, it seemed like I might be slipping. So, fearing for my health, they began to pay closer attention to my behavior, and so discovered my gift. I was turned over to the Overseer, Fred did not hesitate to exile me, even for all my social standing. Some would say he wanted my power as Judge of the town, but I think he was really just afraid and trying to maintain control of the world around him.

Now I am in the wilds. At first, I was afraid. Now, I have turned these untamed wilds into a fresh garden, giving me all the food and shelter I have ever needed. Still, I find myself gravitating towards the settlement from time to time, as I did today, and I saw the most particular sight. A boy, no more than fifteen, was exiled from the settlement as I was. Christopher Williams, the Overseer called him in his most pompous voice, a boy with an unnatural power. I know that there were others before me; the captain and many others left of their own volition, and I have seen many more beside. He was the first I saw so young, so afraid. I have lain out a path for him now: fruit that can be eaten, berries that can be picked. Soon, I will help you to see your gifts a strength; soon I will help you to say as I have. At first, I was afraid.

   Author's Note:  I wrote this as part of a series of short fiction stories about a year ago, and must apologize for only now uploading them.  

Watcher

“Thank you for reporting this to me, Constable Wilkens, I'll head down to the Williams residence to confirm this straight away.”  The Overseer terminated communication.  Another report, this was the fourth one of the year.  It had been getting worse.  If the beacons they'd left hadn't been damaged, he'd have reported the world as hazardous to prevent another ship from being launched.  Now it was too late, they'd be here in a year.  All he could do was maintain order and hope that the settlement could be salvaged.  Maybe there'd be scientists who could study these phenomena and find a solution, but he doubted it.  The plan, as explained to him by the his predecessor, Captain O'Malley, was to send families and more supplies on the second ship.  All of the research personnel on their ship had died or begun manifesting strange abilities.  When the Captain had begun experiencing unnatural qualities, he entered a self-imposed exile, and took many of the researchers into the wilds to prevent contamination of the rest of the populace.
It hadn't worked.
And now the Overseer found himself trying to enforce the last set of orders he'd had.  Persons manifesting unnatural abilities were exiled.  It was hoped that they would survive, but it was primarily to prevent whatever was causing the phenomena from spreading.  He'd had to take on much of these responsibilities himself.  Chief Constable Kidd had grown soft, left to his own devices he'd have kept the aberrations in the settlement.  Her Grace, Lady Rose had opposed the measure vocally in council meetings.  It was a relief when her neighbors reported seeing some sort of unnatural activity in her garden.  And they were hardly alone; many of the settlement's more active, forthright members were of the opinion that the exiles were not making any difference.  But he was the Overseer, and it was his job to look out for his people.  Even if that meant he'd have to exile a child.

“Mrs. Williams.  Would you mind if I came inside?”  The Williams residence was simple, sparsely decorated, but well maintained.
“Of course, is something the matter?”  Mrs Williams was much like the house, plain and undecorated.  She clearly worked hard, and was a valued, if not important, member of the community.  The overseer took no pleasure in what he would have to do.
“There have been some concerning reports about your son.  I was hoping I might be able to talk to him about it, and sort out the truth of the matter.”  He meant what he said, but it was recited like protocol.  Mrs. Williams gestured towards the hall.
“He's in his room.  What seems to be the matter?  Has he been in any trouble?”
“Constable Wilkens reported that..”  He paused, hearing boots on the front steps.
“Came as soon as I could sir.”  Wilkens was a good lad, did his job well.  He'd brought a second constable with him.
“Thank you.  As I was saying, Constable Wilkens reported that he saw your son with some floating rocks behind Utility Shed Three yesterday after school.  Now, I don't know that its true, but we all have to be vigilant in our responsibilities, and I am no exception.”  He felt like a politician courting voters.  But he was likely about to take a child from his mother, the least he could do was be polite about it.
“Oh.  Well, I'm sure that Constable Wilkens was mistaken; m-my son has never done anything of the sort.”  Replied the apron-clad woman, voice less confident than her posture.  “But I don't want to keep you from doing your job.”  She began to lead them down the hall.  “Chris, the Overseer is here asking about...”  She opened the door.  The Overseer came into view just in time to see the boy sitting on the floor, a single rock floating before his face.  He was so young, younger than any of the others by at least a decade.  “..flying rocks.  Oh Chris!”  She cried out, slumping down beside the door.  The constables stepped over her as the boy tried to run.  The Overseer stepped back and let them cuff the boy, administering his rights with practiced precision.  It was a pity, so young.

“Christopher Williams, by my authority as the Overseer, acting in the interest of the safety and well-being of the colony, you are hereby Exiled to the untamed lands.  May your unnatural power help you survive.”  The Overseer pronounced the sentence with finality.  There had been no trial.  He was caught red-handed and there were four witnesses, himself included.  It was not fair, but it was necessary.  Chief Constable Kidd took the boy's chains off and muttered something to him, advice?  He did not know what the soft old man said, only that it did nothing to console the poor boy.
As the two constable walked the boy to the gate, much of the town standing by, the Overseer began to wonder whether or not exile would make any difference in stemming the tide of unnatural activity.  What if it wasn't a disease?  The boy had no direct contact with any of the other exiles; it couldn't have been transmitted to him unless it were simply present in the world itself.  He stared at the boy as he pondered this realization, afraid of what it might portend for the whole settlement.  No, this was not the end of the exiles.  Things would only get worse from here.  He'd have to enforce stronger order: curfews, stronger constabulary presence, and he'd have to find a reason to replace Kidd with someone willing to do the job, whatever the cost.  They'd hate him for it; he knew that.  But what sort of Overseer would he be if he didn't watch over his people?

Author's Note:  I wrote this as part of a series of short fiction stories about a year ago, and must apologize for only now uploading them.

Rules

  “You say you saw Christopher Williams, moving rocks behind Utility Shed Three before the incident?” Constable Kidd was an imposing man; had been his whole life. He could still remember when they had first landed here, building the wall, and even the first exile. Many folks didn't think that far back, leave history to the greybeards they'd say. Well, he might be grey in the beard but he was still as fit and clever as any of his men and more than most.

“Yes Constable, clear as glass.” The younger constable, Wilkens, had taken off the dark helmets they wore on patrol. Why they needed helmets Kidd did not know, the settlement was a fairly peaceful place. Even before the wall had been built there hadn't been enough dangers to justify wearing the stupid things on patrol. They were clearly meant for combat, not public safety. At least the rest of the armor was fairly comfortable.

“Has the Overseer been told?” He knew the answer before he asked. The Overseer, damnit all now he was doing it, Fred had passed a rule requiring all reports of 'unnatural activity' be directed to him first, before reporting them to the Chief Constable. Edward Kidd did not like that policy one bit. How could the constabulary be expected to dole out fair and balanced justice if things just kept being passed over his head? It was bad enough that the Overseer had taken over the job of Judge when Her Grace had passed away, now he was trying to usurp the authority of the Chief Constable too.

“Of course sir. Rules are rules.” Wilkens was a good kid, and bright too, but he was still too naive to see what was going on. The Overseer was turning the settlement into a personal tyranny, and he was eliminating anyone who could or would oppose him. All this nonsense about 'unnatural activity' was just a front, and Kidd wasn't buying it one bit. Maybe if there were still a few scientists left in the settlement, they could explain some of the odd goings-on. Sure enough, they'd all been found 'committing unnatural acts', and now it was poor little Chris Williams turn.

“Damn. Well, head down there and meet him. I'll get things set up for the exile.” After Her Grace's exile, Chief Constable Kidd was going to keep his head down and his neck in. One child was not worth giving up any chance he had of fixing things. In fact, a proper public exile of a mere child would probably improve his chances of making a few more allies. They'd stop this madness yet.

“Christopher Williams, by my authority as the Overseer, acting in the interest of the safety and well-being of the colony, you are hereby Exiled to the untamed lands. May your unnatural power help you survive.” The greasy man on the podium motioned for the gates to be opened. Kidd and Wilkens stepped up and removed his chains.

“Sorry Chris. Rules are Rules.” He wanted to comfort the kid, but he couldn't shake the feeling that even if he didn't agree with the rules, he was still the one standing there enforcing them like a faceless thug. He and Wilkens, who stayed silent, walked Chris to the gate. The boy was crying, but as the gates began to close Kidd saw something in his eyes. He was determined. That boy was going to survive, and he was going to come back. When he did, they might just need those helmets after all.

Later, in his office, Kidd found himself haunted by that last glance. Chris Williams probably was possessed of some level of power. He was a smart kid, and he'd learn to use it. He needed guidance though, or he'd go down the wrong path and become something dangerous. He should have been allowed to stay, given a place to train his abilities where he could have the support of friends and family. The wilds did things to a man.

“Constable Kidd?” It was Wilkens again. He'd taken off all of his armor and wore only the gray jumpsuit of a civilian. Good, it wasn't another report to file. “Sir? I was thinking.”

“My Pa always said that was a dangerous activity. What can I do for you son?”

“I was just... The boy, Chris Williams, he didn't really do anything wrong, did he?” Wilkens looked pretty broken up about it. You were supposed to try not to take the job personally, that's what they were all told in training. Kidd knew better.

“No son, he didn't. None of 'em did.” Kidd stood up and closed his door. He let down the window blinds, and he poured the junior constable a mug of coffee. “And by jove we're gonna make it up to them.” He held up the mug as a gesture of brotherhood. “Welcome to the resistance.”

Wilkens took the mug and looked up at him with confusion and admiration. Kidd smiled, in his own gristly way. And now there were nine.

Author's Note:  I wrote this as part of a series of short fiction stories about a year ago, and must apologize for only now uploading them.  

Power

Chris glanced around the room cautiously. The steel walls of the prefabricated home that his family had been assigned glared back; their stark faces judging him in silence. Satisfied that he was alone, he drew a small stone from his backpack and sat down in the middle of the room. He'd been able to raise a wide variety of items since it had started a few months ago, but he hadn't had much success controlling it. Sometimes he could move rocks, sometimes he couldn't lift the lint from his own pockets. Perhaps if he just had more time to practice he could get control of this strange new power.

Slowly the rock rose as he focused his attention upon it. He blinked, doing his best not to lose focus again. He could have sworn one of the constables had spotted him after the incident on Monday. No one had said anything, but they'd never said anything before Rose had been exiled either. That's how it was with the Constabulary; everything was fine, and then you were exiled. The rock began to spiral agitatedly as he thought about the kindly Silver-haired woman they'd exiled. Chris quickly resumed his focus on the stone, no point in worrying about Rose; she was probably already dead.

“Chris, the Overseer is here asking about...” His mother opened the door. Chris had been so focused on the rock he hadn't even heard her boots on the hard floors. The rock went perfectly still in mid-air as Chris jerked around to face his mother. “..flying rocks. Oh Chris.” She sobbed as the realization hit her. He scrambled to try and reach her, spouting apologies and explanations. What was he supposed to do? As the Constables stepped past her into the room, the rock fell to the floor, the small clang inaudible over their pronouncements of his Rights and Crimes.

“Christopher Williams, by my authority as the Overseer, acting in the interest of the safety and well-being of the colony, you are hereby Exiled to the untamed lands. May your unnatural power help you survive.” The greasy man on the podium motioned for the gates to be opened. Two Constables in armor stepped up beside him and unclasped his chains.

“Sorry Chris.” The taller constable muttered sympathetically. “Rules are Rules.”

Chris choked back his tears. He had nothing, not even a canteen. They knew he wouldn't survive out there. If he could control it there would be no threat to anyone. A handful of small rocks and dirt rose at his feet, taunting his weakness. He set his mind to proving himself, silent tears falling among the rocks. He could control it; he just needed more time.

They walked him to the gate. A small crowd had assembled around them; a few of them he recognized from school or the farms. A couple seemed to start forward as he passed; maybe they knew it wasn't right, but they were all too afraid to act. Christopher turned to face the overseer as the constables stopped on the inside of the colony's lone gate. And as the gate began to lower, he saw something on the Overseer's face he hadn't expected to see.

Fear of him.  

Author's Note:  I wrote this as part of a series of short fiction stories about a year ago, and must apologize for only now uploading them.  

Short Story: Cariol, part the first

Cariol was actually a rather beautiful world, most days of the year.  From where she sat atop the bell tower in the little town of Bet-Zian, Rea could see a vast field, normally home to the town's sheep, or whatever the indigenous wool-beasts were called.  They weren't sheep, too tall, feet had claws sharp enough to dig into stone and they occasionally tried to eat their shepherds, but besides those minor problems, they were sheep.  Surrounding the town were fields full of corn, or barley, or some other grain, it was late spring and she couldn't tell; it looked lovely in the glowing, dancing amber glow.  Out beyond the field was a delightful little fairy tale forest that could only be described as 'vast' or possibly 'menacing'.  It probably held some kind of Wolf spirit or Lycanthrope who the villagers warned their children about.  Although a truely malicious Lycan would have destroyed the town by now, and even such a burst of violence would be hard pressed to match the casualty levels of several thousand years of being eaten or mauled by the sheep-things.  In fact, if there were wolves of any sort in the forest, they had probably developed stealth in order to avoid detection by the sheep-things, which they lived in constant fear of.
The town itself was like any other human town that had gone more than a few generations without external contact.  It had fallen into a sort of creative rut and the little plaster and cobblestone houses with their thatched roofs remained the most advanced form of archietecture in the community.  Even the bell tower, they all had one, Rea couldn't fathom why, had the same slightly uneven tilt.  Below her, people went about their daily business, buying and selling foodstuffs, gossiping about neighbors, comparing scars earned feeding the sheep.

Of course, a master Assassin has no business simply staring at ordinary folk.  And beneath the surface of the town lurked a sinister secret.  A Lych's laboratory, in which he had developed a disease capable of affecting even the Nielda.  Many of the townsfolk had been charmed or persuaded to help him, and many others had moved to the town to aid him.  They were in no danger from him after all, they were not his targets.  For all their depravity, Lych were strangely reliable in that sense.  Xanadu would not show himself here, where a spy or Knight could find him; but he would not have to.  He'd succeeded after all.  He'd probably even begun to pack by now.  What he failed to anticipate was how little hesitation the Nielda would have to break their treaty with the Seclorans and deal with him.  She could hear the roar of dropships entering the atmosphere all over the world now, and one would be coming here as well.  She slid to the ground, glammering herself as she fell to look as though one of the older children of the town.  No one in particular of course, that was the knack of glammer after all, just an ordinary fourteen year old girl everyone assumed they'd never met before.

The Nielda were being bolder than even Rea had expected.  The first ship touched down in the market, engines still at full roar.  The forces that came off were fully armored, but to her trained eye she could see the lack of military coordination.  They had cobbled this force together on the fly, most of them were there as a show of force.  One guard, a servant of Xanadu, drew his sidearm and took three shots at the nearest intruder, every shot negated by the shielded armor.  A soldier, Marine by the markings, drew his own sidearm and stunned him without hesitation.  Rea was surprised, not at his response, any Nielda would have returned fire, but at the passivity of the action.  Had men such as these just destroyed her homeworld, as once they had, she'd have gutted him like a garter-cow and strung his intestines from the nearest pole without regard for the distance between them and the pole.  What was more, it had been only hours since the attack, she could feel the passions of the Nielda boiling at the surface.  They wanted to carve the village and all its inhabitants from the side of the planet, but something was stopping them.
"Anyone else want to fight?  I have orders only to kill the servants of the Lych Xanadu, but if any of the rest of you want to get in my way, I'd be more than happy to burn out your skulls."
"At ease Sergeant."  A tall man in a flowing cloak stepped off the drop ship, which had spun down and was no longer deafening the crowd.  "You need only those three men and the woman in the fourth house up the block to the South, the rest are innocent.  Go gather them and do not kill if you can help it."  He had the bearing of a king, and the markings of an Admiral.  Rea found the rest of the world seem to fade into the background as she stared at him.  As she listened to him talk, as much to his own men as to the townsfolk, she could hear the conviction in his voice, and the principles he held even in such dire times.  One of the humans, the only one in the audience who served Xanadu, began to cry.
"Then you understand why I am here?"
"Y-yes, I didn't know."
"No one can fault doing what you thought was best, especially when the truth was withheld.  Go to Xanadu, tell him Admiral Krell Casat has come for him, and ask him to meet me in the hanger in the mountainside.  I want to keep this battle far away from these innocents."  The crying man rose, nodded, and began to jog off to his cellar, which led to the lab by a hidden passageway Rea had spotted months ago.  "Sergeant, take those four whom you have taken prisoner back to the ship.  I will rendevous with you within a day.  If I have not, inform the Guardsmen that Xanadu has escaped and that he was last seen in the mountain hanger.  They will take care of the rest."
"Yes Admiral."  And the soldiers began to board the ship, ignoring the still panicked locals.  Rea took this as her cue to leave and began to weave her way through the streets towards the edge of town so that she could teleport to the hanger herself.  After all, the book was going to require her to cast at least one spell before day's end.

A whirlWind Romance: Chapter Two

The count was an old man, not that anyone could tell by looking at him.  He was, after all, a vampire, and even the most ordinary citizens of the universe could tell you that vampires didn't grow old.  He was also a man of some wealth, a byproduct of carefully planned high-interest banking and a productive career in land cultivation and ownership; he was also known to flip the occasional mansion for considerable profit.  Being wealthy, he could have easily afforded surgeries and ointments that would make him look even younger than he did.  The Count had no interest in either source of youth; he was old and felt like he ought to look it.
It was for that very reason he had moved to his current residence.  It was an old, traditional castle, located in a part of Tara well known for being low in sunlight, high in acceptance, and favorably inclined towards privacy.  A number of months prior he had sent out word to all of the tens of thousands of vampire covens in all the millions of inhabited worlds of the universe, urging them to follow a set of basic principles he'd devised.  He wanted to be at peace, no longer worrying about the constant threats of monster hunters, vampire slayers, and hordes of angry villagers that had plagued him for over two thousand years.  But what was more, he wanted to make sure that other vampires could do so as well.  And he wanted to see it done without costing the lives of more mortals.  He wanted to see his cursed spawn live in harmony with the still living folk on whom they now preyed.  Tara, he had decided, was the best place to do it from, since here such a possibility was already realized.  a plentiful supply of fresh blood was always available, the ordinary folk of the nearby town were not bothered by his presence, and he could read in his vast library without the curtains drawn and not even tan.

"Monster!"  The Count heard his front door shatter once again.  The third time that day in fact, he hadn't even finished wiping the blood of his last would-be slayer off of his slender blade.  "Prepare to meet your maker!"
The Count stood up, rag in hand as he cleaned the polished sword.  He didn't even turn to face his opponent before he replied.  "I have met my maker.  He gave his life for me in fact.  I have also met the demon who gave me my curse, and I have cast him back into the depths.  I have seen the face of Death, and she sent me out into the world.  If you wish to send me to any of them, I hope you will first understand that I do not think any of them would take me in.  Such is my life."
It was a dramatic response, but for most of his adversaries, this was to be the most climactic moment of their life, even if they won.  It gave them a chance to size him up, to get a look at the room, and let them have every possible advantage of imitative and position.  He was nothing if not sporting.  But this one had hesitated, she, he could smell it, did not view him as a threat.  There was no creaking of the floorboards as she tried to creep into a more advantageous position.  There was no hum of magic or chanting of complex spells seeking to bind him.  There was not even the draw of a bow or the faint tension of a trigger being eased back.  This woman wanted a straight fight, and he would oblige.
"Most vampires I have fought call it a gift, or a blessin even.  What have you got against it?"
He heard her nudge a book aside, one of his beloved shelves had been shattered in a fight the previous morning, and he had not been able to find the time to restore it.  She hadn't drawn a weapon yet, and while he could feel the magic that seemed to come from her as though carried on a strong wind, he couldn't detect any attempt to prepare an assault.
"I have seen children dragged from their beds in the middle of the night by my hungering spawn.  I have seen good men go to their deaths not knowing what lurked in the shadows they sought to expel.  They say that vampires are beings without souls, and they do not say it because it is true.  I have also seen hunters break into the crypts of vampires who fed only when they needed to, staking them as thy rested simply because they were vampires.  This curse ruins more lives than it could ever save."
"Then why don't you end it?"
"Have you read my Three Points?  I am trying to at least lessen the impact, even if I could never hope to stop what in my youth I wantonly began."
He heard a sword drawn.  A rapier, much like his own, and of good quality he suspected.
"They say that if the first were to die, all those descended from him would die too.  If you want to stop vampires, you oughta start with yourself."
He had considered it, many times in fact.  It would be easy; locking himself in a glass sphere in space would be fastest and most certain.  But in the end, he knew that the demon who had sired him had sired others before him, and most likely others since.  Killing himself might, and even then it was hardly certain, end many of the most prominent covens, but certainly not end all of them, and not for all of time either.  The only way to be sure would be to kill the demon first; and then find all who he had sired and end them each in turn.  Maybe then, and only maybe.  But even if he did, he could not simply kill himself.  He had lived to long, and grown to comfortable in his undeath to simply end himself.
"I do not believe it would work.  Not well enough at least.  Are you going to try and find out?"
"Can't hurt to try, can it?"  He spun through the shadows, slipping past his desk and into the wide open space before the great window of his library.  The woman's strike was like a flash of lightning in the dark, one second darting through the air, the next second gone.  When she saw where he had moved she soared up over the desk as though borne by the air itself, twisting her blade in a flourish as she set down facing him.
She wore a T-shirt and jeans, and by the looks of her was a Nielda in her mid forties.  Older than most his opponents, but he'd learned the value of age from personal experience.  Most curious of all was not her flippant attitude towards his own power and skill, but the pale blue of her hair.  He had smelled no dye when she entered the castle, and could sense no spell to alter her appearance.  Yet in no species he had met, nor in any he'd read cataloged did such a color come by nature, and certainly not the Nielda, who took much pride in their natural hair.  As he effortlessly began to parry her blows, though she was both strong and swift, he began to remember a time in his youth when a sybil had told him of a girl he would meet, saying only 'you will know her by her hair'.  And so, as he flicked her blade skywards, the Count began to wonder.  Could this be the woman he was fated to spend his life with?

A whirlWind Romance: In the Dragon's Castle

"Dad?"
It was, as it so often is, a dark and stormy night.  The wind whipped through the trees outside the windows of the castle on the hill.  At the base of the cliff, against which it was backed, waves crashed against rock with tumult as much akin to that of the thunder as to any normal yawning of the tides.  And indeed, as white streaks appeared across the waves, a fearsome foam induced by an oceanic fury so mighty it ensnared even the air itself, so too did streaks of white-blue lightning break the normal darkness of the sky.
But it was a rare occasion on which Tara experienced any less evil seeming weather.  Indeed, to most of it's nobles and more prominent citizens, this was considered one of its strongest selling points.  The days were foggy and gloomy, the weather was always very dramatic, and to date, no one could remember a night without at least one full moon.
"Yes son?  Come in; sit down."
The largest room in the castle was the study, which doubled as a parlor, living room, and dining room.  It wasn't for lack of such rooms that it served so many purposes, but rather from a lack of interest in leaving.  The room was, you see, three stories tall and every inch of wall either decorative depictions of its owner's adventures, or shelves of old tomes of the sort befitting an older, retired adventurer.  The desk at the center of the room, facing the door and not the floor to ceiling curtain most visitors suspected but could never prove hid a window, was a rich, dark hardwood that only its owner could ever identify.  His chair was much the same, though secretly much padded, and rose above the head of even a standing man.  All in all, it was intimidating to stand before the desk, no matter how kindly the man behind it.
"Dad, I was wondering.  What was Mom like?"
The olive skinned gentleman behind the desk looked down at his son, more a byproduct of large furniture than of small boy.  The boy was no younger than fourteen, studious, diligent, and in every way the sort of son a respectable man could dream of having.  He was not above getting into scrapes, before you get the wrong impression, he was simply not inclined towards getting into the wrong scrapes.  The difference, his father had once told him, is critical.
His father looked over him; dark eyes probing the boy's mind and mood.  It was not the first time such questions had arisen, it is in the nature of all children, man and beast alike, to want to know their mother.  And in the case of most, the question is answered through the course of childhood.  But this boy was not part of that happy majority, and his father remained reluctant to tell his son too much too soon.  Tonight though, tonight he could see that the boy was ready.
"Sit down, over in one of the reading chairs, this is a conversation too important to be held over a desk."  The boy needed no prompting, and walked over to one of the many comfortable chairs in the study.  It had become his favorite spot in fact, a poorly fitted window pane let the wind blow through at night, but it never made the dreadful whine of so many a bad window.  Instead he felt only a cool, gentle breeze.
"Son, do you know why I choose to live here, surrounded by the constant storms and the bad window, always interrupted by the burst of lightning and the crash," The air rung as a bolt struck the roof above their heads. "Of thunder?"
The boy looked confused.  "Because you like it?"
"No son, it is because many years ago, before you were born even, I fell in love with the storm.  She is a woman unlike any other; passionate, dashing, graceful, and adventurous.  In all my life I have never met her equal, nor her better.  And like the storm, she has a particular tendency to fall right off of my roof."
"Can we just skip to the part where you meet her, and not hear about how your life was before you met her?"
"You'd be lucky to hear those stories from me.  That was another time for me, and one I'd just as soon leave where it lies.  No, this is the story of how your mother and I fell in love."

The Other Witch; The First Witch

"This is really quite serious, do we have to go through me explaining that Gravagan names don't work that way anymore?"
"Yes, if only for the benefit of the children."  The young woman who'd just arrived smiled at her exchange with General Sharon.  It appeared, Salvia mentally noted with great sarcasm, that the two were previously acquainted   Not unlike the way she strongly suspected she knew the young man accompanying her.
"Father?"
The room quieted noticeably as soon as she uttered the word.  Krell blushed as he looked over at his companion.
"She means as a priest, clearly no family resemblance, right?"
"I dunno, she seemed pretty sure of it."  The girl kept smiling, and jabbed him jocularly in the side.
"Salvia, this is Rea.  Rea, this is Salvia.  No relation."
It was definitely him, still bad with personal matters.  He was...not what she remembered.  He was younger, better dressed, and covered in flesh and presumably full of organs.  He had a heart, and skin, and hair, nice hair at that.
"Hi Salvia, how do you know Krell?"  The freshly identified Rea held out a hand and offered it cordially.
"He pretty much raised me, taught me a lot of magic, and is, ironically enough, the only reason I agreed to go on this stupid universe-scale political adventure ending in an epic battle.  It is," She looked over at the him in question.  "Exactly the sort of adventure he was always warning me against."
"Which is funny, because that's exactly the sort of adventure I've been dragging him into.  Admittedly, we were just coming here because I heard that there was a war on and Hal had been spotted."
"Apparently, I had actually been told they made a really good coffee and I simply had to try it.  Thank you by the way."  Krell raised his cup in the direction of the passing barrista.  "And I owe the Prince here an apology for our killing his grandmother."
"She was evil, malicious, and probably a Lich; so I'll let the act of treason slide."  Curt gave a mock bow from the other end of the map as he continued.  "Besides, what I hear, you and my Great-Grandmother have a fascinating history together, and she has much better taste in friends anyways."
"And surprisingly good taste in makeup, did you know she owns my entire..."
Krell turned towards Salvia as the conversation veered off in a direction that the Alpha's expression clearly indicated as 'not important right now'.
"So how's work?"
"Are you two dating?"
"You first."
"I saved the Alpha's daughter's life possibly, and proved that his son was honorably disintegrated  rather than dishonorably disintegrated.  Now I'm some sort of national hero or am owed a debt of some kind.  Oh, and I followed a trail of corpses to your last known location before being picked up by an immortal madman in a bureau of simplification office of all places.  I still don't know what he was doing there."
"Yes, after she helped me leave a trail of corpses, kill the woman responsible for making me a Lich, and borrow my assistance in breaking one of the oldest curses in existence."  He casually sipped his latte.  "I also helped end the most eerily romantic nemesis/hero relationship of all time.  After that, we went skiing, What do you think you'll do when you finish saving the universe?"
"File a report I imagine, a good long one, with lots of details and itemized business expenses.  Then I'll have a sandwich, maybe I'll be extra daring and use a new flavor of jelly on it."  Krell took another sip of his latte.  "Honestly, what was that man thinking, dragging me along?  What do I have going for me to make it worth dragging along a witch?"
Krell continued to drink as he thumbed at himself.
"What's so special about you then?"
"He,"  Rea broke away from what Salvia was sure was a diverting conversation about nail polish to interject. "Is High Admiral Krell Casat, the reborn Lich, a priest of the Order of Saint John, and is currently dating the most powerful active fighter in the universe.  The only one, and I never mind flattering myself, strong enough to take Hal in single combat.  Assuming, of course, that Petra stays in retirement the way we all told her to, and that Kate doesn't have the time to prepare the battlefield.  My assumption..."
"Our assumption."
"Our assumption, is that he means to use you to draw Krell here into single combat, kill him, thereby causing me to make sloppy, amateurish mistakes that would let him defeat me the way he's wanted to ever since I killed his scum warlock parents."
The vehemence in that last phrase inflicted a sort of painful silence on the cafe.  Other than Krell, it seemed no one else had ever really given Hal's own history any thought, only his time with Thalia had ever been of concern to the universe at large, and even the elite had never looked further in light of the significance of those events that were known.  Salvia's own questions were more simple however.
"How old are you exactly"
"Exactly would be a struggle to remember, but not far off from the length of time the Ga-Vok have had access to spaceflight.  My father's grandfather commanded the first company to board a foreign vessel, and his daughter, my grandmother, went on to help found the Ukown guild.  So to put it simply, about 12,000 years old.  There's only one person older, and she chooses not to get out much."
"That would have made you a contemporary of the first Alicea of the Howling Axes, and the first Alpha."  Said the current Alpha with an almost childlike curiosity.  "What were they like?"
"Nice, and a warlock, respectively.  Alicea was a very strong sort of woman, resilient.  She was the one who put me in contact with Tasand, who slew the first Alpha and succeeded him.  Nice sort of man Tasand, Old warrior type, the kind who'd been heroic for many years, then lost a son too many and was forced to confront his own lifestyle in an honest and direct manner."  She paused for a moment, giving the appearance, though Salvia could tell otherwise, that she was lost in memories.  "Used to call me 'pup', cause I fought with their weapons."
"One more thing, before we get back to storming the castle."  Salvia's witching ways were making her keenly aware of the unessential, pointless nature of the conversation.  "Why does ZG want Katherine to not attempt the re-installation spell?"
Several small items broke and a their was a momentary blur that filled the room.  Krell paled slightly, his eyes flickering as he did, as if trying to track the blur.
"I bloody well warned the lot of them it wouldn't work.  A thousand times I told her, and yet she keeps on trying to make it work!  I told Hal I couldn't pay the price, and now the...the"  Krell put a hand on Rea's shoulder, which seemed to calm her down immensely.  "I'm sorry.  But I've told nearly every member of the family not to try it at least four times.  All of them except Koren, who's got the good sense to pursue a normal life instead of this nonsense the rest of us are stuck with.  Cyssie even tried it herself a few times, but the spell has a long cast time and she doesn't have the kind of control over her focus to cast a day length, single word spell that has to be cast while standing on the ceiling.  She got as far as standing on the ceiling before coming up with a new idea of how to stand on ceilings, and good for her that she did.  Sarah was dead and Hal's got nothing.  But Arcania's clever enough to pull it off, but still foolish enough to try it in the first place.  Its exactly the sort of thing that got Tala and I our most distinctive features, and those brought us both a great deal of misery.  A few good things certainly, but lots of bad things too."
"So, its bad?"  An officer carrying a number of manila folders was the first to speak.
"Its worse than that.  Katherine will probably die, and Gravaga will be ruled by a perversion of an already dangerous woman aided by a fanatical, now quite mad, swordsman who even I'd be hard pressed to take alone."  Rea leaned back into a cushion that appeared at exactly the right height and sunk only slightly as she sat.    "The spell itself is designed as a trap for powerful and grieving magic users.  The Witches and the Oracles have strong protocols concerning not simply punishing those who try to bring back the dead but also for cleaning up the mess it usually makes."  She glanced over at Salvia.  "Not commonly known ones mind you, but the right procedures make themselves apparent when they're needed.  And ever since Petra started teaching at the academy they've instituted a strict policy of restricting non-necromantic forms of reanimation.  Even an army of skeletons is less dangerous than a re-installation gone wrong."
"Then how do you do it right?"  The Alpha turned his attention to a messenger as soon as he'd finished asking the question.  Salvia knew for a fact that he'd lost his son within the past few years, and he seemed to be taking Braga's  murder as a personal affront.  But Ga-Vok had a society more adapted to dealing with death than most, even with advances in medical science it was still a lucky litter that didn't lose at least one pup before maturity.
"You have to do it without compensation, without love, yet still be related to the one you seek to save.  Even then, you must be a fairly powerful magic user, and the less time they've been dead the less risky it is.  I raised my estranged brother for his future wife, who I already served, the night he died.  I was twelve, and I sacrificed my mortality as collateral.  I was taught the spell by a warlock, my aunt, who lacked the power to actually use the spell herself.  She was taught by a demon, who hoped to corrupt me."  Rea looked over at Krell.  "I believe you're familiar with Legion?  Always had a knack with healing spells, even after he fell from grace.  Back on Stormguard I think he mentioned how the first time the two of us met, he was pretending to be my mother.  That's why he was able to bring me back."
"I long suspected that Demons were at work in Hal's corruption.  Now I am sure of it."  Sharon stepped into the holographic map, initiating its automatic shutdown protocol.  "Where is the paladin?  Why has she not come to do her work?"
"My men have found the Black Hand Captain.  Salvia, bring the Priest and the Witch, it is time we set Braga's memory to rest.  General, your Highness, press on towards the front gate in my absence, I will meet you on the footsteps of the palace."  Salvia glanced over at Rea and Krell, and saw that they'd already started for the door.  She looked back at Curt, who smiled and raised his cup.
"We'll be fine, Godspeed Salvia."
"Spirits protect you, and Godspeed Sir."

The Other Witch; War Council

"Love the new look."  Prince Curt was standing next to a projection of the battlefield that had been positioned in the Cafe's former eating area.  The counter had been cleared off and was now occupied by a number of monitors, cords, and the projector for the map.  Aides and officers hustled about the room, and one rather confused looking Gravagan barrista, little more than a child by his people's reckoning at roughly the age of forty, carried around a tray of chilled lattes.
Salvia glanced down and remembered that she was wearing the same dress she had transfigured when they'd visited Seclora.  She looked back over at him and realized that Braga, rest his soul, had been right; it was exactly the same color as the Prince's cloak.
"Thank you, It's not my first choice I'll admit, but it grows on you."
"I'll see if we can have someone conjure up something more to your liking if you'd like?  I have an excellent wardrobe wizard on my staff, maybe something in silk..."
"This conversation can wait."  Announced the Alpha, with surprisingly little impatience, "We need to bring her up to speed so that we can return to the matter at hand."
Sharon stepped around to the opposite side of the display, and without waiting for acknowledgement, began to identify the major features of the city.
"The most critical point, of course, is the Palace.  A large number of enemy troops, particularly Gravagans but also a number of tragically ill-informed adventurers, are holed up inside.  Hal, the usurper Jastia, and most of the Black Hand will be in the throne room.  I personally believe that Jastia's seizure of the crown was a part of Hal's greater conspiracy, which means that Kate will have set up inside as well.  No doubt the host body is also present, which will mean that Courtney is also close by."
"Wait what?"
"I'm sorry."  Curt turned to face her.  "General Sharon has recently informed us that Hal and Thalia were, among other things, working together all along.  Apparently some of his more experienced adventurers, some of the immortals like Jasita and Courtney especially, were also aware of this conspiracy."
"Most dangerous of all," Continued the Alpha, "was a plot to return Thalia to life if she were ever defeated.  When Thalia fell in the palace of Arcania, Courtney used her vampiric powers to restore a semblance of life to Thalia's body and ferry it to safety.  That's why she went with her to assault the palace.  All these years Thalia has been preserved in the form of a ghoul, serving in the court at Stormguarde under all of our noses."
"Kate," Sharon added, "is the Dread Frost Mage Arcania, spared by Courtney for this purpose.  She's spent the last thousand years gathering components and preparing to cast the spell that will return Thalia's soul to her body, restoring her to the fullness of life.  Today is the day their plans come to fruition."
Salvia nodded.  "Most of that Braga and I had figured out already.  I was just surprised that the body was intact."
The Alpha laughed.  "Braga was always good at unraveling mysteries.  I should have known he would have gotten to the bottom of things."
"You mentioned ZG earlier Sharon.  He was the one who brought me into the city, and I think I remember talking to him in Stormguarde.  What's his part in all this?"
"ZG is a major power unto himself.  He is the king of elemental frost, and enamored of Kate.  He came to me several years ago and told me what Kate was doing, and where Hal had been since his wife's death.  We agreed on a plan, which is what I've been sharing with you.  His preferred form is that of a large dragon or a small ferret, but is best known for being a galaxy spanning blizzard.  As best as I can tell, his only goal in all of this is to keep Kate safe.  All in all, not a bad sort of guy."
"Last question then, why are there only the three of you here?"
"Because not all of the gates opened, because not everyone is in on the conspiracy, and because Hariel is a pyromaniac with lots of issues."  Sharon spat at the Earl's name.
"Maybe more detail on those?"
"The Seclorans are coming via fleet, they'll arrive by the end of the day.  Odds are really bad they'll be helping us though."  Prince Curt flipped the projection with a wave of his hand, causing it to display the planet and surrounding space.  "My fleet, a few dozen Gravagan warships, and some of the Alpha's battleships are in orbit now, but they're a mere fraction of the armada the Seclorans are bringing.  The bulk of the Alpha's fleet, as well as a Harakai armada and several thousand of their troops will be arriving later, but won't make it in time to intercept."
"The Seclorans remain the only major power to consider Gravaga a Villain State."  Sharon continued as the holographic fleet began to blink in as their data was loaded into the system.  "With the Mad's gone and the fleet in disarray they'll consider this the best chance in four thousand years to end us as a threat to the Universe's stability.  Even though they were requested as help, they're coming as conquerors."
"The Mads?"
"Cyssie mostly, putting a fleet in orbit over any planet where she has an active lab is...unwise."
"The last time the Seclorans brought a fleet into orbit she was ten, it took four hours before she'd managed to destroy every single one, but it was only about five minutes before they were all immobilized."  A Gravagan admiral smiled from a monitor at the far end of the bar.  "We had started mooring the fleet out of system when she was four, and even the Pythen's give Gravaga a wider berth than Anatolia."  He paused, sipping a latte, "I've never seen so many rubber ducks in my life."
Prince Curt gave a snicker, then faced Salvia again.  "Earl Hariel," Sharon spat again, and Salvia noticed that many of the other Gravagans in the cafe had done the same.  "was set to open a gate linking a military base on Ukra into the drydocks.  It seems that when she arrived she changed her mind.  Currently, she and several higher ranking members of the Rune Knights are camped out on the front gate of the Palace."  He flipped the map again, displaying the city once more.  "Everything within a one block radius has been leveled, fires are raging within four blocks.  To the best of our knowledge, the gate remains securely locked."
"Hariel," Sharon spat, interrupting her own sentence.  "Doesn't care what the sides are.  All she wants is to burn the planet to the ground and deface everything Thalia's ever had part of."
"In all fairness, Thalia is the reason she is who she is today.  The great conspiracy ruined her life, and she's too much of a psychopath to move on."
Sharon sighed.  "The Prince is right.  Let me explain, her incendiary honor the Earl of Star Haven lived in one of the villages Thalia targeted over the years for the creation of new, impassioned heroes to join Hal in his adventures.  It was her sixth birthday when a hundred Gravagan soldiers assaulted the village, and on the same day she first manifested her pyromantic powers.  Only a dozen men survived, including the commanding officer of the unit.  Thalia, never one to let a loss slip by, gave him twice the men and ordered him to attack again the following year, to no greater avail.  And so it went until her sixteenth birthday, at which, in command of fifty thousand men, the commander finally secured permission to use orbital strikes as a part of his assault.  It took an hour before he got a shot past her, but the village was wiped from the map.  forty humans died, the entire village.  Hariel was found by a family of tourists, who took her to the local hospital.  When she woke from her magic induced coma, Hariel learned her village's fate and sought out the only man known to oppose Thalia, Old Cloak."
"Who we all now know to be Hal."
"Correct.  Needless to say, Hal never allowed Thalia to ever be killed, only defeated.  As a result, Hariel continued to travel with him for many years, until one day, she fell in love."
"With Hal."
"Yes.  Hal rejected her, but she didn't let go.  One day, she put two and two together and realized that Hal was the Thalia's never present consort, and Thalia was Hal's often mentioned, never seen wife."
"I remember Braga telling me about that.  He was saying that Hariel's disappearance was the result of Katherine's mind games, which she confessed to boldly when confronted.  That was the season before Katherine departed herself."
"Kate always had a soft spot for the heroes.  She's a good girl, even if she is selfish and uninterested most of the time.  I think her guilt over Hariel was what pushed her over the edge.  In any case, when Hariel left, Tala, the Storm Mage, approached her with the offer of a seat on the pantheon.  For all her obsession and madness, she remains quite clever and very powerful.  She regularly tried to convince the pantheon to act against Thalia and Hal, and to disrupt the conspiracy, but recognized that she never had the power to do so alone.  And in time, when the Frostbourne war began, it was Thalia who would direct aid to Star Haven when no one else thought her still alive.  When that dreadful war ended, Thalia was dead, and ironically Hariel found herself in possession of a force of adventurers and soldiers strong enough to oppose Thalia."

Salvia pondered the entire scenario for a moment.  Hariel was legendarily powerful, and her hatred for Thalia's family, as well as her love for Old Cloak, were well documented.  It made a sort of sense that the woman who had demanded single combat with the Lych Queen Sarah, known even then as Thalia's wayward, bloodthirsty daughter would have truly desired combat with the then dead Empress.  And the reaction of every Gravagan at the mention of her name made it clear that she was both a feared and reviled foe.  It meant that, even if Kate's spell worked, the newly re-installed Thalia would be facing her most devoted adversary, and without the advantage of preparation or armies.  Perhaps the situation would resolve itself, even if she and the assembled leaders failed.
More important though, particularly as Salvia was neither pessimistic nor fond of the idea of dying, Kate had required components, and the spell would be using a ghoul.  If either were destroyed then the spell would fail outright, and if Salvia's own experience was any indicator the only cost to the caster would be the time wasted in preparing it.  If they could reach Kate in time, the spell could be stopped.  But that would require breaching the palace first.
"How long will it take to get us into the palace?"
"At the rate we're going, hours.  But it could take longer if we have to fight past Hariel, or if the gates prove sterner than expected."
"How much longer?"
The Prince sighed and scratched his head abashedly.  "Years."
"We don't have that kind of time!"
"Try the windows then.  Much faster, specially designed to be broken through.  I'm amazed Sh'r'n didn't think of it really."  Every weapon in the room was drawn and brought to bear on the steelsil wrapped figure in the doorway, and the young nieldic man beside her.  Then Salvia heard a rather unexpected voice.
"Salvia?  I thought I taught you better than to get involved in a war?"

The Other Witch; The Secretary-General of Gravaga

The battle was in full swing already.  Salvia could have sworn it had only been two days ago that they'd met with the Alpha.  How was it then that all the armies were already in place?  Gravaga made sense; this was their territory, they'd have been fighting for months most likely, but she'd spotted a band of the Seraph, an elite band of Harakai warriors, flying overhead.  They would have needed at least a few days to reach this far into the Empire, and unlike the Ga-Vok and Nieldic troops wouldn't have been able to move in through the gates opened by Star Haven and Stormguarde's forces.
It was, Salvia quickly discovered, no easy matter to cross the warzone and find the headquarters set up by the Commanders of the united armies.  Luckily, it seemed that the gates had been opened within the city and while there was still stiff resistance around the palace, the worst of the fighting was on the outskirts, where those Gravagans aligned with the usurper had been driven back and had now dug in.  Even without military training beyond that common to any Nielda who had grown up playing TacSim, Salvia knew that it was only a matter of time before reinforcements arrived and the defending Gravagans launched a counterattack.  Unlike the armies, who's arrival had been hastened by uncommon feats of magic, fleets still had to take the time needed to travel between worlds.  It was the navy, as it so often was, that would be able to decide the fate of the battle.
"Halt!  For whom do you fight, woman?"
She could have just as easily asked the silver armored Gravagan the same question, word for word.  Even though they fought for both sides, all of the Gravagans wore the same, antiquated armor that they would have worn while united under the Dark Lady.  There was no way of telling which answer would get her out of this without a fight.
"I'm looking for Prince Curt and the Alpha."
They leveled their weapons and delivered a line they'd probably spent years rehearsing for those times when they encountered Hack's many adventuring parties.  "Drop your weapons and come with us."
What was most likely less rehearsed was the way the building behind them exploded as a three-story tall Gravagan mech burst through and leveled its weapons upon them.
"In the name of the Empress, I claim this witch as my prisoner!"
The soldiers didn't freeze, they didn't panic, and they didn't reply.  The entire unit began to scatter in the same breath, spinning around to pop off shots at vulnerable points on the mech.  Each shot was deflected harmlessly by the unit's shields, or else absorbed by its heavy plating, but the pilot was unable to track down all of the soldiers.  Which was not to say it did not deal better than it got, several soldiers were shattered by great, lancing bolts of energy, and one soldier, too slow to react, was caught up in the war-machine's triple claws and wrenched apart as he called out to his fellows to save themselves.  There was no blood, Salvia had never fully realized this about Gravagans before that moment.  All that remained of the slain man was fragments of purple crystal and silver armor; his eyes frozen still as if they had never been able to move in the first place.  But his hair, fine as threads of silk and glimmering violet in the light of the battle's fire, still moved in the light breeze; a last testament to his once living nature.
"Now, Witch, my master has given me orders to..."  He was cut short by a lancing bolt of crimson energy.
"Now that I have your attention, Samuel, release the Witch and stand down."  The voice was amplified in much the same manner as his, betraying it's owner as piloting a mech of her own.  But this new voice was more resolved, determined even.  It was not unlike listening to the Alpha or Price Curt when they spoke to their subordinates.  There was even a part of it that sounded like Katherine; frank, direct, and to the point.
"General Sharon, I should have known the traitor would reveal herself in these days.  Repent, and perhaps our Mistress will forgive you when she returns.  Though," He trained one great cannon on the mech that had now climbed over the rubble, "I rather doubt it.  You know how she can be."
"You think me traitor for seeking to cast out those who would enslave our people?  Gravaga deserves better than to be pawns of Immortal games.  Join me and we can make Gravaga the nation it deserves to be.  A nation that builds, that lives, not one that simply waits for the next round of adventurers to come and kill our sons and daughters in some eternal plot."
An amber blast coursed from the cannon above her.  Sharon, the pilot of the other mech, not only dodged it but returned one of her own crimson bolts.  Unlike Samuel, Sharon seemed to have taken lessons in proper marksmanship, and the blast splashed across his shields with an ear racking explosion.
"I will not betray my creator!  You and your rebels will fall, and I will stand at the master's side triumphant."
He began to charge.  Sharon sidestepped gracefully and spun around, tripping his mech by the leg.  She planted one of her feet on his right arm and held one arm aloft.
"No, but I am at least certain you will stand by your master's side before day's end.  You have died a General of Gravaga, defending it against its threats, and your children shall remember you for what you were."  The mech's claw began to rotate at considerable speed.  "A good man, and a hero to your people.  Good Bye, old friend."
The claw drilled through the back of his mech.  The sound of steel rending steel overpowered his final screams, but did not hide them.  Sharon stood over the ruined mech for a moment and then turned to face Salvia.
"Climb on, the other Commanders will want to know you are safe.  Convincing Prince Curt not to come looking for you himself was no easy task, and I daresay the Alpha will be at far greater ease knowing you are safe as well."  She lowered one claw gently, allowing Salvia to take hold and be hoisted onto the Mech's giant shoulder.
"I don't know if I can face the Alpha right now.  Braga is..."
"Yes, Hal disappeared several days ago.  Braga's body appeared the same day hanging from the palace gate.  We were forced to launch our assault early when the Alpha ordered the Oracles to tear open the gate from their end.  It has set us off plan noticeably, but not affected our success in any manner.  In fact, the Harakai devoted several additional fleets to the battle and dispatched a unit of the Seraph under the command of the High Inquisitor herself.  They've been invaluable in dispatching of enemy necromancers and scouting the battlefield."  Sharon paused for a moment, still running across the battlefield with a surprisingly great deal of gymnastic skill for a mech, then she asked quietly, "I am sorry for his loss.  The Scholar of the Falling Leaves was quite dear to me as well."
"I just woke up today, I haven't really had a chance to take it all in yet."
"Ah yes, you are Nielda after all."  She took a deep breath.  "I will miss our nights together.  Few men, much less wolves, have ever held my interest for so long."
Salvia almost lost her grip on the Mech's shoulder handle.  "You what?"
"He told the most wonderful stories.  I was there for many of the events he studied and saw them first hand, yet when he told them I could scarcely help but be enraptured by them."  She paused.  "Oh, you thought I meant something else entirely.  Sorry, I forget how you organics feel about the reproductive process."
The mech came to a stop in a large plaza, from the looks of things a bazaar of sorts.  Salvia dropped carefully off the mech's shoulder, just as Sharon, a fairly tall Gravagan woman with slightly smoother features than your average Gravagan, dropped out of the mech's back.
"So you and he never actually did anything, you just misspoke then?"
"Now," She winked, only noticeable by the fact that her eyelids were a rather darker shade of purple than her eyes, "I never said that, did I?"
"Ah, so you were his 'sweet secretary on Gravaga'?  I knew as soon as I met you that I'd read a description of you somewhere!"  The Alpha, boisterous even in the midst of battle, practically bounded up to them.  "It is good to see you again Spiderskirt, we feared the worst."
"I'm sorry about Braga."
"Not as sorry as that knave James will be when next we meet.  I knew he smelled suspicious the moment I saw him."
"James?"
Sharon nodded.  "Head of the Black Hand, Thalia's personal assassins.  He's been hiding out ever since she died.  ZG and I have been hunting them down in our spare time, of which I'm afraid neither of us has had much.  I knew that when this day came they would be a dangerous asset in Hal's hands, so we've been trying to deny him their use."
"ZG?"
"You've met, nothing else about him is important for you to know.  Just understand that there are many plans coming to fruition today."
"Sharon, the Prince, and I have been working to disrupt Hal's work.  But time is short, come, you must tell us everything you know."  The Alpha motioned for them to follow him to a nearby, shattered cafe.

The Other Witch; Upon Wings of Whitest Snow

Salvia regained consciousness bound and suspended from the ceiling.  There was a note, turned in such a way that it was clearly intended to be read by someone dangling from the ceiling, reading, 'rope will snap if you use magic or struggle too much' and looking down she became aware that there was nothing preventing her from falling directly to the surface of whatever planet they were now parked in low atmospheric orbit over.  It would take mere minutes to impact against the open grassy fields, and Salvia found herself wondering how long it would be before anyone could identify her body if she fell.
Then came the second question, why was she still alive at all?  Hack had simply killed Braga, and any protection she possessed he too possessed.  Except, she supposed, those unique to a witch.  Some kind of witch magic must have the ability to pierce the magical defenses Hack had.  Braga, God rest his soul, had once mentioned that Hack's Cloak was matched only by Thalia's crown for the invulnerability of its defense.  And she had seen in all the old footage that he was never so much as struck by his foes.  Something always happened to stop them, or if there were too many, they simply missed outright.  It had always seemed rather contrived for him to be so invincible, pushing the limits of luck and probability.  Anything that could work in his favor, did; even if it meant that swords were turned just wrong to land a blow or a blaster's charge finally ran down before a final blow could land.  It was as though Luck itself defended him.
That must have been it.  Witches had long ago mastered Luck, learning ways to manipulate the odds of impossible events occuring, or more importantly, to eliminate that final .0001% chance that things could fail.  No one could survive killing a witch; the woe of blades befell all who had helped take their life.  And to ensure justice, the coven maintained a large number of specially enchanted blades for such a purpose.  Knives of silver to slay Lycans, of blessed wood to pierce a vampire's heart, bloodstone blades for demons and immortals, and many sturdy steel blades for those of mortal's pace.  Each one was enchanted to not simply seek their target, but to thrust themself across all of space and strike without error.  There was no way to dodge, no armor strong enough to stop them, and most important of all, no cure for their cursed wounds.  If they failed to kill, they also failed to cease bleeding; if they failed to avenge, they marked their target for eternity.  Even if Hack wanted her dead, he couldn't afford for all his allies to know he had slain a witch.  Particularly when they all knew him to have traveled with him not but days before.

But all her worries and speculations soon proved unneeded.  A blur of white was followed by a soft, serene voice.
"I thought it might come to this.  We must make haste, lest my dear one notice I am absent too long.  Battle is at hand, dark days loom about us on all sides.  The day is come that Frost, not Fire shall set the universe aright."
The air had indeed grown cold, like a dry winter's day.  The rope contracted, the began to splinter as it froze solid.  Salvia could feel her bindings begin to crumble away as though they were a thick frost, and she began to seek the words that would slow her inevitable descent.  It did not come; the bindings were replaced by a set of gripping claws, tight enough that she did not fear be let go but not so tight that she felt imperiled by them.
"You're Katherine's companion, from the cottage.  I know your voice."
"And you are Daughter Salvia, whose father-yet-not-father is Krell the reborn.  Did you read my dear one's report?  It would make you easier to relate to for me."
"No, but can I've been busy.  Can we focus on the problem of our being very high off the ground and that a good man was just killed by a guy the whole universe has believed to be more or less the last word in good guys for thousands of years but is using his daughter, your...girlfriend? to bring back his long deceased wife, by all accounts a pretty messed up lady, and that the chances of succeeding at either stopping him or at least escaping are not promising?"
"I can see why the old child is so fond of witches; you are not an amusing people.  But you are correct, and you are exactly the sort of person I need if the darkened cloak is to be stopped."
Salvia looked down across the plains and saw a grand city growing quickly on the horizon.  But between them and the city were vast armies of purple figures, all drawn up in battle lines.  Artillery and Mechs dotted the field, their metallic gleam distinct from the crystalline glint of the purple and black of the foot soldiers.  And there was fire all about, drawing lines between the city's defenders and it's attackers, and further flames spurted periodically in the midst of formations, cleaving their neat orderly patterns but never disrupting the focus of soldiers she couldn't help but recognize as Gravagan.  The city itself could be recognized easily by any of the hundred trillion Nielda of the universe as the Capitol of the Gravagan Empire, Immerstadt, the unyielding city.  High towers and statues dotted the city, and the palace rose nine stories above even the tallest tower.  On every street there was the mark of the crown and in every square a fountain or statue dedicated to their Empress' greatness.  It was an Ego trip as much as it was a city.  And today, for the first time since the Frostbourne war, when a bold Lych who's name was lost to time had slipped his fleet under the guard of all Gravaga and landed his undead horde on the city's outskirts, the city was under siege, this time by its own people.
"I will set you here, and you will have to fight your way to the streets.  Make your way to the Lost Princess Memorial Library, the Alpha of the Ga-Vok, Prince of the Nielda, and Most Daring General of Free Gravaga will be there.  Tell them what you know and what has passed.  Let the eldest guide you to the heart of shadow, and do not forget my Dear One when the time comes.  I must go to her now, the time of her casting is at hand and she must not be alone."
Salvia fell nearly fifteen feet to the ground, landing in a pile of laundry and pillows that did not seem to be there for any other reason than to cushion her fall.  She looked up just in time to see the one that had carried her, who had felt like a dragon and moved with like speed, fade into little more than a wisp of cloud that darted across the open sky towards the palace.

The Other Witch; The Plan Revealed

Hack had been terrifyingly silent since they had spoken to the Alpha.  And it was a directed, brooding silence at that, the worst sort imaginable.  He'd been willing to speak with James, but only with James.  Salvia couldn't help but fear he'd begun to suspect that she was not one hundred percent behind this quest, and the Alpha's protection and support, in any other place and time a blessing with few equals, seemed to be almost a dire curse.
"If it makes any difference; Old Cloak has never in all his years been much for conversation.  In the past, he lead adventurers onward with mere inklings of a quest.  Oftentimes, he followed more than he lead.  He was a guide, and that he leads us now is only proof of the world's change."
"Except," Replied Salvia, raising her head from its place atop her folded arms, "for the part where he leads.  He isn't leading, or adventuring even.  All he's doing is carting a half a handful of people around and teeling them to 'wait here' and 'don't get into trouble'.  If he'd wanted an adventure, wouldn't he make the people who have no idea what he wants done figure it out?  Or heck, land somewhere besides a palace for once.  Maybe force us to track down a hermit or two, who happen to live in wyvern infested mountains or a cave hidden in a coral reef.  I've done more adventure going to the laundromat than this!"
She had, and it had nothing to do with this adventure.  Most of her best exploits started at laundromats, the random phone call, someone leaving a note in her purse, and that was only the coincidental ones.  Vampires and government agents, both with their difficult to remove bloodstains and casually worn formal attire, were regulars at most out of the way, poorly surveillance laundromats.  More than one politician had decided to conduct a sordid affair using apartments located above laundromats run by loyal cronies, heavens only knew why.  And there was even one time when she'd been forced to enlist the local law enforcement in subduing a rampaging mob of animated washing machines.  By comparison, this was little more than a really quiet road trip.
Braga set down a book on the table.  The title, Salvia forced herself to read despite its being upside down, was Reaper; an account of the Eternal Assassin By Koren Immersfeld.  She recognized the name, some of the witches in the library talked about him as though he were some sort of patron saint of all librarys.  The last name she did recognize though, it was the one shared by both Katherine and Hack; the name of Empress Thalia of Gravaga.
"You said Katherine was arguing with someone when you slept in that morning?"
"I never saw who, but yes.  Why?"
"It's not the who that's bothering me; Katherine was always friendly with passers-by.  What concerns me is the subject matter.  The spell you mentioned, it was only performed successfully once, by someone named Rea?"
"I think so."
"This is her, this is a book about an immortal Koren identifies as 'Rea'.  He says she was cursed, several ages past, with immortality."
"How dreadful, to be able to run about doing whatever you wanted for ten thousand years.  What clever witch came up with that curse?"
"She did, and it was closer to twelve thousand.  Apparently, at the age of fourteen, this 'Rea' traded her own mortality for the life of another.  The spell itself, 're-installation', is known to most experienced mages, including myself.  But I never could have dreamed that one so young could have achieved it so long ago."
"How in the Imperial Brooch did you find this book?"
" I sent ahead, my..the Alpha has many resources at his disposable, and the Oracles have lent him their full support.  Apparently they possess secrets regarding this matter not written in any library, but they have lent us those which they are privy to dispense.  The girl, she bypassed the corruption of the spell by paying the proper toll of death, and both the Oracles and Koren seem to agree that God himself chose to give her a greater responsibility as a reward.  But she had to bear the curse of a mighty demon, or possibly even the wroth of all Hell, as a consequence for thusly spitting in their face; she would live forever, but she would never age."
Stuck at fourteen forever, and from the looks of the title killing her way across the cosmos for twelve thousand years, all because she brought back one life.  The Elder Witches had always warned her and her fellows not to meddle with the realm of death, now Salvia could see why.  It'd be one thing to go through eternity as Kate or Hack or even as a Lich; but to spend eternity trapped in the body of a child, that would be a challenge far beyond her own patience to endure.
"So that's what Hack is having Katherine do?"
"I can only wonder who Old Cloak would want ressurected, or further still, why he would enlist his oldest enemy's daughter to do so."
"They'll try and bring back Thalia."  It made perfect sense now.  Hack was going to bring his wife back.  That was why he seemed so different than in all the stories; he had been going mad with grief, or perhaps was now long mad with nothing but grief to hold on to.  Katherine, repentant for her own past and for her part in her mother's death, couldn't have even attempted to deny her father in the matter.  And she was a mage strong enough to pull off the magic itself, but she could never possibly pay the price.  And no one knew, not without asking Rea herself, what had made the spell work that one time when so many mortal mages had failed before and after her.  It was a doomed venture, and Salvia suspected that Katherine knew it from the start.  That was why she had shared as much as she had, so that Salvia could stop the ritual before it killed her.  It had to be.  But it was too late to tell the Alpha or Prince Curt, so they would have to wait until they arrived at the High Temple of the Harakai.  It would be her last chance to warn their allies what Hack was planning before it was...
"Too late?"  She refocused on the world around her just in time to spot Hack's fist closing on her.  As the world darkened she saw Braga, blood splurting from a fresh wound, collapsing beside her.

The Other Witch; A Father to his People

Ga-Vok society was nothing at all like those of Nielda, or even of humans.  Machines had a greater role in the economy, and sharing came fairly naturally, if not exactly perfectly translated, to the canine race.  As such, the economy was self sustaining.  Agriculture, industry, manufacturing, and even maintenance were simply non-existent career fields to them.  Instead, they were simply warriors, traders, skilled craftsmen, and teachers.  What was more, no single Ga-Vok was any one of those things, but instead they were all, all of them.  It was in many ways an ideal society; one propelled by a desire for communal well being, and personal excellence.  The later drive was at the forefront of Ga-Vok politics.  The Alpha was understood by outsiders as the head of the Ga-Vok Confederacy much as an Emperor or a President would rule over any other state.  To the Ga-Vok, he was more of a respected voice; in times of war they looked to him to lead the charge, and in times of peace he set an example to all the people of strength and wisdom.  

Becoming the Alpha, Braga explained, was a life's work, and one that most Ga-Vok knew to be beyond them from an early age.  But for those strongest members of their clans, those warriors with the guile to outwit their enemies as much as overpower them, and for those who's clan's had the ambition to propel them into the highest competition of all their people it was the ultimate aspiration.  

Not for personal glory, Salvia was surprised to hear, but because for the honor of being accepted as worthiest of all the people.  An Alpha gave up his name when he ascended to that rank, and even his accomplishments from before he became Alpha were attributed not to him, but to the Ga-Vok people as a whole.  In order to rule his people, an Alpha had to give up his very identity.  Only the Oracles, guardians of Ga-Vok traditions and an order of magic users as powerful as witches and respected even by immortals for their insight, kept records of an Alpha's true identity, stored along with all the other secret records of their people.  

It came as no surprise to them when they came unto the Hall of the Alpha that it was neither grand nor particularly old.  In fact, it was barely distinguishable from the other more or less dome shaped buildings that made up the city.  Their were no guards at the door, but all the Ga-Vok of the city were armed, and they seemed to communicate with little more than body language.  The Alpha had been forewarned of their coming, Prince Curt had seen to that, but Salvia had expected more of a carpet, or even suspicion than they were now receiving.  

"Wait here, I will speak with him.  The Ga-Vok respect Immortals, and especially accomplished warriors like myself.  Do not cause another commotion, understood?"

They all nodded, James grunted an affirmation.  A small crowd gathered around them as the doors closed behind Hack.  Then a single, fairly tall Ga-Vok stepped out of the crowd and raised his muzzle at them.  

"Hail Braga Pageturner, Hail Salvia Spiderskirt, and though I do not know your name young human, I welcome you also to our beautiful planet."  

It was, though the buildings were a combination of concrete and gray stone, the streets were soft grass and there were trees towering all about the city.  The sun shone uninterrupted by fog or haze, and a cool wind blew from the southeast.  It was high summer, but the air was light and Salvia felt much cooler in her newly blue dress than she would have in black.  

"Hail friend, We have come seeking your aid in a battle to come."

"Yes, Curt Brightsword of the Nielda contacted me a few weeks past.  He told me that Old Cloak is building an army.  I have already begun to prepare our fleets and our men.  Any foe of True Gravaga is a foe of the Ga-Vok."  He looked back over the assembled crowds.  "Let it not be said that the Ga-Vok have forgotten those who lent us shelter in the time of Bitter Frost.  A warrior repays his debts, and aids his friends without thought of his own gain."  The crowd vocally approved, some drawing blades and shaking them at the sky, others howling or chasing their tails in fits of what Salvia could only hope was some form of strange patriotic ecstasy.  The tall Ga-Vok turned back to them and said more quietly, "Although, I anticipate we will gain much by our actions, though how much can only be determined by time."  

Hack burst through the door, a fury on his brow, as he heard the sounds of the assembly.  Then he stopped and saw the tall Ga-Vok and said only, "You are late."

"Nonsense, the Office of the Alpha is wherever his people have need of him.  I should have thought as experienced an adventurer as yourself would be sympathetic towards the wandering called for of a Ga-Vok leader."  

"Of course, I should know better than to expect otherwise from you.  The Alpha is, as always, a servant of his people."  

Salvia noticed that both Braga and the Alpha's tails stopped moving, and began to stiffen.  James clearly didn't notice, but she could tell that he and much of the crowd were becoming uncomfortable as well.  

"I see you have chosen to bring Braga with you, and the Spell-Fan from Gasca, who has spared the Falling-leaves much embarrassment.  These two are of my warding; I am sure you will take good care of them both."  

"It is in your power to do so, if you send your troops at..."

"Oh get off it."  The sheer mundane quality of the phrase through Salvia for a loop.  "You will have your army, and a fleet.  But know this, your crusade shall not meet with the end you claim to seek.  I do not come to aid you, I come to honor the alliances of my ancestors and to honor my own commitments.  You, Old Cloak, are but an afterthought in the mind of the Ga-Vok.  And so also your schemes.  The Oracles have told me of you, and your conspiracy, and I will not see my...my people thrown away to serve a bit part in your games.  When we come, Braga will be our contact, and I will lead the battle with my own axe.  And when we are done I shall spit on the vacant throne and our debt shall be re-payed.  Is that clear, mange-mutt?"

Hack turned silently and headed to the ship.  Braga caught Salvia before she began to follow.  "The Alpha wants a quick word with you."  

"I do actually.  I have owed you a personal thanks for some time now.  Although it is..not permitted for me to do so."  

"I mentioned how I was from the same tribe as the warrior who's murder you investigated?  I failed to mention, he was my nephew, the girl you saved, she is my brother's daughter."

"She has begun to dtudy spellcraft with the Oracles today,"  The Alpha stated quietly.  "I just dropped her off in their care.  She hopes that someday she can serve the Oracles much as you serve the Witches."  He took out a pendant and handed it to her.  "She wanted you to have this.  It isn't much in the ways of magic, but it will identify you as favored by the Oracles, and by the Alpha.  On the behalf of Braga's brother, a thankful father, may it bring you fortitude and insight in all your travels."  

The Alpha raised his muzzle in the traditional sign of respect between one Ga-Vok and another, and Braga joined him in it.  Salvia bared her own throat in response, then hurried back to the ship.  

The Other WItch; Situation on Seclora

"Other than there being a lot more aliens here, what makes this Empire any different than the last one?  I mean," James continued, despite the very obvious increasing threat of Salvia doing unthinkable things to everyone in her vicinity who wasn't either Braga or blatantly foreign.  "Your all the same species, right?"
Braga put a hand on Salvia's shoulder and whispered, "Cut the boy some slack, he is only Human after all."  Then he swiveled towards the only human member of their little party and addressed him directly.  "Let us simply say that there are significant ideological differences.  The Nieldic Empire, or 'old Empire', is made up of traditionalists, the old nobility, those who wished to defend what they had some thousands of years ago, and for the most part is happy to stay behind the defenses they've built around themselves over the ages.  This Empire, the Secloran Empire, is the descendants of people who wanted to expand, to be free of the old ways, and to exercise their power over the universe.  But since then things have taken very different routes.  The Seclorans have a strongly religious, fluid nobility, and the nobility is ten times as large; where the Nielda have a very strong, respected, and generally ancient nobility.  That said, the Nielda have less nepotism, since even nobles are expected to fight for the highest ranks, and yet even the lowest Secloran can achieve nobility."
"Also," Salvia broke down and declared in low, bitter tones, "The Seclorans consider witches an affront against God and like to burn us when they can find us.  This, along with their tendency to treat other magic users, anyone else they have religious differences with, and their 'client' races as second class citizens makes them the most bigoted, self-righteous smegheads in the known universe."
Braga sighed.  "Yes, While I can't comment on their views of other religions or magic users, the fact that they assume I lack both is indicative of the third.  Be glad Humans look so similar to Nielda, or they'd probably be passing you a bunch of pamphlets with messages like 'submit yourself to the authorities, and sin no more', without actually finding out what you'd done first."
"I have no idea what either of you just said, but I definitely liked the other Empire's clothes better.  These people seem so stuffy and formal after the cool cloaks and below the shoulder dresses.  No offense Sal."
Salvia never wore dresses that low-cut, mostly because she didn't own any, but also because she had no occasion to wear them.
"None taken, I agree with you actually.  This whole place puts my hair on end."
It did.  Seclora lacked the same levels of magical saturation that the homeworld had, but Salvia hated to imagine what it would have been like here if they were.  The magic was tainted here, like thousands of warlocks working in unison to rip open gates to hell.  She had heard rumors of, while certainly not so many warlocks nor so foul  deed, shadowy deeds and deals with dark powers to gain the power of nobility, or even the emperor's ear.  Part of making power fluid, was that such deals could be struck at all, no member of the Imperial Nobility had done anything worse than necromancy since the Frostbourne wars.  Sure there were rumors about the late Empress, but they were nothing more than rumors.  Not that anyone could have been sure they weren't; everyone alive from her Father's era had been necrotized during the Death Cult attack.  It meant they were all still around, unless they'd fallen in battle, and stood as an eternal reminder of the consequences of a lapse in security.  It also meant that Toln was the first Emperor in over three hundred years who looked alive.  A fact that the Seclorans found not only abhorrent, but reason enough to have waged war across the deep parts of space between the two Empires, and even, at times, to outright invade.  They'd never suceeded, Salvia's sister witches had been influential in that matter several times, but it still left a burning hatred for the self-righteous outsiders in every Imperial citizen.  And nothing confirmed her preconcieved prejudice like the palor of evil magics that sat over the palace.
"I suspect dark magics.  Braga?"
"I second your outlook, supernatural forces are at work here."
James looked back and forth at them.  His limited experience with magic made him uncertain of the significance of their suspicions, but the presence of supernatural forces seemed obvious to him, his companions were a Witch and a short canine with a mind and reflexes like a steel trap.

"Quiet you three, the Seclorans are very formal.  Wait here, and don't get into any trouble."
Hack closed the door to the throne room behind him, leaving the rest of the group in a large room full of men who were all, from the looks of things, trying to get something from the Emperor.  There were guards, indistinguishable from one another in their massive, powered armor.  The amount of firepower in the room was probably equivalent to that of a normal Nieldic company of footsoldiers, and that was just the clearly visible, and absurdly large, rifles strapped to each soldier's back.  As Salvia surveyed the room, she quickly realized that those were the only defenses present.  There were no enchantments, no magic wielding elite, or even a few carefully hidden shock panels; only the garrishly garbed gentlemen, and the massive armored guards.  It was no wonder Emperor Kvald the Fourth had been able to singlehandedly fight his way into the throne room and slay their emperor; any true warrior could have done so with ease.  Clearly, it was only their unchecked aggression that had kept them from falling to every new threat the universe faced; any force that could get a handful of mages within sight of the palace could have rent the mundane defenses asunder before simply walking in, and the wards that prevented teleportation and scrying had the tattered feel of a flag in the aftermath of battle.  Perhaps they had more defenses in the past, a mage of Katherine's reputation alone could have swept the defenses they had now with a brush of her hand and with the next gesture struck entire buildings from the surface of the world.  Salvia actually began probing the defenses mentally, checking their strength against her own, just to see if it was plausible for a mage of her own limited power to penetrate them.
"Well golly folks," said James, "don't suppose I could get a drink or a chair perhaps?"
Everyone in the room gave him scathing, and in certain cases incredulous, glances, but neither spoke nor acted beyond the courses of their own affairs.
Braga snorted derisively, "I can see why the Alpha appoints only his weakest ambassadors to this place; it would test a warrior beyond his measures, but to a fool it is paradise."  That got more of a rise out of them.  A few of the more haughty looking solicitors turned up their noses and looked pointedly away from the strangers.  Salvia snickered, it was actually, to her knowledge, entirely true.  The Ga-Vok considered this a dead-end posting, and most warriors would have sooner been exiled outright.  The Nielda had no post here, for obvious reasons, but had in the past shared the opinions of the Ga-Vok.  Secloran politics was dull beyond measure, full of grandstanding and false patirotism, but they managed to make the system work well enough.  It was still a pain for the rest of the universe to deal with.
Salvia found a crack in the wards.  On any Nieldic world, or home, or base, or even ship, she would have mended it with a few words and been on her way, but this was a fairly considerable crack and in a hostile palace.
"Braga, can you hold their attention for a moment, I'm going to try something."
"Be careful."  He faced the group and said in a less than quiet voice, "Say James, did you know that the Secloran Empire has been shadowruled by no less than five seperate demons?  And they say that the Empress likes..."  Braga got hit in the nose by the nearest of the mob that had begun to form around him.  Even the guards were starting to move from their posts, and their focus was all focused on the irate throng.  It was the opportunity of a lifetime.  She stretched out her will and pictured another place, chanted a short incantation, and opened her eyes again.  The fight had vanished.  In its place was a little basement office she knew all to well.  The cobwebs in the corners had grown more noticeable, and the desk gotten dusty, but the nameplate on the desk was still legible, and there were still books on the shelf.  Salvia stretched out her mind and found the crack in the wards again, and pulled herself back through, with only seconds of absence.
"I thought I told you not to get into trouble."
"My apologies Old Cloak, I was indiscreet.  Next time I will be more quiet."
"Just be glad no one important was here today.  The emperor has agreed to send his fleet, and a number of troops.  But they are a pittance compared to what we will need.  I hope the Alpha will be more generous."