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Jenever's Prelude

Sleep did not come easily that night. Re's death and Z'Shar's defeat played over and over again in her mind - not helped by the fact that it was a hot night, with scarcely a breeze to stir the long muslin drapes that covered the vast open windows. Sleep would not come easily to many in the palace...

Just when Jenever was finally on the point of relaxing, there was a sudden soft thud! on the bed.

A attack? But the weight did not feel human ... far lighter. And when she sat upright, dagger in hand, she saw a slim elegant white cat on the end of the bed, long tail curled around her sleek paws. Something told Jenever the cat was female - surely no male could be so poised ...

The cat was watching Jenever with a cool, calculating stare, as though assessing her for some incalculable reasons of its own. Then it rose and jumped off the bed, moving smoothly to the door, pausing there for a moment as though waiting to see whether Jenever would be prepared to follow.

Jenever slid out of bed, dagger still in hand. She picked her belt from her bedside chair and deftly buckled it around her. Wherever she was going, she wasn't going there with only a knife.

She considered the cat. Cats were unusual in S'jaiteh, as most considered them bad luck, but there were members of the nobility who kept them as anchors to older, softer days. Jenever personally approved of cats - they were killing machines, impersonal and generally uninterested in humans except as sources of their pleasure. She approved particularly of this one, as it was aesthetically pleasing and something about it tickled her subconscious. There was something allegorical about following a white cat into a hot night, to Jenever, something metaphorical without being cliched.

And so she knew without making a conscious decision that she would follow. The floor was cool and smooth beneath her bare feet, pleasant in the hot, muggy night.

Smiling at her own rashness and inwardly contemplating all the ways in which she could be made to pay for it later, she whispered, "Yes, yes, I'm coming."

The corridors were silent and still. The guards, who should have been in attendance, seemed to have vanished. Only the long muslin curtains were stirring faintly in the night breeze as she walked slowly behind the white cat, which moved onward with a steady, patient lope ... Shafts of moonlight, imprisoned behind the drapes, made valiant attempts to escape as the night breeze stirred ...allowing them to cast long shafts of mysterious pale moonlight on the cool marble floor. From shafts of light to pools of darkness she moved, the white cat glimmering ahead of her, and all the palace was silent, as though it held its breath.

An open door, a high black arch. The cat passed through the arch without hesitation ...

And Jenever followed behind to enter a room she had never seen before. vastly high and long, with moonlight pouring in from distant windows near the ceiling, giving the illusion of ghostly white pillars reaching from the floor to the ceiling. And the room was quite, quite bare.

Only, at the far end, was the faint shimmer of a gleaming gold frame – but it seemed to be largely covered by a cloak of darkness.

The cat looked once at Jenever and then began, with infinite delicacy, to pace along the floor, between the columns of moonlight, heading for the mysterious cloaked object at the far end.

Jenever paused for only a second, running her eyes over the unfamiliar room, scanning it for any traces of danger. It seemed empty and yet...something was teasing at the back of her mind, something completely different from the simple fact that this room did not exist in the palace she knew.

She slipped into a predatory stalk, her movements silent and graceful as those of the cat she followed. She was not certain she wanted to know what it was that lay at the end of the room, but she was certain that she had to see it.

'Mirrors and blood,' she thought to herself, eyeing the golden frame. Then she tossed back her long silvery hair, set her teeth and smiled the smile that most in S'jaiteh feared.

Walking quickly and without hesitation she came to the cloaked object and reached out to strip away its covering.

A mirror, yes. Three times her height, and magnificently made. It seemed to give a subtle radiance to the room ... The cat purred with approval and then sat down as though to admire her reflection in the mirror. As Jenever could admire her own reflection.

Only ...

It was she standing there, gazing back out of the glass. The reflection was wearing the same clothes, bearing the same blade.

Except that there was something around her mirror neck, a long chain, holding something Jenever, outside the glass, could not see, for it was lost in the folds of her robe.

Frowning slightly (the reflection frowned too), she raised a hand to feel for the chain (and the mirror Jenever lifted a hand too). There was ... nothing.

But the mirror Jenever lifted her hand higher, her fingers closing on a silver chain ... and she drew it out of her robes ...

A crystal that glittered even in the darkness. A crystal that held myriad points of light and dazzled the eyes. Jenever's mirror self grew dim for a second behind the crystal ... and then she lifted a long white hand, reaching out towards Jenever, no longer reflecting, but inviting.

And then, with a ripple, like breaking silver water, the hand came out through the mirror and was held towards Jenever as though in mute invitation.

And the white cat rose and walked steadily forward. The mirror rippled, like the surface of a still pond, and the cat walked through.

Jenever hesitated. She was not certain that she believed in soothsayers and in dooms, but the witch's words kept returning to her. One person in all the world who could destroy her. And here was a "reflection" from a mirror, who could reach through that mirror, who could touch Jenever if she wished, this woman holding a knife.

Biting her lip, mind racing, Jenever watched the cat go through the mirror, searching for the explanation to this fairy tale come true. Remembering that all fairy tales begin with less than pleasant things, with warnings and with blood.

She wanted that crystal. The light played on it even now, tempting her, dazzling her, casting little flickering lights over her reflection in its white muslin nightgown, with the belt of weapons over it.

She needed the crystal. It was beyond simple beauty, there was something about it that called her. She could sense some connection to the crystal, some deep resonating call, like music in her soul. She *almost* knew what it was, and what it was saying. Almost, but not quite. Not on this side of the mirror.

So...go through...or?

She seized the hand that was extended through the mirror and pulled the woman to her.

There was a second of resistance, and then the reflection moved, coming through ... an image of herself, another Jenever, standing before her... with Jenever's own hand holding her fast.

But the other's face slowly twisted into an expression of terror.

"No ... no you mustn't ... I can't!"

She cried out, as though in pain ... bending forward. Slowly she straightened, and Jenever saw that she was looking at a much older face ... herself as she would become, perhaps?

The flesh of the hand in her grasp lost its elasticity, became loose, and withered. The face too was aging rapidly ... until the only recognisable feature was Jenever's eyes ... reflected in this old, old face.

"You shouldn't have ... " whispered a reed of a voice. "Now ... too late!"

She fell forward to her knees, using her free hand for support as she bent forward. Something dropped from her hair to the ground ... and Jenever, leaning forward, saw that it was a white wriggling maggot ... Another joined it ... another ... as though the reflected Jenever were bleeding maggots....

Her hand suddenly felt a strange sensation. Looking down, she saw that five or six of the little maggots had left the old woman's hand and were crawling over hers .... the woman was sinking to the ground now ... and more and more maggots were swarming, over her legs, over her arms .... Her body sank lower ... and then there was nothing but a pool of writhing, squirming little white maggots in the shape of what had once been human on the floor ....

And then the pool seemed to shrink ... one by one, the maggots were disappearing - although Jenever could not see how ....

Yet there on the gound before her now was no body, no trace of the simulacrum she had pulled through. Nor were there any maggots. There was simply a white robe, a weapons belt - both identical to her own.

And also ... shining among the folds of material ... was the mysterious crystal that the other Jenever had worn, glowing with prismatic life.

She took a deep breath, trying to expel the images of her own face undergoing that horrible transformation. In her mind's eye she still saw the pain that woman - not her, not her - had felt, the terror and desperation. In her nostrils the sweet sickly smell of rot remained.

Violently she twisted her hands together, as if washing them, ridding them of imaginary maggots. Horrific, but... Imagination?

She reached over and drew the crystal from the folds of the robe, held it by the end of its chain, watched the light play over this room, and over her skin.

Jenever regarded the stone for a long time, long enough that again she fancied she could hear it whispering to her, calling her by some long-forgotten name, or in a language she did not recognize.

She put it on, and turned back to the mirror. The power was on her end now.

Her reflection faced her exactly - as calm and proud as it was possible to be ... Her own image. Somehow she knew that if she stretched out her hand to the glass, she would encounter nothing more than cool hard polished quicksilver, set behind icy glass ...

The crystal was around her own neck now. Its prismatic light sparkled even in the dim light of the strange audience hall.

Behind her ... there was a rustling sound.

When she turned, she saw that the great door was slightly ajar and, as though a sudden draft had stirred them, some dead leaves were stirring nearby. But she was quite alone in the room.

Dead leaves? Surely it was high summer in S'jaiteh?

Without hesitation Jenever turned and stalked back across the room. She was beginning to be slightly irritated.

"I would have thought," she muttered to herself, biting off the words, "that after mirrors and killing myself we might have had enough dream interpretation for the day."

All the same, she knew that there was something wrong. Dead leaves - well, sometimes plants died in summer, yes, but not enough or on a great enough scale to be tossed her way by some wind.

She knew that someone must have sent the cat, and by inference, someone sent the crystal, or at least meant for her to come into contact with it. The same someone or something that was behind the dead leaves?

Surely there were not limitless people who could control such powerful magic, or whatever you called it.

Jenever sighed and reached for her q'dayeh. The knife was still present, but she tended to feel more secure with steel around her knuckles. It was...reassuring.

She opened the door.

The corridor was beyond - the cool white corridor she had strode along so recently, it seemed.

Only ... Could this be the same corridor?

The long drapes were gone - and the great windows gaped wide onto a ruined garden beyond. Rank weeds had taken the place of the delightful lawns and walks. Weeds had encroached on the orderly patterns, and ivy had crept everywhere as though to throttle the life out of order and civilisation.

The columns too that were to either side of the open window were chipped and - in several places, badly danaged. The marble floor was no longer shimmering with light, but dusty and worn and, at the far end of the corridor, where her own room was, moonlight was shining in as though the roof had collapsed.

Her voice cracked as she called out, "Is anyone there? Z'Shar? Guards!"

There was no answer, save the stirring of the leaves ...

She started down the corridor, directing her path to the west garden, which had possessed a gorgeous view of the surrounding country. It would be instructive to learn if the entire country had suffered a similar fate, or if the destruction was confined to the palace.

As her bare feet carefully traversed between cracks and weeds, she had another thought. The place did not really look as if it had been ransacked, or taken over. It looked as if centuries had passed and it had quietly been taken by age.

Jenever's hand tightened on the crystal so hard that she could feel it leaving a deep impression on her flesh. If this was what she had paid for, then, by all that was left, she would keep it.

As she walked, the ruins became more obvious, the gaps more noticeable. Stones were missing ... great walls broken down - and more noticeable towards the Western side of the Palace. But again, it seemed the results of age rather than deliberate destruction. Age, maybe, and looting.

As she reached the Western edge of the palace and looked out, she saw something of where those stones had gone. There was a town there - well, yes, that she remembered. But this was a thriving bustling little town, with a great bazaar at its centre. Even from here she could see some of the objects being displayed on open stalls - rich, costly, exotic and – she realised almost immediately - stolen from her palace.

Or rather looted, like the stones that lined the road, the very walls of the small shops maintained by dark-eyed, quick-talking inhabitants, which were built from carefully shaped stones that had once formed part of a far larger and grander structure. Her long-abandoned palace.

Jenever bit back on the anger that had flooded through her to see these lowborn people buying and selling her possessions and her wealth.

Years had passed, then. How many? And why? The one answer, perhaps, would be easy to discover.

Somehow Jenever knew that the crystal around her neck was something others would want, and possibly kill for. She herself would have - had killed for it, the first time. She put it carefully in her pouch, where it wouldn't show, and approached the town.

At the very least she ought to be able to get some information there, and possibly some clothes. She was not really cold, but nonetheless, people tend to take notice of a woman traipsing around in her nightgown in the middle of the day.

Nothing for it, however, but to go there and see what could be seen.

Her nightgown was not as noticeable as it could have been - for she saw that many of the women in the small market wore long gowns of white. Their hair, however, tended to be covered with brightly coloured scarves - at least the hair of those over a certain age. Younger women wore their hair loose and flowing, and sent coquettish glances at the young men who tended the stalls. The older women (and that was almost everyone older than seventeen or so) tended to keep their eyes modestly lowered, as though they sought to avoid the gaze of men.

And Jenever herself tended to attract the gaze of men - bold, appraising stares, frank with admiration. Several pairs of lips pursed as though to whistle ... but no sound isssued ... Perhaps it was that, amongst this community of dark-haired, olive complexioned people, her silver blonde hair was so very different .... or perhaps it was her proud, regal bearing, her habitual air of authority.

And then she saw someone who seemed as out of place as she was herself.

He was standing near a stall selling a certain rich-smelling hot sweetmeat, and looking uncertain as to whether or not to buy. Then he looked up, and she saw him clearly. Dressed like a local, the hair beneath his hood was nevertheless fair, and his eyes were very blue.

Maybe it was the fact that his gaze was far from bold and appraising - although there was a certain shy admiration there - that which first caught her attention about the stranger.

She considered him for a moment. Even if he were not a local, he ought to be able to answer her questions, and he might consider them less odd than the locals would. She could get clothes afterwards, since if she waited he might not be there when she returned. There was something about him, something familiar, as if her eyes slid off the rest of the landscape and came to rest, always, upon him. It had happened to her in the past. It meant that he was important.

Jenever approached carefully. She could not have made herself look like a local, even had she wanted to, and the idea of looking downward instead of meeting a man's gaze, as if she were a slave, irritated her.

"Good day," she said clearly, hoping the language hadn't changed in the years that had passed. "I was wondering if you could tell me the name of this place."

He brought his heels together, though there was no accompanying click, and bowed at the waist, a wry smile playing on his face.

"I was hoping you could tell me the name yourself, though I've found places like this only have the names of what they were, and not what they are." He glanced about, smile fading, frown surfacing. "It is rough... I was hoping civilization would be nearby." His gaze returned to her, and he reddened slightly, realizing what she wore.

"It seems you've been under some duress..." He began looking about for a seller of any kind as he shrugged off his simple jacket and offered it to her.

Jenever found herself smiling without consciously meaning to. It had been a very long time since she had been in the presence of a gentleman, and longer since anyone had supposed it possible for her to be manhandled.

She accepted the jacket with a deep nod, saying, "My thanks. I was in search of a clothing vender. I hope this," she gestured to her nightgown, "doesn't embarrass you."

She was disappointed to find that he was as much a stranger in this place as she, and confused by her unexplainable desire to tell him what had happened to her, and what S'jaiteh had been. She was not even sure that it was safe to give her real name in this place - she did not know how many years had passed, nor what legends might be told of her time. This thriving marketplace had been a slave town, and those slaves might not take kindly to the name of the Warlord, even centuries after.

Carefully, she said, "Then you came here, as I did, by chance?" She shrugged the jacket over her shoulder, decided in an instant that she could not wear the poor man's jacket all day, and said, "Walk with me, if you will. I am going to find some clothes more suited to travel."

As they made their way down the crowded street, they passed a stall selling amphoras of wine. Several men seemed to be engaged in a rather rowdy altercation and, as they drew level, a shove in the chest sent one individual crashing back into Jenever. He swung round, drunkenly aggressive, but then as he saw just who he had staggered into, a crafty grin lit up his somewhat sozzled features. He grabbed at her, seemingly as much to steady himself as to fondle her and breathed alcohol fumes into her face as he slurred, "Hey - pretty lady. Come and keep Xanthos company, pretty lady."

A beefy hand moved as though to slip inside her borrowed jacket. Jenever grabbed his wrist before he could touch her again, anger rising within her at such treatment.

A tiny, wiser self within in her was whispering, 'Not this way. Find another way. You aren't any kind of Empress now...'

But Jenever had been cautious long enough and she wasn't about to play along to some drunken sot's fantasy as if she were a simple village girl, and neither would she lean on her new-found male friend.

She squeezed the wrist as hard as she could and said quietly, "You'd better go find someone who wants to play with you. Now." Had the ruffian been less drunk, he might have felt the pain more ... for she heard a small bone distinctly snap. But alcohol, unfortunately, is a great anaesthetic.

As it was he groaned slightly and then said thickly, "You've a fine grip on you, woman. Let's see what else you have to show me ..... "

This time the uninjured hand pushed one side of the jacket off her shoulder... And a couple of the others were watching, and starting to grin ...

Ridiculous. And humiliating. A day ago she could have killed the man for that, without hesitation, and probably would have. Now, she was unsure of the place, the temper of its inhabitants, and worst of all, of herself.

Jenever's lips curved into an answering smile, but one that was not at all friendly. She twisted his broken wrist up behind him, hauling the arm up as high as it would go and applying a slight pressure at the shoulder to make the position feel more dangerous. "I said, back off."

He groaned as the pain cut through the fumes of alcohol in his mind, and his free arm flailed vainly, trying to make a grab for her.

One of his friends started forward, frowning slightly.

"Leave him alone, girl. He was just trying to be friendly. You've no right... "

His voice was sounding a little uncertain; clearly he'd never been confronted before by a woman who asserted herself so forcefully.

The man behind the low wooden stall of amphora jars seemed to have now such doubts, however.

"Grab her!" he said angrily to the other patrons of his wine. "I'll not have some street harlot abusing my customers!"

A couple of them rose to their feet, a little uncertainly, from the low benches and table that had been put for their use. The rest remained seated, watching events with interest.

Tobias stepped forward, an overtight grip on a thin dagger. He narrowed his eyes at the bartender, raised his chin, and stiffened his jaw.

"Then, sir, I'd recommend you keep your customers on a tighter rein. She is no harlot, but he is hardly with the swill that spills on your floors."

Tobias reached back, gently prying Jenever's fingers from around the man's poor wrist, trying to hide a wince of disgust at the contorted mess he found there. Once free, he twisted the man forward, throwing him on the ground between himself and the uncertain thugs. His hand ducked in his pocked, and he grabbed a single gold coin, then tossed it on the man's back.

"There. Now he might be worth bending over for."

One of the men started forward - the shot a look at the wine vendor. He nodded - so the man continued, ignoring the thug on the floor, but picking up the coin and biting it.

Jenever was somewhat surprised. Her experiences in life thus far had prepared her for the action of the men working in and drinking in the stall. With the notable exception of those famous from the gladiatorial games, women in S'jaiteh had been treated as property. Jenever had been in trouble many times in her youth for her impetuosity and refusal to play the game as it was laid out.

She had never met a man like this one, one with such gallantry, not only to stand with her, but to defend her from words.

She took a step back, uncertainly. If her companion's overture worked, she felt no need to continue in the battle. She had not even meant to break the man's wrist, although in point of fact it did not bother her overmuch that she had.

She remained ready, however, head held high, eyes blazing, waiting for any who still dared attack her. She almost wished the vendor would. Street harlot, indeed.

The vendor, however, was in a low-voiced, excited conversation with the customer who had examined the coin. They were both looking at Jenever and Tobias, and suddenly the wine vendor gave a particularly oleaginous smile.

"I hadn't realised, Sir, that Sir was with the lovely lady. If Sir would care to sit ... a table provided ... and an amphora of wine for Sir ... some fine well water for his lovely lady ... "

He was bowing over his bar as his sullen assistant was clearing people away from a small table near the rear of his wine stall and depressedly flicking a dirty rag over it.

"Sir, I promise you, there is no finer wine in Sudgia!"

Tobias smiled thinly, pocketing the dagger again and allowing himself to be lead to the dim table in the back. When they went to pour the well water into his companions glass, though, he gave them a withering look and glanced at her.

"You made mincemeat of a grown man's wrist. Somehow, I have my doubts well water would satisfy you. Would you care for wine as well?"

At the mention of the place's name, Jenever started and frowned. She could hear the lingering traces of S'jaiteh's name in the muddied word, but it's complete corruption proved to her as eloquently as her eyes had that somehow centuries had passed here while (or because) she dreamed.

She forced down an irrational feeling of anger and resentment at the behavior of the men, even her companion. It had been a long time since she had been treated as a custom deal, and her self-confidence was bruised by the way she had bungled the situation, having to be rescued by Tobias. It rankled, and she forced herself not to share out the blame for it to those not responsible. Most of it could stay with her, and the rest with the idiots running the wine stall.

"Thank you for your offer, but no, water will serve me very well." She frowned, then said, "you have been my benefactor, sir and yet I do not know you at all. What do they call you?" As an afterthought she murmured, almost as if she wished him or others not to hear it, "My name is Jenever."

Tobias leaned forward, as if to catch the mutter. "Jennifer?" He sits back, sips at his wine, and studies her. "They call me Tobias. Tobias Malvoy. But no one here calls me anything. I've gone astray, you see... And it seems you have as well. We'll get you clothes, though I wonder at what we'll find here... It seems we're sitting in the lap of ruined magnificence." He turned his head, studying a moss covered column with a lazy, academic interest, then with a snap of a smile, turned back to his companion.

"Drink up. Clothes next."

She decided not to correct his pronunciation of her name, at least not until they were out of Sudgia. She could not be certain if wreck of the Empire of S'jaiteh had been a natural occurence, nor could she shake the nagging suspicion that she had been responsible.

Tobias' words intrigued her, however, because of what he had said and what he had not said. 'I've gone astray, you see...' She wondered what that meant. Was it simply a geographical reference or did it refer to mistakes made in the past? It might not be a good time to ask, but the sentence ought definitely to be remembered. Also, there was the fact of his obvious wealth. His manner also indicated that he had been quite important at one time, at least in his own reckoning. So how to act with him? It was too late to play the sweet clinging young girl, even if the role suited Jenever, which it did not. She could not yet stomach telling anyone she had been the Empress, not until she absolved herself of responsibility in S'jaiteh's fall... She would have to play the wild woman, the gladiator, and see how he took it. Some men would be put off, but he had not been, not yet.

She lifted the glass of water in a lazy toast, and drank half of it. She wondered when the last time she had drunk water had been... too long, probably. Success had spoiled her.

She picked up on another of Tobias' intriguing comments, and said, "The lap of ruined magnificence? Yes... This place must have been beautiful once..." She drained the water glass. It no longer tasted so clear and sweet to her.

After they had finished their drinks, Tobias escorted her to one end of the market where there were a number of cloth and clothing stalls. He handed her a purse of gold coins - a small one - and with such courtesy that she felt neither patronised or placed under an obligation. It was as though ... she was merely inconveniently without funds for the moment. Then he announced his intention of exploring the ruins a little further, and added, with a wry smile, a comment about never interfering with a woman's shopping.

"I learned that from my mother," he told him - and for a moment, something tightened his mouth. Then he smiled again, gave a courteous bow, and left her to the bazaar.

Jenever bowed back, a little stiffly. She had passed through an unlikely series of events from a position demanded to kneel to all of importance to one where she had only nodded to the most august and regal of personages. She had never learned either a bow or a curtsy and was too uncertain to attempt the latter. She felt, however, a strange admiration for Tobias, one too strong for a simple nod. Here, finally, was a man of her caliber, one fit for her association.

Yet, at the same time, she was forced to admit to herself that he was more kind, more smooth and more practiced in dealings with ordinary people than she, which made him not only a fit companion but a useful one. And there was his obvious wealth. She herself had left the palace of S'jaiteh with very little of value. Her various weapons were all made of good steel, most adorned with tiny rubies or diamonds, and could probably fetch a decent price, but she was grateful not to have to sell them yet. As for the crystal, which was certainly worth a fortune, she was not willing to show it to anyone, let alone to sell it.

She wandered in front of the clothing stalls for a moment, looking for some relatively loose man's clothing, something fit for long walking or a fight. Ideally, she would like some sort of armor, but she doubted she would find that here. She was not even sure that she could convince the locals here to sell her boy's clothing... although with the gold in Tobias' pouch, it was probably possible to buy anything here...

She found a stall that sold shirts and trousers, and attempted to buy black trousers and a red shirt, as well as boots and a leather jerkin. She was a tall, strongly-built woman, so it was not difficult for her to find a decent approximation of her size.

The store-holder appeared quite willing to sell her the goods although (from some questions that she asked) it appeared that she had decided in her own mind that the good were destined for Jenever's brother. It seemed that the purchase would be easily accomplished - as long as she did not wish to wear them immediately. It thus seemed prudent to pay for them and then find some quite place beyond the edge of town where she could change and be decently accoutred.

The purchase completed, as she turned to leave she noticed suddenly two people watching her, both looking a little dusty and travel-staiined. One was a tall young woman, with a long braid of dark hair and deep blue, almost violet eyes, while her escort was tall and excessively handsome, in a cold, marble-like way. His flame coloured hair flared out behind him like a short cloak, falling well past his shoulders. He was wearing a heavy hauberk of crimson enameled chain, covered by a buff coloured coat with metal plates sewn into it, with heavy gauntlets - also crimson enameled - on his hands. Held negligently in his left hand was a shortened lochaber axe, while strapped to his right arm is a large kite shield.

His eyes, staring at her, were so pale a blue that they resembled ice. She was reminded of guards she had favoured in her service; warriors she had fought in the arena.

Jenever paused, looking them over. It seemed to her too much of a coincidence that so many strangers - four now, although she could not see Tobias - had stumbled into the little market of Sudgia on the same day. She knew her own future had been manipulated, by someone or something, and had come to the conclusion that the same was true for Tobias. It was possible that the other two were others in the same predicament, or friends of Tobias, or enemies of him, or... or any number of things. They might even have sent the cat and the crystal, although for what purpose she could not say.

They were both attractive, so that staring at them did not particularly bore Jenever, although the look of the man was more challenging than she would have liked. It would not be possible to simply stand in place and gaze at them until everything made sense in her mind, even if such a thing were plausible. Interesting or not, she had more important things to see to. She turned away from them, searching for Tobias or a good place to change her clothes, whichever she came upon first.

There was no sign of Tobias, but shortly beyond the stall there was a small dark alley, which looked as if it might be a suitable place to change ...

Meanwhile, the dark-haired girl clutched at Morgan's arm and whispered something in the man's ear ...

The man's face went - if possible - colder than before, and he bent his head down to talk to the girl.

She nodded, a little slowly, and then started to move in the same direction that Jenever had taken ...

Morgan stayed beside her, letting himself loom menacingly enough to keep trouble at bay, without actually seeming to want trouble. As they approached the alley, he stopped just to one side of the alley, keeping the girl in sight. "Don't get out of my sight, please. This is a bad place for games."

Anaka nodded, then peeped round the corner ...

Jenever ignored them and moved carefully toward the alley. She made certain that the place was deserted and she had an eye on all entrances into it before she began to quickly switch clothing. It was not that she was particularly modest, rather that she did not enjoy being vulnerable. She made certain that her weapons' belt was easily within reach at all time, and did not spend a long time with it off her person.

"Ohhh ... " breathed Anaka. "She's wearing man's clothes. Perhaps ... perhaps she's a warrior - like ... like the wicked Empress was meant to be ... "

Her voice was low, but the acoustics of the close buildings carried her words clearly to where Jenever was standing, dressed and re-armed.

Jenever froze and drew herself to her full impressive height. So they were following her for some reason. Watching her from the shadows when it would have been simple enough to merely hail her and ask any questions they might have. That... did not seem overly friendly.

Besides that, there was the matter of what the girl had said... It fit in ever so neatly with Jenever's own nightmares, her self-recrimination... She would not stand for it, not from some soft, big-eyed little girl and what was probably a prizefighter.

Hands low and level, ready to grasp for her q'dayeh at any necessary moment, Jenever stalked to the end of the corridor. She had never been a particularly timid woman, and anger was making her reckless. "Can I help you two with something, or did you just want a peep show?" she snapped.

The dark haired girl shrank back, casting a nervous look at first the man close by, and then at Jenever. At last, clearly drawing up her courage, she asked, "Who are you? Why ... why are you dressed like that?"

Morgan stepped out into the mouth of the alley to stand beside the girl and gave what could only be a smirk, though it was not cruel. Rather, there was definite humour in it directed as much at himself as at the woman standing in the alley. "Believe me, miss, were I after a 'peep' show, I should have been looking – and not hiding. I am Morgan. The girl asked a question, I believe.”

Jenever nodded, a rather unpleasant half-smile twisting her mouth. "I see. It is your fashion to follow after strangers and demand of them what is not your business. Very well, then. My name is Jen, and I am dressed like this because it is more comfortable, more suited to travelling and offers more free movements. If that is offensive to you, I suggest you simply let me move on, as I have nothing to do with you."

This was all too strange. She realized her own appearance was unusual for a town such as this, but she had not suspected anything in it should cause this amount of controversy. She had to be careful, as well. The girl knew something... something about the past of this place.

Morgan nodded briefly. "It is, indeed, my habit to do so when such actions might provide information I need. You are odd enough, given the nature of this - I hesitate to call it a town, yet I'm sure that's what it calls itself - that answers you give are likely to be more enlightening than those given by others."

He chuckled softly, with a bitter tone. "In any event, unlike the child, I understand why you might want to wear men's clothing. There is, however, an unspoken element of that question which hangs above us. You apparently bear a great similarity to someone from the past. Are you aware of that likeness? Fear not, I do not judge by ancestors, however the more information available, the better things are understood by all."

Anaka seemed to be listening to her answer with painful intensity - as though there were something she desperately needed to hear.

Jenever went cold, but replied normally, although rather stiffly. "I am odd for this town's standards because I am stranger. I am afraid that I will not be able to give you any information, since I am lacking almost all knowledge of this place. I am simply a traveler, passing through. As for any similarity I may bear to another, I am entirely unaware of it. As I said, I know nothing of this place. It is unlikely that the person I resemble is my ancestor, although it may be possible. Can you enlighten me further on who this is and why it occasions such odd behavior? I agree that in this case, pooling information might be helpful. I do not wish to be mistrusted for something I do not understand, and perhaps if I understood more fully who this ancestor is, your actions will seem more reasonable."

"The Witch Empress!" Anaka said with a gasp. "The ruler of this land ... she had her servants come and steal my ... my jewel away! She wanted it for her own purposes ... "

As Jenever was staring at her - she became aware of someone moving down the street to join them ...

Tobias strolled down the street, eyes down, hands jammed in his pockets, a slight and, at first sight, unobtrusive figure. A straw hat, bargained from one of the caterwalling vendors, was pulled down to obscure his eyes. He kicked at the dirt, then looked up, revealing at last his green eyes, flecked with brown, searching for Jenever. The hood of his jerkin was pushed back now, revealing his dirty blonde hair, wetted and neatly combed.

Morgan shrugged, the smile still canted on his lips. "Such is what she's told me. I've no reason to doubt the resemblance, given the other strangeness in my life to date. As I've already said, however, I'll not judge on appearance or on ancestral relations, but on actions and nature."

Jenever's eyes flicked from the girl to Tobias and back to Morgan. She was not entirely sure what to do, an unusual position for her. Finally she said to Morgan and Anaka, "But you've indicated a resemblance suiting a descendant, and yet she says that this Empress stole her jewel... Young lady, either you are much older than you appear, or such a thing is not possible. Yet I will tell you again, I have no ties with this place, nor do I know it as it is.

"Possibly you have been tricked and twisted as I have, and I beg you to consider that before accosting more strangers in the streets. For now, I can see a one-time companion and I desire to return to him something I borrowed." With a deep nod that did not even attempt to be a bow, she turned and made towards Tobias. She had his jacket in her hand, and a friendly smile on her lips, though she never quite took her attention from Morgan and Anaka.

Tobias, too, seemed distracted by the presence of the two strangers. He took a moment to study her new clothing and quirked a smile at their boyish appearance. "Interesting choice... It's fortunate you didn't send me to run your errands." He glanced again and Morgan and Anaka. "Who are they?" he asked in a murmur, accepting the jacket and donning it again.

Jenever smiled. "Whatever their appearance, these clothes are more suitable." She looked at Morgan and Anaka. "As for them, I am not entirely sure. His name is Morgan, he told me. I don't think she ever gave a name... They seemed to think I resembled someone they had a quarrel with, but luckily nothing came of it." Her tone made it clear she thought the events were lucky for Morgan and Anaka, rather than simply for herself.

Morgan shrugged and stepped away from the alley, scanning the street ahead. Although he did not seem to, he managed still to keep an eye on the two speaking not that far away. "Well, girl, I doubt she's the trouble we've come to find, so let us continue our search."

Anaka nodded, and turned to move with Morgan ... but then she stopped.

"That man with her ... he's in different clothes ... and his hair is differently coloured.

"But ... don't you think he looks like the man who killed grandfather? Not identical but ... similar?"

However the resemblance - if resemblance there was - was very faint.

Morgan shrugged, though he couldn't avoid looking over at the man briefly, then sighed. "So? He looks like somebody we know. I'm sure I look like somebody someone else knows. What of it? He's not the same person - believe me, the look he gave me when I walked in on him makes that plain. This one doesn't know me. So - again - what of it? They're doing their thing, we're pretty certain they're not the bad guys, so let's let them do their thing, and we'll get on with our thing. Unless you want to trust them with the knowledge of exactly what we're after."

Anaka shook her head a little doubtfully, and allowed Morgan to lead her away ... into the depths of the bazaar. Soon the fair-haired woman and her companion were lost to view.

Tobias watched the man in strange, almost blindingly red armor fade as best he could into the bustle of the bazaar. "Jennifer, who were those people?" he asked quietly, taking her arm gently and attempting to move her to a sheltered grouping of trees. "They certainly don't belong here, not by the looks of them... Is there something you need here? Because an exit may be called for." He stopped, glanced at the churning crowd, then gave a small gasp.

She sighed. "Again, I do not know. It is possible they are simply passing through, as we are, although I doubt it very much. They had a sense of purpose about them, although what purpose I cannot say. The dark-haired girl mentioned a jewel that had been stolen. Perhaps that is what they search for. I do not know."

"They weren't your captors, were they, or henchmen?"

She laughed a little. "Captors? No... Why do you ask? Is there something about them especially that worries you? I doubt they have the skill to capture me, or the inclination to serve me. No doubt our paths will not cross again."

Even as she spoke, she was aware of a burst of energy - like a sudden spurt of flame, some close to them - but higher up the hill. From Tobias' face, it was clear that he had felt it too.

Somehow, both knew it was a plantaxy - and the power of thought being directed through the stone, seeking other plantaxies ...

Jenever swore softly and wheeled around to look at Tobias. "I do not know what that is, but it seems fight or flight are our options. Not gauging the strength of our opponent, let us be gone." She paused, raised her eyebrows to make the statement a question and poised her body in that wiry tension of a crouching cat, ready to spring in an instant.

Her hand, almost without her instigation, had found its way protectively to her pouch.

Tobias had his dagger out, concealed under the coat draped over his arm. He studied the crowd, the dirty faces, vague threats, all of them. He sought for the man in red, but failed.

"The forest," he said reluctantly. "If we're to run. Your next accoster may not be as garish." He began to lead her into the impenetrable green fringing the ruins.

Jenever followed, her movements quick and leonine, her body ready for battle, although no weapon was as yet in her hand. She wondered at Tobias' actions. Although she felt a strange urge to trust him, she found him almost too good to be true. If he had no reason to run from this strange energy, as he suggested with his careful choice of words, why continue to protect Jenever when she had proved she was perfectly capable of protecting herself?

She forced the thoughts away for the present. It was foolish to look a gift horse in the mouth. Possibly he simply liked company, and he would almost certainly be of some use in the forest.

She said, "Do you know what that was?"

As they moved through the forest, Jenever became aware that in years gone by, this had been a path that led through the beautiful ground of the city - until at last it reached the magnificent structure that had held the arena - the scene of so many fierce gladiatorial combats ...

The trees had taken over now. Lush and thick, they impeded their passage, slowing them, and at times making them follow a somewhat circuitous route. But all the time they were drawing closer to the old arena.

At last they saw it - or what remained of it. Where once the walls had reared forty feet high, and unbroken circle enclosing the ground, now they were broken down to little more than shoulder height. Broken down by time, or looted, or something of both.

But within these ancient walls, they could still see a gash of deep gold. The hard-packed sand of the arena, it seemed, where so many gladiators had fought and died, was still there.

Tobias studied the hard-packed earth, curious, but not relishing the idea of prancing out onto the field, like bugs under a magnifying glass.

"I know something of what that was... It was magic. Dangerous magic." His mouth twisted in distaste, as if the mere mention of it left him with a bad taste in his mouth. "Magic we want to be nowhere near." He skirted the field, looking in at the collapsed structure and hard-packed sand, glancing back at Jenever from time to time, checking over her shoulder.

And then he saw it - a splash of colour - the colour of the girl Anaka's dress - half-hidden by the trees.

They were being followed - and their pursuers were close ...

Toby cursed under this breath, and his grip tightened on the dagger. He followed the splash with his eyes, glancing at Jenever long enough to catch her attention.

"It's more than theoretical, now. They're close."

She nodded. It was as she feared. The geography was fitting, however, appropriate enough that she had to laugh a little, there in the forest, with their pursuers closing on them. "Let us to the arena, then. It is a good place to fight, if there is to be fighting, and no worse a place than any for other actions."

She began to move that way, then stopped and turned back to Tobias. "I am sorry," she said then. "I have reason to suspect that I am the one these pursuers are after. Perhaps if you skirted around the arena and looped back to the road you might lose them. You have aided me enough - there is no reason for you to risk dying for me."

"And leave you to the wolves? If it was the pair we saw earlier, you'll be outnumbered, and as impressive as your show was, I'm not certain how even the match between you and that brute in red would be." He hesitated. "But... we should stick to the woods. Cross-bows, you know... Not everyone had Master Dickens as a fencing teacher, with his drills and exercises in gentlemanly dueling." He moved to a crop of spindly bamboo-like upshoots, keeping them near at hand for ducking behind.

He glanced at her, then gave her a half smile. "Besides, Jennifer, you haven't given me all your story yet."

Jenever shook her head slightly, amused and partially relieved. "I am honored by your words, although I think you underestimate me. You have proven at least worthy of the truth, so I will tell my story when there is further leisure. But this at least you shall know now, although no doubt it makes no difference. My name is Jenever, not Jennifer. That name may well be known in this place, for I am no stranger to it."

She waited for a moment, apprehensive of some retaliation for her telling, and yet still firm in her belief that she could do no worse for such a man as Tobias had shown himself to be.

Morgan, having shifted position, hissing softly to Anaka, "Keep behind me.I think he saw your dress."

With that, he began moving down again, from his new position, ready for trouble, but doing his best not to invite it.

Now they could be clearly seen by the two in the arena - the man holding his axe ready for use, the woman with an arrow strung in her bow ... no longer were they fully concealed by the trees.

Morgan watched as the man's eyes followed them, and stopped, holding position without threatening. He quietly spoke to the girl beside him, the gist of his speech fairly obvious, as he gently pushed the aim of the arrow offline so it could not be viewed as a threat. Then he turned his eyes back to the pair across the way, and spoke loudly enough to be heard. "I honestly don't care to disturb you further, but it's come to our attention that you possess something that - to our understanding - belongs to the girl. Now I'm a fair-minded man. I'd like to think you gained this item unknowingly, and thought to follow you to be sure. But knowingly or not, if you do have it, I would have it back for the girl."

Tobias looked over at the man, unimpressed, and leaned back against the thick, mossy trunk of an ancient tree.

"Does she now? To my knowledge, everything on her she bought today in the village, with money she acquired lawfully. Do you have a description of the item? Perhaps a signed affadavit for your friend's ownership, or some geneological evidence that it belongs in her hands in lieu of, say, that bow. Do you have proof that she has it, or were you expecting a strip search? Actually, now that I think about it, are you an officer of the law in these lands? Are you even authorized to question us thusly, without slandering my companion by calling her 'thief'?"

Morgan's smile turned slightly tighter, and his eyes snapped at the man's response. "As I already said, I would like to believe that it was gained unknowingly. Such a situation does not slander anyone. Perhaps what we seek was found with that your companion purchased in this town, for it was to this town that our trail led."

"As for the proof you desire, either you or your companion holds an item of power which shows no signs of long-term ownership. Possessing such an item myself, I am able to sense this. Given, as you say, that everything she holds came to her today, then let us simply assume that she has unknowingly purchased that which was stolen. Being honourable people yourself, I presume, you would not wish to hold to that which was stolen."

Tobias cocked an eyebrow. "You hold a so-called 'item of power,' do you? That's very interesting. How, exactly, do we know that you came into possession of this item of your own lawful methods? I have doubts as to your own honesty, sir... An honest person would have asked about it in the market, when he first met the person in question, instead of lurking behind her until she moved away from the public eye... We're quite a ways from town now. I assume that if one were to scream, one would not be heard, and if one were to meet the misfortune of dying, one's body would be whisked away within short order.

"As to this item, how was it stolen? Who is vouching for the truth or the baseness of the tale? Why should we believe your 'other-worldly' ways of estimating ownership, and lengths of ownership time?"

Morgan's face reddened with suppressed anger. "If I had wanted you dead - either of you - you would now be so, sir. In fact, I do believe I could have slain you both on the streets of that hovel had I desired, and none would have gainsaid me."

He sighed in an obvious attempt to regain control of his temper. "That is, had I wished. For my own part, I would willingly see you both walk into fire, and would not stop save to ensure you did not burn in my direction. I care nothing for either of you, one way or another. My companion, however, desires her stolen item, so as an honourable man, I seek to aid her. You ask why we did not make mention in that collection of beggars and thieves? All that held them from seeking to enslave the girl was my axe, and to speak of a treasure would, no doubt, test their greed beyond the bounds of what little sense they now possess."

He dropped his axe to lean against the tree and spread his empty hands. "For the skulking, while I am a man of arms, I do not fight when it is not needed. Knowing you had this treasure, I thought only to follow until such time as it came out. Where you then to evince surprise at its existence, I would have come to you with the prior claim. Had you, instead, gloated - well, then I would have entered violently it's true. If you seek vouchsafes, then you must look within yourself, sir, for only there can you estimate the truth of my honour."

Tobias sighed. "Your honor lies in my own perceptions? I doubt it... You're grasping at straws, sir...

"But since we are talking about honor, perhaps a different method. A duel." He pasued. "Wrestling would be best, since the only weapons shop was in town, and was meager at best. You versus me... The ladies can stand over there, disarmed. No chance of low shots while you and I are distracted.

"Sound honorable enough for you?"

Morgan sighed heavily. "Since I can never convince you with words, the vouchsafing lies in your own heart. For only there will you decide whether you believe me or not. As for combat, that only determines who is strongest, not who is honourable. I will fight if you desire it, but I will not fight to determine which of us is honourable. Believe what you will. I can no more prevent that than I can stop the wind. But know that the item is as I've said, and I will not leave until it is in the hands of the one who rightly owns it."

"I've given all the forms of proof I'll take, but you've blithely ignored them." Tobias tossed down his jacket and began to unbutton his shirt. "Therefore, if you'll be a brute, I'll be forced to resort to brute methods.

"You can do without that armor."

Morgan shrugged again, but made no move to remove his armour. "As to descriptions, ask the girl. It's her item. I can sense it, but know it not by sight."

He chuckled harshly then. "As for brutishness, it seems, sir, that you are the one most willing to engage in that, not I."

"This has gone far enough!" Jenever snapped, striding in between the two men. "You are about to fight for a cause that has nothing to do with either of you. That will prove only that you are both brainless, since neither has waited to form the truth of the matter, rather relying instead on his manhood to drive him onward. If anyone ought to fight, it is the girl and myself."

She paused, then turned to Anaka. "But I do not desire that. You say that I have an object of power. Perhaps this is true. But by what proofs do you claim it as your own? If your companion has a similar object, then it must be that there are at least a few such in the world, and I doubt that you can determine by whatever searching method you employ which particular object it is. If you do not care whether it is yours or not, then I think I will fight to protect it, and my companion may do as he wishes. If, on the other hand, you can prove the object is yours, then do so at once and I will give you what you ask. But the object I hold was given me, and it was not given by any who resembled you."

Tobias's hand flashed out, and he stopped Jenever short of moving any further forward. He glanced over at the two curiously.

"Well? Do you have proof?"

"I will prove it," said Anaka. "For if I hold it in my hand, I will make a fountain of pure water spring from the earth ... that will reach half way to the heavens.

"Can you do as much with it? Let us test it and see!"

Tobias looked over at Jenever, head cocked. "Do you have such an item? And can it do what she says? I propose you go first."

Jenever hesitated, then drew herself up proudly, shaking off Tobias' arm. "I have such an item. It is useless to pretend I do not, as Lord Morgan is no doubt aware of its presence. And I do not doubt that she can do with it as she says, but that will hardly prove anything, since I doubt not that she could do the same with Lord Morgan's artifact. Rather say how it was you lost it, and where, and why you suspect me."

"It was stolen from me!" said Anaka, her eyes glinting in the brilliant light of the open space. "Stolen from me by agents of the Empress of S'jaiteh as I was about to attune to it! We have sought you through Shadow.... even though you have tried to hide." She turned to Tobias. "Protect her, and you protect a murderess! For it was on her orders that my poor grandfather was slain - so that she might have my plantaxy!"

She moved closer towards Jenever, as though she would grab the plantaxy by force.

"Words," counters Tobias, "Are not truth. I would stop there, if I were you. Hot heads will only get you hurt, young lady, and someone else.

"Now, where is this 'S'jaiteh' place you speak of? Wouldn't that be the best place to find the empress, and hence, your item? And as much as you subscribe to your theory of honor being all you need to get it back, that isn't going to work in the big bad world... An empress would be guarded, and entombed in her fort... Are you versed in spying? Subterfuge? Forging papers? Crawling in air ducts? Or is honor the only talent you have?"

Anaka looked at Morgan. "S'jaiteh is here," she said in a low, troubled voice. "But ... it is different from the place I saw in my dreams. Then it was a mighty palace ... the heart of an Empire. But when we came here ... it was like this ... It is her doing!"

"Your... dreams?" Tobias looked around, catching sight of a crumbling pillar behind her. "A mighty palace? My lady, you must be mistaken. Whatever glory held this place in its thrall is passed, most likely by hundreds of years. Any empress, dynasty, or semblance of order is most likely stashed away in some crypt, forgotten and looted."

He sighed and took Jenever's elbow. "I tire of this. We should be moving on. I don't want to stay in the jungle all day."

Morgan sighed heavily and pulled something from inside his armour. "Let's answer one thing now. Anaka, touch my stone and see if you can achieve what you claim. That way, we'll answer whether someone can use the item of another in such a way as to make the testing suggested by the lady there. If she can use it - and I will know if she tries - then we'll know that any can. If she can't, but can use the one in the lady's possession, that will answer to whom it belongs."

Tobias looked on with a mild interest, head cocked to the side, arms folded across his chest. "At least tell us what you're conjuring up for us, first. This doesn't have to be some flash and smoke magic show, you know."

Anaka looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded.

"Very well," she said in her clear voice.

She moved forward toward Morgan, and her long slim hand reached out to touch the plantaxy he was holding.

She touched it, and a little shudder, almost of sensuous pleasure ran through her.

"I have it!" she said it the same clear voice. "Now!"

"Her head fell back, her long neck exposed ....As though startled by what had happened, a noisy flock of birds took off from a group of neighbouring trees .... calling out melodiously. Incongruously, the melody of the birdsong was familiar to Morgan - it was the same tune that he had heard coming out from the bar in the town before they had started to track the woman and the man to the arena.

And all around them, the air shimmered, as though with a heat haze ...

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, the area of the forest was filled with men and women, dressed in a sort of dark leather armour, many bearing crossbows. They stood back from the four - encircling them, their weapons ready. Anaka, closest to Morgan, grabbed the handle of his axe and held it hard. Two of the archers ... on either side of the circle, raised their bows and shot high, high in the air - great curving shots that intersected at their zenith against the glorious blue sky.

And where the arrows met - there was an explosion of light - prismatic light...

Then the white dust began to fall.

Morgan by this time had shaken off Anaka, knocking her to the ground with a blow of his axe shaft. Jenever too, fast and trained, had drawn her weapons, while Tobias, moving with unexpected speed, had sent a dagger to the heart of one of the dark-clad figures ... clearing a small gap in the circle.

"That way!"

The three of them moved fast - formidably fast ... and yet before they had covered two thirds of the ground ... the white dust touched them.

Where it touched - it felt like frost-bite without the cold. Flesh became numb, and pale. For the first three or four paces it was discomfort – but then, as it brushed arms and legs, the limbs became sluggish, unresponsive, heavy, paralysed.

Little by little the soft kiss of the dust stole away life and feeling ....

Tobias fell and lay still first ... then Jenever and Morgan almost together... as the white dust covered them with a film ...

And lastly, after their limbs had ceased ... their minds slowed too – and they slipped into merciful unconsciouness ...

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