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A Meeting in Karadon

It was a low long chamber, hewn out of bedrock in ages past. Once, perhaps, the walls had been white - but now the patina of age and the gentle smoke of votive candles and incense had dulled them to a dark gold. The rock floor had been smoothed by thousands of years of devout feet, till it was almost as polished as marble. Voices in this room carried - and the odd crannies and corners gave back the usual chants with strange soft echoes, as though those who had here dwelled in ages past claimed their part to in the sacred mysteries that were celebrated in this crypt.

Now the flickering candles provided the only illumination, and the air was heavy with the scent of incense. Incense, hiding another smell - the sweet, sickly smell of decay.

The room was not vast - yet large enough to hold a hundred worshippers. Now it held less than that - but it was clear that some event of great moment was in the offing. Or perhaps it had already happened.

On one side of the room, a line of what appeared to be prisoners had been brought in under heavy guard. Their arms were shackled behind them; they were gagged and blindfolded. One by one they were forced to kneel - a row of eight people - five men, and three women - all barefoot and dressed alike in loose coarse grey cotton trousers and tunics.

A voice spoke, hard and harsh in the silence.

"Remove their blindfolds - and their gags."

The guards behind the prisoners did so, not gently, and the eight found themselves blinking in the sudden light. Even its dimness was at first dazzling to them, and it was some little time before they could make out the crypt - and what stood before them.

There were guards, more guards, some way in the background. And a few people in formal robes, who might be courtiers. But three figures standing further forward, to either side of a long, low altar-like arrangement, and looking intently at the prisoners, caught and held the attention.

The first was a man, tall and dark, with long hair framing his face. His features were strong, almost predatory, with a hawk nose and dark, piercing eyes. He was wearing dark leather, modelled to his form and curiously like armour in its arrangement. Those who knew something of Karadon would recognise him as the Hunter, one of the Rulers of Karadon. One of the prisoners knew him as the Lord he had met in a forest what seemed long ago, when he had been offered a chance to serve ...

The second figure was dressed in dark green. A woman, tall and elegant - dressed in a long gown of deep green velvet, but her face was covered by a veil that masked her features - although the lustre of her blue eyes could be perceived behind it, and the curve of her full red lips. The Lady, another Ruler of Karadon, and all too well-known to another of the prisoners who knelt before her.

The third figure was younger, slighter, and seemed to be in attendance on the Lady. Dressed in black, his skin was very pale, while his long dark hair was drawn back from his thin face, revealing penetrating eyes of so deep a brown that they looked almost black. He was staring at the prisoners as though fascinated, as though drawn to them by a strange forbidden hunger. As though she was aware of this, the Lady stretched a hand and rested it on his arm, while her lips lifted in a smile.

But it was not these three figures that held the slowly-awakening gaze of the prisoners; it was what stood between them.

A long bier, with two great white votive candles at either end, illuminating the countenance of the figure that lay there in death. A dark, almost swarthy figure, dressed in a suit of dark green and black. The arrogance that must have been his in life was still etched on his face after death.

The dread Lord of Shadows, the third Ruler of Karadon lay in state before them.

There was a long silence - and then the Hunter stepped forward, between the kneeling prisoners and the bier.

"My brother Ruler, the Lord of Shadows, is dead," he said - and his deep voice carried around the room, giving back whispered echoes: "Dead, dead, dead, dead."

"Murdered," he said. "Murdered - by one - or more - of you."

The Lady, still standing by the bier, spoke in a low, intense voice, "Traitors!"

The Hunter raised one hand, stilling her, while his dark eyes swept over the kneeling prisoners. After a pause he resumed.

"Only one thing could have killed him - could have inflicted the injuries we found upon his body. A plantaxy crystal - a plantaxy of immense power."

Another pause, while his eyes swept the kneeling row.

"Such as the plantaxies that we found on each and every one of you. Stolen plantaxies - used for your own dark causes."

Again the long silence as he seemed to consider the prisoners. Then he smiled. "We know your names. We know a great deal about you. Our studies have been ... intense. And profitable.

"For your impious theft of plantaxy - all your lives are forfeit. For the murder of the Lord of Shadows, a death of well-nigh endless suffering is merited. And such will be the fate of all of you ...

"Unless you give up the one among you who is guilty of this crime. Unless you confess where you had your plantaxies - and who is behind this vile conspiracy against our benevolent rule of Karadon."

He moved forward, his gaze falling on each of the kneeling prisoners in turn.

"Haakon. You have strayed far from your forests and your snows."

Haakon. Kneeling at one end of the row, he was burly and handsome, with dark blonde hair and candid green-grey eyes.

"Jenever. You seem remarkably careless, woman, losing your Empire as you did ... "

Jenever. Kneeling next to Haakon, she was tall and straight as a swordblade, her form lean and tightly muscled, her complexion clear and perfect, skin slightly more golden than olive. Her hair was long, thick and perfectly straight, that pale colour between blond and white. Her eyes were large, slightly tilted and of a cold iron-grey colour. Her eyelashes and eyebrows were naturally dark, her lips full and slightly sinister, her teeth slightly pointed.

Her lips curled back slightly from her pointed teeth and her eyes burned with hatred and something much worse.

"Lazarus. We nearly caught you before. If you hadn't run away and left the woman ... who was she, I wonder? No-one important, I imagine."

Lazarus. A man who would be considered handsome enough, by most standards; his build was light, his features sharp, his hair thick and dark, and his pale skin set off his almost milky blue eyes.

"Tobias. You're too open pursed. You left a paper trail a mile wide through Shadow,"

Tobias. Almost slight, with dirty blonde hair, slightly dishevelled. His eyes were hunter's green, with a touch of brown on the edges - and his features, while not weak, were neither excessively handsome - nor excessively ugly.

"Dorothy. A little rabbit, aren't we? Running from trouble. And never of our own making."

Dorothy. Dot. A small woman - perhaps five foot in height. Her hair was black and her eyes a strange, variable blue.

"Morgan. You refused my service once, and proved yourself a fool. Karadon could have been yours - and now you'll possess a single dung heap."

Morgan. His eyes were so pale a blue that they resembled ice. Handsome, in a cold, marble-like way, his beauty was that of a statue, not a living person. His flame coloured hair flared out behind him like a short cloak, falling well past his shoulders.

"Opal. Well, I think I shall let my sister Ruler claim her own again with you ... if you cannot answer our questions."

Opal. She was slender, almost petite, with platinum blond hair, green eyes, and fair skin, graceful and elegant, even as she knelt in the crude prison clothes.

"And Seth. A gambler. Doubtless prepared to lose heavily - although perhaps not as heavily as you have this time."

Seth. He was tall and lithe, with a narrow face and aristocratic nose. He had a dark-blue tattoo on the side of his neck, partially visible about the crude collar of the prisoner's uniform, even against his darkly tanned skin.

Even as the Hunter was finishing his listing of the prisoners, the lady was sweeping forward to stand before Opal.

"You ungrateful little vixen!" she hissed vituperatively. "After all I did for you ... after I would have made you my Chosen - above all your fellows! How could you betray me so?"

Her attentive follower moved forward as though to lay a restraining hand on her, and then hesitated, as though thinking better of it. But she seemed aware of his movement, and glanced from the kneeling Opal to her own dark-clad attendant.

"I should give you to Simon," she said, and there was a wealth of cruelty in her words. "How he would relish you ... "

"Later, my Lady," said the Hunter, "there will be time for such revenges. For now - I require an answer to my question."

He looked at the kneeling prisoners.

"Where did you obtain your plantaxies?

"And which of you slew my brother Ruler, the Lord of Shadows?"

"Lord of Shadows," whispered the echoes. "Lord of Shadows, Shadows, Shadows."

Opal finally looked up at the Lady standing in front of her. "Such a display of emotion," she said, her voice and her green eyes revealing mild amusement. "I think that should be at least a point against, My Lady." Then she turned her gaze to the Hunter, deliberately ignoring the Lady.

"I received my plantaxy in a deserted temple to the gods," she told the Hunter, speaking as if she was discussing art over tea. "I pulled it my self from the black stone, with no help from any other. And as for murdering your... brother, I think if I were to kill someone, it would have been your other sibling. But I have no interest in the deaths of others."

Opal's gaze returned to the woman in front of her, her face now showing no expression. "Truly, I have little interest at all in the rulership of Karadon."

"Your interests," said the Hunter, "are irrelevant. Of interest to me is what led you to this mysterious 'temple'. Or, for that matter, who." His piercing gaze rested on Opal once more - then moved on.

"Vixen!" hissed the Lady again. "How I could have been so deceived ... " She turned away to where her attendant stood, watching and waiting.

Lazarus' nostrils flared as he took in the various scents... the stone, candles, incense, dust of ages, his fellow prisoners, their captors, and that smell of decay. Lazarus kept his eyes half closed, yet managed to look at everything. He did not struggle, he did not move, he simply remained kneeling and absorbed what he could of his environment.

He did not wear a mask of fear or of subservience, his expression was more one of awe. He could feel the age, the history, and the power that was, and had been, in this special chamber. His eyes finally fell upon the Hunter. ~The Hunter,~ he scoffed to himself. Lazarus never was much impressed by titles.

"The plantaxy that I wore," spoke Lazarus, "was a gift from someone who is now dead. But, I suspect you already know that. After all, you seem to have admitted your culpability in her death." Lazarus resisted the desire to look in Seth's direction. "During your agents' pursuit of me, that 'woman' gave her life to save my own." His voice began to harden, "In her final act of giving, she instructed me to take her plantaxy..."

Lazarus shifted his gaze away from the Hunter, and finished: "That, is where I got the plantaxy."

Tobias appeared at ease in the shackles, knowing struggling would be futile. He studied the man lying inert on the bier, and his eyes grew wide.

"I... I know him..." mummered Tobias, half to himself. Seeing he has gained the attention of his captors, he clears his throat.

"I know the man here, but not as your 'Lord of Shadows'... He attended a Christmas Party, some years ago, on my mothers yacht. We didn't exchange much more than disinterested sniffs, but he took a liking to Mother. They... celebrated the holidays in the most ancient form of celebration that night, and besides seeing him leave in his motor boat the next morning, I never saw him again.

"I recieved my... what did you call it? Plantaxy?... from Mother, just before I left for the South seas to look at some prospects of the Maun's. She didn't tell me anything about it. I doubt she saw it as much more than some lover's trinket. It was something of a good luck charm to her, you see..." He glanced about darkly, obviously none too pleased with the item's work.

"And I did not kill your brother. Blood makes me nervous."

The Hunter's dark eyebrows lifted. "Your ... mother?" he said contemtuously. "Clearly a woman or rare parts if she handed out Plantaxy crystals on a whim."

Piercing eyes swept the four standing in front, looked at the body and dismissed it in the same glance. Then Morgan's eyes fixed on the lady. "One can only be a traitor, lady, if one has sworn to serve. I have not, so even had I slain your brother, I would be no traitor."

"It may not be a good idea," said the Hunter drily, "to contradict a Ruler of Karadon in our own Hall."

The Lady was staring at Morgan venomously.

Then Morgan's eyes moved to the hunter. "Your memory is at fault, sir. I did not refuse - I was refused. There is a subtle difference there, one I think you are unwilling to recognise."

The Hunter smiled coldly.

"I was not aware, from my study of your career, that subtlety was a virtue you aspired to."

He smiled, then. A smile that said - for all the guards, the lack of weapons and the power of those in front of him - that he was here of his own will, not theirs. "The crystal I had came from an old man who was slain by your forces. Which - as with the rest here, I'm sure - you already knew. I know - and knew - nothing of Karadon, but if your rule here follows the actions you've taken against me, then it is hardly benevolent, and perhaps you should look to those who actually suffer underneath it for the murderer."

"He is an insolent fool," said the Lady. "Cut out his tongue." She turned, drawing a small dagger from her sleeve, to hand to her dark clad attendant.

The Hunter frowned. "The sentiment I appreciate, but as they have been brought here to answers questions and confess, I suspect the lack of a tongue would not be of material assistance to us. If you wish to punish him for his insolence, he may sacrifice some digits at the moment - or an ear. The tongue will be reserved for later."

Seth listened to the accounts the others gave, taking the extra few moments to clear his head. He seemed more upset about his clothing than the captivity; his head with its golden hair was bowed, but turned up when Lazarus told his tale. Brilliant violet eyes took in the three captors, the body on the bier.

He spat the taste of the gag out of his mouth and looked at Lazarus. "Ran? Left?" His head swiveled back to the Hunter and the Lady. "But *you* were responsible!" He struggled wildly against his bonds, trying to stand until he was clubbed on the side of the head; pain exploded in his already throbbing face. He continued to strain against his bonds; blood ran into his mouth, and he spat again. "You've made an enemy this day," he said. His eye began to purple. "I don't know who killed your Lord and I don't care. But someday, you'll consider him the lucky one."

Jenever waited, listening to the words of those around her, studying them in turn. A few of them she had met before, and had a moment to hope they had become a bit more careful about giving aid to unknown women - even Tobias, who had aided her.

Her coarse clothing and hair, still soaking wet, clung to her body in nearly lewd fashion. She did not feel any more clean for her shower, so decided it had been for the purpose of humiliating her. As if anything could be more humiliating than being chained and forced to kneel before arrogant accusers.

She considered refusing to answer, but decided that her defiance might be shaped more clearly into words.

"My plantaxy, as you call it, I obtained from myself. It was handed to me through a mirror by my own reflection, who subsequently died from my proximity, causing, I suppose, the ruin of my Empire." Jenever smiled like a wolf, her eyes bright on those of her captors. "I haven't killed anyone since before I had the plantaxy," she said sweetly, "More's the pity."

The instant after she finished she regretted speaking. The Hunter was right, she had been remarkably careless all along. It was not her sauciness that she regretted, however, it was this: The more of them spoke, the more likely it was that these monsters would find who they were searching for...

If indeed any assembled here were truly guilty. It was more likely, Jenever thought, that they had killed their brother themselves and set up some kangaroo trial for the purpose of eliminating powerful and dangerous others, in which case, nothing anyone said would matter in the least.

Well, if she was to die, she would die proudly, and perhaps she could take one or two of their lackeys with her.

The Hunter's eye narrowed. "Interesting," he said slowly. "Very interesting .... An Auburni trick?" He turned his head towards the Lady. She shrugged.

"It sounds like their work," she agreed. "Yet why involve their own - as well as corrupting ours?"

Jenever's face remained set in its cruel mask, and she betrayed no hint of reaction to anything said, save a slight flicker in her brushed steel eyes that might have been uncertainty or confusion.

Dot listened as everyone answered before taking her turn. "I don't know." She said it with the satisfaction that comes from the truth. "Nobody ever gave me a name when they gave it to me, they just did, and then I was lead to that place where he was killed." Dot paused a moment. "I haven't killed anyone." This last was more quiet than the rest.

"How very convenient," sneered the Hunter.

Haakon, the rugged-looking blond man at one end of the line of captives, watched dispassionately as one prisoner after another told their tales. He remained resolutely silent, however, until Seth tried to stand up and was clubbed down for it.

"At last," Haakon said, his voice deep and rough, perhaps from disuse. "One of you, at least, has balls." His words were clearly directed at his fellow prisoners; he seemed to be ignoring their captors entirely. "You lot are pathetic -- spilling your guts at the merest suggestion of danger. They accuse you of stealing from their 'benevolent rule', and make blind accusations of a murder they probably committed themselves? They're hoping you'll be frightened enough to finger one of your own, so they can execute him and put themselves in the clear. Well, sod them."

He hawked, and spat upon the floor, and was silent once again.

Lazarus could not resist; he turned his head and looked to the end of the line, where Haakon knelt. His eyes danced over the features of the bold captive, then looked to those guards standing close... and smiled.

Morgan's eyes, still cold, looked at Haakon, then Seth, as if to say 'and being stupid enough to get clubbed down to no effect is having balls?' but he merely smiled chillingly, not bothering to speak any further.

"Fear?" said the Hunter softly, looking at Haakon. "You have not even begun to know the taste of it. But you will ... before long."

He moved along the line, looking at them - at the defiant Seth and Haakon in particular. He paused before Seth, and the guards behind him wrestled him forward, forcing him to bow.

"You," he said, "puzzle me. For most ... the Blood is clear ... But you .... where did you conme from, I wonder? I'd suspect our runt if I didn't know ... "

He fell silent, then he moved to stand in front of Haakon, and he too was forced to bow before the Hunter.

"You, on the other hand, I know only too well," he said coldly. "Before you die, you shall know all that you have sacrificed this day."

He moved away - the guards allowed Seth and Haakon to straighten.

"So," said the Hunter. "We live in the midst of fairy-tales. Where priceless plantaxies are handed to untried youths by kindly old men, by beautiful women, by mysterious strangers. Or are found in the possession of wayside temples or even in their reflections in mirrors. How charming. How delightful. And we shall thank you kindly for this information - and let you return to your pleasant lives in Shadow ... "

His voice deepened - became more harsh.

"So what drew no fewer than four of you to Bogatina? Who was the girl who died - whose death in the company of one of you so powerfully affected another? What drew you together in Shadow if not a conspiracy against us? A conspiracy that has killed the Lord of Shadows?"

His dark gaze swept their line again.

"Take them to the Cage," he said. "We must bury our brother Ruler - and they can use the time to reflect. In two days the prisoners shall be brought to the Great Hall - to decide whether they will answer our questions - or face our anger."

He turned and stalked from the room.

The Lady looked at her attendant. "See them conveyed. Then come to me, Simon."

Then she took was gone, leaving her attendant, the prisoners, and a great many guards.

The guards began to jerk each of the prisoners to their feet. There were three guards to each, it appeared - two to hold them, and one to lay a naked blade against each prisoner's throat ...

Jenever struggled wildly for an instant before she felt the steel at her throat, then froze, and smiled a wide, mocking smile. She spat on the ground before her before she was roughly dragged away.

They were led, ungagged and unblindfolded this time, back along narrow stone passages - until they came to a large open cavern, hollowed out, it appeared, from the living rock. In the centre was a vast iron cage - some thirty feet across and twenty feet high, curving over at the top. Above this, walkways ran. Guards patrolled along them, able to stare down into the Cage, just as further guards were able to patrol around the circumference. Sconces around the walls gave a dim flickering light that filled the whole cavern - but the sconces were a good twenty feet away from the bars of the Cage.

Inside the cage, there were ten bales of mouldy straw, and a central drain. Nothing else seemed to be inside the cage at all.

A gate was opened - one by one the prisoners were pushed inside.

"You'll be allowed out, twice a day, two at a time, for exercise and other functions," said one of the guards as the last of them was thrust in. "And you'll receive rations once a day."

Then he closed and locked the gate, leaving them still shackled, alone within the Cage.

Dot looked curiously over the cage after settling on the stone floor with her back to a bale. Her eyes focused on the drain for a second, and then began to look over the people present as they talked. She listened.

Opal had said nothing as the Hunter responded to their answers, and didn't even try to resist as they were brought to the cage, and shoved into the hanging iron cage. She settled herself on one of the mouldy straw palets, sniffing distastfully at the smell wafting up. "Such pleasant accomodations," she remarked wryly as she sat down.

Then Opal looked around the stone room they were hanging in. "Lovely. A beautifully constructed echo chamber, I suppose. A person could stand at one point out of sight and listen to every word we spoke as if they were standing in the middle of our cage. Just... lovely." The small blond woman leaned back against the bars of the cage and watched everyone else adjust to their new prison.

Morgan stood carefully, looking around the cage at the rest. His gaze fell on Jenever and Tobias and he shrugged. "One of the hazards of being honourable," he said wryly, "is that you tend to think the best about everyone. Please allow me to present my apologies to you both."

Jenever smiled at him, not warmly, but neither was it the smile she had given her captors. "You've suffered for it as much as we, and besides," she licked her teeth almost unconsciously, "you were right about me. I am the Witch Empress of S'jaiteh. Or I was," she added sourly. "I don't seem to be ruler of much now. I only wish I could find that girl and make her tell me the reasons for her actions and those of her masters. Why this fascinatingly obscure little farce has to be played, and for what I am supposed to die so horribly." She sighed. "No matter."

She rose and made her way to Seth, reaching out to clasp Morgan's shoulder as she passed. She crouched in front of Seth and said quietly, "Do you mind if I look at that? I used to be a decent medic, although there isn't much to work with in a place like this."

As Lazarus walked past Seth, he paused and nodded at Seth's face, "That left a mark you know." He smiled.

"S'alright," Seth slurred. He licked at a cut on his lip. "It'll get better. Even without my crystal. Gotta sleep." He leaned in, mindful of the 'echo chamber' comment- he was willing to take Opal's word for it- and whispered in Lazarus' ear. "Look...we stay here, we're dead. I don't know anybody here except you two, and we'll need everybody to work together. You know anybody here? Got some aces up your sleeve I don't know about?"

"Sorry," Lazarus shook his head. "No aces, no surprises, nothing..." He took a moment to rattle his chains and see how much he could move his arms behind his back. With a glance at the guards Lazarus dismissed the idea of stepping though the shackles, and having his hands in front of him.

He continued on and sat heavily upon a bale of straw close to Opal. Lazarus flinched as he rotated his left shoulder, as best he could. "Opal," he began in a low voice, "no sign of Virtue. I'm going to be upset if they hurt him..."

Opal looked up at Lazarus. "Lazarus," she said gently, quietly. "He's just a dog. I know you miss him, but we have more important things to worry about. I'm sure someone will adopt him. If we get out of here," she smiled wistfully at the dark man, "I'll get you another one."

"Thanks Opal, just make sure it doesn't have fleas," Lazarus said as he scratched at his ribs, causing his shackles to rattle. "I think the mutt passed them on to me." With a hint of a grin, he patted Opal on the leg.

Lazarus stood back up and cleared his throat, trying to get everyone's attention. "That drain," he pointed with a chained hand, "isn't much, but it is all we have. I suggest that we move some of these bales of straw around to make for a bit of privacy. I, for one, have no desire to watch Haakon tend to his private duties."

A short, barking laugh echoed from the side of the cage where Haakon lay, half propped up against one of the hay bales. "And it's mutual, I assure you. But I think it safe to say that social niceties will be the least of our worries before too long. If you wish to spend what may be our final hours rearranging the furniture, be my guest. Personally, I think we need to focus on survival."

"I was thinking of the ladies, Haakon. But if you have a plan to quickly free us of these accommodations... please, share it with us all." There was no hiding the sarcasm in Lazarus' tone, but his attention was suddenly drawn outside the cage and (not waiting for a reply from Haakon)he spoke again, "What of you? Simon, isn't it? Are you just the Lady's lap-dog, or do you serve some other purpose?"

Jenever sat up straight at that and turned slightly away from her companions for the answer. She wasn't at all sure how to get out this cage, but having an ally outside would help greatly.

In the shadows of the chamber, beneath the elevated walkways of wrought iron and the damp rock walls, Simon blinked, almost surprised at being addressed. It was true; Lazarus need not have raised his voice - the echoes carried perfectly around the Cage chamber, coming to him as easily as if he sat amongst them.

He moved his head, a shadow of black and silver almost lost against the dark wall, and his face loomed pale and ghostly in the flickering torchlight. "No," he began hoarsely, and then cleared his throat slightly and started again. "No, indeed you have the right of it. I believe I am both; lap dog and purposeful servant." His tone was strangely distant, as if he was distracted, but Haakon spared him only a withering and scornful glance before ignoring him.

"I imagine the ladies can think for themselves, Lazarus," Haakon replied dryly. "But go on, and have your little chat with our captors; I'll be focusing my efforts on those who might actually want to see us us on the other side of those bars."

He looked around at his fellow prisoners. "Anyone?"

Jenever looked at him, tried to catch his eye and wink. It was far too public to speak aloud of such things, yet.

"As you do that, Master Haakon," Simon continued, louder this time, stepping out of the shadows towards the Cage, "you may well wish to consider what will occur once you are there." He looked around, at the austere surroundings, at the armoured soldiers restlessly pacing the walkways above, soft clangs of metal on metal chiming rhythmically and constantly, obscuring the drip of water from the walls. "Where will you go? What will you do? These are not questions that have easy answers." He turned to face them more fully, and the torchlight behind him cast a shadow longer than the Cage itself, stretching through the bars and among the prisoners to lie silhouetted on the far wall, an eerie mirror to his movements. The long velvet mantle he wore rippled, lending a strange shimmer to his shadow as Simon continued. "But I understand. It is only natural to fight so strongly when all there seems to be to look forward to is myself being commanded to kill you in a couple of days. A prospect that I do not relish, since you all must be possessed of truly awesome power to have the rulers of Karadon so fearful of you." Some looked at him to see if he was jesting, but there was nothing but an earnest finality in those dark eyes.

"Not awesome power," Seth said. He slid over to Simon's side of the cage, and rested his head against the cold metal of the bars. "But we've got logic on our side. I saw you- you didn't have the hatred or the sadism I saw on the other faces during our little exercise. So think. How, exactly were we to kill this Lord, hmm? We're children, just like they said. He's a powerful guy, right? Nobody could take him on alone. We'd need to gang up on him. And as you probably already see, most of us don't even know each other. Nah...these guys are trolling for victims. Saw us with plantaxy, and their paranoia kicked into overdrive."

Opal looked up as Seth finished. "Seth, don't bother," she said, her voice just barely loud enough for those in the cage to hear. "Her assassins are trained to be merciless. I should know."

Her green eyes glanced down at Simon. "Her Ladyship does not tolerate rebellion," she continued in a voice just above a whisper. "Any attempts are... rebuked. And any failure means death. He probably can't even conceive of helping us." Opal looked away, up towards the stone walls of the room that held heir cage. "And I won't beg for mercy," she said to no one in particular.

Jenever nodded in appreciation, then looked up at the dark figure on the outside of the bars. "They are right to be fearful of me, Simon, is it?" She shook her head, and pale, wet curls plastered themselves to the side of her face. Very softly she said, "For the humiliation I have been made to swallow this day, there will be great screams. Great screams."

Lazarus watched Simon with keen interest. ~Lap dog~ he thought... ~dog, dog, dog~... He exhaled heavily and sat down hard on the floor of the cage. He struggled to turn his head and use his shoulder top push a stray length of hair from his face. He gave up, after having little success.

With a sigh, he crossed his legs underneath himself and closed his eyes. His face expressionless, he began to take regular deep breaths. His sun-starved complexion looked almost sickly, next to his dark hair and the still wet rags of his prisoner's garb.

"I doubt any of us will beg for mercy, Opal," he said softly. "Unless Haakon can break all of our chains and force his way through the cage... we wait." He paused. "We wait, we watch, and we observe. There is little we can do here in this cage, other than banter with Simon and provide entertainment for our captors."

"Break all the chains?" Haakon repeated from his corner of the cage. "Nothing so crude." With a pointed stare at Simon, he said no more, but complex thoughts were clearly running deep behind Haakon's eyes.

Simon gave a little frown at that, as if not precisely comprehending. "Please understand," he said at length, "I have nothing but the highest respect for all of you. As must the Lords of Karadon - I was quite serious when I said they must fear you. And they are not your greatest enemy at the moment; in that Cage, those you should fear most are each other." He looked almost downcast for a moment, before speaking again in a quieter voice. "I must go. I will return later to let some of you out for your scheduled exercise." Hesitantly, as if uncertain of the appropriateness, he gave a small but graceful bow, before turning with a sweep of his mantle and departing the chamber, the heels of his boots clicking on the stone. After a moment, his elongated shadow, still stretching to the far wall, did the same, rejoining its master.

As Simon left, Morgan turned to the others, having tendered his apologies and looked at Haakon, speaking with firm conviction and heavy sarcasm. "It must be a marvel of subtlety to account for manacles, bars, and dozens of armed guards. I must say I look forward to being instructed in the arts of such miracles. Still, it will likely turn out much as Seth's display of 'balls', as you put it? Much sound and fury, in the end accomplishing nothing."

He chuckled drily, then spoke quietly. "Make no mistake, I'm no warmer to the idea of their hospitality than you, and if it comes to it, I will die free rather than submit to their amusements. But I would prefer to live free, if possible. And if that means letting them think me cowed and coward, so be it. I care not what the honourless think of me, only what my own honour says. Besides - the more we fight, the less they'll believe we're willing to work together."

Seth waited until Simon left before replying. Looking at Jenever, he said, "Thanks...come to think of it, I'm not all that sure that I'll heal as fast as I normally do, here. This may be one of those places." Without further explanation, his eyes flicked to Morgan.

"As for you...you have no idea what was done, why I reacted as I did. I dare say if you were in my shoes, you'd do the same. Someday, maybe, I'll tell you about it." He winced. "I just can't believe that you think they're just gonna let you walk out of here. That being passive is gonna buy you a ticket out. We have to push them, if we're gonna find a crack in this prison. We don't have much time." Finally, he looked over at Opal and dropped his voice low.

"And that guy," he said, trying to keep his voice from being overheard, "might be the key. You know that guy? You think he's stringing us along? He's acting like he's got a conscience...and I don't see any other help presenting itself... not yet."

Morgan's voice, soft as it came, nonetheless was cuttingly cold. "And I can see that you listen about as well as you plan, obviously. Did I say that being passive would get us out? No. Did I say they would let us go? Again, no. But we will not get out, sir, if we goad them into beating us all senseless. We must be able to act when we are ready to act, or any planning we do will be for naught. Do you understand now, or are your ears still stopped?"

Opal gave Morgan a cool look. "He understands better than you do, I'd hazard," she told the warrior.

Morgan shrugged fatalistically. "My argument with the lad is solely that he misrepresented my words. I have fought my share of battles against a superiour foe, lady. The only way to win is to let them think you less than you are, or more. If less, they make mistakes. If more, they fear. Either might serve our purposes, but I think fear is what brought us here. So, let them think us less than we are, and surprise is on our side. Beside that, we agree. I no more wish to stay here than any of you. Let us focus on a plan to escape, then we can argue on how best to implement that plan. And I will readily admit that I have no plan as yet. My best plan to date is for several of us to break the manacles, pull aside the bars, and rush the guards. Since I am not suicidal, I have discarded that plan."

Opal barely shook her head, looking at Seth. "No, I don't know him," she replied quietly. "But knowing the Lady, I can make some educated guesses. One's I'd rather not voice here. He will be back, though. We'll just have to see how this plays out."

"Well, we've got two days," Haakon replied, moving towards the center of the cage and pitching his voice low. He waited long enough for anyone who wanted to hear to come close, then continued in quiet tones.

"We don't know how they're going to work the exercise program, and that might present an option, but I wouldn't count on it. They've been very careful with us to date, and I don't anticipate that changing. If it does, we can take the opportunity. If not..." He glanced around the cage, from face to face. "We'll be going back to face more questioning, and I suspect it will be a bit more intense next time. Again, if an opportunity presents itself, we take it. But I think we need an alternate plan.

"What they want is a scapegoat, someone that they can pin this death on. I suspect that they'll keep us here, possibly under torture, until they get one. I don't think any of us killed the bastard; and if we did, I imagine he or she isn't planning to step forward." He looked around the cage again, briefly. "Which means that we'll be here until one of us confesses or we're all dead. So I propose to save time, using one of the oldest methods known to man."

Haakon patted the nearest bale of hay. "We draw straws. If we can't escape by the time things start getting ugly, the short straw confesses to the murder, and the rest of us back his or her story. One of us dies, and the rest of us probably get roughed up a bit and then let go. That gives each of us seven chances out of eight to make it out of here alive, which are significantly better odds than I think you'll get with any romanticized escape plan."

He leaned back. "Comments?"

Opal sat up on her straw pile and tried to stretch. "Somehow I don't think it will come to the end you expect, but at the least I should take the short straw." The slender blond woman sat up straight and looked around at the rest of the group. "I'm probably dead anyway. I've... angered the Lady, and there is no mercy for that." Opal looked over at Haarkon. "Unless we escape, I'm dead, no matter who confesses."

"But, please, do figure out how we can escape." She gave Haarkon a cold smile. "I would prefer to not be tortured."

Jenever grimaced and said quietly, "You are brave enough, Lady, and I appreciate your offer, but I don't think it will work. I think this is a game, and only our captors know the rules. I have been in power before and I know the look of a man or woman who has no intention of letting a prisoner live. So it is with these two and with us."

She looked at Haakon. "No. Remember what that arrogant bastard said at first? We are all doomed to death simply for possessing plantaxy?"

"Aye," Haakon interjected. "And if they hold to that, those of us who didn't confess are no worse off than we already were. But if, by chance, they honor their offer to release us if we serve up the 'killer,' then we have at least a slim hope."

Jenever continued, "I can see only two ways to survive: Either we escape, or we grovel on the dust, kiss their diseased feet and sell each other out. The second option is not particularly attractive, even if it were sure." She sighed and sat down on a hay bale. "Unfortunately, the other is no more sure."

"I never claimed it was a good plan," Haakon said with a humorless grin. "It's just that all the others are worse."

"But at least, since it seems some of you are much more versed in these things than I am, can it be told what these crystals are and who our captors? At least some of you know them, but I confess I do not."

"Nor do I."

Haakon shrugged then, looking at Opal. "You could write a confession, and then we could kill you quickly here, before it reached our captors." Though his words were brutal, his tone was not without a certain cold compassion.

Opal stared at Haarkon for a moment, then nodded. "I might just take you up on that," she stated simply. "Later."

"Possible," Jenever considered, "but unlikely. If I were them, I would not trust to a written confession. It would seem our attempt to free ourselves of torment after Opal was dead. However, if escape proves impossible, those who prefer might choose to die here at the hands of their companions. I will not. I would rather endure unimaginable horrors with the possibility of spitting in my captors faces than die in a cage. To that end, if it would be believed, I would confess to their sham murder. I doubt, however, that they would accept my word."

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