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Rikifur's center of material power had, since its inception over a millennium ago, resided in the royal palace of Chortaghentos, and all spiritual authority inhabited the sacred halls of the Grand Cathedral. Outwardly, the ancient political structure appeared intact. A new king occupied the throne, but to the common citizen, nothing had changed. Royal edicts continued to originate from the Palace through Andre's voice and in writing from under his seal of approval, but during the short years following King Eophus' untimely death, the once paramount structure of the monarchy had rapidly diminished to a mere public symbol of its former authority. The Church, like a vampiric horror out of legend, fed its ambitions from the monarchy's power, draining away the control of matters of law, taxes, war, and justice until the high holy seat possessed the soul of what had previously been a quasi-secular institution.

Over the centuries, many Algars and Church advisors lusting for power had come and gone. Dominance and control were prizes that tempted many, but never had the Church's role deviated so radically from the principles and limitations assigned to it by its founder and Airy's distant ancestor, Jacynthopoles. In homage to the Rabbit's Maker for the gift of steel, the greatest of all Rabbit heroes established the center of Rikifur's religion as an initially modest temple across a broad square from his family's home. Together throughout the centuries, both edifices grew in equal measure, though in different styles, since their humble inception to become potent symbols of Rikifur's heart.

On a mid-winter day, Suasorsyth, one of six advisors to the Algar, made his slow, but determined way through the now extravagant, sprawling edifice of high, arched ceilings, towering walls of stained class, and steel ribbed domes that comprised the Maker's House. Traversing its spacious grandeur evoked a sense of calmness and oneness with the divine. Even Suasorsyth's skeptical soul was not unmoved during his procession, though, with each year the octogenarian aged, the lure of its spiritual qualities lessened and were supplanted by an appreciation for its practical aspects. He was most grateful that the portions of the holy facility requiring his personal attendance were almost entirely limited to a single level, eliminating any need to ascend steep ramps, or worse, climb stairs.

Covering several acres of a flat bluff overlooking the river and the city harbor, the cathedral blessedly lacked much of the verticality of the adjacent palace's architecture. Tall spires, bell towers, and multileveled balconies abounded within the church's expanse, but almost all of its essential floor space was at the same elevation as the surrounding grounds. Stairways were for peasants to access galleries to observe holy services, for the lesser clergy to reach their cloisters and offices, and for the lowly bell ringers to ascend to the tops of the tallest towers. None of those functions concerned a priest of the advisor's rank.

Thus, nothing along his path aggravated the aches and pains of old age that visited him every day with increasing frequency, only departing his company after lengthy, unwelcome sojourns and periods of bed rest that he could ill afford. Older than he cared to remember, Suasorsyth's once lush, golden fur had been stolen by the thief of time and replaced with a wispy, time worn, silvery gray coat that felt one size too large for his shrunken frame. Joints that frequently flared with arthritis and rheumatism compounded the misery of his corporeal form. Keenness of mind was the sole aspect of his continued existence that inspired him to persevere. Without it, forced retirement - a death sentence as far as he was concerned - would end his sole earthly purpose.

In defiance of his infirmity, he arrived a few minutes early to the closed doors before the Algar's audience chamber and set aside his walking cane in a stand against the wall. He would not show the extent of his age-induced weakness beyond what was impossible to conceal. While waiting for the guards to open the gold leafed doors, he used his spare minutes to reflect upon his life and the journey that had taken him within a single step of what was now the highest power in the land.

Born a bastard far down the line of possible succession, his out of royal-favor father, the Duke of Daerthos, ruled a backwater province of no importance. Suasorsyth's prospects at birth had thus been little better than the basest peasant's. Considered unfit for military training and little more than an excess, unproductive mouth to feed, he was given over to the Church as a young kit to be trained as a priest. His father's primary intent had been to rid himself of Suasorsyth forever, but the savvy duke would not have neglected to retain faint hope that some modest patronage and favor for his house might result from the monastic assignment of one of his lesser get. Never could Suasorsyth's father or anyone in his family ever have imagined how successful the unwanted kit was to become.

Blessed with the trinary virtues of competence, industry, and intelligence, but lacking the twin blessings of charisma and charm that were vital to gaining followers and supporters, ambition led him to develop other skills to rise to power. A simple philosophy of always protecting and aggrandizing his immediate superiors won him crucial support. By leveraging his complementary sins of ruthless cunning and deceit, he crushed his competition, making room for his own ascendance until after decades of endeavor, he claimed a spot among the six who surrounded their divine leader, the Algar. They were the Ruud Nua, known as the First Circle to lay audiences. The Algar relied upon them, not just for their input on critical decisions, but also to manage the Church's sundry missions.

Like the rest of the holy organization, the Ruud Nua was founded in the distant past and fanatically maintained as tradition ever since. Six was a holy number based upon the count of male kits of the ancestral Airiphryone and Jacynthopoles. The sibling bucks, when they came of age, were the proto-First Circle. Acting as ministers of state, they organized the scattered tribes of Rabbits west of the Earth Spine into the nation of Rikifur.

For that brief founding age, the church and state were one as they effectively were again today. It was not until the long and productive reign of Jacynthopoles ended that the sacred and secular were first divided. Before he ascended to heaven, Jacynthopoles determined that the burden of managing both the demands of a king and a spiritual leader were too much for one mortal, even one as nearly divine as himself and his progeny. The functions of the burgeoning bureaucracy and the sacred requirements of the Church were decreed to be separated upon his death.

When Geophorthys, the eldest of his sons, succeeded the throne, he honored his father's wish by creating the position of Algar. The six siblings then elected from among themselves one to become that first Messenger of the Maker. Replacement advisors for Geophorthys and sibling made Algar were selected from among the dukes of the growing nations' provinces. It was then ordained that upon the death of the reigning Algar, a replacement would be selected from among the six to be his successor. The process was simple and rapid wherein the rules were that no advisor could vote for himself, whoever had a majority of votes won, and in the event of a tie, the king adjudicated which of the Ruud Nua became Algar. The six advisors were similarly elected from the echelons of the next lower tier of power and so on down to the level of the basest priests.

With tradition sacred beyond all else, the hierarchy endured. Forever would there be the six to advise and to serve the needs of the Maker's Messenger in maintaining the Church's principle functions: charity, doctrine, construction/logistics, personnel, evangelism, and the treasury.

Each advisor's area of responsibility radiated like slices of a pie from the Algar at its center out and down an imaginary ziggurat like structure to the furthest edge of the lowest of the five hierarchical circles. Every ecclesiastical member of the Church was grouped into one of the six sacred missions no matter how high or low in the structure he resided.

To climb that tower of increasing authority, one had to begin within the Fifth Circle, called Clieth, as a priest and move through the remainder in their ascending order. From the Fourth Circle, or Pedweryd, prelates who supervised and trained the priests, looked upward to the Third Circle named Ceimden, where functionaries administering Church affairs within each province resided. Higher still was the Second Circle, or Dara. Administrators of one of the Church's principle functions held posts there and answered to the foremost circle of the Ruud Nua.

The Dara under Suasorsyth's control administered construction and logistics. During normal times it had been a heavy and all-consuming burden, but Maker only knew that Suasorsyth's workload had grown out of proportion to all his previous experience when the formerly state function of espionage and intelligence was added to his ministry. The ministries of charity, doctrine, and personnel were similarly augmented with the civil offices of law, justice, and war, respectively.

The remaining two Church disciplines, treasury and evangelism also failed to escape the upheaval unaltered. Treasury grew to include the funds of not just the church but all the taxes of the realm. Evangelism, which previously had looked outward to convert other races and recover the souls of Rabbits who strayed from the true faith, underwent the most sinister transformation to become the Scourge of Redemption. Ruled by conservative hard liners who tolerated no dissent and enforced conformance to doctrine with brutal and sadistic efficiency, the Scourge of Redemption was determined to put the fear of the Maker into all within their dominion and send unrepentant souls to the afterlife for judgement.

Until recently, change within the Church was anathema, to be shunned with zealous fervor, but now thanks to a docile heir to the throne grateful to surrender his onerous royal functions, Rikifur stood upon the cusp of the recombination of the secular and the sacred. Not yet made official, it seemed inevitable to those in the know like Suasorsyth that the king and Algar become one again. The current Maker's Messenger, Nebunthoses, was already considering adopting the name Jacynthopoles II, a name no previous Algar had dared assume for fear of the political repercussions. To proclaim that moniker today would be the signal that the royal line was a liability to be eliminated.

Standing between Nebunthoses and that pivotal decision was the thus far unified disapproval of all of the Ruud Nua, but none of the advisors argued more strenuously to keep the royals alive than Suasorsyth. Moral repugnance for senseless murder was one factor, but the true reason was pragmatic. The people were enamored with, and worshipped, their beloved royals. Defending House Chortaghentos was an edge the Church needed against the Anti-Royalists. To kill the dowager queen and her brood now risked losing support just when the princess was so handily eliminating the renegade contingent of dukes.

Only a last, desperate effort driven by a reversal in the fortunes of war would compel the advisors to act sooner. Radical change must wait, Suasorsyth reasoned to ease the people into acceptance. Once victory for the Church had been achieved, a stable peace would ensure an easier transition to a theocracy. On that day, advisors like Suasorsyth would wield previously unimaginable power. The ancient priest prayed he lived to see it.

Having caught his breath and expended his spare minutes, Suasorsyth braced himself to carry his burdens a little further. A low, resonant note struck by the Algar with a gilded hammer upon a brass gong was the signal that it was Suasorsyth's time. The guards pushed the ancient doors aside on their quiet and expertly balanced hinges.

The trek across the vast hall on the other side portended to be an arduous ordeal without his cane, but in all his years of service to this Algar and several predecessors, he had never openly displayed weakness. Desirous of retaining his power and authority, he refused to provide any evidence to his master suggesting he was unfit for continued service. Pain and discomfort could be endured but not failure.

Having abandoned aspirations to be the Algar himself, Suasorsyth was content with his station. In many ways, he held more power than the Maker's Messenger. Today, he would prove it by using his wit and cunning to lead Nebunthoses into believing that Suasorsyth's schemes were the Messenger's own and hence not to be questioned or thwarted by any other of the Ruud Nua.

Approaching the sacred reception throne without support was stressful on his ancient body, but the most physically agonizing part of the ordeal loomed ahead. It was required that everyone approaching the Algar first kneel with forepaws outstretched and forehead on the rug at the foot of his seat before rising upright but remaining kneeling throughout the audience. The Algar after all was the divine representative of the Maker himself and thus worthy of such obeisance.

Suasorsyth was getting too old for such gymnastics, but Nebunthoses was a stickler for tradition and brooked no exceptions. Discomfort was a necessary byproduct of the advisor's office. If enduring pain was the price of power for himself and his house, then he was prepared to pay it. As he carefully lowered his frame to the floor, he briefly considered the monumental challenge of rising again, but dismissed it knowing that he would accomplish it somehow.

"I have important intelligence from the north, Most Holiness."

Suasorsyth awaited the barely perceptible nod and subtle tip of the paw, that when combined, were the Algar's signature gesture of approval that the penitent before him might rise to his knees and speak. Older than Suasorsyth and far more decrepit, the Algar was a wrinkled, potbellied buck of over ninety years whose visage was that of a shrunken mummy draped in ornate purple vestments with lavish gold and silver trim tailored to fit his frame at a more robust age. The tall, mitered crown upon his head was precariously perched so that it appeared it would slide down to his neck and conceal his face at any moment. Only the erect strength of his ears kept it from doing so.

Impressive, his stunning ears were the one part of his anatomy that had weathered the decades of time without falling into ruin. Once, he had been a handsome and overwhelmingly charming buck that glad pawed his way up to power by achieving the perfect balance of adequate intelligence, luck, and charm. He still retained the charm when lucid, but those moments were steadily diminishing in frequency.

"Princess Airiphryone has announced her intent to take a husband and king," said the advisor without preamble.

The alarming report caused the normally stoic and immobile Algar to visibly flinch and sit upright. Though frail and haggard in appearance, he was surprisingly strong for his age, and his voice retained its captivating power, filling the chamber with its mesmerizing resonance.

"This is a setback. Why did we not foresee this?"

"Typical brashness from the princess; she gave no advanced warning even to her own people, who were actively working to convince her of its necessity. She fought against them, showing no signs of yielding until abruptly making the announcement only eight days ago, the time it took our relay team of messengers to return through hostile lands."

"Her unpredictability catches us unawares once again. I had hoped she would stubbornly try to hold all the power to herself. Who has she selected?"

"Vaunorthoses of House Perseine."

"Ahh. That is an odd choice. I am familiar with the house but not the buck."

The Algar's senility was noticeably progressing. Vaunorthoses had been mentioned at nearly every military briefing since the princess' return. To have forgotten so important a figure was a sign that he was almost gone, precipitating a potentially dangerous power vacuum.

Certainly, Suasorsyth was not the only Ruud Nua to have noticed. Anyone interacting regularly with the Messenger would recognize his creeping dementia. None of the six spoke of his condition aloud, and they worked by unspoken agreement to maintain their secret from the rest of the organization by limiting his interaction with all others to carefully crafted official ceremonies and functions. Keeping the Algar a pliant tool made them each more powerful, and so the balance would stay until one of their own sensed enough support to win the high seat. At that time, Nebunthoses would meet an untimely end.

"He is a late born son of the Duke of Perseine, who led a small faction of rebels that by a stroke of improbable luck found the princess."

Suasorsyth provided the redundant information with a respectful tone that hid his disgust.

"She is wilier than we gave her credit," Suasorsyth continued hoping to keep the Algar's mind on his chosen track. "An alliance with House Perseine is the best she could make. It will tip the balance of power to her against the Anti-Royalists and guarantee her victory over them."

"How so?"

"I believe that the AR will now collapse within six months even if they don't lose any of their forces to rogue dukes who may switch allegiance to the princess and proclaim her queen. The addition of Perseine's army and the steel manufactory to her swelling forces are enough to give her an unbeatable military advantage. Only the remainder of winter stands between the AR and extinction. After that, we will be seriously threatened. Her marriage will turn faltering provinces against us, and she has demonic weapons of war that are better than mere steel."

"Surely the Maker blesses us and will present a solution. He but tests our faith with this development."

"How stupid to count on divine intervention," thought Suasorsyth while outwardly retaining a pious aspect.

"I pray it is so, but though our army is large, we have structural and morale problems unique to our godly cause. We have wasted the opportunity to make gains in the northwest posed by the princess' war against the AR. We must strike and weaken her before she can become too strong to contain."

"I have been meaning to upbraid you and my generals on that score. Even the most ignorant peasant understands the military advantage we hold. The princess and Anti-Royalists are battering each other apart."

Suasorsyth seethed with the desire to explain that the reason the Church had failed to take advantage of their adversaries' struggle was due more to the Algar's insistence that inexperienced and incompetent priests direct strategy over seasoned generals. Though pious, dedicated to the church, and possessing ample political cunning, priests knew nothing of military matters. Their inexperience was compounded by counterproductive policies of rigidly enforcing church doctrine. Torture and public executions committed by the Scourge on civilians caused resentment and unrest in both the conquered populations and in otherwise loyal territories. Additional pacification was required with each new victory draining resources and thus stalling further advances.

The Scourge was a liability Suasorsyth wished to excise from the Church, but Nebunthoses lent it his full support. Suasorsyth's peers were united with the Algar on never yielding an inch on dogma. Having lingered close to the pinnacle of church power for so long, Suasorsyth knew exposing the incompetence and evil of his superiors was a losing game, so instead of arguing, he let the Algar's reprimand slip away to be forgotten. The old fool was already moving on to his pathetic attempt at problem solving anyway. A few well-placed facts coated in dire consequences were all that was needed before Suasorsyth took the Algar by the paw to lead him to the cunning advisor's desired end.

"We must attack her at once in the West and draw away her armies from Perseine," declared the Algar as if the thought had been his all along.

It was a wise beginning of strategy but had no chance on its own of delivering ultimate victory. Suasorsyth began the task of guiding his master to a more complete solution.

"Well said, but it is not just the princess' military that threatens us, Messenger. Propaganda from the pulpit has kept much of the country on our side. We accuse her as an imposter. For those who believe she is real, we preach that no female heir can rule in Rikifur, citing her association with Wolves as proof of her betrayal of her own kind. We invoke the Maker's displeasure with her as evinced by the volcano and the death of the king. She is slandered as an abominable fornicator with Wolves and the other inferior races at every opportunity, but even these arguments do not dissuade many from secretly craving her return as queen."

An odd glint of cogent musing surfaced in Nebunthoses' otherwise dull eyes banishing his dementia for a rare perspicuous moment.

"We can make our argument against her even more powerful if we revive certain annulled, ancient texts."

Wary of where this digression was leading, Suasorsyth nevertheless held his tongue lest he give offense. Wisdom cautioned him to endure the Messenger's elucidation of his reasoning.

"I have had many scrolls from the archives brought to me in my quest to understand the Maker's intent for these turbulent times. You have heard have you not, Suasorsyth, that there is a resurgence of belief among the Wolves for their false god, Olivia?"

"I have, Your Eminence."

"It may be outside the canon of official Church doctrine, but there are records describing the earliest times of creation suggesting that other supernatural beings besides the One True Maker existed. Olivia's name is mentioned many times, as are others. Though much on the scrolls is damaged beyond legibility, a discerning reader guided by a higher purpose can restore the missing narratives."

Shock at the open discussion of banned accounts suggesting the One Maker was not omnipotent must have been evident the on the advisor's face, because Nebunthoses waved his paw to forestall any interruption.

"Retain an open mind on this and let your faith guide you, Advisor. I believe the Maker shepherded me to these once heretical tales for a purpose. Logic compels me to conclude from them that Olivia is a living agent of evil, a rogue creation of the Maker, working her malevolence through a simulacrum disguised as the princess. This civil war is more than a battle for political control; it is the great conflict prophesized to transpire before the Maker returns to live among us. To prepare for this day of joy, we must scour the earth of the inferior races to set the stage for Him to build the paradise promised over a millennia ago to His Rabbit children. We must exterminate the Wolves in particular to deprive Olivia of the power of their worship. The false Airiphryone must, of course, join Olivia in the oblivion that awaits her."

Eliminating the princess was congruent with the advisor's plans, but such a radical departure from traditional teachings was an unexpected and unfortunate new delusion of a failing mind.

"But, Your Holiness, to change the canon now, in the middle of a war, will that not sow confusion and dissent?"

"I am the Maker's Messenger. I define which tenets of faith are real and which are not. The righteous shall believe what they are told after it is repeated often enough and loudly enough, especially when they desire it to be so anyway. The people long to hold onto the familiar and the safe in these turbulent times. For those who cannot accept, there is the Scourge of Redemption."

"I agree that the Scourge can suppress dissent, but it cannot eliminate it entirely. Can this version of truth withstand reality when Airiphryone brings the war here?"

"What reality?"

"That she is the genuine heir of Jacynthopoles. The proof of her birthright will be undisputable for any that look upon her. With Vaunorthoses as her king, all of our arguments against a female ruler become irrelevant. The new weapons she wields are more powerful than steel. When faced in battle with these gifts from the Maker, how can they deny that the divine favors her?"

"You lack faith, Suasorsyth. That has always been your problem. The Maker will provide and intervene to save the true believers like us. You need to meditate on what I have said and let the Maker enter your heart and soul as he has mine. Trust me. All of what I have said will become undeniable to you in time."

It took all of Suasorsyth's indomitable self-control not to laugh openly at the insanity of that statement or to cry at the near hopelessness of his task to lead the fool towards saving their cause. Such flights of mental fancy were potent signals of the Algar's declining wit. Abandoning hope of dissuading the Algar from his newfound lunacy, the advisor sought instead to steer him back towards Suasorsyth's agenda.

"Of course," he replied deferentially choking back his opprobrium, "but what happens when Airiphryone produces a male heir? A direct male descendant of Jacynthopoles is by all Church doctrine legitimate."

"But we have Andre. He is the rightful king."

"True, but he cannot live forever," prompted the advisor.

Nebunthoses pondered Suasorsyth's words before declaring, "Andre must sire suitable heirs."

The advisor inhaled a subtle breath of relief. Clearly, part of the Algar's rational mind was still present, and the not so subtle suggestion produced the desired effect. The first of two decisions was accomplished. Victory remained within Suasorsyth's grasp.

"Very wise of you, Holy One. As the first male heir, Andre's get will be an attractive alternative to the princess and her offspring."

"You must find a doe from a family that is steadfastly loyalty to the Church to be his queen," proclaimed the Algar now dutifully following Suasorsyth's trail of breadcrumbs.

"A wise course. It shall be as you command, Messenger."

"We need whomever he weds to produce a son as soon as possible. He must be raised to be a compliant tool of the church like his father."

"And if the firstborn is not a buck?"

"Kits do not always survive the birthing process. I am certain that another such abomination like Airiphryone, if it were to occur again, would be stillborn. See to that."

Cringing internally at the casual approval of infant regicide, the advisor prayed such an act would not be necessary.

"Of course, Your Eminence, but we will still have the threat of future offspring from the princess' union with Vaunorthoses to contend with as well. It would be to our advantage that she not be allowed to breed at all."

There was but a moment's pause as the Algar worked his way to the only possible solution.

"Airiphryone must die before she marries."

Having anticipated the need for this drastic approach for some time, the moment of its open revelation still disturbed the old Advisor. Galled by his own evil idea, Suasorsyth pressed forward with cynical determination convinced of the deed's necessity. It was a morally unpalatable approach fraught with personal danger if it were to fail. Being cautious, he deliberately led Nebunthoses to be the official originator of the idea. In the event that the plot failed or went awry, the advisor could claim he had no choice but to act as ordered.

Fears of failure and retribution, though, had not stopped him from planning every detail of the crime in advance of this meeting. A resource capable of penetrating the princess' defense of truth scenting Wolves had already being identified.

"Your wisdom is beyond compare, Messenger. If you direct me so, I can ensure the deed is done with discretion and effectiveness."

"You?"

Suspicion spent a moment upon the Algar's brow. Suasorsyth calmly attempted to brush it away.

"As you know, You Holiness, I encounter many disreputable elements of society in my new mission of espionage. It is fortunate, perhaps even the will of the Maker, that I recently happen to have stumbled across a suitable candidate whom I may be able recruit for this task. He is a sociopath who has no scruples against murder and possesses an uncanny ability to fool even Wolf truth sensors. We have tested him against dozens of captured Wolves and none could tell when he was lying."

"Why am I not surprised? You have not yet lost your knack for being one step ahead, Advisor."

"Am I that transparent?" wondered Suasorsyth to himself hoping he had not misjudged the Algar's level of lucidity.

"Thank you, Your Eminence."

"There are many beneath you," the Algar continued, "and lateral in the hierarchy of the Church who argue that you are too old for this post and beyond your useful years. I reply that there is yet some measure of usefulness left in you before you retire. Success in this endeavor will prove my faith in you to be well founded. Will it not?"

The blatant hypocrisy of ageism employed by one so senile and physically weak was outrageous in the extreme, but Suasorsyth was inured to it after long submergence in the cesspit of intrigue within the upper ranks of the Church. Suasorsyth had been put on notice, and he did not miss the indirect threat nor the implication of the Algar's waning support. The message was clear. Failure to eliminate Airiphryone meant Suasorsyth's elimination instead.

Though Nebunthoses could be beguiled and possibly pacified in the event of failure, it was the other five advisors that were Suasorsyth's real concern. United against him since before the civil war, they ceaselessly worked to discredit him. Suasorsyth's only certain protection against their combined power lay in letters that he had intercepted from couriers at the time of the king's death in the alleged accident at the volcano. In possession of definitive proof, he alone knew the other Ruud Nua were the perpetrators of the king's demise. That King Eophus had been murdered was beyond doubt. Examining the body after it was laid in state for mourning required the expense of many favors and no doubt made his suspicions known to the five, but he discovered the subtle wound marks of the assassin's blade. Volcanoes did not kill with steel. The claim that Eophus had suffocated on poison gas was patently false.

Further discreet inquires led Suasorsyth to conclude that Nebunthoses was unaware of the plot to commit regicide. The five had taken advantage of the Algar's addled state to use his popular appeal to execute a coup to consolidate all power under the dominion of the Church. The hapless fool had no idea he was doomed to the same fate as Airiphryone's father whenever the five were ready to elect one of their own to be the Maker's Messenger.

Masterminding Airiphryone's death was Suasorsyth's way of preparing for that inevitable day. Committing the atrocity was emblematic of the advisor's life. By striking the blow that would end the war in a Church victory, Suasorsyth was once again attempting to prove himself too valuable to dismiss. Whichever of the five became Algar would surely see that he had earned the right to remain in the Ruud Nua, but if the new Maker's Messenger did not, then Suasorsyth had the incriminating documents to change his mind.

"Is it is your will then that I unleash this assassin upon the princess?" asked Suasorsyth, seeking official sanction for his crime.

Nebunthoses answered without hesitation.

"Make it so, and the Maker shall reward you in this life and the next. You are dismissed."

The audience was over. Struggling through great agony, Suasorsyth managed to rise to his hindpaws without undue embarrassment, bowed respectfully, and retreated backwards three steps before turning to take his leave.

Belief in the Maker, at least the version of Him taught by the Church, had abandoned Suasorsyth decades before. Exposure to the rot, villainy, and corruption at nearly all levels of the Church convinced him that no omnibenevolent and omnipotent god would allow such evil to continue in his name. Of the ultimate truth, he had no idea. Perhaps the Shornies were right, but what did it matter? To Suasorsyth, power was all-important. He would never be Algar; that was true. The five would see to that, and there was a significant chance he would be killed or removed by whichever of them became His Most Holiness upon the current Algar's arranged death, but until then, he would clutch to the influence he had with both paws to benefit his estranged, but grateful family.

Before the ancient advisor could exit the Algar's audience chamber, the ornate portal through which he had entered swung open. It was an extreme breach of etiquette for anyone to pass through without the summons of His Holiness' gong. Suasorsyth's alarmed expression was mirrored by the Algar as both bucks feared that terrible tidings approached.

Abundant relief followed rapidly when they saw that it was only His Majesty, Andre. None other in Rikifur was free by protocol to pass through any door in the kingdom he wished at any time. By law and tradition, Andre was the highest power in Rikifur, though he either did not fathom his authority or shrank from it deliberately. Still, even Nebunthoses rose to his hindpaws in deference to the titular monarch. Suasorsyth, bowed deeply.

Unusual for the normally dreamy and distracted king, Andre marched across the marble floor with purpose. His boots clomped loudly and echoed off the stone walls as he strode directly to Nebunthoses.

"Your Majesty," deferred both priests.

"I've just heard a rumor that my sister, Airiphryone, is not only alive," Andre declared with hope illuminating in his eyes, "but that she has also chosen a king. Is this true?"

"Who told you this?" asked the Algar.

Suasorsyth remained silent not wanting to interfere. Nebunthoses possessed a knack for pacifying the king.

"I'm not telling you," answered Andre petulantly. "You'll have whoever it is punished."

"Tsk tsk," muttered the Algar while donning his most fatherly persona. "My son, we are only trying to protect you from the emotional distress of these false and malevolent rumors. The people who spread them are doing so to hurt you. We know how deeply you love all of your family and how much it pains you to be reminded of your sister's death."

"That's another matter we need to resolve. My family feel like prisoners, never leaving the palace or having visitors. They wish to have more freedom."

"That also is for their own good. Assassins are lurking everywhere just hoping for us to make a mistake. The Anti-Royalists and the witch pretending to be your sister want you all dead so they can eliminate the monarchy forever and seize control for themselves. The Church is your only ally and protector now. By keeping the faith, we hold many dukes loyal to you."

"And I'm grateful for that along with all your splendid advice. I just wish Airy truly had returned. I would hand the crown to her and her king in an instant. It is too great a burden for me. War, assassins, imposters; these matters are beyond my ken."

"We all wish Airiphryone were here, but she is with the Maker now. You must accept that and move on."

With watery eyes, Andre nodded meekly.

"Now, why don't you go back to your rooms in the palace? You can write another one of your beautiful laments in honor of your sister. Bring it to me when you are done, and we will see how to incorporate it into a service of remembrance, eh?"

"Yes. I would like that."

"You are the kingdom's most accomplished poet, Sire. Let's not waste that gift."

As the soothed monarch made his way back out, Suasorsyth pondered in what circumstances this poet king would have ever made a competent ruler. Perhaps in a time of peace with all of Rikifur content with their lot, but when had that ever happened? _"Never"_was the answer, and that thought might have occupied Suasorsyth's mind on his long walk back to his office if something odd about the king's appearance hadn't caught his attention.

The soles of His Majesty's boots were coated with a white powder, and the same substance streaked the sides of his boots and breaches. Dismissing it as flour from the kitchen or some other innocuous substance at first, the advisor's suspicions were aroused enough that he wished to confirm its source.

"Your Majesty," he called out before the lanky monarch could outdistance him by too many strides.

Andre was already in the outer hall, but he stopped and turned.

"Yes?"

Suasorsyth hastened as best he could to catch up.

"My apologies, Sire, but there is something discoloring your boots and trousers."

The priest produced a delicate handkerchief from an inner pocket of his robes and made a pretense of brushing away as much of the substance as he could despite the pain bending over induced.

"There. Much better. We don't want you looking like a peasant, do we?"

"No. That would not do. Thank you, Suasorsyth. You are a good friend."

"It is my pleasure to serve, Your Highness."

As the befuddled king strolled away, Suasorsyth first smelled then tasted the residue on his dainty silk cloth. A dry, bitter, and familiar tang assaulted his tongue.

"Chalk. Curious," pondered the priest to himself. "Now where did he walk over that? There's none on the palace grounds. Under the city, yes, but how?"

The enigma worried at the back of his mind during the carriage ride down to the less favorable quarter of the city where the next stage of his plot awaited his attention. When he passed an excavation along the riverfront, he observed laborers working to widen the harbor. The same white, chalky material was being hauled away in carts. The coincidence ensured Suasorsyth would not forget to follow up on the puzzle during a future, less consequential day.

The house of Jacynthopoles had never believed in burying its prisoners underground in dark, damp dungeons. Adjacent to the river harbor, the facility incarcerating the assassin was a reasonably clean, if not attractive, three story brick building in a rough, poor neighborhood sharing its surroundings with taverns, brothels, overcrowded row houses, tanneries, and other businesses of low repute and worse smells. Though trolling the criminal element of Rikifur for nefarious talent was a necessary part of Suasorsyth's work and the work of his minions, it was not the sort of place an advisor to the Algar should be seen frequenting. To avoid questions and undue scrutiny, Suasorsyth disguised himself as a successful merchant and arrived in a plain, hired coach.

Despite that his adopted persona still placed him high in the social order, the advisor was forced to suffer the ignominy of waiting in the prison's crowded entrance courtyard filled mostly with riff raff of the lowest classes. Due entirely to the Algar's insistence on absolute adherence to Church doctrine by all citizens, the prison's population had swelled with blasphemers, heretics, political dissidents, and the just plain undesirable who were incarcerated by the hundreds. An annex to accommodate their burgeoning numbers was already under construction next door, but until it was completed, the relatives and friends of the incarcerated thronged the small space to visit their loved ones and bring them food.

Disgusted by the reek and vulgar social habits of the lower orders, Suasorsyth quickly resorted to bribery to hasten his departure from the congested, noisy space. A secretive exchange of coin into the right paws soon had him escorted to the highest security portion of the complex where the condemned waited in small, individual cells for their final days to expire.

The assassin occupied the last of these grim, nearly lightless rooms. He sat cross-legged upon a rough, wooden bunk softened slightly by a lumpy mattress stuffed with coarse straw protruding through numerous timeworn holes. The neatly folded woolen blanket at the foot of the bed looked no less coarse and tattered than the rest of the bedding. A bucket for waste, thankfully empty, and a short, three-legged stool were the only other objects in the cell besides metal rungs and chains hung from the wall.

Deceptively ordinary in appearance, nothing remarkable about the buck betrayed the cold heart of a remorseless killer lurking inside. His fur was golden brown, the most common color among Rabbits, and his pelt bore no markings of any kind. Only his lop ears attracted any attention, but even that wasn't atypical among the peasantry, afflicting perhaps one out of five to some degree.

The guard was an uncommunicative lout with a dirty gray pelt and clothes that smelled of stale sweat. Expressing himself almost exclusively with grunts and mumbled curses, he entered first to attach the prisoner's wrist manacles to the stout iron rings on the wall. After inspecting the lengths of heavy chain to ensure they allowed only limited freedom of movement, he began withdrawing in sullen silence to reclaim his seat at the extreme far end of the hall. Though it was unlikely the lazy jailor would move from his place of rest unless duty demanded it, Suasorsyth slipped him a coin along with instructions to call out if anyone came near as added insurance to prevent any of their conversation from being overheard.

None of the austere furnishings appealed to the advisor, but he was always tired, so he sat upon the only stick of furniture in the cell besides the bed. The bunk would have been easier to lower himself onto and eventually rise from than a milk maid's stool, but the threat of acquiring bedding parasites and the added proximity it would entail between him and its current occupant made that a less palatable option.

"You are Mortdarathos, a disgraced acolyte of the Clieth?"

"I am. Who are you?" asked the prisoner in a calm and eerily cheerful voice considering the surroundings and his pending execution.

"I am of the Ruud Nua - an advisor to the Holy Messenger. My name is Suasorsyth."

"Ah. Some of your staff were here yesterday. They seemed very interested in testing my ability to fool the snouts of Wolves. Your appearance suggests that I satisfied their doubts and that I am of value to you."

It was important for Suasorsyth to avoid letting his target become aware of how vital he really was to the priest's future. With an ordinary thug, that wouldn't be a challenge, but this one was clever and dangerous; an unfortunate but necessary pairing of traits for the required task. Separating the tool's threat from its utility was an impossibility with which the advisor had already abandoned.

"You have indeed laid our concerns to rest. I am curious, though, how you manage this extraordinary feat."

"It is simple. Everything that I say is true. I never lie."

It was a preposterous statement, impossible for a connoisseur of logic like Suasorsyth to leave unchallenged.

"Nonsense. Everyone lies at least some of the time. Even those of the most honest and noble heart commit that sin, if only to spare the feelings of others."

"I care not for the feelings of others. They are all lesser beings than I. Whatever I say is the truth because I said it."

Decades of experience had taught Suasorsyth to detect the overtly physical telltale signs of deception that most people expressed such as eye contact avoidance, nervous twitches, and changes in speech, but the assassin displayed no such betrayals of his mental state. Instead, his demeanor oozed honesty and sincerity.

"Do you actually believe that?"

"I do."

Astounded by the similarity between the assassin's assertion and the Algar's earlier deranged ramblings, the advisor wondered if madness ran rampant at both ends of the social order. Though Church doctrine did not preclude miracles, to consider oneself capable of altering reality with one's words and thoughts was both heresy and lunacy. Was that the fate of Rikifur, wondered the Ruud Nua, to be led and influenced by the insane?

"That's incredible. You say the impossible with sincere conviction. You must be quite mad."

"Am I, or are you? From my perspective, the rest of the world is insane. I am here to help provide the order it needs."

"Judging by your current surroundings, you have not been particularly successful. You stand convicted of numerous crimes ranging from petty thievery to murder. Your execution date has been set. Less than a pawful of days lie between you and the judgment of the Maker."

"A temporary setback. I will go free."

"Not if I leave without striking a deal. I am your only hope."

Suasorsyth was attempting to ensure this recruit knew his place, but the assassin was immune to his threats.

"You won't. You need me, so tell me what you want me to do and what you will grant me in return."

Mortdarathos' arrogance was beyond excessive. The advisor wanted to hang the villain himself just to watch the look of surprise on his smug face, but this depraved devil was his best opportunity for success. Swallowing his rage, Suasorsyth maintained his composure. Deceit was a two way street. Cunning manipulation of others was the advisor's forte, and he could lie convincingly with the best.

"The princess Airiphryone has become too great a threat to the Church and to Rikifur. It is desirable that she pass on to the next world."

"Ah. That I can do easily enough. And my reward?"

"A full pardon from the Algar for all of your crimes and a new start in life."

"Generous, but not good enough. I want a dukedom."

Repulsed by the thought of one so capricious wielding power over a province of helpless subjects, Suasorsyth reflexively balked.

"You are in no position to bargain. The noose is waiting for your neck."

"A dukedom," he repeated.

Revulsion over the imagined horrors the deranged buck was capable of committing obliged the priest to persist in excluding this option.

"Impossible. Ask something else."

"Not impossible. You will grant me this. I have said it, and it will be so."

"Don't delude yourself into thinking your voice holds magical power over me. I don't care what you say. It changes nothing."

"This is a time of great upheaval," argued the assassin. "Once the Church has victory in this war, you will be free to deal with your former enemies as you desire. There will always be dukes who refuse to yield. They will be deposed and new dukes established in their place. I only ask for one such province while placing no provisions on its size, wealth, or location. I do not need many subjects to meet my needs."

The assassin was correct, but there were many other useful allies of the Church who were also vying for those prizes. Suasorsyth did not have the authority to guarantee such a thing to anyone, but he would concede to the promise anyway and deal with the fallout later, though little of that was likely since he had already made up his mind to terminate Mortdarathos when the time came for him to claim his reward.

Left alive, the assassin would be free to use his knowledge of the crime to extort further favors. He was far too unstable to trust. It was best that the number of parties with knowledge of the deed be limited to two. Wise enough to know that one could keep a secret better than two could, the aged priest vowed to watch his own back carefully to ensure the Algar, in a fit of mental acuity, did not decide to treat Suasorsyth the same.

"Very well. A dukedom is yours after the war...if you are successful."

"I shall be."

"So let it be spoken; so let it be done," replied the advisor sarcastically.

Smiling like a snake, Mortdarathos said nothing. Suasorsyth sighed and rubbed his weary eyes with his paws.

Already physically fatigued, sparring with the assassin precipitated a state of spiritual exhaustion to fatigue Suasorsyth's soul completely. The intrigue that once sustained and invigorated him during his youth and middle age was now just another millstone hung about his neck to weigh him down in his declining years.

As a young priest, he had been a humble buck dedicated to the ideals of the Maker, but a gradual corruptive transition, admittedly steered by his own nature, had led him inexorably to become an accomplice to murder. Like the ocean slowly wearing down a rocky coast, his duties and ambition had gradually but with equally relentless fury eroded his morality leaving him as corrupted as his surroundings. Deceiving a liar and killing an assassin were mow but minor sins.

"The princess is surrounded by guards at all times" Suasorsyth said to hasten the unpleasant exchange to its end. "When outside, she is always armed and armored making it suicide to attack her in public."

The thought of Mortdarathos being killed in conjunction with the crime was so appealing, Suasorsyth could not help but smile and add, "However, if you desire a martyr's death, I can ensure that your name will be recorded thusly in the official annals to be read and honored by all future priests..."

"A tempting offer to which I am sure you prefer I accept, but a glorious future awaits me after the princess is dead, so I must decline. The deed will be accomplished by stealth with no surviving witnesses."

"So be it. To have any hope of escaping alive, you must get close to the princess in a controlled, private setting, and that is not an easy task. She has a spymaster Fox named Esseff, who is paranoid and ruthlessly limits access to her. He relies heavily on truth sensing Wolves to screen suppliants. You can defeat the Wolves. That will help, but you will still need to ingratiate yourself with the Fox and the princess to earn their trust and any hope of ever being alone with her."

"I suspect that you have given this some thought and have a plan?"

"A wise buck does not leave anything to chance. You will be provided intelligence regarding the AR and the Church's military plans. The information will prove beneficial to Airiphryone and afford her a temporary edge in her fight."

"Is that not dangerous? If you give her too much, she may gain too great an advantage."

"Let her do all the damage she can to the AR. When she is dead, both sides will be too weak and disorganized to resist the invasion we are preparing in secret."

"And the damaging information she receives about our side? How many of the faithful will die?"

"Though I doubt you really care, Church military losses will be minimal and irrelevant. Our incursion will be a feint of limited strength. Sacrifices must be made."

"Preferably when it is someone else making the sacrifice."

Suasorsyth could not tell if Mortdarathos was suspicious of the betrayal that awaited him, so the aged advisor chose to ignore the statement lest the canny murderer learn the truth.

"You will pose as a defector from the true faith who is a reformed devotee of the queen's cause. It is well you were once a priest, otherwise I could not place your name on the roles of my staff. If anyone digs that deeply, they will find that part of your story to be true. Being associated with the ministry of intelligence and espionage will lend credibility to your access to the high-level secrets you carry. When the information you provide bears fruit, they will trust you, giving you the freedom to act."

"An excellent and ingenious plan, Advisor. I accept. When do I escape this cell and begin?"

"You leave with me now. I want you out of the capitol by tonight. You will tell no one of your mission."

"Not that I wish to tarry here longer, but why the hurry?"

"Airiphryone has declared her intent to marry Vaunorthoses of House Perseine, but will not join with him in official ceremony until after she has united Perseine under her banner and established control over the steel foundry. She must be killed before there is a king and a legitimate successor. Because she will want to rush to the aid of her new ally, the secret information we are giving you will help her with that campaign. You must, therefore, reach River Keep before winter retreats and her armies march again."

Winter's brutal reign at River Keep was nearly over, and the malaise that had plagued its inhabitants up through Forysydortcha was replaced by manic activity. Snow and ice that had long overstayed their welcome were all but gone. The unmistakable signs of spring were manifest. Wolves were returning to River Keep from the north in larger numbers than hoped. Airy's army assembled itself for the campaign to free Perseine and utterly crush the AR, awaiting only for passable roads and a compelling strategy to follow.

Airy's marriage announcement had done much to shore up support in the West. With that front secure, she was free to throw all of her might eastward against the AR, but an end to Perseine's neutrality was implicit in Airy's public declaration to unite both houses, eliminating many opportunities to surprise the enemy.

A bloody and brutal campaign seemed inevitable. Both sides knew that this was their final struggle to survive. Even the route along which her army must advance was a given. Desperate for alternatives, Airy placed enormous stress upon her scouts and spies to collect intelligence. Reaching Perseine by the most expeditious route was paramount, but penetrating her enemy's borders was becoming problematic. Patrols were continuously on the hunt for intruders. Every stranger was instantly suspected, captured, or killed. Precious little useful information was being returned. Esseff was often up far into the night working to discover a solution.

It was late in the evening after one such in a never-ending series of days of relentless toil that their yearned for break manifested itself in the form of a runaway priest. Esseff had been informed that the innocuous, lop eared buck was a deserter from high within the ranks of the Church, professing a desire to join the queen's cause and serve in any capacity he could. Normal protocol dictated that potential recruits be scanned for loyalty at a lower level in Esseff's burgeoning staff, but this one claimed to have vital secrets that could only be heard by the queen herself.

After the attempted kidnapping of Jorveth, no newcomer stood any chance of standing before Her Majesty without first passing Esseff's personal scrutiny. An innate distrust colored Esseff's first impression of unfamiliar people and especially those making outrageous claims. Brought into the small antechamber that served as the spymaster's office, the detainee was sniffed by Silver, Esseff's most effective truth scenter, who eyed the mystery refugee with as much suspicion as her boss.

The buck bore an insouciant attitude making the Fox dislike him more than most he interrogated. The fact that the priest had yet to reveal his name to anyone in the lower echelons of the secret service magnified his conceit. Esseff vowed to rattle the defector.

Remaining silent, Esseff watched as the two Wolf guards pushed the buck roughly down into a plain wooden chair with shortened legs. Deliberately having placed his own chair upon a platform raised a few inches above the floor, Esseff was able to glare down from behind his desk upon every suspect brought before him.

The slanting evening sun at the Fox's back stabbed through the narrow windows bathing the renegade priest in a bright, reddish glow while making Esseff appear as a menacing silhouette, motionless and obscured by shadow. The guards remained a half pace behind the priest with their swords drawn. Silver stood to Mortdarathos' left. As if unintimidated, the priest paid the Wolves no mind as he squinted until he found and then stared unconcerned into the Fox's eyes.

"I am busy, and dislike wasting my time with troublesome cases," began Esseff. "Tell me your name before you say anything else or be escorted to the dungeon for a less pleasant interview."

"I am Mortdarathos, recently a prelate of the Fourth Circle where I held a position on the staff of Suasorsyth of the Ruud Nua."

Esseff was intrigued. If true, Mortdarathos may have been in a position to learn many useful secrets. Since Silver gave no signal that he was lying, Esseff's skepticism diminished slightly, and he greedily opened his mind to the potential wealth of intelligence sitting in front of him.

"I have valuable information regarding the Church's battle plans and general strategy as well as regarding lands held by the AR."

"Why bring it to us? What do you hope to gain?"

The priest gave every indication of being genuinely perplexed by the question.

"Gain? Well, nothing for me except a pure conscience for doing what is right."

Answers like that set off alarm bells in Esseff's head. In his experience, no one acted with complete selflessness. Always, some element of greed and personal advancement underlay each person's actions, yet Silver's lack of reaction was her signal that all was truth.

"How noble." Esseff failed to hide his disdain. "Explain why you think it is moral to betray your leaders, who would assert this is also a betrayal of your own Maker."

"The Algar is senile, the Church corrupt, and Airiphryone is the rightful heir and queen of Rikifur. Though never before has a female of the line of Jacynthopoles been a female, it is clear to me from extensive reading of scripture that the Maker's intent was for the firstborn descendant of House Chortaghentos to rule. His or her sex is irrelevant. Based upon that, I renounced my association with the sick avatar that now reigns in the Maker's temple. Airiphryone is the leader of the true Church, and I wish to join her to fight against the heresy of the Algar in whatever humble way I may."

"Fight? You are a soldier?"

"No. I have never been trained in the use of arms, but there are other ways one can battle evil. I can help spread the word of Airiphryone's divinity, strengthen the faithful, and perhaps bring disbelievers into the fold."

Priests preaching for the queen were in short supply. Mortdarathos would be a valuable catch for that alone. Any useful intelligence he provided was a bonus. Esseff was nearly convinced.

"How valuable do you believe the information you bring to be?"

The priest glanced at the three Wolves.

"More than anyone below your station should hear."

Esseff gestured for the guards to wait in the hall. He had his sword ready hidden out of sight against the desk, the prisoner was manacled, and Silver, though old, was as strong as any Wolf warrior and capable of subduing a weakling priest.

"Explain."

Mortdarathos inclined his head towards Silver.

"And her?"

"She stays."

"Very well. First my credentials. Though I belonged to the fourth circle, I was an assistant to Suasorsyth. No doubt you understand what that means and how high such a position placed me within the Church's councils."

"I do. Continue."

"In addition to logistics, my master managed espionage."

Pausing to emphasize the unsaid importance, Mortdarathos awaited a positive response, but Esseff merely raised his eyebrows to acknowledge the fact.

"Being only of the Pedweryd," the priest continued, "I was not privy to high level discussions of secrets, but critical information did pass through me from time to time. I have two such examples of information that I am certain will be of extreme interest to you. This knowledge, if applied quickly, could turn the tide of your war. I may have knowledge of other important things that could also be of strategic interest, but don't know enough of your plans to grasp their significance. Feel free to question me on any matter concerning the Church, and I will tell you what I know."

"Oh, don't worry about that. You and I are destined for many long discussions. First, though, tell me of the two items that you estimate to have the greatest value."

"Shouldn't the queen be present to hear this?"

"Worry about getting past me first, renegade."

"Very well. Severe flooding on the Ilska River in Montothos and Kryphreine destroyed the few bridges that spanned its canyon. The AR cannot move horses and supplies south into those provinces until the bridges are rebuilt. That leaves Montothos and Kryphreine wide open for conquest.

"That has potential value. How was the Church able to learn of this?"

"The AR granted Church emissaries access through their lands to discuss a temporary coalition against the queen. Until the announcement of her marriage, she appeared weak. It was in both side's interest to remove her from the fight and simplify the conflict."

"And now? Will the Church come to the AR's aid?"

"No. They are pleased to let the opposing sides wear themselves down. It will make their ultimate victory that much easier."

"We shall see about that. What is your other vital news?"

"The Church is facing rebellious provinces in the south. Some have remained neutral refusing to pledge their support, and now a few have openly declared for Airiphryone. While the princess...my apologies...the queen and the AR fight each other, the Church is free to turn its attention to its own backyard. Much of their strength and military effort will be diverted there. However, they do wish to take advantage of the shifting of the queen's army to the east and gain territory in the northwest."

"Good and bad news."

"Yes. The Algar knows that the queen cannot defend all of her southern border while battling the entire might of the AR."

The priest paused to gage the spymaster's response to this distressing news, but the stony stare he received in turn revealed little. It was the Fox however, who broke the silence that ensued.

"I suspect that you have information that will help us there also."

"I do. I know where they will attack. With that knowledge, you need only deploy a modest defensive force, freeing you to move against the AR with maximum strength."

"Where?"

"Wailkos."

Invaluable, the information the priest was providing held the potential to change everything, and Silver was gently nodding to verify its veracity. Still, Esseff was naturally suspicious of a mighty gift so freely given. Something about this priest didn't sit well with him.

"You seem to know a great deal about military strategy for someone with a theological background and no military training."

"It is not by choice. Years of war have forced us to alter our normal pacifist pursuits and become learned in more violent arts. I was recruited early to work under Suasorsyth to acquire and pass along useful intelligence. One cannot help but learn something about tactics and strategy after being exposed to it for so long."

It was a predictable and safe answer, one Esseff would have used himself if he were lying, and yet Silver continued to indicate the priest was being truthful. The Fox had no choice but to take him at his word. The priest would be watched closely by Mislei and Glic just in case.

"Well, it seems you are a gift from the Maker himself to the queen," Esseff said with honest enthusiasm. "I shall discuss your information with Her Majesty, and let you know of her reaction."

"But I had hoped to present it to her personally. I do so wish to meet her."

"That is not going to happen anytime soon. You will be questioned further by me and others to discover everything of use you may hold locked away inside your head. If what you have given me so far proves accurate, you may be allowed an audience. Until then, do not attempt to approach her even if she is in public. If you do, you will be killed instantly. Is that clear?"

"So I am not a prisoner then?"

"No. You have but to answer one question truthfully to either go free or die."

"What is the question?"

"Do you intend to do the queen harm?"

"No."

Silver's stoic stare never wavered.

"Very well, you will be assigned quarters somewhere appropriate within the local chapel. Work will be found for you. The queen detests idle paws. Dismissed."

The priest was led away, and Silver returned to her room. Mislei and Glic emerged from behind a curtain that hid a small alcove.

"You heard?"

"Yes, boss," they answered as one.

"Valuable intel," observed Mislei.

"Yes," agreed Esseff, "but I don't trust him."

"But Silver..." began Glic.

"Is our best, but there are tricks to deceive even Wolves. The priest used none of which I am aware, but still..."

A moment's silence ensued as Esseff wrestled to define the source of his unease. He didn't want to admit to his minions or himself that one chronic liar could sense another.

"...We must be careful," he added lamely having nothing more concrete to back his suspicion. "Glic, you will keep a watch on him at all times and report anything suspicious to me. Mislei, you will arrange and lead scouting parties to verify the condition of the roads and bridges in Montothos. Send Cat. If anyone can get through, she can. Also, discover what you can of the Church's army mobilizing towards Wailkos. That is all."

"What about our watch on the inventor?"

"Well, you can't be everywhere at once. Find Dryphythus and send him here before you do anything else."

"Yes, boss," they exclaimed and vanished.

Weeks passed, winter retreated north, the promise of spring was fulfilled, and two armies departed River Keep. The first and largest, led by Vaunorthoses, marched the same path Airy had taken the previous fall. The future king's goal was a copy of Airy's, to fight and advance unrelentingly to Perseine. The second, smaller army, composed in its majority by Wolves, had White Paw as its general. The Wolf chief's mission was to speed ahead mostly unopposed along a more southerly route, cross back to the north over the hills separating Montothos and Kulkynth, and flank the inevitable AR force preventing Vaun's advance. If luck held and they were successful, Perseine would be saved and their foe defeated before summer.

Airy remained in River Keep, but she was not the only one left behind. Cat, Esseff, Dryphythus, Wyn, and Glic were also there. Camorra and Tigan set out in the opposite direction from Vaun and White Paw towards the northwestern provinces to strengthen alliances and spread the news of Airy's impending marriage. Mislei accompanied the Cow and Skunk on their journeys.

Just a few months earlier, Airy would have fumed in an impotent rage over being denied her rightful place at the head of her armies. Benefitting from maturity forged in the fires of experience and heartbreak, a source of pragmatic understanding suffused her spirit with acceptance for what had to be. Her desire for glory was undimmed, but it was tempered by wisdom from which she drew a new strength. Saving her family and healing Rikifur were too important to sacrifice to childish desires. Airy's role as queen was paramount in achieving those goals, and she willingly, if not happily, embraced her destiny including the tediousness of the role she must play.

Not all of her followers rested equally at ease with their fate. Dryphythus was perhaps the least content. Young and bereft of the adult sensibilities Airy had purchased at great cost, his dissatisfaction over not deploying with the Panthers roiled within him. Every day spent in seeming idleness as Jorveth's guard and protector seemed akin to a month in prison. Feats of physical prowess became his outlet to discharge his restless energy. His free time became a blur of daring cross-country horseback races, sparring matches with the older bucks, lengthy swims across the river, and lately scaling walls and leaping from rooftop to rooftop.

On a mid-spring day, weeks after Vaunorthoses and White Paw's departure, his reckless rambling brought him to the highest place in River Keep, the circular cupola topping the castle's central tower. Intending to be alone, he was pleasantly surprised when Wyn braved the steep, curling stone stairs to join him at his perch. Lately, confused feelings that sometimes left him nervous and further agitated accompanied her presence, but today he felt a sense of calm and inner peace with her that he welcomed eagerly.

Wyn prayed for a similar tranquility to slow her rapidly beating heart as she clutched tightly to one of the dozen narrow columns of carved marble that supported the open-air, domed roof. The view of the surrounding country was breathtaking, but unlike Dryphythus, Wyn also found it frightening. Peeking past her supportive pillar to the open space above the perilous drop to the river, she felt safe doing so only because her companion was close providing a strong, comforting presence.

Marked by trial and experience beyond his age, the once tiny bugler could scarcely be considered a kit any longer. A hero by virtue of his role in saving the queen, he openly wore his badge of honor - the scar that ran from under his left ear along his neck and shoulder to end in a ragged, puckered gash on his bicep. The intermingled beauty and horror it represented captured Wyn's attention away from the vertiginous vista. Dryphythus had removed his shirt to cool himself in the mild southerly breeze. Air currents rippled across his fur like the prairie grass of Storfay. The distinctive, coarse gray bristles recolonizing the swath of scar tissue did nothing to mar the rounded edges of muscle that seemed to have grown upon him nearly overnight.

So much had changed from when she first rescued the gangly little kit from the Queen's table at the celebration after the second battle of River Keep. He had been naive, timid, and in need of guidance. Wyn took him under her tutelage thinking to care and nurture him in the ways of the queen's household, but Dryphythus was determined to be an officer and serve her majesty in war alongside the bravest bucks. It wasn't that he didn't help Wyn with her household duties. When he wasn't training for or openly engaging in war, he followed her about everywhere like an orphaned feral kit assisting as best he could with cooking, cleaning, laundry, and whatever else needed doing. Now that the ex-bugler was becoming a buck, her affection for him was undeniably greater than that expected of a teacher or a friend. Equally muddled in her emotions, she prayed to the Maker that true love and not just a fleeting teenage infatuation was germinating inside her.

Boldly perched with his legs dangling over the precipice, Wyn could not help but realize how handsome and self-assured Dryphythus was becoming. Though slightly her younger, he was much taller now and growing at a furious pace. Each passing month transformed him incrementally and inexorably into the handsome and heroic adult buck and officer that seemed to be his destiny.

As if sensing her amorous stare, Dryphythus turned to look her way. He smiled his charming, boyish smile and patted the stone floor motioning for her to join him at his precarious ledge.

"Don't worry, Wyn. I'll hold you and keep you from falling."

Who else could have convinced her with such calm self-assurance and sincere, friendly affection? Enthralled enough to discard her trepidation, she took the proffered seat. He put his arm around her, she leaned against him, and placed her paw upon his scarred bicep taking comfort from the heroism the ugly mark represented; his bravado was earned, not feigned.

"Flying," He sighed wistfully dragging up the novel subject seemingly from nowhere. "Being up high like this is close to what it was like in the balloon. You know, before I was forced by Cat into the basket with the queen, I had resigned myself to dying to protect her. I was at peace with that decision despite the death and terror on Dome Hill, but once I left the earth...that was a truly wondrous thing. I suddenly wanted to live forever and never touch the ground again. I can't rid myself of the desire to repeat that experience...to be free like a bird."

Dryphythus settled into a reflective silence, enjoying the feel of the wind upon his face.

"A bird flies into the wind and travels in any direction it wants," he continued after reigning in his flighty thoughts. "The balloon was at the wind's mercy. We must improve upon that. I asked Jorveth how, and he said it is possible to make bird-like machines that can carry a person and go anywhere we want, anytime. I hope I live long enough to fly that way. I told Jorveth I wanted to be an aeronaut and test the first one for him."

"What did he say to that?"

"Nothing. He began talking instead about propulsion, controls, materials, and other things required to realize my dream without understanding the dream at all. Communicating with him is vexing. For example, he claimed his efforts to master the air would lead one day to a machine that could fly so fast, it would leave our earth and enter the heavens to sail among the stars."

"The heavens? The Makers would not like that."

"That's what I told him, but he said there are no Makers up there, just a vast, black void where other suns and worlds exist impossibly far away."

"Do you believe him?"

"I'm unsure. He's the smartest person I know, maybe the smartest person ever. He seems to know everything..."

"...And nothing about how people feel and believe," Wyn added. "There are things that only the Maker can know."

"I suppose that is true, but I want to believe him because what he promises enthralls me."

Pursing his lips together in contemplation, Dryphythus lapsed into silence again before abruptly changing the subject.

"The queen is restless and acting like a demon," he said without explanation.

His thoughts seemed to be a jumble today, perhaps born out of idleness at having been left behind with the rear guard instead of marching with either White Paw or Vaunorthoses. Wyn understood that he was upset despite the honor of being assigned to protecting someone as important as Jorveth. Normally, letting him speak his mind was the best form of comfort she knew to give, but today she couldn't resist jumping to her mistress' defense.

"She resents leading from the rear."

"As she should," agreed Dryphythus. "White Paw and Vaunorthoses are wrong to deny her the rightful place in battle she deserves."

"They're protecting her from herself like you're protecting me from falling. Is that so wrong?"

"Protection?" he scoffed. "Airiphryone is a great lady, braver and more capable than most bucks; she is the equal to General Vaunorthoses and White Paw. I know. I have served under them all, and I was there at her most desperate hour. She never showed fear, a moment's panic, or the slightest indecision. Bad luck was the thief that stole our victory; no failing on her part can be attached to it."

The horror and shame of the defeat at Doom Hill still weighed heavily upon Dryphythus. Reminding himself of it incited a remorse withdrawal. Wyn leaned deeper into his embrace squeezing his scarred bicep to comfort him and draw support for herself.

"I suspect something else ails the queen besides putting down her sword," she said having been reminded of the queen's moodiness.

"What else is there?"

"I'm not sure, but I have this feeling when I am around her that she is pining for something she has lost."

"What could that be? She has everything now."

"I don't know, but I think it's love."

"Impossible. She's marrying Vaunorthoses; a fine choice of husband and king. He is a brave and honorable buck. Are you implying she doesn't love him?"

"That's why I am so confused. She clearly adores him. When they are together, the warmth, friendship, and affection is tangible like soft rose petals in summer."

"Well, there you have it. She's pining for Vaunorthoses while he is off at war."

"But this feeling surrounded her even before he left. It started before the mid-winter festival, and has intensified since."

"The queen is a complicated person, Wyn. She is partially divine and closer to the Maker than even the Algar. She will be happy again only when she is on the throne and her family is safe. Until then, I think if you need to worry about anyone's romantic anguish you should focus on the Cat and Fox or some other lesser mortals."

"I suppose you are right. Those two are hard enough to fathom."

Thinking of romance stimulated Wyn to dwell upon her own budding ardor and the extreme closeness of the object of her affection. Sighing contentedly, she clutched his paw with hers. It was a moment of rare bliss during a time of tragic struggle. Like all such perfect interludes, it was doomed to brevity.

"When you two are ready to consummate your love, Mislei and I can show you what goes where and how to do it right."

Wyn and Dryphythus both started from the unexpected voice and turned as one to find its source. Glic leered at them from the top of the spiral stairwell. An ill-defined shadow of unease accompanied him. Wyn shuddered involuntarily while praying that the two boys did not come to blows. Though Glic was smaller and less muscular than her companion, the teenage Fox possessed a wiry, athleticism that when conjoined with confidence and a life exposed to brutality, made him deadly in a manner distinct from his teenage Rabbit counterpart. Glic was the assassin's dagger opposing the valiantly wielded sword that was Dryphythus.

"If you say please," Glic added, "we'll share ourselves with you to ensure the experience is truly memorable."

From anyone else, the rude remarks might be interpreted as a good humored, if off color joke, but the Fox expressed no mirth. A friendly jibe would have been reassuring; his steely seriousness was disturbing. His lecherous grin didn't help. Either the Fox didn't understand why his perversion made the skin beneath Wyn's fur crawl as though it were infested with fleas, or he was deliberately trying to provoke Dryphythus, who carefully helped Wyn to stand and positioned her safely away from the edge before confronting the intruder.

"Get out of here."

Dryphythus motioned towards the stairs while placing himself between Wyn and Glic.

"You're sick," he added.

"I'm only trying to help," protested the Fox sincerely.

"We don't need your help. By the Maker, we don't want your help."

Dryphythus closed the distance between them as he spoke, looming over the shorter teen in a deliberate attempt to intimidate him. Unconcerned, the Fox yielded no ground and was so bold as to ogle Wyn as if she were his to have.

"Pity. I was beginning to get a bit worked up just thinking about the fun we could share together."

Dryphythus moved closer still towards Glic until their snouts nearly touched.

"Clean your mind of any thoughts of Wyn, you pervert. If you try to touch her, I'll make you sorry. If you even think about her again, I'll..."

Wyn worried that events were spiraling out of control. Dryphythus' fists were clenched, and the fur on the back of his neck stood erect like the spines on a dragon lizard. To calm him, Wyn placed a steadying paw on her defender's back.

"Dry, don't. Please."

Her light, but insistent touch worked. Dryphythus paused and took several deep breaths to calm his ire, but he yielded no ground.

"Would you please leave us," he finally said to Glic, but it wasn't a request; his tone lost none of its threat or animosity.

Glic either chose to ignore Dry's overt hostility or remained unconcerned by it.

"Yes. I have to go," he said as if they were just having a pleasant chat. "There is much for me to do to prepare for the queen's outing, but you two also have no time to waste cuddling. I bring orders as well as spurned romantic advice. The queen wants you, Dryphythus, in uniform for her color guard as part of the cleansing ceremony, and you, Wyn, are needed by the queen to help her get dressed. The priests will be coming within the hour to give whatever blessings, Rabbit rituals, and tedious prayers they deem necessary before she is paraded before your people."

"Color guard for the cleansing ceremony!" exclaimed Wyn forgetting for the moment the uncomfortable tension. "That is a great honor."

"Indeed," agreed Glic with surprising sincerity, then to Dryphythus he said, "Your valor has earned you a great deal of respect."

One of Glic's paws rose tentatively but stopped short of touching the scar on Dryphythus' upper arm.

"Don't be late," he added before nonchalantly turning his back to Dryphythus and loping down the steps.

"You should not antagonize him," chided Wyn after the Fox was out of range of her voice. "He is dangerous and besides, he serves the queen like us."

"I'm not afraid of him or his twin. I can't abide either of them, but..." His shoulders slumped in resigned contrition. "...dammit, you're right. In their weird way, they may be honestly trying to help, but who can tell?" he asked before answering his own question. "It doesn't matter. Being rude was wrong. I wish I could be more like you and see the good in everyone. There's too much anger inside me, though. I'm still mad at White Paw for treating me like a coward by leaving me behind."

"You are not a coward, and White Paws knows that. Everyone, even Glic knows that. White Paw has his reasons, and they are not because of anything you lack."

"Thanks. I'm glad you believe in me. I will apologize to the Fox the next time I see him."

"It's the right thing to do; a virtuous action that demonstrates your high, moral character. He's on our side and so is his twin, or sister, or whatever their relationship is. They mean well even if they are creepy."

"Creeps. Hmm. You don't know the half of it."

"I don't understand."

"I hope you never do. I've heard rumors about him and his vixen twin - things that would make you blush if they didn't shock you to your core instead."

"What things?"

Dryphythus regretted raising the subject. Talk of indiscrete and adult matters made him uncomfortable, especially with Wyn, for reasons he found hard to explain even to himself.

"Things that gentle does like you shouldn't know about," he added in a hurry hoping to move the conversations anywhere else.

Unwilling to let him off so easily, Wyn placed her paws on her hips and struck a defiant pose.

"Us girls aren't as fragile as or as ignorant as you think. Cat doesn't hesitate to say whatever she wants, and has told me some things about Mislei and Glic that did more than blush my cheeks."

"Please don't repeat them to me," begged Dryphythus floundering in a sea of embarrassment. "I don't think that I could bear to hear such profanity from your sweet lips."

Her demeanor softened in an instant.

"Sweet lips? Oh, my. Aren't you the romantic."

Wyn stepped forward and kissed him chastely upon his cheek.

"Was that sweet enough for you?"

Having stared down death with equanimity, the young buck had proven to be unshakeable in battle, but her harmless, gentle gesture did more to disarm him than the most expertly executed martial attack.

"That's...that's not what I meant. I..."

"Oh yes it was. You were angry at Glic because you're jealous and wanted to drive him away so we can be alone like right now."

"No...I...I was trying to protect you..."

"Just admit it, Dry. You love me." Tumbling out of her mouth unbidden, those three words surprised Wyn as much as Dryphythus. "Don't you?" she added worried that his answer might be "No."

Unsure what love really was, Dryphythus' impulse was to deny the charge, but the notion held an innate truth impossible for him to foreswear.

"I...I think I do, Wyn," he admitted, uncertain from where he found the heroism to confess something so frightening.

"Are you still not sure? Maybe this will convince you."

Her second kiss fell upon his lips and thrilled him with a rush greater than flying. He returned it generously. Lasting well beyond the limits of decency for two newly courting Rabbits, especially ones so young, the passion of their embrace was only broken when, by mutual consent, both realized that an instant longer would tempt them farther than they were ready to go. Wyn blushed; a rueful red highlighted her cheeks.

"I'm not sure why I did that. It was very brazen of me. I hope you don't now think that I am ungentle or creepy," worried Wyn.

Captivated by the novelty and magic of her affection, Dryphythus' thoughts wandered to no such realm of disquiet; he was suffused instead with wonder and the future promise of more brazen behavior from her.

"I think...I think...Maker, I don't know what to think except that you are not ungentle or creepy. You are everything virtuous and pure that is worth preserving and fighting for in this world. I would challenge any foe, or just as soon surrender my place in battle and never fly again for the pleasure of remaining with you forever."

His eloquent protestations of affection banished Wyn's unease.

"Well, you don't have to give up those things, silly. I love your bravery and your dreams too much to ask you to make such a ridiculous sacrifice. You do, however, have to leave me for a while and attend to the queen."

Wyn took her new beau's paw and led him towards the stairs.

"She needs you now."

"But I need you now," he objected not wanting to be separated.

"Duty first. Be my brave knight and assist me down the scary steps, and I will reward you with another kiss at the bottom. Would you like that?"

"I do want that," he purred while wrapping one arm protectively around her waist and helping her with the first of many steps they would take together.

Ceremony and ritual were annoying but necessary duties for the queen. Annoying because this day's particular rite was a dominant reason Airy had agreed to remain at River Keep. Necessary because rituals like this were important to the maintenance of the monarchy, tying her and the people together with a shared sense of history and connection to the Maker. Though Olivia cured Airy of belief in divine beings, her people still believed, so she continued living the lie that preserved her authority to accomplish what she felt was right and necessary.

When Wyn arrived, apologizing for being late, Airy did not ask where she had been and forgave her instantly, grateful for her help with the preparations. Special clothing required for the ceremony was elaborate and impossible for Airy to don without assistance. The garments were hateful enough, but before she begin to put them on, she had to endure the application of a dark gray, washable dye painted over her beautiful golden fur to render the impression of being covered in dirt and grime. All of the fuss was to prepare her for the reenactment of her namesake ancestor's first encounter with the Maker.

Legend said that the original Airiphryone and Jacynthopoles had fasted, scourged themselves, bathed in mystic pools, and prayed for days to make themselves presentable to receive the Maker's blessing. The details of the actual event had occurred a thousand years ago, and not recorded until decades after Airiphryone and Jacynthopoles had died. Whatever truth lay behind the story, the holiday had long ago been fixed by the church to occur each spring. Rather than the private affair the original event had likely been, it had evolved into a public display that ended with the queen undressing, pretending to flagellate herself with a whip, and having buckets of cold water poured over her head.

Those aspects of the rite were deliberately embarrassing, but it would not be decorous for the queen to be naked in public. A special fur-tight undergarment of silk dyed to match her natural coloration had been tailored to remain in place after all other layers had been discarded. Though it covered her torso, stretching from her upper arms to her mid-thigh, it left little to the imagination. Airy laughed aloud when she saw the faint tiger stripes worked into the stitching.

Over the silk undergarment went layer upon layer of white cloth to emphasize her modesty and virginity in mimicry of her ancestor. The outermost layer was a white dress embossed with iridescent pearls. Cinched tight at the waist and constricting across the chest, Airy found it difficult to breath in it. Despising such effeminate attire, Airy felt as though she were imprisoned within cloth. Disrobing in public seemed a small price to pay to be free.

It was a humiliating affair that she was determined to complete with dignity just as her parents had each year for the length of their reign. The ceremony would not be strictly according to custom without a husband and king, but she dared not cancel. It was an event much anticipated by the peasants and the nobility alike and a rare moment for them to experience the divine through her.

Even Esseff, who complained bitterly about the security risks associated with a nearly naked queen in a public square agreed to its importance. He compensated by clearing buildings surrounding the event and staffing them with loyal soldiers. No assassin would have a vantage point to take a pot shot at her. She would be safe, or so Esseff thought.

Distracted by securing the venue, neither Esseff nor Glic were present when the priests arrived at Airy's chambers to deliver private, pre-ritual blessings for the queen. Dontamethes, accompanied by his new assistant priest, Mortdarathos, were both dressed in their finest silk robes of emerald and purple that Airy had generously spared when Jorveth was making her war balloons. Being devotees of the Maker did not spare either priest from a search of their vestments by the guards. Finding nothing untoward, the two knights resumed their station inside the room on either side of the door. Ever alert, one held his longsword unsheathed, and the other cradled a loaded crossbow in his arms.

Physical inspection by the knights was not the priests' final obstacle before approaching the queen. Thayir sniffed them suspiciously. Familiar with Airy's feral guardian, Dontamethes laughed, patted Thayir's head, and scratched under his chin.

"I never thought I would pet a feral wolf. He is really a gentle enough beast, though."

"A fit guardian for the queen," agreed Mortdarathos as he offered Thayir a savory piece of dried meat from an inner pocket of his robes. "He deserves a reward for his loyalty."

The guardian gratefully swallowed the treat and returned to his place near his mistress' side where he laid down as if asleep.

"You should leave," said Mortdarathos abruptly to the guards. "This is the private part of the day where the queen confesses her sins and receives a sacred blessing. No one but those steeped in the Church's mysteries should be present."

"Ain't happening, Priest," spoke the guard with the naked blade. "Standing orders from the Fox are that the queen is never left unguarded. Never. No one, not even Her Majesty, can make us leave."

Distracted by her annoying clothing, Airy had paid no heed to priest's arrival until Mortdarathos initiated the heated debate.

"Who is this stranger with you, Dontamethes?" she asked.

"This is brother Mortdarathos. He is the defector from among the Algar's ranks. Esseff has interrogated him many times, and he has been a great help to me in my ministry."

Remembering the renegade priest's name from planning meetings, Airy nodded her approval.

"You are welcome here, brother Mortdarathos. I thank you for your service."

The lop-eared priest bowed at the waist.

"It is a great honor and pleasure to serve you in person at last, Your Majesty. To assist with this ceremony in particular exceeds the expectations of one of my humble station, but I must continue to be impertinent and ask that you please dismiss the guards..."

"Brother Mort," growled Dontamethes in admonishment.

"Surely on this one sacred occasion..." protested Mortdarathos, but the duoma cut him off again.

"These are dangerous and unusual times, Brother Mort. Leave them be. The queen may speak her part in whispers."

Unhappy with the portly priest's decision, Mortdarathos adapted to the unfavorable circumstance.

"They must be blessed and cleansed of taint themselves then, if they are to stay. May I have the honor, Brother Dontamethes?"

"An adroit compromise. Of course, please do."

The older priest turned his attention to Airy, who stood piqued by her discomforting attire but nonetheless resplendent. With her hair artfully braided, the warrior queen had vanished to be replaced by a goddess of beauty. Little Wyn stood by her side holding her mistress' paw.

"I would like Wyn to stay with me to help keep me from falling over or tripping in this horrible costume."

"As you wish, Your Majesty. I shall cleanse you both together. I hope the little one is as without sin as she appears."

Wyn flushed thinking of her kiss with Dryphythus and the many impure thoughts about him she had harbored in the short time since that moment. Regret for agreeing to stand by her queen consumed the doe, mortified that Airy would learn what was in her heart.

Dontamethes lit two sticks of incense, and handed one each to Airy and Wyn. He had scarcely begun his low chanting when a sickening, gurgling sound from behind stopped him. Turning, he beheld an unexpected sight. His assistant had convinced the two guards to kneel for their cleansing. He then had produced two razor sharp daggers from some hidden pouch or compartment upon his person. Simultaneous upward thrusts beneath each guard's chin accompanied by a deft twist left them bleeding out and toppling to the floor.

Unable to comprehend the bizarre scene, Dontamethes stood transfixed as his fellow brother launched both blades towards him in rapid succession. The first missed, sailing a mere inch from his left arm. Its target was Airy's heart. With reflexes honed by years of training, Airy moved to dodge the weapon. Hindered by her need to shove Wyn safely aside and by her tight clothing, she was slowed enough that the blade stuck painfully in the muscle of her upper arm.

In the confusion, Dontamethes thought both blades had missed their deadly mark, but a sharp twinge of pain triggered a downward glance revealing the hilt of the second blade protruding from his left breast. The growing, dark stain around the thin needle of steel was the last image his mind processed before he crumpled lifeless to the floor.

Surprised by the violence of Airy's push, Wyn toppled and fell over Thayir's inert body. Mortdarathos quickly placed a stout timber across a pair of brackets on either side of the door, hefted one of the dead guard's swords, and moved to kill the encumbered queen. Unarmed, Airy shouted for help but knew it would come too late if she did nothing to protect herself. Retreating towards the back of the room, she sought to retrieve her sword from where it hung in its scabbard from a wooden peg. Slowed by her costume, she clenched her teeth, pulled the knife from her arm, and used it to cut away at the luxuriously appointed dress to free her legs as the assassin rapidly closed the gap between them.

In the hallway outside the queen's chambers, Airy's cries for help stirred up a maddened hornet's nest of confusion. The guards stationed there and several of Esseff's truth sensing Wolves were pounding at the door trying to break it down when the Fox returned.

"What's happening!?" he demanded.

Silver was the only person not actively attempting to break inside. She answered with her normal implacable voice.

"Don't know, but the door is barred and the queen was shouting for help. Two guards, two priests, and Wyn are with her."

"Priests? Which priests?"

"The fat, shaven one and the defector."

"The defector? Mortdarathos! No! Damn me for a fool. Get an Axe! Chop down that door. Silver, find Cat. Now!"

Efficient and obedient, Silver grabbed the two other Wolves who were only succeeding in being in the way and dragged them by the scruffs of their necks to find the feline.

Not knowing if the queen was still alive or if she would stay that way much longer, worry consumed Esseff. Desperate, he concocted a hasty plan and impulsively acted upon it. A chair standing against the outer wall found itself flying through the window. He followed it as far as the narrow ledge outside that was barely more than the width of a single brick. Heedless of the danger, he shuffled as quickly as he dared towards the nearest window of Airy's room.

He discovered there a rope hung from a higher floor with knots at regular intervals. It terminated just above the ground in the narrow alley below.

"The assassin's escape route," thought Esseff as he grabbed hold of the rope.

All the nearby windows were shut indicating the killer was likely still inside. There was still a chance he could save the queen. Holding tight to the rope, Esseff kicked away from the wall so he swung outward hindpaws far above the ground as his wild arc carried him back towards a closed and locked window.

Ignoring the prostrate child and the drugged feral, Mortdarathos moved to intercept his target before she acquired a real weapon. It was an understandable but crucial mistake. Wyn turned out to not be the passive victim he thought she was. A burning rage arose within the little doe over the death of the gentle priest and the continuing attack upon her mistress. More fearsome than a mother bear's instinctive protection of her cubs, it unleashed a deep well of strength she never knew she possessed. An upholstered wooden chair that weighed almost as much as herself became a weapon thrown hard and low. It struck the murderous priest's legs causing him to fall. The heroic act afforded Airy time to slash away enough material to move normally and secure her sword.

Downed for but a few seconds, Mortdarathos recovered, slashed his sword wildly at Wyn forcing her to retreat under a table, and then resumed chasing Airy. He nearly caught her in the back, but she turned in time to parry his thrust with the flat of her blade. Accomplished with a sword, Airy countered a series of rapid attacks, but the assassin was easily her match encumbered as she still was by her tight fitting girdle. His blade whirled about wildly searching for the inevitable break in her defenses reminding her of her fight with the multi-limbed servants of Olivia and the power contained in the strength and sharpness of the Maker made blades she had stolen for her and Jak.

Knowing an attack would leave her open to a deadly thrust if she failed, she put all of her strength into a wild swing that met his blade, severing it less than a foot above the hilt. No longer a helpless target, Airy drove the assassin back towards the door with a series of hacking, slashing attacks. Quick and nimble as an acrobat, he retreated out of reach.

The insistent hammering upon the door switched to the sound of an axe digging into wood. A minute or two at most were all Mortdarathos had to complete his mission and escape.

"They'll soon be through," warned Airy as she moved to place herself between Wyn and the assassin so he couldn't use her as a hostage. "Throw down your weapon. It's over."

"Not yet, Princess," he replied with a sneer as he hurled his decapitated weapon scything through the air unerringly towards Airy's chest.

Unlikely to succeed in killing the armed queen, Mortdarathos' true goal was to make her dodge, allowing him time to retrieve the dead guard's crossbow. Before Airy could recover and close the gap, the loaded weapon was leveled at her chest.

"Now it's over," he declared as his finger pulled back upon the trigger.

An explosive inward shattering of glass preceded the release of the latch restraining the taut cord at the feathered end of the deadly crossbow bolt. Amid the dazzling fragments of crystal that sprayed across the room, Esseff soared hindpaws first between Airy and her assassin. He struck the floor, pitched forward into a somersault, fathomed the peril, and let his momentum carry him into the path of the speeding arrow. His limp body slid to a stop against the slumbering wolf.

Intent upon slaying her tormentor before he could do more harm, Airy charged the thwarted and now weaponless killer priest. One sweep of her blade separated his disbelieving head from his neck. She then removed the bar blocking the door before rushing to inspect the Fox.

Wolves and Rabbits poured in. There was great relief that the queen was alive, but greater worry arose when it was seen that she was wounded. Unconcerned with her own bloody arm, Airy fended off her benefactors urging them instead to provide aid to Dontamethes and Esseff.

Beyond earthly help, Dontamethes was at rest with his Maker, but Esseff still breathed as evidenced by the bloody foam he coughed weakly through clenched teeth. Wyn reached him first crawling towards the dying Fox from her hiding place and cradling his head in her lap. The doe cried as others debated whether they should attempt to remove the arrow from his chest.

Shouts for a healer were answered by a roar from Cat when she beheld her mortally stricken lover. Rudely shoving everyone but Wyn away, Cat knelt at his side.

"Vhat happened?" demanded Cat as she forced open Esseff's eyelids. For an instant, he looked back at her in recognition, then with his last shuddering breath hissing between his lips, he shrank in upon himself and grew still.

"No. No. No," Wyn cried, but through her tears and sobs, she managed to find the words to answer Cat.

"He put himself between the queen and the assassin. He gave his life for her. He passed the test you gave to him, but now he is dead. You could have been together again. It's too late now and so unfair."

Wyn's abundant tears found no companions mirrored in Cat's dry eyes. With brutal efficiency, the feline yanked the arrow out of Esseff chest, snatched up a wad of fabric from Airy's ruined dress, and pressed it against the bloody hole.

"A truly selfless deed, Foxy," Cat whispered into the dead vulpine's ear. "I vondered if you vere capable."

Catching and holding Wyn's tear blurred eyes, Cat said "Maybe not too late."

Baffled, by Cat's calm demeanor, Wyn watched transfixed as the feline extended a single claw on her left paw and stabbed it into the dead Fox's neck.

"Why did you do that?" asked Wyn.

"Some Maker magic, I hope. Vait and see."

Wonderment brought on by the strange tableau hushed the room. Rabbits and Wolves alike stood transfixed. A few watched with curiosity, others were simply dumbfounded, but none escaped the breathless expectation of a pending miracle. Tens of seconds passed, then a minute. Cat put her fingers aside Esseff's throat, then put the tip of her snout to his. After wrinkling her brow skeptically, she opened one of the Fox's dead eyelids again.

Gently replacing his head in Wyn's lap, Cat drew back. Disgusted that Olivia had betrayed her, Cat began plotting the exquisitely painful ways she would kill the Maker bitch, but gasps, cries of alarm, and grateful thanks to the Maker interrupted Cat's deadly reverie. Wyn felt the Fox stir in her arms but could not believe he was alive until a spasm of coughing shook his body, his eyes popped back open, and he spoke.

"Damn but that hurts," said Esseff to a sea of gaping mouths. "Was I dead? I'm pretty sure I died. Am I alive again now?"

Cat squatted next to him so his blurry eyes could focus on her.

"You vas dead, Foxy."

"Really? What brought me back?"

"Vun time gift from Maker; I bring vun person back from the dead," she answered while holding out her bloody claw for his inspection.

"I don't get it."

"I'll explain later. Just know this; I chose you."

Esseff considered her statement carefully while looking about to observe the two dead guards, poor Dontamethes, and Thayir. Silver was petting the feral.

"He lives," the old truth scenter said stoically. "Just drugged."

It was good news, but did nothing to erase the other deaths from Esseff's conscience. This fiasco was his fault, and good people were dead because of him. They were all his responsibility. His only consolation was that the queen still lived.

"That is a relief," he answered Silver, but to Cat he added, "I am not certain you chose correctly from among the dead. I am grateful, though. I shall strive to be worthy of the honor. Does this mean you and I are a we again? Are we ok?"

"Sure. Ve ok, Foxy."

Smiling, Esseff closed his eyes.

"Excellent. Get me something for the pain, please. Dying hurts a lot, but resurrection is twice as painful. I would like to sleep for a while, maybe a long while."

[End of Chapter]