____****____

(Part 51 by Ikarias) --

meanwhile...

The sorceress as slave had quite enough of the meek and mild routine. The only earth she'd known the meek ever to inherit was a single patch just large enough to hold a body, considerably smaller and more numerous if there were parts to be disposed of en masse.

She made her way to the hot springs. Rain wasn't sufficient to cleanse her for her intimate meeting with Sirius. `Lord' indeed. How such a woman with a mere pittance of magic had the temerity to give herself such a title, well… It wouldn't take long to separate the dross from the gold. She had real doubts that Sirius was little more than a poseur though a lovely one at that. If she didn't disappoint Firenzia too much she might live to serve the sorceress for a goodly number of years, with most of her body and wits intact.

Renzi became Firenzia again, looking so terribly young and innocent as she stepped out of her sodden rags and into the pool. She needed a relaxing pampered session, something quiet and personal, something that she couldn't share with the mundane ladies of the lodge.

"Attende mei!"

The order brought a ripple from below the rain patterned surface. More ripples and the drops falling drew together as an upsurge joined them and coalesced into a naiad, the guardian of the spring. "Do you know me?" Firenzia asked the watery woman whose skin glowed with the green of new leaves.

"You are a master of life and death." The naiad fell to her knees, her rippling lapis lazuli hair falling over her glistening body. "Then you know you are fortunate that you shall live… a little longer." Firenzia held out her arms. "Bathe me. I have an important appointment."

"Yes, master." The water nymph quickly did as she was told, though every mote of her being shrunk from touching the sorceress. Firenzia's name was anathema to speak by all fey and life-loving folk. Suffering and death oozed from her soul like a miasma from a charnel house. Nor could all the waters of the world could make her clean.

The rain lessened and stopped, leaves dripped and soaked buds lost the weight of water to rise up to the sun.

Should she kill the naiad or not? Firenzia's core itched as she rose from the bath. Taking the time she wanted with the watery woman would postpone her visit with Sirius. She could always come back. Naiads are bound to their springs by bonds stronger than steel.

By will the sorceress opened the baggage they had brought when they first had come to the lodge. One moment they were in the room she shared with B'sylla, the next they were at the spring. Slippers sewn in gold and an embroidered ruby gown with black pearls tracing the opening syllable for creation appeared on a dry bench, along with a comb and a circlet of beaten gold. Yes, later for the naiad.

Finishing touches and Firenzia was dressed. The naiad tied the last ribbon of the slippers and stayed kneeling, head on her thighs, not daring to look up.

She brushed by the denizen of the spring and went up to the lodge. It was quiet but that was of no matter. She felt Sirius there in her suite. A delicious frisson of anticipation went through her. Neither knocking nor calling out, Firenzia walked through the door to Sirius. A small demonstration of her ability, no mere wood or stone could stop her.

"I have a proposition for you, `Lord'" (and that word dripped sarcasm) "Sirius. I have seen your power. I know power draws power to itself. I can offer you more than you dream. Please me, and I can give you worlds. You love these mundane women well, if not wisely. I have a score to settle with the assassin slut, Aria and the scaly bitch, Ikarias. If you're good, I'll let you watch. I might even let you play with the blond. What say you?"

____****____

(Part 52 by by Lord Sirius) --

While all were taking their leave of the doomed Lodge, Sirius hummed a popular tune in her head as she prepared for a journey of her own. Here and there a terse musical whisper of sound issued from her full lips. Her naked body was silhouetted magically against the far wall of her room. Tall and beautifully toned she moved with the smoothness of a cat. The richly hued skin that covered her muscular frame gleamed dimly highlighting the feminine curves and swells of her finely sculpted body. She was fluid in motion as she swept past the huge bed and bent to the wooden chest in the corner. Inside rested the heavy black hooded robe. She slipped into its woolen confines and drew it about her body, covering her full breasts and the shiny rings that adorned them. She drew the golden threaded sash around her waist. and drew the hood over her head. She was ! in anticipation of what awaited her at the end of the quick trip. She licked her thick lips thinking of plucking the delicate flower.

The window opened wide as she turned towards it. The black hound appeared at her heels and nudged her hand. In the blink of an eye they were off. The roundness of the planet never ceased to amaze her. They rose swiftly into the void beyond dissolving into the darkness as it welcomed them with open arms. What is time? A limitation for things that need order and cannot exist without such trappings to bind themselves to the illusion of what they term life. What indeed? Slowly they came upon it. The very core as it could be called for this illusion. Under the weight of the dreary tones of forbidden daylight, the steep mountains stood, as always they have. She liked this part by foot. Neither Sirius nor her beast wavered as the thundering din of misery grew louder at each step. They stayed within the boundaries of the narrow path t! hat wound its way through the suffering throngs to either side of it.

Sirius stood still and breathed in lungfuls of the hot humid air. The putrid stench of rotting flesh and the arousing fragrance of fresh lilacs filled her nostrils, as the dammed called out to her. They pleaded and wailed pitifully, sobbing for an end to their wretched non-existence.

She glanced up at the overhead sky and watched galaxies at play. These things she loved the best about home. Or at least this home. They neared the foot of the mountain. It opened to her touch. They entered the decrepit corridor and followed the lit torches to their destination.

A dozen hooded figures sat around the long table. They spoke quietly amongst themselves as the waited for the chair at the head of the table to be occupied by Her. One of the twelve stood up, the hood slipping from its long head. The grotesque green eyes surveyed the table and waited. The insect like figure held up its spindly arms in a motion for silence.

"Sirius has arrived and will be here momentarily. She suggests we prepare the agenda and be ready to start."

The others murmured in approval and scrolls were shuffled about until the proper order was achieved. Then bickering ensued over who was to address the Lord first. Hoods came off quickly. Sitting at the far end of the right side of the table was a quiet figure. It stood and dropped its hood. El was magnificent in her beauty. As always the bliss of complete inner peace she exuded was a welcomed flame of hot redeeming fire. Even the demon Lords stopped their arguing to ogle her ageless form. The grays looked up at her, their drooping eyes shining brightly. Winged forms ruffled their feathers and fangs were bared in childish grins as they basked in her beauty.

The huge black beast entered the room first preceding Sirius' imminent arrival. Hoods were drawn once more as the twelve stood in unison. Sirius strode into the room as her seat prepared itself. Hundreds of long slick forms slithered over the throne. Their snakelike skin glowed like moving crystals as they rushed into place. Sirius sat upon the chair, her arms immediately encircled by the slimy beasts. They lovingly caressed her form slipping easily around her under her robe and continuing to traverse her firm and supple body. The feeling was exquisite and such a treat this day.

"Who's first this time?" she enquired the of assembled company of firsts.

A dozen voices clamored for her attention all at once. Sirius smiled for the first time. She snapped her fingers and several servers arrived laden with refreshments for all. A spit of tiny roasted forms was placed in the center. Sirius chose first. The darkest one, she loved them burnt. The others followed suit, ripping at the cooked flesh with their respective hands claws and tentacles. An endless stream of delicacies followed including Sirius favorite. As she ate the sugary beignets and drank the chilled blood wine, she quickly accounted for all who were present. Her dark eyes settled on the form at the end of the table on her right. El glowed from within her robe as she caught Sirius' eye. Their last sexual tryst at the Lodge not forgotten by either.

When at long last the imbibing of food and drink was over, Sirius settled back in her chair as the moist snakes slithered and twisted themselves around her naked form, paying homage once more to Her. A rare privilege to be indulged and gorged upon. The first to rise and speak was Kanael. An old and very wise demon Lord. He stood and presented the first scroll to Sirius and waited while she read his report. She nodded.

"Excellent work Kanael. I'm very pleased with this news. You may very well have to weed them out of course. Deal with them as we normally do."

The towering figure bowed. It had gone better than he had expected. She was not displeased in the least. Breathing a sigh of relief he sat down. The demon's green skin was scarred and still healing. Another mark of his allegiance to Her. In truth there was no other and never could be.

And so it continued, as report after report was given. The final scroll contained a name Sirius was now well acquainted with. She opened it and read with interest.

Kanael spoke first again. "She is there now"

"I know. I have had the pleasure of making her acquaintance. Sirius smiled. "She does quick work of it. Enjoys what she has been allowed. She has no knowledge of Me."

"Let me be the one to put an end to it" Kanael was always first to volunteer for such work. He was long acquainted with the likes of her and would have her sliced and diced in moments. Any of them could actually. Once things have outlived their usefulness it was time they had their flames extinguished.

"No, not yet" Sirius moved forward in her seat. They slithered with her, hanging onto her arms as she gestured and spoke. Wrapped themselves loosely, conforming to her every move. "Not just yet" she thought to herself.

At long last the others rose and wandered away, lured by promises of pleasure from the tiny soft winged feminine figures that inhabited this home. And time for Sirius to have her pleasure as well. El moved forward and took her place atop the hard table. Leaning back she shimmered provocatively and opened herself. She parted her wet center with gentle fingers, exposing the seductive and mysterious core to the Lord's dark and probing eyes. Sirius wasted no time, rising and losing form as well, she plunged three thick fingers into the hot waiting recess. They were gripped and pulled by the slick churning interior. Sirius took on her formless glow and withdrew her wet fingers. Her loins ached for release, she pulsed and expanded, throwing herself upon the soft red supine vision of ethereal delight that offered herself so willingly to Sirius' dark intentions and evil assaults. She fucked her thick cock up into El and burned with pleasure at the darkly divine softness that engulfed her. The sounds of bestial lust filled the air.

Whips were chosen and used. Screams of passion and pain were heard all around. Sirius paid no heed as she rutted with a vengeance into the tightness of El's holy depths. She scraped the hot sheath cruelly urged on by El's soft whispers and pleading for more of the same. These forms were addictive. Sirius long hard cock battered her prey until the exciting writhing of the delicious creature beneath her brought the dark Lord to the edge. El pulled back then thrust upwards, greedy for every bit of the raw lust that was splitting her open and spreading wide her needy core. Their hot spendings mixed together inside her, burning her cunt and scorching her old and blackened soul. El held on as Sirius sped on, quicker and harder than before, moving the heavy table about with her powerful thrusts. El began to pant as she neared the acme of pleasure once more. Sirius bellowed like a beast and came hard, filling El to overflowing with her hot demon seed as it spat forth into the wildly convulsing hole. An evil grin on her face Sirius lunged forward tearing the delicate flower and wringing another anguished cry from El.

Sirius stripped quickly and walked naked along the empty hallway to the Lodge bathing room. Immersing herself in a tub of scented hot water she took her time washing away the remnants of her meeting. She was expecting company.

____****____

(Part 53 by Ikarias) --

B'sylla gave a gracious nod to Aria's demand for more information on their nemesis. The albino held a different demeanor entirely. No longer did she appear as a crippled hag or a defeated wreck. Indeed she was noticeably younger looking and stronger. An unexplainable majesty and nobility wrapped her as if she had been touched by the divine and wore the new responsibility as a sacred whole.

"Firenzia, whom you know as Renzi the slave girl has meddled in all your lives. She takes great pride in weaving tapestries of misery and deceit. Over the decades she has set paths of peril and doom, mocking the pitiful men and women under her castings who suffered and hoped in vain. Thus she has bragged to me of her successes in wickedness. It is no accident that you all are here."

Ikarias watched the blood bright eyes, wondering why Book called the albino woman a basilisk. Aria missed that little reference, not like her at all. Then again, having the wrath of seven hells dropping by about breakfast time would tend to make even the most gracious picklock princess inattentive to one or two little things. How could B'sylla be both human and basilisk? And if she was, why weren't they listening to her with stony ears and rocky elbows resting on adamantine knees?

"She is older than the pyramids, and do not think the Sphinx was always just held the seeming appearance of a great stone beast. Firenzia, in a fit of pique, set a pet lion on its owner, a young pharaoh who offended her by refusing to worship her. The lion didn't finish the job so the sorceress merged both bodies and set them as a monument to the folly of crossing her will." So B'sylla told them as she brushed a hand through her white hair, her red eyes glittering.

"Who was your dearest companion, Snake Priestess? One to whom you owed much in the way of piety and love?"

"Lithalla," came a whisper as Synestra remembered the wonderful times, all of them. The lessons, the mediations, the sharing of passions she never knew existed until the intense High Priestess of Nine Tongues and One Tear took a confused but determined young girl under her protection.

"She was in the way."

"Was?" Synestra's eyes narrowed as she sat still and poised, hands resting in each other, but restless now. She hadn't heard from her mentor in over a year, that fact slipped her mind with all the other duties and the crisis unfolding here.

"Last year Firenzia sent the Prime Assassin Chaenz, Aria's old teacher, to stop her. It looked like an internal hemorrhage. Firenzia's toy, a telescoping plaything of pleasure, held a triangular blade like a fang which burst into her heart. My sorceress is inventive to a fault."

A small scratching, barely heard except to her dragon ear drew Ikarias' attention. Synestra's agitated nails moved rapidly over the palm of her other hand. Since when did high priestess' work suddenly induce calluses there? Ikarias wondered about that as she indelicately pried a piece of bark from under a toenail. Oh yes, definitely get boots on or the devastation of good manners would surely precipitate and overshadow their certain doom.

"Firenzia sent Chaenz to `convert' you, Lady Aria, back into the fold to put an end Ikarias' life. She was hoping that the cruelty and terrible acts would make you do it for certain this last time." B'sylla continued, "That would have been the third attempt, or fourth on your life, Half-Dragon. Her patience has never been extensive, though the sorceress does enjoy the prolonged suffering she creates."

"Plant a seed of kingship lost in a boy born on the wrong side of the blanket and Vadat the Bastard nursed the hope of regaining it. For this crown, entire families were extinguished, a missing girl-child that had been lost was found and she had been forged into a most potent weapon. So Chaenz existed for revenge and a longing never to be under anyone's power again. She failed."

B'sylla watched the dawning of this history in Aria's eyes. She pitied the young woman, but more had to be told.

"Turn fatherly attention to inappropriate caressing and that becomes violations of a child's soul and body. You were not the first, or the last. Changing your name to `Aria' never changed that. Why did your sister turn to religion with such fervor, shunning even innocent embracing and calling it all, `Dirty, filthy, bad'? Zealotry and madness became her inheritance. She took solace in cold steel blades by quenching the shame in the hearts of heathens."

"I didn't know…" Aria's mind whirled with the news. Did she ever know? Suspect? Try to understand?

"Groomed for the throne but trained first on the king's' 'royal scepter', your brother never trusted a living soul. He saw a viper in every female and a victim in all young males. Giles had to die and thus the kingdom fell to warlords, death, famine, and pestilence."

Aria paled, remembering her first ride with Chaenz back to her own kingdom, though the Prime Assassin could not possibly have known it. "We went home, I took a boy's name and manner, blended with the stable hands. I shared meals with them, shared treats from Chaenz' hands… treats I faked in the eating of and tossed them to the dogs per her orders."

B'sylla nodded, "The poison in the food entered the stable boys at one end, and to be indelicate, your brother went in at the other. The scabrous pox thus contracted rapidly ate Giles from the core, rotting him from the inside out. The stench of his living decay deterred any but the hardiest physics and guards from getting too close. Even your queen mother could not bear it. At the end, less than an hour after his death, his body was sealed in a lead casket and buried in secret. The corpse shown to the public was a clever if unfortunate double, seen as a strong whole man fallen to his death from horseback during a hunt. That was a lie everyone knew, but few suspected the reality."

Ikarias wanted to take Aria away from all this, to make her laugh and smile, to forget, but there was little time, and less for comforting.

B'sylla's red eyes turned next their glittering wet gaze of harsh truths onto the semi-scaled one.

"Could a minor mage keep up with the taunting and challenges of the irresistible Firenzia? Not well, nor easily. Korax called himself the Mindbender but he was no match for her guile. Breeding a race of human monsters ruined him, and others much more innocent. One young mother, changed and tormented did escape to a haven of sorts where the second great influence dripped into two new lives. He retrieved one which Firenzia claimed, ending the mage's life.

"Another young mother, bitten by a strange beast, recovered and remembered nothing, though at certain times she changed, changed and hunted. Firenzia set that in motion as well, knowing your path and instincts would draw you to that difference, unseen but felt. Love, life, then a bloody end that scythed your soul in twain.

"A chit of a girl at a brothel nearly took half your skin. She failed in that though she did end up killing your old friend Lady Muen."

The last two recollections went unheeded as the news struck the half- dragon through the heart.

"My sister? Alive?" Ikarias rose up pulling the basilisk woman to her feet by her shoulders. A small part of her realized B'sylla had risen of her own accord and that the albino's shoulders were strong, the touch borne but could be easily broken. Ikarias let go.

"Only a dragon has powers Firenzia cannot buy, steal, or summon. A whole dragon she cannot face, a half-breed was much easier. She has a partial set of scales, from crown to sole. The half-garment hangs waiting to be finished, for her to cover herself and be invincible. From you she is looking for the rest of the skin. Shazria is gone."

Ikarias slumped against the wall.

____****____

(Part 54 by Aria) --

Aria had been suppressing the need to completely freak out for about fifteen minutes … she felt what little self-control she had left disappear as she watched Ikarias seek out a wall in order to remain upright…watching the half dragon slump, Aria’s composure snapped.

“Who are you? How do you know the things you know?” Aria shrieked at B’sylla. “How could you know about my Father?” she asked, but this time in a whisper.

Before the basilisk could respond, Aria spun around and grabbed Ikarias by the shirt… “Ik, she has never laid eyes on us before and she knows about Chaenz… what the fuck is going on?” the Lady demanded not caring if anyone heard the panic in her voice.

The half-dragon tried to calm the near hysterical assassin by talking in soft, measured tones, “Aria we need to hear what B’sylla is telling us dear. Whoever or whatever she is, this basilisk holds the information we need to defeat Firenzia.

There was so much for Aria to absorb; she did not know where to start. Apparently, the salacious slave girl was actually the demon B’sylla had been referring too. A girl she held a mild distain for had created havoc for centuries, destroyed innocent lives and killed solely for pleasure.

Next, the Lady’s mind went to this thriving and dynamic woman before her, this woman held her high and possessed an amazing amount of grace. Where had the shriveled pale little woman gone? What the hell was a basilisk?

Images, thoughts and the reality all swirled feverishly in Aria’s head until suddenly…she started to connect the dots. Ikarias could tell by Aria’s eyes the veil was starting to lift. The Dragon watched as Aria pieced it together in her mind, Synestra showing up out of the blue, one of her best friends viciously turning on her, the mass Exodus of people that never would have never left her and the most mind-bending of all… her relationship with a book.

Book had been warning her all along. In her own way so had B’sylla. Turning to the once old woman, Aria asked the basilisk to tell them more. She wanted to know all that the woman knew, Aria wanted to know why they had followed her life and the lives of her friends so closely. Most of all, the Lady wanted to know what the Sorceress had in store for them.

____****____

(Part 55 by Ikarias) --

Book, in all his hundreds of years of suffering had felt few good hands. Though Firenzia's were dainty they were far from delicate. In a few short hours he had been in several nice new pairs.

Aria's nimble fingers, assassin trained, were light, warm and full of compassion. Fitting for one who followed a path now much less bloody. Ikarias' hands, one scaled, one skin, were a novelty. The bestial feel overlay a fierceness of a heart protecting her home and family, honestly brutal at times but in defense only. T'was a fitting alternate to her human hand, irreverent and sly, scarred with a warrior's past, firm and gentle.

Synestra's hands were much like the sorceress' in wielding power from outside and inside her self, but vastly different in the directions they took. She held him now as he slid from Aria's lap.

~ You are different, ~ Book told the high priestess of Hyzperzia as he felt the rough spots.

Grief, helplessness, anger without end all bandied for control. Synestra had lost her mentor, her lover, and her dearest friend to a cruel trick. A bit of mind chat with a mage turned page did not rattle her. She cradled the leathern-bound being with solicitous hands.

~ Forgive the sssudden handling. Sssuch newsss isss hard to take lightly. What of it? I have lossst ssso much, have little left—and lesss time to worry of a future cut ssshort. ~ Synestra let the words slip from her mind before she could stop them.

~ You could read my flesh. That would give you more powers than you could imagine. Even SHE has not all my gifts. With your goddess in you and my help, no telling what you could accomplish. Worlds could crumble, ~ Book tempted, testing the split-tongued woman.

~ In my enlightened way, I tried to ussse wisssdom, not fear. I am no warrior but a healer. And I have killed, or had othersss do ssso in my name. ~ Synestra refrained from looking at Aria, not an easy task. ~ Learn more dessstruction? I will not become like your missstresss of horror! ~

~ No, Priestess, ~ Book answered gently. ~ That will never be. My temptations hold no fascination for you. So shall you give us all a chance… ~

~ I am not afraid to die. ~

~ And what of change? Do you fear that? ~

~ What would I give up to defeat her? Everything that I am, ~ came the grim reply.

Book became silent once more.

*****

Aria's hurried upsurge nearly landed Book on the floor but a quick save by Synestra kept his corners from bending. A conversation of seconds between them passed unnoticed by the others.

"Once I was a simple creature, much scaled like you, Ikarias," B'sylla told Aria, "though quite a bit smaller. At my concentrated gaze, I could turn softness into stone—plants, animals, people. It was a reflex for protection. Firenzia took me from my home, family, love. She stole my eyes, carefully gouging them out for her ugly purposes. Most recently she made me human to set the trap for you all and bind it close. Something else made me more." (Unsure if Lord Sirius was truly to praise or blame, the albino left out their little meeting.)

"Could you turn HER into stone?" Aria asked with faint hope.

""I wish," B'sylla replied dryly. "Could you give your life, half- dragon? Your soul to stop her?"

"Yes," came without hesitation.

"Would you give Aria's life? Her soul?"

Ikarias' scaled hand clenched, holding back from striking out at B'sylla. "I would not make such a foul bargain, not even to save the world."

"Synestra? You hardly know her, or myself? Still a stranger to you, less loss to you all."

"NO." Ikarias and Aria spoke together.

Aria reached over and opening the scaled fingers held Ikarias' hand in hers. What was the albino driving at?

"The time of a life for a life is long past." Aria said softly, wondering if she was condemning them all.

"No bargains will bring back Shazria, Lyra or Wren. Or any others lost. `Safe as the dead are safe.' " Ikarias recited the adage. "Only they aren't anymore, are they?"

"Not for Firenzia," B'sylla shook her head. "Her works span times and worlds. There are no safe places. Simply put, she wants you two to suffer, for a very, very long time."

The room wavered. Ikarias caught Aria close as Synestra and B'sylla reached for—and through them. Then they were gone.

____***____

(Part 56 by Ikarias) --

Nothing was real in the nothingness but Ikarias' own flesh and yes—at the ends of her hands was Aria!

Black mist roiled and churned like an infected fog, Aria felt familiar scales under her hands and felt a small degree of peace. She wouldn't be alone.

Ikarias' lip curled at the sight of the figure listing to one side, the stench from it like something rotting and left unburied for way too long.

Chaenz moved toward them with some of her old grace considering she had not been reassembled quite right.

Aria felt her gorge rise at the sight of her old mentor. She still wore the mottled forest green tunic and pants, though close fitting it didn't hinder her movements. Under the silk fabric, uneven skittering fresh red lines ran in a berserk webbing as if holding mismatched pieces together. Pieces that should have been blown to kingdom come, were now all back together reanimating the Prime Assassin.

Chaenz reached to one misaligned wrist with the other hand and twisted the flesh back to true with a wet snapping sound.

Aria didn't know whether to laugh or scream at that act done with such nonchalance.

"You look like Hell," came immediately to Ikarias' mind. She took a half-step in front of Aria shielding her on instinct. Ikarias had taken this lean green murdering machine apart once. She could do it again.

"Been there, done that." Chaenz retorted evenly. "Someone's been wanting to see you for a long time, half-dragon."

"Kaaarrrrriiiiiii," came to them in a whisper long and drawn out like someone in great pain, or great pleasure.

The memory of that drawl from the lips of a long ago lover filled Ikarias' ears. She took a second step from Aria to the side, looking for the one who spoke. That motion separated her from Aria by a vast distance, though each thought the other still there.

Aria looked at her semi-scaled friend then back at the dark woman listing to one side. "I take it anatomy isn't the little sorceress' best subject." (Her mind kept itself clear. This was good.)

"My patron has a few minor faults, Chaenz acceded, "letting me reinforce your lessons post-haste, post hell, is not one of them. You'll learn to love it." Her eyes glowed with the promise. Without any motion, she was in Aria's face, her breath like a midden hole.

"I'd rather die." Aria held back a shudder, not from her own words but from the stench.

"You keep making that mistake." Chaenz' earnest tone was solicitous and sly as she shook her head, the vertebrae in her neck creaked with each motion. "You think you have a choice, but you don't. You never did. You're dead already."

Chaenz' hand struck Aria across the face, a foot caught the blonde in the ribs and a spinning kick drove her back into a heap several feet away.

Aria wiped the blood from her mouth and felt at least one cracked rib. She looked up and saw Chaenz twisting her wrongfully bent knee from backwards to the front again. The woman had to be lying. The dead don't bleed and the long gone dead aren't busy rearranging themselves like broken dolls trying to get fixed.

Granted, Aria hadn't much experience at being dead. This was a virgin voyage, but sorcery is trickery. No matter whether the magick was real or fake, it was multi-layered, of several purposes. So must it be in Firenzia's case, especially in hers. All Aria needed to do was keep her wits about her and hope that Iky caught on—

Where did the half-dragon go?

*****

"Lyra?"

"Things… just haven't been the same without you."

Her old love appeared, almost the way Ikarias had left her, but worse. Hanks of bloody blonde hair varied with the ivory and honey colored fur in ragged tufts all over Lyra's nude body. Skin alternated with raw swaths where the muscle showed through. Partially flayed and alive she looked worse then when she had been a killing beast.

"You're dead… I'd hoped in some relative peace." Ikarias hesitated. What do you say to an old love whom you flayed alive?

"Touching sentiment from you, as if with the assistance of your skinning knife you could give me peace."

"You were a monster!" Visions of a little arm holding a doll surged in the half-dragon's mind.

"Now there's the pot calling the kettle black names. Don't you think it's odd for a half-dragon that only a monster can find love fucking another monster? Does your other little blonde twat like the scales? Or has she suffered from the beast in you?"

Ikarias moved her hands out as if brushing away her assaults on Aria. Those were just between the two of them. Let there be a hell for those crimes. Not for this.

"You are the monster here. You killed and ate your own child!" "And that's a meal not easily digested when I'm hanging upside down having my skin torn off!"

Lyra stared eye to eye with Ikarias. Odd, because in life she just reached the half-dragon's shoulder. Was this real? It couldn't be. The woman Lyra would never have wanted to live after Wren died. Especially not the way she died.

"Whatever you are, I'm not buying what you're trying to sell."

Ikarias turned away. Something slammed into her back, another blow to her head and she was down. Things—ropes, vines tightened about her wrists and ankles. She was dizzy and being drawn up feet first. She looked upside down at Lyra. The vines held steady in midair in four directions into nothing.

The ragged woman flexed her hands and claws grew out, each the length of the finger it came from.

"I'm not selling. I'm collecting a debt," Lyra hissed, her eyes were-yellow.

The first slice cut through Ikarias' shirt, the second through skin. She bit back screams, hoping Aria was safe.

*****

A hand around her throat brought Aria upright, something rough met her back as she was slammed back into it, her feet dangled off the ground. She grabbed the arms that held her and flinched at the way the skin and muscle shifted as if ready to slough away.

"You'll excuse the mess, but I have to make do with what I've got." Chaenz explained casually.

A head butt between her brows stunned Aria. As Chaenz held her arm outstretched Aria felt a sharp point in her palm. She screamed as it went through. Worse was the second spike she saw go in. She gagged at the sight of Chaenz' finger disconnected and impaling her palm, wriggling and holding tight into the tree.

Chaenz looked at her remaining eight fingers, each little one was gone. "None are long enough. It's never easy..." she muttered before breaking off a short bit of dead branch.

Aria kicked, knowing the outcome but trying to delay it. A punch to her stomach ended that small rebellion. She wheezed for breath as her shoes were yanked off and the branch pierced both feet.

"Now you're just gong to have to hang around until you've learned your lesson." Chaenz nodded at her crucified protégé.

*****

Synestra grabbed mist as B'sylla did the same. This time Book did fall to the floor.

"Forgive me, they jussst…" Synestra's voice gave out as she picked up the tome and clutched it tight as if for comfort.

~ I know, ~ Book replied in their minds.

"How did you get here from the keep? B'sylla asked the ex-mage, grasping at the niggling question of his sudden appearance with them. She knew Firenzia hadn't packed him.

~ I have a few tricks left. I'd rather suffer more failing to defeat Her, than never hope again. They are in Her realm now. I'm trying to send help. ~

"How?" Synestra asked, looking at Book's cover as if she could read his flesh.

~ Why with words, of course. ~

____****____

(Part 57 by Aria) --

"Now you're just gong to have to hang around until you've learned your lesson." Chaenz nodded at her crucified protégé.

Aria’s entire Universe was centered in the palms of her hands.

The pain though exquisite, paled in comparison to being alone with and vulnerable to Chaenz. Aria studied her one time mentor through the haze of pain and thought, God knows this woman was never wrapped too tightly while alive but in this reconstituted state, she is a train wreck.

Beneath all the fear and hurting, the Lady was certain she could get through this, if only Ikarias were by her side. It was the unknown that kept Aria’s terror level at a fevered pitch. The Lady began to control her breathing and tried to become one with the pain. She had to think. Could this really be hell? Could she and Ikarias truly be dead?

Something about this did not make sense. Continuing to study Chaenz through squinted eyes, Aria realized there was something so wrong about the way Chaenz moved…it was almost marionette like. Aria felt her perspiration run the length of her back and all of her senses told her she must focus on that for a moment, but she was not sure why.

“Because, my Lady… the dead do not perspire”, came his voice from the silence.

Breathing a slender sigh of relief, Aria looked over at Chaenz to see if she too had heard her leather bound friend, but knew by the monster’s actions she had not. In fact, when the Lady looked over at the once fearsome Warrior, she found her just standing there looking preoccupied, picking off bits of her skin and flinging them into the darkness.

“Where the hell am I Book?” Aria asked through her mind.

“This place has no name my Lady; it is of Her making… it belongs to Her.”

“Can you please go to Ikarias and make sure she is all right?

“Sadly no my Lady, I cannot. She is in her own hell, so to speak”

Aria felt the pain ebb away and her heart heave at the same time; damn she just had to know if the Dragon was alright.

“Oh God that’s better…thaaaank you Book”, Aria said breathing in pain free air at last … “can you help us get out of here?”

“Not in the way you need me to, my Lady, but I may be of a more limited assistance. Ask yourself why the behemoth bleeds, why you perspire.”

“That mangled monstrosity over there said we are dead… can that be true Book?”

“I could not have come to you if you had passed Aria, my powers do not reach to the grave…no, my dear she is mistaken, you are very much alive.”

“By the Gods then what is happening Book!”

“The time of Her true appearance grows dangerously close little one.”

Aria knew without being told Her name whom Book meant. The evil that pervaded the Lodge all these months, the insidious disharmony that had infected her home and her loved ones… was here…somewhere.

“Hey you over there!” shouted the string-puppet from hell. “Why so quiet, are you getting bored just hanging around?” Chaenz asked then cackled. “Still got it,” Chaenz said as she snapped her fingers together only to watch them break off at the knuckle and fall to the ground. “Don’t you just hate when that happens?” she said winking at Aria. To cover her silent conversation with Book, Aria let out a fake moan and let her head drop. “That’s better dear…you see it’s just not a party, unless you are having a terrible time”, her once mentor said while at the same time tilting her head as if listening to unheard words.

The pain in Aria’s hands rushed back and her nausea returned. As she cried aloud in earnest, she desperately realized Book was gone.

____****____

(Part 58 by Ikarias) --

Ikarias' dearest beloved and mangy lover hummed happily enjoying her own little hobby of removing the half-dragon's skin. Ikarias again shook the blood out of her eyes as she hung upside down. She felt a familiar presence in her mind and a relieved groan escaped.

~ Book? ~

~ You're not looking too well. ~

~ Is this my hell, for what I did? ~

~ This is not your hell, but another's. ~

~ Can't tell if there's much of a difference. What about Aria? ~

~ There are rules She follows. Even here. Remember, half-dragon, use the past. She's alive. ~ And Book was silent.

Despite the difficulty of concentration, there had to be more than this torment. Aria needed her and Book was going to get fed to mice for bedding if he pulled that stunt again. The past, my past. Our past.

The half-dragon clenched her hands into fists and recalled the toy she had made with loving hands. Uneven arms and legs, eyes bright though mismatched, and off-center. Bright scrap of a dress, tailoring was never her strong point. Ignore the way she had last seen it, remember only the laughter and happiness it brought.

Small dusty feet led to a dangling familiar object and the one brightness here.

"Wren?"

"You're dirty." The child put a thumb to her mouth and stared at her mother and the bleeding inverted woman.

"I do want to take a bath, I do want to get clean." Never again, Ikarias thought, can't let Lyra do it again. She pulled at the vines, rubbing her wrists raw as Lyra turned, her nails shrinking back to the finger ends.

"Baby?" The malevolent look vanished under the true concern of motherhood. Her mismatched skin took on a glow.

"You hurt me." The child was glowing too, as if her skin held light. She sniffed and watched the two women from a few steps away.

Lyra's skin shifted, healing as the were-fur receded and the flayed areas disappeared.

Ikarias felt the vines sag and let go completely. She tucked her head just before she dropped on it.

"I'm so sorry, baby." Lyra ignored the tears, kneeling, holding her arms out. "Never again, I promise. Mommy was sick. She didn't know what she was doing."

"You hurt me."

Ikarias held back even a moan. This was not her time.

"Like when you had the fever? Remember? It made you thrash and push me away? But I knew it wasn't really you… it was the sickness talking. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, baby."

"Mommy!" The doll dropped and Wren rushed into her mother's arms.

Ikarias saw the two blend, like two fires overlapping then they were gone. She slowly got to her feet looking at the abandoned doll lying on its back. Lyra's handiwork had been done with more enthusiasm than skill. She had many shallow cuts, nothing that couldn't heal. If one could heal in hell, time to find Aria. She didn't notice the doll raising itself up on one arm, the black eyes flashing red.

*****

It didn't matter if Aria tried pushing up to give relief to her hands or pulling on her hands to get the weight off her feet, there was no easy way. She didn't think it could get much worse until she felt her body slip and her palms tear.

Chaenz watched her, sucking on a bloody stump then playing with the raw white bone sticking out of the other end of her other hand.

"That won't do. Can't have the guest of honor sneaking away. Maybe if they grew…"

Aria couldn't understand what the Prime Assassin nattered on about. It made no sense, nothing did. Not even the pain, though the annoying tickle in her palms did make her turn her head. From the end of the finger stump, Aria watched with a sick fascination as the bone grew out and down, curving `til it pierced through her wrist. With a ragged breath at the new wound, she realized the same ill-intended growth came out of the other finger/spike curving like a scimitar talon to hold her tight. Blood dripped slowly from both arms.

"Always keeping my end up. It's a dirty job but someone has to do it." Chaenz smirked, then grimaced. She spat out a tooth and then a lump of grayish matter.

Either her brain is molding or the stuffing is coming out, Aria thought feeling hysterics right around the corner ready to step up and party like there was no tomorrow. No, she couldn't lose her mind. She may have no choice in bodily discomforts but she wasn't going to go mad.

This isn't fair, her mind screamed. I've got people who love me, ones I love. Ones I'd die for.

And a fair number murdered by Le Petite Assassin, a second voice in her head murmured. Not all of them painless deaths either. Why don't you deserve to suffer?

I do, Aria knew this deep down. But this is a false reckoning. I should be punished by my victims, or their loved ones. Not by a dead and still deranged bitch! The spark of anger grew in her. Yes, I sought out Chaenz, or someone like her to have my power over my life, my world. Nothing I've done since can bring back the dead I've made. But who will punish the one who made me?

Who made the child that is the mother of the woman?

At that thought, Aria looked up at the pathetic wreck trying to keep herself together.

Scenes came to her of a dark haired girl hiding under a hay pile. Feeding a treat to a foal, a home filled with love and laughter, honey on fresh bread, giggling with another child, dreams, hopes, wishes. Then the killing, hiding, kidnapped, training, parchments read and noted, whispers, plots, and pieces added to the whole. More killing, and more, and the child forgotten, erased.

When will this be over? How long must Chaenz wait? She played with the tiny gold chains dangling from one ear and cursed as three came off with the bit of lobe. She could outlast Aria even shedding parts like a leper. She wanted more, the whole shooting match: begging, bargaining, sorrow, rage, denial, and acceptance. Not necessarily in that order. The steps weren't new to Chaenz, coming from Aria they would be a litany to be shuffled and repeated, bouncing about like oil drops on a hot pan. She made mental bets with herself as to which Aria would start with and the amount of energy she'd imbue to each.

And if your suffering came at the hands of those most harmed?

Then I deserve it all, Aria sighed. This will not bring back the dead, nor will any good I've done since then. But that good I have done is important. I've helped people, I've saved lives too.

Save one more. Set it right.

"Rock a bye baby, on a tree trunk," Chaenz sang with a surprisingly rich alto tone.

The tree swayed in a sudden windless wind, dragging Aria against the spikes. Her screams came out in hoarse shrieks.

"It's not hanging around that hurts," Chaenz remarked. "It's the boredom." She watched Aria hold back a breath and release it. Time had no meaning here. A healthy adult could last three days easy. Here, Aria could last forever. Chaenz spat out another grey lump and scratched her head. She hated going to pieces like this. She wondered if her parts would grow back. Nothing hurt, itched a bit, that's all.

"What about Nys?"

Chaenz looked at the crucified woman in disbelief.

"What?" The dark woman's eyes narrowed hearing Aria take the initiative.

"All of this," Aria looked about at the nothingness. "Make `em and break `em Chaenz, turned into you." Don't use regrets or sympathy, no syrupy platitudes. Be cold, ruthless, cruel, real.

Something filled Chaenz' body. The rank marsh gas smell lessened, something more acrid and smoky came to Aria's nostrils as her old mentor stepped up.

"That name is no more." Chaenz spoke slowly.

"All the will in the world and you think you're free. I've seen better marionettes who've never fooled themselves. You're a quarter- step from a lick-spittle lackey to the magic whore. I may be pinned to a tree but I'm no one's puppet. Nys never got her freedom. She got you."

Chaenz shuddered, an angry grimace on her face. The red lines of dried blood and worse holding her together under the tunic and pants faded. Her flesh shifted, bringing her back to whole, even the missing finger bits extended as Aria watched the amazing regrowth. In a fluid grace, Chaenz stooped and picked up the bit of ear lobe with three gold chains attached.

Then she yanked the broken limb out of Aria's feet, smiling at the cry.

"I won't thank you for the enlightenment. We still have unfinished business you and I. But without interference. Not that I didn't enjoy having you wrapped around my little fingers." Chaenz snapped her new fingers and the separated digits holding Aria popped out, dropping the blonde to her knees.

Aria groaned, balancing on her forearms and knees, finally able to breathe. She coughed and spat aside any acknowledgement. She didn't care if she just sold her soul for a few moments of relief.

A hand pulled her chin up as Chaenz crouched on one knee looking like an avenging furie. Just like the time when Aria first saw Chaenz, cold and hot, dangerous and languid. A woman of a thousand opposites, unbearable and magnetic, everything a young Aria had wanted.

Lips pressed hard as Chaenz kissed her, bringing a low ember of lust to brightness despite the pains in her hands and feet.

"Good luck," the dark woman whispered. Then she was gone.

____****____

(Part 59 by Aria) --

And with that kiss, Aria’s mind flooded with memories of Chaenz in her prime. The Lady easily recalled the intoxicating dichotomy of her mentor, Chaenz’ benevolence and razor sharp cruelty, her often-deadly temper and childlike abandon, the hard and so very soft parts of her… but mostly the Lady remembered her innate power. Hanging her head Aria realized the dark haired woman was not the pathetic marionette that held her captive but instead a fierce, brave, albeit twisted MegaWarrior of undeniable skill. Aria felt a familiar dampness between her legs as she lay crumpled on the ground; she mentally slapped herself and silently proclaimed her timing to suck. The Lady had a plan before she gingerly brought herself upright.

“BOOK!” Aria’s mind screamed with urgency.

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOK!”

“Shhhhh Aria, you will wake the dead my child.”

“I’m free Book… look…. I did it. She’s gone….now please, help me find Ikarias.”

“The Dragon searches for you as we speak, my Lady.”

“Where book? How can I find her when I don’t know where I am?”

“You must feel her my child,” Book said softly. “Sight is of no use here, listen to your heart; it is your love for her that will be your eyes.”

“But --, there was no need for the Lady to finish her sentence … Book was gone and Aria was alone again and though she hated to admit it…scared.

The battered blonde woman stood perfectly still for a moment and gave her body permission to feel the fear. Aria knew she needed to become one with her frailties in order to move ahead. The Lady had to accept that she was terrified… that she felt uncertain. This was a horrific situation and she was traveling the corridors of hell…alone. It was okay to be afraid, as long as she did not let it deter her. Exonerating herself for her shortcomings, Aria forged ahead into the darkness, driven solely by love and her need to find Ikarias.

____****____

(Part 60 by Ikarias) --

"Ssshe took them, didn't ssshe? But where?" Synestra had tried in vain to hold on to Aria, her fingers passing through her as if through smoke.

"To her special place of torment," B'sylla shook her head. "I feel Aria…"

"Asss I feel the Half-Dragon. They are ssstill alive." Still holding Book, the High Priestess flexed her free hand and looked at it. The marble spots were larger. "They are getting ssstiffer."

"I'm sorry, I never meant--" B'sylla held the transforming hand.

" `All thingsss come back to me' ssso my goddesss tellsss me. I am not afraid. What Book sssaid, marble rarer than rare. Thisss isss it, isss it not? Living ssstone? Basssilisssk marble?" Synestra's split tongue flickered in excitement. "I could ssstop her. If we can get to her. If more of me becomesss ssstone."

"I know the way," Book murmured rusty through his clasp. "I know the hell she made from my stolen magic."

"If we fail, old friend…" B'sylla stroked the skin binding.

"One suffering is much like another. If I am destroyed, I shall find peace in that too."

"By the ssspeed and feel, I have not much time either. I will do all I can to ssstop that evil creature," Synestra vowed.

B'sylla placed her arm about the High Priestess, "And I shall be the instrument that finally turns against her."

They stood silent for a moment, each making peace with their inner self, each thinking of failure, and passing that thought by.

"My Basilisk, Priestess, are you ready?" Book asked.

"Yesss."

"Whenever you are."

"Open my cover, and hold on."

Book's pages fluttered and turned by themselves. Words and symbols crawled in golden ink that darkened to black then bubbled like hot blood. The attic faded around them.

____****____

(Part 61 by Ikarias) --

Sorrows begun in snow will end in tears, so went the old adage from the highland folk. Ikarias was fifteen again, in one hell and reliving another.

Phenthregaas didn't return, not after one day, not after two. Not after a week that stretched into four as the moon waxed and waned. The sky held a grey cast for many a fortnight from the hundreds of tons of ash and dust flung into the air. Even the leaves tumbled sooner than was their wont. The first winter flakes came well before the harvest moon, a thing unknown to Ikarias. She had no one to help, and the larder usually replenished by her colddrake father had stood empty for quite a while. What she could pluck and dig up in the way of fruits and vegetables were stunted and bitter. Game was scarce as well, the water of even the fastest flowing streams tasted brackish. If she would stay, she would die.

Ikarias had never been alone, not really. Her family was her world. Even from a thousand feet up, the vast landscape under her father's wings always measured short in relation to home and kin. She had moved what she could of the ice dragon's treasure deep into the cave, leaving signs in a dead language on the walls in case Phenthregaas returned. She put on the least worn deerskin pants and heavy tunic, and her mother's sturdy boots, only a little too large now. She took a hooded cloak and a sword that fit her. She found a recurved bow and a few arrows that went into a quiver on her back. Coins of different currencies she tucked into several small pouches, knowing people paid for things out there, but not sure of the exchange.

Cold bitter days passed as Ikarias walked south, hoping for warmth and food. A ridge appeared spreading to both sides growing taller and taller. She would have to climb it or find a way around. Her dragon left hand gripped better than her human one on stone.

Shivering on a small ledge she took off the boot to her left side, and tying it to her belt, she managed a fair pace over an inhospitable surface with few handholds. She had just pulled on her boot when the ground shook and she fell rolling with a landslide, trying to protect her head with her arms, and not quite making it.

*****

"She's breed all right, but what kind? She's two-legged." "Does it matter? Scales like that weren't painted on."

"You think she'll fight with us? That sword is impressive."

"The lizard girl's barely hatched, I don't think she's a mighty warrior yet. Possibilities are there."

"You're not going to give her a choice?"

"We don't have one, did we?"

Ikarias overheard the last line from the clipped voice before there was silence again and pain all over. Something sloshed into her mouth and she drank, coughed, tried to speak but then she couldn't see and couldn't stay conscious.

"I know you're awake."

Ikarias felt her shoulders lifted and pillows placed under her. She managed to open her eyes at a young voice. A girl in a thin vest, rather tall, stood in shadow by her pallet.

"I'm not a lizard," Ikarias rasped out.

The other smiled and held a large cup to her lips. "Drink slowly and I'll make sure everyone knows that. What breed are you?"

She turned and clopped to the far wall and a fireplace, took a lid off a simmering pot and scooped out something that smelled like rabbit stew.

Clopped? Hooves? Ikarias blinked at the southbound end of a northbound palomino horse, then the horse turned, and the girl smiled. She shook her blonde hair out of her eyes and a horn, spiraled and as long as Ikarias' sword flashed in the light from the window.

"I'm a centaucorn, call me Jera. We may be the last tribe, Molena thinks there are more of us to the north, but Tyrana isn't sure. We're going to war."

*****

Ikarias healed rapidly from the lumps and bruises. The scouting party that had found her had carried her to the village. The women there, for only women were of this race, were dappled, roan, dun, and other horse-like colors. Their hooves were split at the top edge, more like a deer's. Their fetlocks, tail, and hair matched, usually contrasting with the horse color. What Ikarias had taken for furry bracers was real hair in tight curls on their forearms.

Standing as the shortest in a row of young centaucorns, Ikarias joined them as they drilled with swords, knives, and lances. She improved rapidly from knowing little of weapons though she held her own in archery. Molena the queen of this herd of several hundred had black hair against a striking silvery coat. Tyrana, her advisor, had pale copper hair over a deep chestnut. She of the bitter tone and suspicious eyes rarely smiled unless speaking of ways to kill. She did admire Ikarias' bow since its bent shape sent arrows farther and faster. Even those with less strength in their arms could do very well. Tyrana commissioned more recurved bows to be made like it of horn layered with aged lemon wood to supplement the longbows.

The Half-Dragon often asked but never received an answer to the question: at war with whom? When telling her past of sorrows and loss, others would nod, as if that was the way of the world in its cruel path. A year passed and another. Many times Ikarias wanted to leave to search for her sister and her father but she was never allowed to, and never left alone.

"You've got a good arm and a good eye," Tyrana told her as she handed out heavy wooden axe replicas. A duo-headed labrys rolled back and forth in Ikarias' hands like twin moons cutting through the practice gourds. Half the trainees kneeled stretching and tossing the axes from one side to the other to lame legs or strike at underbellies.

The rest had wrapped heavy padding about their legs and torsos to prevent the worst damage as they reared up and to the sides. Short opponents? Still Ikarias had no answers.

*****

A disheveled frightened man fell in a circle of hooves and angry women.

"He was caught spying," one mahogany colored centaucorn spat, pawing the ground in agitation.

The man's clothes were mended though threadbare; he looked quite young and not at all belligerent. Fertile soil and the smell of manure came from him.

"He's just a farmer," Ikarias whispered to Jera, next to her. The palomino shook her head.

Tyrana glowered in the Half-Dragon's direction.

"What were you doing on our land?" Molena stepped around the fellow; he kept turning to keep up with her.

"My son ran off, he's just seven. He was chasing after the dog."

The lean fellow looked up from one face to another. "I just want to find him. He's been missing two days now."

"Anyone see a cur?" Heads shook in the negative.

"What's that?" He said stopping suddenly at the sight of Ikarias. "They'll never believe me--"

Tyrana suddenly reared and plunged head down.

The man gargled with the bone spike in his throat. A dripping red- spiraled length protruded from his spine, his lips close enough to kiss the base of her horn. Tyrana grabbed his shoulders and shoved him away. He slipped off into a heap.

"That's the enemy. Bury him with the boy and the dog," Molena ordered and left the circle.

Blood dribbled around the twisted horn. Tyrana shook her head and splattered the surrounding women in a baptism of hate.

Ikarias was shocked, "You killed a child? And an unarmed man?"

"Children grow up to kill," Tyrana lowered her horn to Ikarias.

"Isn't that murder?" The Half-Dragon stepped back as she smelled the hot blood, so like that of her mother, from someone perhaps not so different.

"How dare you question the Queen's authority?" Tyrana's livid tone frightened her, "You've lived with us for two years, ate our food, and learned our ways to betray us? Fifty lashes and leave her at the post. The rest of you stay to witness. Be ready to leave at dawn."

Two older centaucorns picked Ikarias up by the arms and dragged her to a beam half-again higher than her. A rope secured her wrists, the center drawn up over a hook. Her toes barely touched the ground. These two warriors had always held suspicions on the semi-scaled woman. One tore the shirt off her back, smirking as she did so.

"Drag it, otherwise with those scales she'll never feel more than a tickle."

Ikarias heard a gasp from Jera at the harsh instruction from Tyrana.

The whip landed hard ripping her back open.

Breathe, try to breathe and every minute touch of air on her skin made Ikarias want to scream. She couldn't because her voice was gone from the fifty brutal strokes. Her wrists were raw, all her weight hung from them. She'd ground the scaled side of her face into the post to try to sink in away from the blows but that was a delusion. Her mouth was dry, her breasts bruised and full of splinters on her human side from the multiple impacts into the wood. Flies buzzed around the wounds. The sun finally set though torches burned around the village. No one came near her.

She dozed in fits of exhaustion, then startled awake in the night a dozen times and more with the agony. Before dawn came the sounds of weapons clattering, milling hooves, orders called and repeated. Cheers and cries of victory, and the flies returned. At sun high, a few women came galloping back but she couldn't understand the import. Each movement opened what little bit healed, letting fresh blood flow. Those left behind grabbed things and shouted in distress. She heard pottery breaking and wood splintering. Smoke wafted over to her and screams followed. Ikarias recalled that a horse's greatest fear is fire. Would that apply to centaucorns too? She at least stood bound on a sandy area far from the homes, away from the flames.

She knew how to kill and didn't want to; knew a friend who went off to war and didn't come back. Ikarias bent her dragon hand and cut slowly at the rope with her nails.

Toward dusk, something let go and Ikarias slumped at the foot of the post, free. Her legs hadn't the strength to hold her. She needed water, even more than rest. The well sat three hundred paces to the side. It took Ikarias a couple hours to crawl there. Another half an hour passed before she was able to bring up a half-full bucket and drink. Too much went in too fast and she vomited it up, crying out at the renewed pain to her abused body. She passed out.

Smoke crawled around in weak ribbons. Ikarias pulled herself up and saw bodies lying ahead of her. Molena's hind legs were broken through, an axe sunk deep in her chest. She still held a sword, the one Ikarias had brought in. It looked like Tyrana's body next to her with several deep wounds but the head was missing. A child, barely to Ikarias' shoulder lay under her mother's body. An old centaucorn woman hadn't time to get out of her home. All the others were dead too, none of them had gone easy.

"Ikarias?" A quavering voice came from behind her near the post.

Jera limped heavily on her front hooves, her body sweat-streaked and bloodied. Her sword was broken, a bit of an arrow shaft stuck out of her back.

The Half-Dragon staggered over to her friend, falling under the weight of the young centaucorn.

"Couldn't let you stay tied…helpless."

"I'll get you water, hold on," Ikarias said. She hurried to the bucket, slid to her knees, and dropped it in. Her back protested as she brought up a full bucket and carried it, sloshing over her legs back to Jera.

"Coming--they're coming to kill the rest."

The Half-Dragon held handfuls for Jera to drink. She hadn't the heart to tell the girl that no one was left alive.

Jera grunted and the water she'd just consumed spewed from a deep gash under the bottom of her vest in a froth of scarlet bubbles.

"Don't leave me!" Ikarias begged but Jera was beyond hearing.

Voices came harsh and smug from the edge of the woods. Victory had come quickly; they could take what they wanted. Ikarias stood up, ignoring her back, ignoring the bodies. She pried the sword from Molena's dead hand and went to war.

*****

The centaucorns were destroyed to the last woman. Ikarias' closest friend died in her arms. No matter her still bleeding back or how she felt about the deaths of the boy and his father, she'd never know the truth of that. All she knew for certain was the loss of a second family before her eyes.

When the first sword broke off from a pike twist, Ikarias flung herself past the upturned deadly tip. Sliding down the red wet length of the handle she punched into the man's throat with the jagged remnant. Dropping the broken blade, she grabbed the pike from his nerveless fingers, chucked one soldier hard under the chin crushing his larynx. Ducking and swinging she cut through arms and legs losing the pike to an axe man. She leaped and rolled over the heavy half-moon edge, landing on her knees. She snatched up another sword and stabbed backwards into his gut, twisting and letting him fall back. He dropped the axe and she caught it in her free hand.

Silence for a heartbeat. Ikarias heard a low groan and a soft sucking noise. She rose on unsteady legs thinking the last man still lived.

He didn't.

A woman with white eyes like blind moons rose from a body. A tongue, longer and slimmer than anything Ikarias had ever seen quickly snapped about pale lavender lips.

The sun had set a while ago.

Ikarias realized she was a good bit away from the centaucorn village. She was alone, her soul in so much torment and her body doing little better.

Dark hair hanging to the stranger's feet flowed back in a stray breeze like a soft nightfall. Like the night it covered Ikarias.

"I so dislike waste," a low voice came with the touch of a warm damp cloth to her face. Ikarias opened her eyes and saw the pale-eyed woman wiping the stains of battle off her body.

"Why?"

"Haven't seen your kind before, not in all my wanderings. What do they call such half-scaled warriors in your lands?"

"Alone," Ikarias whispered.

Fine black brows raised a question to that answer. Reaching behind her, the blind-seeming woman took a small vial of unguent and covered the last gash on Ikarias' shoulder.

"You drink blood," the young Half-Dragon said evenly, wondering if she was to be the next meal and not really caring.

"Yes, it was fresh. Useless to the newly dead."

Ikarias nodded. Looking at her shoulder she saw the wound closing and healing leaving a faint pink scar. She remembered the slice she took on her leg, the one on her ribs, the puncture into her right breast. All were healed; her back didn't hurt either.

"Why didn't you leave me there? Drink my blood?"

"You weren't dead. When you do die you'll come back. Sleep."

Again the black hair swept over Ikarias and sleep she did, against her will and all the questions she had.

Dream or waking fancy, she felt again as if she stood on the battlefield.

Other things came, long-legged grey birds cocking their fire-crested heads over each still form, humped beasts followed with black fur and white stripes, their thick jaws crunched into certain of the dead.

The white-eyed woman walked like a keeper among them, stroking shaggy heads or sleek sinuous necks. Last to appear were naked people, but not like people at all. This tribe clawed at the food, squabbling over the choice parts. They calmed as the coal-dark hair swept over them nodding and rocking on their haunches as they consumed the dead.

Ikarias walked about unnoticed and saw that she was wrong, these creatures didn't eat the flesh at all, but something else that hovered like a second form over each fallen.

She blinked at the sunrise and sat up on the pallet.

From a shadowed corner of the hut, the white-eyed woman spoke, "No, not ghouls or monsters. Necessary beings who come to partake of the only meal they can, while restoring the balance."

"What are you?"

"I might have been a goddess among the stars, sometimes they called me Nuiet. But that was so very long ago. I don't see them anymore. Neither do they acknowledge me, too far to care, or know. We harvest souls, winnow out those unneeded and pass through those who must learn more. What do you want, oh Half-Dragon? You are one of a kind."

"One of two. I want to find my sister and my fathers."

"Two again?"

"One who taught me how to live, one how to die."

"Both the living and the dead may try to stop you. Don't let them win." Nuiet inclined her head and vanished. In her place a sword stood thrust into the dirt floor.

Ikarias recognized it as the one she took from home, now whole and unbroken. She pulled it free and stepped outside.

____****____

(Part 62 by Ikarias) --

Ikarias saw the village rising out of the reddish grey mists, but it felt as if years had passed. The tightly woven huts with extra wide and extra high doorways were typical of the centaucorn style. This time there were neither the fallen as she had left them, nor was her back scored by Tyrana's orders.

"Why are you here? Come to see what your apathy brought forth?"

Molena limped over, her forelegs dragging her broken hind limbs. Her silvery coat had deep burgundy stains all over, her black mane hung matted and filthy. She carried a bloody sword in each hand.

"I was a child when you found me, still a child when you taught me how to kill." Ikarias refused to take any blame from the dead queen. "I did kill for you, even as you slew a boy, a dog, and a worried father. I was never the enemy. Maybe if you'd spent more time learning about the real ones, you, Jera, even Tyrana and the rest would be alive."

"Your platitudes are so touching."

Ikarias looked behind her seeing Tyrana holding her own head by the hair, the other hand held a heavy open-worked labrys.

Tyrana's head spoke again, "We might have had a chance with you, or do you only fight when it's convenient?"

Three blades swung at the Half-Dragon. She leaned back away from the queen's swords and dove under Tyrana's belly dodging three out of four hooves. A hind kick cracked on her human shoulder plowing Ikarias into the dirt.

From behind a stump, a little dolly silently clapped its mitten hands together. It tried to open its sewn on mouth and grimaced at the failure. Picking up a bit of flint, it sawed at the threads.

Still stunned, Ikarias knew she had to move, broken shoulder or not. She rolled as the axe fell, pushing back with her feet until a wall stopped her.

Tyrana's form blocked out the weird red light, her head hung level with Ikarias' own. "If you're not going to fight, at least you can die. You don't deserve my horn."

The axe dropped.

It clanged on a metal pike head. The pike twisted and sent the axe out of the advisor's hand. The butt end knocked Tyrana's head away to roll several yards into a pile of debris. The headless centaucorn shuffled about trying to reconnect.

"Another traitor?" Molena swung her swords in lethal arcs as she dragged herself over to Jera.

Ikarias pushed up behind her friend and staggered over to the labrys. She twirled it easily with her dragon hand.

"I am no traitor, I died too. Let the dead tell the truth, especially my dead queen. Did you have the boy killed?"

Molena regarded the young palomino centaucorn and lowered her sword. "No, he'd fallen down a canyon and had broken his neck. We did kill the dog. It was frothing at the mouth and viciously attacked us. We think it carried the water fear illness. Maybe the boy fell trying to get away from it."

Ikarias stepped up, intuition filling in the gaps. "The man wasn't his father. He may have smelled like a farmer but he was more interested in me than in finding the boy… whom he never named. He was a scout for the real army."

Molena nodded, "There were so many of them." She looked about at the village, now ashes and charred beams. Bodies lay as Ikarias remembered. They struggled and rose, limping, holding wounded limbs askew.

"You doubted the Queen! You were--" Tyrana's body had found her head, holding it high, she scowled down at Ikarias.

"Peace." Molena held up a hand. "You were right about the boy, we were not his slayers. We were wrong not to tell the tribe."

"The man was guilty," Ikarias added shaking her head. She looked at Jera and the rest, shuffling about. "There are more centaucorns, to the western plains, not north. They know the battles and names of all the fallen. Their songs hold your deeds. You are not forgotten."

"Then we shall never die," Jera grinned.

Ikarias watched as Jera put her hand to the gash under her vest and felt it gone. Tyrana maneuvered her head back onto her shoulders as Molena reared up on her intact hind legs.

"They're singing of us now." The queen smiled, touching down lightly her mane flowing like a silken banner. Other centaucorns gathered laughing and smiling, whole, healed.

"Keep it," Tyrana indicated the labrys.

Ikarias knew it was the closest thing to an apology that she would ever hear from the war councilor.

The village faded. The dolly hissed through the torn cloth approximating a mouth.

*****

A castle appeared built into the mountainside, the off-color sun glinting off towers and turrets, dyeing the whole a watered down burgundy. Aria couldn't stop her feet from moving forward, even with the punctures that made each step a crippling stutter.

"If I could make Chaenz heal, can't I do the same for myself? She wasn't the way she was supposed to be, neither am I." A particularly sharp rock jabbed up into the wound on her right foot. Aria cried out and fell. "I'm not going to find Iky by crawling, though I would recognize the feet." She held up one hand, "Heal damn it."

Her jaw dropped as the flesh did indeed knit together. The other hand did likewise. Aria also felt her feet stop stabbing from the outside in. She stood up and stumbled still. The hurt was still there though the physical manifestations were gone. That phantom pain she could live with, but why the castle? Why home hideous home after all these years?

*****

Ikarias stared at the old king sitting at the head of the table. Not that he looked so old, but the stress showed. The mass of white hair looked misplaced on a form not yet forty.

"Can you hear it yet? They can't. No one can, not even after three years. I'm the only one."

The half-dozen retainer men-at-arms looked less like elite guards and more like mercenaries and cutthroats. She'd guessed they were here for the same reason she was, money. They hadn't been too happy with a woman let alone a half-breed joining them but after a few dazzling spins with her labrys and a couple of old-fashioned right-hooks, they had gingerly accepted her company a few hours ago.

"Can't you give me any idea as to what you're fighting?" She'd toured the nearly abandoned castle and seen the months if not years of neglect and assault. There were ripped and missing tapestries, broken and stained furniture, a few piss-colored corners were outmatched by dark red stains everywhere else, on floors, walls, and even high on pillars. No servants, the countryside might as well have been strewn with salt for all the lack of peasants or livestock.

The king pointed to his throat and shook his head.

"Silent spell, eh? Damn."

"Eat and drink, please. It's not much--"

" `For tonight we'll die', he says. We had to bring down the stag ourselves." The saffron silk-clad fellow with the long mustachios from the eastern lands interrupted the king without a quibble. He stuck a long handled fork into the charred haunch on the spit and swiped with his scimitar. Plopping the slice onto the used plate in front of Ikarias, he tapped the amphorae closest to her with the tip of his sword.

She nodded at the pointed table manners and poured her own goblet mixing it with water. She wiped her clean eating knife on her vest before applying it to the meat.

"Midnight." The bare-chested tattooed hunk on Ikarias' left with the gold earrings and matching bracers nodded while ripping at the food with his strong teeth. All the glory died when he belched and spit a piece of gristle across the table splat into a congealing bowl of breakfast gruel.

As tempted as she was to match and surpass his yardage, Ikarias smiled and just let her dragon hand blur as she cut her meal into small pieces. To her left, the dark twins from the southern desert smiled with matching gleaming teeth. They were quiet, wearing matching burnooses in tan. They ate with the manners of princes and watched everything. A thin back-clad fellow rubbed a dark spot head- high by the main archway leading in from the hall. He ate sparingly of early fruit and some not too moldy cheese.

"Stupid spell," muttered a broken-nosed burly man at the sideboard. He tore a stale loaf in half and after taking a bite sat heavily on a stool. "Can't speak about it, can't write about it."

"That is if you knew how to write. Can't step foot in the same river twice," Black-clad by the door turned and fingered his wide belt. He looked meaningfully at Ikarias.

The sand in the hourglass melted through. Busted Nose and Black-clad had been here one night. The Twins, Mustache, and Spitting Hunk arrived a few hours before her. No one wanted to share their names. The latter almost tried to flirt but never got past Ikarias' return wink with her dragon eye without a shudder.

A few minutes before midnight, the main door was checked. The cross- bracer iron-reinforced, was twice Ikarias' height and width, and held by four steel supports would take days for any sort of battering ram to break through. All the open windows left were stone and mortared down to narrow archers' slits. They'd all seen the heavy gate that took three counterweights at four hands each to open. What could come through?

Something did.

Ikarias heard nails clattering on the stone tiles. A dog? Why hadn't it come down earlier for dinner scraps?

The king, terrified but still defiant, stood and unwrapped the odd- shaped item by his chair. It was a pike of sorts with a trident blade at different angles and heights. The Twins stood before him, teeth gleaming with battle joy, their sabers upright. Black-clad sprouted pointed disks between his fingers. Busted Nose whirled two spike-tipped maces like string toys. Mustache had an ugly studded whip and a duo-crescent hand blade, while Hunk in the forefront took up a studded hammer that one could use to shoe a mountain-sized Cyclops.

"Do you hear it now?"

Only Ikarias nodded, the others looked quickly at her and the king.

Hunk didn't look back quick enough. He howled and bent back at an impossible angle, pushing up with one hand. He levered the hammer and swung. Spinning disks flew and Ikarias caught a glimpse of a massive shoulder and lots of teeth. Hunk shook in the air and flew across the table smacking the torn standard above the fireplace before sliding down leaving a wide red mark.

A mace struck a leg that ended with long claws but the second mace was ripped from Busted Nose's arm, just before that arm was taken off and most of his stomach ripped open. The Twins struck at nothing, just like Ikarias, but she knew she was hitting something. She kept getting flashes of a dog thing, a hell hound? A disk slipped across her head into a chest and she ducked as the thing leapt, raising her labrys. She heard Black-clad scream and Mustache shout in triumph just before a crunching noise. She turned to see a headless body fall and the king roar stomping on the table with both feet and crouching.

Several growls ended in whines and the Twins' swords blurred, they fell, their chests ripped open.

Ikarias heard the panting. She jumped up on the table and stood back to back with the king. Blood trickled into her human eye and she blinked to clear it.

She saw the beast.

Small ears narrowed tight to the heads, overlapping jagged teeth burst from elongated snouts, claws curled down from paws closer to fingers. The six slanted eyes were white like a smith's furnace at the very core. The massive shoulders were at the height of her head and the hind legs rippled with muscles. Shaggy grey fur covered it all.

Grey, not red, except where she remembered hitting it.

Why hadn't the other weapons left a mark?

Ikarias kept her right eye closed and whispered, "In front of me right corner, coming around." She moved to cover the king but he blocked her.

"I must do this. Tell me where to strike, for the love of the gods." She hated to hear that, somehow she knew he must be the one to give the killing stroke, if it could be done.

"Dead on your left hand, left corner, now front, right corner. Waiting."

"Follow my lead," he whispered back, facing the right corner as if unknowing.

She nodded, opening both eyes seeking that corner though keeping quick glances to the left with her dragon eye.

Claws scraped the floor. The hellhound snarled silently, lips curling and yellow saliva dripping like hot oil.

"Coming to pounce from the left corner in three… two… NOW!"

The king drove the pike forward, twisting and moving like a steel dancer. Ikarias would have loved to admire the graceful lethal moves but Cerberus twisted as well, careening off a pillar to land behind the king.

"NO!"

She swung two-handed as it lunged for the royal head. The king turned dropping to kneel, bringing the pike up underhanded and the two weapons clashed.

The back half of the hell-hound fell, releasing steaming urine burning like lava through the dining table and the chair Ikarias had sat in. The front half tried to crawl and three pairs of jaws snapped weakly before the eyes closed, one set at a time.

The king clutched his chest and fell to sitting.

"No… you shouldn't have. Had to be only one."

"Look it's dead, you killed it. Let me get you some wine."

The king shook his head, "Not free, bad heart. One of us had to survive. Can't step into the same river twice. " He coughed, then tossed the pike aside.

"You live to use that again. Look lie down, I'll see if--"

"Useless, yours too. Can't--twice," the king kept pointing to the dropped pike and her labrys. "You have until tomorrow, midnight `til dawn." He took a sudden deep breath, his hand clenched into a fist over his chest and he fell back, eyes wide.

Ikarias sat in the one remaining chair, the king's. She had closed his eyes and pulled down the last mostly whole tapestry to cover him. For the others she had left small coins on their eyes. Except for Mustache. She wasn't going to rifle the dog's gut for his head. Two gold pieces covered the depressions above the king's eyes. She watched, her labrys across her lap, the trident pike standing by her side, fingers steepled.

The fire died, the meat cooled, the wine soured.

The sun rose drawing dim lines through the slits onto the stained floor.

To one side she saw the beast's ass fade, so did the forepart lying on the table.

Ikarias recalled the king's last words, `midnight `til dawn'.

She had to get out of the castle.

____****____

(Part 63 by Aria) --

That phantom pain she could live with, but why the castle? Why home hideous home after all these years?

Suddenly free from the blinding pain for the first time in days Aria re-examined her wounds and was astounded to find no trace of broken skin. Remnants of where she had been penetrated remained still but somehow she had willed her skin to heal and by the Gods, it had worked. Feeling stronger now the Lady fought the urge to run, to skip like a schoolgirl, Aria knew instinctively she was still too weak for that and instead settled for something less ambitious, like a trot.

The ex-assassin blinked her eyes several times hard in succession as if to try to erase the aberration from her sight, yet the Castle remained. She had to question if this Castle nestled in the side of a mountain was actually the same place she called home for sixteen years. It looked similar, but how could it be? Nothing else looked familiar except the structure itself, which was comprised of stone, brick and bad memories. Aria knew enough about black magic to know if she was seeing her birthplace, it was for a reason…maybe she was brought here to find Ikarias. After all if Aria was here, maybe just maybe her scaled good friend was too.

Feeling a resurgence of bravery the Lady continued moving closer to the Castle… after all finding Ikarias was more important than any trepidation she might be feeling… demons be damned, this Lady was on a mission. The closer Aria got the more macabre the Castle looked. It was never what one would have called idyllic, but there was a particularly odd feel to it now. The sloping grounds though impeccably manicured seemed to be laid out wrong…trees Aria remembered loving as a child were still there but planted in different locations, the stream at the base of the mountain where Aria frolicked during the summer months in was there - but on the other side of the Manor.

Suddenly Aria stopped dead in her tracks when she saw a man appear on the balcony… could it be…was that her - Father? He appeared to be dressed in robes of satin and silk and the sun made the jewels adoring his head and chest dance wildly in the sun. The closer Aria got, she realized it was not Aria the King was looking at all… following his sightline Aria found herself looking at the same woman her “Father” was. The woman appeared virtually out of nowhere, sitting proudly atop a magnificent mare. Both woman and horse covered in shining amour and colorful plumes. As Aria stared at the mounted woman trying to place her from somewhere in the Lady’s past… the woman turned, somehow knowing the Aria was already there, once the woman’s eyes met Aria, she held her sword high in the air, proclaimed “welcome home Sister…” in a voice Aria had never heard before.

____****____

(Part 64 by Ikarias) --

A stomach-dropping feeling made Synestra take short even breaths so she wouldn't get sick. She was somewhat familiar with the inhuman mode of travel to unearthly realms, but never into such a maw of suffering. Even the air seemed to bleed a rawness with a sienna/crimson fog over the whole pitiful landscape. A little whiff of carrion scent was to be expected in this world vivisected and left to gangrenous decay. What little vegetation showed was either bloated, and oozing foulness, or so sere and stunted that the mere footsteps of their passage made the bits crumble releasing a noxious dust. Mountains appeared like reclining titans writhing under unseen slow blades, hills and ridges spiraled until they broke, the pieces trembling before crumbing. Spiky trees grew, split, then shuddered as bloody sap burned their shredded bark.

"My goddesss never mentioned her own hell per ssse. Then again, I suppossse all potent beingsss desssigned a punissshment ssscenario to sssuit their own whimsss." It felt like hours as Synestra watched the rusty sun pulsing like a monstrous gnarled heart, low in the sky, unmoving. "Why doesss it not ssset?"

She has not done the landscape any favors, Book said dryly. That question is one I wish to know as well. I did not make this world so.

B'sylla held Book tightly, "Could you read your more obscure references? Let us know what to expect?" Her red eyes took in the desolation, the palpable taste of lingering pain even as they were alone. She knew others were here in eternal agonies.

"How are we to find Aria and Ikariasss? Or Her?" Synestra felt none of her usual infallible sense of direction. She had no true north here, no sense of the solar path or moon's cycles. This place was static and stagnant.

~I know,~ Book said confidently. ~Even as ley lines join in a netting for the world we left, so too here, indeed every realm has them. Turn left and walk. Be careful of what you see and hear. Some things are very real, others are malignant phantasms to mislead you or worse. A very few are true souls, harmless and lost. Remember, as in fey dominions, time is malleable here, it can stop, crawl, reverse, or be swifter than thought. Believe that we shall find the lady and the half-dragon before all is lost. Dwell not on counting increments or steps.~

B'sylla took long strides, her white hair flowing out behind her. The shorter High Priestess kept up even with a slightly faster pace. The albino spoke with her mind alone to Book. It feels good to travel on strong limbs without pain, even in hell.

~Then we indeed have hope, my ex-basilisk friend.~

A muffled grunting, struggling sound grew louder as they crested a small rise of loose sharp stones.

At the top were the first of the damned.

Synestra's eyes narrowed at the sight of two huge snakes at war—no, people, young men, both serpent from the waist down and human up. Each hybrid attempted to swallow the other tail first, and each was devoured in turn. The snake men's thrashing must have gone on for a long time. The ground around them had crumbled into choking dust, clouds of which rose and fell with each combatant's moves. What straggling verdure had taken root had been pounded into stubble.

B'sylla licked her lips unconsciously at the malformations. Each of their mouths had stretched so wide they had torn back to the ear in a sardonic grimace. The tears were deep too as the jawbones and partial cheekbones showed in filthy grey spots under the dust-choked scabs that continually broke and oozed. The stretching lower down had made their noses into narrow sideways slits and the eyes bulged and blinked continuously at the dusty and strain. Their hands attached directly to their shoulders without benefit of arms, were gnarled, the knuckles scraped and scarred. Bent ragged nails and broken fingers continually sought a stronger grip as their massive scaled torsos thrashed and twisted rolling over each other.

Seeing the newcomers, the fighters increased in their ferocity, inches were gained and lost repeatedly.

"I know thessse two," Synestra whispered, a mix of horror and revulsion in her voice. She had stopped dead at the recognition of the two entwined serpentine bodies, one in hues of brown, one of green.

B'sylla, at a loss, since her mistress had never boasted of this atrocity, was surprised that the snake priestess was acquainted with such belligerent creatures. "Who are they? How did they come to be in this place?"

"Twinsss, brothersss, princesss from an ancccient time. Each sssought to kill the other and ssseparately, eaccch wissshed to ssslay the king their father and inherit all the kingdom, not just half. Both usssed poissson from the river adder and eaccch sssuccceeded in three deathsss, their own, their brother, and their father. Regicccide, patricccide, fratricccide. For kin ssslaying basssed on greed were their handsss equipped never to hold well, for wanting all, they must ssswallow all to win, and neither can."

"Your goddess condemned them for eternity like this?" B'sylla asked. "Surely they have learned by now that neither can triumph. Why can't this torment end?"

"If one letsss go, the punissshment isss ended for both, but neither will give in."

Book spoke with urgency, ~Your goddess is neither kin nor kind to she whom we seek to destroy. This is an overlap of two hells. Fear not,~ for Book did feel the trepidation from both women at that news. ~You will be able to draw on Hyzperzia's powers here, O'Priestess.~

Synestra nodded and pressed her hand soundly upon Book's cover.

____****____

(Part 65 by Ikarias) --

Despite her new confidence in walking and the return of her powers, B'sylla still felt uneasy. They passed the snake brothers not once but three times, though she could have sworn they never deviated from the course Book set.

"What isss it with thisss placcce," the High Priestess hissed not even bothering with another mote of pity for the suffering twins. Synestra's even temper had disintegrated under the constant abrasive dust, the uneven ground that made every step a treacherous one, the miasma of apathy and bitterness.

~You are absorbing the foulness of this realm, fight it, oh Priestess. Your goddess is here.~ Book had more immunity than Synestra, as did the albino. This unworld was never meant for mortals alive and aware.

"Forgive me, my friendsss. My concccern for Aria and not being able to do more than walk in cccirclesss --"

Through a vastness of rough saw-edged grass that tore their flesh they walked until a sea faced them, a sea unlike any they had ever known.

The viscous rusty waves crawled over each other like sluggish beasts in all directions, pieces of animals, humans, things they could not name, surfaced twitched for something out of reach and gaped with mouths choking with the oily element. The moaning and shrieks rose and broke in tides.

"As if all things dead were floating in sorrow," B'sylla tried not to take air in through her nose. The stench of decomposition hung in tattered vapors in a cloying fog.

~This is the Ocean of the Damned, where all the slain have fallen. This is not Her work either. This is a greater Hell than even She knows how to create. We are still on the right path.~

"How will we crosss? What manner of passsage would take usss over? No bridge would reaccch, nor any ssship. I do ssswim, if we mussst go that way. Will the thingsss within hinder usss?" Synestra bent to remove her shoes.

~No, Priestess. We cannot… ~The bound wizard's pages fluttered as a breeze snatched his cover open.

"What is it Book?" B'sylla hugged the massive tome shut and took a deep breath, her nostrils quivering as her basilisk instincts took over.

The screams and sighs had ceased. The waves settled flat, the flotsam and jetsam of bodily wreckage had sunk below the surface as if in anticipation of some new wickedness.

~Go back, we must find shelter.~ Book's urgent tone confused the two women.

"Isss that a sssail?" Synestra watched a tall slender maroon curve draw closer.

B'sylla turned and saw the grassy plain behind them gone, "All we have is this lack of land, Book. It crumbles away as I watch."

~Hold onto me, and each other. Quickly!~

"It ssspinsss like a vortexxx. Even the sssea is drawn into itsss maw… Goddesss!

~Bloodwynd!~

B'sylla held tightly to Synestra as the smaller woman gripped her waist.

The albino's hair whipped about them and stained red as Synestra watched in horror.

Book shivered in his leaves, though pressed tightly between the two.

~Hold on!~

____****____

(Part 66 by Ikarias) --

Ikarias took stock of her options as she rummaged for braces and staves to lift the crossbar. She needed a bit more wiggle room for fighting, she also needed to figure out why the beast attacked and did or didn't take hits.

The king's weapon looked new, no old bloodstains, no subsequent sharpening marks post-forging. There weren't even any leather bands wrapped about for a more secure grip. Ikarias grunted as she dragged a heavy side table, tilted it then dropped it endwise on the end of the bar. It lifted the far end maybe a finger width but it was a start. Loops of chain from the main chandelier cupped the far end of the beam. The main length of chain, she threw over a protruding half a gargoyle. Making the rest into a lasso, she smiled.

The king couldn't speak of it, couldn't write… but like Philomel, a clever woman could outwit any man's or god's unlawful geas. The Half- Dragon stopped in her gathering of torches and weapons. She hurriedly dropped them and looked at the stained tapestry covering the king's body.

In an ancient script across the bottom was the adage; `One cannot step into the same river twice.' From the upper corner Ikarias followed scenes of a three-headed beast attacking and men losing their battle against it until a king figure killed it with a sword. The beast returned and the king riddled it with arrows, a third time and it was tricked to fall into a pit filled with sharpened stakes, a fourth had it weighted with stones and drowned, a fifth time a javelin pinned it.

A different weapon every time, but still why did it come? Why did it renew its attack instead of lying down and playing dead doggie? What if she could trap it and not kill it? Would that break the spell? Striking flint to steel she lit the torches and looked outside the western slit. The outer wall was rough, good for gripping claws like hers. She could almost squeeze out. The rough stone abraded her already raw wounds. She could smear boar grease on her body and slip through. She stuck her knife into the half-cooked porker, cut and stopped.

I wasn't hurt there battling Cerberus. Ikarias peered at her torso, the delineation between scales and flesh inflamed and bleeding anew. The bodies lying about her didn't even draw flies. This is not part of my world. She's trying to slow me down, stop me from finding Aria. Getting out and running like hell, in Hell, was not a very good one. For one thing, leading the three-headed dog to Aria would be like calling it for dinner. Finding Aria was still at the top of the list, turning the list into a menu for Cerberus just wasn't acceptable.

Cerberus was not from any hell, but he guarded a certain underworld. He may have bitten the guards but he didn't eat them. Hades may be his master but Ikarias was going to make a bet on Kore for the dog's real love. A bit of insurance wouldn't hurt either.

A rickety-looking pile of broken chairs lead to the upstairs seraglio behind a thin screen. Ikarias could well imagine the Queen and court ladies gossiping over the bravos and fops below, seen but unseeing.

She tucked unbroken weapons here and there, though Ikarias herself had nothing in her hands or on her person. Lastly, the boar was un- spitted and left a few steps in from where the beast made its entrance.

"This should be interesting." She heard the nails clicking on the tiles.

____*****____

(Part 67 by Ikarias) --

Synestra's skin felt like every piece of sand she'd ever stepped on now tore away a tiny bit of flesh in vicious recompense. She clung tightly to B'sylla, grateful for the albino's strength holding her to this inside out reality. She kept her eyes shut tight against the Bloodwynd, holding with as strong a grip she could manage. The tiny carnivorous particles stopped plucking bits of flesh from her to be replaced by a chill thickness coating her skin. As soon as the high priestess enjoyed the relief, the cold grew worse sinking in like thorns to every part of her. She held tight wondering if the whirlwind caused this or just the whole world she inhabited, making anything living feel the Hell. Her braids felt leaden, her clothing much too thin to stop any severe weather. Stickiness replaced the cold burning like a slow flame on every bit of her body. She refused to let go.

~I will not let go, I will not give up. Goddess, help me hold on, help me save Aria.~

B'sylla kept Book between them as the Bloodwynd took the last bit of land under their feet and surrounded them. She heard faint voices in a cacophony underlying the deafening gusts that took air and any chance of speech away to comfort the smaller woman. She felt a faint discomfort from the blasts but nothing more. The way Synestra gripped her made B'sylla realize the High Priestess felt much worse.

~What is this, Book? When will it stop?~

~Bloodwynd contains all the voices that fill the afterworlds. It is a Chaos element of ignorant and angry souls. All those who died untimely, from babes unborn to those stricken with sickness, taken due to accidents or violence, and the grandfolk at the fireplace want explanations. No one can or does give them answers, so their anger seeks the living to give them a remedy for the why of death. They search the blood of the living, seeking a solution in every drop. Naturally, they find nothing, and the blood swirls as they keep pulling at it, each one hoping to find a way home.~

B'sylla held Synestra tighter. ~She's slipping from me. The Wynd pulls her so!~

~Let me go.~

~I cannot. Book, we need you!~

~I have done what I sought to do. Today is a good day to--~

`No, I will not lose you, old friend. Allard, stay!~

~Call me Theranoch. I reclaim that name as one She stole. You will do the right thing, little basilisk.~

~How will we--NO!~

B'sylla felt the heavy tome pulled from her grasp. She hugged Synestra closer burying her face in the titian braids. She couldn't tell why her face was wet.

Synestra felt Book being ripped from between them. She instinctively reached out for him and felt a shock as if from walking on a wool carpet in winter then touching a copper bowl. A cloying thickness filled her mouth and nostrils and she turned back, spitting and wiping her cheek on the heavy cloth before protecting her face in B'sylla's robe. She took shallow breaths, unable to do more than hold tight.

~Aria, forgive me. I can't save you.~ The roaring wind promised only a unending resonance that blinded, scoured every thought and hope away.

They had lost.

Synestra felt boneless, her legs couldn't have held her even if there had been land to stand on. She didn't know if she was covered in blood, water, or slime from the Bloodwynd. She didn't feel strong anymore, didn't feel confident or self-righteous. How could this be? Her arms slipped, moved back to hold the albino, slipped more.

~Don't let me die of this madness!~

She didn't want to be noble or assertive. She was alone again, alone as she had been as a child after falling through the boards into the pit of vipers. Cold, feeling legless bodies crawl over hers and the incessant susurration of scales rasping over each other. Then they snapped at her, biting, sinking their fangs in, striking, and pulling away to strike again. She screamed and no one heard, no one came. The sound bounced off the stone back to her mingling with more screams and pleas as they kept wounding her. The thought that she would die here grew and twisted as the venom took hold and the light faded.

Something beat under her cheek, beat with a strong and steady rhythm.

Arms held her fast as if the end of the world could never part them.

~B'sylla still holds me. She has not lost hope.~ Synestra felt a wholeness fill her. ~Goddess be with you, Book, wherever you are.~

____****____

(Part 68 by Ikarias) --
(With the indulgence of Lord Sirius)

Firenzia passed through the closed door as if the iron-banded wood was as solid as air. Sirius stayed sitting in the armchair, at an angle to the door. The Dark Lord's silk robe was simple, though of a striking design, white at the top dropped down like lightning into the black at midpoint. From the bottom to the middle, black lightning forked up into the white. An interwoven black and white belt held it snug at her waist. She had just pulled loose the last of three long black hairs from a braid and twisted the final pair of ends together into a whole unbroken line.

The impertinent sorceress' proposition made mention of powers, dreams, loves, and scores to settle. Firenzia was clueless on all counts, not that Sirius deigned to enlighten her. Not yet. Firenzia was such a child. A child when she stole power, a child in appearance still. The patina of innocence thinned considerably when the girl struck such a ridiculous pose issuing an invitation that was most certainly an order. Dismiss her entirely, or should Sirius play the awed supplicant? Hardly. Firenzia as Renzi had played cat and mouse with the women of the lodge for too long. Sirius had a soft spot for these mortals and this particular place. Time to switch roles and let Firenzia find out the truth after this handful of eons, if she was smart enough to take the hint.

Sirius pulled the fine strand outside both hands, looped four fingers together in turn, extended her middle digits and pulled the line to the opposite sides. Holding the black pattern taut, she stood head and shoulders taller than Firenzia, and asked, "Do you play?"

Was this woman a simpleton, to rebuff such a generous offer? No, the eyes held a spark such that Firenzia hadn't seen in a very long time. She could afford a bit of magnanimity and indulge in the ancient game. All the better to impress this delicious midnight woman.

"Of course." Firenzia pinched two crossed strands and pulled up brushing against the other woman's breasts with the line as she set a second change in motion. Sirius's room, indeed the entire lodge and surroundings faded away.

*****

Ice crystals whipped by the wind hissed about the two magic wielders as if from the nests of a thousand cold-drakes. Firenzia had brought them to the top of a glacier. Overhead the aurora borealis twisted, to the sides, an ocean of ice cracked and groaned as massive bergs jostled for position. A low deep hum vibrated the ground at their feet just before a behemoth smashed up through ice to crash down again. Thoughtfully, the little sorceress had provided warm cloaks made of fine long black hairs. Hers was trimmed with black diamonds and ice rubies. For Firenzia, the cloak was merely for fashion, she had no trouble keeping the deadly cold away.

Sirius stood quiet as the tiny frosted darts flew about them, not even her braids allowed the wind to move them. Her cloak was superfluous as well. She knew exactly what animal it came from, ebony unicorn. Sacred beasts, the rarest of the breed and apparently just another accessory to Firenzia's wardrobe. This spoiled child had remained such for five thousand years, self-control had never entered her vocabulary let alone her demeanor.

A world of white, the only contrast their cloaks and the ribbons of color dancing in the longest night. Sirius took the strands, twisting them into an uneven set of interlocking diamonds and changed worlds.

*****

A low violet sun tinged everything with amethyst hues. Sentient purple moss waved long tendrils at the last rays absorbing the light. A soft hum came from the contiguous plant as it folded over itself in waves traveling after the sun. Suddenly the violet star gushed fountains like ink into the lilac sky rending the air with thunderous volleys. Rocks fell from the sky burning with the same deep garnet flame. They gouged deep smoking trenches, shaking the ground. The burning moss keened trying to escape.

Sirius didn't let her disgust show as Firenzia turned the quiet alien world into a disaster.

Firenzia smiled and drew the odd numbered triangles out. She had no idea what the purple world was, other than suspecting it as a boring segue from Sirius' imagination. Not bad for a beginner.

Damn, the Half-Dragon had escaped one past. One is not all, Firenzia had all the time in the worlds. She made the doll rise and follow.

"Hold your breath." She teased, pressing the tight strands against Sirius' breasts.

*****

Killing pressure so deep even the sun never made it to the lowest indigo sea. Odd glowing fish passed the two women, swimming past Firenzia's hair billowing in the thick current. Again, neither woman had trouble without breathing, nor did the weight of the water inconvenience them in the slightest. The density was of no consequence to their vision. Again, Sirius's braids stayed in their accustomed position between her broad shoulders. Either Firenzia hadn't that control or she deigned not to use it.

Firenzia nodded and looked to the side, even she couldn't speak aloud in this viscous element. Sirius followed the gaze and saw thick- muscled sapphire-colored bodies scaled with overlapping plates from some armored sea creature. Webbed hands gripped tridents as the merfolk swam in formation. Males by the look and aggressive posture were bald with heavy jaws and large lidless eyes, though from the hips down they were as fish. They pulled a slender form that though hairless as well, definitely had a female appearance. She struggled as they neared a stand of azurite multi-armed coral.

The coral shivered, a branch detached at one end and twined the sharp side about the mermaid's tailfin. With speed and a single-minded purpose it grew, moving up the fin and over, covering it, spreading like a rash. Their sacrifice secure, the mermen left; all but one who swam back unnoticed by the company. He struck his trident hard at the creeping mass, chipping off a small piece. The desperate mermaid pulled all the harder, hope fighting with despair.

Firenzia twitched a little finger in their direction. The next hit grazed lapis flesh. The mermaid opened her mouth and a flute-like note of pain came from her. The little sorceress had a wry smile as she looked up indicating that Sirius should do likewise. Beryl clouds descended, not clouds but jellyfish five and six paces across, heading straight for the dark topaz blood.

The would-be rescuer's strikes grew ever more frantic, the mermaid's struggles more pronounced. By ones and twos and tens, the amorphous blobs draped over the couple. Trident points tore the transparent flesh but didn't hinder the boneless horde. Skin melted, more blood stained the deeps but was pounced on by smaller jellyfish. Muscle and bone dissolved, the few loose pieces floated down were absorbed by the hungry coral. The horde advanced on the two magical women, dipped in homage then floated up into invisibility.

Sirius nodded, so this was how the young one wanted to play, so be it. She hooked two strands, twisting up and down together.

*****

Lord Sirius and Firenzia stood dry and without the ebon unicorn cloaks on a spit of beach inside a small cavern of malachite. Outside the sea pounded against the rocks as inside the waves brushed over one smooth wall then another. Low grunts and plaintive moans came to them over the susurrations of the low breakers. Luminescent growth on the higher walls gave the entire cavern and water a green cast. The being making the noises had a woman's shape to the hips, the rest was eight long paces of a thick eel's body the color of bloodstone.

"I too have my demands," Sirius explained, holding the cradle strands taut. "She must spell her name correctly and she will be free. However, she doesn't know in what language, nor does she have a tongue with which to ask for help. In the slim chance that some might come."

Another grunt as the eel woman drew her jagged claws across her breast. Dipping a finger into her own blood, she leaned over a worn shelf and scratched onto the wall.

Firenzia clapped her hands in appreciation. "Of course the waves are always washing away her best efforts. Sirius, how darkly splendid of you. What was her sin?" She cocked her head at the multitude of scars all over the eel woman's body.

"Hubris." Of course Firenzia completely missed the reference. "Tsk, tsk. Must be a bitch when she breaks a nail."

The eel woman turned at the voices. Her emerald eyes wide, she made a deeper gash into the fresh wound and dipping several fingers wrote frantically on the wall. A large wave rinsed the first several letters away before she finished the last dozen or so.

"Who was she? A princess that you made into a seahag? I don't believe I've ever seen such a half-breed."

"She was a mighty necromancer and has Elemental blood, but she reached once too far. She survives on what washes in, she could slip away, but she knows I can find her anywhere."

"Let me show you what could be…" Firenzia took the strand quickly, not bothering to pull a new pattern into shape, she just repeated her first web.

Sirius nodded graciously.

*****

The world was gold, everywhere Sirius looked, gold covered walls, roofs, steps, basins. The sun hung high, spreading the hues across even the whitewashed walkways and gardens below. They stood on a stepped pyramid under the hot summer sky, across from a second lesser edifice. Between them, a golden-skinned crowd roared as they gazed up. A fire burst across a wide shallow bowl atop the second pyramid in concert with peals of horn-like notes that Sirius recognized as being from conch shells with the top bit removed. A functionary clothed only in brilliant feathers and a jaguar head atop his own held out his arms to them.

"They think I'm a god," Firenzia smirked.

"Aren't we all," Sirius smiled back.

Now Firenzia wore a golden shift. A simple length twice her height, it had ties at the shoulders and hips leaving the sides open to every breeze and gaze. She had envisioned a similar adornment for Sirius but the dark woman still wore the same robe. She'd deal with that later. She stepped forward, raised her arms high, then lowered them, still holding the pattern.

This time deeper voices roared and hundreds of guards rushed out from the base of the far temple. A second rumbling came and the steps at the front split grinding stone on stone. A massive standing statue of Firenzia, in gold of course, moved forward just stopping at the edge of the crowd. In pairs, the guards dressed in jaguar loincloths and carrying saw-toothed clubs took members of the audience. Some struggled, some looked shocked, and went along stumbling. The smaller children taken were simply carried. Several scores of the chosen were hurried inside. Moments later the first ones were brought out of the top, a few steps higher than the statue's head.

"I had it commissioned. They did a wonderful likeness don't you think? Took a hundred thousand men three years, beggared quite a few villages here about. Farmers make lousy artisans but they did have strong backs."

A young nude man was brought to kneel facing them across the way. The guards held his arms out tight with loops of rope.

"This is my favorite part." Firenzia went to rub her hands together and dropped a cross line. She cursed quietly and the line rose settling about the correct finger.

Sirius clasped her hands behind her back and saw the priest/executioner's arm move forward.

Bone splintered outward and a small beating muscle hung on the end of prongs. The man jerked not even having time to scream, or if he did, the crowd's chanting covered it.

The heart was pulled off and dropped. A moment later, it fell out of the statue's mouth. The twitching body was dropped as well and it did not come out.

"I'm hollow," Firenzia giggled, scratching her nose with the back of her hand.

Another victim was brought out, this time a strong woman who struggled even as her heart was forced from her breast.

"How many?" Sirius asked in a nonchalant tone.

"I lost count. The sacrifices only last `til sunset. I usually come at summer solstice. One year I came at both equinoxes and solstices. They were down to popping grannies and cripples. One priest made the mistake of killing goats when the people ran out. I had him and a hundred guards slide down a giant obsidian blade. Then I opened a volcano under the main thoroughfare."

"I assume they were never again of two minds as to the appropriate offerings?" The second heart dropped out.

Firenzia laughed, " How very droll, Sirius. They now make war on their neighbors and stockpile spares. They don't ever want to be caught short again. I'll have to think of something else to throw them off course."

The third sacrifice was a child. Firenzia yawned at the shrieking cut short and a gleam came to her eyes.

"Let me show you my favorite place." The golden city vanished under a bloody fog.

Sirius had other ideas.

_____*****_____

(Part 69 by Ikarias) --

Aria watched as the tall woman sheathed her sword and dismount with a fluid grace. She pulled off the helmet and tucking it over the saddle horn slapped the horse on the rump. The white mare trotted off to the stables, the ruddy light bouncing off the highly polished flanchards or side panels and the chain mail blanket covering her body. Even the hooves flashed with gold leaf.

The woman had close cropped blonde hair, the same shade as Aria's. Cool blue eyes appraised her, eyes Aria had seen every time she saw her reflection. There was only one person who could look like that. "Is, is that really you, Meli?"

Memories of loss, pain, and betrayal flooded Aria's mind. The fact that existed in a dramatic skit set up by the sorceress quickly receded from her.

"Yes, little sister. It's me, Melisande."

Aria took a sidelong glance up at the figure at the topmost balcony. Her heart missed a couple of beats.

"Then that's our father?"

"He'll be down shortly. Come inside, let's get reacquainted, it's been a while."

Aria let her sister place her arm over her shoulders, stretching her legs to keep up with her sister's longer strides.

Atop the parapet, two hundred paces straight up, Aria couldn't see the King's hands slipping up off the edge. Nor could she witness the terrible struggle to regain that grip that had already left blood on the rough wide stone, and the greater battle unspoken.

~Look at her. Never innocent, never free, especially here.~ A sly hissing voice filled the King's head.

~I will not look at her. She cannot be damned.~

~Of course she is, doomed to such torments unimaginable, your favorite little one. If you're good you can watch, play with her if you want, like old times.~

~I know you. Get thee away from me, daemon!~

A small cloth poppet in the doorway raised a needle in mockery of Melisande's salute. Stained white thread hung from it, the same that held the King's lips together.

~Get thee to another Hell, this one is mine, no matter that I, guilty of much, am innocent of that crime.~

~Who would believe you, O King? Who could deny you the pleasures found in your own flesh and blood?~

~I fought and won against the ensorcellment, even when I grew weary, opium gave me strength to refuse.~

The doll pointed the needle like a stiletto, accusing the King, ~They all saw you enter the children's rooms, year after year, day after day, abandoning the older used bodies for newer younger delights. You should have sired many more, you'd still be fucking them in your dotage!~ Laughter taunted the King.

~Never. I saw the semblance the daemon had taken, it was mine! Without sinew and muscle, it could do no harm, so I thought. Then I followed it and saw her embrace it like a lover. She went to them in my borrowed shape. I never did.~

~Your desires flowed, your hands opened the way your voice demanded. No matter who wore the look, it was you in the children's beds.~

The King struggled, remembering. The torches in their brackets blew one way then the other, as if the flames were also undecided. ~The one time I tried to hold her as a father should, that woman threatened ruin of all of them. If I left, they would be safe. Absent, the daemon couldn't steal my form. She didn't know that.~

~Too late, much, much too late.~ The doll raised its mitten hands and shrugged.

Struggling, the King's hands rose off the stone as well.

The doll leaned forward, the King did too, dangerously so. In his effort to stay on his feet, the veins stood out in her neck and forehead.

~I must tell her, must warn her! My child of light and hope, even you think of me as guilty and loathsome.~ He leaned away just as the sisters entered the castle. He turned to the poppet.

~At least I can stop you. Even here, fire burns.~

The doll pinwheeled its arms and leaned back, smirking at the King's mistake.

The king's blue eyes widened as he staggered back, unable to stop. The low stone slabs did nothing to hinder him. He fell, unable to scream, though the few seconds he took to land were enough to break two stitches.

____****____

(Part 70 by Ikarias) --

Ikarias' eyebrows raised when she saw a figure from her past enter the hall. The person's shoes clicked on the floor like nails. As if in response, the floor rippled, changing from dirty and rush-strewn to large panels alternating black and white. The bodies disappeared, windows widened, the walls flowed with new tapestries. Ikarias felt the entire configuration of the castle change. She cursed under her breath at the loss of the stashed weapons though the curse turned to a smile at the sight of others appearing in the hands of statutes, on wall plaques and with posed suits of armor.

A tall elegant woman, black hair sweeping to her ankles like night pouring down and eyes like two white moons watched the Half-Dragon's face. A pale violet tongue flickered in and out. Her translucent gown clung to her body.

"Nuiet. What are you doing here?"

"What does any goddess do in hell? You should not have killed the dog. That was not your fight."

"A sorceress called Firenzia has made this entire, pardon the expression, Hellhole, my fight." Ikarias wandered about, trying to look aimless while seeing how fast she could liberate a sword or labrys from the brackets or fixed gauntlets holding such.

"I am not pleased with your killing my hound." Across the room, Nuiet's tone fell like sleet on the Half-Dragon.

"Cerberus belongs to Hades and Kore, the dog's immortal." Ikarias waved the goddess off, "He'll be back chasing souls and chewing up the furniture. Probably humps Charon's leg every chance he gets."

"Fool. What makes you think there's only one three-headed dog?"

Ikarias stopped, every preconception crumbling. She held her arms out and kneeled, bowing her head. "I apologize for his death. I am not here of my own choosing. This place changes like water in a new shape every time. I've seen the dead I know and others who are strangers. I only know for sure that an enemy sent me here, and a friend needs my help."

As Ikarias raised her head, Nuiet inclined hers. "That's why I'm here."

"Why?" Ikarias repeated, at a loss.

"Remember what I told you the last time?"

"That I would die, and come back. I've never forgotten that."

Ikarias replied warily.

"Today it will happen. Dead with me, you will be beyond your enemy's reach. Alive, you will suffer until the world ends and beyond."

Ikarias shook her head, "There's got to be another way."

Nuiet's white eyes blazed, "I am the only way."

"I'm not dying and abandoning Aria. I don't take the easy way out."

"Oh, I could take her as well. In a thousand years or two, no one will remember either of you."

Ikarias pulled a likely looking bastard sword off the wall, its weight felt much more comforting than the goddess' words. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"That's the price for killing my pet. A one time offer."

"I don't believe you, I can't afford to."

"Then I shall have to slay you for your own good." Nuiet clapped her hands once.

Ikarias' dragon ear picked up the clicking of many claws, the rapid ticking in threes of several sets of something coming closer, and the soft susurration of many bare feet. Long legged grey birds with fire- crested heads, bobbed in the Half-Dragon's direction. They stepped elegantly among the shaggy thick-jawed black and white humped beasts sniffing the air. The crouching clan of pseudo humans followed, their crooked teeth glittering in the light.

Nuiet's midnight hair lifted off fanning out behind her in a wind Ikarias could not feel. What else had the Death Goddess told her? What could she use to stop this, or at least change it? The sword wove lethal designs in the Half-Dragon's hands, though she was unsure if it would work against the three clans of feeders. The birds extended their necks eyeing her over the snuffling beasts and the knuckle-walking primitives who watched for a sign from their goddess to feast.

"You told me both the living and the dead would try to stop me. Which are you?"

"Neither, both, something else entirely," Nuiet took another step, the creatures shifted weight on claws and feet.

"Your tribes only eat souls, and you, O Goddess, only drink from the newly dead."

"Tastes change. I have supped from a thousand different races, creatures and breeds you could not imagine on worlds you could never comprehend."

That was the key, "But you've never had a chance at blood like mine,"

Ikarias lowered the sword. Nuiet and her entourage stopped their advance twenty paces away.

The smallest nod from the white-eyed goddess and her soul-eaters vanished.

"I offer my blood for recompense in the death of your dog. I ask you to leave me enough that I may have the strength to fight my enemy."

"Agreed." Nuiet held out her hands, the palms opened revealing circular ribbed mouths with three inset tiers of triangular fangs like some sort of over-endowed lamprey.

Ikarias instinctively raised her sword.

Nuiet vanished from that spot and immediately stood facing Ikarias, the blade through her body no hindrance whatsoever. Her all white eyes appeared both nonchalant and challenging. Her black hair crept about to tickle Ikarias wherever it touched.

"You could not hope to win against me, mortal." The Death Goddess smiled, "Put down your sword."

Ikarias hoped she was making the right decision. She stepped back pulling the blade out and laid it on a wide table to her right. The wall was to her back, a window with false freedom opened invitingly to her other side. The sheer gown Nuiet wore didn't even suffer a pulled thread.

Nuiet's hands stroked down the length of Ikarias' arms then turned under holding at the inner wrists. She raised the Half-Dragon's arms, pressing them against the stone wall. Her body pressed too, and Ikarias felt as if she stood just before lightning was to strike as her flesh tingled.

Nuiet's lips brushed against Ikarias' human ear, sending a shiver through the Half-Dragon's body as she whispered, "Did I mention, it is said that feeding on the living hurts like hell."

Three sets of fangs ripped into Ikarias' throat and wrists as the Death Goddess pulled her close.

Ikarias' head slammed into the wall in a reflex when she couldn't scream. Something slipped into her veins burning down and inching like liquid metal. Above the soft sucking noises she heard moans of enjoyment. The breath leeched from her lungs, the stone pressed into her flesh and the immovable goddess held her tight.

"E…enough." Ikarias twisted her hands and pushed back, feeling the teeth pull out with reluctance. Something else slithered from inside her arms back into the palm-mouths. Nuiet leaned away, her tongue flickering like a snake's over her pale lips. An eyebrow lowered in question and Nuiet raised her arm, the one that had held Ikarias' dragon side. A small scratch bled. Ikarias snatched up the sword. "What kind of goddess bleeds from a scratch?"

"One that wants more." Nuiet drew close only to stop with Ikarias' blade pressed between her breasts drawing a tiny bead of blood.

Ikarias nodded, "That's why you don't take living blood. It makes you a little less than divinity should be."

"I have enough left to finish supping and drain you for my children of the night to dine on your soul." Nuiet stepped back, her hair writhing angrily.

"I've got pressing business elsewhere. Our bargain is finished."

A sword appeared in Nuiet's hand. "You'll leave when I say so." Her eyes burned like white stars and their swords clashed.

____****____

End Parts 51 thru 70, September 2003 thru May 2004
by Ikarias, Aria, and Lord Sirius

Conclusion coming up!  Parts 71 thru 77

Back to Parts 1 thru 25
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Ikarias Index // Aria's Index // Lord Sirius Index

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