Chapter 2

~Elaina~

The cell was as black as her mood.

Elaina had been a normal child, happy and energetic. She went to the shops with her mother and tried on fancy clothes, laughing as they pretended to be snooty royalty. She used to rough-house with her father, tumbling and rolling on the ground until they were both out of breath and could only lie in the grass and laugh. She used to smile. She used to do a lot of things. Now, nothing she did seemed to matter anymore.

Her mother had taken sick shortly after they had moved to the city. Her father insisted it was something in the air, but whatever it was it killed her all the same. One morning Elaina, or Leenie as her mother had liked to call her, had brought her mother breakfast in bed. No amount of shaking or pleading would wake her. They buried her in the field behind their house where she had enjoyed sitting and watching the sun set. It was the very field where Leenie was concieved, although her parents never told her that. After that Leenie was never the same, but she still had her father so he kept some joy in her life. That joy, which would set the trend for the rest of her life, was short-lived.

Two weeks after her mother died her father was accused of poaching, the city guard saying they had found a deer carcass near his home that he had killed and taken for his own, wrongly stealing from the king and, in turn, the people. Leenie hadn't had deer meat in years and knew the charges to be false. She pleaded with the king and queen when they took audience with them but they were not lenient in their sentence. Her father was set to be executed. She was ordered to witness the execution, clean up the aftermath and then bury the corpse. Needless to say the king and queen were a bitter, wicked pair. Leenie never forgave them. She watched her father die and mopped up the gore from his beheading She was forced to carry his severed head and toss it in a cart, drag his body to the cart, wheel it out of the city while the entire general population watched and then bury him in an unmarked grave with not so much as a stone to identify his final resting spot. From there her life only got worse.

She didn't like to think of the rest of her life. Hell, she didn't even remember most of it. She had blocked it out and went through it all in a daze. She felt nothing, pain nor joy. She forgot how to laugh, how to cry, how to love. She welcomed the sweet release of death but it never came. She prayed for change but her prayers were never answered. She took up a life of crime, stealing and killing for coin, food and room and board. She spent most of her time imprisoned but didn't care. Behind bars she didn't have to worry about where or when her next meal would be. Behind bars she didn't have to worry about anything.

Her last job had been a big one. She had been sent to assasinate a counciler of high standing in the king's court. She killed him, but his blasted wife had snuck up behind her and knocked her over the head with a chamber pot. She woke up staring into the darkness, listening to the dripping of unseen water. Since then she had lived in limbo, not seeing, not tasting the meals they brought her (which was probably a blessing) and hoping everyday for death.

One day her routine of nothing was broken when an old man she had never seen before, dressed in plain brown robes, came to see her in the dead of night. She couldn't see the sun - hadn't seen it in years as a matter of fact - but she guessed the hour was late when the guard who let the old man in couldn't stop yawning and kept trying to rub the haze from his sleepy looking eyes. He'd yawn, rub his eyes, blink a couple of times, look around the room with a wide-eyed confused stare, blink a couple more times and then yawn again.

The old man came with a proposition for her. He said that the city was in danger, the people under threat from a nameless force. There would be war, of that he was sure, but with a few choice people in the right positions of authority they would be able to turn the tide of battle and protect their home. He droned on about duty and honor and home for what seemed to be hours. She blocked him out after a little while, nodding her head seriously at parts she deemed to be important. She was hoping he would eventually get to the point when he slapped her hard across the face and shouted, "Pay attention now, child, this is the important part."

He said that she was already with a blade, more than he could say for most of the worthless peasants who lived and worked here, and that she may be able to help them learn to be warriors. She didn't care either way. She just wanted the old man to stop talking and so she nodded her head in agreement. He seemed pleased with her decision. He leaned in closer and spoke quietly into her ear.

"There is one who will lead these people. He goes by the name Duncan and, if I'm right, he could be the best warrior this city has ever seen. I want you to get close to him. Watch him, learn from him, report back to me with his plans. Let me know if he starts doing anything strange. I don't want to have to put down another rebellion. I had to burn my favorite robes from the last one, and it's so hard to get Esellion silk nowadays." He tittered and rubbed his hands together in excitement.

Joints popping, he struggled to his feet and motioned for the guard to open the cell door. When the door was opened he set his hand on Leenie's head, gently patted her as one might pat a dog, then turned and left. As she watched the light fade down the corridors she began to imagine what this Duncan would look like. She had visions of a tall, thick bearded man covered in scars and tattoos. One eye was white and stared out at her blindly, the other as black as night. His hair, matching the blackness of his one eye, cascaded down to his waist and shone brightly in the light. His muscles bulged and rippled beneath his clothes. He could twist off a man's head as easily as she might pull the head off a child's doll. Given a moment's opportunity he would kill her where she stood.

As the hours passed her mind elaborated more and more on the horrible beast she was to encounter. When sleep finally took her she found herself dreaming of her home for the first time in years. Her mother and father were still alive, holding each other in their arms while they gently swung on a hanging bench. Leenie herself played out in the yard, rolling and laughing and chasing the butterflies as they fluttered off into the setting sunlight. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she was actually laughing. Part of her knew it was a dream - her parents were dead and nothing in her life brought her any joy now - but she savored every moment of it all the same. She clung to the beauty of it for as long as she could but, as it is with all dreams, sooner than she would have liked she awoke to find only the darkness of her cell to bring her joy. She rolled over, curled into a ball and, for the first time in years, she cried.

Chapter 3

~The Courtyard~

The warmth of the sun brought a smile to his face.

Being trapped in the dank depths of the dungeons for what seemed to be months made Duncan forget just how sunlight felt. Standing out in the courtyard of this foreign city, birds chirping in tree branches as gusts of wind blew through them, brought the memories flooding back; memories of his childhood; of running through fields of grain with his brother; of his mother yelling her dismay as they wrestled around in the dirt. The memories were bittersweet but he cherished them. Memories were all he had left of that life, and he'd be damned if he let them take that away from him.

He'd agreed to help the strange old man train an army, and train an army he would. He didn't know how, wished Jake was there to help him, but he knew he would have to try. As he walked through the winding streets and alleyways towards the place where he was told to meet his troops he watched as merchants on passing carts peddled their wares, as children chased cats through the city streets, screeching and giggling as they darted this way and that, some adults scolding them while others just watched and smiled. A passing old woman, her spine as bent and crooked as the cane she used to support herself, asked if he had a couple coppers to spare. Duncan turned his pockets inside out and apologized, but the old woman simply patted him on the cheek and smiled. He stood and watched in wonder as she hobbled off down the path and disappeared in the crowd of peasants.

After walking for most of the morning he finally reached a set of stairs that led up to a great courtyard, one that made the one he had emerged from the dungeons into seem like a drop of water in a vast ocean. Statues of various old gods stood silent watch amongst seemingly endless rows of stone and marble paths. A large part of the courtyard was filled with villagers, small camp fires dotted here and there serving as a gathering point for groups of friends, family and even complete strangers. Looking across the sea of humanity he thought that this courtyard just might be as big as the whole of the city he had grown up in.

Glancing from statue to statue his attention was drawn to a small white shape at the base of one. From this distance it looked little more than a child, but he recognized the puff of whispy white hair immediately. He broke into a fast walk, a jog, and then a full out run. It took him a whole two minutes of running, dodging in and out of the people he passed, blurting out a quick apology to those he nearly tripped or knocked over, before he reached his old friend. Grinning like an idiot and out of breath he hunkered down and prepared to embrace Jake. Then the old man looked up and Duncan was stopped cold by the look in his eyes. At first it was as if he didn't recognize him, and then he smiled and his eyes gleamed with love, and then they seemed to change color and he looked as if he wanted to kill Duncan. He shook his head violently, cupped his hands against his ears, turned his face to the ground and began to mutter to himself. Duncan slowly stood up and backed away. Whatever they had done to him it must have been bad. Any hope he had of Jake helping him was crushed. He was on his own.

Just then a horn sounded, blasting across the courtyard and bringing everyone's attention to a raised plateau of white and black marble and slate. With a flash of light and plume of smoke the old man with the flowing robes appeared. A gasp and a hush washed over the crowd. The old man grinned and raised his hand, the sleeves of his robe swaying gently in the breeze. He spoke in a clear voice that somehow managed to reach across the entire courtyard.

"Welcome my friends, my brothers and my sisters, to our fair city. I apologize for your incarceration but you must understand that we had to be sure of your motives, absolutely positive of your intentions, before we could trust you to uphold the peace we've built for ourselves here. These are dark times indeed and it will take all of us banding together to hold on to the lives we've become so accustomed to living. One bad apple would spoil the whole of the bunch, as it were. I will not lie to you. A battle lies before us. We must fight to preserve our way of life, what makes us who we are, if we have any hope of saving our children and their children after them. We are in luck, though. I have found a great warrior of legendary skill. He stands amongst you at this very moment, hiding in the shadows of the crowd and yet in plain sight."

The people looked around them, trying to find this hero in their midst. Duncan looked over at Jake, saw him one moment laughing and the next near tears, and wondered what he could do for them. Jake would know what to do. Duncan was little more than a child. Up until he had first heard Jake speak in their training session he had been little more than a confused teen, sneaking bottles of wine and spirits from the local brewery and drinking them in dark alleyways with his friends. He had always seen Jake around the city, he realized that now, but he had never paid any mind to the elderly fellow who wandered the streets with a detatched sense of peace. He hadn't known the old man protected them while they slept, none of them had known, but he had seen him before. They all had, nodding a cordial greeting or sometimes ignoring him completely. The memories of those times brought him back to a simpler time, when the hardest choice he had to make was what games he would play with his baby brother. Suddenly his thoughts came crashing back to the present.

"Duncan, my boy, would you kindly come up here?"

For a moment he couldn't move, he could scarcely breathe, and simply looked around him as the rest of the confused masses seemed to do. The old man's gaze pierced into his very soul and after what seemed like an eternity he began to shuffle towards the plateau, softly asking pardon as he lightly pushed people aside. Hushed whispers spread through the crowd. Some of them he could hear and others he could not. The ones he could hear mostly questioned his age, wondering who this child was and why he was wasting their time. He could only imagine what the ones he could not hear were saying.

When he reached the old man's side his throat went dry.

"I know what you're thinking. Just remember, that will be exactly what your enemies think. A child could not possibly hope to lead an army, could he? Ahhh, but I assure you there is more than meets the eye in this one. He will surprise you if only you listen. Well, go on my boy. Say something to the people, they've come to hear you after all."

After four attempts to clear his throat Duncan was finally able to speak. He put as much force behind his words as he could muster, hoping the people would be able to hear him. From there the words seemed to flow from him.

"I bid you hello, fellow citizens. You all come from various cities from around the map. Some of your dress I recognize, others I've never seen before. This does not matter. We are now all brothers and sisters. I had a brother, but he is dead now. I hope to someday be able to know you as well as I knew him."

For a moment he was swept up in emotion. It took all of his will to keep from breaking down and crying. He wiped the tears from his eyes and surveyed the crowd. Young, old, man, woman and child all met his gaze. One in particular caught his eye. Of all the stone faces he saw this one looked near in tears. Coupled with the fact that she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, he had to force himself to look away from her.

"I won't lie to you. I am no great commander, I am not a born leader. I have only fought in one true battle of which I happened to be on the losing side. But, were it not for that battle I would not be before you here today. I'm not really sure why I told you that, I'm not one for speeches." He chuckled, mostly to himself, "But you've probably already guessed that."

To his relief he heard some laughter from his audience.

"I don't know what we're going to go up against, but rest assured I will do my best to prepare you for whatever foe we may meet in battle. And when we do meet them on the field, I will be right there beside you. Until then, I hope to get to know you all better."

For a moment he stood transfixed, dreading the response of his charges. To his surprise applause rose from the crowd, followed by some cheers and whistling. He smiled and stepped down, shaking hands and accepting pats on the shoulder as he made his way through the people. The old man looked pleased with him.

"Well, there you have it. Your hero has spoken, and such eloquent words at that. Let us not waste any time. Your training shall begin today. I bid you luck, and farewell."

And with that he disappeared in a plume of smoke. Duncan was left alone with his followers and in a moment the student became the teacher. He mingled, joking with them when was appropriate and sharing his knowledge when asked of him. After a day of insanity, all that he could remember was her face. Her beautiful face.

Chapter IV

~The Other Side~

"Come on now boss, you can't seriously listen to him!"

"You know I'm right, leader. You must do what you think is right."

"They're weak, just let 'em die!"

"Please, listen to your heart. You can't let them fend for themselves."

"Oh yeah, let them rule your life. That's an excellent plan. You know they deserve to die."

"Honestly, sometimes I don't know why I'm still here. There's no point in even talking to you."

His thoughts had been going along this path for a few days, since his recollection of his past. The two voices in his head fought constantly, giving him no peace during his waking hours and haunting his dreams as he slept. He tried reasoning with them, but to no avail. The one wanted nothing but death and destruction, the other thoroughly convinced that any situation could be righted through peace and love. Neither listened to his input, only pressed their own views harder.

He had tried ignoring them, but without his own ideas they just argued about nothing and everything for ages. The weather was beautiful, no it was horrid. The people were so friendly, no they were disgusting and rude. The air was so fresh, no it made him want to vomit. Eventually he gave in and tried to steer their babble in a productive direction. There could be no progress with the voices, however. There was no reasoning or agreements to be had with them involved. Over and over again they clashed. He considered taking his own life but when they argued about that as well Jake quickly gave it up. He was too tired to keep on with it. Too tired, too old, and too sad to care either way.

The day was beautiful but he found no pleasure in it. The song of the birds made the one's heart swell as it made the other angrier than ever. He wandered through the streets, not caring that he had finally been freed from his cell, only knowing that he had gone from one prison to another. The first of stone and steel, the second of flesh and bone and thought. While the former held some possibility of escape the latter had none, save suicide. He knew that was not an option and so he was made to suffer.

Beggers passed by and asked for coin. He wanted to help ease their pain by both monetary and violent means. Most got by him without incident but he elbowed one in the gut and punched him in the neck as he fell. Little by little Jake felt the wrong overwhelming him. The villagers could not appreciate all that had been provided for them. They didn't deserve being protected. They deserved death.

The gruff voice cackled while the sweet one moaned his disapproval. Jake cursed them both for fools and kept walking, not caring where he was going only hoping to outrun his inner demons.

He came to an inn with a lively sounding pub inside. Stepping through the open door the smell of sawdust and vomit overwhelmed him. Momentarily reeling from the stench he didn't notice a comely serving wench passing by and nearly knocked her over, sending a few glasses of ale crashing to the floor. All talk stopped and every eye turned towards him, glaring as if he had blasphemed one of the local saints. Seeing the type of people here, he thought that perhaps he had.

Putting on his best sheepish grin and reaching for his money pouch, only to realize that it wasn't there, Jake slowly made his way to an open stool. What a fool he was. His money had all been taken when he was imprisoned.

He pretended not to notice the eyes following him, or the angry muttering of the serving wench as she picked up the glass shards and spread new sawdust over the spilled drink. He ordered a round of ale for the entire bar, which lightened the mood nicely, and was relieved when conversations struck up again. How he was going to pay for the round of drinks was another matter entirely.

A man stood up, stumbling and nearly knocking over the stool he had been sitting on, and made his way drunkenly to the privy. Jake quickly drank the ale sitting before him and made his way towards the curtained doorway, stumbling his best to attribute his clumsiness to alcohol.

Parting the curtain he saw the man leaning over a bucket, dark and stained with long use and rare cleaning other than simple emptying. The stench in here was worse than in the main room, if he could have imagined that possible moments before. He made his way over towards the man, undid his cord belt and began urinating in a bucket of his own. Sneaking glances over at the man he noticed a small dagger stuck in the waist of his pants, nestled snugly in the small of his back. The voices which had remained blessedly silent up until this point came back in full force.

"Look at that, boss. Ripe for the taking. You see the size of his purse? Ooh boy, we could live like kings off of that thing for years!"

"Please leader, I beg of you. Don't give in to his foolishness. There are other ways of getting money. We don't need this!"

"Yeah, but it's so much fun! Just grab the knife, stab him a couple times, and we'll be rich beyond our wildest..."

"I heartily object, that's just malicious!"

"Well, that's kind of the whole point."

In an instant Jake had decided. Pulling the knife free he cupped his left hand over the man's mouth before he could even register anything happening. Three quick thrusts to the soft area below the side of his ribs produced muffled yelps which melded into screams and a soft gurgling moan. With one motion the man's throat was slit and with another the purse was free, dangling from its strings from Jake's hand as the lifeless corpse slumped to the ground. With a little dragging the heap was piled in the corner, hidden in shadows where the stench of its rotting would remain undiscovered until it overpowered the already impressive smell of human waste. He wiped his hands clean on the man's shirt, tied the purse to his own belt and returned to the common room.

After paying for the first round of drinks and buying two more for the whole of the room he left the inn in peals of raucous applause. Carrying a large mug of ale he was quite sure he was not supposed to leave the establishment with, he chugged it down quickly and threw it into a corner where a mongrel awoke with a start and sniffed it warily. He stumbled down the street, this time not feigning his drunkenness, and once again the voices were thankfully silent.

An old woman hobbled by, bent and twisted as the gnarled cane which supported her, and she asked if he had a couple coppers to spare. Without thinking he untied the purse from his belt and handed it to her. She frowned at the bulging leather sack with a puzzled look, loosened the strings slowly and let out a startled gasp as she looked inside. The sun reflected rays of gold across her face. Jake never slowed, continuing down the street towards nowhere in particular as he heard her calling from behind him, saying how he was surely a godsend and how he would be blessed by the light and so on and so forth. He didn't think she would be so happy if she knew where the money had come from.

Further down the road Jake passed a half circle stone structure with a large altar at the top. People sang and danced with a fervor he had never seen before. Some looked as if they would dance themselves to death, and Jake saw that some actually had. Bodies lay piled against a wall, stink wafting from them and flies buzzing noisily in the air as they rotted in the sun. Crimson flames billowed from above the altar, coming from no source that Jake could see. To his horror and joy he saw a young man carrying a body up the stairs leading to the altar. Throwing it upon the stone slab it was engulfed in a red flash and disintegrated, the flame billowing a little bit higher afterwards. Fascinated and appalled at the same time, Jake forced himself to turn from the sight and kept walking.

The street led him to a large courtyard, larger than any he had ever seen. With the number of cities he had travelled through in his lifetime this was no small feat. Row after row of statues stood silent watch amidst flowers and plants of every color and shape. Tall trees sprouted at regular intervals, leaves swaying gently in the soft breeze. A few people had begun to gather and more were trickling in every minute. Jake stared across the vast space and imagined it strewn with bodies and engulfed in flame. He closed his eyes and tried to push the thought away, the gruff cackling mingling with a high pitched moan in his mind. He had been so peaceful without the voices he had nearly forgotten about them. Nearly.

They returned in full force, bickering and arguing like an old married couple. Old friends and new acquaintances swarmed around him, looking relieved to be freed from their imprisonment. From the little he could hear over the fighting in his mind Jake gathered they had all been taken from his home city in the attack. He was glad so many of them had survived, partly for their sakes and partially for that of an army he thought to build. No, fighting wouldn't do any . How could they fight anything, who would they fight, was there even anyone to fight? Fighting was the only way. They'd gut every one of the vermin in this place and then use it as their base to spread throughout the land. They'd make them all suffer and then bask in their glory. Suffer? Glory? Nobody deserved to suffer. The only ones who would suffer from such an endeavor would be themselves. To sacrifice one's soul to hate was the worst thing they could do. Being caged and tortured was the worst thing, although pleasurable in its own right.

Jake wasn't sure how much more he could take of this. Every moment that passed was like torture, and he certainly didn't find it pleasurable in any right. He was vaguely aware of somebody hunkered in front of him and thought he looked up to see someone familiar. He didn't remember sitting at the base of the statue but he was there all the same. The person reminded him of Duncan. Ahhh Duncan, the boy who had been like a son to him. The boy he had loved like the son he never had. What right did this imposter have to look like him? Some sewer rat tarnishing his friend's image. Should gut him like a pig here and now. Should teach him to look like that. Should see what his insides look like... No no no. Enough. Leave me be, get out of my head. I won't do it, I tell you. I won't! I can't do it. Yes you can. You can do anything you put your mind to. It's easy, you've done it so many times before. Why change a thing now?

When he looked up the boy was gone. Boy, Jake thought, laughing to himself. The one who looked like Duncan had stubble growing on his face. He was nearly a man grown. Maybe it really had been him. Maybe he wasn't imagining it. Maybe he wasn't completely crazy. Not completely. Not yet. That wasn't a comforting thought, but it was something. There were still a couple of marbles rolling around up in there. Somewhere.

As he sat wrestling with his own thoughts a horn sounded a single long note and his attention was drawn to a central platform with a flash of light and a plume of smoke. Suddenly an old man in flowing robes stood in the clearing smoke. From this distance he looked vaguely familiar. And then he spoke. It was a voice Jake had not heard in a long time, one he hoped to never hear again, and a bitter hatred filled his heart. There was no way he could still be alive, treacherous letch. No way in the void. A name drifted up from the deepest, darkest depths of his memory. A name that tasted like bile in the back of his throat.

Jensen.

Chapter V

~The Winds of Change~

Duncan excused himself from the chaos that was his introduction to the people. Drained and exhausted he wandered the streets. It was a beautiful city. For hours he did little but watch the poor spend their time with one another. For some reason their interactions were what interested him the most. That seemed to be what was really important. Dirty peasants laughing and joking with one another. Even with all of their problems, they didn't have a care in the world. He envied them.

Watching the local children play brought bittersweet memories of his own childhood and of his brother; Their mother calling their names while they ignored her and kept on chasing each other around, playing games with no discernable rules or ways to win. They'd go on for hours before suddenly deciding the game was over and coming back home, out of breath and stomachs growling. After eating a quick meal of bread and soup they'd be out again into the early hours of the morning.

He didn't want to remember the bad times. He didn't want to think about the soups that had been watered down enough times to remove any semblance of flavor. He didn't want to think about their mother crying or them shivering, huddled together during the cold nights when their bellies rumbled and they tried in vain to sleep until the sun's first rays peeked through the windows.

These people had seen all of that, and more. Somehow they managed to smile, to laugh, to love. Above all else he was awed by their ability to cope, to adapt to the harsh changes life had thrown at them and to accept them and move on. These disheveled simpletons with their tattered clothes and muddy faces reminded him of the strength of the human spirit. They reminded him that although he had lost love and felt such deep pain in the past he was still able to love, to find new love and overcome anything that could be thrown at him.

He knew the girl was following him. He had noticed her nearly an hour past, but made no attempts to show his knowledge nor to provoke her into a confrontation. She didn't mean him any harm, of that much he was sure. He didn't know how he knew that, it was just a feeling. He had learned to put more merit in his feelings than he did in his logic. When she felt comfortable she would reveal her presence and her purpose and then, and only then, would he learn who she was. Who she was and what she wanted with him.

~~~

Elaina followed Duncan from the gathering into the common areas. She kept close enough to follow him but far enough away for him not to notice her. She was fascinated by him. There was something about the way he carried himself, a dichotomy in his posture. He seemed completely at ease and confident in himself and yet somehow uncomfortable and vulnerable. He was like a child in a man's body.

Slinking from shadow to shadow, hiding behind cover when necessary, she trailed him through the streets. She watched as he laughed and joked, smiled and played with the people. She knew she had to betray him. She knew that only through her facade would she save the people of this city, but part of her wanted nothing more than to hold him, to be held by him. She imagined his arms wrapped around her, cradling her head against his chest while those strong arms kept her safe from the world around her.

Returning to the real world she realized she could no longer see him. Cursing herself she leaped from her hiding spot and rounded a corner faster than she should have, running headlong into the one she had been following. She knocked him to the ground and fell back herself, both of them simply staring at each other for a long moment. Duncan smiled, chuckled a little and then lifted himself from the ground, brushing the dirt from his hands on his pant legs before extending his hand to help her up.

"You should really watch where you're going, there's kids around here you know?" he said jokingly, reaching down to pull her to her feet.

"I... I..." she stammered, "I'm sorry..."

Duncan smiled at her, slightly showing his perfect teeth. Gods, everything about him was perfect. He was even more handsome than she had realized. She felt the blood rush to her face and knew she was blushing. Thankfully he mistook this as embarassment. She smiled back and took his hand.

The sensation she felt can only be described as electric dynamite. Her skin tingled, her heart pounded in her chest and the colors of the world stood out brighter than the mid-day sun. In that moment she knew that he was the one. The only one who she would ever love, the only one who would ever love her the same way. The one she was meant to find. Through all the dark and blackness in her life she had found her light. Just being near him, seeing his smiling face, gave her the strength to do anything.

Much quicker than she would have preferred Duncan released her hand and took a step back. She wanted to cry out, take his hand back and press it to her face. She never wanted to be parted from him. She wanted to hold his body to hers, but a look in his eyes stopped her.

"So then, what can I do you for?" he asked casually.

She was so stunned she could barely speak.

"Excuse me? I was just passing and bumped in to... I wasn't... I should go."

"Go? Go where? Are you sure you need to be somewhere else, or do you just want to get away from me now that we've run into one another?"

"I haven't any idea what you're talking about. I really need to get going, my mother..."

Duncan was tired with playing games. He wanted answers.

"Why are you following me?"

Elaina felt the blood rush from her face. She felt faint.

"I wasn't... I don't... I need to sit down"

She slumped down on the ground and felt tears welling in her eyes. In one brief moment Duncan was besides her, holding her shoulders to keep her from falling over. Darkness began seeping in on her vision and she vaguely felt warm tears streaking down her cheeks. She thought she heard someone talking, muffled and far away, but it was getting softer. Soon there was no more talking, no more tears on her cheeks. She let herself go to the stillness and enjoyed the peace.

~~~

"...funny thing, i'nit?..."

"...never seen her, eh..."

"...third cousin looked like her..."

"...applie pie fresh from the oven if you want..."

"...too early for beer..."

She phased in and out of consciousness for a while and when she finally opened her eyes she sat up with a start. She was in a bed, covered by a quilted blanket, a twisted old man with a singled browned tooth jutting crookedly from his gnarled smile staring at her like a starving dog would stare at a fresh cut of meat. Just when she was about to scream he turned his head away from her and called out.

"Hey there, young fella! Yer lady friend's awake, I reckon. You were right, she wadn't dead. Guess I owe you a couple coppers. Funny thing, i'nit? Looked dead, that's fer dang sure."

Duncan came racing in from the other room, sweat beading down his face. His look turned quickly from worry to relief. The old man stood and walked from the room, head bobbing slightly as he hobbled off. Duncan sat in the chair the old man had been sitting in and quickly took her hand in his own. Elaina wasn't sure if this was a dream, but if it was she hoped she would never wake up.

"I was so worried about you. I thought you were dying or something. Jeez, man... I mean..." he took a deep breath and let out a sigh, a small smile breaking onto his lips. "I thought I'd lost you."

Looking into his eyes she knew in that moment that he loved her. He loved her the same way that she loved him. Finally, after all these years she had found happiness. She had found the person who would make her life complete. She had found her other half.

Elaina sat up in bed, wrapped her arms around Duncan, held him tight and cried tears of joy. She promised herself that she would never let him go, that she would never do anything to harm him. Then she remembered the promise she had made to the terrible old man. She had been desperate, so alone, didn't care, but now she couldn't bring herself to do it. Firmly pushing him from her she looked into his eyes.

"There's something I need to tell you."

~~~

Their life continued in happiness for the next two years. In public he was a brilliant savant of a leader. For some reason people just wanted to follow him. They hung on his every word, sought to learn as much as they could from him. Elaina spent her time hiding in the shadows, pretending to be studying him, trailing him from just far enough to hear what he was saying when he thought she wasn't around. She had done her fair share of leading men on in her days and found it easy to pretend like she was just throwing herself at Duncan to learn more about his plans. In the night when they were alone they made love. A love sweeter than any other that had ever existed, save one.

Jake spiraled deeper into his insanity. He spent his days fighting the demons in his head and his nights drowning his worries in blissful alcoholic ignorance. He learned to control the dark impulses for the most part but he still fell prey to them from time to time. Over the years he earned a dual reputation. The normal folk began to revere him for his acts of selfless kindness while the denizens of the seedier underbelly of the city feared him for his ruthlessness. By day he would feed and clothe the hungry and homeless and by night he would butcher the very same men, women or children he had clothed and burn their corpses. Pickpockets and the like would come across him in the midst of his night-time debauches but wouldn't dare to try to stop him. Word of his deeds spread fast and far, allowing him a safety in the dark alleys of the slums rarely afforded to anyone.

Duncan read volumes on battle tactics, torture methods, and anything he could get his hands on that related to warfare. He learned to be ruthless and efficient in battle. Make the enemy think you are weak, catch them by surprise and then obliterate them completely before they have time to realize how badly they are outnumbered. Retreating sections of your forces back to lure their troops into a trap and then closing in on them. He hated the idea of using psychological tactics such as launching decaying bodies and putrid waste from catapults but understood the impact it could have on the morale of the enemy soldiers. He knew that even though the idea sickened him to near the point of nausea, some day it just might be a tactic that would mean the difference between the life and death of him and his comrades.

As they studied and practiced he watched and learned. He began to spot the ones who learned the fastest, the ones who could rally people behind them with their enthusiasm. In the back of his mind he began to form a plan. It would probably mean all of their deaths, but if they did nothing to stop Jensen they would all surely die anyway.

There was no great threat. Even before their kidnapping, the city had held the largest army known to the modern world. Their alchemists could conjure fire from innocent looking black pebbles. Their archers were able to pinpoint a small rodent hiding in the bushes from a hundred paces away. They could have attacked any city, even multiple cities, and walked away nearly unharmed. Any city save one. Their home city was the only one that could have posed a threat, and Jensen knew that they were only just beginning to train the people and that they would be easily overtaken. He seemed to know impossible things, things that nobody would be able to know. Things about the inner workings of the city, of the people and their relationships. A person could have spent a hundred lifetimes among the people and not learned so much. He must have had spies everywhere. Duncan would have to be smart if they were going to pull this off.

Below the city ran a system of sewers, flowing with the waste of the people. It was revolting but it was the most glaring weak spot they could find. Nobody bothered to patrol them because gates, thick as a blacksmith's bicep, barred the entrances from without and within. If they could somehow find a way to use the sewers to access the private areas of the city that nobody was able to get to they might be able to discover more about their captors. Night after night they met in the libraries to go over old blueprints, often braving the ancient tunnels and their rancid smell with only a single partner, the light of their torches and the rats and *** for company. More often than not they gained nothing but a wretching belly from these forays, but sometime there was a rare gem of knowledge to be gleamed.

They found a series of tunnels that led deep into the heart of the city. The runoff from the fountains of the palaces ran down through a tunnel which led into the bath houses of the lesser dignitaries. The grates of the bath houses were small, too small for a man to climb through, but large enough for a woman or child to squeeze through. They began sending scouts through the drains in the early hours of the morning, after most of the people had gone to sleep and before the others woke up. The women and children were dressed in the garb of servants. If they encountered anyone during their missions they could hide in the shadows or, if seen, just bow and retreat from the room as was the custom for the slaves. They were rarely caught, and when they were they were always able to get away without raising any suspicion whatsoever.

They planned and scouted for months. A young man named Gerald was in charge of the midnight expeditions. He had been born in a far away land nobody else had ever heard of, crossed the ocean in a boat when he was a mere babe, and had skin darker than anyone had ever seen. He spoke with a thick accent that often caused him to have to repeat his instructions multiple times. Because of this he rarely spoke more than he had to, and liked instead to rely more on gestures and facial expressions to get his message across. The torchlight reflected off his shaven head as he fingered the path through the crude drawings of the sewers. For some reason he used his dagger to shave the hair from his arms as well. Since most of the people were afraid of him, nobody questioned him on his decision. At least not to his face.

A young woman who had been born and raised in the city was in charge of the collecting and allocating of resources, both in the form of weaponry and personnel. Her name was Daniela, Dani for short, and she was the most organized person Duncan had ever known. She took no nonsense from anyone, and for that he respected her more than he let anyone know. Anyone save for Elaina. Duncan and Elaina talked about everything and everyone. There were no secrets between them. They were like one soul, somehow cruelly seperated into two bodies. They were both amazed by Dani's ability to scrounge up weapons and armor and salvage things that everyone else thought were completely lost causes. She had a sixth sense about who could or could not be trusted. Every day she found new people to join their cause.

There was a young boy amongst them who had an unheard of knowledge of all things arcane. Though Jorge insisted that the black powder that could wreak havoc so freely was a substance that came from nature, few would doubt its otherwordly origins. Eventually he gave up trying to convince them of what he knew so certainly, accepting that so long as they all agreed what the end result of the powder was it mattered not what brought about those results. He knew the forces that were brought about with varying amounts of the substance. He knew that too much would destroy entire blocks of the city, above and below, and that too little would do little more than to flash brightly and then smoke some. He could use this to their advantage as well. He knew that there would be times when they would need to blind an opponent or simply obscure their view instead of actually killing them. Everyone agreed that the unneeded bloodshed should be avoided if at all possible.

Little by little they formed a plan. They would scavange weapons and hide them in the unused tunnels. Over the course of the years Dani had outfitted and sized weapons and armor to fit every man woman and child able and willing to fight. They all knew where their gear would be found and could be ready to fight within an hour. They would suit up, send the scouts through the bath house grates who would in turn break the locks on the sewer drains. Those were large enough to allow two broad men to pass through, fully armed and armored with enough room to fight off any resistance if need be. Gerald was very pleased that he had found every such entry in the city and was able to locate the ones closest to their objectives. The barracks of the soldiers Jensen planned to use with, and against, them. Through their investigations and eavesdropping they had stumbled upon an unbelievable secret. Because there was no threat, no army that was ready attack the city, Jensen had been building in secret an army of poorly trained soldiers to attack the city itself. The gates of certain areas would be left open, mostly the areas of least interest to the ruler. The slums would be first to go. Drunks and bums served little to the greater and caused more problems than they were worth. Next would be the residential areas. After the slaughter of every innocent they were able to find word would reach the soldiers who would, convinently, be training at the time of the invasion. Jensen hoped that the news of the deaths of their friends and family would send them into a blood rage. He hoped to use this to his advantage.

The plan was that the soldiers would be outfitted in the gear of all of the surrounding cities. It would appear that they had come under an organized attack from every other territory in the region. Their rage at the loss of their loved ones would be so great, so severe, that they would immediately, after finishing off the remainder of the faux forces, push their offensive into the surrounding cities and seek revenge. They would be fueled by bloodlust and murder every man, woman and child in their path. Not only would the armies be caught off guard, cleverly lulled into a false sense of security by treaties offered by Jensen, but every person able to seek vengeance would also be killed. That was the plan, anyway.

As with most plans, however, fate has a way of changing them.