February 20, 708 Xavier picked his way reluctantly amongst the gravestones of the Metamor Ecclesia, arrayed in long rows just outside Euper's northwestern walls. His breath plumed white in the frigid morning air, and he rubbed his gloved hands together for warmth against a chill that was more than physical. As a follower of the Lightbringer faith, he had been raised with the tradition of immolation of the dead rather than burial. The thought of all of the dead bodies beneath his feet, awaiting their... resurrection? Revival? What did they call it? Wouldn't that make them zombies? The leopard-man shook himself to throw off that train of thought. It was disrespectful... and unsettling. This was not the time for such concerns and he cast them aside with an effort of will. Finally, rounding the corner of a small mausoleum, he found what he'd been seeking. "Are you nearly finished, Drift? It's time."
Kneeling in the snow before a quartet of gravestones, the samoyed Keeper didn't look up to greet the new arrival. "Hello, Xavier." He slowly traced his fingers over the lettering of one of the stones, his voice soft and deeply thoughtful. "I'll be done in a moment." Xavier watched Drift's lips move, whispering something over the graves. A prayer, he guessed, although he couldn't be certain. Manipulating the weather was child's play compared to reading the lips of a canine Keeper. The leopard-man waited until Drift finished and then helped him to his feet. They walked in uncomfortable silence: the past month had seen a long string of arguments between them regarding Drift's decision to shutter his smithy. Drift shifted the hefty traveling pack slung across his shoulders, then winced and pulled loose a tuft of fur that had tangled itself into a buckle. He let the silence linger for a moment longer and then said, "You know, it surprised me when you'd asked to go on this patrol. We haven't exactly been seeing eye to eye lately." Xavier took his time replying, keeping his gaze focused forward. "No, we haven't," he said finally. "Then why?" The leopard paused again. Then, as if to make up for the brevity of his earlier remark, he began, "I still think that you are making a mistake shutting down your forge so that you can dabble at inventing-" Drift frowned. "I'm not dabbling-" Xavier continued as if he hadn't heard. "I also think that using yourself as bait like this is foolhardy in the extreme. /If/ there is a conspiracy and /if/ they hear about it in time and /if/ they decide that this isn't an obvious trap-" "Are you going somewhere with this, or are you just going to insult me again?" Drift growled, his ears flattening. Xavier seized the samoyed's arm in a grip that threatened to hook him with claws if it proved necessary, and pulled him to a stop. "I wasn't finished," he said. Dropping the volume of his voice so that Drift had to raise his ears and listen sharp to hear, the leopard continued. "/If/ they decide to strike, then I intend to be there waiting. I owe you my life, Edward Snow. I would have /died/ on that trip to Ice Lake were it not for your steadfast loyalty." He let go of Drift's arm and started walking again, looking away as if slightly embarrassed by the candor of what he had just said. Somewhat awkwardly, he added, "I value such qualities." With that said, he cleared his throat a bit more theatrically than was necessary and changed the subject. He seemed to relax slightly as they left the graveyard behind, walking alongside Euper's curtain wall rather than backtrack to a gate just to exit again further down. "We should hurry. You're not going to believe who Patr olmaster George has arranged to escort us." "Who?" The leopard's whiskers lay back and his eyes half-lidded with the self-satisfied smile of a cat that had gotten into the cream. "Let's just say that if Wolfram's jaw had dropped any lower, I could have had it used for a snow shovel." "You're not going to tell me?" Drift asked, having to step up his pace to keep up with Xavier's longer legs. "And miss the chance to see your reaction, too?" The leopard fairly preened. "Not likely." Drift didn't disappoint him, gasping with delighted disbelief when they rounded a corner and he saw who was waiting for them. "Misha?!" The battle-scarred fox looked up from rubbing a piece of wax against the bottoms of a pair of skis and wagged a smile. "Good morning, Drift. I thought I'd tag along... hope you don't mind!" Drift glanced over at Wolfram and Xavier to make sure he wasn't being the target of some elaborate practical joke. Despite having arrived earlier, Wolfram looked even more staggered than Drift did, and Xavier, aside from looking insufferably amused over his friends' astonishment, showed no trace of guile. With that possibility discounted, that left only one conclusion. Stepping closer to Misha and lowering his voice into a confidential undertone, Drift said, "I'm really very flattered, Misha, but aren't you busy enough already? Surely there must be something more important-" "More important than helping a friend get a measure of closure?" the fox replied, fixing Drift with a warm, level gaze, not bothering to lower his voice at all. "No." Misha clasped the samoyed's shoulder, a note of disappointment coloring his voice. "To be honest, I'm actually a bit hurt that you didn't ask me immediately. I consider you a friend. I hope that you do the same." "I do, Misha, but you're a busy man. You're an elite warrior, and you're responsible for the first line of defense for all Metamor Valley." Drift looked down, his ears dipping in a momentary hint of... shame? "It doesn't feel right asking you to take time away from that just so I can take a trip to Glen Avery." Knowing Drift's upbringing like he did, Misha had a very good idea why Drift might think that a shameful thing to say, but the samoyed turned sharply away and sniffed at the air before Misha could box his ears for being ridiculous. "Jasmine," the samoyed said, more to himself than anyone else, and sniffed the air again to be sure. "Alexis?" he called, louder, stepping away and looking around. "I can smell your perfume. Where are you hiding?" "Right behind you." All four men turned toward the new voice as Alexis dropped from the crenellated top of a wall turret. Flipping in midair, she folded her wings back into her white mink cloak when she landed, giving it a flutter to settle its edges. Even bundled thickly in furs against the cold, she somehow managed to maintain her exotic allure: earth-brown eyes set in a foxish face peeked out from beneath the brow of the cloak's hood, sparkling with characteristic mischief. The silver-gray fur of her cloak, lush and dense as it was, wasn't quite up to concealing the supple sway of her hips when she walked. Walk she did, right past an impressed Misha, a startled Xavier, and an openly admiring Wolfram before stopping in front of a completely speechless Drift. She paused as if waiting for him to say something, looking up at her fiancée with a smile that grew larger with each moment of his flustered silence, and flicked her ears to spill the hood artfully onto her shoulders. "They're hip s, dear," she said finally, her smile going downright impish as a rampaging blush exploded across his entire face. "Deal with it." "You-" Drift stammered. Misha's smile tilted with wry amusement and he drew Wolfram and Xavier aside to give the couple some privacy. More accurately, he drew Xavier aside and then reached back to pull Wolfram along by one of his horns. "Come on, you two. It's not getting any earlier, and I still need to see if either of you can ski." "You need to look up more," Alexis said once they'd gone, poking Drift in the chest with her finger. "Especially if you're going to be out in those woods. Misha and Wolfram both spotted me five minutes ago." "I wasn't here five minutes ago." Alexis rolled her eyes and smiled. "My point remains." She rose onto her tiptoes and pulled him down for a kiss, and then leaned her head against his chest, a hint of anxiety creeping into her voice. "Just be careful, okay? I don't like this idea of..." Her voice trailed off into a surprised question mark and she pulled back, leaving one hand on his chest and one on his side. "You're not soft and fluffy," she said, half a question, half a protest. Drift smiled and gently pulled down on the collar of his coat, revealing the shiny top rim of a full-torso chest plate over heavily padded cloth. "Just being careful, like you asked," he said. Alexis smiled warmly and rewarded him with another kiss before leaning against his chest again. "That's my smart and handsome husband-to-be." After a few more savored moments, though, her expression reluctantly sobered. "Still, please be careful." She tapped her clawtips against the armor through his coat. "A good crossbow can still punch through this." Drift glanced over at Misha and Wolfram, who were trying (with mixed success) to teach Xavier the basics of skiing. "I know. At least if the worst does happen, I know that said crossbowman won't live to boast about it. Nobody evades Misha. Ow!" Alexis jabbed Drift hard in the side, just under the bottom lip of the armor, and scowled up at him. "That," she growled, "is not the right way to reassure your fiancée." "Sorry." He kissed her. "I'll be careful." "You do that. I love you." "I love you, too. See you in a few days." "Hey, Drift!" Wolfram yelled, interrupting their shared moment. "Quit making gooey eyes at each other and let's go! Misha says if we make good time we can get to the Glen before dinner!" Drift chuckled, and then leaned down to nuzzle Alexis' forehead with the tip of his muzzle. "You be careful, too, love. I'll see you in a few days. If Eli wills, I'll be able to put all of this behind me." Alexis gave him 'a pinch for the road' and then watched until they were out of sight before turning back toward Euper and her own plans, using her sharp claws to climb back up the wall turret she'd descended from. Reaching the top, she dusted herself off and straightened, then paused to shoot a steely glare at something above and to the left of her, something only she could see. Then she spread her wings, glided down to the streets below, and disappeared into the busy morning traffic. ----- Raucous laughter echoed off the walls of Agemnos' throne room, and the Lord of Avarice scowled at his black-armored companion as the man pounded his hand against the ruby-rimmed golden scrying bowl with enough force to bend it. "Restrain yourself, cousin," he said, his voice sharp with an exasperation he found impossible to completely control. "That is expensive." "Bah!" the black-haired man replied, his face flushed from the force of his laughter. "You say that about everything here, you priss. Get over it." Sweeping his hand above the bowl, he reset the scry to the point where Alexastra had glared directly into it. "She's got spirit! I like that in a minion." His hand dropped to pat a spiked chain hanging coiled at his belt and his lips parted in a cruel smile. "I'd whip it out of her soon enough, of course... but not too soon." /And you wonder why you're surrounded by idiots/, Agemnos thought, but he restrained a disdainful scowl. "That is /competence/ you're seeing, cousin, not just rebellion. She spotted the scry, no easy feat, and she /wanted/ me to know she'd spotted it." He banished the image, returning the basin to just a bowl filled with fine red wine. "Hey! I was watching that!" the armored man protested, but Agemnos ignored him and settled down on his throne, stroking his golden-bearded chin. What had she just told him by deliberately noticing the scry? That she could have spotted it was a given- he'd trained her himself. That she would reveal that knowledge was surprising, given her habits of keeping her cards close to her vest. The only time she didn't- An agonized bellow from outside broke Agemnos' concentration. "What is that crazed minion of yours doing now?" he asked, an edge of irritation creeping into his voice despite his best efforts. Without looking or even doing anything more than cocking his head momentarily for a better listen, the armored man replied with the certainty of long experience. "That would be the sound of a balrog having its limbs burned off one by one and then being slow-roasted from the inside out," he replied, his grin widening with cruel amusement and a hint of pride. "It sounds like Pyre is getting bored." "Well, tell her to stop before she sparks a riot among the damned. It's messy to clean up and it throws off the processing schedule of the soul tar factories." The armored man rolled his eyes in disdain for Agemnos' "processing schedules", but walked over to a window and threw it open. "PYRE!" he roared in a voice that could carry over the din of a pitched battle, easily out-bellowing the suffering balrog. "QUIT TOYING WITH THAT THING AND GET IN HERE!" "But I was just getting to the fun part!" a female voice whined in protest, but the armored man steamrolled right over it. "NOW!" The balrog's last scream ended abruptly in a flash of light and a wave of heat that washed up into the throne room accompanied by shouts of alarm and pain. Agemnos rose to his feet just as the first sounds of riot broke out, but the armored man shouted again before it could gain momentum. "PYRE!" "What now?!" "Make a few examples before you go." The man leaned against the side of the window frame and turned an insolent smirk toward Agemnos. "Our host is complaining about the noise." "With pleasure!" Several more flashes and screams followed and Agemnos walked over to watch once the maniacal laughter started. "She certainly enjoys her work," he observed. The man shrugged. "She takes after her mother." "Ah. So she -really- likes fire." The armored man nodded in reply, turning to grin with approval over the carnage below. Agemnos watched for a while as well, occasionally waving off a wafting cloud of ash, and then said, "As much as I can appreciate her efficiency at putting down riots, if she continues to incinerate the guards as well, I'm going to take their revival cost out of what I'm paying you for that blade." With a sudden glower at the spoiling of his fun, the man grumbled a surly 'fine' before snarling out the window. "PYRE!" Agemnos flinched away from the bellow and grimaced, rubbing his ear. "That's enough! Get in here!" The armored man reached out to slam the window shut, but Agemnos stopped him with an upraised hand. "Miroweke!" he called to an imp that was trying to sneak away without being seen. The imp flinched and turned, face pinched with the displeasure of knowing what was coming. His master didn't disappoint him. "Clean this mess up," he ordered and then closed the window. The imp grimaced and went in search of a broom and shovel. "Why do I always get the dirty jobs?" he whined, starting in on a pile of ashes nearly twice his height. It was one of many. Pyre strode into Agemnos' throne room like she owned it. Wild gray hair swirled like a cloud of ash around a grubby urchin's face; her tattered rags the color of burnt timbers. "Why did you make me stop?" she complained. "I was having fun!" The armored man backhanded her into silence. "Your 'fun' nearly cost me a deal. Give him the sword." Pyre rubbed her cheek where the man had struck her and shot him a resentful glare, but she obeyed his command without hesitation. From beneath her ragged clothes (from precisely where Agemnos decided he didn't want to know) Pyre produced a wooden case nearly the length of her arm and handed it over. "Better you than me," she opined unbidden. "Swords kill too quick for my taste. They don't hurt enough, either." "Thank you for that expert analysis," Agemnos replied dryly, but in the interest of cultivating a potentially useful tool he took the sting off the insult by adding, "You displayed undeniable talent out there in the courtyard. Should I ever require the services of a pyromancer, I will certainly remember your name." Pyre stepped back, mollified somewhat by the ego-soothing compliment, and Agemnos flipped the box open as an unpleasant suspicion hit him. Resting inside, nestled in a bed of red velvet, lay a faintly bloodstained short blade in the lutin style, of mediocre quality and craftsmanship and lightly pitted with age and use. In short, exactly what he had asked for. Then why had the fire maniac called it- He looked up from the blade, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Pomp and ceremony isn't like you, cousin," he said. "Why bring her instead of handing it over yourself? More importantly, why would she call it a sword when I very specifically requested a long knife with exact requirements for its properties?" Agemnos' armored guest leaned against the rim of the scrying basin, an exemplar of unconcern. "Relax," he said. "It'll do what you want. Did you really think I'd attach my own essence to a sissy little pigsticker like that? Nah, I just limited one of my own swords and disguised it in illusion. It'll pass inspection for anything you're even remotely likely to meet up with, but it knows its owner. The illusion will drop if I pick it up again. Sure, it's not /exactly/ what you asked for, but look at it this way: if something goes wrong with this plan of yours, you'll have extra power already there to deal with it." Behind gritted teeth, the Lord of Avarice nearly screamed at him over the introduction of unwanted variables into his plan, especially at this late in the game. /You idiot! Addle-brained fool! Imbecile jackass with half the sense of- I wanted it that way for a reason!/ "How thoughtful of you to prepare for unforeseen contingencies," he said aloud. "I will see to it that your payment is delivered as soon as possible." He held up a hand to stay an explosion of temper from his guest over the delay. "I would have it complete already, but the last installment is currently part of the ash pile out front." Sitting down on his throne, Agemnos relaxed into his best salesman's smile and echoed back the armored man's earlier unconcern. "Don't worry." His smile crept a fingernail's breadth up his bearded cheeks. "I'll make certain it's worth the wait." ----- Author's note: A picture of Alexis in her fur coat can be found here: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/7018687/ !DSPAM:4f9f600014881412310228!
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