Nearby, Sabin responded to Locke's question. "I'm going with Banon," he said. "I intend to save... my brother... from whatever has been done to him."

Alcan was about to respond similarly, but he hesitated, held back by a sudden feeling that he would be needed more with Driel and Locke. "I'll be going with you," he told them. Then, turning to Banon, he explained, "I have a feeling that what you find will not be what you expect, that it will be easier to deal with than this kidnapper. I've had this kind of feeling before, and it's never been wrong."

"I see," Banon said. "I would have liked you along with us, but if you believe you should search for Lola's kidnapper instead, I won't dispute that." Then, speaking to Driel and Locke as well, he continued, "Good luck to you three."

"And to you," Locke replied. Banon nodded, and he and his group turned aside to discuss their plans.

Alcan turned to Driel. "Let me see if I can do something about those burns," he said. He had pushed his limits with the lightning he had used against the Dark Force, but he could still draw a little magic. He did, and directed a curative spell at Driel. Her burns and blisters subsided somewhat, though not completely.

"Thank you," Driel said.

Alcan nodded, then put his hand to his forehead for a moment. "I'd've done more, but I can't. That lightning bolt took too much out of me."

Driel gasped. "He didn't hurt you too?!"

Alcan shook his head. "No," he replied. "I meant the bolt I cast." He proceeded to summarize his encounter with the Dark Forces. Then he said, "Anyway, what about this Captain Bryant? Do you know where he'd be now?"

Driel glanced around at the people who were cautiously returning to the streets. After a moment, she pointed out a heavyset man of medium height. "That's him," she said, and started heading toward him; Alcan and Locke followed. When she reached him, she said, "Excuse me, Captain Bryant."

Bryant turned to face the newcomer. "Yes?... Driel? That you?" She nodded. "What happened t'you?"

As Driel explained, Alcan looked around to see how badly the town had been damaged. The action had mostly taken place in the streets, so the buildings had suffered little serious damage, although they were soaked from the water that had been flying around earlier. The stable, however, was about half demolished. Rubble was strewn over the area of the battles, and several puddles of water lay near what had been the stable's entrance.

"... and we need a ship to find her," Driel was saying. "Can you take us?"

"Certainly," Bryant replied. "Where to?"

"Well..." Driel hesitated. "I don't know exactly where yet... but it's somewhere to the east." She turned again in that direction. "Lola..." she whispered.

"To the east," Bryant repeated. "When d'you want to leave?"

Driel turned back to him. "As soon as you can."

"I can leave anytime." More to himself than the others, Bryant added, "Sooner, the better." Then, to Driel, he continued, "If you're sure you're alright, we can leave now."

"Yes, I am - well, close enough, anyway." She glanced at Alcan.

"I'll see what I can do tomorrow," Alcan told her, "after I've had some rest."

Bryant then beckoned to the three, heading out of the town. "Then let's go. Come on, the ship's this way." They followed him, and moments later, they set off in search of Lola.

Alcan shook his head at Driel. "I can manage him. He's not that heavy." Alcan wiped his brow. <I am getting tired, though,> he thought wryly. Smiling calmly, he looked around for the captain. "Where should I put him?"

Driel looked around slowly. "Uh... he likes to... uh... look over the edge while we're sailing. Maybe we ought to let him do that." Driel sighed. <He wouldn't want me to reveal that he gets seasick,> she thought hurriedly.

Alcan opened his eyes wide. "What if he falls out? We can't have that, now. We need all the help we can get!" he said jokingly.

Suddenly, Locke gasped. "I get seasick...", he mumbled. He attempted to stand on his own. "Take heart." He smiled at Driel and Alcan. "I'm not sick yet." He chuckled to himself, then began to search for his weapon. "What did I do with Graedus?"

Driel smiled at Locke. "Graedus is right by your side, Locke. Maybe you ought to lie down." She unlatched Graedus's sheath from around Locke's waist. She handed the weapon to Locke. "See? Here it is."

Locke clutched the weapon to his chest and began to swoon. "Maybe I should lie down... I feel hot." Locke began to collapse.

Alcan immediately caught Locke and shook his head. "Maybe there's a bed in the cabin." As he lifted Locke into his arms, Graedus clattered to the deck.

Driel quickly grabbed the weapon and hurried after Alcan. "Here, I can get the door." She moved in front of Alcan, and opened the door to the crew's cabin.

The cabin was strangely empty and the only noise that could be heard was the splishing and splooshing of the tide crashing into the side of the boat. In the far corner sat a small rickety cot. Driel dashed over to the cot to see how sturdy it was. She pounded on the cot with her fist, and a cloud of dust came billowing after her. She coughed and held up her hand to Alcan. "We can't put him on this," she said with dismay.

Alcan gently laid Locke down onto the cot. "I don't see that we have any choice in the matter."

From out of nowhere, a voice boomed cheerily, "Are we all ready to shove off?" Captain Bryant waddled into the room, his eyes squinted from many years of exposure to the sunlight. He slapped Alcan on the back merrily. "Looks like a good day for sailin'. Not a bloomin' cloud in the sky!" His face became stern. "What's with yer friend, here?"

Alcan nudged Driel. "He gets... seasick."

Captain Bryant ran a hand through his beard thoughtfully. "Well, I `magine he'll be having one heck of a time if he's sick already!" The Captain let out a loud guffaw. "So where are we headin'?" He winked at Driel. "Little miss, did ye figure out where the wind would be takin' us yet?"

Driel looked sadly at Captain Bryant. "Captain... I..."

The Captain interrupted her before she could finish. "Ah, ah, ah. Call me Will. The name's William Bryant the third. But call me Will. Go ahead, little miss."

Driel shrugged. "Okay... Will. Let's just head east, and see where we end up. I don't know exactly where we're going yet."

Will smiled a toothless grin. "What are ye, criminals or somethin'?"

Alcan noticed the tension building up between "Will" and Driel. He clapped the Captain on the back mockingly and smiled. "Well, Cap.", Alcan said sarcastically. "Let's get this ball rolling!" He and the Captain laughed together (Alcan sarcastically) and the two of them went above deck.

Driel plopped down beside Locke. She leaned over him, watching him breathe, ever so slowly. She ran her hand through his hair, and tried to smooth it out of his face. As she touched his forehead, she gasped. <He's so warm!>, she thought alarmed. Suddenly the ship lurched to the right. Driel's stomach performed yet another flipflop. <I guess we're off,> she thought. She stood, gingerly trying to find her sea legs. She tucked Graedus next to Locke's arm and whispered to him, "I'll be back. I'll bring you some water."

Locke stirred and weakly yelled, "Wait! Don't go..."

Driel bent over Locke's bedside, now worried about him more than ever. "What is it, Locke?"

Locke softly whispered, "I love you, Rachel."

Driel gasped and looked away from him. <I know he's delirious, but... I can't take this right now,> she thought, panicking slightly. Turning away from him, she raced out of the cabin to search for Alcan and some water.

Then Alcan realized that the captain had fallen silent and was looking at him as if expecting an answer. "Sorry," he apologized. "My thoughts were elsewhere. What did you say?"

"I was askin' where ye're from," Will said.

Alcan hesitated a moment, then simply answered, "Far away. I haven't travelled much." He did not feel like recounting his arrival here yet again.

Suddenly Alcan heard someone coming up the stairs. He and Will turned to see Driel racing up to the deck. Alcan ran to meet her, asking, "What's wrong?"

"Umm... Locke's delirious and feverish... I came to get him some water." Driel directed the last part at Will.

From behind Alcan, Will said, "I'll get ye some water." He started to rummage around in a box of supplies.

Alcan glanced down the steps to the crew cabin where Locke lay, then looked back at Driel. "It could be some side effect of whatever was done to him by... whoever that was."

"Rhiannon," Driel supplied. Then she shook her head. "No, I'm afraid it's something worse."

At that point, Will approached them with a metal cup in his hand, full of water. "Here ye are," he said, handing Driel the cup. "So yer friend's not doin' well?"

"We won't know for sure until he wakes up later," Alcan replied quickly, "but I think it's related to something I've seen before, and he should be alright before too long." He wasn't sure whether he could trust this Will not to take advantage of Locke's illness. Driel glanced at him in surprise. Then he added, "But I'm going to go check on him anyway, and the water will certainly help. Driel?" He strode over to the stairway, Driel following.

Once they were in the cabin, Alcan sat down against the wall near Locke's cot. Driel went over to Locke's side and slowly poured the water down his throat, holding his head elevated. "He's so warm," she said softly.

"Perhaps it *will* get better in a few days," Alcan said. "I said what I did because I'm not sure I trust that captain. I don't want him taking advantage of Locke's condition."

Driel shook her head as she set Locke's head back on the cot. "Don't worry," she told him. "He may not be the most pleasant person you've ever met, but he is trustworthy."

Alcan nodded slowly but said, "Still, he makes me uncomfortable. I don't know; maybe it's just a residual feeling from that Rhiannon... but I'm going to play it safe, just in case." He paused, then asked another question that was on his mind. "Just what did happen between you and that Rhiannon, anyway?"

Driel hesitated. "Umm... well, it's a long story..."

Alcan noticed her discomfort and said quickly, "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." He did not want to push her about personal things; he knew he was often reluctant to talk about his own life.

"No," she replied. "I don't mind. It's just... there have been so many changes lately, so much that's new... I still don't think I've absorbed it all." She took a deep breath, and began:

"I think it all started when I was six. My brother, Jared, was already interested in seafaring by then, so my parents decided to get me a tutor, a Miss Avedri. At least, that's the name she went by. She taught well, although she was always cool and distant. Among other things, she tried to teach me magic, but I wasn't able to learn it. Eventually she left.

"Then, about a week ago, Leviathan came to visit, in human form. He made this claim about me being his daughter. At the time, it sounded ridiculous. I mean, he's a sea serpent and I'm just a plain old human. Then the undead army came." Driel shuddered briefly. "And that was when I learned about... my other half."

"Your 'other half'?" Alcan inquired.

"I really am Leviathan's daughter," Driel explained. "I can change into a sea serpent... but I usually need Lola's help, because of her ring. I don't know how I did it in Jidoor."

"So... as a sea serpent, you can use magic?"

"Yes," Driel replied. "Mostly healing spells, but I can attack with water."

Alcan could tell there was more, and although Driel seemed to be getting a bit more comfortable talking about it, he did not want to press her. He knew that in her place, he would probably not have told as much.

There was silence for a moment. Then Driel asked, "So... who are you? Where are you from?"

/Speaking of being in her place... but she deserves that much in return, at least./ "I'm a prince of... a country on another world, called Drellost. At least, I was a prince, up until a few months ago. Eight years ago, when I was twelve, my mother went out riding one morning and never returned. My father ordered a countrywide search conducted, but my mother was never found. After several months... she was finally declared dead."

"Oh, dear..." Driel murmured. Then, even more softly, "Jared..."

"That's when things got bad. My father kept the same pleasant, caring appearance to outsiders - but to me and my brothers, he became worse and worse, almost as if he was letting out on us the anger and depression he couldn't show in public. We tried everything we could to bring him out of his foul mood, but nothing worked. He got worse and worse over the years despite everything we tried to do to help him.

"Finally... things got to where I couldn't stand it anymore. So one night, I just left. I climbed out my window and ran from the castle as fast as I could so the guards wouldn't catch me and bring me back. I still don't know why I left; maybe to find help elsewhere, maybe to look for my mother in case she was still alive somewhere; I don't know. But for whatever reason, I left.

"I ran through the night and the next day. That evening, I reached Geswine - that's a town some distance from the castle - and decided to rest there for the night. I was dressed in travelling clothes so no one would recognize me, and I figured that the soldiers wouldn't be able to follow me that far with any certainty.

"Then I woke up the next morning, and went out to the common room... it was on my way out. But when I got there I saw that everyone was looking dejected... so I asked the innkeeper why..." Alcan hesitated. These memories were always the worst; his mother might still be found someday, but the rest of his family....

"What had happened?" Driel asked.

"He said... he said that the royal family had been killed two nights earlier."

Driel gasped in shock. "Your entire family... murdered?"

Alcan nodded. "And the thing of it is, I must've escaped by an hour, two at the most. If I hadn't run away I'd be as dead as them.

"But even that wasn't the worst of it." A bit of the anger he felt at Ludek began to creep into Alcan's voice. "Before my family's death, everyone in Drellost had considered my father a very good king. But even that morning, there were some who were saying they were glad the king was dead. Saying they wanted their town to become autonomous. So in one day I went from being a 'mere' prince - and fifth in line for the throne, at that - to being the king of a country that was falling apart." He chuckled mirthlessly. "If nothing else, at least I got the throne.

"So, naturally, I set out for revenge. And that is essentially what got me here." This, at least, he could talk about more easily. "I found this control room or something full of technologically advanced stuff, all sorts of blinking lights and displays. I think I must have bumped a button somewhere, but whatever it was, it left me south of... what was that town?... Narshe, that's it. A week ago, more or less."

After a moment, Driel asked, "Do you have any idea who killed your family?"

"I know his name," Alcan answered. "It's Ludek. Other than that, I've no idea."

He yawned then, not even trying to stop himself. "I really need to get some rest," he said, and proceeded to stretch himself out on the floor. It was not particularly comfortable, but he could deal with it.

Before closing his eyes, Alcan called to Driel, "Wake me if you need me for anything... or if Locke wakes up."

She looked at him, nodded, and then returned to watching over Locke.

Alcan put his arms under his head to serve as a pillow, then closed his eyes. He did not fall asleep immediately, though. /Why did I tell her so much?/ he wondered. He was not usually so open with people about his life, especially people he did not know well; in fact, he could not recall having told anyone so much about his life. True, she had told him a lot about herself... but that was only part of it, Alcan realized. He also felt comfortable talking to her; he instinctively trusted her. Since landing in this strange world, he had been alone; it was nice to have a companion again.

A few minutes later, Alcan was asleep.

Suddenly she heard a faint scratching noise. Uneasily, she looked through the darkness at Alcan. "Psst. Alcan? Are you awake?" After receiving no answer from Alcan, she sighed deeply. "I guess I investigate this myself," she said aloud. Trying to control her fears, she silently crept over to the crew cabin door. She pushed the door open, just enough to see around it. What she saw made her gasp.

The captain, "Will," was talking to a strange man. <I didn't know there was anyone else on board,> she thought to herself. She strained to hear what they were saying.

The captain seemed to be arguing with the stranger. "What? Ye got to be out of yer head! Ye offered me 10,000 GP to take care of that..."

The stranger's voice was low and steady. "I will give you the rest of the GP, AFTER you finish the job. I'm only paying you to watch, sea dog..."

Driel leaned in closer. <What are they talking about? Maybe Alcan was right...> she mused. <Maybe we can't trust that old captain.> Then... she leaned too far. With a resounding *thud*, Driel lost her grip on the door, and fell right out into the opening.

The captain whirled around a surprised look on his face. "Little miss, what're ye doing sneakin' up on us like that? I say we'd best teach her a lesson."

The stranger nodded, and was upon Driel like a flash of lightning. He held his hand over her mouth. "Now, take it easy. You're just going to go for a midnight swim. That's all."

Driel began to thrash and kick at the man restraining her. <Not into that ocean again!> she thought, panicking. She bit down on the man's hand... HARD. She had never been any good at physical combat, but she was so afraid of being thrown into the water that in that moment, she felt confident that she could have escaped from twenty men. The stranger bellowed out in pain and rage. He released her and waved a finger at her ominously. "I don't think so," he said. He started for her once more.

With her mouth freed, she yelled at the top of her lungs, "ALCAN! HELP! Alcan! Help me!" She wished with all her might that she had thought to bring Graedus.

The stranger stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of her scream. His eyes widened. He stammered, "Now... er, dear... there's no reason to do that, now..."

***** Meanwhile *****

Alcan lay half asleep in the crew's cabin. He sat upright, wondering why he was awake. Then he heard Driel's voice. "Alcan! Help me!" He wiped his eyes. <Why can I never get any rest?> he wondered. Grabbing his sword, he ran out onto the deck.

He stared at the scene in disbelief. "Wha...?" Some strange man was trying to capture Driel, and the captain stood idly by... watching. "What's going on here?" he asked.

At the sound of Alcan's voice, the strange man turned around. His face was cloaked, and the only feature that was visible was his eyes. The strange man's eyes widened when he saw Alcan. "No, this can't be..." Looking around desperately, the man ran for the rail, and leaped overboard. A splash was heard as the man hit the water.

The captain ran to the edge of the boat and looked down after the strange man. "Gawd dangit! Come back! Ye still have me GP!"

Driel wandered over to Alcan. "Some entrance..." she said with a sarcastic smile. She smiled shyly at him. "Thanks for, uh... hearing me."

Alcan yawned. "I think this is all a dream, right?" He sighed, knowing that this was reality. He smiled at the captain. "Guess what, Cap. We have to tie you up now."

The captain backed away from Alcan. "I wuz just makin' an honest livin'. Ye can't judge a man fer that!"

Alcan gestured to the captain with his finger. "Sure I can. And I will." He stepped forward. "Letting a young lady be almost thrown overboard. Really." He gestured with his sword for the captain to sit.

Suddenly, the captain held up his hands and started to laugh like an insane man. "Heh heh heeeeee! Mwahaha! I sure hope ya'll can sail a ship!" With that, the captain leaned over the edge of the railing, and fell into the ocean.

Alcan looked at Driel sheepishly. "I... umm... didn't expect him to do that..." Scratching his head, he looked at Driel. "Uh... you know how to sail, right?"

Driel stamped her foot lightly. "You should be glad I DO know how to sail." She raised her eyebrows at Alcan. "I learned from my brother, Jared. Not that I like to sail..."

Alcan yawned again. "Well, at the very least, I guess we own a ship now." He leaned on a large crate. "Who was that masked man, anyway?"

Driel shrugged. "I thought you knew him..." She turned away from Alcan. "I'm going to see what course we're traveling. Coming, prince?" She dashed to the captain's chamber.

Alcan sighed. <Indeed,> he thought. <Why do I get the feeling that man was after me?> Shaking his head, he started to follow Driel. Pausing, he echoed, "Prince?"

He knew what was coming next, and he wanted to scream, I AM NOT!, but he also knew that it would make no difference. Better not to show it, and hope that they'd forget.

"... you're too little."

He knew already that it would do him no good to argue. He'd already tried that, a hundred times. So instead, he turned away.

"I didn't want to do that anyway," he muttered to himself, as he sat by the stream a short time later. The words sounded empty. He didn't believe them himself.

He sighed and tried to make up his mind to enjoy what was left of the day. It had been sunny but not blinding, warm but not hot. The perfect day. He couldn't let it be ruined, especially after all the effort he'd gone to to escape his usual chores.

"Do what?"

He leapt to his feet and spun around. Perching on a low tree branch nearby was a young girl with bright, unruly red hair. She was staring at him quizzically.

"Um... hi," he managed. He could think of nothing else to say.

"Hello. My name's Merine. What's yours?"

"Locke."

"What were you going to do?"

"I was... never mind. I decided to do something else."

"What?"

This was getting on his nerves. He gave the first response that came to mind. "I'm going to go explore the cave in the hills!"

He couldn't believe he'd said that! Neither could Merine, it seemed. Her eyes went wide as she stared at him. "Isn't that dangerous? What if a monster eats you?"

"I'm not afraid of any monsters!" he responded, trying to sound brave while shivering slightly.

"But what if you run into one? What will you do?" She delivered the questions in a perfectly calm tone. She wasn't the one about to get eaten, after all.

"Well... I'll kill it."

"How?"

That set him back. As he searched for an answer, she jumped down from her branch. "I'm hungry. Good luck with the monsters." Merine waved cheerfully and bounced--he could think of no other way to describe it--back toward the village.

Kohlingen. What a boring place.

Locke sighed, realizing that it _was_ late. If he didn't get back soon, no doubt his parents would have half the town looking for him. He stood reluctantly, tossing a pebble into the stream and watching its ripples spread slowly across the surface.

<At least I don't have to go to the cave just yet.> The thought raised his spirits a bit. He would have to go eventually, of course, or admit that he was afraid. But for now he had an excuse. <Maybe I can find a knife or something, too. No monster's gonna eat me!>

"... I hope," he mumbled aloud.

Kohlingen was waiting for him.

Driel strode to the map and began to trace a path on it with her finger. "We started at Jidoor," she muttered, "and we've been going east -" She glanced at the compass as if to make certain they *were* travelling east. "- for a few hours." Her finger moved to the right. "And Lola is..." She began slowly turning to the right.

Alcan walked over to the compass, and when Driel came to a halt, he said, "Northeast."

"Northeast," Driel repeated. "Then..." She slowly moved her finger up and right on the map. "... Nikeah... Doma Castle..."

Alcan joined her in front of the map. "What about these mountains?" he suggested, pointing out a mountain range further to the northeast. "When someone wants to hide something, they often go to mountains. At least in my experience."

"Yes, of course," Driel said, nodding. "But it can't hurt to check the town, and in any case, we'll need to stop for supplies at some point. Will obviously wasn't expecting passengers when he last stocked up." She started toward the door.

"Driel!" Alcan called, trying to suppress another yawn.

She turned around to face him. "What?"

"Do you mind if I -" The yawn came out then. "- sleep in here? I mean, it *is* your cabin now. But the floor downstairs is so uncomfortable, and I want to try to get at least one good night's sleep..."

"Sure," Driel told him. "In fact, I'll make that an order - get some sleep." She smiled. "In your exhausted state, you'd probably fall off the side of the ship too."

"Thanks," Alcan said, and as Driel turned back around and headed for the door, he walked toward the bed. Once he had climbed in, though, he realized that he was not yet ready for sleep, despite not having slept well in... how long? Only a day? Less, even? It felt like it had been much longer.

He thought back on what had just happened. That man in the dark clothes... he had seemed afraid of Alcan. Why? Was he after Alcan? But here, in this world, Alcan hadn't made any enemies yet. Unless that... Rhiannon... had sent someone after him... but then why would that someone be afraid of him? It didn't make sense.

And the captain, Will Bryant... Alcan suddenly pounded the mattress in frustration. "Damn!" he muttered. "Why...?" /Why does death follow me everywhere?/ Alcan felt responsible for the captain's death. Perhaps his instincts had been right; perhaps the captain had been untrustworthy from the start. But still, the instinct for self-preservation was a strong one; the captain would not have jumped overboard without a good reason. Perhaps Will had thought that if the stranger was so frightened of Alcan, then Will was as good as dead if Alcan was threatening him. "Why?" Alcan moaned.

Then Alcan's weariness took hold, and he yawned once more, all thoughts but that of sleep submerged in his mind. He rolled onto his side, trying to get comfortable; a few minutes later, he fell asleep.

And dreamed.

* - * - *

"Goodnight, honey," Alcan's mother said to him, kissing him on the cheek.

"'Night, Mom," Alcan replied. "Sleep well."

"You too," his mother said. "See you in the morning."

"See you in the morning," said Alcan, completing the ritual they had gone through for as long as Alcan could remember. The twelve-year-old sometimes wondered why they always said the same thing to each other every night, even when they might not actually see each other the next morning. But it was not particularly important; at the moment, he had other, more important things on his mind, like sleep. Yawning, he turned over, gathering the blankets around him. His mother blew out the lamp, then left the room and closed the door behind her, leaving Alcan in darkness. Which suited him fine. He closed his eyes, and...

Alcan stood next to his bed; he'd just woken up after a good night's sleep. He got himself dressed, then headed out to the dining room, expecting to see his parents and at least a couple of his older brothers there. To his surprise, however, his mother was not present. "Where's Mom?" he asked his father.

"She left early to go riding," his father, Tarlan, replied. "She'll be back this afternoon."

"Why couldn't I go?" Alcan complained. He'd learned to ride a horse at the age of ten, and he considered himself a good rider now.

Deln, his oldest brother, turned to him. "You know very well that you're not old enough and not experienced enough to go on such long rides," Deln said.

Alcan turned to Deln, about to reply...

In an eyeblink, the scene changed.

Alcan sat in his seat at the table. Like his four brothers and his father, his face was downcast. His mother had not been heard from for over a month; despite the hundreds of men out searching for her, she had not been found.

Tarlan raised his head slowly to look at his sons, then opened his mouth to speak. Even before the words came out, though, Alcan knew what they would be. After six weeks, his father had finally made the decision they had all been dreading.

"My sons..." Tarlan hesitated a moment, then continued. "Your mother... is no longer with us."

The room was silent for a full minute; then the silence was broken by sobs. Alcan realized they were his own.

Blink.

Things had finally come to a head. Tarlan had become more and more depressed in the eight years since his mother's disappearance - Alcan still refused to acknowledge her death, and would not until he had concrete evidence of such - and had become more of a tyrant than a father to Alcan and his brothers, making them do useless chores of all kinds imaginable. They had tried everything they could think of to bring their father out of his depression, but nothing had worked. And now it had come to this.

"For the thousandth time, NO!" Tarlan told Alcan firmly. "You have duties in the castle!"

"But, Father," Alcan said, trying to calm his father down, "it's hardly dangerous, and besides, I need a break -"

"I'LL decide when you can have a break!" Tarlan roared, and Alcan jumped back, startled. "And I doubt that it will be anytime soon," Tarlan continued. "Perhaps some extra work will serve to remind you who's in charge here."

"But, Father," Alcan tried again, pleading now, "it's so boring and -"

"Enough! Back to your work!"

Alcan turned and began walking slowly and purposefully toward the door, the last of his patience gone.

"I said GO!" Tarlan yelled.

Alcan quickened his pace. When he was finally out of the throne room, he slammed the door behind him angrily. "Damn you, too," he muttered. But a plan was already forming in his mind, a plan that would get him out of this mess once and for all.

Blink. And suddenly Alcan realized what was happening. /No... not this.../ his mind cried in anguish. /Not again.../

Alcan stood in the hall of Geswine's inn, having just woken from his first sleep in nearly two days. He closed the door to his room behind him, holding the key in his hand. He headed down the hall to the innkeeper, intending to return the key, then purchase some supplies around town and head out of Geswine. But as he passed through the common room, he noticed that everyone looked upset about something. He approached the innkeeper and, after handing him the key, asked, "What's happened? Why's everyone so upset?"

"You don't know?" the innkeeper said, a bit surprised. "No, I suppose you wouldn't." He paused uncomfortably, then continued, "The king and princes... were murdered the night before last."

Alcan stepped back, stunned. His father and brothers... dead? "No..." he whispered desperately. "No, that can't be..."

Blink.

Alcan stood a short distance from the entrance to a village that had somehow appeared out of nowhere just a moment ago. There were two people standing at the entrance; probably guards, Alcan thought. They looked his way...

Suddenly, the part of Alcan that knew he was dreaming recognized the town. /NO!/ he screamed in his mind. /Not Selendia! Not again.../

* - * - *

"Alcan? Are you alright?"

That was Driel's voice, Alcan realized. He opened his eyes, rubbed the sleep out of them, and saw her standing over him with a worried look on her face. "What?" he said, not yet awake enough to comprehend the question.

"I'd just come up from checking on Locke, and I heard you cry out. I came in here to see what was the matter."

"Locke... oh, yes," he said, coming fully awake. "Locke should have been sleeping up here," he muttered to himself, "not me." Then, to Driel, he continued, "Just dreams. Nothing to worry about."

"Nightmares," Driel corrected. "You certainly didn't sound like you were enjoying yourself. What were they about?"

"How long have I slept?" Alcan countered, avoiding Driel's question. Yes, he had talked to her about it the other day, but it was still an uncomfortable topic.

"A day and a half," Driel replied. "Now, what was that nightmare about?"

"A... day and a half?" Alcan repeated, startled. He had never slept that long at once before, although he realized he did feel quite rested. Then, regaining his composure, he asked Driel, "So where are we now?"

"Stop avoiding my question," Driel said sternly.

"Look, it's not something I like to talk about," Alcan told her, annoyed at her persistence.

"Your family, isn't it?" Driel surmised, a note of compassion entering her voice.

"I said, I don't want to talk about it!" Alcan nearly yelled.

Driel turned back toward the door. "Well, sorry," she tossed back caustically as she walked out. Then, just as she was about to shut the door, she added, "We're a day or so from Nikeah."

/Nikeah,/ Alcan thought sadly as Driel nearly slammed the door shut. /How many will die here?/

------------------------------------------------

Driel slammed the door to the captain's quarters and let out a disgusted sigh. "What's with him?" She grumbled to herself, thinking of Alcan's melancholy attitude. "I thought he was starting to like me..." Driel sighed, thinking of her own losses. "Maybe his grief is just as overwhelming as mine at times..." She staggered over to the bow and leaned heavily on the railing. She gazed into the distance at Nikeah. She could barely make out the shape of the town; the fog and general grayness of the day made seeing a far distance difficult.

A small pain nagged at her head. She placed her fingers to her temples and began massaging them. "What's going wrong now?" she asked herself, desperately hoping the pain would go away. "Something's wrong in Nikeah... those people... how can they be so sad, yet... so happy?" Another pain, this one a little stronger than the last, tore through Driel's mind. She squinted her eyes tightly and let out a labored sigh. "I need some aspirin..."

She turned and looked back at the captain's quarters. She frowned, "I wonder if he went back to sleep?" She considered going back in to check on Alcan, but thought better of it. "I guess I should wait for him to come to me... " Momentarily forgetting her pain, she decided to check on Locke.

She made her way to the crew's cabin, and cautiously opened the door. She went over to Locke's bedside and tried to wake him. "Pssst. Locke? We're almost to Nikeah... are you awake? Locke?" She shook his shoulder lightly, and laughed to herself. "I guess there's no waking you, sleepyhead." Her smile slowly disappeared from her lips. Locke looked like he was dreaming. His eyes rolled back and forth, and occasionally his lips would form silent words. Driel put her head in her hands. "Why can we not be at peace?"

She watched Locke sleeping fitfully, and she began to hum. Remembering the words to an opera song she once heard, and feeling a bit less timid, she let her alto voice sound through the room. "Oh my hero, far away now, will I ever see your smile?" She stroked Locke's forehead and began to think of her brother. Skipping a few lines in the opera song, Driel sung the next line as if it were meant to be next. "We must part now, my life goes on, but my heart won't give... you... up..." Driel sniffled as she thought of her brother. "Jared, I can't see you smile ever again..." She looked at Locke tenderly. "*sniff* But I can see Locke smile again..." She took Locke's hand in hers, and she leaned her head on the cot. "I will find you this Rachel... if she is the one your heart seeks... I shall help you find your true love." She wiped her tears away, and she started to back away from the cot. "And I will not get in the way... ever..." Quietly, she shut the door to the crew's cabin behind her.

* - * - *

"How is he doing?" Alcan's voice cut through the silence several hours later..

Driel jumped, startled by Alcan. "Whoa! You scared me." She put her hand on her chest and made herself breathe slowly. "He's sleeping. I can't wake him."

Alcan raised an eyebrow and gave her a worried glance. "Are you sure he's not... uh..."

She shook her head. "He's just sleeping. He's breathing."

Alcan looked at Driel with a hint of concern. "Are you alright? I'm sorry I was so short with you back there, but I..."

Driel smiled weakly at Alcan. "I would be lying if I said I was okay. Don't worry about it. I understand... really."

Alcan cleared his throat uncomfortably. He noticed that Driel's eyes were red, and that her cheeks were tear-stained. He looked away from her and looked into the distance. "I guess we're almost there, eh?"

Driel lowered her gaze and turned to go back to the captain's quarters. "Yeah, real soon now, I guess..."

Mustering all his nerve, Alcan reached out for Driel and turned her back toward him. He pulled her close to him, and he hugged her with all his might. "I don't want to hurt anyone," he gasped.

Driel's face continued to be covered in tears. "I know you don't. Life is so hard, Alcan," she cried. Relaxing, she allowed herself to hug him back.

Alcan let her cry into his shoulder for a couple of seconds, then he gently loosened his arms from her shoulders. He looked into her eyes, and he smiled warmly at her. Then he winked. "Hey... who's manning the ship?"

Driel's eyes widened in laughter. "Ooops. I guess I should be paying closer attention. We are nearing land..." She reached up to her temples once more. "Something is wrong, Alcan... wrong in Nikeah. But I don't know what."

Alcan moved to her side. "Let me help you." He winked again. "Somebody's got to steer this thing." He became serious. Fearing the worst, he asked, "What could possibly be wrong in Nikeah?"

"Be patient. Not everyone likes to rush around like you, you know." Rachel's silhouette appeared at the cave mouth. Locke grinned and turned back to the cavern, raising the lantern he held carefully in his left hand. The lamp seemed hopelessly feeble against the stygian darkness, but as Locke's eyes adjusted, he began to see flickers from deeper in the cave, where the light reflected from a damp stone wall.

Rachel crept closer to him. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"I can't believe I'm finally here," he hedged, surrepetitiously loosening his dirk in its belt sheath. It had taken him a long time to save enough gold for the weapon, and longer until it had felt natural in his hand.

"Finally?"

"I told Merine three years ago that I would do this. I don't think she believed me."

"Oh." That was all the comment Rachel offered. The two of them got along, when they had to, but he'd found that they preferred not to keep each other's company. Locke didn't see Merine as often now; Rachel shared his adventurous spirit, while she did not, and she'd begun to find new friends. Loryn, Sascha, Maia... Locke knew them, of course--Kohlingen was not a large town, and most of its people knew each other--but he didn't know them well.

The pair had been moving deeper into the cave, all but huddled around each other, peering into the gloom. What little conversation they had was whispered in tense breaths; silence shrouded the subterranean world, broken erratically by a gasp of delight from one or the other at a colorful rock formation, a crystaline pool, or a phosphorescent growth. Always, they followed one wall deeper into the darkness, so that they would not get lost.

Two hours passed, or twenty minutes; there was no way to tell. They stopped to rest, sitting on a narrow ledge of rock. After a few moments of oppressive calm, Rachel turned to him.

"What are you going to do, when you grow up?"

Locke thought for a moment. When an adult asked him that question, he inevitably responded 'a soldier' or 'a merchant'--but, sitting (he imagined) a thousand miles beneath the surface, he whispered the truth to Rachel. "An explorer."

She didn't laugh. Intrigued, she asked, "But what will you explore, when the world has already been mapped."

He shrugged. "Not everywhere. Not places like these."

"Someone must have."

"Well, okay," he hissed, annoyed. "So I might not be first. I'll still see everything. That's the point."

She smiled. "I thought so. A traveller!" Her eyes shone. "Hardly anyone ever leaves the village!"

"Well, I will. And I won't just be a traveller, either. I'll be a... a..." Locke searched for something suitable.

Before he could find it, Rachel held up a hand. "Shh!"

Locke fell silent and reflexively glanced around. Seeing nothing, he arched an eyebrow at Rachel. It was an expression he'd watched adults used, and carefully practiced, and he was elated when she understood and explained further.

"I heard something. Sort of a scratching."

"Where?"

"Back the way we came. You don't suppose... monsters...?" She suddenly looked very afraid. Locke, too, became aware of just how far away from the surface they were. How far from help, from safety.

"One of the side passages?"

"Locke... we should go back."

He nodded. "Maybe if we're quiet, we can sneak past them."

It might have worked, but the beasts were already bloacking their paths when they reached the branch. Two gargantuan rats, three feet in length, with fangs as long as Locke's dirk. The dirk which he was surprised to find in his hand. Swiftly, he thrust the lantern behind him.

"Keep back, Rachel." But he knew she couldn't run. They only knew of the single exit from the cavern--and even if there was another way out, Locke would have been left blind without the lamp.

She took the light, and he heard her feet scrape along the floor as she backed away, not a moment too soon. The closer of the rats crouched and sprang. Locke swung the knife upward, as though to block it, and slipped.

It saved his life. The monstrous rat's fangs closed on air where, a second before, his throat had been. He regained his feet and swiped at it as it landed, but missed by at least two feet. He realized that his 'training' with the dirk had been woefully inadequate.

The monster sprang again, and he dodged sideways, trying to keep both rats in sight. Rachel had no weapon; he couldn't let them endanger her. He swung again, and this time managed to graze the beast! It tried to bite him in return, but only succeeded in tearing a piece of fabric from his clothing. This time.

Locke paused. He wouldn't win by brute strength, and his endurance was rapidly failing. He could almost hear the chorus from his memories: "You're too little." But he was quick, both physically and mentally. And he knew how to use that. <If only it doesn't get me killed.>

The rat was preparing to spring again--no, this was the other, the uninjured one. He had to hope it would still work. The rat leapt. Locke's world seemed to slow down impossibly, as he threw himself forward under the monster, slashing up and out. He felt the stone floor under him as he landed, felt his shoulder twisting painfully, felt his body straighten as he rolled to his feet, ignoring the pain. He turned, and he saw.

Success. The ceature's gutted corpse lay on the floor, reflexively twitching. The other one...

"No!" He drew back his arm, hurled the dagger at the remaining monster, the injured one. The one that had slipped past him while he fought its companion, and was now menacing Rachel.

A searing pain in his right arm. The dagger twisting through the air in a graceful, deadly arc. The stone floor clattering as it returned to earth. He had failed.

The rat whirled and stared at him for a moment with burning red eyes. It took a step forward, another, and leapt. Locke closed his eyes and whispered, "I'm sorry, Rachel..."

"Rachel..."

"Rachel..."

The sound echoed, even in that brief time. A weight struck Locke's chest, and he fell backwards, wincing as he instinctively tried to absorb the shock with his injured arm.

A second passed. Another. He opened his eyes. <I'm alive?> The rat was slumped, partially on top of him. The hilt of the dirk protruded from its right eye.

Rachel's hand took his. "Come on, Locke. We should go..." Gently she helped him to his feet, but she didn't conceal the urgency in her voice. "There might be more."

"I didn't know you could do that," he said, staring at the beast that had nearly killed him.

To his surprise, she blushed. "Neither did I. I mean, I never... Oh, never mind! We've got to get out of here!"

Locke bent to pick up the lantern, then paused as he started to stand.

"What is it?" Rachel hissed.

Shaking his head, Locke took a few steps down the passage the rats had come from.

"Locke!"

He stared at the rats' nest. A large collection of junk, smooth stones, shards of glass, and metal... there. "Rachel! Look at this!"

Her curiousity got the better of her, and she came, fidgeting nervously as she peered over his shoulder. "Gold!"

"28, 29... Yeah. I guess they were giant pack rats, or something. 33, 34!" he finished counting.

Rachel's hushed voice was as filled with awe as his. "I've hardly ever even seen that much gold at once before!" It was an overstatement, Locke knew, but it was true that there was more than he'd ever possessed at once, and the same was probably true for Rachel. Only adults had that kind of money.

"Well, let's take it and get out of here!" Locke's voice betrayed his excitement.

Rachel only nodded. The two gathered up the coins and started for the entrance. As they emerged into sunlight, Locke suddenly spoke up.

"A treasure hunter!"

"What?"

"That," he replied, "is what I'm going to be. The world's greatest treasure hunter!"

Rachel smiled with him.

Aside from an occasional comment about the lousy weather or Locke's condition, Alcan and Driel did not converse during that time. For one thing, the weather did not promote a conversational mood. However, Alcan still felt a bit uncomfortable talking to her. She had done nothing to hurt him - she had only tried to sympathize with his loss - yet he had yelled at her. /I have got to learn to control my temper!/ he told himself firmly. This was not his first such outburst, either. His family had been a sensitive subject with him even before his father's death, and was much more so afterwards; even among friends, if someone tried to probe too deeply, he would often lose his temper. /I will not do so again,/ he promised himself. /It is not others' fault that my family is dead./ Although there was one specific "other" who *was* at fault, of course.

Finally, Alcan tired of watching the fog-shrouded town approach, and said to Driel, "I'm going to go check on Locke."

"Alright," she replied.

Alcan left Driel at the wheel and headed for the crew cabin. Reaching it, he opened the door and stepped inside. The room was the same as it had been: bare, except for Locke sleeping on the cot in the corner. Alcan walked quietly over to Locke. Gently placing his hand on Locke's forehead, he noted that Locke was still feverish. His eyes moved as if he was in a dream.

Alcan was still magically exhausted from the powerful bolt of lightning he had used against the creatures in Jidoor two days earlier. But maybe he could do something minor to help Locke; he did not have nearly enough magical strength at the moment to cure whatever this disease was, but if he could just -

Then Alcan's train of thought was interrupted by a noise from Locke. Surprised, Alcan watched Locke for any sign that he might be about to recover even the tiniest bit.

"Treasure hunter..." Locke murmured, and the ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. "That's what I'm going to be. The world's greatest treasure hunter..."

Locke fell silent again, and Alcan sighed. Just another vivid image in whatever Locke was dreaming about.

Returning to his thoughts, Alcan decided to try a curing spell on Locke. At worst, nothing would happen, and Alcan would have wasted some of his currently little magical power. But at best... perhaps Locke would awaken and begin the road to recovery. Locke certainly seemed like he would be nearly strong enough to recover on his own... if he could be brought out of this sleep.

Concentrating, Alcan drew on magical energy - a small amount, but most of what he could handle at the moment. He shaped it into a curative spell, then sent it coursing through Locke's body.

Nothing. Locke remained in as deep a sleep as ever.

Alcan sighed again. /Well, it was worth a try, at least./ He left Locke's side, heading out of the crew cabin and back onto the deck of the Waverider.

When he emerged, he saw Driel still standing by the wheel, staring toward Nikeah. As he walked up beside her, she said softly, "Something is very wrong..."

Alcan did not respond, but stared out toward Nikeah along with Driel. And then he felt it, the "something wrong" that Driel had been talking about. Not evil, exactly. Certainly not good, but not evil either, at least not in the way Rhiannon or whatever controlled him had been evil. Just... wrong.

And, he realized a moment later, magical. He said as much to Driel.

She nodded, as if confirming her own suspicions. "But who? Not Rhiannon, that's certain. And why?"

Another couple of hours passed in near silence, broken only by the sounds of the water and an occasional lone bird call above. Then, as they approached the harbor, there was a sudden break in the fog, and Nikeah became clearly visible ahead.

Alcan and Driel gasped simultaneously, shocked at the picture of a half-destroyed town.

"Edgar?" Alcan said after a moment, mentally discounting the possibility even as he suggested it. Edgar would have left almost a trail of evil, if he was as evil as Banon and the Returners had said.

"No," Driel responded, echoing his thoughts. "He's at least as bad as Rhiannon. You'd know if he was here."

Several more minutes passed. As the Waverider entered the harbor, the movements of people in the town became visible. Then Driel's hands dropped from the wheel as she stared toward the town again, astonished.

"What is it?" Alcan asked her.

"The people - look -" She pointed toward the town. "- it's almost as if they didn't realize the town was falling apart around them. They look like they're just going about their daily lives."

Alcan followed her gaze, then gasped in renewed shock. /There's only one person who can control people's minds like that. But Ludek doesn't use magic./ "But how... who else could have... controlled them like this?" he finished aloud.

"I don't know," said Driel. "And I don't like it." She paused a moment, then added, "You've seen this before?"

"Yes," Alcan replied. "Back in Drellost, Ludek did it to everyone. Remember when I mentioned that right after my father's death, people were suddenly forgetting him?" Driel nodded. "Ludek was responsible for that. And in a couple of towns, the people were exactly like that." He pointed at the citizens of Nikeah. "Totally oblivious to their circumstances."

"You don't think that Ludek might -" Driel started.

"- be here?" Alcan finished for her. "No. For one thing, Ludek doesn't use magic. He uses technology. Besides, if he was here, he'd be going after me, not random towns. We'd better be careful anyway, though."

A few minutes later, they reached the dock, and, under Driel's direction, Alcan helped secure the ship to the dock. Then they disembarked, Alcan with his sword and Driel with the knife she had given to Locke earlier, to see what lay in store for them at Nikeah.

And wherever he might be, he was never alone. Rachel was a constant companion, even on his exploratory journeys; Merine always seemed to be nearby when he was between adventures. Her sister, Rana, was often with her, and if not... Sascha was.

He frowned, remembering. He'd tried to befriend Sascha, first because of Merine and later because he'd heard she, too, longed for adventure. But... <Why isn't anything I do enough? Does she trust anyone besides Merine?> He suspected she didn't. So they avoided each other, outside of Merine's company, and did their best to ignore each other when both were with her. He didn't know why; often, he was painfully blunt with people. But Merine was like that. Nobody wanted to hurt her. <She could probably get away with world domination.>

And he had learned. Sometimes, one of those Figaran soldiers would show him one of the finer points of bladework - and Locke learned to use a sword as well as a knife. Sometimes, one of the sailors would show him... certain other skills. And soon, he excelled at sleight-of-hand and was practiced with lockpicks, as well. Locke had no qualms about learning such illicit skills - who could tell when he'd need them, in his chosen profession?

And from those who were neither soldiers nor criminals, he also learned. Merchants taught him to appraise artworks. From weaponsmiths he learned to judge the quality of a blade. From the travellers with no specific skills, he heard tales of distant lands, and lost treasures.

One of those tales had led him here. A traveller had casually spoken of the treasure that was rumored to be hidden in these hills, only two days' walk from Kohlingen. A relic of the War of the Magi, the man had whispered, eyes wide with awe and respect. Guarded by fearsome monsters spawned of black sorcery. The inn's patrons had roared with laughter at the idea, but Locke had not. He had slipped out the door to gather his gear. The hardest part had been avoiding Rachel. If the man's tales were true, he didn't want her nearby. Not because of the monsters - she had long since proven herself as capable with a dagger as he - but because of the treasure. It was important that this one be a surprise to her.

There had been monsters, after all. Nothing as fearsome as the wanderer had claimed, but stories were prone to exaggeration, after all. Locke only hoped that this treasure was what the man claimed.

<Time to find out.> Sighing, he stood and began walking up the ramp into the only cavern he had not yet explored. Casually, he kicked the corpse of a two-foot-long winged reptile out of the way. It didn't look like much, but it had more fangs than he would have imagined. When he had first approached, it had taken a large bite out of his left arm. <Good thing Justar's potions worked. Who would have thought that crazy old man was a master herbalist?>

He entered the cavern and smiled. A treasure chest was indeed waiting for him. It was the work of a moment to pick the ancient lock and open the box. Grinning triumphantly, he transferred the contents of the chest to his belt pouch, removing a green-gold stone at the same time. He stared into its depths for a moment. That bird-man had been carrying it. If he wasn't mistaken, the stone would save him a long climb to the surface.

He closed his hand over the smooth, warm stone, closing his eyes at the same time. He tried to envision Kohlingen. Simple but comfortable houses. The inn, the largest building in town. Gardens, flowers, shops. People moving in small groups along narrow streets. Sascha. Merine. Rachel. Home.

There was a wrenching sensation. He felt as though he was running, ten times as fast as he had ever moved, but he was frozen in space. Falling sideways. Jumping into, through, the earth. Swimming in an endless ocean without water or light.

He opened his eyes and smiled. He stood in a side street of Kohlingen, apparently out of everyone's sight. <Good. They won't have any questions about my sudden arrival.> He stood, unclenching his now-empty fist, and patted his belt pouch. Yes. The relic was still there. His treasure. A Starmetal Ring of gold and emerald, said to protect its wearer from disease and poison. Smaller amounts of the metal were often alloyed with steel and worked into pendants, Locke knew, but they were not as effective as this ring would be.

<Now, if I can only find Rachel...>

Finding Rachel, it turned out, was easier than he'd expected. He was walking along the stream--the same place he'd met Merine, so many years ago--when she found him.

"Locke Cole!"

He turned towards her, grinning. "Rachel! You'll never..."

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?" Locke was shocked. She was nearly hysterical.

"Um... I..."

She wasn't listening. "Where were you? How could you just go off for half a week without telling me?"

"Rachel, I..."

"How could you leave me here? Why didn't you TELL me?"

"Rachel..."

"Why didn't you take me with you?" She was actually near tears. Locke hadn't expected this. "You could have... oh, goddesses, I thought you were dead!"

"Rachel!"

Finally, she stopped and just stared at him, plainly trying not to start crying. He swiftly continued.

"Rachel... I'm fine. I just wanted... to..." He could tell from her expression that his explanations weren't helping. "That is, I..."

He stopped and stood for a moment with his eyes closed. Then, he took one step toward her, reaching towards her hand. Softly, he asked, "Rachel... will you marry me?"

She stood absolutely still for a moment, looking down at him with a mute sort of surprise, and he thought he might say no. But she whispered, "Oh... Locke..." and threw her arms around him.

"Yes!"

Locke realized that she'd begun to cry, after all.

To forget.

To lose himself in the world, in his profession, in anything but his memories. And he could not.

* * * * *

Rachel followed him into the cave, her eyes shining with curiosity. Barely a week ago, she had agreed to marry him; he still could hardly believe it. And this was the last expedition before the wedding. The last one ever, if Rachel decided she no longer wanted to pursue an adventurer's life. He wouldn't stop treasure hunting for the world - but for Rachel, he would.

She asked what they were looking for this time. He doubted that it mattered to her any more than to him; it was the search that they enjoyed most. Nevertheless, he beamed at her, answering, "Wait till you see...!"

He started across the narrow bridge, built by some ancient people for a purpose he could not imagine, but his thoughts were on what lay ahead. Perhaps that was why he'd failed to notice the danger.

"Locke!" Rachel's cry wrenched him back to reality. He felt the ancient bridge crumbling under his weight. <No time...>

But Rachel had been faster than he. He was shoved forward, out of danger, as the bridge collapsed, carrying Rachel with it.

She had lived, at least; but she remembered very little. She remembered her parents, she remembered hazy details of her past life. She forgot about Locke entirely.

Less than a month after the accident, Locke left Kohlingen with a bitter heart. The day was beautiful, the weather was perfect.

It was to have been his wedding day.

* * * * *

Months passed. Locke pressed himself harder than he would have dared before. He searched for the treasures that rumor placed in the most inhospitable places, guarded by the most fearsome monsters. The others called him a fool for it, told him he couldn't possibly live long if he continued. His luck would run out, they said, and he would die.

That was exactly what he wanted, then.

But Locke hadn't died. Some stubborn impulse wouldn't allow him to give up, and his incredible luck held for six months. Locke began to acquire a reputation in certain circles. But always, he worked alone.

Then, as he rested in Narshe after an expedition into the mountains nearby, the news came that changed his life a second time. Kohlingen had been attacked by the Empire. Many of the villagers had been imprisoned. Rachel was among them.

He bought a chocobo with the money he'd found on his adventures. The merchant charged him five times what he otherwise would have paid, but he was in a hurry. He had heard the news in the morning; by early afternoon, he was riding toward Kohlingen.

He travelled more quickly than ever before, but the journey was too long. Rachel was dead, they told him. He still remembered Merine's words: "At the end, her memory returned. Her last word was... Your name..."

In his grief, he had taken her still-warm body to the one man he knew who might help. Justar. The crazy old herbalist might just have an answer. He remembered how well the man's potions had worked, in the cave. Maybe...

"Barely in time, boy." The scratchy voice sounded like it hadn't been used in years. "There's still a spark of life in her. I can't cure her, but I can keep her from dying. If you're really sure you want that."

Locke nodded. He would find the cure, someday. <I promise, Rachel--I won't fail you again.>

* * * * *

"Locke Cole?"

The voice was a welcome intrusion on his memories. He looked up to see a middle-aged man - perhaps 40 years old - dressed in silken robes. His brown hair flared wildly, and his eyes gleamed with an inner fire. Instinctively, he knew that this man was a leader. Strong-willed, wise, capable. A madman as well, perhaps, but glorious in his madness.

"I hear you have reason to hate the Empire."

Locke did not reply.

The man continued, unshaken, "We've heard of your prowess. We've been looking for men like you to help us fight the Empire..."

This time, Locke raised an eyebrow. "We?"

The older man paused, as if weighing the benefits of explaining. "The Returners." Locke recognized the name, and it must have showed, for the man continued, "We've grown in strength lately, but many of our men still cannot travel without arousing suspicion. But you - you have a reason for being anywhere. Freedom to move..."

"I'm sure there are many others you might ask. I'm no soldier, just a simple treasure hunter."

"Others? There are some. But few have as much mobility as you do. There was one who had more... but the Empire has made him a rich man. We couldn't trust him."

Despite himself, Locke was becoming interested. "So. I'm your 'perfect agent'?" He smiled at the absurd thought.

The Returner, however, was completely serious. "You are very close to it. Not as experienced as we might have wished, but also... well, never mind. I suppose the important question is: Will you join us in our fight?"

Locke nodded. "Just one question, if I may?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have a name?"

The gloriously mad Returner smiled grimly. "Banon."

Then he was gone, and Locke found that he was hungry after all.

* * * * *

A body thrashed in a cot on the Waverider. Occasionally, its contortions would pause as he muttered a string of syllables. The images spun through his head, faster, faster...

The man relaxed into a deeper, more peaceful sleep, his fever broken, though there was none to watch the recovery.

Syn wiped his brow and yawned. Business was down. No one needed weapons or armor. All they did was stand or help the soldiers of the Empire.

-----

Syn was luckier than the other townsfolk. While Sascha and Akfek were taking over his hometown, he had been making his runs to the small, closer villages. It was a lengthy journey, and when he returned on his rented chocobo, he had seen soldiers marching around. He wondered why the townspeople weren't fighting back. The people of Nikeah were no fighters, but they would fight for their town.

The merchant had been forced to sneak in. It had been hard. At any moment he could have been spotted and thrown in jail, or worse. But he made it through the outer security. After he was in the center of town, a soldier had approached him. Syn had acted like he was loyal to the Empire and how thankful he was for the new takeover. He cursed the Returners a few times for effect. Syn didn't know if that was what was expected of him, but the soldier seemed to accept it and walked on. Syn then ran as fast as his legs could carry him back to his shop.

-----

He now watched as a man caught stowing away on an outgoing ship was caught. A Magitek Armor held him by his neck and laughed scornfully. Syn fingered a Flame Sabre, and considered attacking the soldier. He quickly decided against it. Getting killed wouldn't help anyone.

Syn could always escape. He had sneaked in, and he could surely sneak out. And boarding a ship was another option. But he didn't just want to walk away like that. He would have nowhere to go. He had enough supplies, but nobody knew him outside of Nikeah and a few people in Narshe, if they were still alive.

The Empire had taken control of other towns. Syn had gathered that much by overhearing conversations in the Cafe. He didn't know which ones, but Zozo and Doma had been mentioned.

Syn was wondering if a resistance had formed. When the Empire had taken over before there had been the Returners. After he had left Narshe, Syn had enlisted to them in South Figaro.

-----

Syn knew that no further customers would come for the night, so he closed up shop. The merchant hopped off of his stool and went into the living section of his shop.

He roasted up some wild Ralph and downed some Nikean Ale. The fire crackled.

As Syn gazed upward at his armor resting above the mantlepiece, he thought back to his days as a Returner. He had won many battles and been many places. Doma, Tzen, even the Imperial base Vector...

As he gazed further at the armor, he thought of how it would feel to try it on again. 'Just this once,' he thought to himself.

The Force Armor was taken down slowly. Syn put it on, and was amazed to find that it still fit. He remembered something, hurried upstairs to find it. He searched in all of his chests, but it wasn't in any of them. Syn paused thoughtfully. "I know where it is!"

-----

The little man scurried downstairs and opened a crate. In it was his weapon: the Crusader Lance. He didn't know its exact powers, but it was powerful. It could rest easily in Syn's hands. It could pierce almost any armor. It was heavy, but he could still wield it.

-----

Syn had found it in a shipment of weapons. The supplier was an old, blind man. He was a good supplier, always on time with the shipment, always having quality equipment. And his prices were low, giving Syn the opportunity to still sell the the stuff at a good price to the customer, while still making a nice profit.

On a certain cold, windy day the man had been standing on the docks as the ship rolled in. Syn jumped off, and greeted the old man. The man smiled and said that there was something for him in the crate. He also said not to misuse the item, because the effects could be deadly. Syn had smiled and nodded, thanking him and paying him the money. He hopped on the ship bound for home.

Syn had forgotten the item, until he started unpacking the crates. He found a singular lance, resting by itself. There were no other lances in the crate like it, ans Syn had never seen anything like it. It gave off a warmth of sorts. The short man picked it up and twirled it. It seemed perfect.

He didn't know what to call it. He finally decided on Crusader Lance. He remembered Crusader as a magical being of history. "Crusader Lance. I like that. C'mon, Crusader Lance. Let's go trash some monsters..."

-----

Syn had learned a few months later that the old man had died. He missed the man dearly, and never met a person that was as friendly or made him feel as good.

He glanced out the window. Magitek Armored soldiers walked around. The sun set, and some dark clouds were grouping to the west. "Hope it doesn't rain."

The lance glowed in Syn's hand.

As he stared at a crack in the ceiling, Syn reflected on how his life was going nowhere. He had married, had kids, and settled down. His wife was surely long gone, and he had no idea how or where his kids were. He also reflected on how he needed to get that crack patched up.

Fighting with the Returners had given his life meaning. Trying to live another day, trying to rescue the thousands that were suffering under Gestahl's rule. He had been to exciting places that others could only dream about. And Syn had met exciting new people.

When he had gone to South Figaro, and became a merchant, all of that changed. The war was still raging on, but Syn was getting on in years. Magic was the key factor in winning the war, and he couldn't, or wouldn't, use magical weapons. Either way, Banon couldn't find the type of missions suited for Syn. As he became a merchant, Syn found that he could contribute weapons. This helped, but it just wasn't the same as fighting.

Then the world changed. It actually didn't affect Syn as much as most people. Nikeah wasn't struck by the Light of Judgement. Friends were killed, and the land changed, but Syn just kept on going. He never heard from the Returners again.

Now, as another Empire was taking over towns, Syn wanted to join in the fight. Not so much for the adventure part, as he wanted when he was younger, but to fight for a worthy cause. Syn was physically fit, but his reflexes were wearing down.

-----

Syn drew the shades. The morning sun filled his room with light. The merchant stretched and yawned. "Another day of waiting for nobody to buy nothing."

He started up a fire, and brought out some bread. He noticed that his food supply was low. Since he couldn't chance getting caught by the local grocer, he had to stow away on a ship and buy food in South Figaro. He already had two times.

-----

After a slow breakfast of chewing on cold toast and staring at a dying fire, Syn put on some clothes. He had decided to go on a walk. The soldiers wouldn't bother him, since they thought that he was loyal. And he was getting bored of the same building.

The docks sounded as good of a place as any, so he pulled on a coat to keep warm. After putting out the fire, Syn walked out, being sure to lock the doors.

-----

Not many people were out. Syn made it a point to keep a distance from all the guards. The fewer people he spoke to, the better.

"Wonder if there are any boats pulling in." Syn put his hands in his pockets, and walked on.

The door shut with a jingle of bells, leaving the small shop empty except for the young man behind the counter. Slanting beams of warm afternoon sunlight shone on the items for sale: most of it was mundane hardware like tools, nails, rope, paint, and nautical supplies, but there was also a rack of Tonics, Antidotes and other medicines in small bottles. A row of Tinctures, useless now with the passing of magic, sat gathering dust on the shelf.

Cal idly began to polish the wood counter-top, humming to himself. He looked about 20, with brown eyes and dark hair that had once been cut short and neat but had grown out a bit since. His clothes were simple: a green tabard belted over a linen shirt, grey wool trousers, and scuffed black boots.

A little girl came running out of the back room, laughing. Her mother followed a moment after, her arms full of sales slips and a drawer for the cash register. She deposited her burden on the counter next to Cal and brushed a lock of honey-blonde hair out of her eyes.

"Jo, don't run in the store!"

The girl, who had been skipping down an aisle, stopped and came back up to the counter. "Can I have a lollipop, mommy?" she asked, one hand already reaching for the glass jar next to the register.

"No sweets before dinner, you know that."

Jo appealed to the other adult present. "Cal..."

Cal chuckled and shook his head. "Sorry, little angel." The eight-year-old did look quite angelic in her lavender dress, though surely no seraph ever pouted so cutely. "Why don't you go out and play until it's time to eat?"

Reluctantly, Jo did as she was told. Cal turned to the woman as she finished her work at the register. She smiled and counted out twenty gold pieces for him. "Here's your pay for the month, Cal. I wish I could give you more - you've been such a help to us, this past year..."

Cal shook his head as he took the money. "No, ma'am. I should thank you, for taking me in when I had nothing, giving me a job and a place to stay."

"Business has just been so slow lately..."

Tara was interrupted as her daughter ran into the shop, breathless with excitement. "Mommy! There's a ship up in the air, come see!" Before either of the adults could say a word, Jo rushed out again.

"An airship?" pondered Tara.

"Maybe it's the Returners again," Cal offered.

"But it's been months since they were here..." She closed the cash register and went outside, followed by Cal.

Townspeople were standing in the street, looking up at the strange airship. There was a low murmur of speculation. Cal began to feel uneasy. The Falcon, he recalled, had a bright green gasbag, while this ship was a dark grey - almost black. It hung in the sky over Nikeah like a threatening storm cloud.

Suddenly a bell rang out: the town alarm, used in case of fire... or attack. Fear gripped the crowd. Some ran off to help, while the rest wondered what was going on.

"You'd better take Jo back inside," Cal said to Tara. She nodded. At that moment, there was a cry of distress; he turned, and saw a warehouse down the street go up in a fireball.

The cause of the explosion was striding towards them: a group of clanking mechanical walkers, each twice as tall as a man, with a seat for the operator where a head should be. They were quite agile for their size, moving about as fast as a man could run. Behind them came soldiers, dressed in identical suits of dull brown armor with helmets that shaded the eyes. Cal felt a chill as he recognized that armor.

"Imperials," he whispered.

The scene dissolved into chaos as the one-sided battle was joined. The men of the town militia charged forward with whatever weapons they had, to be cut down by swords or swatted aside by powerful metal fists. A few were burned to ashes where they stood by heat beams fired by the Magitek Armors.

There were screams, and people began to flee. Cal got turned around in the confusion, winding up several paces further down the street. Time seemed to slow for him, giving the moment an unnatural clarity. He heard Jo cry out for her mommy, saw Tara bend down to gather her into her arms.

A stray Bolt from one of the Armors struck them both. For an instant, mother and child glowed brightly; then they ceased to exist. Only a smell of ozone lingered in the air.

"NOOOOO!"

Some soldiers, their attention drawn by his scream, started running towards him. Cal suddenly realized he was the only person left in the open. He turned and ran for an alley, hearing the pounding of boots on the cobbles behind him. His mind was still refusing to accept what he had just seen; he was operating on animal instinct alone.

Cal grabbed a trash can as he ran down the short alley and sent it flying backward. There was a crash and a clatter as the first trooper stumbled over it and went down, with the next man falling on top of him. There was much cursing as the soldiers tried to get to their feet. Cal kept going.

Two blocks later, he finally sagged against a cool wall to catch his breath. <Think, man. You know their tactics...> He looked both ways for signs of continued pursuit, but he seemed to be safe for the moment. <You have to get out of Nikeah. But if their commander has any sense, they'll have all the exits blocked.>

Cal began to gently pound the back of his head against the wall, hoping it would jar an idea loose. It did.

<Unless... the sewers? It's your only chance.>

There was a manhole in the next street. Cal dropped down into the stinking darkness and pulled the cover back over himself, taking a moment to get his bearings. <Can't afford to get lost down here.> Ignoring the smell as best he could, he chose a tunnel and started down it.

Half an hour later, a much dirtier Cal crawled out of a storm drain and into a small creek. He took deep breaths of the clean air, blinking in the sunlight. At last he gathered his wits and looked over the grassy bank. The airship still hovered over the distant town, but there were no patrols in sight.

Cal drank some water, splashed some more over himself, and set out upstream, away from Nikeah and the sea. The sun dipped low in the west. It was dusk before he came to the place he was looking for: the collapsed remains of a lean-to, in the wilderness a few miles outside of town.

Cal lifted back the roof of the shelter, relieved that it hadn't been disturbed. Underneath, in a shallow pit, was a large canvas duffle-bag that opened with the tug of a drawstring. He shook the contents out onto the ground. The bronze armor was still in good condition, as were the dark leather gauntlets. Cal picked up his gladius from the pile and unsheathed it. The steel blade gleamed in the deepening twilight as he checked for rust. Finally he put the sword aside and began pulling off his tabard.

The armor still fit, a fact which caused him mixed emotions. He buckled the sword-belt around his waist and pulled on the thick gloves, then reached for the helmet. He paused before putting it on, turning it over and over in his hands as if seeking something in its dull brown surface.

"Jo..."

Cal Brody, late of the Imperial Army, mustered his courage and started the long walk back to Nikeah.

Those "liberators" walked the streets of the town now, clad in bronze armor that hid most traces of individual identity. The ease of their recent conquests, and the comforts of a suddenly friendly town, had left them in good spirits as well. Many of the soldiers, especially those who had previously served in the armies of Emperor Gestahl, felt like they were on a seaside holiday rather than garrison duty. No one was expecting any real trouble, and so no one noticed when a soldier quietly slipped away from the rest and into the Item Shop.

* - * - *

Getting past the troops at the gate hadn't been much of a problem for Cal; after all, he was dressed for this party. He just walked in behind a returning patrol, kept his head down and didn't say much. No one challenged him.

It was all a very eerie experience. Here he was, walking streets he'd known for more than a year, in a uniform he'd worn even longer but never here; but both he and the town had changed, perhaps forever. He'd passed burnt-out buildings, shattered windows, and soldiers on every corner. There were streaks of dried blood in the gutters. And Cal - once a soldier of the Empire, then a deserter - was starting to realize he was now on the side of the resistance.

Cal felt as much a stranger to this place as when he'd first arrived in Nikeah. Then, as now, he'd been alone in an unfamiliar town, always on guard, always afraid someone would find him out. Over the months he'd found a life here, and friends... <No, don't think about that.>

But it was hard not to, standing in the dark and empty shop that had always seemed so bright and pleasant. Cal leaned against a shelf, taking a deep shuddering breath. He could hear a little girl's laughter, smell home-cooked dinners, see the smile of a beautiful woman with golden hair... all just memories now.

Cal composed himself and went into the back, through the stockroom and up the stairs. He made his way by the dim light, not daring to light a candle and reveal his presence. He lingered in front of each door before going into the last, his own room. It took only minutes to gather his personal belongings; he left the other rooms undisturbed.

Downstairs, Cal pocketed a few items from the shelves that might prove useful. He couldn't bring himself to empty the cash register. He went out by the rear door, doubting as he did that he would ever be back. One way or the other.

* - * - *

He had barely stepped out into the street again when he saw a familiar face: Tim, the miller's son, one of Jo's playmates. The boy was coming his way, bouncing a ball off the sidewalk. Cal shrank back into the alley, then reconsidered; here, perhaps, was a chance to find out why all the citizens he'd seen were so relaxed about their town being occupied by Imperial troops.

"Psst!"

Tim looked towards the sound, surprised. Suddenly recognition blossomed on his face, and he came running up. Cal went down on one knee to match his height.

"Hey, Cal! Why are you dressed up like a sojer?"

"I... um, it's a game, Tim. Don't tell anyone I'm not a soldier, okay?"

"Okay." The boy digested this. "Have you seen Jo?"

Cal swallowed. "Tim... Jo's dead."

"Oh. That's too bad." He went back to bouncing his ball against the pavement. Cal was amazed by his calm acceptance of the news. <What's going on here? Has the whole town gone crazy?> He changed the subject.

"Tim, what can you tell me about the soldiers?"

"They're our friends. The man told us." Tim's smile gave way to a look of confusion. "Weren't you at the meeting?"

"Meeting?"

"The meeting last night... you weren't there, were you? You didn't hear..." The boy suddenly turned and waved to a nearby group of soldiers. "Hey, over here!"

Cal stood up, uncertain of what to do, as the troopers came over to them. Tim spoke to the sergeant cheerfully. "This is Cal; he's a friend. He wasn't at the meeting. He didn't hear the words." He looked over at Cal.

"Good work, kid," the man said with a grim smile. He turned to his troops. "Take him."

Cal had only a moment to recover from the surprise of the unexpected betrayal. As the soldiers rushed him, he threw down a Smoke Bomb he had taken from the shop. A thick cloud of grey smoke engulfed them all, covering his escape.

Still coughing from the smoke, Cal ran around a corner and right into a Magitek Armor. The hulking contraption blocked his path, thrumming with power. Like the others he had seen, it still bore its original olive-green paint job, with yellow trim. A headlight pinned him in its beam.

"Hey, watch it!" complained the soldier in the driver's seat. Thinking fast, Cal grabbed a handhold on the machine's side and swung himself up. Before the startled operator could react, Cal shoved him out of the seat. The man fell six feet to the cobblestones with a clatter of armor.

A smile played over Cal's lips as he dropped into the empty seat, putting his hands on the control grips. Familiar gauges and lights on the dashboard told him the Armor was in fighting form. He pumped the foot pedals, and the contraption took a step forward, then another. In moments Cal was clumping down the street as fast as the Armor could run.

It was a joy to be back in the saddle of one of these machines, with all of this power at his fingertips. Cal took the time now to strap in, so that the jolting gait of the Armor wouldn't throw him out of the padded leather seat. Shouts of confusion and alarm followed him as he trotted along.

Another Armor lurched across his path, trying to get him to stop or turn aside. Instead, Cal jerked one of the grips and a metal arm swung out, bashing the other machine in its "chest." Sparks flew. The other driver was unprepared for the attack, and off-balance; his Armor teetered over on one leg, then toppled with a loud CRASH!

<So much for sneaking around,> Cal thought. He looked back to see the trooper scrambling clear of his Armor, just as the fallen machine's Core Pack blew up. The explosion rattled windows for blocks around and sent a fireball rising into the starry sky.

With his cover thoroughly blown, Cal knew his only chance was in getting out of Nikeah. Although he still didn't know how, or why, the whole town seemed to support the Imperial cause. There was nothing left for him here. He had to escape and warn others that the Empire was on the march again.

Another trip through the sewers was out of the question, as was the main gate: they'd be setting up a roadblock there by now, with a few Armors of their own. That left the docks to the south. Any ships still in harbor would be under guard, of course, but Cal knew another way out: a rocky strand that should support even the weight of an Armor, if he was slow and careful.

Cal and his tireless steed headed south, towards the docks and (he hoped) freedom.

Alcan poked Driel lightly. "Hey, look! A guard!" he whispered. Pulling Driel forward, he tried to comfort her obvious fear of the guard.

"Alcan, the guard..." Driel protested.

"I think he's asleep. C'mon!" He dashed through the gate, not stopping to get a closer look at the sleeping guard. Driel followed close behind him.

Driel looked at Alcan with a frown. "Why is there a need for a guard at the port...?" Suddenly, she gasped. "Look! More guards... patrolling the streets!" She pointed in the direction of the guards.

Alcan pushed her hand down. "Don't point... you'll draw attention to us..." He glanced around cautiously. "Great," he mumbled. "Look at that guy!"

"What guy?" Driel looked around quickly.

"That one. The one that is waving at the guards. Looks like some kind of merchant." He scratched his head. "That's strange..."

Driel shrugged. "Maybe they are friendly guards?" She tried to smile. "You know, trying to protect the town from... uh, oh."

Alcan looked at her more intently. "Uh, oh? What do you mean by..."

Driel tried to smile. "That guy, er... merchant, is heading straight for us..."

Alcan spun back around... just in time to come face to face with the merchant.

The merchant smiled pleasantly at Driel and Alcan. "Hello, there!" His smile widened. "Are you two from out of town?" The merchant eyed them carefully, waiting for a response.

Alcan's honesty began to get the best of him. "Well, actually, we..."

Driel, thinking fast, interrupted Alcan with a smile. "...we are from a farm just south of here. Only about ten minute chocobo ride." She pointed to Alcan. "This is my BROTHER, Pete. I am Donna." Driel's heart began to pound as she told her clever lies. She tried to ignore the wide-eyed look she was getting from Alcan.

The merchant's face lit up with happiness. "Oh! You must be the Shaw kids. Look at you. All grown up. Why I haven't seen you kids for..." A new thought suddenly entered the merchant's mind. "Were you two at the town meeting?"

Alcan was looking at the merchant with a blank stare. Driel had to struggle to think of something to say. "Uh... meeting? Er... Oh! Of course. Now I remember. The town meeting!" She elbowed Alcan in the arm. "You know, brother. The meeting." All he could do was nod, and stammer "Y...y...yeah."

The merchant relaxed visibly. "Good thing! I wouldn't want to take you to the elder. The horrible things..." He paused, as if unable to continue his thought. "It's great, don't you think?"

Driel was slightly caught off guard by the quick change of subjects. "Yeah", she lied. "The meeting was great."

The merchant slapped his knee. "Yep. The way Lady DelAubre and Lord Akfek liberated our town... I'll be forever grateful!"

Alcan raised an eyebrow. "Liberated?", he asked aloud. He scratched his head. "Wasn't Nikeah already...?"

Driel gasped and stomped Alcan's foot. "ALC...PETER, ahem. They LIBERATED us. That's all that matters." She shook her head at him.

The merchant narrowed his eyes at Driel and Alcan. "Are you sure you were at the meeting...?" He waved his finger at them excitedly. "Now, you just wait right here. I'd like to show the soldiers how big you kids have gotten!" The merchant turned and swiftly ran down the street.

Alcan looked at Driel sarcastically. "Well, isn't that nice of him?"

Driel scowled at his sarcasm. "Let's get some supplies and get out of here." She glanced off in the direction the merchant had gone. "I have this feeling he'll be back..."

Alcan nodded. "And I sure don't want to meet the soldiers face to face." He stood on his toes to try and scan the streets. "Let's see if we can find an item shop. And some food." He rubbed his stomach. "I'm hungry."

Driel and Alcan began to sneak through the streets of Nikeah. Driel turned to Alcan and whispered, "I wonder who Lady DelAubre and Lord Akfek are?"

Alcan shook his head. "I don't know. They seem to be awfully popular with that merchant, though." He rolled the names around on his tongue. "DelAubrrre... Akkkfek...?"

"Hey, look! There's the item shop!" Driel gestured to a building across the street. They began to cross the street. Suddenly the merchant and at least five soldiers were coming around the inn, just down the block.

Alcan noticed the merchant and several soldiers with a start. He gasped and tackled Driel, pulling her behind a stack of large crates. "Driel, stay down!"

She looked at him in shock. "What are you doing? Get off of me."

Embarrassed, he pulled himself off of her. "Sorry." He held his finger to his lips. "Shhhh... soldiers."

The merchant's voice floated over to their hiding place. "They must be around here somewhere. Search until you've found them!"

Another voice was suddenly audible. "You better be right about this, old man. Sascha and Akfek will be very upset with you if we do not find them..."

Driel huddled close to Alcan. "My God! They'll find us!" she whispered. "What will we do?"

Alcan remained silent. He didn't want to frighten her more by telling her there was nothing they could do. His own fears began to creep up around him.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash. Then shouting. Alcan looked at Driel. "That sounded like someone just knocked over a whole house!"

One of the soldiers shouted, "Over here! Follow that noise!"

Alcan stood up and peered over the crates. "Wow. They're all running over to the other side of town! I wonder what's going on?"

Driel cautiously stood up next to Alcan. She looked at the crates. "I guess the whole town has been alerted to our presence." She bent over to inspect the crates more carefully. "I wonder what's inside these? Maybe it's something we can use?" She began to rip the top off of one of the crates.

Alcan looked at her with an odd expression. "We can't just steal this stuff!"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you have any other suggestions? There is no way we'll ever make it out of a supply shop with...."

Alcan interrupted her. "Are you sure this is the only way?" Not waiting for her answer, he swallowed hard and helped her remove the lid. "Well, there's some dried food in here," he said.

Driel quickly opened another crate. "There's some cure potions and some antidotes in here." She dug her hand down into the bottom of the crate. "I think there may be a couple of relics in here too." She closed the crate back up. "Here, I'll get this one, you take that one..." She cut off her sentence abruptly.

"What is it?" Alcan asked.

"Listen! Something's coming!" She looked in the direction of the noise. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Suddenly, Driel's mouth fell open. She tried to speak, but could get no sound to come out of her throat. She pointed to a large metal object walking towards them. "Ah... Ah..."

Alcan stared at the Magitek Armor with a sense of awe. "What IS that?" He looked at Driel. "Are you okay? What is...?" The Magitek Armor fired a bolt beam into a nearby stack of crates. Alcan's mouth fell open too, as he watched pieces of wood float down like feathers. "Let's get to the ship! Now!"

Driel nodded and grabbed her crate. Running toward the port, she prayed they could escape the metal terror, not to mention the soldiers just behind it.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Alcan saw the walking weapon change direction - to head straight for the docks. Startled, Alcan said, "Driel! We have to go. NOW!"

Driel blinked, her trancelike state broken, then nodded. "Sorry," she muttered as she stood up with her crate. The two then started for the docks, walking as quickly as they could.

It took them about three minutes to get to the docks. As they approached, Alcan said to himself, /Almost there./ He was painfully aware of the contraption lurching in their direction from somewhere behind them, but dared not look back to check on its progress lest he stumble and fall. /If we can just -/

He was interrupted by a sizzling blast of fire that streaked just over his and Driel's heads. It somehow missed all the ships in the harbor, and continued off into the distance.

"Damn," Alcan muttered. Then he said to Driel, "Run! Drop the crate!" He put his own crate down on the ground beside him.

"But -" Driel protested.

"No time!" Alcan interrupted, taking her crate from her and setting it on top of his. "RUN!" He took his own advice, and after an instant's hesitation, Driel followed.

Seconds later, though, another fiery blast seared the ground several feet in front of the two. They stopped just in time to avoid being singed themselves. "Damn," Alcan said again. "That's it, then." He and Driel turned to face their attacker.

As the walking weapon approached, the soldier sitting atop it called out, "You two have a ship?"

"Yes," Alcan replied, hoping Driel would not try to lie her way out of this. He had been horribly stupid not to pick up on her idea while talking to that merchant in Nikeah - Alcan didn't mind deception if the result was worth the cost of the lie - but lies here would gain them nothing, and might lose them their lives.

"No," Driel said at the same time, giving Alcan an elbow in the side.

"Yes, we do," Alcan repeated quickly. Then, turning to Driel, he whispered, "We've got a walking death machine in front of us and you want to lie to the guy? What are you trying to do, get us killed?" Driel glared at him but did not respond.

"You're trying to get out of Nikeah, right?" the soldier continued. He didn't wait for the obvious answer. "Get your stuff," he said, pointing at the crates Alcan had put on the ground. "I'll cover you." Then he turned the machine back towards the town and the soldiers that were now approaching from it.

"What?" Alcan said, surprised and doubtful. The soldier was going to help them?

"We have the same goal," the soldier called back. "Hurry!"

Alcan nodded and went back to the crates. Driel, following him, said in a worried tone, "Can we trust him just like that?"

"Do we have a choice?" Alcan replied wryly. He picked up the top crate and passed it to Driel. "Here, take this." Then he picked the other crate up. Near them, fire and electricity flashed alternately through the air.

Suddenly a nearby voice called out, "What's going on?"

Alcan turned to see a middle-aged man of moderate height striding toward them. As he approached, Alcan said, "We're trying to leave before we end up dead." He gestured at the soldiers coming from the town; while they were falling rapidly due to the soldier who was apparently trying to help them, there were many still standing. "Now if you'll excuse us..." He started toward the docks again, Driel following.

The man followed as well. "Do you own one of these ships?"

This time, it was Driel who answered. "Yes, and you're welcome to come with us or not, but decide fast."

At the same time, the soldier called out, "Let's move it! They've got more Armors coming our way!"

Alcan, Driel, and the newcomer quickened their steps. They reached the docks after about half a minute. As they passed the dock guard, Alcan noted with surprise that he was still asleep. /Or drugged...?/ he wondered. /Not that it matters. Any help's better than none./ Behind him, he heard the soldier and his machine heading for the docks as well. /Is he planning to join us?/ Alcan wondered.

Moments later, the three were aboard the Waverider. Alcan and Driel quickly began detaching the Waverider from the dock. Then Alcan saw that his guess had been right: the soldier was indeed planning to join them. Machine and all, apparently. Driel noticed as well, and immediately ran to the other side of the deck. Alcan wondered why - surely it was pointless to run from the soldier; there was nowhere to go - until he realized that Driel was going to try and counterbalance the machine's weight. He followed her, leaning against the rail.

As the soldier guided the machine onto the ship, it tilted a bit anyway, but not significantly. Then Driel untied the last of the ropes, and the Waverider began drifting slowly away from the dock.

Alcan looked back at the town. The soldiers had stopped, realizing that they could not reach the ship before it left. But then some began to step to the side, forming a pathway toward the town. Alcan looked to where the path's far end was - and saw, to his dismay, that another of the machines was heading for the aisle.

"Get down!" shouted the soldier on their ship, also seeing the new threat. Then he fired at it, and it was engulfed in sparks. Moments later, it exploded. The threat was not past, however; farther back, two more of the machines were approaching. "We need out of here, and fast!" said the soldier.

"I'd love to," Driel replied, "but the lack of wind isn't helping me any!"

/Wind.../ Alcan slapped himself mentally for having tried to magically cure Locke earlier, even though he knew he could not have anticipated this situation. Still, he could try... Concentrating, he made the air in their vicinity move slowly. Not enough, he saw; the machines would be close enough to have a good shot at them in seconds. Just a bit faster... and faster still...

* - * - *

"Alcan? Are you all right?"

Alcan realized he was lying on the deck. He lifted his head and blinked a few times, then rubbed his eyes until the blurriness in his vision went away - or mostly away, at least. Driel knelt by him, and standing nearby were two other men. One Alcan recognized as the man who had joined them on the way to the Waverider; the other, a younger man about Alcan's own age, must have been the soldier. "Did we... did we make it?" Alcan asked, as his brain slowly put together the information from his senses to tell him that they were indeed safe.

Driel nodded. "Yes, we're away from Nikeah now. What happened to you?"

"Not sure..." Alcan put his hand to his head as a wave of pain passed through him. "I was trying to get us some wind... must have collapsed." He stood up slowly, gingerly. "I'll be all right."

"Magic?" Driel asked, surprised. At Alcan's nod, she continued, "Umm... then I guess you saved us."

"Oh, please don't start with that," Alcan told her, feeling better now. "You'd have done the same in my place, I'm sure." Then he turned to the younger man. "And you are...?" He noticed that Driel's gaze still held a bit of suspicion for the man, as Alcan himself did.

"Cal Brody," the man replied. "And before you ask, I want as little to do with the Empire, *any* Empire, as possible. If I can use their own inventions against them -" He gestured toward the machine he had ridden. "- then so much the better."

"Just what is that thing, anyway?" Alcan interrupted. At Cal's surprised glance, he added, "I'm not from this world, so I'm not too familiar with it."

"I see," Cal said slowly. A pause, then: "That is Magitek Armor, a creation of the former Empire ruled by Emperor Gestahl. It's a combination of magic and technology, one of the deadliest weapons the Empire ever created."

"I'd figured that last part out, at least," Alcan said wryly. "But go on."

"Well, I was drafted into the Imperial army at the age of sixteen," Cal said. "I lived in Albrook - just south of Vector, the Imperial capital - at the time. So I went along with the other soldiers and fought. I didn't like it all that much, but I felt like I was doing my duty to the Empire... until Doma.

"I was stationed outside Doma when the orders came to invade. I wasn't part of the first assault; I stayed in the camp. Before long, the soldiers that were in the assault returned, saying that their commander had been killed and that Doma was already prepared for a siege. Then General Leo, who was in command of the whole operation, left at Gestahl's orders, and he left General Kefka in charge. Or maybe Kefka put himself in charge; I don't know."

"The same Kefka that...?" Alcan started.

Cal nodded. "That decided he was going to be a god or something and kill off everyone else. Just like at Doma. He ordered the water poisoned..." Cal shuddered slightly at the memory. "After that... I couldn't be a part of it anymore. We were recalled later, and when we stopped in Nikeah on the way... I left. I've never been back to Albrook... I don't even know whether my parents are still alive.

"I found a job with a shopkeeper after the army left. She offered to let me live with her and her daughter in exchange for my helping her with the shop. I agreed, of course. And that's what I did for the past year... until yesterday. Yesterday, when the new Empire attacked. Tara and Jo... were killed by a blast from one of the Armors in the Empire's invasion force."

Alcan smiled sadly. "Welcome to the club." At Cal's confused stare, he continued, "My parents were both murdered... at least, my father was; my mother disappeared eight and a half years ago, and I don't know what's become of her." Alcan astonished himself with how easily he talked about it now. Perhaps it was that Cal had had similar experiences... or perhaps talking about it with Driel had helped him come to terms with his loss; he was not as upset over his family's death as he used to be. "And Driel lost her brother in a storm. Her best friend was kidnapped, and we were originally searching for her before this mess." He gestured in the direction of Nikeah. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Driel give him a surprised glance, but nothing more.

Alcan, Driel, and Cal then turned to the older man. Driel opened her mouth to ask his identity, but he cleared his throat before she could speak.

"Syn Unne, weapon seller," he introduced himself. "I'm afraid I don't really have a tale of woe to tell you. I grew up in Narshe and was an apprentice to the weapon seller there. Then I headed to South Figaro and started my own shop and a family. The Empire invaded, so I came here with my kids. They've since grown up and gone their own ways... and I've just continued my business."

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the sounds of the water. Then Cal turned to Alcan. "You said you're not from this world? How? And where *are* you from?"

* - * - *

Later, Alcan and Driel stood at the bow of the ship. Cal and Syn were talking with each other farther back on the deck.

"Well, it looks like our little group has nearly doubled in size," Alcan commented.

"Yup," Driel responded. "And to think we'd just planned on finding Lola..." She swung almost instinctively toward the northeast, toward where she could *feel* Lola to be. A moment later, she continued, "I wonder how Banon is doing with his Returners. I hope they've had more luck than we have."

"If they're having any luck, I wish they'd lend us some," Alcan said with a chuckle. "We could use it."

Neither said anything further for a while. Alcan recalled the names the merchant in Nikeah had mentioned, the apparent leaders of this Empire. /Lady DelAubre and Lord Akfek. Odd, especially that last one. But why does it sound so familiar? Akfek... Akfek.../ Suddenly he realized why. /A-K-F-E-K... backwards, K-E-F...K...A.../ He turned to Driel, startled at his own conclusion. "Umm, Driel... you remember that merchant talking about the two leaders? Lady DelAubre and Lord Akfek? Well, if you take Akfek and spell it backwards..."

"K-E-F-K-A... *Kefka?*" she exclaimed. "Wonderful. Just what we need, another aspiring demigod. I'll bet he took that name on purpose."

Alcan shrugged. "Could just be coincidence... but I'll admit that's unlikely."

Another pause. Then Alcan said, "I wonder how Locke is doing. I hope he recovers soon."

Driel nodded. "That would be..." Suddenly she gasped, and her face brightened. "Quite possible!" she finished.

"You mind clueing me in?"

"Remember those crates we picked up?" Driel explained, heading toward them. "One had some Tonics and Antidotes. Maybe those will help him. It's worth a try, at least."

"Worth a try..." Alcan repeated, following her. "I suppose anything's worth a try..."