Aritemes opened his eyes to blinding light and the eternal flames of hell clasping down upon his soul, claiming him theirs as they drug him down, down, down. In seconds his entire life flashed before his eyes, from when he as a small child and left his family to train to his last kill, every death, every life, and in all that time he had spared no one whom he wasn't supposed to. As hell was dying off, in a blaze of red fury, pulses of energy coursed throughout the open air, through his body, through the world about him.

Once once it had passed and he couldn't feel anything new did he open his eyes.

There was stubble on his chin that he'd have to shave off soon, that was the first thing he noticed. His clothing was torn open and bloodied despite his wounds being sealed. Someone had taken time to wrap bandages around him, yet they did not address the wounds with salve or magic, leaving them to stay closed up. Just glancing down as he did there were several long cuts he could see that weren't covered, ones that would definitely scar him for life. As he sat up he found that they didn't hurt like new wounds-only had a dull pain like those that had been healing for days on end.

A chain was wrapped around his ankles, attached to a stone wall only a child's length away, and even closer to him as another man, also held down by his ankles. He fingered the metal before frowning, looking around and trying to gain his bearings. The room wasn't that large, had one small door on the far end of it, and held three others besides him, one of which he was certain was dead.

The closest man was someone he'd known since birth-someone who's name and face was engraved into his mind and someone he'd sworn to be a loyal subject to for as long as he might live. Arnold Ka, the sworn Lord of Partrall, the King of Partrall, and the leader of the Assassin's Guild. The guy who fought in nine battles before the age of twenty, winning each one, and whom killed his father to ascend the thrown. He'd met the man four times in his life, and each time found himself humbled in his presence.

"My Lord," he whispered, bowing down low. His stomach cried out in pain, red blossoming upon the bandaged wounds, but he did not lift himself back up until he felt a touch on his head. "What-what hath happened?"

The man shook his head, moving himself until he was sitting upon his crossed legs. "I hath been betrayed."

"By who?"

"The witch-Arabelle. Her and her sister used the orb to not only enslave me, but to take over both Gardelle and Partrall," he said. His voice was low, almost meet. Arnold was a man defeated-his long black hair in dismay, having fallen out of the pony tail he'd kept it in, and his shoulders, normally kept proud and tall, were slumped. "Mine kingdoms...they art gone. Mine loyal slave, thou be no longer in mine service-how can one be in the service of a man fallen?"

"Woe be to you," Aritemes told him, lowering his head some. He kept most of his body on the ground, holding himself up by his arms to reduce the throbbing pain. "But I swear to you upon mine family's graves that I shall never be any slave other than yours. Thou art my leader and none could ever replace that, good Lord Arnold. Mine service shalt never end, as thou hath spared me mine life so I must devote it to you."

"Nay, Aritemes."

Aritemes blinked, "You...you know mine name?"

Arnold nodded, sighing great and deep. "Yes, I know all the names of the assassins. But I say unto you now-you are a kind and loyal subject, and whatsoever shall happen you will no longer owe debt to me. There shall be no Partrall when this be over...no matter if the witch is stopped or not."

"But--"

"Do not try and speak otherwise. In the days here I have come to realize this, that I am only human. Aritemes, do you know why I so badly desired to hold control over the world?" he asked. Aritemes just looked at him, uncertain how he should respond. The man continued his speech, sad and sure. "Because mine father had told me to rule the world so that way it may never be ruint by anyone. And yet...how hath I done better? Nay, the thrown shall be passed down to mine brother's children, as mine are dead and they know more of ruling than I ever had. Gardelle shall be left to Gardelle. But that is only if it is not destroyed, as the witches plan to rule the world and destroy it under their hands. I hath failed my father deeply."

"No, sir, you hath not failed," Aritemes said.

"How could I not have?"

"A man to admit his own faults is more man than anyone who is foolish enough not to. You hath not let pride and greed destroy you, instead you used it to your advantage. Partrall has done well under your ruling, and when thou resigns it shall continue to do well."

Arnold's lips rose into a smile, his eyes crinkling and his body calm. He nodded, "You shalt help me escape and break this hold, no?"

"Of course, my lord."

They drew into a long and uncomfortable silent, egged on by Aritemes's pain and the shame that Arnold still held over himself. Neither man spoke to the other two in the room, the sleeping/dead one remained that way, and the other just sat against a wall, his teeth gritted tight and his face hard set. The man was small, hardly bigger than a boy, but had a beard and a knife in his hands. He was muttering under his breath every so often, a few dangerous words of death and hate and lies. Lies came up the most.

The small man coughed loud before announcing, "They're keeping us here for another day. They plan to execute the four of us along with the others in the cells to the East and West of us." His voice was calm and collected, but his fists were white and his jaw was hard set.

Arnold drew in his breath fast, "But why execute you three as well?"

He shrugged, then sighed deeply. "Thou might be king and have any army thy commands, but I am the last of my nation. He," the man tilted his head to Aritemes, "is your loyal servant. And he be the wizard Destrim, whom Lady Cyliaria vowed to kill several times over before his actual death. In the cell to the East are four of your highest men, Arnold of Partrall, and to the West lies the Queen, the Princess, and her companions. It seems that only the Prince and his knight have yet to be found by way of magic. Tomorrow at noon we are to be executed as her first act as 'God'."

"God?" Aritemes frowned, spitting onto the ground. "How can one be so fool-hearted as to believe thyseves a god?"

"Shh!" The small man waved his chained hands about as far as they could stretch. His voice was a harsh whisper, "Do not speak so loudly of her! Doth thou wish to die now a fool and let down thy king?"

Aritemes was silent. Again, the silence stretched about the small room, hitting the walls and bouncing between all of them. Only the sounds of harsh breathing and the occasional groans from the mostly-dead man were to be heard. In Aritemes's own head it was silent, all except for one thought that chilled him to the bones and rendered him useless.

How would we ever escape?

***

As Bostrim's fingers were freezing off he couldn't help but wonder why he had to be left with two idiots who coudn't even remember how the system worked without Mirian. He turned to Leunk and Rorro with his eyebrows pressed together and his lips pursed. "Can ya ta shut up so's I can get us outta here? We's gotta find where they took Mirian!"

"And the Princess," Leunk reminded him. He had a smile in his eyes when he said her title, and it stayed there until Rorro hit him on the arm. "Hey! What was that for?"

"Ya bein' stupid," he said. His Parese accent was hard to miss, very thick and choppy. Still, it was better than them trying to understand him in his language, as neither boy spoke but a handful of words from there-all of which were curses, curtsey of Mirian. "She told me she had a gang, not two stupid scum-boys."

Bostrim breathed in and out until he didn't feel like there was a fire in his chest, then he gave Rorro his full attention. He let his shoulders go up and his stance strand straighter, leaning down just some as he looked at the boy. It didn't matter that Rorro was almost his size. "Our gang be ta best gang in all o' Gardelle," he said, doing his best not to punch the boy, "and if ya say one more bad word on us I'll skin ya alive and grind your bones ta a stew so's when we's get Mirian back she's got somethin' nice ta eat." He paled more than he was before, if that was even possible, and Bostrim grinned and started walking once more.

They were in the tunnels, which had gone icy-cold for some reason, and were trying to find their way to the castle. Somewhere there, they knew, they could find Mirian and the Princess and save them both before they could be hurt. After Mirian had disappeared so did Destrim, though they figured the old wizard would find himself okay eventually, and after Destrim was gone a few hours later the Princess up and disappeared as well, along with her pretty servant. There was still no sign of Luistia or the Prince, and they just knew that the two had to have been captured as well. That left the three of them to save the day.

Or, rather, it left Bostrim to figure out how to save the day and the other two to sit there and act like babies until it was all over. At least it meant they'd know who was the real leader of the gang-besides Mirian. Bostrim knew that Mirian would always outrank him with her skills, and her ability to lead like no one's business. I'm gonna be by her side, he thought, and we's gonna be fine. I bet's she'll escape on her own and we'll both end up savin' the day. We'll be heroes!

"It's cold," Leunk whined. He held his arms over his chest, shivering under his pathetic layer of cloth he called a shirt. Bostrim shook his head, then took off his shirt and threw it at him. It was cold, and his body was already numb in places, but he didn't care. Leunk took the shirt without saying a word. Then, "Boss, what's the plan?"

"Hush."

Both boys went quiet as they followed Bostrim, who was walking east through the tunnels. The small but well made tunnels had only a little light, which came from the torch Bostrim had managed to light. It didn't glow like the magic balls Destrim would make for them when they were going on missions, but the orange and yellow light was bright enough to show them what they were stepping on as they stepped on it. Bostrim's eyes weren't the best, and certainly weren't in the dark, but he led without even a hint of fear on him.

Mirian, he knew, was deadly afraid of the dark. Yet they always did their missions at night, when the dark was thick and heavy enough to weigh her down and keep her forever. Often he would find her curled up in a ball after everyone had left, trying to calm herself down. She made him swear to never, ever, tell anyone else about it. On their missions she was strong and silent, often telling the others that there was nothing to fear in the dark and that only babies were scared of it. She was good-they never failed. So he couldn't let himself get scared. Not of the dark, not of the creepy tunnels, and definitely not of the war going on above his head. Though the fighting had all but stopped, the magic was wrecking havoc on the city. Partrall must've been really trying to kill them off, he figured, otherwise there'd be no way they'd let so many of their own die from the magic storm as well.

"Boss-"

"I's tellin' you ta hush."

"No, Boss-"

"Leunk, I'm gonna pound yous head in until yous dead until you shuts up."

He was quiet at that, thought he was trembling and his teeth were chattering loudly. Bostrim knew it was cold but the boy was acting more like a little twelve year old than he'd thought. That's whats I get, he thought, hangin' with the little 'uns of the group. That Rorro kid looks youngish ta. How's I gonna go and saves Mirian and ta Princess whenever I'm stuck with two little 'uns? He only had a year over them, the same that Mirian had over them though her Birthday wasn't to come until the winter months. Lucky for him, Bostrim was born during the spring, thirteen springs old, though no one in the group but Mirian knew that. As far as they knew, she wasn't just older than the rest of them, she was stronger and more fearless than they could ever be. That, the fact that she was taller than him, helped a lot.

The two behind him were making a lot of noise as they walked onwards, turning at the nearest open spot in the wall and starting south. Their feet were shuffling against the ground, falling in irregular patterns. Even their breathing as weird-both of them had even breaths until one of them would cough, and then it would be a dark, deep wheeze. Heavier footsteps and running. Leunk, can't ya just keep up?

"Come on ya guys! We's on a mission, don't be slacking."

"Boss-"

Rorro's voice cut through the air like a freshly sharpened knife. "There's something following us!" he shouted, then started running. Bostrim paused midstep, only to be pushed aside by the two boys as they continued on down towards the carpenters. "Run, Bostrim!"

Bostrim turned to where they were just at, eyes opening wide as he saw some sort of mangled, tall bear-like creature open its mouth and let out a strangled cry. It was clothed in odd colored brown cloth and didn't rear back from the torch he held-rather, the creature advanced towards it. It growled in an awkward manner, it's voice trying to go low but stuck in a high pitch that made it sound more like that of a birds. It didn't have any hands or arms, yet it's body was standing on the two legs it had and slouching over as it creeped closer to him.

Leunk and Rorro had stopped running when they reached the door, and Rorro was whispering something fierce under his breath, yet Bostrim ignored them both. He held himself in a defensive stance, eyes holding onto the beasts as he gently swayed the fire about before him, taunting it. Try as he might it was hard to spot any weakness in the beast. Despite missing any arms it had large teeth and held itself assured. It was bleeding, he knew, but that was on its back and it couldn't have been too painful as it ignored the wound even as drops hit the ground in an almost lyrical way.

"Bostrim," Leunk whispered, "Bostrim--"

"Shut up." He breathed in deeply, taking the smallest step backwards and making certain that he didn't let the creature leave his sight. Any second and it would attack-it was his job to get rid of it before they could be hurt. "Leunk, get that dammed door open, ya hear? Do's like Mirian does."

Rorro was the one to respond, his voice certain, "It won't work."

"What do you mean?" It was getting harder and harder for him not to look behind him, not to start running and hit the door like they had. The creature kept advancing and he let it get close, only a breath away, before moving back more and more, making certain that the fire was keeping it further away. "Come on ya guys, don't craps me. Just get door open. I can't hold off long!"

"I'm tryin'-"

"Let me try something, I think mine magic fix this," Rorro interrupted, then broke back into his deranged whispery words. His voice was a spider, weaving a delicate web to catch some fly. His words were of silver and his fingers were darkened hews of death and broken clouds of white and gray forming and dripping onto one another. Bostrim shivered, not liking the way he sounded. It was dark and terrible, nothing like Mirian's magic. Her magic was soft and kind, nice, lovely, not hateful and dark. It couldn't ever be hateful and dark, he knew it couldn't.

"Hurry it faster."

"Est Iche demstra osteri elaina chu..." Now his words were almost actual magic words, Bostrim knew, because the wizard and Mirian would speak magic words to themselves often. The other ones, thought, were not any of the good magic he'd seen before. They had to be from Partrall, just as he was, and they couldn't be anything good. The boy is going to kill us, he thought. Sweat stung his eyes as he continued to move back, the fire hot as he was holding it closer to his body. Even through the cold he knew the fire would eat him alive. He's gonna use his Partrall spells ta kill us and get away, that's why he's not opening the doors-
Splintering wood and a large bang as something fell down. Smoke clouding the entire tunnel and in that second he dropped the torch and ran for the door, running in just as the other two boys picked back up the door and held it tight. Rorro whispered more of his darkness and the door sealed again, holding itself stiff and barely moving even when the creature attacked it. Rorro's words made a ball of light appear in the air, following them and keeping the darkness from taking them.

Without hesitation he ran to the other end of the room and broke the barrels that were attached to the wall. Years before Mirian had shown him the door there that led to more tunnels, and he knew that if he was going to get to the castle they'd have to go through several more. He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes, then touched the door gently.

It opened.

If he'd ever wondered what it was like to be a real leader before he now had his answer. The two boys were following him, and had closed the door behind him, without question. They didn't say a word as they continued to run, this time eastward and slowly edging south again as they slowly got closer to the tailers. There they wouldn't even have to quit running, all they had to do was avoid the door and keep going, then they'd be in the lowest part of the castle. For two hours they ran like that, not stopping until they couldn't possibly go on without gasping for air every second. Bostrim held up his hand as he stopped running, watching as they fell against the walls and each other.

Leunk raised his arm up and coughed, "Boss...what's..."

"The plan?" Bostrim asked, then he gave them a small smile, chest heaving. "We're...going ta crawl through the castle tunnels until we's gets ta where they hold prisoners. They won't see what him 'em, and we'll take back Mirian and ta Princess and ta others and we's gonna be heroes. They're gonna hav'ta respect us and make us knights just like Mirian said, eh? We's don't even hav'ta do more missions."

"Really?" His eyes shined bright as the floating orb cast shadows over him, and the crooked smile on his face was impossible to miss. Warmth flooded Bostrim's chest.

"Yeah," he said, giving him a short nod. Then he moved his head about, trying to figure in his head just how close they were to the castle.

Rorro kicked the wall. "Yous guys think yaselves heroes? Alls I'm doin' is gettin' back mine friend. Once she's back I'ma blowing this place behind me like Arabelle smokes."

"What?" Leunk asked, tilting his head to the side. "Ya leavin'?"

"Why should I's stay? Partrall won. When I go home we's gonna be all mine country. And Mirianette is goin' with me, we's learnin' magic together and she's fun. She's mine girl."

That warm feeling turned to stone in Bostrim's throat, and he gripped the sides of his body hard. "She's your what?" His words were perfect, no slang, nothing broken at all. The only thing broken was inside of him, angry yet distant.

He kicked the wall again, then made his face into an angry one, scrunching it up and making his nose go up. "Doesn't matter. Keep going. Or is that all of ya plan? Just ta go in there an' get us killed?" His words were laced with acid.

"The lost are dead and gone," Bostrim said, his words equally harsh. "We's gonna take who's gonna stay alive, the ones found but stuck. We gonna get them and leave, and that's the plan. You have a better one get outta here and figure it out yourself, 'cause here I'm ruling. You are scum, boy, and Mirian is my friend. You hear me? Mine. She will never, ever, ever be yours, and when this is over Gardelle will have won and Partrall will be nothing more than a joke-"

"Stop!"

Both of them turned to Leunk, who was still breathing heavily and had tears in his eyes.

"Let's get Mirian. She's the boss, not you," he said, brushing past the both of them and walking on. The orb was following him instead of the others, and after sharing a look both boys followed, uncertain of what just happened.