I took the immaculate sheets, already stained with my blood, ripped off a clean stretch of it and placed it under my armpit as I took a bottle of tilean spirits and doused my hand. The pain seared me and I nearly swooned, but it woke me up and put a crispness to my senses. I wrapped the newly made bandage about my palm as tightly as I could, grimacing. I felt sand sliding through an hourglass in my mind as the banging against the chamberlains door echoed across the hall, but I knew we could do little to halt them in our current state.

"Did you recognize the gentlemen that ran in here?" I asked her as I rolled over the bed to the other side.

"Tey weer frum last night," she said, following my lead and speaking in Riekspiel. I was glad for that, accompanied by her good memory. It further proved my theory she would not be a liability in a tight situation like this. I quickly donned some breeches and shoes and threw my cloak on, grabbing my skull-headed staff and retrieving the pistol I had procured from one of Marco's toughs the night before. "Can yu do that agayn?" Camilla asked inquisitively.

My mind whirred before I realized she meant the smiting light from Sigmar.

"I have a few tricks, but no. I almost did not think I could do it there." I said. Were it not for the blood gushing from my hand and the desperation in my voice, I did not know if my lord would have noticed the plight to answer. The world was large after all, even for a god, and sometimes in his wisdom he deigned not to aid his faithful. And even if he had been watching, I was not exactly the pinnacle of the order.

A crack erupted and shouts rose. My heart leaped in my throat, and I sprinted out of the room, Camilla following behind wearing a smart jerkin and brown trousers. They hugged her curves delightfully, but I hadn't the time to appreciate it as we leaped out of the door and ran down the hall, rushing into the broken door of the chamberlain's rooms to find the four men that had run in to slay him in his bed. I was just as stunned as they were to see the chamberlain was absent.

One man turned when we entered, and the other three simultaneously followed his lead to looked up. I glanced around to make certain the fat codger hadn't snuck behind a curtain, before my gaze met theirs. Two of them held spears, one had a sword at his hip and the other lifted a crossbow my way. I did not recognize the man, and in fact their uniforms were of prince romeo's retinue. I wasn't certain how trustworthy that was, and at the moment all I cared about were their designs on the lives of myself and my master. I quickly threw myself across the lobby to avoid the crossbow bolt, the armor piercing missile embedding itself an inch into the fine wood of the partially ajar door, swinging it open in time for Camilla to come in behind me.

"Camilla, run!" I said, trying to get to my feet. My hand burned with pain as it pushed against the floor, my heavy headed staff bumping into the carpeted floor as I lifted myself. The two spearman charged me at the swordsman's orders. I lifted my pistol at the two tileans bearing down on me, aimed, and fired. The pistol discharged in a roaring puff of smoke. The air was clear in my eyesight, however, and I saw the ball hit the man on the right at the curve of his breastplate. It caused a dent in the armor, but to my surprise the ball ricocheted and punched straight through his fellow spearman's temple, blood and bone fragments flying out to stain the expensive floor.

I supposed the gods did have a sense of humor.

Hastily I blocked the first spear thrust with my staff, but my injury and the crossbowman in the back reloading his weapon did not bode well for me.

I could only watch in abject horror as the crossbowman fitted the bolt into his weapon, cocked it back and pointed it at Kian. Part of my mind, the part which kept track of shifting political currents was trying to determine if this were a coup by one of the Triumvirs. It was difficult to know who would have an incentive to murder an Imperial Ambassador, although perhaps framing someone for doing so might be a benefit.

"No!" I shouted and stepped forward as the crossbowman fired. I waved the sword in desperate negation and to everyone's evident amazement the bolt cracked into the blade and sent the weapon spinning from my hands, deflecting it away from Kian's chest. Everyone froze for a second to stare at the spectacle.

"That is enough luck for one day," the surviving spearman said, drawing back his weapon to thrust it at me now that I had no weapon. I danced aside as he thrust knocking the shaft sideways with my hips as I snatched up a marble bust of Myrmidia from the mantle and brought it around in a wide arc that crashed into the side of the spearman's helmet. He staggered back, dropping his weapon in a daze. I glanced around desperately for a weapon, and lunged for the dropped sword. The uninjured mercenary kicked it aside and struck me across the shoulders with the hilt of his sword, sending me tumbling to the ground. I hit hard and rolled onto my back, looking up as the mercenary stood over me raising his sword. I felt cold terror surge through my body, but before he could thrust home I saw his eyes widen. A figure leaped over the top of me, dressed in fine silk and carrying a ridiculously heavy broadsword.

"Le Dame!" Guy de Pounce shouted as he brought down his weapon in a great overhead blow. The mercenary brought up his slender weapon in an attempt to parry but the heavy Brettonian weapon knocked. The mercenary's arm, severed at the elbow dropped to the marble floor, fingers spasming around the hilt of his sword. Guy whipped his sword around in a figure eight which took the man's head from his shoulders. The surviving spearman turned and ran, casting away his weapon and leaping through a window, crashing into the shrubbery below. Guy glared after him, the tips of his thin mustache twitching with irritation as his nostrils flared.

"Cowardly zellswords," he sniffed as he wiped his blade clean on one of the fallen men's tunic.

"I thank you sir for your timely intervention. It seems..." I was going to ascertain that Sigmar truly watched over us this day, but I figured he would not take to the concept as I would so I continued with, "the gods are watching over us," in a more diplomatic approach. He laughed, jaunting over to our position and wiping the blood from his blade on his own cloak.

"Yoo ar queite reight," He said in his heavy accent, sheathing his sword. He poised himself as if he were propositioning at court, anything between a duel and a suggestion of courting. "An I seuppose yoor schamberlain iss missing, no?"

"Very astute sir," I conceded with an inclination of my head. I was eager to move, if for no other reason than to keep myself and Camilla out of harms way. Of course, if I could find Schulz in the meantime, that would be ideal. "I suggest we go search for him immediately, but if you have more pressing business of your own I will not hold you to any quest, sir."

"Non, I am ze ambassador ah-myself. I will, howevere, follow ze innocent ladie," He remarked chivalrously, smiling kindly to Camilla. She gave him a dazzling smile I could almost believe was sincere, had I not seen her give the same to other courtiers of the court. I saw no reason to pause, and so at my ushering we heading into the main corridor of the west wing of the palace. I had seen violence before, but the deaths of the men a scant few minutes ago and the bodies we found strewn across the floor made me quite glad Camilla and I had not yet eaten breakfast. Some furniture was overturned in haste whilst others were unmoved and even unblemished from the blood that pooled in various imperfections and crevasses of the tiled floor.

"By the hammer, what could cause such calamity?" I asked aloud, kneeling down to close the eyes of a tilean swordsman. He was no more than a boy, the barest hint of facial hair creeping onto his chin. In the distance, the clash of steel on steel and cries could still be heard, but before we could go further, a familiar face rounded the corner.

Captain Muller and a retinue of twenty of our imperial men followed him. Some were bruised and bandaged but all looked in fighting shape. The Captain called his men to a halt, his eyes on me first and foremost. He looked past my shoulder and then approached. "Where is the Chamberlain?"

"He wasn't in his rooms." I said, confusion evident on my face. "Are you telling me you didn't get him out?"

"Do you bloody see him with us!?" The Captain growled, frustrated. I did not press the issue, even though I was wild before his eyes fell on Camilla. I was not close to the captain by any stretch, but I knew that look. I stepped between the two of them before he even raised his sword to point at the woman. "Who is she? Why are you traveling with a tilean trollop? She could be a spy for all you know!"

"She is not a spy, hell the men tried to kill her!" I said vehemently.

The Captain narrowed his eyes at me, a bit of shrewdness finally poking through the haze of anger. "Did you meet her yesterday? Where were you last night?" He asked.

I laughed as if it were the most predictable and pathetic thing I had ever heard, clutching my staff in both hands, jiggling it as I spoke to give my words more of a mocking tone. "Yes, truly. 'This woman sucked my cock so well that I would vouche for her after being here just one day.' Do you listen to yourself? I found her scared out of her mind in the halls and being assailed, and the Brettonian ambassador here helped me defend her. Don't insult me, even I wouldn't sleep with a local woman after one night here."

I was glad I sounded very sure of myself, but I braced myself in case Camilla chortled. Perhaps lying wasn't the most noble thing to do, but it kept us from killing each other. The fact it was my mouth on her rather than the opposite gave a bit of truth to the falsehood, and the mental image of her lips below my belt had my heart suddenly racing. Gods, I was hopeless, wasn't I? The small thought Camilla might be a spy and I was blindly guarding her after a wondrous night was also an unsettling prospect, but no, I wasn't going to entertain that idea at the moment. One enemy at a time.

"So, lead on Captain. Wherever the Chamberlain is, he's not in the west wing." I replied.

There was a final moment of tension and then the Imperials seemed to relax. I had to admit they were a tough looking crew, they lacked the strut and swagger of proper Condottieri, but the certainly looked like they could handle themselves. I peeled back the curtains and looked out over the city. Smoke was rising in several places, a sure sign that the fighting extended beyond the palace.

"These were Marco's men," I announced, to the general surprise of everyone in the room. It was a pretty typical reaction from millitary men, they were normally hypnotized by the tits and hips and any use they imagined for my mouth didn't involve speaking. The fact they had no idea who had taken their ambassador or where they might look for him also hadn't occured to them.

"Meaning what?" Kian asked, holding a hand up to stop the troops from marching out. I drew a deep breath.

"Meaning that Marco dosen't have your Ambassador, or he wouldn't be sending people looking for him, and he wouldn't be sending people looking for him if he didn't need him for something. Probably he has already seized the gold your Emperor Frank sent and he needs your ambassador to ratify that HE is the ruler of Remas and thus the gold is his," I explained speaking very slowly as though to children. Kian coughed.

"You were... speaking Tilean there," he told me and I coughed with embarassment.

"Who do you think took him then?" Kian asked, smoothing saving me from having to repeat the whole thing.

"Well, by process of elimination it has to be one of the other Triumirs," I continued in Riekspiel.

"They probably want him as a hedge against Marco," I told them. I didn't mention they might kill the ambassador and try to hang the whole thing on Marco. I doubted it. It wasn't the way of Remas politics to forclose an option so soon but one never knew. If Marco's coup was going to be successful then the Ambassador was a powerful barganing chip.

"What should we do then?" Muller demanded.

"You should defend this wing," I advised, "the ambassador is useful, but the rest of you are witnesses. So long as you hold here though you have leverage. One party or the other will have to deal with you."

"Why here, there are better places to fort up surely?" Muller demanded. That was true, the gatehouses and the citadel were literal fortresses.

"Once you are out of the palace, it will be too easy to barricade you out, plus they will be able to say you ran away and they had to 'save' your ambassador," I explained.

"Listen bitch we don't run away from..." Muller flared.

"I run away all the time," I cut him off, "but the right move now is for me to go and figure out where your ambassador has gotten off to."

Muller looked at Kian arching an eyebrow in question. The priest nodded his agreement.

"Alright boys, fan out, knock some of this fancy furniture over and build some barricades, start barring windows. Krieger, take a couple of lads and raid the kitchens, lets not make it easy starve us out," the old veteran barked. I leaned close to Kian as soldiers began tramping this way and that.

"If I'd sucked your cock last night, you'd be ready to swear I was Shyalla returned," I whispered.

If last night was not a clear enough indication, I was on the verge of becoming intoxicated with this woman. I could use fouler and more suggestive language, but let's just say when she whispered the statement in my ear I quite lost my train of thought.

"You know I'm quite open with converting to that sort of faith," I said softly, turning to face her, our noses brushing we were so close. "I don't think Sigmar could blame me for it."

My head managed to take hold of me for a brief enough moment to reign myself in as my eyes snapped to the left and saw the Captain turning toward us. I was quick enough to back off to a 'chaste' distance when his eyes fell on me, my arms crossed and my hand on my chin, professionally poised, appearing deep in some manner of thought.

"Get going!" He barked, waving us away. Gladly, I thought, but gave the impression I was merely acquiescing with his request and led Camilla out of the west wing into the corridor that led to the central halls of the palace. We saw the occasional body or broken vase, but other than distant shouts and the sounds of what I could only imagine were the discharge of firearms, there was little danger thus far. I pressed my bandaged hand against the wall and grimaced from the pain. My fingers ached and yearned to go back into a more comfortable, lax position, but I had learned from a few Dwarfen merchants in Altdorf that one could ascertain many things by placing their hands upon stone or other hard surfaces. I took a moment and closed my eyes, letting my strong hand hold my holy staff. The skull at its top a solid weight to keep whatever I might feel between my hand and the floor.

"Erm, what are you doing?" Camilla asked in tilean, confused but not wishing to disturb me lest it was some arcane ritual I was performing. In a way, it was. The divine lore of Sigmar was a power the Warrior-God could imbue his more noteworthy followers, but what the layman did not realize was the concentration one needed in order to worship the diety in a way that might garner his attention and holy powers. Such techniques could potentially be linked to eastern texts having come from far Cathay, or perhaps even the island nation of Nippon. Others with even more heretical ideas thought it came from the elves and their performances with magic. The history was suspect, but I took what kernels of truth I could from the rumors and applied it to my abilities for real world application. I had long ago grown learned to such practices of meditation in order to help me with my prayers, and I utilized the skill here to see if I could find what came next, ahead of us.

Unfortunately, it seemed I hadn't the time.

"Kian!" Camilla cried. Pulling my mind out of the pit I had just dipped my toes into was jarring, but I opened my eyes to see a group of crossbowmen and pikemen arrayed around us. Perhaps a dozen in all. Even still, I felt an inkling of the power I was about to grasp hovering at the edges of my consciousness. I loathed to find out how taxed I would be from using it, but perhaps I hadn't a choice.

"My, my, if it is not the man of the hour," a familiar voice said in heavily accented reikspeil. I turned and saw Marco Telli, a decorated jacket adorning an immaculate satin dress shirt, smiling evilly. His eyes flickered to Camilla. "Ah, and Imelda's new girl, is it? You do move quick, signor priest. This is quite a rare flower."

"Camilla de la Trantio," She said without a hint of fear, her dark hair whipping behind her like a proud stallion's mane. "I am taking teh preest of Sigmoor to Lady Mondo. Yoo would do well noot to hinder oos."

"And you would do well to speak when spoken to," He shot back in quick tilean. I breathed a sigh, knowing there was little chance we could get out of this one. Even if I cast what powers I had, it would only delay the inevitable. We were quite surrounded, you see. I stepped off the wall and fixed my hair, determined to die in dignity. I hoped they would let Camilla go, but I was quite finished. That is, until I felt a keen breeze against my left cheek and glanced past the wall I had leaned on to see an open window, next to a thick curtain rope coiled onto the white floor. "Perhaps I will send you back to Mondo without your head! Keep your tongue to yourself lest I take it. Would be such a shame to lose something so talented."

"Gentleman!" I said, holding up my bandaged hand suddenly, taking one step so I stood by Camilla. I lifted my staff gently off the floor, muttering a small prayer under my breath. By Sigmar's endless grace, I hoped this worked. "I was remiss, I must confess. I see now how foolish it was of me to not speak with you earlier, your gallantry prince Marco. I am an interloper here. I have no right to your food or your women or your respect..."

Marco raised an eyebrow, suspicious but not displeased. As I continued he gained a self satisfied smile, crossing his arms. "Go on, priest."

"Yes, it was terribly impolite and unbecoming. You, with such a great name in the greatest city in the old world. I should get upon my knees and beg your forgiveness, throwing myself upon the mercy of your majesty and boundless kindness. However, there is one thing I must do before I renounce my old loyalties completely and beg for my life." I confessed, my bandaged hand a gentle fist now placed against my chest. I played the role as if I were in a melodrama. Even some of the soldiers watched intently, interested beyond mere orders. "I promised I would have breakfast with the lovely Camilla and I scant think of a crueler replacement to such an activity than gazing upon your grotesque image any longer, you ugly piece of shit."

The butt of my staff hit the marble floor as I placed my bandaged hand before Camilla's eyes to shield her, and from the eyes of my stave's bronze skull erupted the light of the sun. The priests of my cult gave this sigmarite prayer the ostentatious name of 'Beacon of Righteous Virtue,' but it served just as well against men with unprotected eyes. It was used to dispell chaos spirits and undead abominations, but one could use it in many ways I found. The men's vision was overwhelmed immediately, crying out and throwing their weapons as they clutched their faces. Two crossbows loosed, but one bolt flew wide while the other hit his fellow pikeman in the groin.

I took no time to delay. I grabbed Camilla by the waist, grimacing from having to use my ruined hand, wrapped the thick rope by the window around my opposite arm, and stepped onto the window over a canopy of greenery twenty feet below us. Camilla quickly wrapped around me to better help use her weight to let the inevitable swing work, and the next moment we sailed over empty air to another hall opposite the corridor we had just left. Our rope was, of course, anchored from the window itself and did not swing far. I had to use my head and desperately thrust my staff forward, vainly trying to hook the wings my the skull against a crevasse, only to have it slip and send us swinging back over the canopy.

We were too far down to go back into the window, but I expected the rope to be cut at any second, and so instead I opted to let go as soon as we had been flung over an alcove. The both of us hit a partially opened stained window, spinning so I got the worst of the damage. I suppose I was chivalrous like that, but we managed to topple into a secondary dining hall onto a soft carpet, rolling until we lay just under the drapery of a table. I ached in my back, my head, and gods my hand, but we were safe for the moment, I believed.

"Not my best escape, but I think that did the trick," I said, trying to rise but hitting the floor again. My body felt immensely weak and my head spun. Despite my disorientation, I saw she was crouched over me and looking at me with a hint of concern and awe and something I could not tell. I hoped it was not too bad of a thought. "A-...are you ok, signoritta?"

I sat up, head spinning and eyes burning despite Kian's attempt to shield me from whatever he had done. I hadn't had much experience with priests or magic in the past and I was beginning to see why people found it so unsettling. The rooms we found ourselves in would have been gorgeous if not for the fact that we shared them with half a dozen bodies.

"Myrmidia's tits," I cursed, grasping for a sword I had lost in our little tumble. The bodies were stuck with crossbow bolts or rent with swords.

"Wait aren't these..." Kian began.

"The Luccini delegation," I agreed in a shocked whisper. It was one thing to kidnap an ambassador from the far of Empire, Karl Franz might send remonstrances, even protestations, but he wasn't going to send an army. Luccini on the other hand was just as willing to fight for its honor as any other city state in Tilea.

"I don't see..." I began, but before I could finish there was a crash as the door to a wardrobe flew open and the Luccini ambassador came out slashing wildly with a rapier. I cursed and ducked sideways, tripping on a body and landing on my rump. The wild eyed man was half naked, dressed only in silk undergarments. He slashed down at me and I rolled sideways, kicking his legs out from underneath him. He went down in a pile and I rolled on top of him.

"Your excellency! We aren't assassins!" I declared, pinning the struggling man down until he ceased his efforts.

"You aren't with Romeo then?" the Luccinian demanded.

"Honestly," I replied sitting back, "I'm not really sure who we are with anymore."

"I am the speaker of the Imperial delegation," I declared, rising up from the floor. The carpeted floor was immaculate and red. I suppose blood wouldn't do it too much of a disservice, I thought facetiously.

"You're the ambassador?" He asked, confusion screwing his face up.

"Er, not exactly." I replied, a part of me wishing to claim I was as I felt I might as well be, but as big of a liar as I could be, there was no use for it here other than to sate my own ego. Plus, we were already on the hunt for the true ambassador. "I am merely an advisor and translator. I am Kian of the cult of Sigmar. The delectable lady before you is Camilla, and we both seek the chamberlain that arrived yesterday, just before you, I imagine. You wouldn't have..." My voice trailed off as I saw him about to burst with protestation on being asked where someone was when he was just assailed and his guard butchered. "Anyway, did you say it was Romero that killed your men?"

"Yes," The Luccini delegate said, trying to collect himself. I wanted to tell him to put his pants on but he had been through much and I did not want to ruin his train of thought. "His guard came in just as we were dining. He had said we would have the room for ourselves, and then suddenly his men streamed into the room, swords and pistols and bloodletting. My aide put me in the closet before I was seen. Poor man was dead as the rest of them when the deed was done." He seemed on the verge of tears from the stress. I would have offered him a prayer with some of Sigmar's grace, but my next benediction that had any sort of power might kill me, and I doubted a normal prayer to Sigmar could assuage this southerner. I sighed and instead put my hand on his shoulder.

"Well, you are safe now, sir. The palace is in pandemonium. I doubt anyone now believes you're alive."

"True, pretty priest. I did not until this very moment." A woman's voice rang out across the room. My heart skipped a beat and all three of us turned to see Imeldo Mondo step into the room, adorned sumptuously in a puffed up dress and a well pressed blouse, flanked by a number of Condottieri streaming into the room from the main door leading to the upper floors, as well as three pretty girls rouged and dressed as Camilla had been the previous day. "My, I just thought that I could do for some breakfast, and here I am to see your handsome face, the Luccini ambassador, and my own girl." Behind them, held by two men and bound, was the fat Chamberlain Shultz, still in his nightrobes. He was gagged, else I imagined he would have said something along the lines of 'good heavens, this is most uncomfortable' or the like.

"You've done well, Camilla." She purred, smug as fat cat. "Distracting the priest like that all last night, not that it was a hard job, I imagine. I wish I could keep him alive to get a taste myself, but business is business."

I will admit to feeling a little bad at this juncture but truthfully terror was the dominant emotion. It wasn’t so much the immediate situation, though that was bad enough, but there were simply so many plots and counterplots going on that my brain was struggling to keep track and that struggle brought with it a fear of being strangled by any given thread. The smart thing to do was to accept Imelda’s gratitude and help her part of the coup succeed. That would be easy, she already had the ambassador and Marco’s men were on their way to attack the Imperial position. She could take them from behind and then, with the aid of Luccini, easily depose Romeo. At a stroke she could take command of Remas and all the blame could be easily laid at the feet of her fellow Triumvirs.

I bowed my head in acquiescence accepting her praise, stepping away from Kian and the Lucinni ambassador, whom posterity requires me to name as Maximo Panio, taking my place to the side of Imelda’s guards. I had no doubt the Convent would be pleased that I had managed to install myself in the court of the Mistress of Remas. I was sure Imelda viewed my assistance as trifling, despite her glowing words, although if she knew Kian as well as I did she might have found greater wells of thanks. Still, I didn’t doubt that I would quickly prove useful to her, rising in her service and increasing my own power and influence.

But why stop there? I could send Imelda to finish Marco and take the Imperial gold myself. With the Luccini ambassador to back me and an alliance with the surviving Imperial troops and a few condottieri, I could probably win a Triumvir’s seat for myself. If things really broke my way, perhaps the sole seat until ‘fair’ elections at an unspecified by distant time. With the help of the Convent I could end the war with Trantio and consolidate my position. Within a year I would be the undisputed Mistress of Remas. A wan smile came across my lips as the thought.

“Wait, we are Imperial…” Kian objected, taking a step back, eyes darting around seeking escape. There was no where for him to go, even if he were willing to abandon his Ambassador to certain death. He cast me a look that was part imploring part reproachful. I shrugged my shoulder with studied unconcern as the soldiers stalked towards him. All eyes were on Kian as I slipped a knife from my sleeve and slashed the rope holding a candelabra aloft. There was a squeal of rope through ungreased pulley as the three hundred pound ring of wrought brass crashed downwards. I snatched the rope and leaped into the air, allowing just the final moment of its descent to yank me another few feet upwards. Two of Imelda’s condottieri were two slow. I heard bones crack as they both went down under the weight of brass and wax. Everyone was shouting in confusion, a crossbow fired and I heard timber split wherever it struck. I reached the apex of my arc and straightened, coming down with the full weight of my body aimed through my heels like a spear. I struck one of the surviving condottieri between the shoulderblades and he flew across the room, smashing himself senseless against a stone wall. The two survivors dodged backwards, carrying Imelda to safety through the doorway. One of them lifted a crossbow but Maximo hurled a marble bust into the man's face, spoiling his shot and breaking the fellows jaw to boot. The uninjured one grabbed for the Imperial Ambassador but Kian brought his staff down with both hands, smashing the man’s wrist. He reeled backwards cursing a blue streak as I kicked the foot of the door. It whipped around despite its weight crashing closed. It rebounded off the frame but Maximo, either sensing my intent, or having the same idea himself, lurched forward, hitting it with his considerable bulk and driving it closed, shooting the metal bolt with a trembling hand.

“Well,” I mumbled, picking up a rapier from where it had fallen.

“Is there a collective noun for a group of ambassadors? If I go back and get du Pounce do I have a Windbag?”

"I think we'll call that an edge," I said, placing the staff back on the ground. I wiped my forehead with the sleeve of my borrowed button-up shirt. It was almost noon and I felt like I had run for miles at this point. Plus, I usually was not the biggest fan of death threats leveraged towards my person, particularly in such a short amount of time. My talented companion helped, even though I did feel for a second there she was going to leave me for the dogs. I can be quite dark sometimes, even though I loathe to admit it. I was contemplating making a final call to my God that would have ended my life but succeeded in causing everyone around me quite a lot of pain. Luckily cooler heads prevailed and I felt Camilla was merely playing a part.

Perhaps next time we should discuss such things before a life and death situation? I thought to make a mental note, but I knew I would forget it. If the both of us lived out the day I feel I would be far too busy hallucinating Camilla was Shallya reborn, or something along those lines. The thought made me smirk for a moment, but I wiped it off my face immediately. The two of us, now accompanied by Herr Panio and good chamberlain Shultz could not stay here for long, lest we invite more trouble. Camilla was kind enough to un-gag him, which brought a heartfelt 'oh thank you, good woman' from the portly man. At least he was in good spirits.

"Does anyone know the layout of the palace?" I asked, stepping forward. I glanced around, seeing various doors next to the mosiacs and a double-door to the east that were likely the kitchens. The ceiling was beautifully ribbed, its ridges making two great octagonal stars where a multitude of chandeliers hung, sparkling in the light. It was quite a large room, but probably one of the smaller dining halls of the great fortress.

Camilla shook her head, her chocolate waves of hair swaying. "I've only been here a day, same as you." She remarked in tilean, before she translated my words to Maximo Panio. He shook his head as well.

"Well, erm, this is the dining hall, yes?" Hortiman Shultz asked, looking around as if there might be some small snack someone had missed during all the blood letting. I raised an eyebrow, but even as Camilla and the Luccini ambassador looked at him in confusion, it dawned on me. My mind went back a number of years ago, when I had deigned to look over the mapped layouts of the great tilean houses in order to impress a full figured patrizia named Dulce. It was a passing fling and I had been told she enjoyed touring all the great palaces of her home country, so I figured I would learn a bit to add some spice to our pillow talk. Unfortunately my memory was not so great that I recalled the Remas Palace's exact design, but I did notice some similarities to each great palazzo in question, and they were also much similar to the Imperial Palace at Altdorf.

"If we are in the secondary dining hall, there is generally a ballroom close by..."

"To the east!" Camilla exclaimed, eyes bright and slim fingers snapping, catching on quick as usual. I knew she likely knew far more than even I. She had made a career in these sorts of places. "And next to the ballrooms are the long galleries that connect to the main hall, which will lead us to the council room of the three, where we all met."

"And from there we'll at least have a heading," I surmised, and clapped the chamberlain on the shoulder with a laugh. He gave a merry smile, glad to have helped in any small way. I knew I liked him, despite my jealousy of his station.

"Then let us go," Maximo Panio said, stripping off the clothing of a dead man and grabbing a dropped crossbow. "I wish to end this so I may either kill the bastards who killed my men or go home and come back here to do the same!"

I smiled at Maximo's enthusiasm but the reality was that all the Triumvirs would be forted up by now. Marco had probably sent assassins after both his co-rulers but, for reasons of their own, they had been elsewhere on their own business when the assassins had arrived. That didn't mean Marco wouldn't win out of course, if he had the Imperial war chest, he would be able to sway the condottieri to his side, which meant he would eventually prevail through strength if not guile.

We entered the council room from a side door. It was all but empty, a few courtiers and nervous looking servants clustered about, speaking in low voices. Predictably none of the Triumvirs were present, the thrones were empty symbols of power in Remas, it was in arms that the real strength of the state was to be found.

"I must away," Maximo said stiffly. I gripped the sleeve of this bed gown to prevent him.

"By now the streets are filled with soldiers," I explained. There were no sounds of battle coming from the streets any longer. That meant either all sides were forted up waiting for word from the palace, or one side had won a decisive victory. All sides would be happy to butcher Maximo, if only to lay the blame for his murder on their opponents and court Luccinian help in taking the throne.

"Then what can we do?" Maximo demanded, throwing his hands up theatrically. I nodded to the Imperial Ambassador.

"Herr Shultz has forty men holed up in the east wing, if we can rejoin them, then wait for nightfall, we might be able to slip out of he city."

There was something in the council room that nagged at my attention. Something...elusive, I couldn't quite pinpoint. Perhaps it was my subconscious or maybe the lord Sigmar was trying to reach me, but whatever it was it stayed just out of arms reach. Oh well, I was not getting paid for this. As long as we survived today, got something to eat, and then had some fun with Camilla I would be happy. This was all far above my station or desire. And I usually followed my desires, at the end of the day.

"As you say," Maximo said in tilean.

"Herr Cran'Darack, I am most tired. Can we go back to our rooms?" The Chamberlain asked me. He knew roughly what was occurring, but he seemed to be too tired to really give it enough thought to add more than his complaint. I could not blame him.

"I concur, let's make our way over to our quarters, shall we? And then find some deadbolts for the doors while we're at it. I don't fancy waking up tomorrow in the manner I had today." I said, and despite my injury and lack of willingness to throw myself into further danger, I found I lead the pack as we exited the room, slipping down the side corridors I had used just yesterday to reach my quarters.

The halls were eerily quiet, blood smearing the walls and the occasional body interrupting what seemed to be a veritably vacated palace. The hallway gave way to a small, open square with four halls around it. A small, enclosed botanical garden to sit and enjoy the fresh air while a fountain babbled with clear water, only now inky and reddened with a body half slumped over the stone pool, the man likely having been forcibly drowned during a rough melee. Even as we passed, two Condottieri traded blows in the garden, steel ringing in a rhythmic clash, shouts and perjoratives streaming from their mustachioed mouths.

Their blades locked, they both stopped for a moment in their combat to the death and looked at us, and we at them.

I cleared my throat. "Pay no attention to us, gentleman. En garde!" I said, and continued on, the others following. As we entered the next gallery, their struggles rose again and the banging of their sideswords continued. Soon, more numerous sounds of combat reached our ears, and we surreptitiously slunk through a lobby of comfortable chairs and a painting of the founding of Remas and crouched by the door.

I peered out slowly, holding my breath as I looked out into the hall. I beheld Marco's men, or what was left of them, in a grueling ranged battle with my own imperial troops who were further down the wide corridor, each man hiding behind pillars and alcoves and large, thick tapestries. Two swordsmen grappled on the floor, but most of the soldiers who held melee weapons were hidden to keep themselves safe from the gunshots and crossbows that ricocheted off the walls. A dead halberdier by the name of Johan lay in the midst of the two forces, his dead eyes staring lifelessly, seemingly right at me. His halberd was blood stained, but a dagger lay in his neck, blood pooling from the wound. I cursed, praying for his soul to find guidance to the afterlife.

"Any ideas?" I whispered to Camilla from across the door frame. "I'm out of spells and we have two dozen of your countrymen between us and safety."

The problem was that I didn't. The moment Schultz showed his face Marco's men would fall upon us like wolves, or, if the Imperials saw him first they would come charging out to save him, causing a bloodbath. What was worse is that we couldn't go back either. Any moment now more troops from one side or the other were going to come up behind us and the whole game would be up. I chewed on my lip for a moment and then ducked into a side room emerging a moment later with a mostly empty wine bottle. I dabbed a little of the content onto my wrists.

"When I call, you run, all of you run right into the Imperial wing," I instructed. Kian gave me a worried look but I was already moving forward. I added a half drunken, half lascivious roll to my hips as I strode down the hall into the battle. Waving the bottle in cheery good humor I began to sing. The tune was a common Tilean folk song, familiar in every tavern and piazza on the city. At first I bawled it out half incoherently, for all the world like a drunk celebrant wandering into the wrong party. The shooting stopped for a moment as all eyes turned to me. I continued to sing, but to the confusion of the Tileans, I didn't sing in my own language. I sang in Reikspiel of which few of the mercenaries would know..

"Make way for Hortiman!
Don't shoot at Hortiman
Ambassador Hortiman
And Sigmar too!"

The tune didn't exactly fit the words, but it sounded vaguely right to Tilean ears. I was willing to bet that while some of the Dogs of War might recognize the ambassadors last name, none of them would recognize his given name. I was also willing to bet that every Imperial would. I continued to drunkenly dance, twirling and dipping in as distracting a manner as I could conspire.

"Make way for Hortiman!
Don't shoot at Hortiman
Ambassador Hortiman
And Sigmar too!"

An evil looking footman with a bloodied short sword took a step towards me and grabbed me by the arm. I giggled and leaned forward as though to kiss him.

"Signoritta this isn't the place..."

"RUN!" I screamed in his face. The footman recoiled back in shock and sudden concern. I brought the bottle around in a whistling arch that cracked him in the side of the head with a musical thonk. His eyes rolled up into his head and he fell bonelessly to the floor.

"Run!" I yelled again and pitched the bottle at the nearest Tilean with all my strength.

I watched her, equally as distracted by her strange performance as the tileans. Luckily I was able to snap out of it when I took the meaning of her words, and Maximo poked his head out, perplexed.

"What does she do?" He whispered in his native tongue.

"Giving us an opening," I said, gripping the haft of my staff and rising to my full height.

"Hortiman? Why I daresay that's me," The Chamberlain whispered.

When Camilla screamed and pummeled the footman, I yelled in tilean for the Luccini ambassador to move, yanking at good, portly Shultz as I began to run. The three of us sprinted out of cover, and to my supreme relief neither of them dallied or did anything stupid. They merely ran, the Imperial ambassador following the tilean one dutifully. A crouched mercenary turned to look at us, his crossbow still steadied at Camilla. I gripped my staff and swung it in a backhanded arc, clapping against the crossbow to redirect it, my knee crunching into his face not a moment later.

The imperials hesitated only the briefest moment, and then fired into the tileans with a fire and fury that would make Karl Franz's heart swell with pride. Blackpowder weaponry discharged and crossbows loosed while halberdiers and swordsmen charged forward at the confused tilean troop. The hall was soon embroiled in a fierce melee, a sudden shift to the battle of attrition from a scant minute prior. I saw Guy Du Ponce with his crucifix sword running a tilean through under the breastplate, crying out for the lady.

Camilla danced through the ranks, bounding like a deer and even somersaulting in mid-air over a pair of men locked in mortal combat. I always was an agile one, keeping myself fit and lean for escaping trouble if not for aesthetics in my more arrogant moments, but she made me feel quite inadequate. I only saw her for a brief glimpse, however, as a spearman stepped in front of Maximo and Shultz's way, black beard roiling in a scowl as he regarded them. I sprinted at them, jumping in front of the first thrust, my haft battering the spearpoint away.

"Go!" I cried as the spear point reared back like a serpent, snapping forward again. I was nearly split open, but managed to sidestep it, leaving the man open for a counter-blow. Unbeknownst to most, my staff, though long, was very heavy at the top end. All Sigmarites had to carry some form of hammer, and the eight pointed circle ensconcing the heavy bronze skull served the purpose nicely. It struck the top of the man's kettle helm like a falling star, bludgeoning him so hard it dented the helm and he hit the ground soundlessly. I leaped over his form and hurried after the others, and once we passed through our line of soldiers I thanked Sigmar just to be pragmatic in keeping with my luck.

"Chamberlain!" Captain Muller called, running back from the hall, his sword bloodied with a shallow wound in his side. "You're alive!"

"Why yes, and it's been a very trying morning." He said, the fat man drenched in sweat. He wiped his bearded face and smiled. "I have to give credit to our dear priest and his lovely lady friend."

"We can thank everyone later. First let's get out of this city. The wine isn't that good." Muller said, and before the hour was out, the Imperial delegation and guard had made a fighting retreat out of the palace and marched in battle formation until the gate was in sight.

The city was quiet. Not peaceful quiet, but nervous quiet. The restaurants were shuttered and doors were bolted. Trash and wine bottles lay scattered around where they had been abandoned. The people of Remas were not unused to civil strife, it was like a spring storm, something that couldn't be avoided but only weathered. Luckily both Kian and Muller were willing to listen to my advice as to the route of march and we were able to avoid quarters that were historically loyal to any particular Triumvir. Occasionally we passed a group of soldiers huddled around a small manor or town house. These were the Republican Guard. In theory they were the soldiers of the Republic, but in practice they were paid for by subscriptions from wealthy merchants and minor nobles, over the years they had become something between private bullies and fire brigades. It was of no surprise at all to find them guarding the homes of their patrons at times like this. For the most part they were beardless boys and old men, and more than one hand trembled on the handle of a crossbow or haft of a pike as we passed.

As we approached the western gate there was an audible sigh of relief. I glanced back over my shoulder and saw the silhouette of the Kestus hill in the waning light. To my surprise I saw a light burning in one of the town houses on the hill. I knew the place to be an old family possession of Marco, but it had been empty for many years as his status had carried him higher than his modest birth.

"The gold..." I murmured to myself. He must have moved it out of the palace. I like to think that I'm not a greedy woman, I'm not some blonde chit from the Altdorf docks, but even a few handfuls would set me up for months. Besides I was going to have to set myself up somewhere new, I had somehow managed to offend ever single one of the Triumvirs, though Romeo probably didn't know that. I glanced at Kian and the Imperials as they picked up speed towards the gate, then slipped across the street and started up the hill.

The Imperials made it out of the city once the sun had arched across the sky, the heat pressing down on them and identifying the time as mid-afternoon. A few streaks of clouds were scattered amongst the great blue expanse, but otherwise it was clear like the sea. I had yet to eat all day and he felt it in his stomach. Captain Muller and his men had to slay a few stragglers attempting to harass them, but the gates had been unmanned and the entirety of the troupe had all but stumbled out of the front gates, the road before them empty save for a few men with donkeys escaping the city with haste, almost on the horizon now.

"Heinrich! Headcount!" The Captain bellowed with a roar, and I felt they now looked quite the sight. Standing just at the spot they had occupied yesterday before they had traipsed into the city with high hopes and endless possibilities. Now they were run out like whipped dogs. Even knowing the intricacies of the context, it was somewhat embarrassing.

"Thirty four men sir, not including you, the chamberlain, and the priest." Corporal Heinrich called, saluting. Good man, Heinrich. Hell of a card player. But it was then I realized.

"My, that was harrowing. I suppose we should try again next season?" Chamberlain Shultz asked, huffing. He coughed from the dust in the air.

"We'll send an army next time. This insult cannot stand," The Captain growled, glaring at the city as if the very stone itself had insulted his mother. "We haven't even our supplies or gift of gold. We'll have to forage and gather what we can with what little we have. Maybe in a day or two we can find some manner of shelter."

"Where's Camilla?" I asked, spinning round. I wasn't a large man, but I was taller than the average imperial and couldn't see her anywhere in the small gathering of troops. "Did anyone see her get shot or taken?"

"No sir, none..." Heinrich said, unsure of what could have happened.

"She was nothing but a tilean rat," Muller said, glancing at the gate and turning back to the road. "This city is a sewer. She just slunk back in. You needn't worry about it. We must tend our own."

Anger rose in me like a bubbling volcano. The bastard had always been rude to me, but never had it gotten to him like this. Perhaps because those other than himself that he belittled were his men he needed to keep discipline over, but I was effected this time quite profusely. I would not let that go unanswered. "She was a good woman, who helped rescue the chamberlain and saved my life. I'll hear no disrespect, Muller."

I did not even bother to call him captain. His eyes blazed at me for the insult, but the chamberlain stepped between us.

"My lads, please. We are safe now, yes? Let us go back and make our reports." He said, and then turned to me with a smile. "You saved my life, herr priest. Once I am back I will give a recommendation that you make bishop, and my support for whatever your endeavor is, my good man!"

That brought a dazzling change in my thoughts for a moment. The chamberlain granting me his patronage? No one could have asked for a higher backing save from the Emperor himself! This was too monumental for me to really appreciate at the time, but I was aware of the vastness of the potential. I could even be granted leave to join the Colleges of Magic, or study in the highest academies of sciences in Altdorf, or Medicine in far off Araby! Gold, power, and position were in my future if I merely stayed the course.

"Aye," Captain Muller had to agree, albeit begrudgingly. "You saved the chamberlain and kept your word. You have my respect, priest. I never thought I would say this, but thank you. Let the woman go and let's start our journey back, eh? After the reports are written, we can put this whole thing behind us."

They all turned to leave. The men began to grab what packs they had set down, grumbling but moving all the same. I felt them moving forward like a tide being pulled back into the ocean, running all at once around me. But like a rock, I only felt the sand slipping away.

I did not move. I could not move, I found. Even when I willed my foot to lift up, it did not step forward. That was curious. Why not?

I glanced back at the open maw of the gate, and I saw Camilla's face before my eyes. The glimpse of her from the wall just behind me, the tripping in the street, the dancing and dinner and kissing by the moonlight. The night of fervent love-making and this day of survival and violence contrasted by her quick wit and beauty. And now she had gone back into the city where most of the officials wanted her dead or worse. But did I really care? More than a potential future? More than a cozy life back in the north? Only a fool would. I could get a dozen women if I wanted to, and I had only known her a day! I could not care this bloody much, even at the cost of her life! Right!?

Fuck, perhaps I did.

When next they turned around, I was already long gone, having run yet again into the belly of Remas to find Camilla. Damn her, but I could not leave her to get caught.

The house was of the old villa style, four walls around a central court yard ringed by stone walls that had been topped with wrought iron. Beyond the wall gardens that had once been neat but were now rather wild and gone to seed provided a ring of greenery. The stucko walls had not been painted in long years and patches flaked off here and there. To my complete lack of surprise the place was guarded, not obviously, but I saw silhouettes passing behind windows and picked up the occasional murmer of conversation.

I knew I was right, Marco was using this place to stash the gold while things settled down. That was a wise move condotierre could be relied upon to follow orders of those paying them, but a chest of gold like the one the Imperials had delivered was a pay day no mercenary would likey ignore. In the palace it would be seized by whomever Marco set to guard it. Here in an old town house, he could depend on a few trusted men to safeguard his ill gotten windfall. Just a few men. It was all that stood between me and enough gold to set myself up for years. Maybe a nice villa in Luccinni seeing I seemed to have made a friend in Maximo.

Getting in was easy, a simple matter of climbing the wall and vaulting across the open space to a second story windowsill. I pulled myself up and onto the terracotta tiles, crabbing my way along till I found an attic window. It was locked, but it only took a knife a few moments to pry the old glass out of the half rotting frame, then I slid inside. The attic was dark and musty and I took care to place my feet on ceiling joists as I crossed to a small door which I lifted up and slipped down into a dusty servants chamber. Peeking round I saw that the gold was in a wagon in the central courtyard, covered by a tarp but guarded by four men.

All four men were very still. Not very still. Dead. Dead at their posts so as not to appear that they had been killed. My stomach dropped.

"I am afraid that this gold is not for your signoritta," a voice from beside me said. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Guy du Pounce stepped from a doorway and lifted his longsword to point the tip at my neck.

"You will be my guest until the new governess of this town is installed I think," he declared loftily.

I wish I could appreciate the tilean architecture, but slinking through the streets and trying to remain away from the eyes of battling Condottieri was enough to keep my mind occupied. That and my constant questioning of my sanity. I had everything I ever wanted awaiting me back in Altdorf, and yet I was here, turning back around every other street as men actively sought or butchered one another. More than once did I think I would have to defend myself in fear of my life, but always I managed to step back into the shadows or keep myself just beyond a guardsman's reach. Luckily, I was a man of many talents, and one of my best talents was running away.

After I made my way out of a particularly blood soaked alley, I found myself on the main thoroughfaire, the sun bright in my eyes. I blinked and turned east, where the light wasn't so blinding, and made my way there, passing over well maintained bushes and flowers in the center of the street. I climbed over a small white wall, believing I was heading for a less popular way back to the palace.

A familiar horse whinnied as my feet hit the ground, apparently startling the beast. It stood tethered under an elaborate walkway, next to an old style villa a small ways up the hill. It was brettonian gelding, and I recalled seeing the same horse tethered up just the day before and recognized it as Guy Du Ponce's steed. That was very curious, I found. Perhaps the brettonian had decided to hide out here as the violence died down. I felt he might be a useful ally in trying to locate Camilla, so I climbed up the small tiled street on the hill. And yet as I approached, I felt the same elusive feeling as I had just this morning.

Something did not feel right, I decided.

Ah, yes. Follow your instincts. That served you well just an hour ago.

Shut up, you love tilea. And tilean women, particularly.

I went back and forth in that manner for another minute, but regardless I made my way up the street. However, I decided not to knock on the front door. Perhaps a back entrance would be more appropriate, just in case my instincts weren't wrong. I was quite good at games of chance, after all. Even when I wasn't cheating...

I held my hands up, under no illusions that my reflexes would best a seasoned Brettonian Knight. All I had for a weapon was a knife for Myrmidia's sake. The knight made a negligent gesture to a bed in one of the plater walled rooms.

"Sit down Signoritta," he directed. Reluctantly I complied. Du Pounce was a knight but I knew too many men who spoke of high principles only to abandon them to temptation. I sat down, my hand positioned as closely to the hilt of my dagger as I could without being too obvious about it. The mattress was clean and newly filled with down and straw, for all the outside evidence of dilapidation, it was obvious that Marco had been using the place.

"So what now?" I asked, shifting my hand slightly closer to my knife.

"You needn't worry about your virtue Camilla," a sensual female voice declared. Through the door came the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I know that phrase gets thrown around alot but you have to understand, I was brought up in the Convent, where women fit for marble statues teach your lessons and tuck you in at night. This woman was beyond gorgeous, her skin seemed to glow despite a slightly exotic caste, her cheekbones high, her lips full, her face heart stoppingly lovely. Her figure was slim and classical, lacking my curves but making up for it with a mathematical precision of proportions. I started at her in amazement and Du Pounce sank to his knees.

"My Lady," he whispered reverently. My mind told me to spring to my feet and plunge the dagger into his neck but I couldn't even twitch an eyelid for fear it would take my gaze off her.

"My you are a pearl before swine aren't you," she declared, seeming to float across the room towards me. She was dressed in the height of Tillean fashion, a dress of dark burgundy with black lace accents, corseted with dark leather inlaid with gold and semi-precious stones. Expensive jewelery of a foreign fashion I didn't recognize was at her wrists and throat, glistening with blood red rubies.

"Perhaps there is more than one treasure to be found this night," she mused, then paused and cocked her head at me in a peculiarly avian motion.

"You are one of Xanthippe's girls?" she asked in amazement, her beautiful lips curving into a delighted smile. "Goodness she will be furious."

I had no idea who Xanthippe was, not that it much mattered because I couldn't speak, I was still paralyzed by her beauty. She was very clos now her dark hypnotic eyes holding mine. I could feel my heart thundering in my chest, I could smell the soft scent of sandalwood on her, like the wind of the desert. She leaned closer and I thought she was going to kiss me, which was fine with me I am ashamed to tell you. She put one of her hands on the back of my neck and wrapped the other around my waist, cradling me like a lover. She was very cold, like the marble statues she reminded me off, but the cold was forgotten as my own heat filled my body as she kissed my neck. I felt an electric tingle and something sharp the pulse in my neck wobbled and I felt something being drawn out of me. I started to swoon, then something began to pulse into my veins, making my nerves tingle with fire.

"Mistress!" the voice came from very far away. I wasn't at first convinced it wasn't mine, but then it repeated and this time I could make out Du Pounce's voice.

"Mistress!" he called again, urgent and insistent. The lips lifted from my neck and she let out something between a sigh and a snarl. The sense of loss was unimaginable. I tried to reach out for her, but she let me go, dropping my stunned body to the bed.

"Deal with him and bring me the girl," she ordered Du Pounce, dabbing at her lips with a silken handkerchief that came away bloody. My skin prickled like sun burn and I tried to force myself to move, to go after the vision of loveliness, but I couldn't move. My nerves were as fire, burning in my body without giving me leave to move. I heard the rattle of the wagon as the horses took up the strain. Groaning I forced myself to roll, falling off the bed and hitting the floor as my muscles refused to take the strain. Du Pounce was gone but I could hear shouting. Inch by painful inch I forced myself to my knees, reaching up to touch my neck, my finger tips came away with black brackish blood.

I had spent some time in Tilean villas during my stay at Pavona, mostly to entertain nobles or fair contessas with a bit of singing or knowledge of the empire, or regaling them with battles of ancient history. I even knew a small bit of the Elven tongue which I admittedly embellished so as to gain some favor with the local aristocracy. There are at least a dozen courtiers in Pavona now that speak a bastardized form of Elvish that any native born from Ulthuan would spear on the spot if they heard the crude and babbling faux-tongue of their sacred language. Anything to get some women and some gold, in my eyes, and might I add, in that order. And it was good hands-on experience, pardon the pun.

There were villas located in the pastoral lands surrounding the city states called Villa Rusticaes, with miles of land allocated for the growing of cash crops and luxury goods for the wealthy landowner to pick at their leisure, viticulture being quite popular. The more common, city based villas were Villa Urbanae, small estates cordoned off by lush hedges and small gardens in the cities, often used as sumptuous homes for the politician on the go who couldn't afford the time to leave the walls of the city. I had found the ladder in this case, and I was hit with a wave of deju vu as I scaled the wall and slid through the hedges, something I had done more than once in my days at the university. At then as now, it was to look for a beautiful woman. I suppose I was not much different these days.

Stepping in, I found the estate was made in the Martius style. A courtyard decked with potted plants from far off lands, hugged by a multiple columns holding a curved arch at the back of the small square in the style of the old tilean theaters. The second floor had an open hall that served as a roofed balcony overlooking the stone-floored yard, with chairs and oil lamps ready to host a party. All of this was fairly typical. What wasn't typical was the vast majority of the imperial gold in a cart at the very center, guarded by four men.

I froze. I knew they had seen me, at least initially. Then I looked closer, and saw not only had they not moved, but they were either asleep or dead, positioned there by some unknown player.

"Monsieur!" I heard, nearly ripping my soul from my body. I flinched in fright and my eyes shot up to the second floor balcony. I saw the smiling face of Guy Du Ponce there, bedecked in chainmail armor and handsome surcoat. His sword at his belt and eyes off-putting in their cheer. "What in the name of ze Lady are you doing here? I had thought you had left with your Imperial friends! It pleases me to see you are well."

He began to walk across the expanse of the aisle until he reached the stairs leading down.

"It pleases me to see you are well too," I said, my mind racing. "And evidently very rich."

"Well, I did not have your luck, you see. I could not escape in time, so I had to make eh, certain alliances, no? I have been tasked with guarding the treasure. But, you did not tell me why you decided to come back." He reminded me, stepping down the last step and approaching me, as if to embrace me in his casual gladness. He seemed perfectly aware of the bodies, or unconcerned his men were still as statues.

"You know how it is, a woman gets you under her spell and a man does crazy things." I said, and Guy huffed a very sincere laugh, looking into my eyes and shaking his head. For a moment, I thought he was about to tell me a terrible truth, something gnawing at his soul. But a heartbeat later, he merely said:

"You have no idea how right you are, my friend," and before I could gauge the meaning of his swords, he threw a punch at my face. His fist was decked in mail and I was notably unarmored, but luckily it was only a glancing blow. I staggered and dropped my staff, bracing myself on the gold cart. When next my eyes whipped back at him, he was already slashing at my neck with his sword to finish me. I yelped and threw myself on the ground, his longsword biting into the wooden panel of the cart. He yanked at the blade, but pulled it out a second too slow. I tackled him from below, trying to flip him over. He struck my back with the pommel of his sword, but I did not stop my grappling until his feet were in the air and he crashed onto the stones heavily.

Taking my staff, I spun it and brought it down, hitting the knight on the side of the helm. The blow either dazed him or killed him, I wasn't sure. All I knew was that Camilla had to be here. He had no reason to think of me as the enemy unless he had what I was after. Sure, he could have the gold and wish for me to keep permanent silence, but a Brettonian knew the importance of chivalry, and as strange as it sounded, I was in the middle of a chivalrous act. I looked past him at the gold, admired its beauty for a moment, and then cursed and turned back to run inside. I did not pay much attention to the decor. It was typical of most villas, paintings, windows, couches one could lounge or make love on. Instead I threw open every door I could, finding naught but papers and cabinets of food. I grabbed an apple and devoured it as I ran upstairs, having momentarily forgetting how hungry I was.

The first oak door upstairs I opened, I dropped my half eaten apple and saw Camilla. The woman had collapsed by the side of the bed, blood caking her neck and hand.

"Sigmar no," I said, the words erupting from my throat before I realized what I said. I hurried over to her and dropped my staff, gently cradling her head so it could lay on my lap, examining her. I wiped away the blood, momentarily relieved that her throat had not been slit. "Camilla? Camilla, wake up! If you die right here I will be livid as hell, mark me! Camilla!" I shook her gently, a hint of desperation in my voice.

My vision was cloudy. I cannot explain it save by comparison with the fugue of some drug or wine laced with the milk of the poppy. Something strange and alien was burning through my blood like a days worth of fever come all at once. Someone was shaking me and I could hear voices far away. The voice seemed wrong somehow, as though it were speaking in a language I had forgotten I had once spoken. A jolt brought me fully awake. I screamed and scrambled away from whatever it was that had burned me. To my shock it was Kian looking concerned and surprise. My hand went to my neck and found it clean and unbroken. For a moment I thought maybe I had imagined the whole thing, and I might have, save for the faint scent of sandalwood in the air.

"Camilla?" he asked, his eyes wide and worried. I pulled my hand away from my neck. Had Kian's touch burned me? Perhaps he had been trying to wake me with some spell.

"Guy," I managed, "and..." I trailed off getting unsteadily to my feet. The fire in my blood was still there, burning away my confusion and fatigue. I managed to stumble out the door and to the railing. Below in the courtyard were four dead men. Of the woman, the wagon, and Guy du Pounce there was no sign save for a swinging open gate that banged in the wind.

______________

Rumor had filtered down to the streets before midnight. All three Triumvir's had fled, Marco to his estates in the south, Imelda to Luccini. Romeo was rumored to have seized a ship and sailed west, though quite where remained uncertain. The condottieri had rallied and installed Livonia de la Camarilla as Dictator until new elections could be called and the city guard had ratified the choice. She seemed to be a minor noble known in the city, but quite how she had acquired enough gold bribe the condottieri into following her was a mystery to the populace. I thought I had a pretty good idea, especially seeing it was rumored that Guy du Pounce had pledged himself to protect her until 'the danger' had passed.

I didn't dare go back to the palace, not even for my lute and few possessions. The image of the woman still pulsed powerfully in my mind, and there was a dark attraction to returning to her side. Instead we went to a boarding house on the west side of the city. Remas had no port, but this was a place where merchants and beached sailors gathered. We purchased a room with our few remaining coins and I collapsed into sleep, too tired to answer any of Kian's questions or ask any of my own. I had uneasy dreams. I saw vast deserts and strange courts, odd writing on ancient sandstone walls. I tasted sandalwood, incense, and the bitter taste of something astringent and unpleasant.

When I woke, Kian was dozing in a chair across from me. He stirred as I sat up giving me a crooked smile.

"Aren't I the one who is supposed to fall straight to sleep after?" he quipped. I smiled, feeling better for the jest.

"Seems to have done you good though, damn," he admitted frankly. I turned to look at myself in the mirror. My skin almost glowed, my features seemed subtly different, a touch more precise and sculpted some how. I touched my cheek and was relieved to find that it was warm.

"We should go," I declared, standing up as though to run out the door right that instant. Kian held up a hand in bar.

"Yes but go where. Word came an hour or so ago that the Dictator has closed the port at Astia," he explained. Astia was the major port of Remas, at the terminus of the Via Caravansia that lead to the city. Good were treked overland by a guild of wagoneers, the adminstration of which was so rich a position that no Triumvir was ever elected without their tacit approval.

"Apparently one Hortiman Shultz and his escort were on the last ship out," Kian told me stretching his arms over his head in an exaggerated yawn.

"I should have told him to keep his tail between his legs on the way here, we would have made way better time."

"Kian..." I began, unable to think of quite what to say. I sat back down on the bed.

"I'm sorry."