Kjan merely nodded absently, deciding that he wasn't entirely comfortable discussing things like the death sentence in their present situation. Once again, he grew accutely aware of just how much was hanging on this plan, this desperate gamble, succeeding. If even one minute thing went wrong - if the Regent decided to execute them tonight, if they couldn't escape the cells quickly enough, if there were more guards than anticipated, if they couldn't find the tunnel, if Jate couldn't get them in, if just one person so much as tripped over a loose stone - it was all over. They'd lose.

He was so preoccupied with this train of thought that he only vaguely noted the shift from dirt to pavement, from narrow houses and taverns to shops and villas and government buildings. It was only when they passed through the central square that Kjan looked up to see gallows silhouetted against the fading sunset. Had it truly only been a month since they'd last been there, freeing a group of prisoners not unlike themselves?

From the square, it was only a short distance to the prison - tall, dark, and nigh impenetrable. Kjan felt the sinking feeling intensify, but forcefully countered it with resolve. They could do this. They had to. "Don't think it'll matter much, come morning, who they most want dead."

Parts of the crowd broke off and drifted in pieces back to their homes and occupations, as the procession neared the square, looming building that was the prison. Behind it, the sunset was fading to wisps of torn cloud and a subdued glow, and the Phantom's spine prickled as he realized that they must be out by the time sunlight once more flushed the eastern horizon. That, or the silhouetted gallows waited.

Kjan's words took on a more sinister meaning.

There was no time to think morbid thoughts, however. Just as they reached the wall encircling the prison courtyard, a foursome of soldiers separated from the main group and flanked the Phantom and Kjan, cutting them off from the crowd.

The Phantom experienced a moment of startlement while they were ushered away from the others, until he recalled from his previous sojourn in the cells that higher security was available for 'dangerous criminals'. As if it weren't already hard enough to break out. His expression twisted grimly.

Glancing over his shoulder, he caught Jate's eye and gave a nod, hoping the young man would catch his meaning. Jate was destined to be a monarch. He might well start by taking responsibility for those who were prepared to die for his cause.

Then the corner of the building interceded, and there were no more glimpses of the rest. They ascended a dim stairway in hostile silence but for the sound of footsteps and the clinking of chains, and emerged onto the upmost level of the building. Here, the padlocked doors were solid wood banded with iron, not bars. It was eerily quiet. They passed door after door, each blank and concealing those within. Just once, the Phantom heard a high, thin wail from behind one of those doors that trailed off into nothing, and the term 'dangerous' strayed into another meaning. The guards' darting eyes made him wonder - what, exactly, earned you a cell here?

It was, perversely, a relief when one of the four jammed keys into a padlock on one of the doors, and the Phantom and Kjan were chivvied forward with spearbutts. The Phantom retained enough wry humor to turn and offer the men a salute.

"Gentlemen," he said, and then the door slammed.

_________________

Kjan already hated this cell. It was dark. And it was small. And it reeked of substances that he didn't care to identify. And it seemed much more formidable than a standard cell. And it was dark. Torchlight spilled through the narrow gaps at the top and bottom of the door, but there was no other means of illuminating the cell. Lovely.

He allowed his eyes to adjust for a moment before leaning against the nearest wall and sitting down. "Well," he said at last, quietly enough that it wouldn't carry through the door, "there goes the idea of reaching through the bars and picking the lock. Would've been too easy, I suppose. Relatedly, I've actually got a lockpick sewn into the hem of my sleeve, but these thrice-cursed irons keep getting in the way every time I try to retrieve it. If you could get that out for me, it'd be much appreciated. I'm not going to have any skin left on my wrists, if these things stay on much longer."

Jate looked with dismay as the Phantom and Kjan were taken further down the hallway. Just before he lost sight of the two, the Phantom gave him a nod. Well. The manacles on his wrists were helpful at the moment, they kept him from wringing his hands or tugging at his cloak. So he was the leader now, was he? Jate didn't even want to begin to think of what they would do if they couldn't find the right cell, or were caught before they could break everyone out...

The group was shooed down the corridor, and not very gently either. Little by little they thinned out as rebels were stuffed into cells. Jostling his way around slightly, Jate found himself standing next to Ash. That was a relief -- perhaps they would end up in a cell together. The empty cells dwindled, then ended altogether. Were it not for the fact that he was scared, cold, tired, sore, and a prisoner, Jate might have laughed. The last cell they stopped at was a familiar one. He threw a rueful glance at a crate where he had sat during a long ago conversation, a conversation that he had held outside the bars, and filed into the cell. Settling down onto the stone bench-that-was-supposed-to-be-a-bed, Jate tried to look like a despondent, unambitious captive. Apparently the guards weren't too concerned about the hangers-on of the Phantom, as they left a few outside the corridor door and moved on to other areas of the palace.

"It's always said that rebels carry lock picks and magic tricks wherever they go," Jate said to Ash with a grin. "So if you happen to have the pick, I can pull out the trick."

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going on a journey through my old claims

The Phantom contorted himself into a suitable position to tug at the hem of Kjan's sleeve, manacles clinking. After the third attempt, he sat back momentarily. "What did you do, sew it in three times over?"

Eventually, however, he managed to extract the little instrument, and it clinked to the floor. There was a moment of silence.

The Phantom swiveled, first to squint at the miniscule windows, high up under the eaves, then to turn and find his gaze squarely intercepted by the disconcertingly solid door. "I suppose we have to wait until it's dark to try this out," he said, envisioning pitting the flimsy piece of metal against the slab of wood in front of him.

It was not an encouraging thought.

_________________

Kjan didn't answer, instead motioning for the Phantom to be quiet. He had the pick held precariously in his mouth and was very carefully attempting to pick the lock on his restraints, listening closely for each tiny click. Lockpicking was extremely tedious even when holding the pick in one's hands - doing it with his mouth required every ounce of his concentration. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally felt the last pin snap into place. Sighing in relief, he removed the handcuffs and rubbed gingerly at his wrists. Spending long periods of time in chains was on the list of things that he decidedly would not miss once the rebellion was over.

He stood up and surveyed the door briefly. "There's no way we're picking that lock," he declared, sitting back down. "It can't even be accessed from this side of the door. If we had Eledhe...." He trailed off. It went without saying that things like this tended to be much easier when the resident magic-using assassin was around. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Don't suppose we already have a Plan B?"

The Phantom stared at the door. Then he turned and looked up at the tiny windows under the eaves. There was nothing else, except the grimy covering of straw on the floor, a foul-smelling chamber pot in one of the corners, and a fireplace whose covering of soot looked older than the prison itself. Upon sticking his head up the chimney, the Phantom was greeted by an immovable iron grille. Plan B? Only if Kjan had a pry bar sewn into his other sleeve.

He turned around. "No. But we bloody well will. Kindly get these off me."

The lockpick held up admirably on its second pair of manacles, but when pitted against blocks of stone and solid oak, its power dwindled sadly.

"All right," said the Phantom, standing in the middle of the cell holding it like a sword. "How's this for a Plan B: I'll grow wings and you blow the roof off."

_________________

"I like it," Kjan said after a moment's consideration. "Brilliant, really. There's only one minor setback: I'm technically only qualified to blow off the roofs of smaller establishments. Private residences and whatnot. Maybe even a small tavern, under the right circumstances. The thick stone roof of a prison is another matter entirely, really, and I'm not sure I could quite pull it off. So while I'm open to the possibilty, you may want to keep thinking. Just in case something more brilliant turns up."

He considered for a moment, then added, "I suppose it's out of the question to just sit here and wait for Jate to do something brilliant instead?"

Ash grimaced as a soldier shoved him into a cell and slammed the door shut. He stared out at the guards for a few minutes, before sitting on the floor and leaning his head back against the wall. He started thinking about the rebels’ plan- if a few of them could get out of their cells and take care of the guards, it would be easy enough to break the rest out, hopefully without being detected. The Phantom and Kjan being taken to a different area posed a bit more of a problem, but Ash was sure they would figure something out.

He glanced up at Jate as he asked about a lock pick. “I’m a little short on magic right now, but I can provide the pick.” After maneuvering his fingers around a bit, he was able to fish a device out of the hem of his ragged sleeve. “Learned this trick from Kjan. It’s come in handy a few times.” After some doing, he managed to unlock his manacles and winced as they clattered to the floor. He glanced down the hall at the guards, but they didn’t seem concerned with the noise. He soon had Jate’s cuffs off.

Leaning back against the wall again, he said, “Now, if only we could get to those guards before they have a chance to shout. I don’t suppose you have a trick in mind for that?”

Jate sighed with relief as the manacles dropped onto the floor. Rubbing his wrists, he glanced up the corridor at the guards. They still didn't stir; apparently a little noise from secure prisoners didn't bother them too much. Pulling the Heartshard out, Jate held it in his hand and felt the warmth spread up his arm for the second time. He felt slightly apprehensive. After all, the last time he had tried to do anything, elves had exploded.

Closing his eyes, Jate concentrated on the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest, his steady heart rate. He felt more than acted, felt the glow move from himself down to the guards. Their posture slipped and their heads sunk down as they began to sleep. Jate let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. So far, so good. Now to open the cells. He didn't think he'd be able to summon the keys, the sleep had even been a bit of a surprise.

"We may need that lock pick again."

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going on a journey through my old claims

Ash watched the sleeping guards, impressed. “That is a neat trick.” He said, adding with a rueful grin, “If only it would work for every guard in the place.” He twirled the lock pick around in his fingers, itching to use it. With those guards asleep, it would be easy enough to open the cell door, get the keys, and let the rest of the rebels out.

<i>Wait.</i> he told himself. The streets would be buzzing with talk of the captives. The guards throughout the prison would be alert, expecting trouble from the famed Phantom Grey and his followers. “We should give it some time.” He said reluctantly. “Let the excitement die down a little before we try getting out.” It was the hardest part- the waiting.

Eledhe was done.

She was done playing messenger. She was done participating in scatterbrained schemes. She was done working for no pay, and she was determined to return to the profession she'd chosen - where ties of loyalty did not exist, motivation was in the form of gold and silver, and every aspect of her future was controlled by a single entity - herself.

She enjoyed the thud of her boots on the dirt. Just one set. No entourage, crashing around making enough noise to stir the underworld. The Keep was behind her, and it could stay behind her for all Eledhe cared.

A deep breath of crisp predawn air convinced her of the wisdom in this. In minutes, Eledhe was lost to the carpet of coniferous mountain forests.

---

The days took her back to Y'rydha. In a roundabout fashion. Eledhe settled back into the rhythms of traveling alone. She considered stealing a horse. Convenience prevailed and she bought a horse. She drank herself happily into oblivion. She snapped at several innkeepers. She played with shurikens, and touched up their silver edges with black paint. She galloped through the streets of a town without stopping for brat children playing.

She stopped in the town and sauntered down a street or two. She pretended she didn't know where she was going.

A few ravens passed over the sunset. A cat streaked across the abandoned street. Eledhe stuck her hands in her pockets and denied that she was walking forward. The dust of the street puffed under her boots, and the silent inhabitants of the dilapidated houses took no notice of an intruder in their midst. Perhaps a curtain twitched in a window. Perhaps not.

Three from the end. The one with the red shutters.

It was the fault of her boots. By the time she reached the doorway, it was the fault of her distraction with a shuriken. Her hand found the knocker somehow.

Its dull thump echoed throughout the silent dwelling.

The door creaked on its hinges. A neglected smell, cold ashes and dirty water and dust, met her. A faint tinge of something metallic wafted on the still air. She stepped inside. The ramshackle dwelling creaked. All was strangely quiet.

Eledhe moistened her lips. "It's me," she said to the silence. There was no answer. Stepping around an overturned chair, she glanced into the next room. The shuriken, still in her hand, froze, and the sharp edge cut into her thumb.

Red spattered a floor cluttered with overturned items. The metallic smell grew stronger. A cloak, crimson, with a golden clasp caught in the fabric, lay abandoned, and a pitcher was shattered. Ragged curtains fluttered at a window that was negligently left open. Eledhe registered the details mechanically.

It was the dagger handle that caught her attention. It stuck up rigidly, from what seemed a heap of dirty blankets on the narrow bed. She grasped it, and felt the blade come free. The blankets shifted. Cold, staring blue eyes looked up, frozen, at the ceiling.

Eledhe recoiled, dropping the dagger, half-leaping away from the place where the body sprawled. She swallowed and a word came to her lips, long unused. "Mama?"

There was no recognition in the dead blue eyes, and not a hint of movement from the cold body sprawled on the bed. Had she expected it?

Her eyes fell to the dagger. Eledhe fled.

---

"How long ago was this?"

"I - I don't know, ma'am -"

"How long?"

The weedy man squirmed under the cold daggers of Eledhe's unblinking gaze. She leaned forward against the dirty counter, dropping her voice to a hiss. "Do not tell me you didn't know. I don't want excuses. How long ago?"

"Ah - three days, perhaps?"

"Thank you." Eledhe bit off the words. She turned around, surveying the inn, not bothering to conceal the restless way her fingers flipped the shuriken between them.

Someone was going to pay.

She chose a culprit in the bearded man, better dressed than all the others, sitting in a corner booth nursing his ale. Eledhe dug in her memory for a name. Dimaunt. He had some title that she forgot. It didn't matter; she was going to make him pay.

Uninvited, she sat down. "The innkeeper tells me a patrol passed through. Three days ago. Is he correct?"

The man belched and set his ale down. Eledhe held back a grimace. This was the pitiful authority in this backwater of a town? "Who's askin'?" he grunted.

Eledhe considered a moment. "Eledhe Darkstar," she said, finally. "Mercenaries' Guild. Did they cause any trouble?"

He shrugged. It infuriated her. "Naw."

"Then why," said Eledhe, enunciating with vicious clarity, "is my mother's rotting body still lying where one of those *beep* soldiers killed her?"

Now his eyes began to shift nervously. "Dunno what yer talkin' about."

"Do you know now?" Eledhe slammed the shuriken edge-down into the table, and got out another to set whirring between her fingers. "Someone noticed. Someone did nothing. What was it? Money? Or are you the drunken sot you look?"

His gaze flickered to the sharp-edged star, point jabbing upwards from the surface of the table. "He was missin' his woman," came the sullen mutter.

Eledhe wrenched her star from the wood and flung it at this pitiful administrator of justice. It sunk, quivering, into a point in the wall an inch to the left of his ear. "And that makes it all right," she hissed across the table. "Bloody groveling coward."

"Wouldn't 'a done anything!" he shouted after her as she stalked from the inn. "Justices are all on the side with the weapons!"

Eledhe was already gone.

---

Loyalty was a small price to pay for revenge. Eledhe didn't care that peasants died as long as she was paid enough; and she didn't care that the monarch was corrupted. Nobles still paid for her to do their dirty work.

Yes soldiers raped and killed and walked away.

She didn't bother to justify her own seething rage. It seemed to have lain dormant, invisible until now, when all that what needed was a match to set the tangle afire.

Eledhe rode hard for Y'rydha. She discarded the horse, and she spent good silver to make the gatekeeper talk.

So it was that at midnight she ended, after dirtying and cleaning a few daggers and hugging the shadows, in the silent corridor of the top floor of the Regent's newly minted prison, twirling a ring of keys. Mentally, she listed the things they could do to thank her. Find a messenger boy, perhaps.

Rapping on doors in turn as she walked down the corridor, she hissed the names. After the first ten she got tired of names.

At the twenty-first door, she banged her knuckles on it and demanded in hushed tones, "Is there a pair of idiot rebels in there?"

_________________

Dim moonlight shone through the window opposite Jate's cell, faintly illuminating crates, rats, and guards. Jate had released the sleeping spell after reassuring himself that he could perform it again. It was a lucky chance that minutes after the guards awoke, new ones came to take their place. He still got a few shivers thinking about what may have happened had he not reversed the spell. He and Ash sat, waiting hours on end, while the light grew redder and dimmer. Jate had been all for moving as soon as it got dark, but Ash cautioned him on waiting again. Good thing, too, since the commander of the guardhouse came down to check on the prisoners for the night.

But now it was time. Nodding to Ash to start working on the door's lock, Jate took the Heartshard up again. The glow welcomed him this time, and seemed to know what he wanted before he concentrated. Within a minute, he heard a soft snore coming from outside the cell. Opening the door, the rebels moved out quietly. Jate wasn't sure if an enchanted sleep would keep if there was too much noise. After a search of one guard came up with naught, he moved to the other. Ah. The keys gleamed slightly as he swung them up and into another cell's lock. He wasn't sure quite what his plan was. Obviously, a whole pack of rebels moving through the castle would attract attention. But there could be no alarm set off before they had the Phantom and Kjan back with them. Jate moved from cell to cell, scarcely breathing whenever a guard gave a faint snort or shifted in his sleep. When everyone had been let out, Jate took a deep breath and spoke in a loud whisper.

"Alright. There shouldn't be a change in the guard for another hour. We," he nodded to Ash and raised a questioning eyebrow at Dante, "are going to get the Phantom, if he hasn't gotten himself out already. We can't have an alarm sounded too soon. Wait as long as you can, and then try and leave as quickly as possible." Hoping they would take orders from a person half of them had never seen before, Jate started down the hallway to the high security section of the prison.

They passed without incident until they came to a guardroom at the base of a passage. Three guards sat in there, conversing with one another and idly drinking a mug of something Jate hoped was very strong. Knowing they were off duty did no good, they would still notice people sneaking by the door. Unsure if making them sleep was a good idea, because it was an area possibly often frequented, Jate eventually decided on it because it was the only option really open to them. They moved up the stairs, leaving the sounds of heavily snoring men behind them.

He stopped when he reached the top and muttered a mild curse. Which door were they in? About ready to knock on the first one, he saw a figure further down the hallway. Gripping a dagger hilt in one hand and the Heartshard in another, he inched closer. Readying himself to knock the person unconscious, he stopped when he saw metal reflecting everywhere in the moonlight. And one small gleam flying through the air consistently. It reminded him of--

"Eledhe?"

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going on a journey through my old claims

Kjan hated waiting. Especially when he wasn't entirely sure what he was waiting for. Their brainstorming had made one thing painfully clear: they weren't getting out of this cell on their own. Short of manually tearing down the door - solid oak, several inches thick, and likely heavily guarded on the other side - there was no way out.

So they were waiting. Had been waiting for several hours now. Waiting for a miracle? Waiting for one of the other rebels to do something unexpectedly brilliant? Waiting for first light, when soldiers would come and lead them down to the gallows? Kjan greatly preferred one of the first two options, though the last was seeming more and more likely. Not that he was giving up, of course. Far from it. He'd fight until the moment the lever was pulled. But fighting at all required that they first be released from this thrice-cursed cell.

Sleeping was the last thing he felt like doing at the moment, but he decided to attempt it nonetheless. The past few days had hardly been conducive to rest, and in the event that they did get out, they'd need to be as fresh as possible. He'd been sitting against the wall with his eyes closed - as close to sleep as he'd likely get - for quite some time when a sudden noise startled them both. The following inquiry was whispered, muted, but he knew that tone. Mostly dispassionate, with an undercurrent of disdain and a sharp edge of hostility. Eledhe.

"Only if there's a homicidal mercenary with keys out there."

Eledhe caught fragments of a whisper in return to her inquiry. Then someone said her name in entirely too loud a voice, whereupon she spun and hissed, "Idiot, be quiet!"

Oh. Jate. What in the name of all the dark gods was he doing? Did he want to get himself killed, sneaking around where a guard could round the next corner at any moment? And speaking of which -

Eledhe turned back to the door, and soundlessly inserted the proper key. She heard the tumblers shift and then click into place.

---

The Phantom came awake from a sleep that was either far too deep or far too shallow, judging by the bizarre dreams he'd been having. In the most recent one, Eledhe had showed up missing an arm from a shuriken accident, in juxtaposition with his mother and a pair of irritated dwarves. They'd all seemed to find it quite natural to know each other. He'd been quite bewildered.

He caught Kjan's 'homicidal mercenary' comment, and thought he might not have been dreaming. Where was his mother, then?

When the door swung open to outline a rectangle of black hallway, he had to blink several times.

Could the woman not make up her mind?

"Why are you here this time?" he whispered, not bothering to conceal his irritation.

"Do you want to stay in the cell?" she hissed.

"No, I want to know what in the name of every denizen of the underworld you are doing running back and forth! Which side is it this time?"

"Shut up," snarled Eledhe. "Come now or don't come at all."

_________________

"Given the choice between trusting a mercenary and rotting in prison, I have to admit that I'd usually choose the latter," Kjan interjected. "But we know for certain that the Regent wants to kill us, whereas Eledhe is only sometimes plotting our demise, so I'd say our chances are better with her. Besides, if we don't get moving soon, it won't matter whether we trusted her or not. I give it five minutes before the whole town's on high alert."

He turned and noted the presence of Jate and the others for the first time. Miracle, check. Unexpected brilliance... close enough. "Did you blow anything up this time?" he asked, nodding toward the Heartshard still in Jate's grasp. "Can't say I'm entirely opposed to the idea, but it might make stealth a bit difficult."