Ash nodded to Kjan and stepped out into the hallway. Talking with an irate cartographer wasn’t something he particularly wanted to do at the moment, but it was better than, say, accompanying Jate in finding Eledhe. Jogging to catch up with Dante, he fell into step beside the older man and cast about for something to say. Seeing the tool Dante was holding, he said, “You probably want to sharpen that, hm? My knives could use some sharpening, too. I have some whetstones.”

Ash led the way to his room, and proceeded to rummage around in the mess until he found two serviceable whetstones. Tossing one to Dante, he perched on the edge of a barrel and started working on his own knives. After a moment of silence, he said apologetically, “Don’t take what Jate said too personally. He’s nervous- not enough sleep, you know. We’re all kind of nervous.”

<i>Not enough sleep.</i> Dante's face cracked into something resembling a wry grimace at this generous understatement. He fingered the whetstone carefully, before using it against the dull blade.

"I should be used to these spontaneous plans," he finally said, though it didn't sound half as complaining as he'd intended it to. "Does your Phantom ever stick by a resolve, or just make new ones as he goes along?" He paused for a minute, glancing up at the young man, before demanding, "Do <i>you</i> even have the slightest clue what it is we're doing? One doesn't normally prepare weapons for surrender."

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<center>
"The piano is able to communicate the subtlest universal truths by means of wood, metal and vibrating air."

Silvryn made little attempt at small talk as they traveled the relatively short distance to her quarters, and Jate seemed content to return the favor. On several occasions, though, she found herself glancing over at the younger man, as though looking for something that even she didn't know she sought. They had nearly reached their destination when it abruptly occurred to her: He looked like her father.

They were by no means identical, of course, but there was something in the eyes, in the overall countenance of both men. Jate had even begun to carry himself in a way that more resembled the late king, Silvryn now realized. Her father - she would always think of him as such, regardless of what true bloodlines might say - had been more solidly built, had had a more regal, self-assured air about him, but there was still a very clear family resemblance. She did not know how she had missed it until now.

The door was unlocked, and so Silvryn simply opened it and indicated that Jate should follow. Her quarters being markedly more organized than one rebel leader's, the desired map was easily located and spread out across a table. "You will need to locate the entrance to this tunnel," she said, indicating one of the marked paths that began less than a mile from the prison and continued nearly to the heart of the palace. "The password is inscribed here - assuming that the magical wards recognize you, that is all you will need."

----------

"I was actually referring to any planning or problem-solving that might have occurred before my arrival," Kjan replied dryly, almost managing to keep his face completely devoid of a smirk. Almost. "Though it's perfectly understandable if you were otherwise occupied that entire length of time. I probably would've been."

The Phantom burnt his fingers a second time and gave up in disgust. "Yes. Well," he said, utterly failing to conjure a suitable reply. "I should find Eledhe."

He blew out the candles, leaving the chamber dark, and made for the door. A glance back into his quarters made him stop, drinking in their every detail by the dim torchlight of the corridor. They were surrendering. He was losing this, all of this.

Shaking his head, as though the persistent thought were an annoying insect he could brush off, the Phantom started blindly in the first direction that presented itself. "Remind anyone you see to lock whatever they can," he said to Kjan, stuffing his hands in his pockets. His cloak fluttered and the torches in the walls guttered in response. He swallowed an unnamed lump in his throat. "Anything informative must be burned."

He stopped in the middle of the corridor. "We're leaving. We're insane."

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“Who knows how the Phantom thinks.” Ash said with a short laugh. “Sometimes I don’t think he even knows. And no, I have to say I’m not entirely sure what’s going on.” Dante’s last sentence made him pause for a moment. <i>Surrender.</i> Refugees fleeing, soldiers swarming through the Keep, heirs walking into the Regent’s hands…

Putting a stop to those thoughts, he picked up a map from a small stack of papers and touched it to a candle’s flame. There weren’t many important documents in his room, but he did have a few scraps of paper with useful passwords and bits of information, and he didn’t plan on bloody handing those to the Regent.

“I wouldn’t give up hope.” He added, forcing a smile. “Might be luck, might be genius, but the Phantom’s plans have a way of working out in the end.”

Jate leaned over the table, trying to make out the small marked path. The rough wood made indents in his hand as he gripped it slightly tighter. "So all we need to do is get out of the prison," he murmured with a slight chuckle. All. He raised his voice to hearing level. "And what if the wards don't recognize me? Will it be some type of trap, or just that we won't be able to get through?" How he hoped for the latter. He glanced up and pushed a lock of hair out of his face. It was longer than when he lived in the city. For the first time in what felt like years, Jateyani wondered what his appearance was like. It couldn't be good. No decent cleanings - unless you counted rain showers - and no changes of clothes. His chin was scratchy; at least his hair was slow growing. Jate was never one to have many problems with shaving. But oh, a shave would be nice right now. First things first, he admonished himself. And second, third, and fourth. There's no time to be thinking about luxuries. He gave a snort at the thought of hygiene as a luxury.

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going on a journey through my old claims

"I am not certain how the magic works," Silvryn admitted. "I have only once had occasion to use it, and that was going in the opposite direction. Obviously it does not go by blood alone, as it permitted me to pass, but I do not know what is the determining factor. It should work, though. It has to; I doubt you would have time to reach the main entrance if it did not. As for escaping the jail... I imagine that will be the least of your concerns. The Phantom has proven himself more than adept at escaping such situations."

She contemplated for a moment before adding, "I am not especially clear on how the Heartshard operates, either, but it may be that it would prove useful in the event that the magic does not recognize you. As proof of royalty."

----------

"I could've told you that about twenty years ago when we got our preteen selves involved with a band of mercenaries," Kjan replied with somewhat forced levity, in an attempt to lighten the mood. Glancing up at the Phantom's expression and noting a conspicuous lack of lightening, he decided to opt for a more serious approach.

"No one's giving up yet, Phae," he said quietly. "We're not surrendering - just employing a military strategy that happens to involve being taken away from here in chains. Our original intent was to protect the people, and right now this is the only way to go about it. The Keep's nice to have, of course, but the people are what make the rebellion. We've managed without the Keep before; we'll do it again now."

He paused to evince a thin, wry smile. "Anyway, insanity's worked in our favor so far, so why stop now?"

"I'd take a band of mercenaries over murderous elves after us, any day," muttered the Phantom with a crooked smile. "Even if the mercenaries had Eledhe."

---

Presently, the half-elf mercenary of which they were speaking was situated in a crevice between two spears of rocky mountaintop, positioned ideally to watch the antlike milling of the soldiers in the camp far below. There was no organization of ranks; the militia were merely strolling aimlessly about their camp as though they had days. Eledhe's mouth twisted into a frown.

Out the corner of her eye, a flicker of movement in the forest carpeting the hilly landscape made her turn sharply.

A steady trickle of men, armor flashing like mirrors in the sun, was emerging from the forest. Swiftly, she scanned the camp, revising an earlier estimate of how many they were facing. Four thousand. Already insurmountable odds were inching up into a place where the most impenetrable of mountain fortresses could not save them.

Eledhe ducked down into the crevice and wrenched a shuriken from her pouch. She could stroll down there and casually mention half the passwords of the Keep's entrances, and probably emerge with a reward in gold. Right now.

Instead she flung the ebony metal from her in a flash, where it ricocheted off the stone with a grating rasp and fell to rest in the uneven scree. She stared at it.

When she charged back down the mountainside, habitually ducking behind spurs of rock and continually scanning the forested slopes, she left the star there.

"Kyth'awi," she muttered, and slipped inside the entrance.

There was no guard. Eledhe spared a moment to make sure the entrance resealed itself behind her and charged down the corridors. She heard footsteps in time to grind to a halt.

"There are too many," she said in a monotone when the footsteps revealed themselves as belonging to the Phantom. "Twelve to one. Maybe fifteen to one."

The Phantom shoved his hands deeper into his pocket. "I know," he said. "We're surrendering."

Eledhe stared at him. Then she looked at Kjan. "This is your fault," she announced, fixing him with a glare. "You've finally driven him crazy."

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Kjan followed Eledhe's pointed glare to a spot on the wall directly behind him, then turned back around with an exaggerated expression of surprise. As though he were still not perfectly aware of who the mercenary meant, he pointed at himself questioningly. "My fault?" he repeated. Him driving the Phantom crazy? Kjan was fairly certain that if anyone's sanity had been steadily diminishing throughout the years of their friendship, it was his own.

"I'll have you know it was Lady Silvryn's idea, thanks, and the best option we have available to us right now," Kjan replied with as much indignation as could be safely mustered when Eledhe was glowering at him like that. "Anyway, it's not exactly a surrender, as it were. We're just willingly giving up our one stronghold so we can get arrested, march all the way back to Y'rydha, sit in prison, and convince the Regent that he doesn't really want to fight us right now anyway. It's foolproof, really."

Eledhe did not dignify this with an answer. She stared at Kjan for another moment, nonplussed, then returned her displeasure to the Phantom. "Well, I did not agree to this."

"Your other option is to accompany the refugees," retorted the Phantom. "I'm sure Silvryn would appreciate your help." He was sure of no such thing, but some suicidal part of himself liked to bait Eledhe.

"Or I could leave." She folded her arms.

The Phantom shrugged, expression impassive. "Suit yourself. Jate needs some lessons in how to use his explosive rock before you go, though." He brushed past her.

"Oh, so I'm playing nursemaid now?"

The Phantom rolled his eyes and turned around. Eledhe's eyes could have doused a volcano.

"I'm just all-purpose, aren't I?" she snapped. "Nursemaid, schoolteacher, page girl, convenient mage, hired help. I'm bloody sick of it. Get your precious princess to teach him. I'm leaving."

She whipped around, dark braid flying, and stalked in the opposite direction. The Phantom stared at her retreating back. "Today has just not been my day," he muttered.

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Kjan wisely refrained from commenting on the fact that it hadn't really been anyone's day for the past month now, nor did it look like it would be for some time yet. Instead, he simply shrugged and hastened to follow after the Phantom once more. "She'll come around."

The half-jogging pace that was necessary if one wished to keep up with the Phantom in such a mood had long been second nature, but Kjan found that he wasn't especially up to it. It had been a very long day, and it was rapidly beginning to catch up to him. And besides that, the Phantom clearly wasn't much of one for company at the present. Maybe it would be just as well if at least one of them had his wits about him in the morning.

"I'm going to bed," he announced abruptly as they came to a split in the corridor. "If you have any more brilliant plans, feel free to tell me in the morning. Good night." He executed a half-hearted salute, then disappeared down the opposite corridor.

----------

The following day passed much as the one before had, only now they had a specific goal in mind. Any documents that could prove remotely informative to their enemies were summarily burned, any rooms that could be were locked. What few valuables the rebellion still possessed were sent with various departing groups, which were sent out as frequently as they dared. Many of those who had sworn to stay behind and fight had to be persuaded to leave with said groups, now that they would be surrendering instead. In the end, only a small force of just over fifty remained, just barely enough to pass for an organized rebel force. The fewer rebels that the Regent got behind bars, the better.

Refugees could not be sent out during daylight hours, for fear of being spotted too easily as they emerged into the woods, but evacuations resumed as soon as the sun began to sink below the horizon. It was nearly midnight when the final group was at last making preparations to depart, Silvryn among them. She had only a small bag with her, her personal possessions being relatively few, and so she was ready to leave well before the others in the group.

"I should be going with you," she said flatly, without actually making eye contact with the Phantom. "No one knows the palace better than I do, and Jate has hardly had the opportunity to learn anything."

It was not a plea or an attempt to change his mind - just an honest statement. Silvryn hated feeling helpless, but her present state of mind was straying dangerously near that as she prepared to run away while her closest companions attempted a near-suicidal plan of her own devising. She would not have changed her plan, of course, but she would have rather liked to be present when it was acted upon.

She hesitated, then finally looked up at him. "I suppose it would be futile to tell you to be careful."

Wordlessly, the Phantom handed her a dagger. The knife at her belt reassured him, but the little time remaining before he knew his weapons would be gone gave him a keen eye for anyone who had none. Every refugee able to handle a dagger without hurting themselves had been given one. "I know you can use that," he said, nodding at her weapon, but folded her fingers around the dagger anyway. A tight smile was not yet impossible. "Humor me."

The torchlight ringing the chamber made his world seem as though it were shrinking. The Phantom raked his gaze one more time over the last little band of civilians. Nothing left to do except...

He turned his eyes once more to Silvryn's face, not letting go of her fingers folded over the dagger. "I'll be careful. If I don't see you..."

Somehow, if he voiced it, it became real. The Phantom decided not to. "You be careful, too," he said.

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Silvryn took the dagger and fastened it to her belt without speaking, not trusting herself to form the appropriate words. If he didn't see her.... He hadn't completed the sentence, but it was easy enough to guess the meaning behind it. There was a possibility that one or both of them would not come out of this alive. It was not a possibility that she liked to consider, but a very real one nonetheless. It was entirely possible that this was it.

Ignoring the strange sensation at the back of her throat, Silvryn returned the tight smile. For one long moment, they both simply stared at each other without speaking, as though absorbing every possible detail while there was still time. And then, all too soon, the group of refugees began to move. Silvryn hastily picked up her bag and made to follow them, but she had gone all of about ten steps when she abruptly stopped where she was.

She gave herself no time to think, simply dropped the bag on the ground and all but ran the ten steps back. The smallest fraction of a second elapsed, and then she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, more deeply and passionately than either time before. The nagging thought that people were watching this time only made her draw it out even longer out of spite. Let them watch - it was the least of her concerns at the present.

At length, but still far too soon, they reluctantly pulled apart. Silvryn flashed him the barest of smiles, and then disappeared into the throng of refugees once more.

The electric shock that struck like a lightning bolt, the moment the Phantom found her lips pressed against his, spasmed dizzyingly through his limbs. It fizzled out and left him bending, arms wrapped around her, heartbeat thudding in his ears with a convenient roar. He wouldn't have heard an explosion big enough to rip apart half the mountain.

She loosed her hold and he tightened his. A moment before he had utterly lacked words and now there were too many, grappling to be voiced. "Silvryn -" he started, the roar of his heartbeat diminishing fractionally. The whole of his vision was encompassed by violet. "Silvryn, I -"

And then she was gone. The Phantom stared after her, watching until his last glimpse was gone, and then swallowed. His throat was dry.

Their footsteps were fading, and the torches guttered steadily. Silvryn was gone.

The Phantom spun and stalked in the opposite direction. His own steps echoed in the empty chamber.

---

They passed that night, the remainder of their last night in the Keep, with very little sleep. The small force who'd elected to remain with the Phantom - either out of loyalty or stubbornness - was in a nervous state of anticipation. It eased his mind fractionally, the Phantom reflected as he sat at his desk and stared into the guttering candle flames, that many of the men who stayed had no families to hide in the wilderness and worry.

Thoughts such as those kept him occupied. Every time he allowed himself to lapse into directionless, skittering trains of thought, they veered in the same direction, and he felt again Silvryn's reassuring warmth in his arms. Not to mention...

That was always when he halted it, disgusted at himself. His relief when dawn came was bittersweet.

They gathered, a defiant little band, at the entrance through which closest access could be had to the place where, three days ago, negotiations had been completed. The Phantom, rubbing his fingers over the hilt of his greatsword - which, he expected, would not be his much longer - swept his eyes over the haggard group of men who remained. Only men. No Eledhe, now, and no Silvryn.

"Keep fighting," he said simply, turning to offer a few last words of encouragement before they marched into the misty predawn light to give up the Keep. "This isn't the end. It's never too late."

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Kjan's fingers drummed an erratic pattern on the hilt of his knife, the only outward sign of how uneasy he was. For all that he'd supported this plan in theory, it was a different thing entirely to be standing there, waiting, knowing that they were about to give up their only tactical advantage in this war, surrender themselves to chains, and be marched back to the capital for execution. But it was a sight better than charging into a battle that they knew they'd lose - or so he kept forcefully reminding himself.

It was a strange thing to be so alert and yet so very exhausted. Like nearly everyone else in the Keep, he'd barely slept at all the night before, and what little sleep he had gotten had been uneasy. There had still been much to do even a few hours ago. All important documents had been burned, valuables had been hidden, and any doors that could be were locked. It would do them little good - there was already more than enough evidence to sentence them all to death, and not a man there would have denied it - but it was a matter of principle. Essentially, a last act of defiance.

Kjan glanced over at Jate, curious as to how the young man was handling the situation. He was doing well, as far as Kjan could discern, compared to other men of similar age and experience. Which was good - with Eledhe gone, Jate was really their only remote chance of escaping the prison as quickly as they would need to. Kjan was tempted to emphasize this point out loud, but hopefully it went without saying.

Joining the Phantom at the head of the group, Kjan managed what he hoped passed for a tight smile. "One of your best motivational speeches yet, in my opinion," he commented quietly. "Short and to the point." He allowed his gaze to briefly sweep the ragtag assortment of rebels before returning to the Phantom. "We'd best get moving, I think, in case the commander's getting impatient. He seemed rather set on this 'first light' business."

"Right," returned the Phantom. His grip around the hilt of his greatsword loosened and tightened. He could feel every contour of the pommel, the heaviness of the weapon in his hand. How easy it would be to stride out into the foggy predawn light like a hero and pull out his sword with a ring of metal on metal...

Of course, what followed that was almost certain death, a prospect not even the Phantom was especially amenable to experiencing. But the thought of marching to Y'rydha in chains was hardly more attractive.

He realized he was wearing a murderous scowl and attempted to smooth the expression away. The effort was feeble. It remained. "We may surrender, but we are not lying down to be trampled on," he growled to the assembled men. "Let's show these soldiers what a real cause looks like."

With that, he turned, and was the first to stride up the tunnel to the place where a muttered frogspawn made the rock materialize into a doorway. The Phantom hesitated momentarily, feeling one last time the heaviness of his sword at his belt, and stepped out into a thicket of pines growing close against the mountainside.

Mist veiled the dark greenery. The muffled noises of the camp were close; the jingling of horses' harnesses, the creaking of wagons. The barking of orders. He slipped down the steep, treed slope, treading lightly, listening. Peering out from the cover of the forest, he could see the army commander lower down, feet planted far out and arms folded over his armored chest. His guard stood nervously, shifting. The Phantom allowed himself a grim smile.

Best live up to his image.

Stepping softly, waiting until his gallant entourage was behind him, he silently emerged from the mist, striding at the head of the band, one hand on the hilt of his greatsword.

The soldiers' heads whipped around as though pulled on strings. The Phantom felt a curious sense of power at the eyes riveted on him.

"Phantom Grey," said the commander evenly. His eyes flickered to Kjan. "You see fit to honor us with your presence?"

Derision. The Phantom ignored it. He savored the eyes fixed upon him for one more moment. Then, in one smooth motion, he drew his greatsword.

He could have been a hero. He could have roared defiance and charged, killing fifty or a hundred or a thousand before being cut down, and perhaps the world could have remembered Phantom Grey, the rebel who would not surrender. At that moment, facing an army of insurmountable odds and already feeling the chains he was sure would appear, the Phantom thought of Silvryn.

She would definitely not approve of this hero business.

With an inward sigh, he stepped forward, voice as chill as the mist. "Greetings, commander. We surrender."

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