Only so many hours until dawn. The drips of water still ticked away the time.

"Excuse me," said Je'id, and slid the sabre back into his belt. "I have an appointment in my chambers."

Just as the torchlight was on the verge of once more abandoning Kendath to darkness, Je'id paused. In the silence, there was a long rasp of dry bone on rock. Temptation surged and overwhelmed. "A trial," he said, congenial, "is a bother. She's very pretty for a peasant, isn't she?"

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"You're going to kill her?" Kendath called out, incredulous.

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"Give me a reason to keep her alive," said Je'id. He'd meant to leave; instead, he turned at the junction of the passages to look at the assassin. "You know her. She won't serve me."

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Kendath stared at Je'id for the longest time, that expression of incredulity still plastered on his face. At length he shook his head. "You, my lord, are the biggest fool I've ever had the misfortune of being threatened by."

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"Oh? And why is that?" Je'id demanded. "The Chosen of the Gods will save the world and the Renegades and bring peace and prosperity?" He laughed. "Spare me."

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"Spare you?" It was Kendath's turn to laugh. "Well then, the High General will certainly not." He settled himself into a comfortable crouch, his elbows bouncing lightly on his thighs, as he stared up at Je'id with a smile. "My lord, this is how the world works. Merrin Dragonrider is your upper hand. What do you think will happen should you chop off your own hand? A pat on the head? A promotion?"

Like a conspirator he leaned forward. "You, my lord, are condemning yourself to become a rusted blade. Would you like to know what High General Ironlegs does with his rusted blades?"

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"Let us suppose for a moment that I care for this High General's opinion on the matter," said Je'id, and he forgot the words as he spoke them. Glimpses of splendor, tantalizing snatches of power, swam before his eyes. He shook them off, but they hummed a tune to which he could not help but dance. What would Ironlegs give for the Chosen of the Gods? Better than Rival Falls.

What had he been saying? "Let us assume the - enemy - would not find her death welcome news. You say sell her to them?" The melody of the tune was curiosity. "I heard you loved her."

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"Come closer," Kendath said. "You're my headache. The shouting's making it worse."

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Je'id obliged, but the thread of melody wound ever tighter. "And why would that be?" he said. He watched for a twitch, a clue, in the assassin's face. "Why would the Chosen of the Gods choose you?"

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Kendath caught his breath, then turned away. "Funny," he said, and listened as that single word suffocated in the gloom. "You are indeed the romantic. You think she feels for me?"

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"Oh? Is it love unrequited, then?" Briefly he let his voice slide into an exaggerated croon of condolence. "Poor Meiltha." He was far away. He was plucking at the harp strings of possibility. Idly, he spoke still. "Shall I ask her? Would she scorn you? Would she rein in the white fire if I told her your life, perhaps, hung in the balance?"

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"And cheat you of a slow death by burning?" Kendath flashed his smile. "Gods above, let's hope not!" His legs were getting sore, so he shifted from a crouch to an easy sitting position against the wall. The stone bled slimily through his shirt. "Pray tell me, Great and Prodigious Lord - what has Ironlegs promised you in exchange for this uppity Chosen?"

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"And why worry your head over such a thing?" said Je'id. "I will ask her which she prefers. Death at my hands or the hands of the Meiltha. Even you," and he flourished the torch so that she shadows splintered and rejoined, "cannot say fairer than that."

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"You don't know, do you?" Kendath let the smile slide from his face. "You've never seen the true extent of her... powers."

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"Powers? Oh, aye," said Je'id. "She indulged me with a little taste. As you see, I emerged unscathed. But enlighten me further." He slid to a crouch himself, back to the wall, torch in hand. Eye to eye. "So that I may quail at the wrath and terror of the gods."

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Kendath heard a suspicious hiss behind him, and twisted just in time to escape a javelin of saliva. It smacked onto the prison bars, just short of Je'id's buttoned doublet. Whether it'd been intended for Je'id or Kendath was impossible to tell. It'd been quite an impressive javelin of saliva too. A credit to common inmate pastimes.

"Well," Kendath said, and shifted his attention once more to his fellow conversationist. "This is no easy task." He tapped his head, straining in concentration. Epiphany! "Ah, now. You've seen dragonfire. Now imagine something ten times brighter, ten times hotter. You see?"

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