"I had thought I could put a process in motion and 
control it at every turn - even stop it when I wanted to.  
And now the frightening conviction grew in me that such a 
process might become a thing in itself, a person almost, 
having its own ends and means and quite independent of 
its creator.  And another troublesome thought came in.  
Did I really start it, or did I simply not resist it?  I 
may have been the mover, but was I not also the moved?  
Once on the long street, there seemed to be no 
crossroads, no forked paths, no choice."

 -- John Steinbeck
    The Winter of Our Discontent

*************

Disclaimer:  The wonderful anime "Vision of Escaflowne" 
and all of its cast members are created and owned by 
Shouji Kawamori and Sunrise, Inc.  If only use names and 
characters in the most illegal sense possible; this is, 
after all, a fanfic.  Please don't sue me - I have no 
money to give you anyway!

*************

"Feuerfest"
	by Kotetsu

Part Five:  Nothing Blacker Than a Wick

*************




	Orinda awoke the next morning when Howie flew in 
through an open window and promptly began scratching at 
her bare arm that she had left exposed on top of the 
bedsheets.  He hooted and fluttered his wings in her face 
until she finally opened her eyelids, groggy and 
disoriented.

	“Howie? . . . How . . .  . . HOWIE?!”  Orinda bolted 
herself into an upright position, the color draining from 
her cheeks, as a shiver passed down her spine.  She 
suddenly remembered the implications of Howie’s return.

	“Oh, Howie . . .”  She clutched at her bedsheets 
with white knuckles.  “Please tell me that you didn’t 
come here because he’s in trouble.  Please tell me that 
he’s all right.”

	The owl hooted and fluttered in her face, berating 
her for her unrealistic optimism with the harsh, raspy 
clicking of his beak.  

	Orinda buried her face in her hands.  “The Madoshi 
took him,” she murmured into her palms.   

	Howie finally calmed down, and perched himself on a 
chair across the bedroom.  He blinked and cocked his head 
at his mistress, waiting for her to make a move.

	Orinda felt her chin trembling, and a strange 
heaviness settled into her nose and temples.  

	<No.  No.  I won’t cry.  If I cry, that means that 
I’m still scared of the Madoshi and that they’ve won.  I 
won’t give them that pleasure.  I won’t cry.  I won’t cry 
for him, and I won’t cry for me.>

	<Fine then, don’t cry,> the shrewish part of her 
brain whispered.  <But you’ve got to let out all that 
emotional angst somehow.  If you want to do something 
about the situation, you’d better have a clear head 
before you make any plans.  Or, better yet-->

	<--Why not kill two birds with one stone?>

	<Now you’re talking.>

	For once, the two competing voices inside Orinda’s 
head seemed to be in agreement.  And, for the first time 
in years, she felt the old familiar urges rising once 
again.

	<I’ll burn them.  I’ll burn the Madoshi.  If I can 
save him, I will; if not, I will burn every last one of 
the Madoshi until there is nothing left of them and their 
experiments but a pile of ashes.>

	Orinda slid out of bed, moving as if she were in a 
dream.  A manic smile spread slowly across her face.  
“I’ll burn them, Howie,” she addressed her owl dreamily 
without actually looking at him.  

	“I am going to burn the Madoshi.”

		*		*		*

	The morning dawned gray and drizzly - not that any 
of the Dragonslayers could see it, of course.  The 
sixteen young men had marched, silently and dignified, 
into the large, elaborate floating transport of the three 
visiting Madoshi before the sun had even risen.  They 
voluntarily led themselves into the brig of the ship, and 
had filled the brig silently, refusing to cast down their 
eyes or even show the slightest sign of fear in the 
presence of the watchful Madoshi.  After the sixteen 
prisoners had been securely locked in the windowless, 
dark brig, Lord Gerard and his two colleagues settled 
comfortably into their luxurious quarters on the upper 
level of the ship, and it departed.

	Folken watched the floating ship sail into the pre-
dawn sky from the tiny window in his private study.  He 
hadn’t bothered to say his farewells to Lord Gerard or 
the other two Madoshi.  He had never harbored any 
particular desire to talk to them if it could at all be 
avoided, anyhow.

	“Be gentle with them, Gerard,” he whispered his 
parting words to the window.  “Remember that they’re just 
young boys.”

	Even if he had said the words to Gerard’s face, they 
would have had no effect.  Folken sighed, saddened and 
disgusted by the fact.  He leaned back in his chair and 
sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing his throbbing 
temples.

	<What will I do with myself today, now that 
everybody else is away?  I know . . . I’ll try my hand at 
that new television broadcast technology.  It seems 
interesting enough.  Maybe I’ll hook up a feed directly 
to Emperor Dornkirk himself.  Yeah.  That will solve any 
future authority disputes between me and any *intruders* 
on the Vione.  Then it’s decided.  This will be my 
project for the day.>

	Inside the brig of the departing ship, all was 
silent.  The Dragonslayers sat on the stone benches 
lining the walls of the chamber, quietly worrying and 
waiting.  Everything that had needed to be said between 
them had been said the previous night, during which none 
of them had actually gone to sleep.  Chesta and Gatti had 
reported their information to their captain - “The 
Madoshi created a monster.  When Dilandau-sama messed 
with fate, the resulting abnormal fate vibrations caused 
the monster to create its own soul.  This is why the 
Madoshi are so upset.  This is why they want revenge.”  
And Dilandau, in return, had explained the true situation 
to his men - “You are all accepting punishment from the 
Madoshi because I made love to a beautiful woman. Do any 
of you regret your decision now?”  And the response - 
“No, Dilandau-sama, we do not.”

	Dilandau leaned back his head and closed his eyes.  
And he remembered.

	<I remember you, Orinda.  I remember the feeling of 
your hair in my fingers, the scent of your skin, the 
taste of your lips.  I remember the way that you moved 
and the way that you laughed and the way that you touched 
me.  And I won’t let them take that memory away from me.  
I won’t ever forget you, Orinda.>  Orinda was a great 
granite rock, too proud and strong to be worn away by 
wind, sea, or time.  Certainly, the simple machinations 
of the Madoshi would not be enough to destroy her.  She 
was too tough for them.

	Inside the brig, the sixteen young men exuded the 
aura of condemned prisoners being marched toward their 
own execution.

		*		*		*

	If Orinda had had to travel on foot through the 
mountain pass and to the capital city of Zaibach, it 
would have taken her days before she could have reached 
the headquarters of the Madoshi.

	Fortunately, that was not the case.

	As usual, there were bandits camping out in the 
mountain pass, waiting to mug any unsuspecting travelers; 
and, as usual, they happened to own a small, sleek, fast 
airship.

	Orinda was no mere unsuspecting traveler.  She just 
happened to be armed with a large axe and a pack of 
explosives strapped to her back; after some diplomatic 
“negotiations” with the bandits, she persuaded them to 
let her borrow their airship for a short while.  

	A quick journey through the mountain pass and 
over the outermost suburbs of the city brought Orinda to 
the outskirts of the sprawling metropolis.  She abandoned 
the airship, not really caring if the locals decided to 
salvage it or vandalize it or steal it.  It had been 
years since she had last visited the city, but she 
remembered every street, every corner, every secret alley 
and crevice from her childhood.  She flitted from street 
to street with a growing sense of familiarity, confident 
that she knew where she was going and exactly how to get 
here.

	Even though she didn’t, really.

	Orinda chewed on her lip thoughtfully as she 
navigated through the bustling crowds of one of the 
central marketplaces of the city.  <How on Gaea am I 
going to sneak my way into the most heavily guarded and 
secretive laboratories in the Empire?>  

	Orinda waited for the smart-aleck part of her brain 
to produce a suitable answer to her question, but it 
remained silent.  At least she could be comfortable in 
the fact that she was completely inconspicuous.  She had 
worn her best blouse and skirt, her only clothing that 
*wasn’t* made of animal fur, so that she would blend in 
with the cosmopolitan crowd.  Although she did have an 
axe strapped to her back, it wasn’t unusual for citizens 
of Zaibach to arms themselves.  Her pack of explosives 
could just as well have been full of her morning 
shopping; and the ease with which she navigated the 
streets of the city concealed the fact that she was 
technically a tourist.  As long as she continued to fade 
into the crowd, she would have time to think and plan her 
next step. She was beginning to feel damp and sweaty from 
the light, hot rain that occasionally drizzled across the 
city, but at the same time, she didn’t care.  Orinda 
shaded her eyes, an unnecessary gesture for such a cloudy 
day, and scanned the crowded square, waiting for 
inspiration to strike.

	And strike it did.

	“Excuse me,” she said innocently, approaching a 
merchant astride a tired-looking horse hitched to a cart 
brimming with barrels poorly packed and overflowing with 
blue powder, “is that Blue Fairy Dust that you’ve got 
back there?”  The tarp that protected the barrels from 
the light drizzling rain had peeled back partially, 
exposing the precious cargo.

	“Yeah, but it’s not for sale.  The whole shipment’s 
already bought and paid for.”

	“Tsk.”  Orinda looked disappointed.  “Who on Gaea 
would need all that dust?”
	
	“Madoshi, you fool.  And I wouldn’t recommend 
messing with their goods.”

	Orinda had already guessed that.  So Dilandau was 
right - they *were* planning an invasion of Fanelia.  
They would need the Blue Fairy Dust to make the proper 
chemical juice to burn Fanelia’s bluestone buildings.  
“You’re taking that to the Madoshi right now?”

	“Yeah, as soon as my partner gets his lazy bum back 
out here.  Had to stop for a drink.  We’ve been traveling 
all day and all night to get here.  I just want to finish 
the transaction ASAP, just wanna get it over with.  The 
goddamn Madoshi give me the creeps, if you know what I 
mean.”

	“Yeah.  I know what you mean.”  Orinda shook her 
head in resignation, and turned to walk away.

	“Hey!” the merchant called after her, and she paused 
in midstep.  “What’s a pretty girl like you want with a 
bunch of explosives anyway?”

	She smiled at him mischievously.  “Revenge on my ex-
boyfriend!”

	He laughed, loud and heartily.  “You’re cute, kid.  
Take care.”

	“Thanks.  I will.”

	As soon as the merchant’s back was turned, Orinda 
sneaked into the back of the cart and pulled the tarp 
back down over the barrels.

	“Here I come, Madoshi,” she muttered to herself as 
the rain pitter-pattered on the tarp over her head.  
“Here I come.”

		*		*		*

	“She’s following us.”  The panicked, breathy squeak 
startled Lord Gerard out of his semi-nap.

	Gerard’s head snapped upward.  “What?!”

	“Look.  Here.”  The tiniest, squeakiest Madoshi 
shoved the carbon-copy printout of the current fate 
vibrations into Lord Gerard’s face.  “Look!  The live 
feed from headquarters just faxed this in.”  It appeared 
to read normally - the usual spikes and whorls, dips and 
valleys, signaling that the great clockwork gears of fate 
were turning as normal - babies were born, old men and 
women died, young lovers were wed at the alter, and the 
world continued to rotate on its axis as normal.  Except 
. . . for one strange formation on the graph . . . 

	The smallest Madoshi seemed almost to be in a panic.  
“It’s the same pattern that occurs when Captain Albatou 
and Muirne de Eowyn are together!  Only we know that 
she’s not onboard this ship, so that means that--”

	“She’s following us.”  Gerard’s eyes flickered to 
Lord Kerth, who stood on the bridge beside the pilot, 
silent and brooding.  “How close are we to--”

	There was a sudden lurch, and the ship came to a 
halt.

	“We’re here.  We’re docking now,” the pilot informed 
the Madoshi.

	Kerth made a strangled grunting sound.  He seemed 
angry.

	Gerard turned to his timid companion.  “Are you 
scared of the de Eowyn woman?”

	“No, sir.  It’s just that . . . Well, we all know 
that she’s angry, and how violent she can get when she’s 
angry, and . . .”  He trailed off, his courage wilting.

	But Gerard couldn’t suppress the slow grin spreading 
across his face.  “Lord Kerth - come with me.  You and I 
will personally escort the Captain of the Dragonslayers 
into headquarters.  We’ll let everyone else deal with the 
other Dragonslayers.  Hopefully, de Eowyn will come 
straight for us, without bothering to . . . terrorize . . 
. any of our colleagues.”

	The smallest Madoshi squeaked again, but nodded his 
understanding of Gerard’s orders.

		*		*		*

	Orinda listened carefully to the sounds around here.  
There had been a long, bumpy ride through the city, and a 
brief conversation with a person whose academic accent 
instantly marked him as a Madoshi; now the cart was 
moving again, and from the echoing quality of the nervous 
chatter between the merchant and his partner, Orinda 
could tell that they were now inside a building.

	Inside THE building.

	She closed her eyes and held her breath.  <I haven’t 
been here since they exiled me.  Funny, I don’t miss the 
old place at all.>  The cart continued to move underneath 
her, until finally it ground to a halt.

	She heard the merchant dismount his horse and 
approach the back of the cart.  His hands gripped the 
edges of the tarp . . . 

	<Time to make my grand entrance.>  Orinda licked her 
lips.

	The tarp flew off the top of the car, and Orinda 
leapt out and landed gracefully on her feet right beside 
the startled merchant.

	The merchant’s jaw dropped.  His partner, still 
astride his horse at the front of the cart, yelled an 
obscenity.  But Orinda ignored him, and tipped the 
merchant a cheerful wink and a salute.  “Thanks for the 
ride, friend.  I’ll be going now.”

	Orinda had seen out of the corner of her eye that 
there were one or two Madoshi slithering around the large 
loading dock in which she now found herself, so she knew 
that she didn’t have time to exchange any more 
pleasantries with the startled merchant.  Without another 
word, she whirled and began running.  She could hear the 
merchant’s partner screaming at the top of his lungs, 
“INTRUDER!  SEIZE HER!” and appropriately quickened her 
pace, pelting across the loading dock.

	Had she paused in her mad dash just long enough to 
look over her shoulder, she would have seen the merchant 
slowly waving one hand in a gesture of farewell, mouthing 
the words “Good luck” at her receding figure.

		*		*		*

	The first protests had arisen, predictably, when 
Gerard and Kerth separated the captain from the other 
Dragonslayers.

	“Where are you taking Dilandau-sama?!” Several of 
the boys had shouted at once, as soon as the two Madoshi 
seized the said captain around the shoulders and began 
dragging him in a direction opposite of the one that 
their squeaky colleague and several other Madoshi were 
leading the other Dragonslayers.

	Until that point, the sixteen young men had marched 
along willingly and voluntarily.  Now Gerard could sense 
unease growing in their ranks.  Unfortunately, he was all 
too aware of the necessity of separating Albatou from the 
rest of the troops.  Gerard rolled his eyes with 
exasperation.  “Questioning our methods will only ensure 
you all a more painful punishment,” he sternly addressed 
the rebellious youth.

	The Dragonslayers fell silent.  Captain Albatou, for 
his part, had muttered a rather nasty obscenity under his 
breath, but did not resist when Kerth and Gerard half-
pushed, half-dragged him down a particularly sinister-
looking dark hallway.  Albatou had dragged his feet along 
the ground stubbornly, but had offered no other 
resistance.  Gerard was pleased to note that his charge 
recognized the futility of any rebellion he might produce 
at that point, and thus refrained himself from making the 
process any more painful than it had to be.

	Now Gerard and Kerth were alone with the Captain, 
who, after being stripped of his armor and outer layer of 
clothing and pumped full of a variety of mind-numbing 
drugs, was presently strapped to a utilitarian slab of 
cold steel, his eyes wide but unfocused, facial muscles 
slack, breathing shallowly.  Gerard furrowed his brow as 
he studied his young test subject.  Yes, something was 
most definitely different than the last time that he had 
seen the boy like this . . . 

	Kerth raised his eyebrows at Gerard.

	“Yes, I know.”  Gerard muttered to himself.  “It 
does indeed seem as if our test subject has developed his 
own independent soul.  It’s strange, but it’s obvious 
just by looking at him.”

	Kerth coughed.

	“Oh, I know about the theories that they’ve been all 
to eager to share with me.  If you’re correct, and our 
disobedient young captain was indeed with Muirne de Eowyn 
yesterday, and engaging in the sort of activities that 
you suspect, then it could have been a case of his 
physical body taking the burden upon itself to prepare 
the boy’s mind and emotions for . . . well, things that 
we never bothered to program him for.  This first step of 
independence on the boy’s part, compared with the 
emotional intensity of the . . . you know . . . could 
have led to the spontaneous development of--”

	Kerth coughed again.

	“I know.  I am well aware of the adjustments that 
need to be made.  But that can wait a moment, can’t it?  
Think of it, my dear Lord Kerth.  This is a fascinating 
test subject.  We are looking at the most important 
advancement in fate alteration technology in decades.  
Think of the possibilities . . .”

	Gerard fell silent and meditative, staring at 
Captain Albatou.  He wondered what an artificially-
generated soul looked like.  He wondered if he could just 
slice open the Captain’s chest and pluck out his soul, 
which would be a neat, round, golden, shining ball, so 
that he could stare at it under a magnifying glass, prick 
it, tap it, test it, and properly examine it.  He 
wondered if it was technically correct to classify the 
Captain’s soul as ‘artificially generated’ in the first 
place.  He wondered if, had he dared to actually cut open 
the Captain's chest, he would also find the soul of 
Serena Schezar, also wrapped up into a neat little 
bundle, but smaller and squishier, and lacking the 
vibrant glow of Albatou’s soul.  He wondered if two souls 
could exist in the same body.  Or if, for that matter, 
two bodies could exist in the same body.  He wondered if 
Serena Schezar’s soul had ceased to exist. 

	Gerard shook his head and sighed.  If he *did* yield 
to temptation and slice open the Captain’s chest, 
Dornkirk would have him beheaded.  With another sigh of 
resignation, he picked up the first of his cold steel 
tools, and began his unholy machinations. 

		*		*		*

	Orinda hunkered down in the dark, damp cranny 
underneath a stairwell, attracted by the sound of 
approaching military-style footsteps.  As far as she 
knew, no Madoshi ever wore standard military-issue boots.  
She counted the pairs of boots clunking down the steps 
above her head - thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.  Fifteen 
pairs of boots.  Orinda cautiously poked her head out of 
her hiding alcove and watched the group of young soldiers 
marching down the stairs and further down a dark hallway, 
their backs turned away from her.  They were accompanied 
by three Madoshi - one in the lead, one marching 
alongside the middle of the line of fifteen, and another 
bringing up the rear of the procession.  Orinda instantly 
recognized the uniforms of the soldiers - they were the 
Dragonslayers that had invaded her forest two mornings 
ago.  They walked in silence, solemn and dignified, an 
attitude that Orinda found singularly peculiar for young 
male soldiers.  Her heart sank in her chest when she 
realized that their Captain was not among them.

	<That’s strange.  I wonder why *all* of the 
Dragonslayers are here.  I thought that the Madoshi 
didn’t normally get tangled up in military affairs.>

	<It doesn’t matter.  Just do your thing.>

	<For once, brain, I think I agree with you.  No, 
wait.  That might be the second time today that I agree 
with you.  I think we’re setting a new record here.>

	Orinda leapt out from her hiding place and 
brandished her axe menacingly.  “HALT!  I COMMAND YOU TO 
HALT!”

	Slowly, disbelievingly, fifteen Dragonslayers and 
three Madoshi turned to face the axe-wielding madwoman.  
Once she saw that she had caught their attention, Orinda 
licked her lips and grinned.  She grabbed the arm of the 
startled Madoshi closest to her and pulled him into her 
chest.  He squawked a strangled protest, but she ignored 
him.  “You two, Madoshi!  Don’t move, or I’ll behead your 
friend here!”

	The two Madoshi cowered.  The Dragonslayers blinked 
in lazy, startled amusement.  “Muirne de Eowyn . . . ?”  
One murmured a half-formed question underneath his 
breath.

	She winked at them, playfully.  “Hey, guys.  Short 
time no see.  What are you doing in a dump like this?  
Ah, wait, don't answer that.  No time now.  Look, I’ve 
got some rope in my pack.  Could someone get it out for 
me?  I’d hate to lose my grip on my new friend here.  At 
least they haven’t got you in handcuff or anything.  
You’re not prisoners, are you?!  Oh, yes, I see that 
they’ve removed your weapons.  Then you must be 
prisoners.  My condolences to you.”

	One of them, a handsome blue-eyed boy with a mop of 
curly gold hair, blinked again.  “You’re . . . observant.  
To say the least.”

	“Don’t just stand there like idiots!  Get out my 
rope!  And keep *those two* from running off and sounding 
an alarm!”

	As if the key synapse in fifteen different brains 
finally clicked at the same moment, the Dragonslayers 
suddenly rushed into action.  Within moments the three 
Madoshi were bound, gagged, and rudely stuffed into the 
dark alcove underneath the stairway where Orinda had been 
hiding only a few short minutes ago.

	When that item of business was taken care of, Orinda 
turned to address her troops.  The first question burned 
in her throat - “Do you know where Captain Albatou is?!”

	They shook their heads in dismay.  One of them, a 
tall, lanky youth with fine brown hair and eyes, stepped 
forward and addressed her.  “The Madoshi took away 
Dilandau-sama quite a while ago.”

	“Then why are you all here?”

	“We’re under arrest.  It’s none of your concern.”

	“Right.  I understand.  But I’ll promise you this - 
if you cooperate with me, I can get your captain back.”

	The spokesman narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  
“How?”

	Orinda fished around in her pack and produced a 
handful of small paper packages, half wrapped in bright 
red tissue, the other half wrapped in dark blue tissue.  
“These are explosive powders.  If mixed together and then 
lit on fire, they will produce . . . well, a really big 
boom.  All I want you to do is split up, scatter, and 
start blowing this place up.  Be careful where you 
explode these babies - I don’t want the entire 
infrastructure of the building to come down on our heads.  
And whatever you do, don’t kill anybody - as long as no 
lives are taken, the Empire cannot take your lives in 
retribution.  All I want you to do is create a 
distraction.  Create enough chaos and confusion so that I 
have enough time to find and retrieve Captain Albatou.  I 
know my way around here - I used to live here - It’s just 
a matter of figuring out where they’ve taken him.”

	“You’re asking us to put our necks on the line.  
They’ll punish us for this.”

	“You’re already in trouble.  They won’t punish you 
any more than they already planned to.  I don’t know what 
the charges are against any of you, but believe me, the 
Madoshi only have one level of punishment.  Maximum pain.  
Just don’t kill anybody, and you can still keep your job, 
even after the Madoshi are through with you.”

	The Dragonslayers exchanged glances, hesitating.

	“Do you really love Dilandau-sama?!” one of them 
suddenly blurted out.

	Now it was Orinda’s turn to blink in surprise.  “How 
do you . . . ?”

	A few of them coughed and studied their feet.  The 
one who had spoken before replied, “Last night, because 
of the Madoshi, Dilandau-sama had to confess everything.”

	“Ah.  So.”  Orinda twirled the packets of explosive 
powders in her fingers.  “Of course I love him.”

	One of them actually sighed with relief.  “Then I 
guess you’re all right.”

	“So are we going to do this?”

	“Yes.  Let’s.”

	Everyone’s fingers were already itching with the 
urge to blow something up.

		*		*		*

	Lord Gerard was halfway finished with his business 
when a resounding boom echoed through the building.  
Startled, he nearly dropped his instruments.

	Kerth’s head snapped upward and his nostrils flared 
with alarm.

	“Don’t be alarmed, Lord Kerth.  It’s only our dear 
little friend, wishing to make her presence known to us.  
I’m not sure if she’s trying to scare us out into the 
open, or just causing destruction for the sake of causing 
destruction.  It doesn’t matter.  I’m fairly sure that 
she’s planning to rescue her lover from our sinister 
clutches.  Hmm, that makes the whole situation all the 
more interesting, doesn’t it?  For all intents and 
purposes, I’m fairly sure that she’s already too late.”  
He turned his attention back to his test subject.  
“Kerth, do you ever wonder if he’s dreaming?”

	Lord Kerth made a noise that seemed to indicate no, 
he never wasted his time on such frivolous speculations.

	“Well.  Sometimes *I* wonder,” Lord Gerard murmured 
as his he returned to his work.

	The two Madoshi ignored the following explosions 
that occasionally rocked the foundation of the building.

		*		*		*

	Dalet and Guimel pounded down the unfamiliar 
hallways, keeping a sharp eye out for wayward Madoshi.  
It was only moments ago that the alarm klaxons had 
sounded throughout the building; the Dragonslayers had 
taken that as a signal to split into pairs and scatter 
throughout the building.  Fortunately, the Madoshi did 
not see fit to invest in armed guards; the building was 
only populated with sorcerers, most of which were so 
frightened when they saw the rampaging soldiers that they 
curled up into a little ball and lay quivering on the 
floor.  Needless to say, the Dragonslayers were pretty 
much free to wreak havoc upon the Madoshi quarters.

	“This is the most inefficient security system I’ve 
ever seen in my life!”  Dalet commented.  “Have *you* 
seen any guards yet?”

	“No.  But it makes me wonder if the Madoshi don’t 
have some sort of ace up their sleeve . . .”

	“I hope they don’t have attack dogs.  I hate attack 
dogs.”

	The two continued their sprint down the hall, 
finally bursting through a pair of swinging metal doors.

	They skidded to a stop.

	“Hey . . . Are we where I think we are?”

	“Yes.  Yes we are.”

	They had found the kitchen.

	Long rows of gleaming white counters, shining silver 
ovens, and a massive refrigerator greeted their view.

	“Well!  Whaddya know.  I guess even the Madoshi have 
to eat sometimes.”

	Guimel whistled appreciatively.  “This is some set-
up they’ve got here.”

	“Yeah.  Fit to cook a feast for kings.”

	“They’re Madoshi - they *do* live like kings.”

	“They have mincemeat pie and pudding for every 
meal.”

	“And fine wine and fresh fruit--”

	“--And bread that isn’t moldy--”

	“--And steak and eggs for breakfast every morning--”
	
	“--While we’re always stuck with army rations and 
gruel!”

	“It’s injustice, I tell you.  Injustice.”

	“Do you feel like remedying the problem?”

	“I haven’t used my explosives yet, if that’s what 
you mean.”

	“Do you still have the matches that de Eowyn gave 
us?”

	“Right here.”

	“Perfect.  Let’s light these suckers, and then we 
can run like hell.”

		*		*		*

	Another explosion rocked the building,  and Migel 
and Viole stumbled in mid-stride.  Viole uprighted 
himself and paused.  “That’s the fifth one.  That means 
that there’s only us and one more group left to set off 
our explosives.”  The Dragonslayers had split into six 
groups of two and one group of three when they had 
initially scattered.

	The alarm klaxons blared, and flashing red bulbs 
painted the hallway in blood-colored splashes of light.  
Migel and Viole had yet to see a single armed guard, or, 
for that matter, a single Madoshi that didn’t scream in 
terror and run away as soon as he spotted them.  Migel 
was growing increasingly uneasy - something was very, 
very wrong with the situation.  Nevertheless, he took a 
hesitant step forward, and then another, and finally 
began running again, Viole pounding alongside him.  “Do 
you have any idea where we should set these off?” he 
asked Viole as the two ran.

	“The ship.”

	“What?”

	“Lord Gerard’s personal transport.  The one that 
brought us here.  We know the way back to the loading 
dock - at least, I do.  I marked every passageway that we 
passed through, every corner that we turned.  I could 
find it again.”

	“It might be heavily guarded.  They might be 
expecting us to make an escape.”

	Viole dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand.  
“Nothing is heavily guarded around here.  The Madoshi 
rule by fear and threatening, not by force.  They can 
punish us retroactively, but they can’t actually stop us 
from destroying this building.  This is the central flaw 
of the infrastructure of the Madoshi.  They gain power 
through knowledge, and through the threat of the 
Emperor’s wrath.  They don’t - actually - have - any - 
power.”

	Migel raised one eyebrow.  Viole was turning out to 
be a remarkably intelligent and observant soldier.  He 
was impressed.  “So, tell me - why exactly have you 
fixated yourself on the wanton destruction of Lord 
Gerard’s personal property?”

	“Because he’s a prick, and I hate him.”

	“That makes two of us.”

	The two pelted across the loading dock and toward 
the vulnerable, unguarded ship.  “See?  No guards,” Viole 
panted as they ran.

	“Perfect.  Let’s do it.”

		*		*		*

	Orinda crept down the dark hallway, ignoring the 
blaring of the alarms and the ringing that they caused in 
her ears, focusing intently on her mission.  If her 
suspicions were correct, Dilandau might be in one of the 
five rooms that lined the hallway . . . 

	“Muirne de Eowyn.  What a pleasant surprise.”  The 
hot breath trickled down the back of Orinda’s neck.  She 
whirled around, swallowing a scream in her throat.

	Lord Gerard grinned at her.  His grin drained the 
color from Orinda’s face.

	“Gerard,” she said.  Her voice was flat, devoid of 
emotion.  “I didn’t expect to see you here.  I’m 
surprised that you’re even still alive, considering your 
age.  Don’t the Madoshi have some sort of retirement 
plan?”

	Gerard shook his head, half bemused, half 
contemptuous.  “I am currently involved in the most 
important scientific endeavor in the Zaibach Empire. 
It would be foolish of me to retire now.”

	Orinda could feel the old, familiar anger knotting 
in her chest.  Her fists trembled at her side, and the 
edges of her vision swam with red miasma.  “Where is 
Captain Albatou?” she asked through gritted teeth.

	The grin stayed plastered to Gerard’s face.  He 
turned and addressed a clump of shadows to his right.  
“Lord Kerth!” he called out cheerfully.  “The young lady 
wants to see Captain Albatou!  Why don’t we bring him out 
for a peek, shall we?”

	The shadows melted into the hallway - it was a tall, 
gaunt Madoshi, cradling a limp, scrawny body in his arms.  
As soon as she saw the body, Orinda felt her skin begin 
to crawl.

	It was Dilandau Albatou.

	Stripped of his armor and outermost layer of 
clothing, the captain’s body appeared painfully frail and 
vulnerable.  His bare arms were covered in red welts and 
blue bruises, as was his neck and collarbone, as was, 
Orinda could guess, most of his back.  A small puncture 
wound on his left temple dribbled blood down his face.  
His eyes were wide upon but completely glazed over, 
utterly unfocused.  His fine silvery hair was fell in 
sweaty tangles over his face, and his lips were slightly 
parted, as if waiting for a kiss, or, judging by the 
wideness of his eyes, preparing for a scream.

	“Forgive the rudeness of these two,” Gerard 
apologized to Orinda.  “I’m sure that both would love to 
share their greetings with you, Madame de Eowyn.  
Unfortunately, you know that Lord Kerth is unable to 
vocalize.  And Captain Albatou . . . well, he’s not 
entirely back with us, yet.  Normally we would give him 
an hour or two to recover from the procedure, but . . . 
You seemed so terribly eager to see him, and it’s not 
like me to refuse the wishes of a lady.”

	Orinda could feel the bile rising in her throat.  
“What did you do to him?!”

	“We punished him for his crime, and we fixed the 
problem that caused the crime in the first place.  We . . 
. re-programmed him.”

	“You’re a monster.”

	“No.  I’m just doing my job.  Unfortunately, you 
were not quick enough to do *your* job.”

	Tears pricked at the corners of Orinda’s eyes, but 
she would not - could not - cry in front of Gerard and - 
what was his name? - Kerth.  “Fuck you, Madoshi.  I don’t 
care what you did to him.  I can undo it.  I’ll take him 
back with me, and I can undo every horrible thing that 
you’ve done.”

	Gerard narrowed his eyes.  “Take him back with you?  
My dear, just exactly where do you plan to go?  No doubt, 
you are aware of how many laws you are breaking right 
now, at this moment.  Certainly you won’t be able to run 
very far, saddled with a mentally unstable invalid who 
doesn’t even remember meeting you before the moment in 
which he will wake up.  And . . . if you really want your 
*lover* back in your arms . . . Well, you’ll have to take 
him from Lord Kerth.”

	Orinda glowered at Gerard for a moment, then turned 
her attention toward Kerth, gauging her prospects.  Kerth 
wasn’t big, and wasn’t strong - that much she knew from 
experience. But the smoldering fire in his eyes proved 
that he was far more dangerous of an adversary than the 
last time Orinda had fought him.  Orinda knew that pure 
hatred could sometimes grant an ordinary man the strength 
of twenty.  No, she most definitely did not want to 
challenge Lord Kerth at the moment.  

	Orinda turned back to Lord Gerard.  “You think that 
you’ve won, don’t you?”

	“I know that I’ve won.”

	“You’re wrong.  You can’t erase his memories of me.”

	“But I have.”

	“No.  You’re wrong.  As long as Dilandau has a soul, 
he won’t ever forget me.”

	“I believe that *I* am the expert in souls and 
memories here.”

	“You don’t know half as much as you think you do.  
You haven’t won.  In fact . . .”  Orinda reached into her 
blouse and pulled out a small glass vial of clear liquid 
that she had carried in a sewn pouch nestled between her 
breasts.  “ . . . I think that you’ve lost, Lord Gerard.  
You wanted revenge, didn’t you?  You wanted revenge on 
me, for getting away from you.  You hated the fact that I 
managed to get myself exiled, that I managed to escape 
from you.  So you tried to hurt me in the same way, 
didn’t you?  But you failed.  And do you know what this 
is, Lord Gerard?”  She fingered the glass vial 
delicately.   “This will be MY revenge.  For everything 
that you’ve done to me.”

	“What have you got there?” Gerard asked.  He sounded 
calm enough, but Kerth took a conspicuous step backward.  
He may have hated Orinda enough to attack her on his own 
time and his own turf, but he was wise enough to step out 
of the way when somebody else was about to get burned.

	Orinda used her free hand to produce yet another 
surprise from inside her blouse.  “Well, *this* is a 
match.  And in the glass?  It’s a highly refined alcohol 
made from the sap of bluewood trees.  You know as well as 
I do that this chemical concoction happens to be highly . 
. . highly . . . flammable.”

	And, for the first time in all the years that Orinda 
had known (or remembered having known) Lord Gerard, she 
saw his eyes widen in genuine fear.  “You wouldn’t dare . 
. .”

	“Yes, I would.”

	“If you kill me, there will be no-one left to 
protect you.  The Madoshi will have your heard.  Lord 
Kerth will have your head.”

	“Oh, I have no intention of killing you.”  Orinda 
licked her lips.  “I want you to live.  I want you to 
suffer.”

	“No . . . No . . .”  Gerard cowered.

	Orinda made her move.

	She was fast, she was quick, and she was strong.  
Despite the fact that Gerard outmatched her in height and 
weight, he was old, and had never been used to fighting.  
Orinda leapt forward, and caught his stomach with a well-
placed kick.  He grunted and doubled over; Orinda kicked 
again, this time smashing her booted foot straight into 
the exposed crown of Lord Gerard’s bald head.  The 
Madoshi tumbled backward and sprawled onto his back.

	Lord Kerth watched from a safe distance, passive and 
silent, like a stone statue, still holding Dilandau’s 
limp body in his arms.

	Gerard quivered on the ground, and moaned weakly.  
“Kerth . . . guards.  Call the guards.  She’ll kill me.”

	“There are no guards.”  Orinda spat contemptuously.  
“The Madoshi have never needed guards.  They had never 
been disobeyed before.”  She paused for a moment, almost 
seeming to be reflecting to herself.  “No doubt there 
will be guards, and lots of them, in the near future . . 
. but for today, we’ve caught you - all of you -in a 
completely vulnerable situation.”  She crushed the glass 
vial with her fist, and let its contents gush over the 
struggling Madoshi, soaking his cloak.  “Any last 
statements?”

	“I hope that you rot in hell.”

	“The feeling is mutual.  But don’t worry; I’m 
terribly sorry to inform you that you will indeed live 
through this.”  Orinda lit the match with her fingernail 
and held it over Lord Gerard.  

	“Farewell, Madoshi-sama,” she whispered.

	The match fell from her fingers.

	Instantly, Lord Gerard was engulfed in a blaze of 
crimson and gold flames.  He writhed, and screamed at the 
top of his lungs, and clawed at his burning clothes.

	Lord Kerth dropped the bundle in his arms to the 
ground.  It landed with a dull thud.  Then he turned and 
ran, moving as fast as he could in his restrictive robes.

	Orinda stood for a moment, ignoring the screaming, 
burning Madoshi who was crawling in the opposite 
direction down the hallway, torn between attending to her 
lover or pursuing Kerth.  She knew that she would have to 
confront Lord Kerth eventually; it might as well be now, 
before she was forced to flee from the country for good.  
She took a few steps in the direction that Kerth had 
gone, and then stopped, looking back over her shoulder . 
. . 

	Dilandau lay sprawled across the floor of the 
hallway, his eyes finally closed, looking for all the 
word as if he were asleep.  Further down the hallway, 
Gerard had finally removed and extinguished his burning 
cloak, and, covered by blistering burn marks and charred 
ashes, had rolled his eyes back in his head and passed 
out.

	“You haven’t forgotten me, have you, Dilandau?”  
Orinda asked the sleeping boy.  “No, of course not.  As 
long as you have a soul, you’ll never forget me.  And 
I’ll never forget you.  They can’t ever destroy that part 
of us.  So wait right here - I’ll be back for you in a 
few moments.  I just have one last loose end to tie up.”

	Orinda turned and ran.

		*		*		*

	Dilandau Albatou was drowning in a sea of 
nightmares.

	A gleaming white dragon swooped down from the blood-
red sky.  It breathed fire and tore the earth with its 
great claws.  It impaled Dragonslayers with its spiked 
tail, it bit off their heads with its hooked beak, and it 
tore off their limbs with its powerful talons.

	Dilandau watched the corpses fall to the ground, 
bloody and mangled, almost unrecognizable.  Chesta.  
Gatti.  Guimel.  Dalet.  Migel.  Viole.  One by one, one 
after another, the great white dragon killed them all.

	“Stop it,” he whispered.

	<My head hurts.  Did I fall out of bed and hit my 
head again?>

	The dragon finished with the fifteenth Dragonslayer, 
and then turned its white head, dripping with blood and 
fire, toward him.

	<If I were you, I would wake up right now.>

	The dragon roared and reared toward the sky.

	<I definitely think that now would be a good time to 
wake up.>

	And then Dilandau Albatou woke up.

	He blinked.  The ceiling looked unfamiliar.  His bed 
felt unfamiliar.  In fact, his bed didn’t feel like a bed 
at all.  It felt suspiciously like a cold stone floor.

	“Oh, no . . .” he mumbled to himself.  “What day of 
the week is it?”

	And then he felt the blood trickling from his 
temples.

	Dilandau shivered.  He was dressed, but not fully 
dressed.  The world was bathed in the color of blood - 
crimson lighting flashed across his vision, and alarm 
klaxons bellowed into his ears.  Altogether, there were 
far too many sensations bombarding Dilandau’s bleary, 
half-wakened senses.  So instead of sitting up to look 
around, he folded his hands on his stomach, closed his 
eyes, and thought.  Hard.

	<What is your last memory?>

	<Before supper . . . last night?  A week ago?  A 
year ago?  It was the Red Moon . . . Folken ordered us to 
lay a trap for Astorian bandits in the mountain range . . 
. We were to use the guymelefs to transport bluewood sap 
through the mountain pass . . .>

	<Right, that’s a good start.  And where are you 
now?>

	Dilandau opened his eyes and sat upright.

	The first thing he noticed was that it hurt like 
hell to turn his head.

	The second thing he noticed is that when he *did* 
succeed in finally turning his head to observe his 
surroundings, he immediately saw the prone figure of a 
badly burnt human corpse.

	Only it wasn’t a corpse.  It was still breathing.

	The cast-off cloak beside the burnt figure instantly 
identified him as a Madoshi.

	Dilandau winced as he sat further upright.  His arms 
were sore and covered in bleeding welts.  His back burned 
with pain, and he could easily guess why.

	<Okay, Dilandau, think.  Wherever you are, the place 
seems vaguely familiar.  There are alarms going off and a 
half-dead Madoshi just down the hall from you.  You’re 
bruised and bleeding.  You know that only the Madoshi 
would dare beat a military officer thoroughly enough to 
cause this much pain.>

	<Thank you, brain.  Thank you v-e-e-e-e-ry much.  
Are you trying to tell me that I’m back in the Madoshi 
headquarters?>

	<You are remarkably observant.>

	Heat briefly flared in Dilandau’s chest, but then it 
was gone.  He wondered what it meant.

	“Okay,” he said aloud, to nobody in particular.  
“I’ve been with the Madoshi before.  That would explain 
the memory loss.”  He addressed the stone walls.  “But I 
have no idea how I ended up *here*, or why there is a 
half-dead Madoshi over there, or why alarms are going 
off.”  He closed his eyes again.  “I think that I’ve 
forgotten something terribly important.  I wonder how 
much time I lost *this* time.”

	A far-away explosion rocked the building.  

	“I think that I’d better get out of here,” Dilandau 
addressed the walls again.  He struggled to stand 
upright, but his legs felt like jelly and wobbled 
dangerously.  He fell, back into a sitting position, and 
the world swam around him in shades of purple and gray.

	“Dammit,” he wheezed.  “Dammit, dammit, dammit.  
This must be the work of rebels.”  He lowered his head 
slightly, struggling to stay conscious.  He could feel 
his grip on reality slipping through his fingers like 
water.  

	“Dammit . . . dammit . . .”

	Dilandau closed his eyes as his head sank limply 
into his chest.  

		*		*		*

	“Gatti!  Is that you?!”

	Gatti and Chesta waved to Dalet, Guimel, and six 
other Dragonslayers from across what appeared to be the 
main dining hall.  The hall was conspicuously devoid of 
Madoshi, but all too full of flashing alarms and blaring 
sirens.

	“Where have you two been?!”

	“Looking for everyone else!”

	“Well, we just keep stumbling into each other - we 
figure that when all fifteen of us are together, we can 
just surrender.”

	“Hah!  Even if we surrender, they’ll still be too 
scared to approach us.”  By now Chesta and Gatti had 
joined the main group, and the young men were meandering 
casually across the dining hall.

	“Has everybody--?”

	“Yes.  We counted seven different explosions.  That 
takes care of all of us.  There’s nothing more that we 
can do now.”

	“I hope that gave her enough time.  To do whatever 
she had to do.”

	“We can only hope.”

	“I don’t even know *what* she was planning to do.  I 
mean, realistically speaking.”  Gatti’s voice was a pitch 
lower than normal.

	“What do you mean?”

	“You know what I mean.  In the end, the Madoshi will 
have our balls on a string.  That’s just the way that 
things work around here.  I don’t know if she honestly 
thought that she could save him, or run off with him, or 
elope with him, or whatever.  You can’t beat the system.”

	“Maybe . . .”  Chesta paused, tapping a finger to 
his lips, musing.  “Maybe she just wanted to say 
goodbye.”

	The words had an unpleasant ring of finality to 
them.  The Dragonslayers fell silent.

	And the crowd of young men slowly grew as it passed 
through the hallways of the Madoshi headquarters.

		*		*		*

	Kerth was fast, but Orinda was faster.  She caught 
up to him after a long and tiring chase, and pounced onto 
his back, wrapping her arms in a stranglehold around his 
neck, forcing his body to fall to the ground with her 
impromptu flying tackle.  The pair slammed into the 
floor, and immediately Kerth attempted to roll on his 
back, trying to crush Orinda, who held on with the 
tenacious grip of an oversized leech.

	“Oh, no you don’t!” Orinda snarled through gritted 
teeth.  She threw her weight against the struggling 
Madoshi, and he was forced back onto his stomach.  She 
grappled with him briefly, but ultimately Orinda proved 
to be the stronger of the two, and when she finally 
brought her fist down upon the back of the Madoshi’s 
head, he shuddered once, and then fell still and silent.

	Orinda cracked her knuckles together triumphantly as 
she clambered off Kerth’s unconscious body.  “Now, what 
to do, what to do?” Orinda muttered to herself happily, 
running through a mental catalogue of the possibilities.  
She could snap his neck with a flick of her wrist, or she 
could crush his spine with a well-placed kick in the 
small of his back, or she could strangle him until his 
face turned blue, or she could *burn* him, or she could -

	<Haven’t you already done ENOUGH to him?!>

	The shrill tone of alarm in Orinda’s mental voice 
made her heart flutter with contagious panic.  <What do 
you mean?  He hates me.  He was tried to keep Dilandau 
from me.  He’s just as bad as Gerard.  He . . . He wanted 
revenge.>

	<You gave him good reason to want revenge.>

	<Shut up.>

	<You’re bloodthirsty, aren’t you?>

	<Just shut up.>

	<Why are you wasting your time with Lord Kerth, 
anyway?  Have you forgotten about Dilandau?  Have you 
forgotten that you left him back there-->

	“Oh, DAMMIT!”  Orinda’s eyes widened and she clapped 
her hand over her mouth.  “Remind me, brain - just how 
exactly did I rationalize that in the first place?”

	<Something along the lines of, ‘he’s sure not going 
anywhere, but Kerth most certainly is.’>

	<Oh, no . . .>

	<That’s right.  I think that you had better remedy 
that mistake - and fast.>

	Orinda turned and ran back the way that she had 
come.

		*		*		*

	When Migel and Viole finally made their way back to 
the thirteen other Dragonslayers, a quick headcount 
confirmed that all of them were present and accounted 
for.

	The Dragonslayers crowded themselves in front of the 
locked doors to the main library, a pair of massive oak 
slabs behind which most of the Madoshi were probably 
cowering in fear.  Gatti pounded on the doors with his 
fist.  “HEY, MADOSHI!  You don’t have to be afraid of us 
anymore!  We’re done with the rebellion!  WE SURRENDER!”

	There was a great murmuring of voices inside the 
library.

	And then a long, painful silence.

	Gatti cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted.  “I 
SAID THAT WE SURRENDER!!!”

	Silence from the other side of the oak doors.

	“What d’you suppose they’re doing in there?” Dalet 
asked suspiciously.

	“Orgy,” Viole answered, deadpan.

	Chesta giggled.

	Slowly, the left door creaked open.

	An elderly Madoshi emerged, stately, dignified, and 
dark.  He glowered at Gatti, who happened to be standing 
in front of the group of assembled Dragonslayers.  “Is 
this some sort of joke?” the Madoshi asked in a low, 
gravelly voice.

	“No, sir.  This is no joke.  The rebellion is over.”

	“You agree to turn yourselves in and accept the 
consequences for your insubordination?”

	“Yes, sir.”

	“If that’s the truth, then why are you all 
grinning?”

	“Because . . .”  Gatti searched for the right words.  
“Because we all took great pleasure in destroying your 
personal property, sir.”

	“We hope none of you are planning to use the 
bathhouse anytime soon!” a younger Dragonslayer piped up.

	“Or the greenhouse, for that matter,” added another.

	“Or the kitchens--”

	“Or the east wing bedrooms!”

	“We regret to inform you that approximately one 
third of the lower dining hall is now rubble.  The upper 
dining hall, however, has remained untouched.”

	“And we hope that Lord Gerard wasn’t planning on 
flying his airship anywhere in the near future.”

	The Madoshi clenched his fists in rage.  “THAT’S 
ENOUGH!  I see clearly now that you boys need to be 
taught some manners!  Rest assured that the other Madoshi 
and I will see to it that you receive the most adequate, 
immediate instruction - in the most painful way possible, 
let me assure you.”

	“Fine.  We’re ready.”

	As if on cue, dozens dark-cloaked Madoshi flooded 
forth from the library and surrounded the Dragonslayers.  
“Follow me,” their spokesman said, as the Madoshi began 
herding the young men back through the dark hallways.

	“You might want to consider beefing up security 
around this place,” Migel commented cheerfully as the 
procession moved out.

	Somehow, the alarms turned off.

		*		*		*

	Back on the Vione, Folken was settling down for his 
afternoon tea and cookies when the personal radio in his 
study began buzzing loudly.

	<Hello, what’s this now?>  Folken fiddled with the 
knob until he found the appropriate frequency.  As he had 
suspected, it was a message from Dornkirk himself.

	“Folken . . . There is a matter of grave importance 
which we must discuss.”

	<Typically melodramatic.  It’s going to get even 
worse if I ever succeed in installing that visual 
screen,> Folken mentally winced to himself.  But he 
nodded gravely, even though the nod was unseen, and 
growled an assent in his throat.  “I’m listening.”

	“There was an incident today at the central offices 
of the Madoshi.”

	“An incident . . . ?”

	“A rebellion.”

	“Nobody rebels against the Madoshi.”

	“Captain Albatou’s Dragonslayers did.”

	Folken raised one eyebrow.  <Why am I not 
surprised?>

	“The Dragonslayers are believed to have made contact 
with Orinda Muirne de Eowyn while the Madoshi were 
escorting them into the complex,” Dornkirk continued.  
“They easily overwhelmed the Madoshi, and proceeded to 
vandalize and destroy Madoshi property through the use of 
contraband explosives.  When they were finished with 
their business, they surrendered peacefully.”

	“Muirne de Eowyn.”  Folken sipped his tea.  “That 
name keeps popping up around here.”

	“Muirne de Eowyn is of no consequence to us.  What 
does matter is that the behavior of Albatou and his men 
be placed under firm and unyielding control.”

	“You want me to punish them?”

	“No.  I forbid you to even mention the incident to 
them.”

	“I don’t follow.”

	“Once the Madoshi are finished with those boys, they 
won’t have any recollection that they ever rebelled in 
the first place.  In addition, the desire for 
insubordination will be severely repressed, if not 
removed altogether.”

	A cold shiver crept down Folken’s spine.  “They seem 
awfully young for that sort of treatment.”

	“It is necessary to maintain the stability of the 
Empire.  It is for their own benefit.”

	“I assume that the Madoshi occasionally administer 
the same treatment to Captain Albatou?”

	“You should not have been told that.”

	“I inferred.  After his last visit with the Madoshi, 
the captain lost six months’ worth of memory.  From the 
frequent blank stares that he was giving me, it wasn’t 
difficult to infer.”

	“You truly are the most intelligent of my Madoshi.”  
From Dornkirk, it was indeed a glowing compliment.

	Folken allowed his shiver to abate.  He trusted 
Dornkirk.  He trusted the Emperor to make the right 
decision.  The boys were young, and rash, and not yet 
mature enough to understand and appreciate the greater 
interests of the Zaibach Empire.  To Folken, Albatou and 
the Dragonslayers were a great source of amusement, 
especially when pitted against the arrogant and cold 
Madoshi that he so despised.  But there would come a 
point when the immature youth would inevitably cross a 
line, and Folken believed that the line had been crossed 
that very day.  “Am I also correct in assuming that the 
Madoshi will institute tangible security measures within 
their headquarters after today?”

	“Yes.  It is indeed a sad day when the Madoshi need 
to protect themselves from their own allies.  But yes, 
that is correct.  And Folken . . . There is one last 
order of business that I wish to discuss with you . . .”

	“Yes?”

	“Despite the interruption today, the Madoshi have 
nearly finished the preparations for the invasion of 
Fanelia.  The chemicals have been mixed and stored 
properly, thanks to the information that you gave us.  As 
soon as the Dragonslayers are ready, the Vione is to move 
out.”

	Folken kept his voice cold and steady.  “I 
understand.”

	Dornkirk didn’t even reply.  There was a click, and 
the radio lapsed into static buzzing.

	Folken reached over and turned off the radio.  Then 
he sat back in his chair and sipped his tea silently, 
closing his eyes and occasionally rubbing his temples.  
He was suffering from a massive headache.  Or was it a 
misplaced heartache?

	<Funny.  Van should be about Captain Albatou’s age 
by now.  That means it is time for him to perform the 
rite of dragonslaying.  I wonder how he will fare.  Or if 
he did so already, I wonder how he fared.  I wish I could 
remember when his birthday was.  Is.  When his birthday 
is.>

	Folken continued to sip his tea.

	A black cloud of gloom hovered over the Vione.

		*		*		*

	Orinda halted herself in midstride as soon as the 
alarms suddenly turned off.

	<DAMMIT!  The Madoshi will be up and about any 
moment now.> Orinda realized.  Without wasting a moment, 
she began running again.

	She ran, panting and wheezing from the strain, 
rushing through the hallways that were becoming eerily 
more and more familiar as memories stirred with each 
jarring stride that she took.  She remembered where she 
had left Dilandau lying, so it was only a matter of 
finding her way back -

	She skidded to a halt and ducked into a dark corner, 
holding her breath.

	A trio of Madoshi were crawling up the hallway.

	Orinda stood still and quiet, willing her thumping 
heart to calm itself down, waiting for the Madoshi to 
pass her.  When after several minutes they still had not, 
she cautiously poked her head around the corner.  

	The trail-end of the Madoshi’s long black robes 
dragged into the mouth of an intersecting hallway.

	Orinda’s heart leapt into her throat.  <That’s where 
I was going!  That’s where . . . That’s where I left 
him!!!!>

	She crept cautiously toward the hall the Madoshi had 
disappeared down.  Then, crouching from a dark corner, 
Orinda watched the final chapter of the story unfold.

		*		*		*

	When Dilandau awoke once again, the dark shadow of a 
gaunt and unfamiliar Madoshi hovered over him.  The 
blaring alarm klaxons and flashing lights had stopped, 
but nevertheless, he was still half-clothed, bruised and 
bleeding, and lying on a cold stone floor.  The Madoshi 
appeared to be checking his pulse.  His brow furrowed 
with annoyance.  “I’m alive, you idiot,” he managed to 
growl in a dry, husky voice.

	The Madoshi blinked, startled.  “Ah, Captain 
Albatou.  You’ve awakened.  What a pleasant surprise.”

	“Explain this to me.  Explain *that* to me.”  
Dilandau weakly jerked his thumb in the direction of the 
burnt and battered Madoshi down the hall, who was also 
being attended to by two of his brethren.

	“Rebels,” the Madoshi answered.  “Insubordinate 
rebels.  Do not worry, Captain Albatou.  The rebels have 
surrendered, and the situation is under control.”

	Dilandau closed his eyes.  He almost swore that he 
could hear the marching of military boots.  “What day is 
it today?” he croaked.  He needed a drink.  Badly.

	“Today is the Ninth of the Red Moon.”

	“Dammit.  I’m missing time again.”

	“Excuse me?”

	“Nothing.”  Dilandau’s eyes flew open with a sudden 
certainty.  “I hear marching.”

	“No, that’s impossible . . . You’re tired, and 
stressed, and we must return you to the medical wing for 
proper recovery--”

	“Marching!  Only Dragonslayers wear those boots.  
I’d know that sound anywhere.”  Dilandau forced himself 
to stand up.  “Where are they?!”

	“You’re feverish.  We have to get you away from here 
right now.  You need medical attention.”

	“They’re coming this way.  They’ll pass right over 
there.”  With certainty in his words if not his weak 
actions, Dilandau staggered down the hallway, toward one 
of its many intersections.

	He was nearly bowled over by five Madoshi leading 
fifteen marching soldiers.

	The entire company halted.

	Dilandau felt himself sinking against a nearby wall.  
He addressed his men with as much authority as he could 
muster.  “What on Gaea are YOU doing here?!”

	It seemed as if they were about to answer, but the 
Madoshi leading them cut them off.  “Captain Albatou, 
your men are under arrest.  Surely you remember that.”

	Dilandau blinked.  “Arrest?”

	There was an audible silence.

	Finally, Gatti rudely shoved two Madoshi out of his 
way and stepped forward.  “Dilandau-sama, what did they 
DO to you?!”

	Dilandau shook his head.  “Doesn’t matter.  I want 
to know how you all ended up here.”

	“We came with you, Dilandau-sama.”

	“But why are you under arrest?”  There was anger in 
Dilandau’s voice.
	
	“We disobeyed the Madoshi.”  Gatti fell silent, 
refusing to go into further detail.  He sensed, on a 
primal level, that the Madoshi were practically oozing 
disapproval.  But at the same time, they allowed the 
exchange to continue, possibly to serve their own 
purposes.  Gatti had seen Dilandau suffer from suspicious 
memory losses before, and he was beginning to finally 
understand the implications of the process.  He 
understood, first and foremost, that Orinda Muirne de 
Eowyn had not prevented whatever she had set out to 
prevent.  He wondered briefly what had become of her, or 
what would become of her.  And Gatti also understood that 
neither he nor any of the other Dragonslayers would ever 
mention her name in Dilandau’s presence again.  It would 
be less painful that way.

	At the moment, Gatti was unaware that within a short 
period of time, Orinda Muirne de Eowyn would cease to 
exist within his memory also.

	“You disobeyed the Madoshi?!”  Dilandau's anger 
temporarily strengthened his body, allowing him to stand 
straight and tall.

	“Yes, sir.”

	The slap echoed throughout the stone hallways.

	Dilandau cracked his knuckles and scowled at the 
Dragonslayers.  “That goes for all of you.  Remember your 
loyalty to me, to the Madoshi, and to the Zaibach 
Empire.”

	“Yes, sir,” the Dragonslayers chorused.

	Wincing with the effort of standing upright, 
Dilandau stepped to the side of the hallway, and the 
Dragonslayers marched on past him, silent and withdrawn.

	When they had gone, the Madoshi that had been 
attending Dilandau when he woke up scurried over toward 
him.  “Do not worry about your men, Captain Albatou.  We 
will punish them properly, and we will fix the problem.”

	“I know.  I know just exactly how you’ll fix the 
problem.”  Dilandau slumped against the wall and slid 
into a sitting position.  “I need a drink.  I’m parched.”

	“Of course.  Right away.  Oh, and Captain Albatou . 
. . As soon as the retributive proceedings are finished, 
we have word from the Vione that you and the 
Dragonslayers are to spearhead the invasion of Fanelia.”

	“Fanelia . . .”  Dilandau rolled the name on his 
tongue.  “Already?  I thought that we weren’t ready for 
the invasion yet.  You - Madoshi - couldn’t figure out 
how to burn bluestone buildings.”

	“The problem has been solved.”

	For the first time that day, a slow, serene smile 
spread across Dilandau’s lips.  “So . . . we can burn 
them?”

	“Yes, Captain Albatou.  You will burn Fanelia to the 
ground.”

	“Burn them to the ground . . .” 

	With the serene smile still floating on his lips, 
Dilandau Albatou once again closed his eyes.

		*		*		*

	Still crouching in her dark corner at the opposite 
end of the hallway, unseen by the Madoshi, the 
Dragonslayers, and her former lover, Orinda Muirne de 
Eowyn made her final decision.

		*		*		*

	It had taken hours of creeping about before Orinda 
safely found her way back into the city proper.  She knew 
that the Madoshi knew that she was in the building; she 
had been extremely cautious with her every move, her 
every breath, and her every thought.  But the central 
offices of the Madoshi were labyrinths of twisting 
tunnels with plenty of dark corners to hide in.  Even 
with all personnel on the alert, Orinda had eventually 
made it out safely, without ever being caught.

	She didn’t look back, not once.  She also didn’t 
succumb to the ever-threatening tears that stung her eyes 
as she crept about.  She was very proud of her self-
control.

	Blending into the crowds that thronged the city 
streets, Orinda walked along aimlessly, attempting to 
construct some sort of coherent plan for her future.  
Returning to her home in the bluewood forest was out of 
question, for surely that Madoshi would hunt her down and 
seek revenge for what she had done to Gerard, and what 
she had led the Dragonslayers to do . . . 

	“I must go into hiding,” she murmured to herself.  
“But that’s easy.  That’s the easy part.  Far too much of 
Zaibach’s border is left unguarded.  I can sneak out, and 
settle in some other country . . . I’ll just have to 
avoid wherever they’re planning on invading.  That’s all.  
So for the moment, Fanelia is most definitely not an 
option.”

	Rain drizzled from the sky, soaking Orinda’s auburn 
hair, making her shiver with the sudden chill.  She felt 
gray and cold inside, just like the weather.

	<Why?> her brain popped the inevitable question.

	<Oh, there you are, brain.  You’ve been quiet for a 
while.  I was wondering what you were thinking of.>

	<Why did you do it?  Why did you go after him?  Why 
did you convince the Dragonslayers to incriminate 
themselves?>

	<I suppose that in the end, it was an exercise in 
futility.  Wasn’t it?>

	<You mean, you didn’t know that before?>

	<I didn’t want to believe it.  I thought that I 
could save him.  I thought that I could move fast enough 
. . .>

	<Suppose that you did prevent the Madoshi from 
screwing with his head.  What then?  Like Gerard said, 
you didn’t exactly have that many options to play with.  
How far could you run?  How fast could you run?  The 
Madoshi might let you slip away this time, because they 
fear you.  The Madoshi rule by fear, and they understand 
it; because they fear you, you have enough power over 
them, just enough, so that you can escape.  But if you 
had taken Dilandau with you, things would have been 
different.  The Madoshi would not have let him go easily.   
You two would have been hunted until your dying day.  It 
would not have been a good life.>

	<Shut up.>

	<It was futile and you knew it.>

	“Maybe you’re right,” Orinda muttered under her 
breath.  “So what?”

	<Then why?  Was it revenge?  Did you want to hurt 
Gerard and Kerth?>

	“Of course that was part of it.  We already 
discussed this.  But not all of it.”

	<Enlighten me.>

	“It was my stand.  My last stand.”

	<Pardon?>

	“I had to make a stand.  I had to try to fight back.  
Because I love him.  And you’re supposed to fight for 
your loved ones.”

	A hand tapped her on the shoulder.  “Miss?  Are you 
all right?”

	Orinda turned around slowly, only mildly startled.  
A rather handsome young man was addressing her, his brow 
furrowed with concern.  “You look soaked.  I noticed that 
you were talking to yourself.  Do you need to come in, to 
take shelter someplace warm?”

	Orinda shook her head.  “I’m sorry, but I can't.  
You see, I just lost the love of my life.  I only knew 
him for two days, but I know that he was the love of my 
life.  I just saw him for the last time, and it wasn’t 
pretty.  I know that I’ll never see him again.  I think 
that I shall start crying, if I let myself become too 
relaxed.  I need the rain and the cold to keep me from 
crying.  And I need to keep moving - I can’t stop.  I’m a 
fugitive, and I’m on the run from the law.  I appreciate 
your kindly offer, but I’m afraid that I must decline.”  
She turned away from him.  “Good day, kind sir.”

	Because the first tears finally spilled over her 
cheeks, Orinda chose that moment to turn and run.  

	Orinda Muirne de Eowyn ran all the way to Freid.  
And she never once looked back.





			-- End Part Five --


Note:  The title of this chapter also refers to a quote 
from Steinbeck's *The Winter of Our Discontent*.  "It 
isn't true that there's a community of light, a bonfire 
of the world. Everyone carries his own, his lonely own . 
. . My light is out.  There's nothing blacker than a 
wick."