There was a tense moment as everyone in the party waited for the soldiers to move on. All it would take was a snort from the horses, or an ill-timed sneeze, or even just a glance in the right direction, and the rebels would find themselves in a rather difficult situation. Kjan remained completely still, gripping his knives tightly. In other circumstances, they likely would have used the element of surprise to start the conflict on their own terms. But the soldiers were obviously scouting, which meant they had been sent to a specific area to find an entrance. If they failed to return, it would be a dead giveaway.

After what seemed like an eternity, the soldiers began to leave. There was a collective sigh from the rebels as their enemies moved out of sight. Someone made to move, but Kjan held up a hand to stop them until the sound of metallic footsteps faded entirely. Finally, it was safe to proceed.

Glancing up at the entrance, Kjan evinced what might pass for a cheery smile and looked to the Phantom. ''You go first.''

The Phantom felt taut enough to be played like a harp string. He returned Kjan's terse smile with a grin of his own, which more resembled at attempt at woodenly baring his teeth than an actual expression of mirth, and made to finish the climb.

Eledhe beat him to it. Emerging from the thicket of pines, he found her already on the broad ledge, and minutely examining every inch of rocky wall. A glance over his shoulder presented a sprawling panorama laid out below them, mountain slopes blanketed with pine trees. He had nearly turned back to demand what on earth she was doing, when a point of silver in the dark green drew his gaze like a magnet.

Another patrol, ten or twelve soldiers, was moving like a small armored insect through the stands of pines. The Phantom followed their path, let his eyes wander up over the rest of the silent mountainside...

Curse it. Ten minutes, at best, and he could just imagine the patrol stumbling unawares onto the ledge and finding, practically gift-wrapped, Phantom Grey and company ripe for the taking. Not to mention a secret entrance to the Keep.

"Hurry, hurry up," he hissed to Eledhe, whirling, and then ran to lead his horse onto the ledge and hope (mostly because he highly appreciated the alacrity with which the beast had gotten him there) that this hidden entrance was large enough to fit several horses.

When he returned, she was crouched by the most insignificant of cracks, probing with her fingertips and muttering obscenities under her breath. The Phantom opened his mouth, and Eledhe turned to level the full annoyance in her gaze on him. "Right, what idiot password did you put on this one?"

He blinked. Blinked again. Remembrance began to register faintly. When their resident force of amateur magic-users had been securing entrances, he'd gotten so fed up with picking ridiculously complex passwords to trigger the charm that would permit them entrance that he'd begun using...

Oh dear. Attempting (with partial success) to contain a strange mixture of chagrin and hilarity, he carefully turned to Kjan. "Er. You don't happen to recall which of the, um, boyish -" here he steadfastly avoided Dante's gaze "- misadventures...was the correct one for this particular entrance?"

It was all coming back to him now. Stockings and frogspawn, one said for the secret passage that got him into his study. He'd never used bats in your pocket, which was the magic word for a small entrance concealed in a hollow tree down near the southern end of the Keep, but he did recall a few awkward moments with singed coattails. Luckily that one didn't get used terribly often.

Suddenly aware that there were a few perplexed stares being thrown his way, the Phantom stared up at the sky and stuck his hands in his pockets, attempting a pretense at innocence that failed utterly.

_________________

Kjan thought for half a moment, then replied, "Kyth'awi." It was actually one of the easier ones to explain, in the occasion that anyone even asked, for which he was grateful. Even though the north entrance wasn't commonly used by most people, he went through it frequently enough after raids on passing caravans, and it would have been rather awkward to have to explain some of the other passwords in current use. The correct password given, a door in the mountainside that had been practically invisible before slid open, granting just enough room for the rebels and their mounts to squeeze inside.

A guard - correction, a scrawny youth barely through puberty who was clutching a blunt sword and trying to pass for a guard - made to attack, but Kjan easily caught the hilt of the weapon mid-swing. "Calm down; we're the good guys," he said evenly. Releasing his grip on the sword, he gestured toward the Phantom. "Look familiar?"

The Phantom made an exaggerated bow, but with that, any levity he might have felt was spent. He waited until Eledhe made a gesture and the concealed entrance neatly closed behind them, and then turned to the nervous guard.

The boy was perhaps sixteen. Unevenly cropped hair the color of flax was too long and falling into his eyes, and despite the reassurance of familiar faces, he was unnaturally pale. His eyes flickered from one of them to another, and the Phantom noted that he held a weapon much like this was the first time he'd set eyes on one.

Questions abounded - are the entrances sealed? Where's Vairtan? How's the food supply? How long have the troops been there? but the Phantom swallowed them, and offered the boy a hand. "Phantom Grey, at your service," he said, entirely in earnest. "You're doing a fine job - what's your name?"

The peasant - the Phantom had decided he was no noble, for certain - stood a little straighter, stammering. "Riadin, ah - my lord -"

"The Phantom is fine," interrupted the rebel leader by that name. He grinned wolfishly, a smile lacking mirth. "I ceased to be 'my lord' quite some time ago. Can you tell me where to find Vairtan?"

"The - the lower level," the boy said, pointing, and standing so rigidly at attention that one wondered if he might topple backward. "Eastern chambers, I think -"

But the Phantom clapped him on the shoulder and was gone, down the long sloping hallway. He captured the reins of his skittish horse in one hand, waved the other as an indication for the rest to follow, and left any thoughts not involving the survival of the Keep at the entrance. Torches tossed a familiar glow of flickering orange on the walls, spaced at intervals not quite close enough to avoid patches of darkness, and the faintest of murmurs reached his ears even from this near-abandoned entrance. The list of questions continued. Have you spoken to anyone? Do they know I'm not here? Have they attacked yet? Have you...

One had reason to feel very sorry for Vairtan when the Phantom finally reached the eastern chambers on the lower level. The corridor, an offshoot of the main thoroughfare leading to the heart of the Keep, led off into several chambers where minor nobles were housed in communal and cramped unity. He hammered unceremoniously on the main door, both hands now free (having handed off his horse to a runner earlier in the journey down) and yelled a less than tactful, "Hey! If Lord Vairtan's in there, I need him, and I need him now!"

_________________

Kjan hung back slightly, waiting for someone to answer the door. He'd never thought he would be so glad to be back in the claustrophobic, rock-solid Keep once more, though being pursued by elves could do that to one's perception of various things. Granted, he would have liked slightly better circumstances surrounding their return than the imminent threat of invasion and ultimate defeat, but he wasn't in a mood to be especially particular. Now if someone would just-

"Kjan!"

Before Kjan could even look up, a slight form had barreled into him at full speed and wrapped its arms around him, laughing the whole time. Kjan struggled to free himself enough to see the face of his accoster, only to let out a surprised shout and return the embrace tenfold. "Cerys!" he finally managed to exclaim, pulling away. "How did-? When did you-? Why-?"

"I arrived on horseback about a week ago to warn the Phantom of an impending attack on the Keep," Cerys replied breathlessly, managing to answer all of his questions in one summarized statement. Despite the rather serious situation, she was still grinning widely. "Lord Vairtan informed me that you were both absent, so I gave him the news and decided to wait here for you, given that my cover is essentially blown in Y'rydha."

"Wait, your-"

"I'll tell you the whole story later," she promised. "You smell terrible, by the way."

Kjan made a sound of feigned indignation. "I'm delighted to see you as well, sister dearest," he countered sarcastically. "And no, now that you ask, I'm not the least bit exhausted from spending almost three weeks trekking all over the place on highly dangerous business. I even took a bath during my leisure time just yesterday, not wishing to offend your delicate olfactory senses upon unexpectedly seeing you for the first time in nearly five years."

Cerys smacked him lightly on the arm before finally turning to acknowledge the others. Specifically, the Phantom and Silvryn. "Forgive me," she said in a tone that might pass for demure if one did not know Cerys, dipping her head slightly. "I was so ecstatic to see my baby brother, I failed to acknowledge you entirely. I already know you, Phantom, but for the benefit of the others, I'm Cerys, the only Armadur with a modicum of common sense."

Any derisive noise that might have come from Kjan at that moment was conveniently covered by a brief coughing fit.

Shooting him a dark look, Cerys turned back to the Phantom once more, this time completely serious. "Vairtan and several others in higher positions are currently holding council in one of the private meeting rooms," she said. "They will be ecstatic to learn of your return. I trust you've been apprised of the situation?"

The Phantom watched this reunion, making as if to interject several times, and so impatient as to be nearly levitating when Cerys finally turned, breathless, to give him the information he was looking for. "The 'situation' being the legions of soldiers comfortably encamped outside my Keep," he began, sounding slightly strangled, "aye, thank you, I'm quite amply informed of it. I wish I'd never been so informed. Information, at this point -"

He gesticulated wildly, words proving inadequate. "I wish I could stay and chat - reminisce, and all that -" he added, attempting and failing to grin tersely. "You know, excellent to see you, Cerys, which life-threatening circumstance brought you here, Cerys, I hope it wasn't -"

Eledhe made a noise like an angry cat being strangled and gave him a shove up the passage. "Dark gods, stop babbling and let's go! Private chambers! Unless you want soldiers to just come spilling in as they please?"

The Phantom blinked and was off, at a pace that his many comrades in rebellion had learned to keep up with over the years. "Bloody Regent," he growled, turning a sharp corner and snatching a torch from its sconce for ease of movement. "Bloody elf lord... leave for three weeks and the whole nation decides to sink its bloody claws in!"

_________________

Kjan followed closely after the Phantom, practically jogging to keep up. The more he saw of their situation, the more trouble he had maintaining an optimistic view of it. Bluntly put, the rebellion was no army. There were some skilled fighters, yes, but nothing resembling a unified force, and not nearly enough to hold a candle to the Regent's troops. Whenever more refugees arrived at the Keep, men of fighting age were certainly encouraged to aid in combat - Kjan glanced briefly at Ash, one of many to trade the plow for a blade - but no one was forced to do so.

Except now, apparently. As they walked, Kjan saw many carrying bearing weapons who didn't belong within a hundred miles of combat - youths like Riadin, graybeards who had seen their prime many decades ago, farmers and artisans and merchants who had never held a blade in their lives. All called to pick up a sword (or a pitchfork, as he'd seen one of the guards wielding) and fight a battle that they'd never asked to be part of.

"How long have we been under siege?" he quietly asked Cerys, who had naturally decided to follow as well.

"A little over two days," she replied. "They still haven't found any entrances, to my knowledge, though not for lack of trying."

"We saw several groups scouting on our way in," Kjan said, nodding. "Any combat yet?"

Cerys shook her head slightly. "Lord Vairtan has been holding off in hopes of bolstering our defenses and troops as much as possible beforehand. The smiths have been working night and day to produce more armor and weapons."

That won't be enough. Kjan wasn't one for pessimism, mind, but it was the truth. No matter how equipped the Keep's forces were at the time of combat, they simply didn't stand a chance against the Regent's army. By some stroke of fortune, the rebels might make it through this, but it wouldn't be by force. They would need cunning and patience, if they were to pull this off.

A few hundred of Adaniar's elves couldn't hurt, either.


Silvryn listened closely to Cerys's account as they walked. The Regent had not attacked, then, because he had not found a weak spot. In the event that he did, would he attack with full force, hoping to destroy as much of the rebellion as possible in one fell swoop? Or would he simply starve them out, so as to force the Phantom to willingly surrender? The former made more tactical sense, but for all that the Regent was cunning, he was also prideful. Neither possibility seemed unlikely.

It didn't escape her notice, as they walked, how eyes lit up as the Phantom and his entourage passed, how many would pause to wave or shout out a greeting or even make a sloppy attempt at a salute. It had always been this way, for as long as she could recall, but she was particularly struck by it after being absent for so long. For all of the Regent's superior equipment and well-trained soldiers, that was one advantage that the rebels would always have - respect for their leader. The Regent's soldiers fought because they were paid to do so; the Phantom's followers fought because they loved him.


At long last, they reached the room indicated by Cerys and strode in unannounced. It was a rather strained, sleep-deprived Lord Vairtan that immediately jumped to his feet in greeting, followed closely by the others at the table. "Phantom Grey," he said with a polite bow, trying and hopelessly failing to conceal his immense relief. "I am glad that you have returned safely."

"Me too," returned the Phantom, collapsing into one of the mismatched chairs that ringed the council table. It was strewn with maps and lit by haphazard clusters of candles that occasionally dripped wax onto the threadbare parchment. Thusly, the chamber smelled of feverish contemplation, which was a scent made up of candles and sweat. The Phantom reveled in its familiarity for a moment, and then brought his mind strictly back to business.

Belatedly, he realized they were all still standing. He flapped a hand at them all. "I'm sure you're all fascinated in my various escapades, involving heroism, several near-death experiences, and an explosive gem, to say the least, but I think you'll all agree that the bloody great legions of soldiers encamped on our doorstep is slightly pressing, and being seated to discuss methods of avoiding disaster is rather important?"

The assembly of harried nobles-mixed-with-peasants did so with a communal scrape of chair legs on the stone floor, and the Phantom leaned back to plant his boots firmly on the table - more out of habit than an attempt to relax. This was his Keep.

Eledhe snatched a map and began studying it intently, while the Phantom realized that not all of his companions were known to the Keep's general public. "Right, that's Jate, who actually turned out to be someone minorly significant," he added briefly, pointing with a touch of levity, "and that's Dante. So. Tell me about the current fortifications."

Lord Vairtan snagged his own scrap of parchment and began stabbing fingers at various locations. "Guards are posted at all the entrances -"

"You mean peasants with blades?" interrupted the Phantom, arching a not-quite-humorous eyebrow. There was a pregnant pause. Candles sputtered. "Guards. Continue."

They were immersed in discussion for the next few moments, until Eledhe slapped her own map down on the table, mouth a grim slash and fingers wrapped around the end of her braid and tugging absently. "Do you know for certain how many troops are out there?" she demanded, stabbing a finger at the soldiers marked in red. "I sorely hope that is an exaggeration."

Vairtain shifted, twitching nervously. "Several - several counts have been done -"

But the Phantom looked up at her, his own expression steely. "Why?"

Eledhe's gaze flickered over the room, measuring the atmosphere. Then she leaned back against the wall, flicked a throwing star from her pouch, and met his eyes evenly. "You haven't a hope."

_________________

There was complete silence in the room as everyone simply stared at Eledhe. After a few minutes, Kjan conspicuously cleared his throat. "Right," he said at length, looking around from his customary seat to the right of the Phantom. "Moving on from that cheery contribution, what are we doing to ensure that those not fighting will be relatively safe?"

"All secret passages leading out of the Keep are being kept under constant guard, so that they'll be open in the occasion that evacuation is necessary," Vairtan replied. "Everyone has been ordered to be prepared to leave at a moment's notice."

"So you've effectively scared them all senseless," Kjan observed flatly.

Vairtan stiffened slightly. "We have been completely surrounded by the full manifestation of the Regent's might for two days now, our leaders strangely absent," he stated. "That the Keep is not in a state of complete pandemonium is a feat in and of itself. I felt that the people deserved honesty, at this point."

"Never said that they didn't deserve to know," Kjan countered, leaning back a bit. "It's just one more thing to factor into the equation." He seemed to consider for a moment, then abruptly returned all four legs of his chair to the ground. "Phantom, did Belnarr and his cronies ever finish that tunnel thing? The one leading almost straight into Y'rydha?"

"Don't know," returned the Phantom, clipping his words off short and tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling as though it could reveal all of life's mysteries. At the moment, these were many. Uncomfortably, he was forced to acknowledge that, considering only the sheer power of both sides, the Regent was perfectly capable of starving them all out before they had even a hope of gathering a large enough resistance.

It was exceedingly unpleasant.

Bringing a fist down on the table with enough force to make half of those seated jump several inches in the air, the Phantom swore profusely and rocketed to his feet. Not a hope? Over his dead body.

Turning to face the many pairs of eyes currently fixed on him, he folded his arms over his chest, feet planted securely apart, and began. Meeting every gaze in the room by turns, the Phantom steeled his voice. "Five years. Five years of enduring this." He indicated the parchment-strewn, candle-covered tabletop. "Because why? We thought it would change, that's why. Were we wrong?"

The pause was pregnant and uncomfortable.

"No, we were bloody well not wrong!" growled the Phantom in answer to his own question, driving one fist into the palm of his other hand for emphasis. "There are troops encamped outside the Keep. Thousands of soldiers, because the Regent has decided that this rebellion is a threat. He's decided that we - are - dangerous."

Still there was no interruption. Against the back wall, Eledhe's shuriken was still spinning like a dervish.

"So," said the Phantom, voice low in his throat, now pacing back and forth. "So - are we going to prove him right? Or are we going to abandon Kytana to fate, and let five years count for nothing?"

A sweep of his arm sent maps crumpling, floating to the floor like dry leaves. The Phantom leaned forward, fists planted on the table, looking at every advisor in turn. "We can't defeat him by strength alone. So we're not going to. We're going to think of something else."

He waited momentarily for his words to die on the still, faintly stale air, and straightened, turning to Vairtan. "When was the last time you had a night's sleep?"

The man opened his mouth to speak, but the Phantom cut him off. "Get one. And in the morning, we will show the Regent that a mob or two of soldiers does not power make." With a gesture indicating dismissal, he opened the door, and the somewhat subdued men hurriedly dispersed.

When they'd gone, and all that remained were the seven of his motley travel companions, the Phantom exhaled a long breath and leaned on the doorframe. A crooked smile, strain in every particle of the expression, didn't quite manage to express mirth. Turning around, he stuck his hands in his pockets. "Right. Tunnel. We can discuss this in my rooms. Would somebody please be kind enough to locate the largest barrel of ale currently in residence and situate it somewhere convenient?"

_________________

Kjan was tempted to mention that none of them had had a decent night's sleep in over half a month now, but one glance in the Phantom's direction told him that it wouldn't make any difference. The rebel leader's expression was set, the look in his eyes one that had prompted Kjan to wordlessly resign himself to another long night of discussion many times before. Once more doing just that, Kjan promised Cerys that they would talk more later and hurried off to catch up to the Phantom.

The small group of rebels went straight to the Phantom's quarters (with the exception of one brief pause to inform an errand boy of said Phantom's wish concerning ale) and closed the doors behind them. Dropping himself into the nearest serviceable chair, Kjan waited for the others to do the same before speaking.

"So. Tunnel."

"That doesn't solve all our problems, you know," snapped Eledhe, shuriken spinning between her fingers so fast it was merely a black blur. If any of them had been less preoccupied, they might have wondered how she managed to avoid losing a digit or two. "The dwarves never finished it, and I hardly need inform you that attempted infiltration of the palace is suicidal. To say the least."

"Show me what'll solve all our problems, and I might just crown you the next monarch of Kytana," responded the Phantom with heavy sarcasm. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "The best we can hope for is all our lives intact."

This dropped a subdued silence over the room in general.

"Kjan," the Phantom said suddenly, turning to view his second-in-command with all the alarming indications of what promised to be a plan. A Phantom plan. "Hypothetically, what if the tunnel did go as far as Y'rydha? What could we do there?"

There was an ill-concealed snort from Eledhe. "Get yourselves killed," she started to say. The Phantom wasn't listening. He was looking at Kjan.

"I can think of various options," he said, "including getting ourselves killed. But were you thinking of something else?"

_________________

Kjan merely shrugged. "Anything's better than just sitting here and waiting," he said plainly. "We've striven for self-sufficiency, yes, but we're not completely there yet. So whether the Regent decides to attack immediately or starve us out when he finds an entrance - which he will - Eledhe's right. We haven't a hope."

He shifted slightly in the chair so that he was looking more directly at the Phantom. "In a fair fight, we don't stand a chance. Army against army, resources against resources, we'll lose. Our only chance at success is to find something we have that he doesn't, then use it against him. Like the elves. I'm not saying that we should consistently rely on them to save the day, but you have to admit that they're rather nice to have on your side."

"The elves are fighting their own - our own - war," Silvryn replied, shaking her head. "Lord Adaniar will do his best to help us here, but we cannot depend on that." She paused, then also looked to the Phantom. "I propose that we consider the possiblity of a temporary ceasefire."

The Phantom stared at her briefly, then removed his gaze in order to safely burn a proverbial hole through the opposite wall. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that he was slowly and methodically ripping the nearest piece of parchment that came to hand into infinitesimal shreds.

Silvryn's suggestion began to unfold in his head. Ceasefire. It might as well be surrender - to even suggest ceasefire was as good as letting the Regent know that his forces outstripped their own. And after that it was only a matter of time. What rebellion folded before the very force they were trying to eradicate?

The parchment had been so thoroughly destroyed that there was very little more he could do to it. Aware of the uncomfortable silence, the Phantom raised his head to look Silvryn in the eye. "The implications of a temporary ceasefire are not ones I like," he said. The words were flat and unemotional, even in his own ears. "Where does that lead, besides surrender?"

He knew as he said it that the word was better not mentioned. A quick scan of the room told him he was not the only one uncomfortable.

"Which," he added, a touch louder than necessary, staring again at the same spot on the wall and drumming his fingers on the desk, "I will not be bloody doing until there is not a single man left in this place willing to raise a sword."

_________________

"If Raen succeeds, there will not be a single man able to raise a sword in this Keep, in Kytana, or in the world," Silvryn countered, meeting the Phantom's gaze evenly. "I am not suggesting that we abandon the cause for which we have spent nearly a decade fighting. The Regent has tried on many occasions to have me killed, if you will recall, and I hardly wish to see him gain ultimate control of Kytana. But in the interest of having a Kytana to fight over, it may be necessary to temporarily set aside differences."

Kjan frowned pensively, mulling it over. To be perfectly honest, negotiation with the Regent sounded about as appealing as asking Eledhe to serve as one's sparring partner (a mistake he'd made only once and instantly regretted after). Even leaving pride out of it, he sincerely doubted that the Regent would be especially inclined to make any sort of pact without considerable incentive that they likely couldn't provide. Aside from a tentative alliance with a group of elves that might not even be able to provide aid until much too late, the rebels had very little to bring to the table.

"I say we stall," he said abruptly, breaking the silence. "Try to buy ourselves at least a little time. Our stores will hold for at least a week, optimistically. We can even feign surrender if we have to. Every day that we can delay the attack is another day for our forces to become better equipped and better trained."

"And more tired," Silvryn pointed out. "And for every day that we wait, we must feed thousands and keep them occupied. If we wait until our stores have run dry and our men have gone mad with anticipation, then we will be desperate, which the Regent will use to his advantage. We must catch him off guard, before he is expecting anything. Judging by the number of soldiers sent, he has severely overestimated our strength, which means that he does not know for certain that we cannot fight back. This is a gamble on his part, forced by some desperation of his own. If we can convince him that we have the tactical advantage, then he may be willing to negotiate."

"Or have us hung before we can return to harness said tactical advantage," Kjan commented under his breath.

"We need to bluff the upper hand," mused the Phantom, fingers that had previously been drumming a pattern on his desk top now curled into a fist. "It's one or the other," he concluded flatly. "The Regent has no reason to withdraw his troops if he can prove for certain how hopelessly outnumbered we are. The only way is to convince him that it isn't worth the effort and the loss of men. Ceasefire on our terms."

Abruptly strain gave way to a forced laugh, and the Phantom rose to pace the length of his chambers, kicking the varying bits of debris that littered his floor out of the way. "Because the Regent is going to back down at the first chance he's had in years to crush the heart of the rebellion," he added half to himself, sarcasm gaining weight with every step he paced. "Mighty strong incentive for ceasefire, there."

"You can't convince him you have a trained horde of peasant warriors," Eledhe observed flatly. "Even your sot of a Regent is more intelligent than to believe his soldiers will be bested by some serfs with pitchforks." She shrugged, having grown ever more coolly calculating as the heat of the Phantom's words increased. "So make another reason. Convince him he's wasting his soldiers on you when there are murderous elves itching to swarm his capital."

Briefly, the ice of her eyes turned to flame and cooled, emotion relegated. The throwing star flicked, faster than the eye could follow, to embed itself in the last map thrown haphazardly over the Phantom's desk. She strode casually to retrieve it, wrenching the serrated edge out with practiced ease and flicking the tiny weapon up, down, twisting it between her fingers. Suddenly melding seamlessly into the persona of half-elf assassin, Eledhe turned to lean against the desk and appraise them all, smiling thinly. "Convince him you have at least one murderous elf on your side perfectly able to infiltrate his bedchamber and render attempts at governing useless," she suggested casually, no longer speaking to only the Phantom.

Her eyes lingered on Silvryn. "Convince him you have allies he'd do well not to cross."

_________________