Kjan's immediate response to being roused from sleep was to turn back over with a low groan. It felt as though he had only just managed to fall asleep at all - which wasn't far from the truth. As eager as he had been to finally go to bed, doing so had proven to be of little use. Every time he had started to get comfortable, he had thought of another entrance to the Keep that Vairtan might not think to reinforce, or a tunnel that might prove useful in evacuating those unable to fight, or a tactic that could compensate a little for large discrepancy between armies (if the rebels could even be called that). All in all, it had been a rather fruitless night, in terms of sleep.

Indeed, the only thing that kept Kjan from closing his eyes and going right back to sleep was the very thought that had been the indirect cause of his insomnia: the Keep was in danger. Still somewhat reluctantly, he sat up, took a look around, and slowly got to his feet. Somewhere in his mind, it occured to him that as second-in-command, he was probably supposed to be helping with the waking process, but he was too tired to care. Instead, he settled for muttering a vague greeting to Jate, then packing up his bedroll and getting his pack somewhat prepared for departure.

"The fate of your Keep will not be determined in the time required to breakfast and enlighten me as to your plan of action," a dry, perhaps faintly amused voice observed from the edge of the small clearing. Adaniar effortlessly navigated the maze of empty bedrolls (or, in the case of a few, still-occupied bedrolls), packs, and half-awake humans to come to a halt not far from the Phantom. "I am not certain how much aid we may provide, but I do wish to help in whatever ways we can. How do you intend to break through the enemy forces, in the event that your Keep is already under siege?"

The Phantom's hand was halfway into his jerkin pocket before he rethought extracting the map. "The Keep has several entrances," he explained with a shrug, sticking his hands in his pockets instead. The elf lord, like Silvryn, seemed practiced at presenting an impassive exterior, but his offer of assistance seemed genuine. "According to Eledhe -"

"The north door is seldom used and difficult to find," interjected Eledhe smoothly, rising with her pack in her hands to appraise Adaniar narrowly. "We may have to circumnavigate whatever forces are already in place, but it is unlikely that we'll encounter much resistance." Her tone was decidedly clipped and coldly precise.

"Aye," agreed the Phantom with only a glance to indicate that he found her reserve uncalled for. When he returned his gaze to Adaniar, he abruptly recalled the considerable force that the elf lord commanded. A formidable ally, these elves would be - but the Phantom allowed himself to ponder that thought for only a moment. Presumptuous, to assume the elves would throw their weight behind a second rebellion to add to their initial civil war. "We - I - would be grateful for any assistance you feel you can spare," he said carefully, trying not to wonder if Silvryn's influence could sway Adaniar either way. "As it is -"

"Aye, don't feel you need stoop to our level," interjected Eledhe testily, turning away. The Phantom kept his gaze carefully forward, but he felt his jaw set in annoyance. "You have our gratitude for rescuing milady," he continued as though he hadn't heard, indicating Silvryn with a jerk of his head. "I would not detract from your forces - you have your own war to fight, I am sure."

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"I am not certain that we do not fight the same war, in our own ways," Adaniar replied evenly, tactfully ignoring Eledhe's commentary. "Raen's plans ultimately impact every living human, and so your survival is directly related to our ability to overcome him. Likewise, we have long suspected your Regent of answering to Raen - willingly or not. A divided, weakened Kytana perfectly suits his purpose."

"Then why is he so set on seeing us all killed?" Kjan interjected, joining the conversation. "You'd think he would want this rebellion to last as long as possible."

Adaniar's gaze shifted toward Jate. "You have a legitimate heir, now," he explained. "And even more importantly, you have the Heartshard. It is entirely within your means to overthrow the Regent, and Raen cannot allow that. He would rather have Kytana united under an unfit, selfish leader than risk the creation of a formidable opposition. That is why I strongly suspect that he is ultimately behind this attack on your Keep - if he can eliminate your support before you have returned, then you will be much more easily taken care of."

The Phantom's eyebrows jerked up fractionally, but he otherwise managed to conceal that this news nearly made him physically itch to make all possible haste to the Keep. The Regent's soldiers were one thing - the Phantom knew from experience that they were underpaid, underequipped and surly - but envisioning even a few of Raen's cutthroat elves assisting in the siege, however indirectly, was making his palms sweat. He began methodically ticking off defense precautions in his head.

"Well," the Phantom began in careful response, moistening his lips, "he will not be succeeding, if I have the slightest opportunity to prevent it." He folded his arms over his chest, and beat down the pride that surfaced in protest at his next words. Who were they fooling? The inhabitants of the keep consisted of a few misfit nobles with rusty swords and the rest peasants with pitchforks. "Aye, then, we'll gladly take any help you can give us."

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"Regrettably, I cannot presently spare any soldiers," Adaniar said. "Though we fight the same war, our battles remain separate at this time. Raen will not sit idle while your rebellion is otherwise occupied, and I must first defend my own people. However, given that we can travel at a considerably greater speed, it may be that we will be able to influence the battle in some way. I cannot promise this, but we will do what we can."

"And given that I will be accompanying you to the Keep," added Silvryn, "I can assure you that they will do everything in their power to arrive in time."

"Your Highness..."

"I told you as much when we first learned of this, Lord Adaniar," Silvryn said smoothly, arching an eyebrow. "Did you perhaps doubt my resolve?"

"I did not, milady," he replied, lapsing into Elvish. His tone suggested that they had had this discussion once before. "I only question the wisdom of knowingly sending you unprotected into battle."

"I have been well enough protected for nearly a decade with these people, and it is not as though I cannot hold my own in battle," Silvryn countered in the same tongue. "Your soldiers are skilled; I will do little good by accompanying you. But I know the Keep, and I can help to ensure that the defenses hold long enough for you to provide aid. You yourself have said that our success is tied to that of this rebellion."

Adaniar still did not seemed pleased with this decision, but he made no further attempt to argue. Turning back to the Phantom, he bowed graciously, if somewhat stiffly. "Forgive me if I seem distrusting," he apologized. "I know that you are more than capable of defending the princess, but you must forgive me if I am more than a little protective of our kingdom's last hope for peace. I am sure that I do not need to emphasize to you the importance of her safety." Abruptly, he whistled, and several elves emerged from the woods, leading horses. "I cannot go with you at this time, but I can help in another way. These horses are well-trained and will bear you swiftly to your destination. It is not much, but it may make the difference between victory and defeat."

The Phantom watched this brief debate in silence, gleaning what he could from it by way of his fragmented knowledge of elvish. Adaniar was understandably protective, he managed to gather from the exchange, a sentiment he both understood perfectly and promptly resented - for reasons that were relegated to the back of his mind.

Once the elf lord switched back to Common, reiterating what the Phantom had learned in snatches of his previous words, and especially at the unexpected and happy appearance of the horses, it was all the Phantom could do not to leave a farewell hanging in the air and run full pelt toward one of the inviting saddles to ride like his life depended on it. It actually might, he realized uncomfortably, and found his next words the slightest bit clipped. From resentment or impatience, he didn't know. "Aye, milady is safe with us," he responded, biting back the urge to point out that she had been for near a decade.

The air hung silent in a pregnant pause, and the Phantom extended a hand, forcing his gaze from the waiting horses to the elf lord's unreadable expression. "Again, you have our thanks." Despite the worry knotting his gut, he grinned, roguish. "I hope we meet again, in less - hasty - circumstances."

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"I hope the same," Adaniar replied, clasping the proffered hand firmly. "May you be blessed by fortune in your impending endeavours. It is my hope that our aid will prove unnecessary in this battle, but we will do our best to provide it nonetheless. And do not underestimate the merit of negotiation."

Had the suggestion not been made by an elvish lord several centuries his senior with a rather impressive-looking blade hanging at his side, Kjan might have had a few choice words to share concerning negotiation with the Regent. Instead, he simply shook said elf's hand after the Phantom and resisted the urge to glance toward the waiting horses. "Thank you."

Adaniar seemed to sense the rebels' impatience (not that it was especially difficult to do so) and made to leave. "I will not keep you any longer," he said, bowing once more. "May we meet again soon." He paused briefly to kiss Silvryn's hand, and then turned to follow his companions out of the clearing.

Not half a second after the last elf had vanished from sight, the camp was a flurry of motion again. The reminder of just how dire the situation was had made most of them far more eager to get moving, especially given that they would no longer be walking the whole way. Within minutes, everything was packed up, and they were on their way once more.

After a mere hour of travel, the Phantom was of the opinion that, had Adaniar presented himself unexpectedly, he might well have wrung the elf lord's hand with far more fervor than before. The horses, fine-boned and far nimbler than any the rebels might have purchased for less than a small fortune, seemed to consume the ground beneath them as though it were so much dust on the brisk mountain wind - even at the reasonable trot that the Phantom kept them to. By noonday, he was calculating the remaining distance to the Keep with fresh optimism; and, with more intensity every time, determining the many ways he would slay Vairtan if they arrived to find every single defense mechanism not flawlessly in use.

He did fail to appreciate the scenery except for scattered bits and pieces, such as the sun sending darts of crystal off the snow that capped the looming mountains. As they rode, the range curved away slightly, so that by later afternoon their view of the peaks was diminishing. A brief stop while the Phantom turned his map this way and that in an attempt to discover their location, and they determined that reaching the road which created a shortcut across country would bring nightfall, and a suitable place to camp.

It was a group considerably less footsore, if a little more bow-legged from riding, that collapsed into a convenient copse of pines that evening. The Phantom, wandering along the line of tethered horses before he let himself collapse in front of the fire, found himself enjoying the snatches of fading birdsong that still trilled farewell to the sinking sun. Faintly aromatic, the scent of pine needles mingled with a memory of new-fallen snow in the air, which simultaneously made him shrug his cloak up and take a deep breath.

Ducking past the trees' low-hanging branches, he went to sprawl in front of the trim little fire that Eledhe was hovering over, clearing dry pine needles from the space where it crackled merrily on dry wood. Odd, that not three days' travel away the Keep could well be under siege, and here he was admiring the particular shade of blue in the vault above, framed by branches. Since when does poetry attract you? the non-intellectual side of him snorted derisively, pointing out the several things he should probably be worrying about. The sky is generally blue, aye.

Wryly, he rolled over to scan the others dotted in their various positions around the fire. "If we were drinking...I should say a toast to elvish horses."

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Ash had flopped contendedly down on his blanket after tethering his horse for the night. It was a good mount- much better than those ill-tempered beasts they had borrowed from the noble. They had already shaved a good bit of time from their trip. Hopefully it would be enough time, and they wouldn't arrive at the Keep too late. <i>No use thinking about that now.</i> he told himself. <i>Just be glad for the horses.</i>

He realized that his opinion of elves had improved rapidly during the day. Well, his opinion of certain ones, anyway. Who would have guessed there were so many friendly elves in Kytana? Hearing the Phantom's proposal for a toast, he glanced hopefully at Kjan, and at his pack with the ale in it. "They certainly do deserve a toast, and a proper one at that."

Kjan, who had already been pulling out a flask with that very intent (drinking, not toasting), was just about to lift said flask in a half-hearted salute when it occured to him that the others might be wanting some as well. Turning back around, he fished out the few flasks that still had anything in them and began tossing them to anyone who expressed interest. "A very small toast, mind," he warned, uncorking his own. "There's scarcely any left, and we'll likely be wanting it far more toward the other end of the road."

He paused, staring into the fire as he attempted to come up with a suitable method of drinking to one's mount. "Right. Here's to not having to walk the whole bloody - sorry, milady - way." He lifted the flask up briefly, then took a swig. There was another pause, then he added, "And here's hoping that, by some miracle, all this haste proves unnecessary."

The Phantom lazily made an attempt at catching the flask Kjan lobbed his direction, but it thudded into the dirt several feet from his outstretched hand. He eyed it momentarily as if considering whether or not to expend the effort needed for a mouthful of ale, and eventually made an ungraceful movement resembling a lunge.

Surfacing with ale in hand, he raised it in agreement, and threw a quirked eyebrow and a grin in Kjan's direction. "Aye, here's to miracles. And elves without homicidal tendencies." Another grin, reckless this time. "No offense to anyone present."

Eledhe considered the flask for a moment. Her eyes flicked up to regard the Phantom thoughtfully. Dangerously.

Roughly two and a half seconds later, a throwing star embedded itself in the treetrunk bare inches above the Phantom's head. "Homicidal tendencies have their uses," she said delicately into the ensuing silence. "Here's to explosive gems."

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Jate nearly dropped the flask as it flew towards his head. It was considerably lighter than he had imagined it, to his dismay. Carefully unstopping it so as not to waste any drop, he nearly lost it all at Eledhe's antic. What did she mean by throwing that weapon and scaring him like that? He might have spilled his ale! Jate gave a grin at the comment about explosive gems.

"They do come in handy, don't they? Here's to all the above. And to a full night's sleep. Which, I think thanks to the horses, we may actually get tonight." He took another gulp from the uplifted flask, making every attempt to ignore the glint in the Phantom's eye. As much as Jate would love a night's sleep, he was sure the Phantom wouldn't rest at all until they reached the Keep. Stifling a sigh, Jate resigned himself to another early morning.

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going on a journey through my old claims

Dante had been laying on his side trying to sleep, but to no avail. The new unfolding complications - and the fact that they <i>didn't</i> died yet - had left him dazed and restless. His common sense demanded that he should be a cold corpse by now, lying forgotten somewhere he'd have never chosen to been.

He stretched out his hand to accept the proffered drinking, sliding up on his mat. "This whole bloody mess bothers me," he finally admitted. "I mean, I've never been to your Keep... but I can guess that it's no fortress to withstand the league's of soldiers that the Regent has at it's beck and call." He gulped, but for once, the taste did nothing to comfort his strained nerves. "And how did they find out the location anyway?" He cast a not-so-subtle glance at Eledhe, before tossing the flask back to Kjan.

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

The Phantom cast Dante a glance, wondering how their descriptions of the Keep as being inside a mountain amounted to the assumption that it was 'no fortress'. He took a last sip of the precious ale, considering once again the various defensive measures that Vairtan should have employed. "It's not swarming with soldiers," he replied at length, pressing down the desire to swell indignantly. "But why don't you attempt infiltration through several walls of solid rock and see how far you get?"

Carefully setting down the flask, he denied what his wistful tongue was telling him (which was that he wanted several more drinks) and capped it, lobbing the object - now lighter than it had been - back at Kjan. He missed Dante cutting his eyes suggestively in Eledhe's direction, and continued - "As for them finding our location, having a large hole blown in your mountainside will tend to announce your presence." To admit it grated on him. How could you have been so stupid, to waltz off leaving THAT? The Phantom cleared his throat, absently uprooting blades of grass between his fingers with more intensity than strictly necessary. He had to force the next words deliberately out. "I suppose discovery was inevitable, eventually."

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Kjan said nothing as he reluctantly returned the flasks to his pack and resumed staring into the fire. Aye, they'd known that there was always the risk of discovery. They'd just never expected it to actually happen. "You told me that whoever was responsible for that blast didn't even know what they'd found," he pointed out, as if sensing the Phantom's thoughts. "Even if that was a mistaken assessment, those mountains are full enough of mines that one outer tunnel shouldn't have been enough to indicate that they'd found the Keep. The location could have just as easily have been disclosed by a spy or a turncoat."

He kept his gaze determinedly fixed on the fire and not on Eledhe as he spoke, though it was she who had prompted this conclusion. They'd already had one trusted colleague turn on them recently - why not another?

"At any rate," he said at length, "it's a bit pointless to try to figure out how it happened now. We'll just have to move as quickly as possible and hope that my estimation of Vairtan's military prowess has been grossly inaccurate." Stretching out slightly, Kjan resisted the urge to yawn. "Right. I'm going to bed so I don't fall asleep on my horse again tomorrow. Wake me up in a few hours, Phantom, and I'll take second watch."

"Right." The Phantom rose with a grunt, feeling stiffness already pervading his muscles. With a backward glance at the group of them, he began trudging toward a likely post for keeping watch. The stars flung a silvery veil across the darkening sky, and just as he cleared the trees the purpling horizon began to fade. "Here I go," he intoned over his shoulder, "your fearless leader, out to deny himself sleep so that no murderous elves stab you in your repose. Don't anybody volunteer, I'll just sleep in the saddle tomorrow. It's comfortable. Really."

This fairly obvious attempt at foisting his watch onto someone else fell conspicuously flat, and after a pause where the Phantom heaved a great sigh and cast his eyes to the heavens in an exaggerated plea for patience with his wayward followers, he found a comfortable rock and settled down to watch the horizon swallow the sun completely.

---

The next day's travel continued the course the Phantom had plotted - straight as an arrow (or as straight as could be managed) for the Keep. At every opportunity he extracted his map and examined it, hardly noting that the parchment was worn to a ridiculous extent. This continued, repetitive as a sunrise, until just before the threat of twilight the next evening.

Through the day, the terrain had grown gradually more mountainous as they neared the actual location of the Keep, and by the time they were forced to dismount in order to lead the horses through uneven rocks, the Phantom was jumping at small noises, and finding that his hands hovered constantly near the hilt of his greatsword. Mountain peaks, sharp and darkly triangular against the faintly darkening sky, stabbed up to obscure any view they might have had, but still the Phantom imagined that he could hear the clamor of troops far below, where smooth plateau took the place of mountains on the other side of the Keep. It was when he began to visualize such machinery as perhaps a few ballistae, or a handy catapult or two, and the effects that they might have, that a mental smack was in order.

Having suitably chastised himself for letting his imagination go quite so wild, the Phantom concentrated on where they were going. The group had spread out into single file with their horses, to traverse the narrow paths that led them upward and wound through the thick pines that still clung grimly to the mountainside. They were nearing a fairly level area, he noted, a short stretch where the path almost broadened into a sheltered little alcove - and the Phantom remembered this spot, which only heightened the wild places his imagination seemed determined to go - when he heard the unmistakable sound of metal boots on rock.

It took very little logic to deduce that this was not a good thing.

Whirling, peering past his horse to make frantic hand motions to the rest of them, the Phantom thanked his lucky stars that sight from above was rendered difficult by a thick screen of pines, and proceeded to hold his breath. His mount, seemingly sensing the urgency, was unnaturally quiet as well.

The next few seconds held nothing but silence. Then the sound of boots started up again, and faint snatches of conversation filtered down in - nearly nonsensical - snippets.

The Phantom was only half listening. Walk past...walk past... he was mentally urging them. Keep going...nothing to see...

A touch on his shoulder nearly provoked a full-throated yell, and the Phantom whirled with a strangled noise to find Eledhe behind him. She made frantic calming motions, and pointed up.

Just then he managed to catch a few scattered words. "Bloody labyrinth... hidden... the commander..."

He missed the rest, because Eledhe was yanking at his arm in an attempt to make her point. She jabbed a finger at the place where the path broadened above, and mouthed entrance, they're looking for it. He blinked. She hissed through her teeth and mimed opening a door, then pointed a third time.

Oh, underworld - the Phantom found his grip on the reins of his horse to have whitened his knuckles. The entrance. Up there.

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