Sennex's Story

Sennex only spread his massive wings in a threatening pose and released an ear splitting eagle cry in return. The stranger's familiar voice confirmed his identity, and Sennex intended to show no pity. Hearing the footsteps echoing from below the narrow steps, he knew it was only a matter of a few playful tricks to get their owner upstairs to investigate. He hoped dearly that it was a guard.

Without a second thought, Sennex swept out of the dusty room with its stale aura of fighting long past, and bolted for the Elf's back. Talons outstretched, he grasped the dark cloth and pulled upwards. He made no effort to avoid clawing the skin underneath as he did so, and though he had no intention of attempting to lift the assassin, he was still able to rip a respectable gash in the light garments. He hoped his mass of twenty pounds was enough to at least trip the man.

Landing a few steps down, Sennex calmly began unhooking scrap cloth from his fierce talons. He paused and looked up at his opponent, calling softly with wings stretched upwards, almost as if mocking. He was ready for the next move. Meanwhile, multiple hurried footsteps echoed from below.

Karem didn't share Calihal's cruel sense of humor. Deep resentment and anger overriding his guardsman's training, Karem released his choke hold and landed a solid punch across the Chancellor's broad jaw. This was exactly the type of political game that cost him his home, his clan, his entire lifestyle.

"The only report he'll receive will be from me, when I tell him that I defended the Embassy from a concealed and armed intruder. The same one who killed one of his own men."

A second swing landed against Calihal's naval.

"That's for the Roamers."

The other half of it was insecurity, plain and simple. Having spent years proving his worth as a man through skill and dedication, he finally earned the respect of his equals (and a few superiors). Even so, he had a hard time taking personal attacks gracefully. It was this primary weakness, along with his long-standing resentment against the corrupt empire's treatment of his people, that made Karem so touchy regarding the current state of immigration. Unfortunately, it also made him more susceptible to the political mind games people like Calihal played to exploit people like him. Karem knew that the Chancellor was purposely provoking him, and hated that it worked.

*_______*_______*_______*_______*_______*_______*_______*_______*_______*_______*_______*_______*_______*_______*_______*_______*_______*_______*_______*

Slightly breathless, Sanders gave three short knocks on the unmarked metal and wood door.

"Captain?"

There was a momentary pause during which absolutely no sound came from the room and the young archer neither breathed nor moved. Sennex watched him curiously. The short silence was broken by the sound of heavy footsteps before the door swung open, revealing a man of average height and great breadth. Behind him was a small, well-lit office with bare walls and no windows. His current garb consisted of only the leather parts of a standard issue guardsman uniform, as well as the linen and cheap cotton that went underneath the metal portions. His rough hands and scuffed leather boots showed signs of heavy use, and the strains of gray in his otherwise dark hair suggested enough years to his name to make those details a sign of experience. He stood up straight, kept his weapons and equipment clean, and made it a point to make sure his men did the same. No questions asked. The result was the indomitable air of a commander.

Captain Cylas's intent stare was currently aimed at the younger man. He glanced at the eagle, whose impressive size was all the more obvious up close.

"What's with the bird," he asked shortly. He was not aware of any eagles residing at the Embassy, although since Karem had unofficially taken over overseeing the falcon masters, he would not be surprised if a new addition had been made.

"It alerted us to the presence of an intruder," answered Sanders, speaking quickly but surely. Sennex sensed the increased nervousness with which he treated the Captain. "Karem requests four reinforcements. Due to the . . . sensitive nature of the situation, he asks that you be among them."

The intensity behind the Captain's stare gave way to amusement. He didn't seem fazed by the younger's tension around him.

"Four men to take down one wretched criminal? He must have put up one hell of a fight. Tell Karem to bring the bastard to me."

Momentarily unsure of what to do with the contradictory orders, Sanders persisted. "Please, sir. The situation calls for it. Lazar is dead."

The last sentence as more quiet, and Sanders didn't meet the Captain's eye when he said it. Although familiar with death, the young man could not help but remember joining the Imperial Guard with his dead comrade. They had trained together from the start.

The amused twinkle in Cylas's eye faded. He nodded in understanding.

"Take that eagle to the surgeon - his wing doesn't look right. I'll take care of it."

Upon hearing this, Sennex protested wildly. Crying loudly enough to wake the dead, he dug his talons deeper into the guard's shoulder and puffed out his feathers enough to make himself look bigger than he already was. He had not accrued any wounds he could not heal himself, and had no intention of missing the events to follow.

Sanders winced. He would need a surgeon himself if Sennex continued to take such a liking to him.

"I think we're better off joining you, Captain," answered Sanders through gritted teeth as he suppressed a cry of pain himself.

With a sigh of either irritation of or acceptance, Cylas stepped out of his office, locked the door, and walked past the two figures before him without another word in the direction of the drill grounds. Sanders did not immediately follow, but was spurred into doing so by a quick nip on the ear. Sennex only returned the scowl with a stare, as innocently as a bird of prey can. It wasn't his fault he could no longer fly.

“What exactly is all this,” asked Karem, composing himself just enough to at least sound like he could handle the situation.

Having always appreciated Sylwyn’s sincere interest and kindness, he respected her, and had thus been nearly as concerned as her own kin until she returned. Although he knew that she had a habit of attracting unexpected surprises, he had hoped that the attack by the Ravens would be the only one.

________

Sennex visibly relaxed when Sylwyn sealed the spyglass, as its contents returned to their natural state of dense, foggy vapor. Once more having command of his own body, he stood slowly as glass fragments and dressings rolled off his broad shoulders. Other than having the contents of his soul poured out to the open air, during which time he was at the complete mercy of the curious woman, he was completely unharmed. Neatly ripping what was left of the bandage and splint around what used to be a wing, Sennex placed the item on the cabinet beside him. It was the only thing that appeared to be in its proper place, and looked foolishly small in his hand.

Picking up the abandoned parchment, he brushed off the scattered glass and handed the damp letter to Sylwyn.

“I believe this will explain the situation better,” he said calmly, not the least bit sheepish about his appearance.

It seemed a better introductory explanation than any comment about what may or may not have been happening. Sennex preferred to get to the point without making the unusual situation more awkward than it should be.

Fine, almost artistic looking designs wound themselves along the Djinn’s arms. The tattooed pattern was composed of flowing lines of a color only a few shades darker than his skin, making it difficult to see unless one looked closely.

All in all, only Sennex’s fiery eye color had remained unchanged, and it was currently set intently on the strange elfin female before him. It was the same color as the contents of the spyglass she still held. His sight no longer clouded by a disguise, he still found it difficult to clearly decipher her intentions. It was a skill he had learned to use over the generations, a sort of sixth sense that he found as useful as many a master.

Upon releasing the royal epistle, a short segment of the archaic characters on the lower portion of Sennex’s left shoulder band glowed brightly for a moment, the same color at the contents within the spyglass, and burned out of existence. A thin wisp of smoke and a perfectly smooth space was left behind.

With the emperor’s last wish completed, the soul thread that bound them broke, leaving Sennex in a temporary state of limbo. Destiny’s tide would
decide his fate, as it always had. In this particular case, he suspected the dusty yet dignified woman before him would play a hand in pushing that tide.

Thus read the letter:

For the Intended Recipient Only:
It’s with the greatest urgency that I write this message. I hope it finds you closer to your goal. Humanity’s last hope lies with this ancient secret. Its knowledge will restore glory to our empire and peace among the races.
However, the dangers you’ve already faced and have yet to face pale in comparison to what legends claim protect the knowledge. Overcome the Guardians, and you will hold the truth that will serve as our light in these dark times. Although my faith in your ability to get there hasn’t wavered, history has taught us that even the greatest heroes do not work alone. Surely, even unsung heroes appreciate – and occasionally rely – on the aide of those whose abilities compliment their own.
Thus, I offer you this Djinn, Sennex. I can find no better compliment to your particular set of skills. He has served me long and well, and has proven himself a worthy servant. He will do the same for you, should you choose to accept his service.
I understand the solitary nature of methods, but urge you to consider Sennex as an aide. His wealth of knowledge and experience, as well as his infinite power can only help you with the impossible task of obtaining the ancient knowledge behind the Guardians. For, if the stories are correct, it truly is an impossible task. Perhaps I am an old fool for dabbling in legend and mysticism, but in these dark days, I can only hope that the seed of truth in every story exists.
In any case, Sennex is able to do the impossible. You need only to ask. I have no doubt that this is a skill an accomplished artist such as you would kill for. However, he may perform only three such tasks for any master – no more, no less. Use them well.
Signed graciously,
O.C.
Emperor of Zamil, Lord of the Steppes, High Commander of the Armed Forces, etc., etc.
P.S. My offer stands on two conditions. First, that you burn this letter upon reading it. Second, that you speak to no one of this transaction, as I am acting against the firm counsel of those closest to me. It is my sincere hope that this gift will help ensure the your success, upon which you will complete the sole condition of your payment – to share what you have learned with no one outside myself.
________

Although not quite sure what Sylwyn had initially expected him to have imagined upon witnessing the scene, it was certainly not what she just had described. Karem almost smiled when, after a brief moment of uncharacteristic uncertainty, Sylwyn composed herself and answered with singular grace.
Travel weary as she was, the elf still managed to act the part of the gracious diplomat. It was a credit to her skill that she was able to effectively command her prowess in what was certainly a situation beyond either of their experiences, with a well-crafted emerald brooch the only physical sign that hinted at her status. At the moment, Sylwyn was a common traveler in appearance only, and Karem knew that there was no one with whom appearances could be more deceiving. However, Karem felt that the attire was both befitting the situation and suited her better than the overly elaborate apparel more appropriate for more formal occasions. He admired her refusal to place herself above what colleagues might consider beneath them.

“You’re . . . the eagle?”

Karem spoke cautiously, unsure how to approach the stranger or what to make of him. Although not exactly threatening at the moment, the guardsman was not certain that he was friendly. The fact that Karem stood at least a head shorter than the man in no way deterred him from being ready to defend himself and Sylwyn. He refrained from placing his hand on the hilt of his sword, as such a gesture might provoke an attack, but his muscles tensed and possible maneuvers where already forming in the back of Karem’s mind.

Ever aware of his surroundings, Karem kept a wary eye on the very un-avian figure before him. That spyglass did look familiar . . .

“I believe Djinn is a more accurate description,” answered Sennex.

Sennex didn’t flinch under Sylwyn’s cold gaze. He knew the story well, as it was more than a half-forgotten legend in a time when the world had just shed itself of the darkness caused by the Ruric rebellion. A time buried somewhere in the deepest, darkest recesses of his consciousness when he walked the world as a mortal. A time locked away beyond the reach of memory.

Indeed, Sennex’s earliest true recollection was of the jealous, resentful, but astoundingly powerful mage he had first served. He had not learned humility as Anael had intended. No, he had lost the youthful soul that valued the idealistic virtues of innate goodness, glory, and grace. It belonged to a master who taught him the harsh ways of the world, one that had no room for either goodness or grace.

“There was no grace, no mercy for me when that bastard cast me out,” the mage-elf had spat viciously.
Even in anger, she was beautiful, but it was a cold beauty that only masked the ferocious vengeance beneath.

“It’s my given name; the only one anyone has ever called me,” Sennex answered in that vaguely vibrating voice.

Although he had no clear memory of his former life, he had kept his name. Names had power, and it was the only part of him not broken by that last duel.
Lacking a true body of muscle and bone, Sennex was able to stand completely and perfectly still as Sylwyn inspected him. He looked forward, not meeting her eye at first as the memory ran its course in the space of a moment. Of those who had heard the legend of the Dreamwalkers, only one besides himself knew that Sennex was not the rebel son of the equally mythical Avani - his first master, not a mortal, but the last Avani leader.

“That is why I’ve taken you,” she continued in that smooth, almost musical voice on that first day. “I’ve made you better than the others. That pompous brute didn’t think I could, but it did. And you’d never abandon me like they did. No, you can’t (again, that cruel, deceivingly inviting smile). As much as I hate him, Anael had quite the stroke of brilliance when he created these. All the power in the world, trapped behind a few semi-metallic bands.”

As she spoke, Sennex stood before her like a soldier while the fallen angel’s hands ran along the marks of power tattooed on the new Djinn’s arms until they reached the shoulder bands that bound him in servitude.

“You’re perfect,” she had said as she placed a single hand on the side of his face, clearly pleased with her work. “You thought a mere mortal could best be, but now you’re perfect. You’re mine.”

Upon completing his task, Sennex’s connection to the emperor was effectively broken, and the soul threads that bound them hung open. He felt his own tugging, attempting to find another. Meeting Sylwyn’s gaze, kinder now, Sennex attempted to use that almost mystical sixth sense to see beyond whatever wall she had erected around her heart. What he saw was a hint of willingness quickly replaced by the powerful, and very familiar, call of duty.Beyond that, the dark wall held its secrets until a formal connection was made, as Sennex's link to Sylwyn had also weakened for the same reason. He suspected her intentions, but would not belong to her until she made her decision official. The forces that bound him loved formality.

In any case, Sennex nodded once discreetly and closed her hand around the spyglass. As long as she held it, he would find her. Although he sincerely hoped she would not try anything foolish again.
________

Relaxing only slightly upon Sylwyn’s touch, Karem peeled his piercing gaze from the living myth she had described as a disgraced semi-god just in time to note the slight shift in her expression. Did her eyes just change color? Whatever Karem saw, it was not wholly unpleasant.

“It’s my job to protect you. You said he’s a rebel. How do you know his master isn’t just as power hungry?”

What he meant was that it was his job to protect the Embassy and all its occupants. And considering the events of the previous days – escaped prisoners, attacks on Imperial convoys, and unusually secretive and threatening visits from political advisers on "sensitive" assignments, followed by the appearance of a blue-skinned barefoot figure from the depths of forgotten legend – Karem was more than certain that something was brewing.

For a moment, Karem said nothing as he considered Sylwyn’s words. He looked from Sennex, whose non-flustered appearance and almost at attention posture gave off the impression of someone used to being inspected, to Sylwyn, who seemed to be performing said inspection.

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

The question was, of course, rhetorical. The head of Internal Affairs was no stranger to the rife between his people and the empire she served.

Karem knew that Sylwyn was right. He had served Zamil willingly for nearly his entire adult life, but had accepted the offer to do so more out of a youthful desire to prove his manhood than out of any real loyalty to his conquerors. He had stayed even after learning that brutality is not a desirable trait in a man because he had developed loyalty to his men, and because he had nowhere left to go. The political tension between the Legion, the only truly neutral multi-racial mercenary group, and Zamil’s emperor did not make things any easier.

Karem recognized Sylwyn’s expression. He remembered it as the same one she had when she insisted that he take her to the falcon roost upon their first meeting. Indeed, that was why she had approached him to begin with. There was no use arguing. The Legion that provided the only legal protection he had mandated that he report such an incident, and his respect for his Captain made him inclined to do so, but Karem understood that she would not violate his trust.

“Follow me,” he breathed plainly, then added to Sennex over his shoulder. “Try to look inconspicuous, eagle man.”

Fortunately for the trio, one of Karem’s occupational duties was knowing the full layout of the Embassy, and his senior position allowed him a copied set of keys that provided access to a certain number of otherwise closed off passageways. Although Sennex’s skin tone might have passed for a Dark Elf’s upon first glance, the unusual markings, bands, and clothing (or lack thereof) were as uncommon as it got, even in a place where one could easily run into at least half a dozen races on any given day.

Secretly, the trained guard in him (and perhaps his inner caveman) was flattered that Sylwyn counted his services. Whatever the reason for the high ranking, nearly noble politician’s personal interest in him, Sylwyn’s almost insistent kindness earned her at least one favor from him in return.

Having always favored non-verbal communication, Karem had never been excessively verbose, and was happy to allow Sylwyn to walk beside him in a comfortable silence. ”Embrace it,” his childhood combat instructor had said. “Focus only on your breath and let the energy flow.” In the end, his late tutor’s advice, combined with a good eye for body language, served him well.

At the moment, the corner of Karem’s lips twitched with a smile at Sylwyn’s unmistakably effervescent glow. He wondered at her ability to go from the composed, persuasive diplomat to the vibrant woman underneath with a spirit as free as the wind on the steppes. He doubted that he would ever tire of such company.

Although more company was not what he needed at the moment. Heavy footsteps and the muffled sound of increasingly heated conversation reached Karem’s ears. He could just recognize the two younger voices as Sanders and Hansen, both of whom were currently under the duress of their charge behind the heavy double doors.

“He arrived yesterday on private business,” explained Karem in a low tone, stopping beside Sylwyn. “It wasn’t a planned visit.”

The coldness that replaced the usual quiet intensity of his gaze also laced his voice. Karem preferred not to consider the dark elf’s threat, and would not have put it past him to carry it out after he dealt with the “delicate” matter of the Drenn assassin. Why the Imperial Guard was not tipped off first was beyond him, as they would have been both able and willing to accommodate the aid of a skilled hand to deal with the matter. The Legion employed a good handful of able hitmen.

“Standing orders, Chancellor, all parcels must be inspected,” said Hansen’s voice more distinctly from within the stateroom.

Sennex, who had followed the pair easily down the torchlit passages on silent paws, growled from the shadows in that low, deep way cats do. His black fur made him nearly invisible, save the amber orbs of his eyes. Other than his name, it was the only part of him that didn’t change from one guise to another.

Karem was momentarily taken by what suddenly seemed like a very small space between himself and Sylwyn as he turned towards her. She smelled of the forest, a scent that still struck him, having grown up on the steppes. It was not entirely unpleasant. Quite the contrary.

“Yes, a matter regarding the supposed assassins. So I’ve heard,” he half muttered.

Indeed, he had heard a similar story from the Chancellor with slightly more colorful terminology scattered throughout. Karem unglued his eyes from the elf beside him to see two bright circles of green reflecting light hanging like ghosts in the shadows. Where he able to see as clearly in low light as the feline, he would have noticed the fur standing on end along Sennex’s spine as he pressed his body low with all four paws tucked neatly underneath. Sennex was prepared to give the Chancellor what he considered a deserving surprise should he attempt further use of spells against non magic users.

Trusting his comrades to take care of their duties for the moment, Karem was ready to show Sylwyn to her stateroom, not a few meters away. Before he could take two steps, she was already within the Chancellor’s. Always the proactive one. Perhaps Sylwyn, of all people, could influence Calihal more effectively than any member of the Guard could. Based on personal experience, Karem would have bet his next pay on it.

The two guardsmen within the open stateroom were left looking firm, although a bit grated beside a sturdy but weather-beaten trunk in the Chancellor’s wake. He would have certainly appreciated Karem’s livid expression as he tried very, very hard not to take the bait. Any man would have been hard pressed to deny the Secretary’s desirable attributes, both physical and otherwise, but Karem could not have brought himself to force any such implied desires on her. Their relationship had always been one of mutual – albeit friendly – regard.

“Watch yourself, Chancellor,” he said steadily, the cold undertone in his voice still present.

His lips said one thing, but his mind screamed to follow his natural desire to painfully remind Calihal that many in the world still retained a sense of dignity. If he had not done so before, the Chancellor hit a new moral low. It was enough to have insulted him (again), but Karem found it particularly to restrain a solid punch for Sylwyn’s sake. It would have been the same for any woman, but more so in this particular case.

Wondering if Sylwyn had heard Calihal’s coarse comment, Karem prepared for a fight if necessary. He would not have put it past the Chancellor to assault even a colleague. He met Calihal’s red eyes with a steady gaze as he shifted his weight and rested a hand on his scimitar’s hilt while Hansen stood ready to restrain the dark elf if necessary.

Seeing Calihal’s blank expression, the hair on the back of neck stood on end. Whatever was happening between the two, it was very personal. Karem was almost concerned for Calihal. Almost. Then a sleek black shape darted across the hall, releasing a hair-raising yowl followed by a hiss as Calihal tripped over it.

The mad dash was too well timed to be an accident, but the fur along Sennex’s spine was still on end when he calmly padded over to the small crowd. Seeing a familiar guard still holding Sylwyn’s cloak and satchel, he acrobatically jumped from floor, to bed, and onto the man’s shoulders for old time’s sake. From the higher vantage point, Sennex’s molten liquid orbs never left Sylwyn. There was power in that one, but he could not determine its source. It was hidden behind that mental wall.

“I take it your relations with the Chancellor haven’t improved since we’ve last met,” commented Karem, relaxing his stance as he looked into Sylwyn’s emerald eyes, trying to determine what the Chancellor had seen. Or maybe that was just an excuse. “What was that about?”

He knew that the Chancellor’s rough nature didn’t win him many allies, but what he had just witnessed suggested that he was not the only one with a more personal animosity.

Sanders nodded in response as he gave up the items, which he had been holding in the same position he had caught them as he stared in confusion at the interchange between the two officials. Mildly exasperated at acting as acting as the temporary perch in addition to a coat hanger, he gave the black tom on his shoulders a vaguely dirty look. It stared back at him and licked its chops, clearly too comfortable too move, and shifted its gaze to Sylwyn and Karem.

Karem saw only a deep pain buried somewhere behind that calm mask. He understood that as kind and open as Sylwyn had always been with him, there were darker things she wished to hide. Painful things. Part of him wanted to understand this secret part and protect her from it. It was a desire stemming from his position as a guardsman, but more so from his personal objection against something that should cause Sylwyn to suffer.

Fiance . . . Karem only knew what he had heard from vague references to the woman brave enough to have taken on the Chancellor, as her brutal murder had taken place only shortly after his own birth. Yet Sylwyn had rarely, if ever, mentioned her. However close the two had been, Karem understood that this was a sensitive matter, a point of weakness better left undisturbed for the moment.

In any case, his attention was drawn, as if on purpose, to the pleasantly distracting view before him. He wanted to tell Sylwyn that his overwhelming preference was for the simple, elegant garments that did everything to accentuate her curves rather than the formal gowns more befitting her status, whose decorative elements stole attention away from them. Unfortunately, he wasn’t certain as to how express this sentiment without stuttering or effectively affirming Calihal’s accusation. As it was, Karem was momentarily mesmerized by the swing of those curves. One moment ready to defend Sylwyn’s honor, the next painfully aware of his masculine desires. He was a dog . . .

“To your stations,” he ordered the two men. “Record everything in that chest and watch him like a hawk.”

With that, the two guards watched Karem follow Sylwyn down the grand stateroom corridor, the black cat in his wake. At the moment, he would have gone to the ends of the earth.

Karem, still memorized, tried not to make his attention too obvious. For the moment, it was distracted from whatever darkness he had sensed behind Sylwyn’s smile.

“It’ll take more than a verbal face off to shake me,” he said truthfully. “Whatever you did, it worked. If he tries anything, let me know.”

If he didn’t have a personal interest in finding an excuse to wring the Chancellor’s neck, he did now.

Returning the auburn beauty’s smile with a bittersweet one of his own, Karem nodded and answered, “I’ll be the first to greet you as honor guard at the door.”

The eagerness he saw sparked something he thought he had left behind on the steppes, a long-buried emotion he had yet to recognize, and he wished he could offer more. Karem may have been a senior guardsman, but as widely accepted status as the Captain’s second in command was only unofficial. He had his duties, which were equal to the regular members of the Imperial Guard. Only state officials and select high ranking Zamil citizens received invitation to the late dinner, and Karem’s legal status prevented him from becoming either.

Sennex, meanwhile, wove silently between the two figures, and came to rest at the corner of Sylwyn’s stateroom doors, just outside the suite. Out of respect, he waited patiently for an invitation to enter. Of all disguises, he preferred the feline form above all others, as it was the least restrictive in regards to his usual abilities. There was a reason they were popular familiars, as cats had a mysterious power all their own. At the moment, though, Sennex didn’t need it. He could smell the pheromones from Sylwyn, and Karem’s breathing had subconsciously increased. It was only a slight increase, almost imperceptible to the human eye unless one knew to look for it, but it was enough.

Sennex followed Sylywyn’s gaze until the guardsman’s footsteps faded. Himself unaffected by Karem’s stoic charm, he recognized that vague look in her eye when he looked up. It was exactly the type of passion he saw which ensured the survival of every mortal race. And, when passion, backed by mutual respect and goodness, turned into something more, it was beautiful.

Whether fortunately or unfortunately, Sennex momentarily lacked the capability to form the appropriate speech required to express these observations. Instead, he stared up at Sylwyn with those fiery orbs. With an air of perfect feline calmness, he stood, arched his back in a stretch, and padded through the offered entrance.

He paused for a moment to take in the elegance of the stateroom, designed with precision and balance. There was enough open space so that the ornately decorative aspects were not too overwhelming. Needing no further invitation at the moment, Sennex headed straight for a relatively open area near the center, furnished with only a large and richly colorful decorative rug.

Taking a short running start, he aimed a long pounce directly for the center of that rug. The acrobatic maneuver was accompanied by a momentary rush of wind that spiraled around him, causing the small amount of dust that had settled within the fibers to whirl as if creating a small tornado. The dust settled to reveal that mythical blue form in a crouching position, the tattoos along his arms crackling with energy. His fingertips rested on the ground, as if it were the source of that energy.

Standing to his full, impressive height, Sennex watched Sylwyn with a knowing expression. As he did so, the warmth from the spyglass, produced by some internal furnace, faded.

She’s in deep.

Yet he thought it best to keep that comment to himself, at least for the moment. More importantly, Sylwyn had burned the letter upon reading it, which he took to mean that it had been intended for her. The slender, secretive woman before him would decide (and he suspected command) his destiny, and influence the course of empires. Quite frankly, Sennex was unsure whether the emperor had expected to deliver him to someone so close. It would certainly make everything much more personal.

Instead, Sennex covered the space to the exotic plants that had been knocked over in the gush of wind. His bare feet made absolutely no sound, no visible disturbance on the rug, where they might normally leave light prints. The heavy vase was unharmed, but the several of the precious stems inside it had been bent. Taking them up in one bunch, Sennex clasped a hand around the injured portion. Closing his eyes in almost meditative concentration, he took a deep breath and released. Once more, the tattoos along his right arm crackled with the same energy employed by magic users, traveled down his fingers, and nourished the life form he held.

Although Sennex required a wish to access the power to perform the fantastic feats legend associated with his the Dreamwalkers, he retained a limited healing ability under normal circumstances.

“Forgive my carelessness,” he said, replacing the vase and its contents.

Sennex watched Sylwyn carefully. Yes, the fluid gait and movements were familiar, although the last time they had seen each other, both were disguised. He needed no command to keep her secret to his grave, should he ever have one. It wasn’t a very good place to keep secrets, anyway, as people had a way of digging buried secrets up.

He sensed that she wanted to ask what others had before her, perhaps even more, but the questions remained unspoken. She had made herself as duty-bound as he was. He understood the bonds of duty well, but suspected that the questions would come out in time. They always did. And Sennex would answer truthfully, as he also always did. His own duty made no allowances for deceit, at least in regards to those he served.

Although he imagined that Sylwyn’s modesty didn’t hide anything that the trudge of centuries had not already shown him, he didn’t say so. Nor would he have had she lacked that trait, as he had no qualms regarding matters many considered to be private. Instead, he obligingly turned and faced the scenic tapestry behind the bed. Taking up a stand beside it, he leaned casually against one of the solid iron posts, as if being in a stateroom belonging to a woman was nothing out of the ordinary. Over the course of lifetimes, it wasn’t.

“A habit that I wouldn’t encourage,” he said without even a hint of looking back. “But you’d be pressed to find anyone stranger.”

Always one to make it a point of being aware of his surroundings, Sennex refrained from inspecting the area of the room for hidden objects and areas he was certain existed at the moment. He had made the mistake of breaching a woman’s privacy only once, and it was enough.

Standing fully upright, he turned at Sylwyn’s address. Although not as excessively dressed as one might expect a state official to be, the outfit did well to convey both elegance and modesty. Two traits that not all politicians possessed, but won them much favor when they did.

Sennex nodded in understanding. He had suspected as much.

As if by command, the calligraphic characters of a long forgotten language glowed lightly with that pulsing energy on Sennex’s shoulder bands. As if branding themselves there, new characters melted onto the empty space left behind by those that had been erased upon the completion of the emperor’s last wish, when Sylwyn had taken his letter.

Sennex’s jaw clenched as he felt the words being etched into what was effectively a part of his body, made of the same substance that was in the spyglass. Or at least, the unusual alloy held his body together while in the plane of the living, and had the unusual biological property of transferring pain when changing. The characters on the left band remained the same, while the new ones at the bottom of the right spelled Sylwyn’s name. Upon completion, they created a phrase – Dreamwalker, property of Sylwyn.

It was his least favorite part of the process, followed closely by what came next. When that was done, the auric power that flowed through him crackled of its own accord, pulling the loose ends of his soul thread tight. In doing so it did so, it forced closed the bond between Dreamwalker and master, allowing Sennex to sense Sylwyn’s presence, absence, and occasionally emotional state. Some were better than others at building mental walls, allowing the Dreamwalker easier or more limited access. He clearly felt that darkness, surrounded by a burning suppressed curiosity, and didn’t push it.

Kneeling in a bow on one knee, Sennex rested a forearm on the other with his hand tensed in a fist.

“My power is yours to command. Do as you wish”, he said bitterly when the unpleasant sensations faded.

It was always the same line, spoken a thousand times, and completed the ritual. Partnership. Well, that was one way to put it. For the moment, Sennex had no complaints.

Mind still buzzing with a lifetime of memories, Sennex stood. Of the two things he had sincere objections to, kneeling before another in submission was one of them. The other was killing in cold blood. He had come to terms with both, as there was no question of avoiding them, but doing so still unsettled him.

In that infinitely brief span of time, as long as it took for the connection to form, a life opened before him at the speed of thought. A magnificent city, almost glowing in its splendor. The familiar figure of his previous master, always distant. A life spent balancing the dark and light sides of her nature. Always aware of the heart’s insistent desires, but always following the louder call of duty. Further and further back the memories went, carried by the strength of Sylwyn’s noble bloodline until they ended with an image of an almost familiar personage, another elf bearing a vague resemblance to the one before him.

It was only when he was once again limited by what Sylwyn allowed him to access did he recognize that she had not drawn away in that moment when the walls fell and he saw through her eyes. Though he had just borne witness to the extent of her familiarity with the arcane arts, it took a certain amount of personal fortitude outside such knowledge to maintain her composure while your life is laid bare, however briefly, during a supernatural event that occurs once (occasionally twice) every blue moon. Once again, the memories faded into vagueness, giving way to that keen sense of curiosity. Just as the time would come for answers that would settle that desire for knowledge, so would the time to compliment Sylwyn’s ability to hold her nerve.

We? Sennex wondered which “we” Sylwyn had been referring to.

“As you wish,” he said out of habit, then added, “If you had an escort in mind, I can make it happen.”

He knew that Sylwyn understood what – and who – he meant . A lifetime of practice allowed him to maintain a perfectly straight face and his tone even when bringing up such sensitive matters. Inwardly, a small part of him smiled teasingly. It was only a small part though, arising from some deep, dark, long forgotten corner of his soul he thought might have once belonged to another in a previous life. But, of course, he couldn’t remember. As far as he was concerned, he had always belonged to another. Mostly, he was good at understanding what people wanted.

It would have been child’s play to influence someone as spineless as the foreign ambassador to allow an unexpected guest to attend. It would require a questionable imposition on his ability to make clear judgments, but with a wish, Sennex would be free to do it. He already had a basic argument in mind.
Unless, of course, Sennex was mistaken. It was no secret that Sylwyn spent much time with Zamil’s Warlord, so perhaps she would feel conflicted in the matter, or had already accepted an offer. Or, she might decide not to waste one of her three orders so soon. Regardless, Sennex’s offer stood, and Sylwyn was free to do with it as she wished.

Although she turned from him, Sennex could imagine the thoughts running through Sylwyn’s head. Yet, true to her decided nature, she refused. Could he have silenced the call of duty, he would have for both their sakes.

During those few flustered moments, even her magical strength and personal discipline didn’t hide the distinctive rosy auric glow he had come to associate with a lovestruck heart. Sometimes, the energy grew strong enough for the average mortal eye to sense, giving rise to such idioms as glowing with prid . . . or happiness, or love.

Meeting Sylwyn’s eye, Sennex saw that the flush of her cheeks matched the light glow of her aura. Although he could fathom the reasons for Sylwyn’s (temporary) refusal of the foreign guardsman’s company, he was almost surprised at her invitation, almost as much as in the way in which it was presented. He was unaccustomed to being presented with freely offered unpretentious choices, especially ones that did not bring about cataclysmic consequences for one group or another.

After a moment, Sennex nodded in understanding and acceptance.

“It would be an honor,” he said with a light rueful smile. “However, I don’t think that I’ll be able to do so as a man.”

He suspected that she was not quite ready to explain the unusual appearance of her escort to the prominent guests of this dinner. Yet the one guise that Sennex could not assume was that of a mortal man. Having lost his original body in that humiliatingly vicious duel, he had never been able to recreate even the illusion of its form. He was confined to the forms of beasts if he needed to keep his identity a secret. He would either accompany Sylwyn as such a beast or within the spyglass. The latter tended to be a last resort as far as he was concerned.

“I’ll make every attempt to restrain myself,” Sennex answered.

Whether with humor or seriousness, it was hard to tell. In any case, working, watching, and protecting from behind the scenes was his strong suit.

Without flair or pretense, Sennex stepped once more to the relatively clear area near the center of the suite. Palms together as if in prayer, he took a deep breath in and released as the flowing marks along his arms came to life. He opened his eyes as the electric blue energy crawled up to his shoulders and crouched as if to pounce. The swift gush of wind rose once more when his fingertips touched the ground, and within moments a lively chipmunk sprinted swiftly across the ornate rugs and tiled floor. Making his way towards Sylwyn, he climbed lithely up her elegant dress to the offered shoulder. His sharp nose sensed the light floral scent of her perfume, as well as the more woody and wild scents of the forest that lingered in her hair. Although he could not compliment her on it, he could understand Karem’s captivation in the corridor not an hour previously.

Looking up at Sylwyn to show his readiness, Sennex inwardly dared her to comment on his appearance. It was comical, but seemed most appropriate in terms of size and secrecy. Presuming no unusual occurrences presented themselves, Sennex intended to keep his word. No one had to guess that a potentially ferocious legend hid behind the furry illusion of one of nature’s most lovable critters. Always ready.

When they reached the grand stair used by guests, Sennex had no difficulty spotting the elfin Lord from among those who had already gathered. His noble bearing momentarily melted in favor of an expression of love and relief when he saw his daughter. Sennex held on as tightly as soft claws would allow as Sylwyn made her way down the winding stairs to greet him. Lord Aleanraheal’s expression intensified when they embraced before he regained a countenance more befitting a noble of his stature, but Sennex could still sense a protectiveness, borne of that same love, emanating from him.

Cute? That was a first, and Sennex bristled inwardly, indignant. Outwardly, he brushed his whiskers as if cleaning them and played the part as far as his pride would allow.

The blow was offset by the conversation that ensued. Patiently, in unobtrusive silence, he listened as Sylwyn made her case. Not even Lord Aleanraheal could have swayed her passions, but both were willing to acknowledge and act in the other’s best interests.

Although, the fleeting look of apprehension told Sennex that Sylwyn may not have been sure where those passions truly lay. It was quickly replaced by a quiet eagerness as those emerald eyes swept the great antechamber, filled of a whole assortment of important guests. The ornate brass clock upon the wall, with its exposed workings and gold-layered hands creating a dramatic effect, nearly struck the hour for the late dinner to behind.

Scanning the perimeter of the antechamber, Sennex’s eye briefly caught the movement of a red and black clad figure near the huge doors leading to the dining hall, currently closed. Sennex supposed he could make things at least a little easier for the enamored elf. Nudging her with a cold nose, he stared in the senior guardsman’s direction.

********

Karem, on his part, changed shifts with the guards currently standing sentinel before the great carved doors. With the annex barracks filled to capacity with last minute arrivals, and the last of the guests gathered for the evening’s event, he took his place as one of the Honor Guards.

Shedding his regular armor for the Imperial dress uniform*, he understood that this particular assignment was more ceremonial than anything else. The Captain had received specific instructions regarding what was expected of him by the Ambassador, sealed with the emperor’s personal mark. Rolling his eyes at what he considered unnecessarily frivolous pageantry, Cylas consented to giving up two of his best men for a few hours to stand guard before the great dining hall. The remainder of the posts would be filled as usual, although he made a point to personally inspect his men and ensure that each weapon perfectly sharpened and each uniform flawless. No one would accuse Captain Cylas of shirking his duties, or of failing to provide the best service his resources would allow.

As Karem took his place, the man before him paused to whisper a quick word. He looked at his comrade sharply and answered in an equally low tone. The younger guard’s negative response was accompanied by a slight shake of the head before he left. Shooting a glance at his companion on the opposite side of the doors, Karem caught a quick nod. He had received the same message.

Taking his place, Karem stood at relaxed attention, feet shoulder width apart, hands at the small of his back. His scimitar lay nearly completely hidden by the long tail of his red coat, but was standing as ready as its master within its scabbard. True to his training, everything about the senior guardsman was perfectly still, save his dark eyes, which searched the crowd with a purpose.

* This image shows two versions of the intended uniform. Note the version on our left, with the glove.

A date? Sennex had been no woman’s suitor for centuries, although in a past life he would have solemnly sworn anything to be with the one he loved. As it was, he could only promise to bring Sylwyn back in one piece, although he suspected the elfin lord would have more to say than that if he had seen Sennex as he was when not so cute.

As the clock struck the hour, the ornate doors swung inwards and the guests were free to file in. As the last of the pairs entered, Karem quickly glanced past the grand staircase towards the nondescript doors behind. His substitute had not yet entered.

Karem’s searching gaze stopped when he recognized the emerald clad form gracefully weaving its way towards him. Although his duties required silent stoicism, he couldn’t help but smile lightly at the curtsy. Was Sylwyn really reverting to such formalities with him? Although he suspected the situation was appropriate. He tried meeting her eye, but she momentarily hid her gaze.

“Thank you,” he said, dropping his guard’s pose and extending a hand in invitation. “I’m only a pale reflection of my lady’s beauty. If you would do me the honor . . .”

It was both a polite gentleman’s response and a sincere sentiment. The dignified, elegant dress was striking compared to the ornately jeweled gowns worn by the elves of Daemus. More than that, it hugged her curves and fell over her hips enough to draw his attention.

Forcing himself to look up again, Karem found himself hoping with unusual eagerness that she would accept the invitation. Although he knew that he would have to insist out of duty if she didn’t, he could at least try to pretend that this was an actual date. Whatever she had done to make her face glow as it did, he liked it.

As the Captain had suspected, a notice from the Watch had arrived bearing news that an anonymous leak had warned of an attempt on the foreign ambassador’s life. An attempt on Zamil’s ambassador was not out of the question, and suspected. So it fell the Embassy’s guards to protect both. Placed on high alert, the Imperial Guard was to take no chances. Without a personal troop of her own, Sylwyn was provided with an escort and bodyguard for the night. While he watched her, his comrades could more easily watch everything else.

Whether or not the choice of Karem for the job was an accident, he certainly didn’t mind. If only Cooper would get there . . .

Sweeping the hall with a systematic eye, Karem noted the lay of the room. The candlelight from the handcrafted candelabras and chandeliers above complimented the elegant dining table and cast vague, flickering shadows around the edges of the long drapes currently open to reveal a beautiful view of three magnificent moons as they bathed the gardens outside in silver light. Few could deny Zamil at least a sliver of splendor at the view. It was no architectural accident that this particular part of the embassy was designed to entertain guests.

Yet it was not this sight that Karem was interested in. The mercenary in him always aware of any changes to the constantly, gently shifting light, he brought his attention to the guests. Searching, always searching for the slightest hint of any out of place motion.

Catching Riklar's silent acknowledgement, he recognized it with a vaguely roughish grin as he accepted the seat offered to him. He simply thanked the maître d'hôtel without correcting her in regards to his title. The elite representatives from every corner of the world sat before him, and as far as the majority of them were concerned, he was of high enough military rank to dine among them. Those who knew otherwise were either preoccupied with other matters, or thought better of questioning his presence (or, more accurately, questioning Sylwyn's choice). Besides, Sylwyn probably deserved a proper lord over an embassy guardsman.

The smile faded quickly at the Ambassador's introduction. Acting the gentleman, he stood when Duruil and his partner approached. As military protocol dictated that a man be introduced to a woman, he waited respectfully for the formal greeting between state officials to complete. Whether out of a sense of superiority or simple oversight, neither of the High Elves spared a look his way.

For a number of the curious regular guests of the embassy, on the other hand, it was a different story. None of the glances, however, were outmatched by the burning stare from directly across the fine table. It seemed as though luck could not favor him on every occasion. Never one to allow an enemy's dirty look to unnerve him, Karem returned Calihal's glare with most roguishly smug expression as he took his seat. It was the same expression one man might give to another when he had won the favor of a commonly admired woman. The spirit was the same, even if the situation was not exactly so.

Try me, bastard.

Quietly observing the steadily inverse relationship between the amount of wine served and the amount of conversation, particularly among those with the dwarf who had winked at him earlier, Karem paid particular attention to those whose manner remained more alert.

Distracted by Syklwyn's warm touch, he leaned in slightly to hear her. Under different circumstances, he might have responded with one of his own, but as it was he simply enjoyed the sensation and subconsciously (alright, perhaps not entirely so) flexed the biceps and triceps around his right arm. Just enough to make it noticeable.

Ambassador Duruil spoke before could respond.

Having stood guard to at least a dozen meetings dealing with sensitive matters, he was well versed in the art of equanimity and silence when faced with the knowledge of such information. Truthfully, the formal occasion proved to be a blessing in disguise, as Karem was at a loss for words regardless.

He would not have cared to argue that Sylwyn did in fact embody love and beauty quite well, but this was the first he heard of an actual legend attesting to the fact. A link . . . to the gods? Karem was, quite honestly, unsure how to take the news. Although not particularly religious himself, and having been raised among a people that worshiped the sun god, stories of the mythical legendary elves did not escape the mythology of those who valued flight as a sign of freedom and closeness with Sha. Yet the ambassador had made it a point to note that the mythical beginnings of Sylwyn's line were just that - a story. Right?

Noting her rising discomfort, Karem's senses went into high alert in preparation for anything. His lip twitched at Calihal's interjection as he shot the dark elf a vehement glare. Did he not get his fill of his resentful bigotry when he took it out on Karem? The guardsman would have happily had his way with the chancellor and locked him in kerradium again. Or, better yet, he would have left him there in the first place to avoid having Sylwyn bear the brunt of the same insult he had received. In somewhat less crude terms, but essentially the same idea.

Although Karem was inclined to share Riklar's sentiments, particularly if applied to the dark elf before him, Karem made no move to succumb to his chagrin and storm out of the hall. Instead, knowing it was not his place to speak on political matters, particularly personal ones, he placed a firm yet gentle hand over Sylwyn's clenched fist. His business was soldiery, and his concern the welfare of his comrades, his people, and (perhaps more importantly) the woman beside him.

********

No stranger to patience, Sennex had no difficulty remaining still during the course of the dinner. Recognizing a number of the officials who regularly made appearances to the emperor, he watched them all with a knowing eye. Of those he didn't know by sight, he knew at least by name and occupied himself by putting faces to those names. The appeal of food and drink, however well prepared, was lost upon him. This allowed the Dreamwalker to concentrate on the interactions between the guests.

He heard the remark Sylwyn made to Karem, and felt the surge of energy when she placed her hand on his arm. Exposure of even the most intimate aspects of a master's life seemed part of the job description.

His tail twitched suddenly at the mention of the Avani's name. Although he had never called her by it, the mention of it spurred memories he preferred to keep behind him. Yet, if the stories really were true, as the ambassador suggested . . . his grip on Sylwyn's shoulder tightened as the implications sank in.

Not a few moments later, he felt Sylwyn's pulse rise. From his close vantage point, he could sense her self control straining.