The stability of Dragnoki Kan had always been dependent on the leader's hand, and King Herthed's was of cold iron. His demeanor was imposing, though his figure was not. Tall and bony, he lacked the raw strength for combat, but his mind was sharp. He believed in pain, especially as a method of gaining absolute obedience. Herthed was willing to sacrifice perfect efficiency for absolute power and loyalty. Devotion is best gained through fear. Even the servants were terrified of the king and his trustees. Many had been raised in the palace and had never spoken a word in their lives. A silent, illiterate underling tells few secrets. A petrified officer convinced of his king's infallibility takes no bribes.

In the large and ornate palace of Venkatagiri, the King of the Dragnoks had retreated to his study. It was a simple room. Near the ceiling a light poured through a single window, casting long shadows on the cold stone floor. Two wax candles burned in the center of the room, between which stood a small dragon. Also made of grey stone, the dragon's claws were wrapped protectively around a beautiful palm sized sphere. The exquisite delicacy of the statue and the flawless quality of the stone was typical of the king's possessions. This piece, however, was ancient. It had been a gift to the first of Herthed's lineage to rule Dragnoki Kan.

Through it, his ancestors had been able to avoid fatal errors and choose from among their wives' sons which would make the most successful king. But the future is forever unstable. Herthed saw, as he gazed into the sphere, what his father had not. The defeat of the Dragnoks under his own reign. The prospect frightened him, but what chilled him most were the figures of those who would eventually overthrow his line. Some he recognized: the monarchs of both neighboring and far off countries; Khamer'yu, Vira, and Ahnalahkhasan, and his eldest son. Others were strange to him: Yuvians, Virans, Ristrofilians, and his own people. Herthed had known his eldest would give him trouble since the day of the boy's birth when the Dragon's Eye first revealed that to him. The figure he'd seen that day had been very different than this. Originally, the boy had been depicted at the head of the army, arrogantly challenging his father and attempting resistance to his rule. After the vision, Herthed had chosen a different heir. Instead of killing the newborn immediately, Herthed demoted him to a servant and kept a close eye on him. From what he saw today, the boy still stood on the sidelines. Now Herthed would have to kill him. He sighed, Good help was so very hard to find.

---

Daqyn stood uneasily in front of the king's study. He was skinny, and, although he lived in the richest and most ornate building in the country, it was apparent that he received only as much food as absolutely necessary. A pure Dragnok by blood, his hair was red and his eyes gray. The Chief Secretary had given him an urgent message, informing him that it "simply had be delivered to the king immediately." In Daqyn's experience, the Chief Secretary had an exaggerated opinion of his own importance and the message's insignificance would make Herthed angry. And when anyone in the palace was displeased with anything they had a way of taking it out on the servants. The Chief Secretary would just have to wait until the king was ready.

Two light taps on the door was all Daqyn did to inform the king of the waiting message. The door opened an hour later, "What is it?" The king asked in his frighteningly quiet and controlled voice. He glanced over the message, but didn't have a quill on hand to write a reply. Most people called the room his study, but in actuality it was more of a sanctuary. "Bring my former Chief Secretary here. I'd like to have a few words with him."

Without a word, Daqyn scurried away. Having grown up in the palace, he knew his way through the maze of corridors visitors found confusing. Cutting time by not going through the servant's corridors exclusively, he reached the Chief Secretary in minutes. He wasn't supposed to be cutting through the decorated hallways, but he didn't want to keep the king waiting.

"What took you so long?" the Chief demanded when he returned. He grabbed the message and looked it over. "You didn't deliver the message!" he accused, gray eyes flashing angrily. "That message was of extreme importance! I'm contacting your Head!"

Fortunately, the Chief's assistant was slightly more reasonable, "The king has many things on his mind right now, if I may say so. And the servant boy might have an explanation." The Chief didn't seem entirely pleased by his underling's suggestion, but let it pass, commenting that the servants can't talk.

Daqyn's thoughts raced, so rare was the occasion that he had to tell someone anything that he was never quite sure how to go about it. In his fifteen years he'd only had to do so once or twice before. He pointed at the Chief and gestured back to himself. "I'm supposed to go with you? Where?" the Chief asked. Not knowing how to go about even thinking to get a word like 'king' across, Daqyn shrugged. The Chief didn't really need to know that anyway.

It hadn't taken the Chief Secretary long to figure out to whom he was following the young servant and he became increasingly nervous as they neared the study. Daqyn did not think about the probable fate of the Chief. Too proud to be broken into subservience, too pretentious to be demoted to a lower office and too old to be thrown into the army, the future did not look good for him. The Chief had been a thorn in the flame haired king's side for months and had been lucky to survive this long. Daqyn had seen more than one of his fellow servants finger one of their many scars and glare at the Chief, the cause of their pain, from a distance. His self-important messages had angered many. He halted before his king's office, turning on his heel to regard the secretary. The king's anger with this man gave Daqyn the privilege to let his smugness tug at the corner of his mouth. The Chief frowned at this addition to his usually blank expression and rapped on the king's door himself. This time, his majesty only kept them waiting a few minutes. He waved the Chief inside and instructed Daqyn to bring him the necessary writing supplies.

When he returned, he found the door left slightly ajar for him and ducked inside. Herthed was speaking to the former Chief in a tone that sent chills down the servant's spine. His majesty closed the door without breaking the rhythm of his onslaught, and took the materials from Daqyn. The Chief had crumbled to his knees and winced at each new point his king nailed to him in his chilliest tones. Daqyn tried not to take some pleasure in the corrupt official's downfall. He tried really hard. Pity came, yes, but that wasn't quite the same thing. His heart just wasn't in it.

Pausing a moment to write out the order, Herthed shoved the parchment into Daqyn's hand. "Do you know Officer Rapin?" Daqyn nodded. Rapin was the palace's Superior Officer of Security. He was new to Venkatagiri, but not so much so that he wasn't a familiar face. Rapin's own ego was beginning to reach dangerous levels as well. Daqyn wondered if he would join the secretary or if the Chief would merely be an example to him. Example, most like. Herthed was not one to waste competence. "Bring that to him." Daqyn bowed and was halfway out the door before Herthed got his next syllable out. "Wait." He froze mid step in the doorway, the King waited for him to turn back towards him before finishing, "I'll need you again this afternoon. In my office." Daqyn nodded and fled.

When he returned, Herthed was pouring over the endless documents that kept the kingdom running. Daqyn closed the door as quietly as he could, though it still sounded loud to his ears. After a moment, the king put down his quill and set aside his papers with a sigh, "Sit down, boy." He motioned towards the chair before his desk. Daqyn sat, absently rubbing his scarred arms.

"I'm sorry, Daqyn. I thought you could change. But...," So this was to be another father to son monologue. Daqyn settled himself in for another irrelevant lecture and tried to look somewhat more interested than puppy watching his owner rattle off nonsense syllables. But Herthed's tone changed sharply, "I was wrong. I've already sent for Ledjn, he should be here momentarily. We will then decide exactly when . . . ah, here he is. Could you get the door?"

Exactly when . . . what? Daqyn glanced from his father to the door and back again.

"Well?" Herthed raised his eyebrows at the delay. Daqyn stood, slowly for a change, to ease open the door. Ledjn, the Head Servant stood behind it in all his grey and green silken glory, a red sash indicating his rank gleamed from his chest. Green, red and grey . . . the colors of the dragon. Green for her majestic scales, red for her breath of fire and grey for the destruction she brings. And the Head always brought plenty of destruction, Daqyn was sure. He would have tried to hide behind the door even if his superior's expression hadn't been so . . . sour was not quite the word for it.

"As I had indicated in my instructions, one of your workers has displeased me," Herthed explained, motioning him in from his desk. Daqyn's eyes darted from one to the other. Herthed regarded him with the same terrible look he had given the former Chief Secretary. Daqyn's eye's widened at the realization, and looked back to his Head. He was suddenly overly aware of every insignificant misdeed he had ever done. What the Chief Secretary told the king before he was . . . um, dealt with. Or was Herthed upset with his overall record? His scarred arms, though covered, seemed suddenly all too visible. Was that pity his father had shown him a moment ago his version of a parting regret? He drew in a panicked breath and stepped backwards. Not having anything to loose, he turned on his heel and ran, slamming the office door closed behind him.

He glimpsed the Head running after him when he turned the first sharp corner, but had slipped into the maze of servant's corridors and continued his flight. Up a story, down two, around the courtyard, under the ballroom and through various passageways he ran. Choosing primarily deserted routes to reach his unknown destination, he wondered how he could escape the palace. He could get as far as the either of the side gates, but doubted the guards would just let him walk out. He'd bet he could last a week just in the palace without getting caught. It was his territory, but not, he realized, a solution. They'd find him sleeping one night, and then where would he be?

Escape. That was what he wanted. If he was going to make it longer than a few days, he'd have to leave Venkatagiri. And he'd have to do it before the guards were informed to watch out for him. If there was a secret way out, he wasn't aware of it. As far as he was concerned, that meant it didn't exist. Surely, someone knew how to get out of here . . . but who? He ran through his list. He couldn't risk his fellow servants on this one, but he wouldn't be able to explain to anyone else what he needed. A glance could tell all, but not for those unpracticed in reading it. He leaned against the wall in a deserted wing of the palace. If in fifteen years he hadn't found a way out of here, how would he do so now?

But he'd heard stories, rumors really, about prisoners escaping the dungeon. Maybe it was easier from the dungeon? Maybe there was an exit there he didn't know about? Or maybe he could get someone to help him escape? Surely someone there would want to leave, or would . . . or would they feel too guilty about not finishing their service to his father for the wrongs they committed against Dragnoki Kan? Maybe some of them were foreign. He would see. Changing his course, Daqyn hurried to the dungeon.

The surrounding air dampened as Daqyn descended into the lower levels of the palace dungeon. Prisoners here were brought food twice a day and the second feeding had already passed, so the servants. passageway would be deserted. The passage itself circled the dungeon. Sloping gently downward, it was connected to each cell by an opening just large enough to slip a bowl through. The light was dim, but what little was available was enough to be a danger if he wasn't careful. Not knowing where to start, Daqyn peered into the first cell and, finding it empty, moved on to the second. Most enclosed only one person and no one said a word even in those that held two. In one cell, an old couple held each other close to fight off the misery of the dungeon, but such was the closest equivalent of communication among the worn down prisoners. Behind another set of bars, further into the ground, a single shaft of light pierced the darkness. Daqyn. s eyes adjusted quickly, but not before he heard movement.

"Always you watch this close?" a bedraggled man asked his cellmate, looking directly into Daqyn. s frightened grey eyes. The prisoner wore tattered clothing and was missing more than one tooth. His hair color was indeterminate beneath the clinging filth. Foreigner. Daqyn continued to stare, unabashed. Upon reflection, the prisoner couldn't harm him from here, not through the small rectangular opening.

The woman who also occupied the cell took a moment to answer, "I don't think so," her voice cracked noticeably. She had doubtless been there longer than the man had. Daqyn recognized her accent as coming from the western continent, but he couldn't distinguish the particular country.

The man, who knew where he was from, was the more conversational of the two. His broken grammar made any accent difficult to identify. Daqyn was relieved when he finally looked away from him. Those blue eyes had the mischievous glint children would sometimes get just before talking their way out of trouble. He remembered his sister Kylla's wide eyed, "But mamma, you said we should be helpful to those in need. Puppy needed a home . . . ." She had been what, four years old then?

The man's expression was far from wide eyed, more contemplative, "King Heart bright guy. Keep jail dark. Like night. People scared of night." He pointed at the window, "But lets light come little. See how ugly place be. Near bad as King Vernie." Though he turned to the woman, Daqyn couldn't help thinking he was still being watched by the beggar.

Approaching footsteps startled a gasp out of him. The beggar momentarily forgotten, he searched for a place to hide. If he continued up the corridor, he'd run right into them, if he remained where he was, they'd run into him and if he went farther down into the dungeon's depths, he'd reach a dead end and they'd still stumble upon him. His only choice was to leave the passageway altogether and enter the main dungeon itself, with all it's guards, and prisoners, and . . . and whatever other scary things might be lurking there.

He wouldn't have to go in very far, he assured himself, ducking into the main dungeon. He clung desperately to the shadows, watching the three guards carefully. He felt something near his head and stepped back a little to see what he'd nearly walked into. A key rack. He carefully tucked away the one key it held. He was lucky, it didn't clink.

The sound of retreating footsteps in the servants' corridor betrayed the departure of the food bearers. Daqyn waited an extra minute to be sure, then hurried back to his entrance. He was surrounded by guards a third again his height before he realized he'd even been spotted. His eyes darted from face to Dragnoki face, feeling the adrenaline course uselessly through his veins.

"He must be the escaped servant," the tallest guard deduced after a moment of puzzled silence. They had likely been expecting to catch one of their ragged charges rather than a well groomed boy in servant garb. The other two seemed unwilling to manhandle him, so they just stood close enough to block his escape. "What should we do with him?"

The one behind him put his hands lightly on Daqyn's shoulders. Daqyn looked up at him, his head against the guard's hard stomach. He pursed his lips, "The, um, message said just to hold him."

"You know what they're going to do, though, don't you?" the oldest guard, the one to Daqyn's right, whispered, "They're going to kill him. That's what they did last time they made all this fuss." The man behind him pulled Daqyn protectively closer him. When no one said anything, he continued, "Hushed it up afterwards real nice, too. Listen, we hold him they'll thank us, we'll say a few 'yes, sir's and 'all in the line of duty, sir's and 'it's an honor to serve you, sir' and all that, and then they'll take him down the hall and execute him. I've got boys of my own his age."

The first guard, the tall one, shrugged, "My kid brother's not much older. But, what can we do about it? Orders are orders. He'll know."

"What? The boy?"

The one behind Daqyn shook his head, "Not him. Him." His fingers tightened around his shouldered tensely. "He'll know. He knew when Trince . . . ."

"Yeah, but we all knew about that."

"All knew about what?" the voice came from behind the tall guard. Daqyn looked up just in time to see him whip off a hurried salute. The old guard did the same, and his guard stood straighter, keeping his hands firmly on his charges' shoulders. The newcomer stepped close enough that Daqyn could see him in the dim light. Rapin, Superior Officer of Security. "Ah, I see you found the servant. Good. Go tell the Head Servant." He patted the tallest guard's shoulder and off he went, with a "yes, sir" and an apologetic backward glance.

"You'd think he were you're boy," Rapin bent, taking Daqyn's wrist and pulled him away from his muscular guard with a sharp glance. In the other hand he carried one of the servant markers, a five bladed hook like weapon, which he raised, pushing back the green silk fabric of Daqyn's uniform. His right arm was already completely covered with the white stripes the scars left, so he moved on the left. He gasped in anticipation, screaming only when it hit his skin. Tears blotted out his vision as he was thrown unceremoniously into the closest cell. The door banged shut with a resounding thud. Lightheaded with blood loss he hugged his knees and willed himself to melt into the corner, choking back sobs, and trying desperately to ignore the stares of the blue eyed man and western lady.

---

Tobee studied the sobbing newcomer. He could only assume that this child was the one who had screamed in an agony even Rae's slashes had not wrought from his victims. However, unlike the royal Ristrofil family, once inflicted, the boy scarcely acknowledged his wounds except to keep the blood from ruining his uniform.

The only belongings the soldiers had taken from Tobee were his weapons and most of his money. The latter had only been acquired after much pomp that allowed for many witnesses to the fact that no bribery had taken place. What had not been taken was a surprisingly clean piece of cloth which he now pulled out of an inner pocket. The boy recoiled at first, then allowed him to press it against the ugly wound to staunch the bleeding. He indicated the lady, Qili her name was, should take over as Tobee moved to the door to see if he could gather any information, about either the new prisoner, or to help with an escape.

So far, he knew only that the boy was an 'escaped servant'. That hardly called for the number of guards and harsh treatment the higher authorities seemed to think the matter warranted. But after a few moments of watching and listening, it became obvious he'd learn nothing new this way.

Crouching down beside his cellmates, he asked a reliable source, "What did you that so horrible?" He glanced at Qili to include her in the question. "Me bribe," he offered into the silence, trying to make the pair more comfortable. He glanced back at the pale features of the boy and couldn't help adding, "You okay?" It occurred to him that Tonay wasn't supposed to talk this much, so he closed his mouth. If he wasn't careful he might start talking like this in his own persona, or worse, as the Prince.

Fortunately, it was enough. Qili moistened her lips, eyes narrowed in concentration at the now red cloth under her fingertips, "Ship sink. Swim to Dragnoki Kan. They think me spy. Throw me here. Ahnalahkhasan." She swallowed. Words, apparently did not, or, perhaps, no longer, came easily to her. When she realized he didn't understand, she continued in a low croak, "Me, um, me," she waved her free hand around as though it would help her remember the word, "me . . . me princess. Sister too. Rule together." Tobee blinked. Qili was Princess Qili of Ahnalahkhasan? She had disappeared three years before. Tobee wondered how she had ended up in Dragnoki Kan. She apparently didn't want to talk about it since she handed off the cloth to the boy, and retreated quickly into the corner opposite. Only when he caught Qili wiping a finger across her cheek did Tobee realize he had upset her. No, he decided. He wouldn't apologize, at least not until she calmed down.

Tobee turned to the boy, "What about you?"

The servant looked around, apparently to see who was being asked, then turned back to give Tobee one of those wide eyed "me?" expressions. Tobee's nod was left unrewarded. The boy merely shook his head and shifted position. Tobee reflected bitterly on the poor social skills of his cellmates. He couldn't quite blame them. The Dragnok might have been in too much pain or too faint from the blood loss to have the strength to talk to him, though a little color was starting to return to his cheeks. And Qili . . . shouldn't have been that lost after only three years down here. Maybe it was something in the food . . . he reached back for the bowl he'd set aside untouched to listen to the guard's whispering. He smelt it and tasted a bit. Dragnoki food, he decided, was not something he was familiar enough with to recognize if it'd been poisoned.

"Food?" he offered it to the Dragnok, who shook his head vigorously. That was all Tobee needed to know. He pushed the bowl away. If it came it that, he would eat it, but not so soon.

The boy's eyes widened, and he dug eagerly down his shirt with his good hand. Tobee quelled the instinct to draw a weapon he no longer possessed. The boy's hand came out grasping a comparatively big metal key. He slid it across the cell.

"Where in the dark realm did you get that?" Tobee snatched it up to hide, hopefully before the guards saw it. In answer, the boy glanced towards the door. Tobee followed his eyes though the metal bars and outside the cell. No one. Their eyes met again. A quirk of the boy's eyebrow told him he'd noticed his slip into his usual musical accent. It didn't matter. He lowered his voice to a bare whisper addressed more to himself than his unresponsive cellmates, "We've got a key. We should move now, before all they come down to get the boy. Or notice it's missing." A slight nod from the boy told him the later was the more urgent of the two.

With a grace no common beggar could ever hope to match, he rose to his feet and crossed to the door. A quick glance beyond the bars revealed an empty corridor with torchlight dancing at one end to light the guardpost. From here, he couldn't see any of the Dragnoks and had to assume they couldn't see him either. What he wouldn't give for a better view just now. He draw in a careful breath and slipped his arm between two bars, concealing the key in his sleeve. No need for the torchlight to reflect off the polished metal piece and draw the guard's attention. He brushed his hand carefully down the door until he found the keyhole. Getting the key in was more awkward than he had anticipated, but he managed and turned it slowly.

The door swung open several centimeters, creaking loudly asTobee began to ease slowly into the corridor. With a muttered curse, he jumped back into the cell, pulling the door closed with a loud clang. "Pretend to be asleep or something!" he whispered urgently, just loud enough for his cellmates to hear, not bothering with the beggar's voice anymore.

Heavy footsteps approached at a run.

Taking his own advice, Tobee launched himself at the ground across the cell, pocketing the key in midair. Qili continued to stare straight at the rectangles of light coming in from the window high above. The boy inspected his cuts with a wince, and reclamped the folded hankerchief back over it looking about ready to pass out. Tobee reflected as he feigned sleep, shoulder aching with the impact, that the order had been somewhat unnecessary for his cellmates.

He waited, listening to the guards scurry around making reports. Something in one of his pockets dug painfully into his side. Moving slowly and silently, he worked the object out of the pocket. He cursed his stupidity.

The object was a tiny bellows attached to what could easily be mistaken for a simple golden whistle. Careful to make no movements that could be seen from the door, Tobee pressed the bellows into service. Three quick puffs of air passed through the whistle though no noise emerged. He repeated the silent puffs into the whistle several more times until he was fairly sure he had her attention. Then he began the actual message.

The castle was easy to find. The dungeon wasn't difficult either. The specific cell, however, posed some difficulties. Only after three and twenty more of the annoying whistle blasts did Tinsl find it. Flying in through the small window, the first thing she noticed was that she couldn't see. The second thing she noticed was that the walls were hard.

"I see why you're called bumblebodies," a soft voice commented as gentle fingers helped her regain her equilibrium and her eyes slowly adjusted.

"Save it, Tobee. What happened? I don't have time to come save your skin every time somebody annoys you and you do something rash."

The prince snorted good-naturedly. "Come now, dear Tutor, ‘tis not as though you were doing anything more pressing than driving poor Wymbli up the wall with your infernal pacing."

Tinsl opened her mouth to deny the claim, then snapped it closed again. "Were you using that blasted stone to spy on me again?"

Tobee smiled, "Not this time, my dear. Now, won't you be so kind as to fly out that door there and sting the guards so we can get out of here?"

"Hardly kind to the guards," she commented as she flew in the indicated direction.

She didn't hesitate in her duty to her prince. The guards made surprisingly little noise as they fell, but that was explained when she saw the pinched expression on Tobee's face as she came back into the cell. Despite long association with both the Prince and King, she still shuddered as she realized magic had been cast so near to herself.

Landing on his shoulder, she said her first words that would be loud enough to carry to the two cellmates. "All clear."

Tobee nodded, then motioned toward the door, brandishing the key, "Let's go."

The boy jumped to his feet and had to lean against the wall for a moment as the blood drained from his face at the sudden movement. Tobee helped Qili to her feet, then led his two fellow prisoners of the cell. The boy took up the rear and closed the door softly behind them. He stared at the fallen guards in disbelief. Tobee wasn't sure if it was that or the bloodloss and a possible infection that made him look a little green just then. No time, now. Qili didn't seem even to notice them.

Tobee worked on his plan as he approached the dungeon's entrance. How many guards did the have stationed out there? He tried to remember. Was it four? His thoughts were interupted by a light tug on his sleeve. He turned to see the boy with his hand still slightly outstreched. The servant pulled back a curtain, behind which was the empty space which served as the servant's entrance. He tilted his head inquisitively.

"Lead on," Tobee encouraged him. Don't worry about the guards at all. Good. When they were all through, the servant pointed up the hall and led them through a maze of corridors. At the end of one turn, they met an almost identical servant. The two boys stared at each other for a moment, their expressions changing subtly until Tobee began to suspect they were communicating . . . somehow. Finally, the other boy left and his boy motioned them forward.

"What did he say?" Tobee asked after a moment.

The boy darted a glance in his direction, but didn't answer. Or, perhaps, that was his answer.

They continued through a few more cooridors, choosing directions at what seemed to Tobee to be random. He had no idea there were so many miles of servants passages in Venkatigiri. Most of it abandoned. After some time, they stopped and the boy turned back to him and waved a finger around.

"I hate charades," Tobee commented.

The boy sighed and knelt down on the ground. There was a nice promising layer of dust. Good, Tobee though, he can write . . . but instead the servant drew a rectangle with a circle drawn on three of the sides of it. The boy looked at him expectantly.

"I don't understand," Tobee spread his hands. Both looked to the princess for help, but she wasn't any help. "Let's just go on. No time."

The boy repressed another sigh and waved for the others to follow him. Ten minutes later, they'd arrived at the North Gate. The south gate would have been easier. That's where the stables were. They could have snuck on the back of a supply wagon or posed as stable hands. That would have been easier than this more polished side for merchants and the like who came through with fine goods, meticulously inspected by the guards upon entry.

The boy tugged his sleeve and redrew the rectangle with his foot, shoed in soft leather. He pointed to the gate, then toed the diagram's north gate. Tobee nodded understanding. He had asked which gate.

Tobee peered around the corner. Behind him came a started gasp and a yelp. Tobee turned back to see a guard holding his rapier to the boy's throat and a few others were coming their way.

"Oh, no. Oh. No," Tobee repeated, saying each word individually and distinctly as he tried to form a plan. Nine soldiers in the immediate area, undoubtedly more by the gate. Fighting was out of the question, not with ThreeYearIncarcerationQili and MuteMisterDragnokiServant.

Instead he rose to his full height, losing in that moment the hunch, limp, and attitude of a beggar. The ragged cloak looked misplaced but seemed less decrepit than it had moments ago, more suited to a man temporarily down on his luck rather than perpetually.

He approached the nearest soldier, holding out a hand. Speaking in an excellent imitation of an upper class Dhievalian, he exclaimed, "Dear officer, I'm so glad to have found you! You simply would not have believed the scare I just received." Startled, the soldier took his hand and shook it. When they released grips, Tobee pulled off the cloak, revealing a suit a man of middling wealth would just be able to afford. He raked a hand through his hair displacing most of the dirt. He looked years younger than he had in the dungeon. The servant boy took the cue and stood staighter, assuming even blander expression. The hankerchief had long since started sticking to arm and this silky grey sleeve fell easily over it.

Turning a bright smile on the flustered soldier, though still uncertain where he was going with this, Tobee continued, "You see, my friend, my wife and the servant assigned to us," he waved negligently back at Qili and the boy, then continued before they, there was a three man audiance now, could pay much attention to the odd pair, "we were taking a walk when three horrendous people came out of nowhere," he made a wide sweeping gesture as Dhievalians were wont to do, "A dirty rag of a man tackled me, pinning me to the ground and, and look!" he pulled at his hair again, sending more dirt falling to the ground. "He must have knocked me out for next I knew, I was wearing that detestable," he waved at the cloak, and shuddered, "thing. My own fine robe was gone! Stolen from my own person! I cannot abide such lapses in security. And in a palace no less! I am afraid must bring my business elsewhere!" With that, Tobee turned on his heel and marched away with the gait of a wealthy Dhieval merchant who has better things to do. As he passed Qili and the boy, he said in a sharp voice, "Come, dear, and, boy, I'll need somebody to pack our bags." He strode toward the palace proper, near the doors where guests would be able to enter and leave to visit the gardens.

Three of the guards blocked his path, and Tobee stopped an annoyed expression on his face. "We are sorry, sir," the one that seemed to be the leader said, "but which way did these three ruffians go?"

Tobee lost the annoyed expression, replacing it with one of understanding. "Ah, yes, you must punish those creatures. They went that way, toward the gate I presume." The lead soldier sent several of his men to investigate, but continued to block Tobee's path. "To make up for your harsh treatment, sir, we will escort you to your room to see that you are not attacked further."

Tobee cursed to himself, but nodded imperiously, "See that it doesn't happen again. My dear," he said taking Qili's hand and drawing her to his side, "Look how grey the fright turned her. She looks ready to faint. Come, you must rest before our journey home." Gently, in a husbandly fashion, he supported her as they walked toward the palace. He began whispering to her, encouragement to continue, sweet flatteries, and other bits of nothing until he was sure the guards were tuning him out, then he slipped in a few other words aimed at Tinsl, still hiding under his collar. She took off.

When they entered the hallway, he walked directly to the third door on the left, "I believe I left it unlocked," he turned the knob and it swung open, "ah, yes." The room and personal items fit what a Dhievalian merchant would have. He turned to the escorts, "If you don't mind, my wife and I must change. Boy, draw some water for the bath."

The soldiers nodded and closed the door behind them. Tinsl alighted on his shoulder several moments later, "They're leaving."

"Good job finding a Dhievalian room and picking its lock. Lucky they didn't notice the unusualness of a bee hovering in the middle of a door."

"Fie. Nobody ever notices a bee unless they think it'll sting them. And I wasn't in the middle of the door. I was almost against the ceiling."

She would have continued but Tobee cut her off, "Boy! I don't really want water drawn for the bath! Come here." The servant did so immediately. Tobee swiped a hat from the unmade bed and put it on the boy, tucking his red hair under it. He rummaged around in a suitcase, then pulled out an outfit, "Strip and put this on. It might be a little big. Princess," he found the Dhievalian's wife's bag, "change into this. I'll do your hair and make up when you've done that." Going through the first bag again, he pulled out another suit nearly identical to the one he was wearing already and a fancy robe. The clothes change finished without any major difficulties, Qili retreating into the back room and the males staying in the front one. That accomplished, Tobee found the wife's cosmetics and began applying them to all three of their faces after a thorough scrubbing. He didn't allow either of the others in the room when he did himself. When he emerged, they seemed surprised that he did, in fact, have a full complement of teeth.

Once makeup, hair, and clothing was ready, Tobee indicated the door, "Best we go before we wear out our welcome. Let me do the talking," he added unneccessarily. They emerged from the borrowed room and strode down the corridors. They left through the main gate.

Tobee sent Tinsl ahead, then led the others to a basement window. He knocked twice. A single knock came from inside. He knocked three times and the window opened. "Get in," he whispered. The servant did so first, followed by Qili. Tobee came in last. The fruit merchant closed and locked the window behind them.

Tobee turned to his former cellmates. "Perhaps I should re-introduce myself. I am called Tobee. I'm working out of Ristrofil. I'm sorry if I offended you back there, Princess, but I couldn't think of anything else. And I must introduce our host," he waved at the fruit merchant, "this is Wymbleton Hamilok. He'll likely be escorting us to one of the ports so we can get out of this country as soon as possible. And this," he indicated Tinsl, sitting on his shoulder, "is Tinsl. She's a bumblebody, not a bumblebee, and quite intelligent. She's the one who got us out of most of our rough spots back there."

She hrmphed but her ego didn't let her deny it.

"Where we go?" Qili asked. She looked frustrated at trying to get her mind and tounge around the words, "Ahnalahkhasan?"

"Tumkur, first," Tobee told her, seeking Wymbli's eye for confirmation. When the merchant nodded, he continued, "It's a small port city not more than a few leagues from here. From there we can get a ship out of here. I have no particular destination so Ahnalahkhasan is as good a place as any."

"G-good," she nodded also.

"Wymbli led them into another room, and opened a closet. The boy watched curiously as the fruit merchant sized Qili up and pulled out peasant's dress of brown and green. Wymbli held it against her, "That should do." He led her behind another door, and laid the outfit out on a bench. Tobee just caught a glimpse of of the tub before the princess closed the door. A good idea.

"You're next," the fruit merchant informed Tobee. His gaze moved down to the boy, as if deciding if he should also take a turn. The answer seemed to be 'no.' The boy was already too unnaturally clean for his age.

"Come here, boy," Tobee motioned him over. He came and stood in front of him. "Lift up your sleeve, let me look at it." Tobee sat him down, and Wymbli brought some warm water. They managed to get the cloth off it, clean it out, and dress it without making him pass out. Wymbli found him a better fitting tunic to replace the now blood stained one barrowed from the Dhievalians.

After a moment, Tobee pulled a curious amythyst jewel from somewhere in his clothing. The boy looked at it then back to him warily. He put his hands firmly behind his back and stepped back.

"It won't hurt you," he assured him. Tinsl's sharp intake of breath and quick retreat upon seeing the stone did not help the matter any either. "All you have to do is put a finger on it. Go on." Still hesitating, the boy didn't move. Loosing his patience, Tobee placed his thumb on the stone in his palm, then ordered with every ounce of princely command at his disposal, "Touch it."

He did and Tobee spoke the spell. When he finished, he sent a tendril of thought to the boy, *Now, what's your name?* Confusion came back along the mind link. *It's magic. All you have to do think words at me and I'll hear you as long as we're both touching the stone. What's your name?*

*Daqyn,* his gaze shifted from the stone to Tobee's face, *Is he going to hurt me if I think something he doesn't like?*

*No, I'm not going to hurt you,* Tobee answered the thought he hadn't been supposed to hear. *Who are you?*

*Who am I? Who are you? First you come off a beggar, but then you're Ristrofilian upper class. Then you pretend to be from Dhieval, but your accent is slightly off. You have a barely perceptible lilt- . . . oh, dragon, he heard all that. Now I'm in trouble.*

Tobee's only response was a repetition of the question, a hint of amusement in his thought. It comforted the servant, *I am a Servant of the Palace of Venkatagiri . . . can't you tell?* It seemed lto Tobee that the boy was neglecting something, but he didn't push, this time.

*What did you do that was so awful?*

Daqyn slouched, looking at his hands, *I don't know. I was good. It was the Eye, I think. Always the Eye. That thing has it out for me. He wanted to execute me. I ran away.*

*So you ran towards the dungeons?* Tobee was incredulous.

*I didn't know where else to go. What now?*

Daqyn pulled his hand away from the stone and tried to warm it in his other.

"Now . . . "

"Ah, milady, you're done," Wymbli lead a newly tidied-up Qili to a comfortable chair next to one of the walls and gave her a fresh bowl of soup. Though polite, his words held none of the respectful and near-reverent tones most people assumed when speaking with those of a higher social class, especially royalty. Even the politeness dropped to friendly banter as he turned to Tobee, "Your turn, your high-beggarness." As he pushed the Ristrofilian into the bathroom, he pressed another set of clothing into his hands. "Towel should be in there."

Daqyn stared after him, then back to Qili. He had to admit, she was much more lovely clean. Almost pretty, if you could imagine her well fed. She's combed her hair out and braided it in a wet dripping mass down her back. But it was a nice mass . . . an definite improvement over her earlier tangles.

She sipped her soup contentedly, "Thank you."

"We'll be leaving for the port by evening, and set up camp out under the stars as it approaches the witching-hour - don't worry, the prince doesn't do anything unusual at that time most nights. We should reach the port by noon. I'll break company with you all about a mile before that and head home. You three should be able to find a ship heading out to wherever you're going. Questions?"

Daqyn shook his head mutely. He knew he was being addressed, that was an improvement. Qili swallowed her last bite with a smile, "Have seconds?"

Wymbli poured her more and handed a bowl to the boy, too.

---

Daqyn faithfully carried fruit from the wagon like Wymbli told him, but as he did so he kept his eyes and mind on what was going on around him. A salty breeze filled the streets, blowing his red hair around and stinging his eyes. The crowds of people consisted almost entirely of Dragnoki middle class. A sea of people moved every which way, all with the firm belief that their own destination was more important than everyone else's.

In the crowd, Daqyn spotted only a single foreigner aside from Qili and Wymbli. He was looking at the fabrics being sold by the man across the walkway. The merchant seemed impatient and was speaking in harsh tones to him and gesturing wildly. The former servant couldn't make out the words, but the implications where clear, You're a foreigner here, either buy or go. You are a not at liberty to just look.

Picking up the last crate of apples and noticing the man was drifting toward the fruit stand, Daqyn moved to where he would be able to hear whatever may or may not pass between him and Wymbli. Unsurprisingly, the fellow wandered over. Foreigners in a foriegn place tended to be attracted to each other, it seemed. The man features were Viran, so was his accent.

"Do you have a farm by here, merchant?" he asked Wymbli after a moment of looking. "It's amazing such splendid apples could be grown in such a country." The words had a strange expectant tone to them Daqyn could not identify. Maybe it was just his accent.

Wymbli looked up sharply, seeming to notice his customer for the firsttime. He smiled, the light of recognition in his eyes, "Nay, good sir, it all comes in the preserves, nat the farm. Won't you come to my back room and see the finer samples I keep there?" Daqyn could barely make out the last question, and wished he'd managed to stand a little closer. The stranger nodded. Wymbli rose his voice, "Miss Kyle," that was Qili's undercover name, "Won't you be so kind as to keep shop for me while I'm in the back with this good gentleman?" His gaze fell on Daqyn, "Boy, don't let us be disturbed." He led the Viran into the wagon and closed the tarp firmly behind them.

A few minutes later, the fruit merchant returned to take over his stand. Daqyn noticed a boy sneaking out of the wagon. He tugged gently on his sleeve. As Wymbli turned to him, Daqyn tilted his head toward the wagon, pointing with his chin as well as his eyes. Wymbli's looked just in time to see the boy leap from the wagon and dart behind a barrel of apples.

The false fruit merchant made a subtle gesture and two men materialized and took hold of the brown-haired child. The boy did not cry out or raise any kind of commotion as he was gently but firmly escorted to Wymbli. When he was within conversation distance, the boy began talking rapid-fire like an old horse dealer, but quiet enough not to draw any attention.

"A mite bit of a scrape you're in, good sir, a real scrape. My, but would the Dragnoks like to get a bead on you, yes, sir. A difficulty it is, sir, to smuggle anything out of this here country, a real difficulty, I'll tell you, good sir. And something so conspicuous as twenty some odd escapees. Nay, it'll be nigh on near to impossible. But, lo!" the little eight year old drew in his first breath. "There be hope for ye and yours. A ship not six miles distant more than willing to take on illicit cargo or passengers. A ship as can fly like the wind, unbeholden to any nation but its own self and its sister ships. I be but cabin boy yonder, but I is sure I kin talk yon captain into takin in your strays, for a small fee, of course." His lungs out of air, he had no choice but to stop there. His chest heaved rapidly but silently as he regained the normal oxygen content to his blood.

Wymbli studied the strange boy whose accent kept switching nationality and social class in his madcap tumble of words. Certainly not a 'mere cabin boy' as he claimed, though Wymbli judged him to be telling the truth about the ship and its legal inclinations, or lack thereof.

Slowly, Wymbli nodded. "Very well. You already heard where the strays are holed up? Oh, while you're at it, I've four more strays to add to the mix."

A wide, excited grin split the boy's face. "Aye. Tell your others to meet with Lord Gamalin and his people and we'll leave nearly immediately." He slipped neatly away from the two men who had grabbed him initially, and disappeared into the crowd.

Wymbli addressed to his associates, his gaze locked on where he had last seen them. "I don't think I fully trust that kid."

"What kid?" Tobee asked from behind. He had just returned from a tavern a little ways up the road where he was trying to book them passage. Not waiting for an answer, he made his report, "Nothing heading for Ahnalahkhasan. Or willing to take foreigners."

"I found a ship that'll take you to Vira, from there it'll be no problem getting to Ahnalahkhasan."

Tobee studied him. "What's the catch?"

Wymbli shrugged, "No catch."

The prince shook his head. "You don't like it."

The mercenary sighed. "No, I don't."

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