‘Pawns'

One life. A promise extracted under extreme duress. The old man looked down at girl stirring beside him, waking from her enforced nap. One life. He looked back up at Xena and understood the meaning behind the phrase. One Life. That doesn't sound unreasonable to me.

Elkton! Xena protested vehemently, but she didn't fail to notice that the psychic link between them had intensified. Anger gave it definition and focus.

Elkton shook himself from his reverie, aware that Xena's patience was far from infinite. As the girl beside him groaned and tried to get to her feet, he gripped her shoulder as tightly as his injured arm would permit and turned his focus again to the life and death struggle taking place on the crypt floor, a battle that unfolded in peaks and troughs. Gabrielle, winded, bruised and bloodied, was tiring from wielding the heavy blade. Periodically her sword point would dip, gouging the stone floor, only to be swept upwards or across violently with little warning. He suspected that it was only a combination of her youth and Manus' conditioning which kept her on her feet. Xena's size and natural skills and gifts as a warrior made the outcome of this battle a foregone conclusion. But he knew, too, that the battle was only the smaller picture. There was a war to be fought and won. Listen to me, Xena...The words flew out of his mind with passionate impatience. What I'm going to ask you to do will be against your nature, against the warrior's code you follow. But bear with me and -

"Elkton!" Clang! "Spit it out!" Xena growled.

"Surrender, Xena!" Elkton exclaimed; he'd said it aloud...anyone with ears to hear in the confines of the crypt had heard it. The girl whose arm he held stopped struggling and clapped a pair of particularly mesmerizing green eyes upon him in a gaze that was both surprised and familiar. Yes, he thought, without a doubt, he had seen that expression before on the face of another. Reluctantly, he moved his gaze to the duel still transpiring on the crypt floor; far from yielding the battle, Xena appeared to have her opponent on the defensive. Xena...Elkton reiterated forcefully when he saw her disarm Gabrielle. Do-you-understand?

Surrender. I heard you, Elkton...Xena saw the Sword of Psyche skitter noisily across the floor. .... The whole room heard you!

Gabrielle stared at her empty hands, dumbfounded. "Useless..." she muttered and looked up at Xena, every last ounce of defiance contained in her steady gaze, and the set of her jaw. Weaponless, defeated, she took the time to wipe her bloody mouth against the back of her hand.

Xena softened at the sight of the blood she had drawn. Her sword drifted slowly to her side, hanging parallel to her thigh. How many times had a beaten enemy begged for mercy at her feet? Her conscience was cluttered with such scenes -- warlords and slaves, villagers and soldiers -- whom had offered themselves before her similarly, prepared to meet death at her hand. She had rarely disappointed. And then Hercules put her on another path...and Gabrielle, her moral compass, kept her from straying. She was only here to defeat Manus because Gabrielle had made it possible, and as much as she owed the bard a quick, painless death, she owed her a long, fulfilling life, too.

Xena, whispered Elkton fiercely. Trust me... Surrender

Xena didn't have the heart to tell him that both her fate and her faith rested in other hands. Looking down at the familiar blade, bloodied, pitted and nicked, she marveled at the ease with which she came to a difficult decision.

"What're you waiting for?" Gabrielle asked, her chin jutting defiantly. "I wouldn't hesitate to kill you."

"I'm counting on it," replied Xena evenly. GODS FORGIVE ME. She brought up her sword and presented it to Gabrielle, hilt first. It floated there, weightless and expectant and Xena could see the girl was considering the offer.

No...no...this is too good, Manus crooned in disbelief. He had expected Xena to renege on her promise the same way a liar expects to be lied to. The Warrior Princess dies on her own sword, at the hands of her best friend. Morpheus be praised! It's practically a suicide! He crowed with delight. It's so poetically perfect, don't you agree, child?

"It's a trick," said Gabrielle, her fingertips poised inches from the weapon.

"No trick," said Xena, with tender exasperation. When she saw the girl's fingers close over the hilt, taking the weight of the blade, Xena slowly fell to one knee.

Neglecting his charge, Elkton rose to his feet beside the girl and exclaimed, "Xena, no!"

"Stay out of this, Elkton!" retorted Xena, her eyes locked on the hate-filled green orbs glaring down the length of the blade which was leveled just above the hollow of her throat. All it would take is a few pounds of pressure...she'd seen enough botched executions in her lifetime to know that a frontal strike, at the jugular, would bring a relatively quick and painless death. Sensing the girl's hesitation, Xena leaned into the blade, drawing her own blood. "This is what you wanted...isn't it?"

"By the gods, Xena," cried Elkton, leaving the passive ‘Gabrielle' to her own devices while he moved cautiously forward. "You don't know what you're doing..."

Xena looked at him peripherally and said through clenched teeth, "Elkton, get back!"

Elkton watched the scene unfold in horror. He felt responsible and helpless. He'd argued for surrender, but it wasn't supposed to end this way. In his arrogance, he had considered himself a player in Manus' game, when he was nothing more than a pawn. The true architect lay supine and scheming, and all but triumphant on his dais.

Heedless of the conflict between mystic and warrior, Gabrielle stared transfixed at the crimson rivulet running down Xena's throat, into her leather bodice; she found herself taking a step backward. With nothing to rest upon, the sword in her hand dipped, yielding to gravity.

"Thank the gods," whispered Elkton, turning his eyes to the ceiling.

What're you doing? Manus inquired carefully because as much as he loathed her hesitation, he feared it, too. With Hesperos dead, he could not afford to alienate her. You're so very close, child...he soothed, sounding very much like a proud father. Peace is a sword stroke away. Kill Xena. Set me free and I will grand you the peace you desire and deserve, but you must hurry!

"I don't know if I can..." Gabrielle murmured aloud.

Mercy? Indecision? Where did that come from? Manus fought down the natural urge to prod, to possess. Instead he wheedled, cajoled and coaxed -- a technique that had proven successful with this subject in the past. I know what you have suffered at the hands of this woman. Abuse. Betrayal. Your young husband dead by her hand. The sword in your hand is justice. You owe him that. So, take her head. Strike her down!

But...it's murder...

Conscience now? Inwardly, Manus groaned and adjusted his argument accordingly. It's suicide, child, he countered sweetly. Xena recognizes her culpability in the events that have transpired in the past. She offers you her sword because death by her own hand is cowardice. And such a thing is unfathomable to a warrior of her caliber. More than suicide. It's justice. Death at your hand is justice...for Perdicus. And Cyrene. Justice for Diana and Lila. You have an obligation to them.

Gabrielle drew in a deep breath, bringing the broad sword up and back until it rested on her right shoulder. She pursed her lips and set her jaw; if Xena was going to offer her head, then, by the gods, she was going to take it.

Xena's thoughts were similarly pragmatic. Beheading, she mused, when done by the inexperienced was messy and painful. More often than not, it took repeated blows to completely sever the head from the body. She wondered whose idea it had been. She watched her friend's face harden, watched the sword bobble and waver as it hovered above Gabrielle's shoulder. From somewhere to her left, she sensed Elkton's nervous presence as he tried to maneuver into a better position. She could make out the nervous cadence of the other Gabrielle chanting ‘No no no no no...' She tuned it all out and focused her attentions on the intent features of her friend and executioner.

Enough! Take her head and be done with it! Manus fumed impatiently. Seconds! I have seconds, child!

"Any last words?" Gabrielle asked, parodying Xena's trademark eyebrow lift.

Last words. In the instant before the blade began its devastating arc, Xena fixed on Gabrielle's face. In her arrogance, her innate desire to set right what had gone so terribly wrong, she had designated herself the girl's first kill. It seemed wholly inappropriate...and yet anything else was unthinkable if Manus was to be stopped. She would die in the presence of someone whom she loved best. It was all she'd ever hoped for in life. Only in that millisecond before she took the bard's blood innocence did she stop to consider how Gabrielle would feel, but by then, it was too late. Forgive me, Gabrielle. The vanquished, anticipating death, said simply, "Just do it."

Gabrielle's ears registered the flat command in Xena's voice, while her heart heard something altogether different. Forgive me.; two words that had the impact of a forceful blow; she expelled a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Forgive me: a request, a command, a plea...however she chose to label it, the fact was that Xena had taken up residence in her head, and Gabrielle reflected that the fit was perfect.

Forgive me? What rot! Manus had heard Xena's prayer as well and he recognized its potential, even if Gabrielle did not. Focus, my child. Kill! Manus' voice cut incisively into the heavy, febrile atmosphere. Kill her!

Gabrielle flinched as if struck hard; it went without saying that, as an executioner, she was a disappointment. She tightened her two-fisted grip on the sword hilt and cringed as a new mantra made its way into her head. Killkillkill... Kill! A one-word assault on the last remnants of her self-control. She looked down at Xena's face and felt a fresh resolve slide beneath her, like a good gravel bed in a fast moving stream. As the enormity of what she was about to do sunk in, the sword in her hand grew unbearably heavy and fell to rest on her shoulder. With her last ounce of strength, she threw open the doors and windows in the jumbled, confusing mass that had been Manus' playground. Light...clarity...memory...too long absent from conscious thought flooded the rooms, illuminating even the darkest recesses until she looked down at Xena with the expression of a woman who had just been shaken awake. For the first time in twenty-four hours, the bard focused on Xena in undeniable recognition. "Xena?" The broad sword drifted down slowly until it hung loosely from Gabrielle's fingertips. Meeting Xena's gaze, she was suddenly exhausted, her legs watery. The limitless reserve of energy from which she had drawn repeatedly over the last hours was nowhere to be found. Gone, too, was the hatred and rage, replaced by a weary confusion. She rummaged through her head, took a groping inventory of her heart, and shone a candle into her soul. To her surprise, Manus had moved out, and taken his tools with him. Gabrielle was stricken by a relief so profound her knees buckled. "Xena...what just happened?"

But Xena was too enraptured by the bard's familiar, perplexed expression to answer immediately. She got to her feet; she wanted to embrace the girl, but something in Gabrielle's stance kept her at a carefully measured distance. "Nightmare," she said. Then, sotto voce, with a wry smile, "Wakey, wakey." She reached out to steady the bard with one hand while the other relieved the girl of the heavy broadsword.

Gabrielle felt a warm hand close over her wrist, and her eyes traveled up the leather- bedecked arm to the concerned face of her friend, where she averted her gaze as she had only guilt and shame to show the warrior. As she looked away, she saw the mystic, Elkton, gaping at her in frank anticipation, and the prone form of Manus, as yet undisturbed on his altar. It was his still benign physical form that stirred her to action. "It's not over," she said, her face grave. "Manus hasn't been beaten."

"What're you talking about?" Xena followed Gabrielle's steady gaze to the dais where Manus lay, the deceptive picture of benevolence.

"He expects it," Gabrielle elaborated, turning again to Xena. "One life." She said it in the quiet, unexcited way that people save for the worst kind of disasters.

Xena's heart clenched in her chest and a wave of fierce protectiveness came over her. Narrowing her eyes and grinning, she said, "You just leave Manus to me." Taking the girl more firmly by the arm, she turned to the old mystic. "Elkton, take Gabrielle and --" She saw his eyes go wide as he focused on something, and then she heard the gasp -- a whistling intake of breath that stole her own as she turned. What she saw caused the blood to drain from her face. Six inches of polished steel protruded from Gabrielle's chest, just below the hem of her top -- the Sword of Psyche, sheathed in flesh and blood -- and the look on the bard's face was more one of surprise than pain and for that, Xena was grateful. One glance from eyes that had seen many fatal wounds was enough to wring a strangled cry of anguish from Xena's throat; her sword slipped from nerveless fingers as she exchanged cold steel for warm flesh. And then, almost as quickly as the lethal blade had appeared, it was withdrawn from its victim with a slick, sickening hiss. As Xena bore her precious, lifeless burden to the floor, she caught her first glimpse of the murderer.