He just stood there, leaning slightly forward, a small smile on his lips, as if he were preparing to enter Elysia after a long, fruitful life of selfless good works. Xena could hardly wait to inform him that he'd been detoured to Tartarus at her insistence. With new-found strength, she raised the sword above her head and brought it down, point first, upon an ornate circle of cloth at Manus' heart. He might as well have been clad in the finest armor since, despite Xena's best efforts, the razor-sharp blade glanced harmlessly off Manus' chest.

Manus' head came forward, calmly, as if he had all the time in the world. He brought his eyes to bear on the Warrior Princess and conjured up a scornful chuckle from deep in his throat. "I'll give you points for persistence, Xena."

"I'll give you the point of this sword!" she retorted, bringing all of her weight to bear behind the blade. It was unthinkable that she could be this close to vengeance and not succeed. Of course, she mused, if Manus' claims of godhood were true, she'd only succeed in enraging him further.

"That's it, Xena!" exclaimed Elkton, using the heel of his right foot to spin ninety degrees against the ceiling until he was situated almost directly above Manus' head. From this vantage point he could see everything -- Manus exerting every ounce of psychic energy available to him, Xena countering with an equal measure of physical force. And he could see Lysandra, too, the picture of anxiety, fists clenched to her chest, bottom lip trapped between perfect white teeth. She must have sensed his scrutiny for she paused in her observance of the struggle to look directly up at him and the expression on her face, although familiar, was not her own. In that brief moment of unspoken contact, he understood her at last. "He's still vulnerable, Xena! No god, this one!"

HE'S RIGHT, MASTER! reinforced Lysandra as she came to stand at Manus' elbow. She was close enough now to see the perspiration on his brow, the spittle on his lips as they curled back defiantly. He did not make an impressive picture. YOU HAVE TO RELEASE ALL THE SLEEPERS!

Manus was shaking, struggling to maintain some semblance of control; he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "I have!" He winced as he felt the pinch of cold steel on his chest. Instinctively, his big hands closed around the blade to prevent further injury.

ALL OF THEM! THE DEAD, TOO... Lysandra's eyes fixed on his robe where a crimson rosette had begun to blossom. She made a point of reminding him of his mortality. RELEASE THE SLEEPERS...OR JOIN THEM!

As Manus felt the insistent sting of the blade, he dipped for what he hoped was the last time into the dreamscape and threw open all the doors, but he did not feel any different; there was no rush of psychic energy as there had been the first time. He had no time to speculate on the reasons as the blade slipped through his blood-soaked hands and another hair's breadth into his chest. Free of any ties to his old prison, sheer force of will had brought him to the precipice of immortality and the unparalleled gifts of Morpheus were his. As difficult as it was to take his eyes from the grimacing face of his would-be executioner, he closed them, trying to summon forth for her a grisly and painful demise. Fueled by a fertile imagination and long months spent dreaming of revenge, the images were gruesome in the extreme. He took her apart in his head, piece by piece, and the possibility of seeing his greatest enemy destroyed filled him with exquisite anticipation. When he heard her grunt and cry out, he knew he had succeeded. SHE'S DEAD! He had to see! He had to see her dead! Manus' eyes flew open; Xena was so close; her face was blurry shades of bronze and blue and a slash of crimson framing a triumphant grimace. He gasped as ice-cold pain pierced him from chest to shoulder blade and the copious amount of blood pouring from the wound left little doubt that he had been struck a fatal blow.

"Hurts..." said Xena, giving the blade a push for emphasis. "...doesn't it?"

Manus' dark face reflected the turn of fortune in numbed surprise. Long bronze fingers enveloped the blade where it protruded from his chest, and his head shook with disbelief. While he still had breath in his lungs he called upon Morpheus to save him.

Morpheus replied with perfect silence.

"Xena," cried Elkton as his feet lightly touched down on the crypt floor. He moved quickly to her side and squeezed her arm. "You did it!"

Xena offered the old mystic a small smile, a perfunctory gesture that was all resignation and no joy. She felt no qualms, no pride or remorse, only a weary indifference. She renewed her grip on the sword hilt and prepared to withdraw the blade.

"Lysandra..." Even as the blood drained from his body, leaving his extremities tingling with cold, the dying priest sought out the familiar figure of Lysandra. She hovered at his side, like some grim cherub, his reflection dwelling faintly in her dark eyes. He wished that he could touch her mind one last time to know what secrets she held there. Further rational thought was lost as the blade left his chest with a slickening whisper. He sank slowly to his knees, dark blood staining his robes and puddling at Lysandra's shoes as she stood over him, arms akimbo. "Who..."

"That's the most intelligent question you've asked tonight," she said, a slight quirk on her lips. She enjoyed the way his brows came together in a puzzled frown. "But ‘who' is not half as important as ‘why'." She crouched to meet his gaze. "In the dreamscape, Morpheus gave you space, room to hone the skills he bestowed upon you." She shook her head. "But you couldn't be content with that. You sought godhood...you saw yourself as an equal beside Morpheus. It was presumptuous of you, Manus, to think you could take those gifts into the flesh." She clucked her tongue audibly. "Morpheus abhors presumption."

Manus shook his head, as if the word were foreign to him, but any verbal response was lost as he gasped for air. Blood bubbling upon his lips, death took him supine to the floor.

"Oh, don't look so shocked," cooed the teen. "You trusted me and I betrayed you. Sound familiar?" With her finger, she traced the bloodied icon of Morpheus on his robes and glared at him with undisguised contempt. "You're an embarrassment, Manus. You can't control one little bard and yet you expected to sit at Morpheus' right hand?"

"But..the prophecy..." Manus argued with what little strength was left him.

She smiled and smoothed vagrant wisps of sweat-damp hair from his eyes. "Foolish mortal. I wrote the prophecy."

Xena stood to one side, baffled by Lysandra's revelations. Presently, her lips formed a hard, flat line and the sword slipped from her fingertips, kissing the stone floor with the single peal of a ship's bell. She appreciated the way Manus winced as the sound cut through him. She was relieved that his death was not a quick one and she wondered, briefly, if that made her a monster.

Manus coughed wetly, biting back death as his ice cold fingers absently probed the gaping hole in his chest. He seemed beyond the pain, more intent on Lysandra than the blood leaving his body. As his dark eyes waned to a grayish cast, he asked again, "Who are you?"

Her voice held a well-honed edge of ridicule as she replied, "If I told you that, what would you ponder on for eternity?" As he settled back against the floor, his breathing more and more labored, she knew her time was short. Rising, her playful smile was replaced by an expression as stern and reproachful as she could muster. "You have bloodied the Sword of Psyche in the name of evil." She watched his eyes grow impossibly wide as she pronounced sentence upon him. "In deference to your many years of faithful service, Morpheus is prepared to be merciful." Hope flashed briefly across his broad face and it thrilled her to quash it. "You may have what you promised Gabrielle and myself. Everlasting peace. Give Hades my regards."

Manus' jaw worked convulsively, gasping his last breaths of air like a fish out of water. He convulsed once, twice, reinforcing the allusion, and then was still, his dark eyes transfixed at some point on the ceiling high above his head.

Lysandra gazed at Manus' body in rapt fascination. He had died so well, with such drama. It was a pity he could not die twice and she was on the verge of saying just that when she felt Elkton touch her arm. She met his smile with an inquiring lift of her brows. "Yes?"

Without saying anything, Elkton nodded at the large tapestry behind the dais; Morpheus in the guise of Cyex, husband to the beautiful Halcyone, whose expression of surprise he saw mirrored in the youthful face before him. "You resemble your mother."

Lysandra smiled at the man who had put the puzzle pieces together. "There are those who say I favor my father more."

Xena's eyes were drawn to the tapestry as well; there was no mistaking the resemblance. "Son-of-a-bacchae..." she said in a derisive whisper. "Morpheus' love child. Isn't that just perfect."

Lysandra stepped over Manus' body to address Xena. "Your contempt for the gods is well-known, Xena. If I hadn't been certain that you would laugh in my face, I would've disclosed everything to you back in Amphipolis."

"I thought Morpheus abhorred presumption," replied Xena, hoping the irony was not lost on the Dream god's progeny.

"And me?" Elkton waited for Lysandra to acknowledge him. "When would you have told me?"

"Forget it, Elkton," interjected Xena, waving a dismissive hand. "Getting a straight answer from the gods is like trying to nail water to a wall."

Elkton nodded, considering the validity of Xena's words. How many times had he expressed similar sentiments? "So...all of this..." he gestured airily. "Your coming to me last year for tutelegde...it was all just part of some scheme..."

Lysandra observed Elkton's wounded countenance and was inexplicably compelled to soothe his battered ego. "No. There was no inkling of Manus' plans that far back. Father insisted I study with you, to learn patience, and organization. He thought it would teach me humility if I were made to serve." The old mystic grunted and feigned interest in Manus' body. She would have to work for his forgiveness and some small part of her resented him for it. "Later, when he discovered Manus' true intentions, Father assigned me the task of bringing him under control. He saw it as an excellent opportunity to put my natural gifts and the skills I learned from you into practice."

"The pupil has surpassed the teacher," said Elkton.

"I'm sorry," she said hastily.

"No, my dear," he met her gaze and patted her hand affectionately. "How could you help it?" He shook his head and with than a hint of self-mockery, said, "All this time I simply thought you were a gifted student blossoming under my skilled tuteledge...and here you were just naturally pre-disposed."

"I was wrong not to let you in on the plan, Elkton, but Manus' psychic reach was so complete. Whatever you knew, Manus would know and then he would simply retreat into the dreamscape until another opportunity presented itself."

"If you knew what Manus was up to, why not just deal with him in the dreamscape?" Xena's query was not so much a question as an indictment.

"Because by the time I sensed his true intent, Gabrielle was already under his influence," explained the girl. "Manus was all powerful in the dreamscape. I could only do so much without raising his suspicions so the prophecy had to be permitted to follow its natural course."

"A course you pre-ordained," said Elkton. The girl nodded wordlessly. "So there were never any plans for Manus' godhood..."

Lysandra loosed an incredulous hoot. "Not hardly. In every way conceivable, it was all in his head."

"And all that business with the levitation, that was never Manus' doing," deduced Elkton.

"No, once again in the flesh, he had no more power than any other mortal. What he did have, however, was a toe-hold in the dreamscape. He had to be persuaded to leave that world behind. That's where you came in, Xena. I had to give Manus the illusion of godhood while at the same time convincing him that you were threat enough to destroy him before his powers were fully matured."

"I understand now," said Elkton, coming to Xena's side. "If you had killed him without his first having released the sleepers, they would've been doomed to wander the dreamscape until their bodies gave out on them, which at the rate Manus was draining their energies wouldn't have been long at all." The old mystic's beaming countenance fell upon his prized pupil. "Well done, my child."

"Oh, yeah, you're quite the bard," said Xena without admiration. "Constructing such an intricate prophecy."

"More intricate than you know, Xena. Manus never had any intention of honoring his side of your bargain. I do, however. One death and it all ends."

Looking at Gabrielle's still form on the floor, Xena said between clenched teeth. "You got your one death."

"Yes," the girl agreed, her eyes on Xena's retreating form. "The culmination of a finely-detailed plan." Xena stopped and turned. Lysandra recognized the expression of outrage and disbelief. "You hate me, don't you?"

It was a child's question, spoken by a child. Xena spared her the observation, but little else. "I might hate you, if I gave you any thought," she replied, and her restraint surprised her. At Hesperos' body, she pulled the chakram from his chest and began to clean it against the fabric of his robes. She took her time, knowing she was being scrutinized, yet drawing strength from the familiar task. Her hands and eyes moved over the weapon; for all the lives it had taken while in her possession, it remained relatively unblemished, as if newly forged. How she envied it. When at last she straightened, seating the chakram in its place at her side, she turned again to face Lysandra. "My friend is dead," she said simply; she had failed to anticipate how profoundly those four words would rock her emotionally. "If I make a thousand good friends before Celesta comes for me, there will never be another Gabrielle." She smiled when she said it: Gabrielle. She could feel tiny muscles draw her lips up slightly at the corners of her mouth, as if it were impossible to utter that name without smiling...or crying. But tears would come later, in the privacy of some sheltered glen, around a campfire, or as she sat astride Argo on a dusty road. Shaking herself from her reverie, Xena made a conscious effort to keep her body from betraying the level of her grief. "My friend is dead. That's more of a loss than you could ever understand."

"I agree," she said quickly. "It's a pity that you should be so wounded by your friend's death. Especially when I promised Gabrielle no harm would come to you. She made me swear. Must be a mortal thing," she concluded with a shrug. "Like you, Gabrielle was given a choice. She chose to be the last person to die for Manus."

"She didn't know what she was doing," Xena fired back. "She had no comprehension."

"Don't confuse ignorance with innocence. Gabrielle agreed to our bargain, but you, Xena, with your noble gesture of self-sacrifice, you almost ruined it!"

Xena wheeled angrily. "Excuse me?"

"Because the prophecy was permitted to unfold as written, Manus is no more."

"Manus is no more? How clinical is that?!" Xena took a deep breath to calm her frustrations; the young woman's cavalier attitude was proving to be something of an irritant. "You're not going to absolve yourself from blame or responsibility by sanitizing your actions. A number of people are dead tonight. You're the architect of all that."

"Guilty," she shrugged with a smirk. "As charged."

"You little twit!" Xena spat. "I ought to --"

Lysandra countered, "What? Put me across your knee?"

Up went the eyebrow as Xena quipped, "You read minds, too." IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW MY OPINIONS, STAY OUT OF MY HEAD.

Lysandra shrank visibly from the mental rebuke. "I'm not completely heartless, Xena, in spite of what you might think. Steps are being taken to remedy what can be remedied."

Elkton was cautiously optimistic. "The villagers...my priests?"

"Awakening," Lysandra said lightly. "Even as we speak."

"And Linius...and Gabrielle?" he prompted. "What of them?"

Lysandra hung her head just slightly. "Linius died by his own hand."

"Guided by Manus!" argued Elkton, understandably baffled.

"Still...by his own hand." Anticipating his next question, she said bluntly, " Dead is dead. If you want to appeal to a Hades, that's up to you. But my powers are limited. You, Xena...if you had died upon your own sword, I could not have helped you."

"No more excuses!" said Xena as she retrieved her sword and slipped it into her back scabbard. "I've given you about all the thought I care to. Now unless you care to throw yourself on my sword, there's nothing you could say or do that would possibly interest me." Without waiting for a response, she turned and gathered the limp form of Gabrielle in her arms. The bard's head reposed against Xena's chest, over the heart which beat for the both of them beneath her armor. The girl's body, a strangely comforting weight in her arms, was still warm and her face was unmarked, save for a small drop of blood at the corner of her mouth. The illusion of sleep was so profound that Xena had to fight the urge to shake her awake. When she had regained her composure, she called over her shoulder, "You coming, Elkton?"

Elkton did not hesitate. Admiration for his pupil's skills aside, Xena was his friend. "Right behind you, Xena."

Fear of being abandoned among the dead spurred Lysandra into action. "You're afraid to ask about Gabrielle!" It was no surprise that her words brought Xena to a standstill. From where she stood, she could see the warrior's head dip, presumably to study the still features of the girl in her arms. "How much is your pride worth to you?"

Xena turned at the inquiry. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Lysandra advanced across the floor until she was standing at Elkton's side. "Perhaps I should have said what is Gabrielle's life worth to you."

Elation and grief shared a heartbeat as Xena saw an opening, but she was cautious. She knew from past experience that the gods, with their hidden agendas, never did anything without expecting something in return. "If it's mine to give, it's yours."

"You're very earnest," said Lysandra with genuine admiration. "I don't know as you have much that I want, Xena. Being a god I'm pretty much set for life. However..." She lifted an eyebrow expectantly. "I will take a demonstration of humility."

"Don't do this, Lysandra," growled Elkton.

Lysandra ignored him, studying the beautiful face before her, caught in a rare moment of extreme vulnerability. "Beg me," she said simply.

Xena looked at Gabrielle's face. IF THERE'S EVEN THE SLIGHTEST CHANCE...Hugging the girl closely to her, she sank to one knee in a desperation plea. "Please," her voice cracked, heavy with emotion.

Lysandra placed her hands on her hips and grinned. "You are so easy!" she said, shaking her head in amazement. XENA: WARRIOR PRINCESS ON HER KNEES BEFORE THE ILLEGITIMATE CHILD OF MORPHEUS. FATHER, DO YOU SEE THIS?!

"You got what you wanted, Lysandra," said Xena, looking up from an uncustomary position of submission. "I'm on my knees...it's not something I do every day..." She glared at the girl with a mixture of frustration and contempt; it was galling her to be on her knees before the godling, and yet anything else was unthinkable. Her voice dissolved to a whisper. "I'm begging you...bring her back...please..."

"Oh." Lysandra's brows came together in a puzzled frown. "I never said I could do that." Smiling, she said, "I just wanted to see you on your knees."

Xena closed her eyes, consolidating her raging emotions; grief warred with anger, vengeance conflicted with justice. On the periphery of this battlefield, Xena's memory of Gabrielle prepared to do battle with them all.

MY DINAR'S ON THE BARD.

Xena flinched perceptibly at the invasion, but did not open her eyes to engage the godling's no-doubt questing gaze. She resolved to never again give the gods that quarter, that tiny window of trust she had bestowed upon Lysandra. She took a tremulous breath, wondering if pride alone could get her to her feet. She shifted the body in her arms and stood, staggering for a moment under the weight.

Lysandra pounced at the opportunity. "Wouldn't it be nice if she could walk out of here on her own?" Under her former mentor's reproachful gaze, her broad smile withered to a pout.

Elkton expelled a patient breath, reminding himself that godling or not, Lysandra was still a child. But youth shouldn't excuse everything. Being passionate by nature, he had never excelled at keeping his emotions under rein, but as he approached Xena, braced for a righteous display of temper, he saw instead a woman whose soul was laid bare before strangers...laid bare at the whim of a child. It was the defining moment in an evening of defining moments. "Xena," he whispered, putting his hand on her shoulder.

The presence of Elkton's hand reminded Xena that she still had someone for whom to be strong. He kept it there, maintaining the connection, as they started from the room.

Lysandra's voice pursued them. "There's more, you know! Don't you want to --"

The old mystic wheeled. "Enough, Lysandra!" barked Elkton, his eyes daggers for the godling. "You have said and done quite enough."

"Indulge me, Elkton. For old time's sake?" She cocked her head and looked at him with genuine affection. When his exit was not immediately forthcoming, she approached the weapon lying on the floor between them and hefted it, one hand on the gilt pommel, the other beneath the gleaming blade. "The Sword of Psyche...beautiful, isn't it?"

Xena slowly pivoted on her heel. Gabrielle's head, tucked neatly beneath the woman's chin was a searing reminder that beauty kills, too.

"Is there a point to this?" Elkton asked, his voice stripped bare of civility.

Lysandra held the blade out to him. "I sensed that you were struggling earlier in the evening to remember something specific about this blade." Her young arms began to tremble beneath the weapon's weight but her face was impassive. "Has it come to you?"

Elkton left Xena's side as if drawn by a forceful lunar pull. Inside his head, the last puzzle piece slid into place. "The sword was designed by Zeus and forged by Hephaestus expressly for the execution of criminals..."

"You taught me that. What else?" Lysandra prompted. The old mystic's fingertips brushed the surface of the weapon. It hummed in his grasp. Lysandra lowered her arms gratefully. "What else, Teacher?"

"The blade..." Elkton's eyes moved over the body in Xena's arms and the words raced to leave his lips. "...the blade cannot take an innocent life!"

"Precisely," echoed the girl. She watched Xena tremble perceptibly as she absorbed the implications of the conversation between mystic and godling. As punishment for what she perceived as slights at Xena's hands, Lysandra resolved to draw out the details. "To lure Manus from the dreamscape, I had to give Gabrielle's death the appearance of credibility... melodrama, a flashing steel blade, the blood..." She observed Gabrielle's body, draped limply across the warrior's strong arms. "...the pain." She cocked an eyebrow and regarded Xena who met her eyes with an unwavering expectant gaze. "All the trappings to re-enforce the illusion." She moved to stand before the warrior. "But before I could convince Manus that Gabrielle's death was genuine, Gabrielle herself had to be convinced. His intense psychic bond with her would have seen through any deception on her part. As long as she believed her sacrifice was a real one, he would, also. And so I sold death to her, lock, stock and barrel. The way she jumped at it you would've thought I was giving it away." Wordlessly, without invitation, she placed her hand over the wound in Gabrielle's chest. Her hand became luminescent, radiating light and a warmth Xena could feel pass through the bard's body and into her own. Lysandra, sensitive to Elkton's curiosity, motioned him to her side. The pupil performed for her teacher as he stood at her elbow, gazing down at her handiwork in fascination. "You told me once that death is an illusion..." Transfixed by the godling's display of power, the old mystic merely grunted. "Tonight," Lysandra said, "I have demonstrated just how profound an illusion it can be." With that, she removed her hand to reveal the flesh beneath unblemished by injury. "For my next trick..." she concluded brightly, looking at Xena as if she expected applause, but the warrior's eyes were otherwise engaged. Gabrielle's chest rose and fell naturally, and her mouth quirked slightly, as if in irritation, when Xena shifted her in her arms. In answer to Xena's unspoken query, Lysandra replied, "She will wake shortly, in her own time."

A combination of personal concern and professional curiosity compelled Elkton to ask, "Will she remember any of this?"

Lysandra shrugged. "Difficult to say. It might all be crystal clear to her when she awakes. It might be foggy recollections, or it could present itself as nightmares." She was silent for a moment, watching as the bard made slow progress towards full consciousness. She couldn't resist commenting, "Heavy sleeper, huh?" Xena's face was stone as she turned to leave without comment, which only served to irritate the girl. Putting her hands on her hips, she said, "You know, Xena, it wouldn't hurt you to thank me."

"I bet it would," replied Xena without breaking stride. She stopped at the open door to the crypt and leaned against it, waiting for Elkton and enjoying the rhythm of Gabrielle's heart as it moved in sync with her own.

The old mystic moved past Lysandra, taking a last moment to survey the crypt...Manus' body growing cold on the cold stone floor, Hesperos, his toadie, dead at his side. The sentries, Phyus and Androcles, neither of whom had been fatally injured, were beginning to stir. If Lysandra was true to her word, the temple infirmary should be bustling with activity when he arrived to take inventory of his friends. Backpedaling, fixing his stern gaze on Lysandra, he joined Xena at the crypt threshold. "Lysandra..."

She smiled broadly, expectantly. "Elkton?"

He exhaled with effort. "In all good conscience, I don't think I can thank you, either." He watched as the girl's expression collapsed. "I'm sorry to lose you as a student. As a god you have tremendous potential...as a mortal however, I fear for your soul."

"As long as one of us does, Teacher." Feeling magnanimous, she addressed Xena. "Take care of your friend, Xena. You're only alive because she cared more for your life than for her own."

Xena acknowledged the girl with a curt nod, and something more. With a wry smile, she said, "I still say you could do with a sound paddling."

Lysandra laughed. "In your dreams."