DISCLAIMER: The following text contains extreme violence and at least once four letter expletive. Proceed with caution.

'The Madman, the Mystic, the Warrior and her Bard'

"Wh...what about your bargain with Manus?" Hesperos stammered, his control sliding from beneath him, drawn inexorably downstream in a fast-moving current of fear. "Does your friend's life mean so little to you after all?"

"My friend's life is everything to me," replied Xena pointedly.

YOU HAVE THE ADVANTAGE, HESPEROS! PRESS IT! NOTHING UNDERMINES OUR CAUSE SO MUCH AS FAILURE TO EXECUTE A THREAT!

Hesperos swallowed deeply and tightened his grip on the hilt of the dagger; his hand was beginning to cramp. BUT SHE KNOWS, LORD...

SHE SUSPECTS. YOU SEE HOW SHE'S MANEUVERED HERSELF TO WITHIN ARM'S REACH OF YOU. DON'T LET HER DRAW YOU IN. IT'S THE SAME FASCINATION THAT MAKES THE COBRA STARE AT THE MONGOOSE!

Hesperos was silent, implying understanding and consent where there was neither. In the confines of his mind, tucked neatly between memory and conscience, beyond Manus' reach, he bemoaned his lack of free will to deny or disagree, or more appropriately at this moment, to run and save himself. Standing there at the dais, less than ten paces from Xena, he knew he was the cobra...and he knew what fate awaited the cobra. He came to himself at last to find Xena looking at him intently; in the vague light of the room, Hesperos conceded how little their mutual contemplation of one another did to resolve matters. "How can you be so certain that this isn't Gabrielle?"

Almost imperceptibly, Xena's posture became a little straighter. "Because I know something you don't know, Hesperos: Gabrielle snores."

Hesperos' brow furrowed, and in the ensuing lull in conversation he didn't fail to notice that his hostage slept as soundlessly as the dead. He lifted his blade and his gaze at once; Xena was smiling at him out of the corner of her mouth. He smiled back. "Very perceptive, Xena."

I HAVE MINUTES, HESPEROS, AND YOU ARE STALLING! Manus' voice, formerly soft and sibilant, took on a strident, impatient tone. MY ENERGIES AND ATTENTIONS ARE NEEDED ELSEWHERE. KNOW THEN THAT I EXPECT YOU TO ACT ON YOUR PART AS AGREED!

Hesperos dug the tip of his little finger in his ear and addressed Xena civilly, as if they were conversing over a flagon of wine. "You do a lot of talking, Xena, for a warrior."

The observation took Xena off guard. "Does that unnerve you?"

"It surprises me,"Hesperos replied, wiping the tip of the blade on his sleeve where it left a small crimson wedge, stark against the white fabric. "It's been my experience that there are only two reasons why a warlord would engage his enemy in conversation."

Xena snorted and lifted an eyebrow, begging elaboration, while unchallenged, she situated herself alongside the dais, parallel to and directly in front of Hesperos.

"One is to negotiate treaties and terms of surrender." In the diffused light of the torches, Hesperos' eyes held only menace; surrender was not on his personal agenda. "And the other..."

"The other..." interjected Xena, tracking Hesperos' wavering gaze "...is to maneuver your enemy into a better position to strike." She was mere milliseconds away from sending Hesperos to Tartarus-- no countdown, no conscience. But even as her fingers trembled unseen, poised to deliver the killing blow, fate spared Hesperos an agonizing death at Xena's hands.

The ex-priest cried out, screwing his face into a mask of pain. He lurched forward over Manus' body, incapacitated by something only he could hear -- his master's wounded, strangled howl of protest. Xena watched in confusion. Whatever possessed the cook had much the same effect as her lethal pinch, yet gave her none of the satisfaction. Momentarily, the psychic attack drove Hesperos to his knees beside the dais, where he lay curled in a fetal position, hands clasped firmly over his ears, his mouth opened in a soundless wail. Xena hoped it was as painful as it appeared; perhaps it was a holdover from her warlord days, but there was still some small part of her that would have been content to sip from the cook's pain indefinitely.

Had she not detected movement behind her, she might be staring at him still. Her keen ears had just perceived the faint rustle of fabric as a potentially lethal downswing rent the stale air. At the last possible moment, she turned at the waist, deflecting a blow that would have certainly split her skull. Her weapon connected with the sharp edge of her own broadsword, wielded by the animated twin of the sleeping girl on the dais. The shock of the blow resonated through Xena's arms and she was more than a little surprised at the bard's strength. The girl drew the heavy sword back with both hands, preparing for another blow; the sight of her own weapon in the hands of the gentle bard rocked Xena to her core. Driven by instinct, but tempered by compassion, the warrior pivoted at the hip, delivering a side kick which sent the second Gabrielle reeling back into the tapestry, the broadsword flying from her fingertips. Without pausing, Xena wheeled and, grasping fistfuls of the ancient tapestry, ripped it violently from its braces. The girl disappeared beneath a cloud of dust and heavy brocade. Xena barely had time to marvel at the ease of her opponent's defeat when bright pain exploded at the small of her back, below her ribs, and she fell heavily to her knees. Taking advantage of Xena's preoccupation, the sleeping girl had risen from the dais and struck an unexpected kidney blow with the butt end of her sword. Recovering quickly, Xena pulled her legs beneath her and performed a graceful spinning kick, her foot just grazing the girl's chin, sending her flailing gracelessly over the dais. Xena scrambled, exchanging the clumsy short sword for the comfortable familiarity of her broadsword. From a standing position, she somersaulted over Manus' prone body, loosing her warcry, and engaged the girl in combat.

HESPEROS! HESPEROS! ON YOUR FEET, YOU CRAVEN, GUTTED COWARD!

Hesperos groaned, limp and barely conscious. His arms and legs felt leaden and it was an effort to move at all. The voice inside his mind swallowed him whole, headfirst, and ground and shredded him against unyielding molars until he prayed for oblivion to take him. He took his hands away from his ears and inspected them for blood, the pain had been that acute, but his palms held nothing but cold, clammy fear.

GET UP I TELL YOU! I NEED YOU!

Slow to respond, Hesperos opened his eyes to a painful slit. MASTER...WHAT CAN I DO?

GET UP...TAKE YOUR...TAKE THE DAGGER...I NEED YOU TO KILL --

TO KILL. While the request did not surprise Hesperos, the wavering timber of his master's voice, and the genuine fear behind it did. With the last reserves of his strength, he rose on shaky knees and scanned the immediate area for the errant dagger.

Even as Hesperos rose, fingers closed over the hilt of his dagger, the heavy tapestry behind him lurched and shifted, burbled and popped like a pot of stew left to boil over a roaring fire. Raging, inarticulate cries emanated from beneath the tapestry's faded images, growing steadily more anxious until at last a form emerged gasping for breath. Pausing momentarily to gain her bearings and take in lungfuls of stale air, the girl's first thought was to arm herself. She groped about on the floor for a weapon where her fingers grasped the hilt of the short sword earlier discarded by Xena. To the sounds of a pitched battle, she rose to her feet, peering across the dais to confirm her suspicions -- the enemy lived. In a vision she knew had been planted by her master, she saw herself engaged in a fierce duel with Xena, and she saw her enemy seconds away from death at her hands. It was her master's gift to her; a prophecy of peace so long promised, so devoutly desired.

KILL!

She would kill Xena. It was as certain as the sunrise. Testing the weight of the blade in her hands, she felt almost serene about her decision. She vaulted effortlessly over the dais and raced to dispatch her enemy and did not seem at all surprised to find herself rubbing elbows and sharing space with her doppleganger.

It wasn't the first time Xena had found herself facing attack on two fronts, parrying thrusts and blows, delivering her own, but she sensed it might be her last. The three women circled one another warily, in a dance of sorts, their swords ringing out in concert, and as the two Gabrielles wheeled and shifted, it was all Xena could do to pull her punches and keep straight who was who. Both girls were quick and committed, ferocious in a way Xena hadn't expected. In her head, she gave them separate identities. Gabrielle One wielded the heavy, ceremonial Sword of Psyche with ease, but with more imagination than action. She appeared to be weighing her options, economizing her body movements, and saving her energies. In direct contrast, Gabrielle Two, armed with a short sword, cared nothing for finesse or style. Driven by raw emotions, she plunged headlong into the fray, her hateful eyes for that singular moving target at her sword point. It was the hate that gave her away. Moving gracefully about the room, trading blows with virtual twins, each a mirror image of the other, Xena made a conscious decision to kill one...while the other survived at all costs.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Hesperos on his hands and knees, moving sluggishly, but with murderous intent, dagger in hand, towards the unconscious form of Elkton, who lay sprawled vulnerably on the cold stone floor. In a battle that called for every skill and ounce of energy she possessed, Xena disarmed both Gabrielles with one powerful sweeping kick; even as their weapons were skittering across the stone floor, her powerful thighs and calves propelled her high into the air. In her trademark sizzorkick, her outstretched legs delivered a powerful blow to each of her opponents, sending them reeling back into the shadows while she reached simultaneously for her chakram. Hefting it, preparing to throw, she said, "Put the dagger down, Hesperos or lose an arm!"

Hesperos' lips pulled back in a defiant snarl. "Not a chance, Xena. What do I care for arms or legs if the Master is not made flesh again?"

Xena assumed it was a rhetorical question. "Come on..." she moved her hands apart, in seeming supplication. "Face me." His face was bathed in perspiration, and she could hear him breathing hard, and though she suspected her offer appealed to him on some level, his will was not his own. "Think about it, Hesperos...would you rather be known as the murderer of a defenseless old priest...or as the man who killed Xena?"

"I can be both!" Hesperos rose to his knees, preparing to thrust the dagger into Elkton.

Without a moment's hesitation, Xena hurled the chakram; a straight line being the shortest distance between life and death, it moved unerringly towards its target and nestled deeply between the cook's fourth and fifth ribs. From across the crypt, Hesperos' eyes locked on hers, conveying more disbelief than pain. His executioner, however, merely raised an indifferent eyebrow. Using his last energies to confirm what he suspected, he looked down at his body. Blood welled at the site of the injury, and he could taste it, salty and metallic in his mouth -- death had a flavor. As his fingers contacted the metal chakram, still warm from her grip, he said, "This is...unexpected..." With his master's name soundless upon his lips, he fell dead across Elkton's body. The old mystic stirred at the contact. Xena's weary sigh of relief stuttered in her throat when she heard a heavy-footed approach; the girl burst from the shadows, without caution or subtlety, as if she knew that no amount of subterfuge could have given her the upper hand against a warrior of Xena's skills. But she was brandishing the Sword of Psyche, which Xena knew she could use to good effect.

Loosing an incomprehensible stream of expletives, Gabrielle, HER Gabrielle, attacked with abandon, charging with raw power and emotion. There was intense hatred in her eyes as she hammered the sharp edge of her sword against Xena's own. Xena marveled at the strength in each of those blows; Gabrielle's own natural skills had been augmented and amplified by Manus' conditioning and so it was inevitable that the first articulate words from her mouth were not her own. "Die, bitch! Why won't you die!?"

Xena blinked, unable to disguise her reaction. The ferocity of that statement, and the commitment that lay behind each of the potentially lethal blows raining down upon her awakened deep-seated feelings of apprehension, and fear. Mercifully, Gabrielle's unflinching assault did not allow much time for introspection. The girl seemed relentless, inexhaustible, and Xena suspected it would take time to wear down Gabrielle's physical reserves -- precious minutes she didn't have to spare. Known to be creative under pressure, Xena: Warrior Princess, supreme battlefield technician, took on the role of peacemaker. She consciously slowed her responses, giving her blade a little more play with each of her opponent's strikes, drawing the girl into her. When they were practically nose to nose, one face cool and calculating, the other a grimacing, hateful mask, she said, "Gabrielle...listen to me..." Gabrielle's response was to push away and fire off a vicious downswing which Xena barely avoided; the blade gouged a pillar behind her and Xena used her close proximity to knee her opponent in the gut. The girl collapsed to her knees, fighting for breath. "Gabrielle," Xena appealed, but kept her weapon at the ready. "You don't have to do this!"

GET UP! YOU'RE WEAK...A WEAK, PATHETIC FOOL. Manus was unmistakably disgusted and he had no qualms about using every tool at his disposal to wring the proper response from this instrument of retribution. YOU DISAPPOINT ME.

"For Gaia's sake, Gabrielle," crooned Xena, compassion coloring her delivery. "Put the sword down. I want to help you."

Gabrielle narrowed her eyes at the warrior, hearing the pity in her voice. Recognizing that a verbal strike could be at least as powerful as a physical blow when the victim is vulnerable, she made a cold, calculated decision. Raising her head slowly, she locked eyes with Xena, her hate an unquenchable fire and said, "Fuck you, Warrior Princess." Watching Xena's face twitch, her lips quirk and then harden to a flat line, Gabrielle was encouraged to know her enemy could be so profoundly wounded by simple words. This minor victory stirred her into action. Using legs made strong and supple by hundreds of hours of walking, she launched herself at Xena, driving her elbow up under Xena's throat, propelling her backwards into a sharp corner of the dais. How perfect that her enemy, and the Master's nemesis should die at his feet, with her blood soaking his robes. Raising her sword arm, Gabrielle brought the blade back and across in a sweeping arc that would behead her enemy and free her master.

With her back jammed painfully into unyielding stone, and Gabrielle's full weight behind the forearm crushed against her windpipe, Xena struggled for breath. Out of the corner of her half-closed eyes, she saw the polished steel blade moving towards her, but she was not alarmed. Even half-conscious she could see the trajectory was all wrong. All power and no direction, the blade whistled above her head and sliced a four inch gash in Manus' thigh. Blood welled in a thick, dark line. Xena could see the girl was mesmerized by the sight, by the enormity of her error, and she used the distraction to her advantage, popping her opponent in the chin to give herself some room to maneuver.

Gabrielle yelped, having bitten her tongue, but she made no move to wipe the blood from her chin. Blood made hands slick -- at this stage, she couldn't afford to be disarmed again by her enemy. This new weapon was heavier and more unwieldy than a short sword, and it took both hands for her to use it competently. She stepped back, breathing hard, and began a crab-like movement, circling her opponent, eyes casting about for the edge she knew would put Xena at her mercy. Inside a head that was whirling with emotions both foreign and familiar, she cast about for her master, for the cold comfort of his aura. At a time and in a place where Manus should have been an all-consuming presence, he was curiously absent. Had her wounding of him shaken whatever faith he had left in her? Had he abandoned her for a more capable servant? The thought unnerved her, but only temporarily. Catching a glimpse of herself in the highly-polished blade in her hand, she saw a picture of ferocious commitment. She looked up and across the room at her enemy and saw that same commitment mirrored in Xena's face.

At that very moment, Elkton was struggling to his feet, still reeling under the effects of his recent battle with Manus. He was censuring himself for retreating from the dreamscape, certain that his cowardice had cost them all dearly. As he took in the scene -- Hesperos dead at his feet, Xena and Gabrielle squared off in battle, the Sword of Psyche in the employ of evil -- he wondered briefly if he was yet fully awake. The Sword. Something nagged at him, some little detail, long ago committed to an imperfect memory. Now, seconds from the height of Solstice, amidst the din and clamor of combat, he struggled to remember. "Xena!" he called desperately, catching her eye. "What can I do?"

Her response, typically monosyllabic, was punctuated by the arrhythmic clash of steel against steel. "Elkton." CLANG. "Yeah." CLANG. CLANG. "I need you to do something."

"Anything!" He winced as she took an elbow to the chin.

"There's a girl somewhere in those shadows..." CLANG. CLANG. "...sleeping off a headache...find her!" CLANG--SKEEEEEEEEEEL. The Sword of Psyche slid angrily down the length of Xena's blade, casting off a shower of sparks until it came to a stop at the pommel above Xena's hand. They were mere inches apart, warrior and bard, trading breaths, and for one precious moment, Xena stared into a pair of vivid blue-green eyes, prospecting for her friend. Before she could make any determinations one way or the other, Gabrielle grew uncomfortable with the scrutiny and pushed away from the clinch. From there, the battle pitched and moved around the dais, ranging over the entire room. Xena took a half dozen good strikes, little licks that nibbled at her confidence and self-control, and somewhere in the confines of that tiny room, she came to the realization that far from simply defending herself, she was battling to stay alive. She could feel her fighting instincts beginning to take control and although she was determined to win against her opponent, the last thing she wanted to do was injure the bard.

SO SINGLE MINDED. The phrase just came to her, whispering at the edges of conscious thought. While this was Manus' territory, it was not his voice. It was Elkton's. I'VE NEVER KNOWN ANYONE SO SINGLE MINDED.

GET OUT OF MY HEAD, ELKTON, Xena warned. As she moved around the floor, alternately gaining and losing the upper hand, she could see him, eyes closed in deep concentration, poised just where the torchlight began to fall on the stone floor, the unconscious twin of Gabrielle slumped at his side.

I HAVE A PLAN, XENA -- IF YOU'LL TRUST ME. As there wasn't time for hesitancy, she agreed with a resounding ‘YES!' To avoid intervention from Manus, the details of Elkton's plan were deliberately vague, calling for faith from a woman who knew only cold, hard facts. Elkton's plan, such as it was, came in the form of an ambiguous statement -- two words he'd heard tumbling about in her subconscious -- ONE LIFE.