Jeice, Ghud, and a very stiff Camber awoke in the early evening, having spent the better part of the day asleep in a small crude shelter fashioned from the remains of a demolished farmhouse. Ghud made the mistake of standing to stretch, cracking his head on the rotted timber and bringing the trembling structure down on his comrades, waking them up quite effectively. Once the trio had extracted themselves from the splintered rubble, Ghud brought up the question that had been biting at each of them since the moment they'd left.

"Where are we going, anyhow?" Jeice shrugged and looked to Camber.

"Where we go sort of depends on where we are right now, doesn't it?" Camber muttered. "Better figure that out first."

"So we keep moving until we run into someone?"

"I'm more concerned about what happens if we do run into someone." Jeice frowned.

"You're expecting us to be followed?"

"Well, it's certainly a possibility," Camber grumbled. "Considering the lengths they go to keep us there, I can't imagine they'll be too delighted that we've left."

"Can't see how they'd care. We're not as much of a commodity as we'd been lead to believe."

"Some of us," Camber grunted, kicking at a piece of deadwood. Glancing at him, Ghud quickly changed the subject.

"Well, why don't we travel a while by ourselves before making contact with anyone? We're bound to get out of range pretty quickly and then…I guess we just settle in somewhere." Jeice nodded, but Camber, if anything, scowled further, brooding.

"Um…something bothering you?" Ghud asked hesitantly. "Don't tell me you miss Hell already."

"No, I do not," Camber spat. "Let's just pick a direction and go…if you see anything that looks edible, go ahead and grab it. We need to put some distance between us and the camp before dawn."

"Why the rush?" Jeice shrugged. "Even if they send someone after us, it'll be nothing we can't handle."

"And if they send your father?" Jeice blinked and pulled back a step, surprised. No one was to have known that he was…was…abruptly his expression hardened.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Camber," he said coldly.

"Cheada? Doesn't ring a bell, hmm?"

"Cheada is many things," Jeice retorted. "But he is not my father. If they send him, I'll kill him. That simple." Ghud had by this point retreated a few steps, eyes flicking back and forth between the two, nervously. Camber sighed.

"Jeice, I don't know precisely what Cheada did to alienate you, but I'll wager you have no idea why he did it, correct?"

"He had his reasons."

"Yes, but what were they?"

"What, you want me to recite them for you? That I'm a weak coward with no right to live? Does that make you happy?" Camber shook his head.

"That's what he told you, is it? And you took that as the truth?"

"What does it matter? He can hate me for any damn reason he likes, I don't care," Jeice muttered, crossing his arms and slumping a bit. "Let's just go."

"All right, we'll go," Camber said quietly. "Just think about it, Jeice. You have a father whether you like it or not, and he went missing the day before we did. You know him better than we do…why do you think he left?" Jeice was stubbornly silent, and after giving him an appraising look, Camber waved to Ghud(who had by this point drawn back a fair distance)and took off flying low over the ground.

Truth be told, Camber didn't have sufficient energy reserves to be spending it on such activities; if it came to the point that they had to fight, he would be ill-prepared at best. Didn't matter…if they just kept moving they'd be okay, if they just kept moving…

He couldn't help but feel uneasy; he wasn't deceiving Jeice or Ghud, just…well, he'd promised explanations…later. Once this had blown over there would be plenty of time for explanations.

* * * * *

"Perhaps I misunderstand," Dalwen said, frowning. "I have made a very reasonable offer and you do not seem to be agreeing with me."

"Quite correct," Cheada grunted. "I'm not. He is simply not prepared to rule…if you put him in this spot, Rennet is, long-term, no better off."

"You think I'd let him stay? Use some common sense, Cheada…I speak of strictly temporary arrangements. I'd depose the boy as soon as it was safe to do so."

"You mean you'd kill him."

"I suppose I could see clear toward just relocating him…another planet, perhaps…"

"You're assuming that your proposal has already been accepted, Dalwen, and it hasn't."

"Unless you can provide me a reasonable counteroffer there is no option, and I will go through with this with or without your permission."

"And if I had a counteroffer…" Dalwen raised an eyebrow, expression guarded, and gestured for Cheada to continue. Cheada took a moment to get comfortable, sitting back and just watching, Dalwen…making him sweat.

"I cannot let you have Jeice, and this should come as no surprise to you. I can, however, offer one more suitable in his place."

"You have another child?"

"No."

"My sources tell me Lureine is missing or dead." Cheada's lips tightened to a thin bloodless line.

"That is correct."

"Then pray tell, Cheada…what is this substitute you feel is so 'suitable'?" Cheada looked up with a faint grin.

"I am not of royal blood, I realize, but through Lureine I can still claim right to the throne, you know." Dalwen gaped.

"You? That's…no. The people would never support it."

"On the contrary, I rather think they'd prefer me to you…that's what has you worried, isn't it? Once you leave, they won't take you back; you'd have to kill me and you know you can't."

"That's not the point!" Dalwen sputtered. "You're a soldier…you can't be crowned!"

"Can't spare the manpower when Gomen's after your head, hmm?"

"Manpower has nothing to do with it. There are rules governing succession, and one of them is that a warrior cannot be king. A safety measure…to keep ambitious soldiers from making attempts at the monarchy."

"Then what the hell did you think you were going to do with Jeice?"

"What?"

"You idiot," Cheada groaned. "Did you honestly think a son of mine would be anything less than a warrior?" Dalwen didn't answer that, pacing like a caged animal.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me? You know what this means, don't you? No eligible relatives, I'm going to have appoint someone outside the lineage…ugh, well, Tilson's senile, maybe he'll be too busy getting lost in the palace to do any harm…"

"Since when were you so concerned with tradition?" Cheada asked, shoving to his feet.

"Not traditions, Cheada…laws."

"Laws?" the warrior laughed harshly. "Murdered to get here and now you're squeamish of bending the rules to get out?"

"I'm not 'getting out', I'm taking a temporary leave of absence," Dalwen said stiffly.

"Come off it. You barged in, had your fun…there are times when you have to know when to cut your losses and run; and you've lost precious little."

"Oh? And what of Lureine?"

"She was never your property, baka," Cheada snarled, drawing forth an amused chuckle from Dalwen.

"Still a touchy subject, oh battle-hardened soldier?"

"You stray from the point."

"I only stray to a matter which concerns me…she is my sister, after all."

"She's nothing to you and you know it. Stop pretending to be sincere, it's just nauseating." Dalwen bowed with a plastic smile.

"As you wish, peasant who would be king."

"Better than king who would be executed…although really," Cheada murmured acidly, "it should have been done long ago, as I think we both know."

"Technicalities," Dalwen countered lightly. "Around here, we deal in the present-day, not should-have-been. It's called reality, though I realize your profession seeks to live outside such mundane ideals."

"Are you going to snipe at me or actually do something?"

"And what am I to do? I have no options left to me but to appoint someone, or…" He smiled suddenly.

"Whatever you're about to propose, the answer is no. I've seen that look before."

"My dear trusty warrior, whatever could you mean? I propose nothing, I only wish to ask you a question. Has your son completed his training as a warrior?"

"He's pretty damn close. They were to make it official any day now, last I'd heard. Why?"

"Then perhaps I shall send a messenger to your little camp and see to it that Jeice is, ah, held back."

"I already told you I wouldn't let you take Jeice," Cheada growled.

"But you have no better plan," Dalwen replied sharply. "You think you can do a better job, have him assign you to some close advisory position. He'd probably want you at his side anyhow, yes?" Cheada simply glared.

"You can not have him," he uttered stonily. Dalwen gave him a half-pitying look and sauntered toward the door.

"I am the king, Cheada. I can have whatever I want, your son included. Turnabout's fair play, is it not? Call this revenge for taking Lureine." Abruptly he was gone, ducking out the door and slamming it shut behind.

Cheada choked back a snort and raised a hand, releasing a blast fit to reduce the unsuspecting door to a fine ash. If Dalwen happened to be on the other side of said door, so be it; Cheada was sick of these games. The explosion rocked the small room, shredded drapery flying to land, smoking, in the corners. With a satisfied grin, Cheada dropped his hand to admire his handiwork as the smoke cleared.

His expression changed abruptly as he found himself faced with the same door…intact, and apart from the scorched drapery hanging in tatters from the edges, completely unscathed. As he snarled and flung himself at it again, Cheada swore he could hear Dalwen laughing.