The wiry length of a golden dragon spun out before him, shimmering in the bleak darkness. Jeice watched its gyrations, entranced. Beautiful color bled from its scaly hide, filling the black sky with a wondrous light. Lifting his hands to it, Jeice twirled in childlike delight, feeling the heavy cape swirl around his ankles. He laughed aloud and the dragon turned to face him. Suddenly frightened, Jeice tried to back away, tripping over the cape and crashing to the ground as the dragon opened its enormous jaws, dagger-like teeth glinting wickedly.

Blood spouted from the gaping maw, washing over Jeice, flooding his eyes, his mouth. He thrashed blindly, struggling to keep his head above the surface, but the blood was rising too swiftly, and something was pulling him down. A heavy medallion bearing the royal seal was chained tightly to his neck, inexorably drawing him beneath the surface. His cries bubbled through the gore as he choked, drowning. His struggles began to weaken.

In a blast of light a smaller dragon emerged, this one brilliant silver, winding around him and rescuing him from the depths. He soared with the dragon, speeding through the infinite blackness, too overjoyed to care as the dragon's coils tightened, twisting. By the time he noticed the pain, he couldn't move, couldn't do anything but scream as the glistening jaws tore into his neck.

*****

"Gah!" Jeice awoke with a jerk, panting. He pressed his fingers to his temples and forced his heart to slow its frantic pace. It was strange, he thought, that after all that had happened lately, he was still having the same nightmare. At least it hadn't been about Lureine; he winced, hastily fleeing the images which cropped up all to readily in his mind. He tried to distract himself by looking around at the various slumbering forms around him. It was a fairly small group, only ten or so boys, and all seemed older than him. A few twitched in their sleep; Jeice wondered if they suffered the same torment he did. He hoped they didn't; if his induction had been standard procedure, then this truly was a hell of innocents.

There were no windows, no natural light, so Jeice could only guess, but it seemed that tomorrow and its promise had not yet arrived. Sinking back to the cold hard floor, Jeice sighed and fell into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

*****

An almost-gentle kick in the arm jolted him awake. He smelled something akin to food, but nothing he could recognize. He received another kick.

"Get up," Suiz ordered. "It's breakfast time; if you want to get anything at all to eat, I'd suggest you get your ass moving."

"Yes, sir," Jeice spat mockingly. "You're not my drill sergeant." Suiz glared coolly.

"Trust me, your drill sergeant will not be half so tractable, or forgiving," he stressed, "so watch your mouth. Under anything approaching normal circumstances, you would have been killed instantly for talking back to Cheada like you did; I realize your circumstances are a far cry from normal, but not all your superiors will recognize that fact." Jeice nodded, point well taken, but still a little crabby. He wasn't exactly a morning person.

Still lying on the ground, he groaned and stretched, feeling the pain shoot through him. Truth be told, he felt far better than he had the night before. He was at least partially functional now. The true test would come later, but he refused to think about it until he had to. He rose stiffly to his feet, pausing to assure himself of his sense of balance before moving off in the direction of the smell.

Along the far wall stood a trough that reminded Jeice uncomfortably of the way his cattle were fed. It was half-full of some sort of thick gruel, of a uniformly lumpy consistency. Jeice couldn't help noticing that those few sizable chunks floating in the stew were universally avoided. Nothing in the presentation did much for his appetite, but he knew he was to fight later that day, and he couldn't do it on an empty stomach. He glanced around, looking for some sort of serving container. There seemed to be only three bowls, all in active use. Camber had one, Suiz and Ghud shared another, and he didn't recognize the boy who held the third. Jeice approached Camber, who seemed to be finishing his meal. Jeice tapped him on the shoulder, choosing to ignore the distrustful glare.

"May I?" He held out a hand.

Camber stared in utter disbelief, then burst out laughing, clutching the bowl in one hand while the other held his aching side. All the others turned to look, and Jeice felt a flush creeping up his face. He hadn't really wanted to draw attention to himself. He stolidly held his composure as Camber struggled for his, at last quieting and wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

"Jeice," he gasped, "that is the most hilarious thing I've ever seen in my life!" Jeice bristled a little.

"Oh? Why is that?" Camber's face lost a touch of its humor.

"For kami's sake, look around you! This is Hell, remember? If you can't take our word for it, just wait and you'll find out yourself. This is a world where the toughest sons of bitches live and all others die."

"So?"

"So who do you think is going to be impressed by your courtly manners, your highness?"

"What?" Before Camber could reply, Suiz caught his eye and gave a near-imperceptible shake of his head. Camber raised a questioning eyebrow but nonetheless relented.

"Look, kid," he said, "the point is this: manners get you nowhere. Force gets you everywhere. You want this, you take it from me. Asking nicely won't make me give it to you." Jeice sighed irritably.

"Camber, are you always this much of an ass, or is it just for me?" Camber's eyes narrowed shrewdly.

"Just schooling you in the ways of the world, kid. Now do you want this bowl or not?"

"I do."

"Then take it from me." Camber held it up at arm's length. He was tall and sturdy; Jeice bordered on short. He couldn't reach it. After considering the situation for a moment, he spun and slammed an elbow into Camber's unprotected side. Camber nearly fell into the trough as the bowl clattered to the floor. 'Well, that was pointless,' Jeice thought as he picked up his prize, scooping himself some gruel. He gave Camber an ungrateful look.

"I hope you're not so stupid when you fight, Camber, or you'll be no fun to spar with." Camber grinned.

"Oh, you'll see." Chuckling, he strode away to meet Ghud, who was standing off to the side, gesturing furtively. Jeice shrugged it off and choked down some more gruel, gulping quickly so he wouldn't taste it. He could have sworn he'd seen identical stuff used in construction and home remodeling. He was busily suppressing his gag reflex when one of the other boys approached; he had a certain familiarity Jeice couldn't place.

"You're the new kid, aren't you? Jeice, right?"

"That's right."

"You know Fetta?" Startled at the question, Jeice gave the boy a second look. In a vague way, he reminded Jeice of Fetta; in fact, looked close enough to be--

"Buel?" Buel broke into a wide smile. He bore a striking resemblance to his brother when he smiled. Jeice couldn't believe it; Buel was several years older than he was, yet barely taller, and wiry thin. Crows' feet crinkled the corners of his eyes, and other wrinkles puckered the edges of scars, old and new. Made old before his time, he looked every inch a warrior: a beaten one.

"I hate to bother you, Jeice, but I know you and Fetta were good friends--how is he?"

"He's fine. He just got indentured with the smith in town. Looks like he's got a real career ahead of him."

"I'm glad one of us does," Buel muttered. "I was afraid they'd take him, too. You know him, he's no warrior. This place would break him." Unspoken were the added words, 'like it did me.' Jeice nodded silently, unsure of what he should say.

A loud clang brought them all to attention, conversations forgotten as each steeled himself for what lay ahead. A tall burly warrior slouched into the room, eyes straying around until they fell on Jeice. He glared, then hawked, spat and left, closely followed by the boys. Buel grunted and whispered to Jeice.

"Hey, he likes you." Jeice groaned and fell in behind the others.

*****

Mojak paced furiously, refusing to look at the quiet figure seated before him. He wanted out of this, or wanted to kill his so-called partner and take over the damned operation himself…but he couldn't. He needed Cheada. Cheada, however, was proving to be more trouble than he was likely worth.

"All I'm saying is that you shouldn't have killed her. If anyone finds out…"

"No one will know."

"But what if…"

"Look," Cheada cut in sharply, "the two that came with me were hand-picked. They're on our side, and they wouldn't dare cross me anyway. The boy doesn't know, and so long as you did your job 'motivating' the troops, he won't find out until it's time. There's no way this can go wrong so long as you don't go off half-cocked and blow our cover." Mojak stiffened, indignant.

"I don't care whose daughter you married, Cheada, you'd best watch your mouth; unless, of course, you want to fall from favor very abruptly…" Cheada sneered at the threat, plainly unimpressed. Mojak decided to change the subject.

"I hear your boy's creating quite a stir down below. I only know what I've been told, but word has it that he told you off…and you let him."

"You wanted me to kill him? He's…"

"He's of no use to us with that attitude and you know it."

"So he's a little too sure of himself…"

"He's too much your son is the problem. He's bound and determined to be just as much of a pain the ass as you are; having you around is bad enough, we can't take another like you. If he doesn't shape up soon, he's going to wake up some morning to the sound of his throat being slit."