Jeice got one comment on his dark demeanor the next day at training…just one. After helping to pry their comrade from the wall he'd smashed, the other young warriors gave Jeice a wide berth. Camber made a point of greeting him, and Ghud hovered anxiously nearby. Suiz was nowhere to be found. Mojak, their guard of the previous evening and scheduled mediator of the day's activities, had left them to their own devices, claiming pressing business in town.

Whether Jeice cared about this strange behavior was unlikely; whether he even noticed it was uncertain. His manner was reserved, expression coldly blank, his usual stylish flair in fighting abandoned for a swift, powerful efficiency. In the space of a few hours, he'd defeated all those present and retreated to a corner to sulk, striking down any attempts at conversation with a baleful glare that soon made his solitude complete.

Camber watched him carefully. He'd seen Jeice's moods before, but this was far and away different. Jeice wasn't pouting as he sat alone, arms drawn up on his knees. He looked…thoughtful. That prospect made Camber uneasy; this was not a place in which any sane person could afford to think too deeply.

He needed not look far for examples: Buel had gone quietly insane just a few months ago. Perfectly calm right to the end, he'd blown himself up during general inspection. Cheada, on duty at the time, had not so much as flinched. Jeice, for whatever reason, had seemed to take it rather personally. That night, he'd tried to sneak out of the barracks and gotten caught; Mojak had beaten him senseless for it. They'd never figured out if Jeice had really intended to escape or not…now Camber found himself hoping that he had.

If Jeice wanted out of here, it would make the next part of the plan a bit easier.

Not bothering to act nonchalant, Camber strode up to the silent young man, stubbornly ignoring the cold glare he received for his troubles. He sat easily next to Jeice, on guard but mostly…simply trusting Jeice not to attack. For a moment it looked as thought said trust may have been misplaced, but abruptly Jeice looked away with a dissatisfied grunt, nonetheless relaxing just a bit.

"What the hell do you want?" he muttered. Camber turned over several possible replies in his mind, finally giving up and settling for the direct approach.

"We're leaving," he murmured. "You in?" Camber looked mildly at the ground, waiting. Jeice simply stared, mouth working silently for several moments before he coughed and quickly composed himself.

"Perhaps you'd…care to explain that?" he muttered.

"Not much to explain unless you're interested."

"And if I were?" Jeice asked guardedly. Camber sighed.

"I can't tell you a thing unless I know for sure if you're in or not."

"Don't play hardball with me, Camber. Does…whatever you have planned…have any chance in hell of working?" He glanced around the yard at the others, who were sparring and studiously keeping their distance. "How many are in on this, anyhow?"

"Two, myself included." Jeice choked back a laugh.

"Oh, very impressive. Two people. You plan to fight your way out how, exactly?"

"Have a little faith, Jeice. When have you known me to be foolish?"

"You let me live when I first arrived, didn't you?" he said softly. "And you're talking to me now, when every other baka has the common sense to keep away."

"And?" Silence, then a slow sigh.

"I…suppose I can forgive you a few isolated--if notable--moments of stupidity."

"You're too kind."

"Yes. I am. Don't get too used to it. Now what's this plan?" A burst of noise from across the yard interrupted them. It seemed their sometime mediator had returned. Without taking his eyes from Mojak, Camber whispered.

"Not here. Meet me in the southwest corner of the outdoor arena tonight."

"When tonight?"

"When you can sneak out. You'll know. Leave the rest to me. I expect to see you there, warrior," he muttered, giving Jeice a brief commanding stare. The corner of Jeice's mouth quirked slightly in faint amusement.

"Yes, sir. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'm being called."

Shoving to his feet, Jeice strode away toward Mojak. The other fighters edged quickly out of his way, parting in an effect that seemed lost on Jeice. With any luck, Camber thought to himself, it would always be so.

* * * * *

"The Resistance approaches."

"As does Cold's army, sire. We are ill-equipped to deal with either." Dalwen sighed, not for the first time heartily sick of hearing about the subject. The Resistance was a topic on which he had heard quite enough, but apparently no one else was willing to stop harping on it. Certainly the damned Changelings were causing trouble.

Again.

Always, it seemed.

He'd hoped that none of that race would be present in this branch of the Resistance, but if reports were to be believed, their one remaining superior general was all but captaining the approaching ship. Gomen had already announced his intentions to land on Rennet, though to what purpose was unclear; gossip, disguised as educated speculation, ran wild through court and county alike. A few foolish individuals loudly proclaimed that in the face of Cold's advance, old indiscretions would be cast aside and the Changelings would embrace Dalwen's people as part of the Resistance. United against a common foe, both races would re-establish their old familiar diplomacy and, after defeating King Cold, coexist in a time of unrivaled peace and prosperity.

What utter nonsense.

Dalwen knew full well that all was not forgiven between him and the Changelings. He suspected that when the Resistance arrived it would be with intent to destroy his race…or perhaps simply to destroy him; neither option much appealed to him. Rulership was a lifestyle he'd put much effort into obtaining, and he'd gotten rather used to living this way; to living, period. The arrival of the Resistance put that in serious jeopardy.

The logical solution would have been to step down as king, appoint some weak relative to the position until everything blew over, then overthrow them as he had his father. The people would protest, always did, but soon would settle down and leave him in peace to live out his rule as he was meant to. It was an ideal plan but for one complicating factor.

To the best of his knowledge, Dalwen had no living relatives.

The only other alternative, then, would be to elevate some advisor or other to his place for the interim, but they were all too weak…they'd never have the rabble's support. Of course, he'd been hearing more and stronger rumors to the effect that he himself no longer had the complete support of his people.

At this point, a revolt would be very nearly a blessing. At least it could give him some distraction from this tiresome problem. It also might turn away the Resistance…thus opening room for negotiations with King Cold. After all, Rennet could hardly expect to stand against Cold's forces, could it? It would therefore be far simpler(and safer)to submit and see what could be worked out. Dalwen was sure he'd be able to come to some comfortable arrangement…comfortable for him, at any rate. In a universe this uncertain, it was important to look out for number one.

Every idiot on the planet wanted him to cut some sort of deal with the Changelings…join the Resistance, stand against Cold's onslaught…for what? Cold's forces were, by all account, unbeatable. The Resistance was simply prolonging the inevitable and assuring its own demise. Any planet or race that fought King Cold's advances was promptly decimated or destroyed.

No, even were some treaty with the Changelings possible, it would still ultimately mean death. Death with honor, perhaps, but still death; Dalwen preferred life over honor as a matter of policy. Something had to be done. Sending for a small troupe of "discrete messengers"—spies to anyone else—he retreated to a private balcony to plot out his strategy.

It was time to investigate some rumors.

* * * * *

When dusk fell, the storm came with it. Darkness engulfed the familiar countryside Cheada traversed, rain slashing at his skin and plastering his hair in a soggy mat to his back. All this he ignored, deep in thought.

He was not a man normally given to introspection, but something had set him thinking…he didn't like it. He'd always managed to convince himself of the path of righteousness with minimal deliberation until now. The situation was not as satisfyingly clear-cut as it had been in the beginning. His duties and loyalties no longer seemed valid; his old system of beliefs was as much a churned quagmire as the rough-trodden road speeding beneath him as he flew.

He could no longer in good conscience(when the hell had he gotten a conscience?)drive Jeice to the originally intended end. It simply wasn't in the boy; that much had become painfully obvious in their confrontation. Jeice was an excellent fighter and would no doubt be a loyal and valuable soldier…but he was simply not a leader. Not, Cheada thought bitterly, that he'd done much to instill in Jeice the necessary drive, purpose…he'd left entirely too much to chance.

He was, in the back of him mind, dimly aware that his absence had no doubt been noted and in all likelihood, would be acted upon. He didn't let himself think about that; there would be time later, perhaps, to deal with Mojak, the Resistance, King Cold, Lureine and his disowned son.

First…he had to find Dalwen.