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Date Posted: 03:53:51 12/24/01 Mon
Author: Leigh
Subject: Re: Orignal Gemstone 1
In reply to: Leigh 's message, "Orignal Gemstone" on 03:53:05 12/24/01 Mon



Death had fallen upon the great city of Pontus. Its dark wings hung low over the once thriving polis shrouding it in eerie silence. Columns of smoke still rose in thin spirals from the outlying fields, mingling with the early morning fog and filling the air with an acrid, charred, scent. Within the city walls, homes, small shops, and businesses lay in ruins. And everywhere lay evidence of the battle that had taken place. Warriors, both, Vatian and foe littered the ground, their sightless eyes staring into eternal oblivion.

"Whoa, Dahomey. Steady."

Madeline tugged on the reins of her war steed with one hand as she reached down with her other hand and calmed his nervous prancing with a smooth stroke.

The morning wind blew against her, billowing her flowing crimson cloak out behind her. The earliest rays of sunlight glinted off of the armored breastplate she wore beneath. From her left arm hung the crescent shaped shield of the Vatian tribe on which the image of Athena looked out onto would-be challengers with eyes that were as cold and vacuous as those of the woman bearing the shield.

Her helmet, unlike those of her troops who waited silently in the background for her command, bore the deep red and gold plumage of the rare Imaus -- an indication of her royal status. Her dark, almost ebony, colored hair hung past her shoulders. Her legs, from the hem of the tightly woven chainmail skirt she wore, to the top of the leather strapped sevae which sheathed her feet, were bare.
She straightened in her seat and reached down with the hand with which she had calmed Dahomey and placed it upon the hilt of the sword which hung from the golden girdle about her waist.

"We shall not battle today, Dahomey," she murmured as her dark eyes surveyed the carnage in the valley below her.
She'd gathered her best warriors, five thousand strong, and led them here as soon as she'd received word that Pontus was under attack. Recent storms though had flooded the Thermodon River making the crossing slow and dangerous and delaying them by a whole day's ride. They had arrived in the early morning hours to find the city destroyed and Pontus, her sister Adriana's castle, in ruins.
From her position on the hilltop Madeline watched as her guards scouted the ravaged city in search of survivors. There was little hope, though, that Adriana was still alive. Madeline knew her sister well. Adriana would fight to the death rather then yield the city or the secret it contained. A secret tied to an ancient prophecy that was partially fulfilled nineteen years earlier.

The sisters had tried to keep the prophecy, known as the Gemstone, a secret in order that the second half of the prophecy could be fulfilled. But it had been difficult, for through the years, word of the prophecy leaked out from the temple and was whispered of into the ears of Kings, Emperors and Magistrates alike until Vatia became besieged with frequent attacks along its borders by those in search of the truth behind the rumors of the Gemstone.

There was no doubt in Madeline's mind that the attack upon Pontus was any different. The invaders had been after the Gemstone. Whether or not they obtained it remained to be seen.

A lone rider galloped up the path from the valley below and reined her horse in alongside Madeline's. Aella, Doyan of the first rank, Madeline's lead guard removed her helmet, secured it under her arm, then handed over to her queen a patch of wool with a distinctive emblem on it. Madeline took the cloth, studied it, then turned her gaze back down toward the city.

"The Scythians."

"Yes, M'yrene," Aella answered, addressing Madeline with her royal title. "I would venture to say that it is the work of the eldest of the Wolfe brothers. The one they call Paul."

Madeline's expression darkened. She knew this Paul well. They'd met several times on the battlefield. Always she had found him as cowardly as he was conniving. He was a disgusting man and she regretted now that she had not pursued him following the battle at Azonia when he had turned tail and ran. It surprised her though that he, being the coward he was, would venture to attack Pontus. Something must have happened to have emboldened him. But what? She turned and faced Aella.

"Did you find Adriana?"

"Yes, M'yrene." Aella paused a moment knowing that the news she bore, though not unexpected, would nonetheless upset her queen. "We found her on the northern battlement. Near the entrance to the royal chambers." She saw the look of pain that flashed in the M'yrene's eyes, then added quietly: "She did not go easily."

Madeline closed her eyes as a wave of grief washed over her. 'No,' she acknowledged silently, 'Adriana would not have gone easily into the eternities.' Despite being older and having not known the battlefield in many years, Adriana was still a formidable opponent. She would have taken as many of the barbarians as she possibly could before yielding her spirit.

Raising her eyes heavenward Madeline drew a deep breath, quelling the trembling in her soul as she called out silently to the spirit of her dead sister: "Tu ar'e e moni atu nei: Rest in peace, my sister. Till we meet again."

Dahomey, sensing his mistress's distress, snorted and pranced restlessly about. "Steady, Dahomey." Madeline pulled at the reins, bringing her stallion round so that she could more fully face Aella. "What of Nikita?" she asked, her gaze intense.

The doyan shook her head. "We've searched everywhere. There is no sign of her, M'yrene."

Madeline's gaze hardened. So that was what had spurred the Scythian's attack. Her eyes turned cold and full of determination as she directed her gaze toward the Caucuses mountains in the distance. Then, with her mind made up, she issued her order.

"Gather the women, doyan," she commanded. "We shall ride west to retrieve my daughter."


************


"You have no idea what you've done."

The Vatian warrior stood tall and proud despite the chains that shackled her wrists and ankles. She glared with icy-clue eyes at the silver-haired man in front of her. Her long hair flowed to her waist, its flaxen color pale as moonlight in contrast to the deep earth tones of her battle raiment. A breastplate made of a thin metallic material covered her torso while leaving her shoulders and arms bare. The skirt she wore was made of fine leather and ended mid-thigh revealing legs that were long and well-sculpted. Fur-lined boots covered her feet up to her knees.

Paul, her captor, allowed his gaze to linger where her skirt ended. Not only were the Vatians a ferocious breed of warriors but they were a striking species of females as well, he thought. Their skin was tanned a light bronze color from the hours they spent out in the sun hunting and training for war. Their bodies were well proportioned and toned.

They were nothing at all like the Scythian women who hid beneath layers of dark material in order to protect their milky white skin from the effects of the sun and whose bodies were soft and fleshy, as a woman's should be. Yet, Paul thought bemusedly, there was something infinitely appealing also about the lean toned body of the Vatian woman before him.

"You've committed your people to certain death," she was saying to him, her voice full of disdain for the appreciative stare he cast her way.

"Save your threats for someone who will believe them," Paul replied dryly. He raised his gaze to meet hers. "I am not frightened by them. In case you've forgotten, it was I who won the battle at Pontus."

"Won?" the warrior sneered. "You won nothing. You merely gained a temporary advantage through treachery. Tell me, " she asked, her voice laced with contempt. "how much did you pay the Lepenese?"

Paul began to laugh. A low hollow sound that grated against the Vatian's ears. "I've no idea what it is you speak of, heathen," he said.

"Liar!" the Vatian growled, her eyes fierce.

Twelve days prior a message had arrived at the castle informing Adriana that the Tritonians were under attack by the Lepenese. Squirmishes between the two tribes were a common occurrence. Normally the Tritonians had no difficulty in beating off any threat posed by the Lepenese but a recent outbreak of a mysterious disease had greatly weakened the Tritonians and thus they had called upon the Vatians for help.

Madeline had warned Adriana not to send her elite guard. To instead send a smaller army comprised of the lower ranks. Adriana, however, would not heed her younger sister's advice.

"The Tritonians are our mother's people," she reminded Madeline. "You may withhold your guard if you wish, but I shall not withhold mine."

The pale-haired Vatian stared at the man before her with renewed hatred. "You are in alliance with the Lepenese. How else would you know to plan your attack on Pontus when you did?"

"You grant me little confidence as a leader, heathen. It is not my fault that the great Adriana was foolish enough to leave the city open to attack. It just proves that a man's intellect is more suited to the art of warfare then that of a woman."

The warrior's eyes blazed but she held still as she watched her captor pace before her. Soon he would make a mistake and then she would attack. "M'yrene and her armies will arrive soon," she said slowly, distracting him with her talk. "When she begins to annihilate your people from off the face of this land, and they cry out onto your gods for mercy, you may rest assured that the fault will lay entirely upon you."

Paul was silent a moment, his gray eyes blank. Then, suddenly, he threw his head back and bellowed with laughter. "You think that I am a fool, do you?" he asked several minutes later as the humor drained from his countenance and his voice became serious. He took several steps forward, stopping within two feet of her. With his finger he traced the angry curve of her cheek and his voice dropped to a cold whisper. "I know more of your people and your customs then you give me credit for, Nikita."
Surprise flickered briefly in her eyes at his use of her name but she quickly masked it.

"Yes," Paul continued, "I know who you are. And I know of your connection to the Gemstone. Did you think it was coincidence that you were the only prisoner brought back?" He laughed as he dropped his hand to his side and took a step back. "No, Nikita, you were chosen, both, by the gods and myself, to be the salvation of my people."

"You speak in riddles, old man," Nikita said, her eyes guarded as she watched and listened. But Paul sensed her hesitation and he pressed upon it immediately.

"Then let me speak plainly," he said, "and we shall see which of us speaks in riddles." He turned then and crossed to the other side of the room where he retrieved an ivory tusk, a foot in length with intricate carvings upon it. The wide end had a gold cap covering it but the pointed end bore a large sapphire that twinkled and seemed to burn with an internal fire.

Nikita kept her eyes trained on Paul as he walked back to her. She refused to let him see that she recognized the artifact in his hands.

"Do you know what this is?"

She remained silent, schooling her face into an impassive mask.

One corner of Paul's mouth curved up into a half-smile. "It’s a gift I received several years ago."

Nikita bit down on her lip, suppressing the urge to spit in her captor's face. The tusk he bore in his hands had been stolen several years back from her mother's castle. They had never discovered who had stolen it but Madeline and Adriana had both suspected it was someone within the Vatian ranks. That was one of the reasons Nikita had been sent away to live with Adriana.

It had been a ploy by her mother and aunt to mislead whoever was in possession of the ivory tusk. Now, as Nikita stared blankly at the man before her, she realized that the ploy had failed. Somehow the Scythians had found a way to decipher the symbols carved onto the tusk and had discovered the truth behind the Gemstone prophecy.

There was a smugness in Paul's smile as he turned the ivory over in his hand. "This carving is the reading Queen Madeline had upon the birth of her second child. Quite interesting really," he mused, then looked up at her. "It took my druids quite a long time to interpret the meaning. But interpret it, they did."

He tapped one long finger against the sapphire as he continued. "You see, Nikita, long ago there arose a rumor amongst the sages of a certain Gemstone amongst the Vatian people. According to the rumor, this Gemstone held the key to the Vatian people's future and the enormous lands of their empire."

He cocked a brow and his smile widened as he watched the Vatian before him slowly seethe with anger. "For a long time men tried in vain to find that stone, thus the frequent attacks upon your borders. But does the stone even exist?" Paul asked. He tilted his head to the side and regarded Nikita with narrowed eyes. "Or are the rumors merely a clever hoax created by the Vatians in order to keep their enemies from uniting?"

"You seem to know all the answers," Nikita replied with a defiant lift of her chin. "Why are you asking me?"
The corner of his mouth twisted wryly. "Oh, I think you know why, Nikita," he said. "I admit that, like the others, I too was fooled into thinking that the rumors referred to an actual stone. Some magical jewel that would endow its owner with unspeakable power. That is, until I came into possession of this."

Paul held the tusk upright before him. The sapphire caught the light of the candles and sparkled brilliantly. "At last," Paul said, "I thought I had come into possession of the Gemstone. But I was wrong, wasn't I?" he asked the silent warrior.

He turned the tusk over and thoughtfully ran his fingers down the side, caressing the carvings etched into the bone. "However, the secret," he said, sounding almost distracted, "is not within the jewel. Is it? It’s in the carving. And according to my druids, the carvings point to Queen Madeline's second child."

Paul raised cold, calculating eyes and stared at the woman before him. "You are that second child, Nikita. You are the Gemstone."

Nikita shook her head slowly. "Greed blinds your eyes and makes your thoughts foolish."

"Foolish?" Paul smiled, placed the tusk on the table, then turned back to face her. "You are the foolish one, Nikita, if you think you can continue to claim ignorance." He circled slowly around her, his eyes devouring her from the top of her golden hair down to her shapely legs. "You are the Gemstone and now I have you in my possession."

He came to a stop in front of her once more and stared at her with haughty certainty. "I shall take you as my wife and lay claim to what the gods have decreed should be mine."

"You are not only foolish but insane," Nikita growled. "What makes you think the Vatians would ever allow you or any other man to rule their lands?"

Paul was unperturbed by her outburst. "You cannot fight a prophecy, Nikita. It is fate and I plan to make it come to pass. By the time your mother and her armies arrive here, you and I shall be married."

"Never!" Quick as lightning, Nikita lunged forward, clasping her hands together and swung the length of the chain between her hands upward, striking Paul across the face. Blood spurted forth from his lips as he fell backward with a groan onto the ground. He barely managed to cry out for help to the guards outside his door when the Vatian warrior straddled his chest and began to choke the life out of him.


*


Michael had just arrived back from two months of working with the Lepenese, training them in the art of strategical warfare. He was on his way over to his uncle's room to report on the status of the fighting between the Lepenese and the Tritonians when he heard a loud cry emitting from within his uncle's chamber. The guards who stood outside the door turned also at the sound and immediately charged into the bedroom as Michael followed closely behind.
Paul lay on the ground, his eyes bulging as he struggled to fight off the woman atop him. Michael froze as he stared, mesmerized, at the sight before him.

He'd heard from the soldiers down at the stables that the attack against Pontus had been successful and Paul had brought back a Vatian warrior with him as prisoner. But nothing Michael had heard prepared him for the magnificence of the woman before him.

Upon their intrusion into the bedchamber, the Vatian released her hold on Paul's neck, grasped two fistfuls of his tunic, then rolled to the side while lifting Paul up above her and used his body as a shield.

He grunted, his eyes widening in surprise as the tip of his guard's sword pierced his back. With her face mere inches from his, Nikita glared defiantly into the fast fading light of his eyes and stated forcefully, "I will choose my own mate, barbarian." And then she threw his unconscious body from her.


************


A monsoon rose out of the Sea of Azov and swept inland, bringing with it monstrous winds that shrieked and howled with fury as it uprooted century old trees and tossed them like straw. The rains came in blinding torrents that lashed against the faces of the Vatians, but still they pressed forward. Madeline was torn between the desire to rescue her daughter and concern for the safety of her army. In the end she sacrificed her maternal instincts and ordered her warriors to turn and head toward the safety of Themiscya.
If Adrian were still alive Madeline would have sent back the majority of her troops while she continued on with a small elite force to Scythia. But Adriana was not alive and there was no one whom Madeline could leave the empire to.
She and Adriana had co-ruled the empire for the past twelve years -- ever since their mother had died in the battle of Gorgon. Adriana, being the eldest, served as the domestic head of state. Her seat of power had been at Pontus.
Madeline became M'yrene, the warrior queen, responsible for maintaining the Vatian defense. She made her home at Themiscya, the training ground for the Vatian army.

All Vatians upon the age of twelve entered Themiscya and spent the next four years in training. At sixteen she became a full-fledged Vatian warrior and served the army for another mandatory four years. During this time it was forbidden that the Vatian should mate. They were required to remain virgins thereby guaranteeing the lack of unwanted births and ensured that the Vatian warrior was always ready for battle.

Nikita was in the final year of her mandatory service but she had expressed a desire to remain in the army longer. A decision that was made by many of the warriors. Now that Adriana was dead, though, Madeline knew it was necessary to exalt her to the rank of M'yrene while she took over the domestic affairs of state that Adriana had held. One day it would be Nikita's destiny to, not only rule the Vatian empire single handedly, but to add onto its present borders. She was the Vatian Gemstone, foreordained by the gods to lead the empire into the next empyream.

Madeline sighed and crossed over to the window. The wooden shutters had been doubled against the force of the storm but every once in a while a strong gust of wind would rattle the boards violently and rain spewed in through the cracks as she listened to the lonely howling of the wind and prayed that Nikita was safe.

A fire burned bright in the hearth. The sound of the burning wood crackling and filled the quiet of the room. The heat it emitted though did little to warm the chill that enveloped Madeline. She paced back and forth, brooding over the events of the past few days, when there came a light knock on the door. Looking up she saw Aella enter the room bearing a tray with a candle upon it and a plate laden with food.

"I've brought you something to eat," the doyan said as she placed the tray down on the table.

"I've no appetite to eat," Madeline replied, turning away.

"M'yrene, you must keep your strength up."

"How can I?" Madeline asked, "when somewhere out there my daughter may be fighting for her life?"

Aella lowered her lashes and stood without speaking for several seconds. Then finally, she raised her eyes again to follow the restless movements of her queen. She began to raise her hand, wanting to reach out comfort the older woman but then changed her mind and instead returned her hand to her side. "The gods will protect, Nikita," she said quietly. "You must believe that."

Madeline took a deep breath and stared into the fire. "Once I believed the gods would always watch over her. But now I am not so certain. The destruction of Pontus, Adriana's death, and now this storm. They are like omens of a change in the gods favor."

Aella stepped closer, studying her queen's profile. "What will you do?" she asked, and Madeline shook her head slowly.

"There is nothing I or anyone else can do," she replied quietly. "For if the gods have changed their favor, then we are all doomed."

************

"What is your name?" Michael asked.
Nikita stared up at the man before her but remained silent. He had changed out of the armor she had seen him in earlier and was now dressed in a simple long black robe that reached down to his ankles and was belted at the waist.
He was much younger then the silver haired Scythian she had attacked earlier. Young enough, she thought, to be his son. He certainly exuded the airs of one who was in authority. As Nikita surveyed his features, the long auburn colored hair that reached his shoulders, emerald eyes, distinctively curved nose, tightly pressed lips, and strong jaw, she decided that he was too handsome to be the silver haired Scythian's son.

"I asked you a question," he said, when a minute had passed in which she said nothing.

"What's your name?" she drawled, staring at him openly. She was sitting on the floor leaning back against the thick wooden pole, one of three in the room which supported the heavy beams that crossed the length of the ceiling.
The guards had removed the restraints from her hands and replaced the one on her feet with a single long heavy chain that was secured on the opposite end around the base of the pole.

"You're hardly in a position to be asking questions," Michael said.

"Why? Because I'm a prisoner? Or because I'm a woman?"

Her response seemed to amuse him. His lashes lowered, shielding his eyes from her view, but the corners of his mouth quirked slightly upward. "Are all Vatian women as you are?" he asked, as he poured water into a charger, then walked to where she was sitting. He squatted and held the cup out to her. Nikita looked from his eyes down to the cup he offered, then shifted her gaze back up.

"Take it," he said quietly. "I'll get you some food afterward."

Her eyes flickered slowly back and forth as she studied his face. "You drink first," she replied, not bothering to hide her distrust of him.

He raised a brow at her, then shrugged his shoulders lifted the cup to his lips. His gaze remained locked with hers as he drank a portion of the water then held the cup back out. She stared at him for another minute then cautiously took the cup from him. After another careful study of the cup's contents, she lifted the cup and drank.

Michael watched as she drained the cup. His eyes moved to the long curve of her neck, lingered on the steady pulse at the base, then moved lower to her shoulders before returning once again to her face and hair.

Her coloring was odd, but not unappealing, he thought. Scythian women had dark hair and eyes. A few had red or brown hair but there were none he had met who had this hair of pale moonlight. No. It was not unappealing at all. Rather, it made him want to reach out and touch it. Run his fingers through it.

Nikita finished drinking then lowered the cup and handed it back to him. "Thank you."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"And I don't intend to," she replied, leaning back once more. "I am forbidden by custom to reveal my name."
Michael raised his brows, intrigued by her answer. "Why is it forbidden."

She gave him a look that could easily have been interpreted as saying, it’s none of your business, but since she could see he would not let go of the topic, she decided to sate his curiosity.

"Birth names are sacred to us," she explained. "We never reveal it to men except on the rare occasion that we take on a life-mate. It's not uncommon though for Vatians to spend their entire life without ever revealing their name to a man."

"You mean... like a vow of celibacy?" he asked, his voice incredulous.

In spite of her situation, Nikita smiled. "I never said we were celibate. Vatian women often have several partners during her lifetime. Usually switching as the season changes. It is up to her though if she chooses to name one of them as her mate. Meaning that she will have him as her one mate for the rest of her life."

Michael was silent a moment. "That's an interesting practice," he said, finally. "And have you given your name to any man yet?"

Nikita's eyelids lowered halfway. "You ask too many questions."

"I'm curious." Michael replied.

"So be curious. But I have no intention of answering that question."

"Then tell me this," he asked, "why did my uncle bring only you back from Pontus?"

"How should I know?" she replied, her expression becoming jaded. "Why don't you ask him?"

He lowered his gaze, staring at the floor a moment, then looked off to the side. "I didn't have to save your life earlier," he told her, his voice quiet. "I could very
easily have let the guards kill you for what you did."

She stared at him for a while without speaking as she assessed her situation. Finally, she tilted her head to the side, contemplating, then asked, "What do you intend to do with me?"

"I don't know yet," came his reply. Looking at her he explained, "I'm waiting to see what my uncle wants done with you."

"If he lives."

He stared at her, then turned and walked toward the door.

"Wait."

He stopped and heard the scrape of the chain against the floor as she stood. "What is it?" he asked, not turning around.

"If your uncle dies, what happens next? Who will be in charge?"

He turned slowly around. "I will."

Nikita drew a long slow breath and took a tentative step forward. "I can not tell you my name but I will tell you who I am with the hope that you will do what is proper to prevent further bloodshed between our people."

His eyes ran over her from head to toe. "Go on," he said at last, his voice low. He saw her shoulders draw back slightly and her chin lift a half-inch.

"I am the daughter of the Vatian M'yrene," she stated in a level voice. "Your uncle had some warped idea of uniting our people by marrying me. But it will never happen."

"Why not?" he asked. "A marriage could be the key to ending all the wars between our countries."

Her eyes turned cold and he saw her body stiffen. "Do you really believe that?" she asked, then snorted. "My people would never stand for it. And neither would I."

He looked down for a second then raised his eyes back up. "What if you married me?"

Her eyes narrowed and filled with such fury as to fascinate him. "You're an arrogant bastard," she stated slowly, her voice low and barely controlled. "Just like your uncle. You think just because you are younger and handsome that I would consent?" She gave a derisive laugh and tossed her head back. "Never," she growled.

He took a deep breath, his expression blank as he turned his face toward the window. "My uncle will not survive the night," he said quietly. "Of that I am most certain. Even now the druids and viziers prepare for his funeral. A message has been sent to my uncle's three younger brothers. They will most likely arrive late tomorrow." He turned then and looked at her and Nikita thought she saw a trace of regret in his green eyes. "My uncles younger brothers are nothing like him. They are far worse. They will demand that justice be served."

Nikita's eyes blazed with anger. Her hands formed into fists at her side and she literally trembled with her wrath. "You dare speak to me of justice?"
She moved toward him, as far as the chain which bound her to the pole would allow. "Your uncle and his army crossed our border. Burned and destroyed our capital. Murdered innocent men and children. Killed my mother's sister. Kidnapped me --- and you want to speak to me of justice?" They stood staring at each other. Nikita's gaze furious and Michael's was impenetrable.

"Justice," Nikita continued on in the same tone of voice, "will be what happens when my mother and her army sweeps down from the mountains in numbers to great to count, and destroy you and your people."

She stopped then, her eyes closing briefly as she took a deep breath, then turned away. Her head lowered and her shoulders seemed to drop several inches. Michael, as if drawn by some unseen force, moved closer to her.

"I sense that you do not really want to see that happen."

She blinked quickly several times and raised her head but did not face him. "Contrary to what many believe, we Vatians are not heathens," she said quietly. "We do not delight in bloodshed. But our ways are different from those of other tribes in this region. Our women will not be submissive and hand over control to foreigners -- especially men." She turned and looked at him, then said calmly. "We will fight to the death in order to preserve our ways."

Michael nodded as he met her gaze and a silent understanding passed between them as he stated with equal calm. "Then I'm afraid there is nothing either of us can do to stop what lies ahead."


************


Nikita looked up at the sound of the door opening and saw a lone guard enter the room. Immediately her senses went on alert though she remained reclined against the pole. From beneath lowered lashes she watched him enter, look her way, then walk over to the table and place the plate of food he had brought with him down.

He was sluggish, she noted. The paunch that protruded over his low belt attested to his love of wine and food and lack of exercise. This would be easy.

She sighed heavily to catch his attention, then stretched her legs out. Nikita saw his gaze rivet down to her bare limbs. His breath quickened and she saw his eyes fill with lust. She raised one knee halfway. Just enough so that her skirt fell away and revealed more of her thigh.

He was hooked. She could see the telltale evidence of his arousal, and she waited to see what he would do next. As she expected, he turned and walked back to the door. After quickly checking the hallway, he shut the door and locked it behind him. Then he turned and walked slowly toward her. Hanging from his belt was a dagger which he removed and held in one hand as he moved closer. His breathing was coming in short breaths and she saw him lick his lips with anticipation.

"What are you doing?" she asked, purposely making her voice sound timid.

"Turn around and get up on your hands and knees."

She filled her eyes with what she hoped passed as fear and slowly moved up onto her knees. "Don't hurt me," she said, her voice trembling. "I'll do whatever you want."

She heard his breathing escalate, then heard him swear. Nikita looked over her shoulder and saw that he still held the knife with one hand while his other hand fumbled with his clothing. She waited impatiently, trying to keep her revulsion from becoming obvious. Finally he had freed his member from its confines and he moved up behind her.
Nikita acted quickly and with deadly accuracy. Swinging round she thrust her hand in a slicing motion and connected with his neck. The guard went down with a gurgling sound, his eyes wide with shock and fear as Nikita swiftly grabbed the knife from his hand and plunged it into his heart.
She took a brief moment to catch her breath, then began to search the body until she found what she was looking for -- the key to the shackle on her ankle. She rolled him away from her, then slipped the key into the lock and freed herself.

She stood, testing her strength, then bent and pulled the knife out from the dead man's chest. After wiping the blood off of it, she stuck the knife onto her own belt then made her way over to the door.

It was late and the hall was abandoned. Normally the guard would not have brought her food except that Michael had told her before he left that he would send someone with something for her to eat. She regretted that she had had to kill the guard but it was something she could not avoid.
She ran with light footed sureness up the hall in the direction which they had brought her earlier, pausing at doorways and corners to listen for approaching footsteps. When at last she reached the door she recalled led outside, she paused one last time, then opened the door and slipped out into the warm dark night.

Instantly an arm grabbed her about the waist and pulled her to the side as a hand descended upon her mouth. "Quiet," came a familiar male voice, and she looked up to see green eyes staring at her.

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