Assassin

Chapter 1 - "Neutral"

Standing out brings pain. Nathan had learned that just about the time he had learned to talk. In fact, the one led to the other. He was a lot smarter than people realized - at least, any of the ones who knew him now - and had started talking at an early age. That wasn't too bad, but his mother taught him to read before some of his so-called 'peers' were even speaking in complete sentences. And, like a lot of kids who have something that makes them special, he had been all too willing to show off. Unfortunately, he hadn't matured physically as fast as he had intellectually and the contrary abilities of others led to his pain whenever they noticed him at all, so Nathan cultivated obscurity while he waited for his body to grow up.

The world spit out another misfortune for him - and for a lot of others - when the Norther army came through Orion. It claimed his mother (no one knew who his father was) and left him on the streets, apparently immune to the attention of the pillaging army but not to hunger.

Nathan learned other advantages to obscurity. He could merge with a crowd and afterwards most of them wouldn't even remember he had been there . . . or if he left and returned. Quick side trips to a baker's cart or some other source of food (or clothes, or whatever) went unnoticed, and when the guard arrived there were plenty of people who would offer honest alibis for the thin kid whom they thought must have been there all along once he was pointed out to them. His little forays weren't enough to keep him comfortable - Nathan couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been hungry - but they kept him alive. His limited diet might have kept him from reaching his full height potential - since he never knew his father he didn't really have any basis for determining that - but it certainly kept him from growing out and he never did gain the bulk it would take to beat back the bullies. Instead, he used less-than-average size, neutral coloring and clothes, and a carefully applied neutral expression to keep him from being memorable in most situations.




That was until one day a town crier caught his attention with an announcement of employment for healthy young men, and once again his life changed in a drastic way. Mingling unobtrusively with a gaggle of other young men and a few women, he went looking for a job.

"You," a tree trunk growled, singling out one of the women, "what makes you think a deaf idiot will be accepted into the Assassin's Guild?"

"I'm not deaf," the woman replied, "and I'm not an idiot."

"Did you not hear the crier say that this job was for men only?"

"So? Anything a man can do, I can do better," she announced. That brought a titter of giggles, and a few not-quite-quiet suggestions for something that a man could do better than any woman.

She didn't even have the sense to blush at the suggestions. Or perhaps, like Nathan, she was desperate. It was hard to tell how old she was under the grime, but she was so thin that she probably wouldn't make the 'healthy' requirement either.

"Get yourself a meal," the tree trunk growled, "then get out. No women in the Assassin's Guild." Apparently she wasn't going to get any more explanation than that.

The tree trunk turned, singling Nathan out from his customary place in the middle of the group. "You! What in the name of the Seven Arenas of Torment makes you think you're good enough to become one of us?"

The inquisitor wasn't really a tree trunk; he just looked like one. He was short and squat, with furrows of scar and creases of age that made his skin look like the bark of an old oak tree. It was weathered to the same sort of gray as well. His voice fit the body, scratched and gnarly.

Nathan had hoped - actually it was a plan, not just a wish - that a few of the others in his group of nine or ten young men would receive the recruiter's attention before his time came. That would give him some insight into what the recruiter might be looking for. At least, it should have. Why had the recruiter singled him out first?

Well, when in doubt, attack . . .

"Why don't you tell me?" he countered.

The tree-trunk man's eyes narrowed for just a moment, then he opened his mouth to say something only to be interrupted by Nathan's real answer.

"I believe in the guild," he declared simply.

"You *believe* in the Assassin's Guild?" the man repeated with as close to surprise as that old bark could manage.

"Yes, sir," Nathan said, changing his demeanor from semi-mocking amusement to respect. This was not just a matter of voice tone and sentence content. He drew himself up from a casual slouch to a position of readiness - not stiff, but rocking forward onto the balls of his feet and letting his arms raise to something just short of a defensive position.

The tree trunk man's frown deepened, but he looked at Nathan with an obvious expectation of more explanation.

"I honestly believe that the Assassin's guild fulfills a valid, moral purpose," Nathan continued. "Why go off to war and kill thousands of honorable, useful men when the conflict can be resolved with precision and efficiency?"

Despite the apparent inflexibility of his thick body, the recruiter shrugged. "Okay, so you actually listened to the crier's pitch. That's what makes you want to join us. What makes you think you're good enough to become one of us?"

"Why do *you* think so?" Nathan countered again. "You picked me out of this group. What was your reason?"

"Boredom," the man said tersely. But he looked at the rest of the group and growled. "Get out, all of you. Next open recruiting is one week from today. You can get a chit from the guy at the door to get you in the special-attention pool."

After all the others had left, Nathan looked at the thick man and asked, "Does that chit do any good?"

"What do you think?" the man countered in turn.

"Well, if I hadn't made the cut on a previous pool, I sure wouldn't brag about it."

"Quite," the man said thoughtfully. If those muscles in his damaged face still worked, he might even have smiled. "Anyone who shows up with a chit gets in, but they don't get to see me again."

"And you're the one that counts," Nathan said.

"Quite," the man repeated. "Name?"

"Nathan."

"Of . . ?"

"Of here and there."

"War orphan?" the man guessed.

"Close enough," Nathan admitted.

"Fair enough," the man said. "I'm Cestus . . . and there's no 'of' for my name either."

"Just the Assassin's Guild," Nathan said.

"Quite," Cestus repeated. "I presume Nathan is your real name?"

At the young man's nod, Cestus continued, "We mostly pick guild names - sometimes a guild name will be picked for us - but Nathan is pretty anonymous already. Warning: If you pick a guild name that is already taken, you have to fight the guild member who has it for the right."

Nathan snorted. "Right. Fight an experienced member of a group of professional killers . . . for a name? By Orion's belt, anyone stupid enough to do that deserves to be killed."

Cestus said, "Oh, they don't always get killed. It depends on the target. Which is part of the rules. If you *want* some other member's name and are good enough to kill him, then you can have it."

"Let me guess . . . warning the, um, senior member that you want the name is not required?"

"Quite," Cestus said again, showing something Nathan was beginning to recognize was what the thick man used for a grin. "It keeps us on our toes."

Nathan offered a grin of his own and let a mildly thoughtful tone into his voice. "You know, I have never really liked the name Cestus. I don't think it would suit me at all."

"Quite," Cestus repeated yet another time. This time he reached out a slapped Nathan's shoulder. "You might just make it after all."

Nathan winced and moved his shoulder around for a moment to make sure all the parts still worked. "Quite," he said dryly.

Cestus led Nathan through confusing inner corridors until it became apparent that they were either deliberately confusing or Cestus was taking them in circles. There were little touches - a plant, a wall hanging, a big, not-too-well repaired crack - that would seem to indicate they had passed that particular spot already. Nathan didn't think so, though. He didn't have some sort of perfect internal compass, but he was very sensitive to light and shadow, and he was pretty sure that they weren't actually passing the same places more than once.

Until they did.

"Okay, Cestus, if you're going to play games with me, can we at least pretend to have a conversation or something?"

"What?"

"Look, you've led me past points that were *supposed* to be the same several times. But this is the first time we've actually passed a place we've already been. I'm okay with following along like a good little boy as long as we're going somewhere, but if you're waiting for me to say something . . . well, consider it said."

"What makes you think we've been going around in circles?" asked Cestus.

"We haven't, until just now," Nathan said. "The last place with the crack in the wall - as opposed to that sagging plant or the faded mountain scene - had a high point right . . . here," he said, pointing at a shadow line. "The last time we passed one it had a high point at least six inches lower on the wall. So unless you're moving the lamps - and the beam they're hanging from - every couple of minutes, we've been passing additional cracks that were deliberately made to look similar. This is the first time we've repeated one of the features."

"Is it?" Cestus said, but he wasn't really challenging the young man. Instead, he led them to a nearby door and entered without any sign of lock or restriction.

The room they entered wasn't a throne room in any ostentatious sense, but it was clearly a place of importance within the guild. There were maps on the walls, clerks at various tables, weapons everywhere - plenty with someone to wield them - and a clear center of focus. At that focus sat a lean man, not gaunt from hunger like Nathan, but no discernible fat.

"This is Vorpal," Cestus said, pointing at the man as they approached.

Nathan was pleased to see there was gratifyingly little ceremony connected with approaching the apparent leader. That didn't make him relax or take the lithe man for granted. Instead, he nodded respectfully - but warily - and returned to his 'ready' stance. Nathan didn't expect his 'readiness' would do him much good against the silent menace of the man before him, but it was all he had . . . unless he chose to turn and run.

"*This* is the best you could do today?" Vorpal asked with a sneer. "What made you pick him?"

"He did a pretty good job of hiding in the crowd," Cestus asked. "The rest were all strutting like peacocks, flexing their muscles or throwing shoulders around. It actually took me a moment to realize he was there."

"A moment?" Vorpal repeated. "Are you getting stupid in your old age?"

"Probably," Cestus said easily. "But he was doing a good job. He also spotted it the first time we returned to this hall, yet was willing to go along while we were walking the maze."

"Indeed?" Vorpal said, apparently at least a little impressed by this. Turning at last to Nathan he said, "You're the first person to pass that little test in a long time."

"Since you did?" Nathan guessed.

"Flattery will get you dead, kid," Cestus growled.

"It's not flattery," Nathan said flatly, "if it's true."

"Perhaps," Vorpal said, but he didn't add any warnings of his own.

"Why do you want to join the Assassin's Guild?" the leader asked.

"I truly believe in the guild's approach," Nathan said. For some reason he felt he should give this man a more direct reason than the town crier's rationale. "Look, my mother was killed when the Northers came through. Armies are like a pig in a wallow. They show up and mud goes everywhere, especially on the innocent. I want to be more efficient than that."

"Efficient? At what?"

Nathan started to shrug, but again he felt he needed to be more direct. "If I could, I'd stop war entirely. Since people are not likely to do that out of sweet reason, I figure my best chance is to stop those who would make war - personally - before the armies start marching."

"Personally for you or personally for them?" Vorpal asked.

"Yes," Nathan replied, looking directly into the leader's eyes.

The lean man shrugged but a sharp little smile showed in his eyes. Unfortunately, Nathan couldn't tell if it was approval for his flippancy or anticipation of the pain that Vorpal would inflict on anyone insubordinate enough to be flippant. The leader didn't say a word, but his eyes flickered to the door and that was apparently all that Cestus needed.

"Okay, kid," the thick man said. "We aren't going to be able to assess your abilities until you get a meal or two. This way."

He led Nathan back into the corridor. No sooner had the door shut behind them than a fist the size of his head was driving toward Nathan's nose. He managed to avoid most of it, getting his shoulder up enough to absorb a glancing blow. That was enough to slam him into the wall and show that there had been real force behind the attack.

The thin young man dodged to the side, but while he wasn't quite cornered he also wasn't about to turn his back on the man who had been acting like a friend. It only took a second for Nathan to realize that he was quicker than Cestus by quite a bit. But there was no way he could match the guild assassin's power. So he dodged and tried to work his way down the hall to a point where he could use his speed to get far enough away to avoid an attack at his back. At least all that bullying when he had been younger had taught him some defensive moves, and if he couldn't truly block the heavy blows at least he could deflect them enough to avoid critical damage.

However, the thick assassin was too skilled to be avoided entirely and Nathan soon realized he had another problem. Though he was quick, he had no endurance. It had been too long since he had eaten a real meal and he could feel his arms getting heavy long before he saw any path to escape. He never gave up, but it was only another moment before the massive fist was crashing toward his face, with his arm just too tired to lift into a protective position in time.

Then the fist stopped as though it had hit a barrier an inch from Nathan's chin.

Cestus grunted, and nodded. "Yes. You need a few good meals."

If Nathan expected an explanation at the no-warning attack, he didn't get it. In fact, he didn't get explanations on much of anything. Apparently an assassin was supposed to be able to figure things out for himself. Cestus did lead him to a dining area, showing one of his almost-smiles when Nathan got a fairly small meal consisting mostly of vegetables and a few small fish pieces.

"I thought you were hungry," the gnarled man said.

"I am," Nathan agreed. "Too hungry. If I ate a big meal now I'd just throw up."

"You speak like you've had experience."

Nathan wasn't particularly into explaining things either, so he just shrugged.

After their brief meal, Cestus took him to the apprentice barracks with attached bathing area. When Nathan turned around to ask which bunk he should pick, the thick man had vanished.

**"Well,"** Nathan thought. **"That gives me two choices. I can hang around until everyone gets here and see which bunks are open, or I can pick one and see what happens if it's already taken."**

He was far too tired to wait around, so he chose a bunk that had no sign of occupancy and slipped under the thin blanket covering it. It was hard for him to relax, even though his body was dead tired. A part of him was trapped in a worry cycle, wondering if he had made a wise choice applying to the Assassin's Guild. That wasn't a moral dilemma. The people of Orion were not much for formal government and even less so for formal standards of morality. The primary government function was courts, which in turn primarily issued opinions on contract disputes. They had little enforcement power, but they did publish their opinions and reputations rose or fell on the perception of honesty. Or at least, on legal compliance with written contracts, which was not quite the same thing.

The power behind the Orion society, and the reason for that sort of streamlined government, was the guild of merchants. Orion was a seaport. In addition to being a source of fish, it was a trading center for most of the continent as ships moved up and down the coast. From that, it was probably only natural that artisans and other craftsmen had made Orion their residence. All that was controlled by the merchants, who lived in fabulous mansions located on the hills that surrounded the squalor of the inner city.

The Assassin's Guild, and competing guilds like the Retribution Alliance and the Balancers, had arisen for things which were not as clear-cut as contract law. They performed a service that had evolved into something broader than targeting specific individuals. Merchants would pay a monthly fee to one or the other of the guilds to keep 'riff-raff' from mugging them as they went about their business, and it turned out to be more cost effective to patrol the streets of Orion than provide large guards for individual employers. The people of Orion benefited from the general on-the-spot punishment for petty crimes and so the guilds actually had a reasonably good reputation within the community. Nathan had been on the wrong side of the guilds more than once after his minor thefts, but the guards weren't casual bullies so without some valid reason to do more than just suspect him they hadn't applied their instant justice to him. There wasn't any real way to appeal their decision if they *had* decided he was a thief, but the guilds had reputations, too. If they were obviously just bullies with weapons, they'd lose their merchant protection business.

Unfortunately, they were the only armed forced in Orion and they hadn't been sufficient to stop the Norther army before it reached the city. It didn't help the war orphans to know that the leaders of the Norther army had all died from one cause or another within a month of their attack, but that too-late reputation did keep some of the other marauding bands of armed men at bay.

Of course, Nathan had just nodded off to sleep after his wandering thoughts when a crowd of young men flowed into the room.

"Hey, new meat!" one of them yelled.

"Doesn't smell new," another voice observed. "Smells three-days-in-the-sun rotten."

Nathan was trying to get clear of his blanket when the others reached him. He was just to the point where he could absorb more than voices when a dozen hands - or even a dozen sets of hands, he couldn't tell - picked him and the blanket up together.

"We have a solution for that," a man nearly as thick as Cestus said cheerfully. He didn't seem to have any trouble holding up his part of Nathan.

Before he even had time for a good struggle, they had pitched him - clothes, blanket, and all - into a large pool in the bathing area. Three or four actually jumped in with him, but they weren't there to help. At least, not to help in a way that he might have expected. He felt quick tugs around his clothes, which then fell away. The men in the water with him jumped back to the edge and carefully dried their blades, smiling at him with a strange combination of camaraderie and warning.

The thick man pointed at a barrel. "Dump those old rags in there. You can find clothes in some of the cupboards around the area. Assassin's Guild doesn't pay cash money until you go on assignments or patrol, but they don't skimp on food or clothes."

One of the knife wielders added, "Or weapons . . . unless you abuse one. Keep yours clean, dry and sharp or . . . well, it's not worth it to skimp. Believe me."

"Quite," Nathan said, the first word he'd uttered since they had all appeared.

That set off a round of laughter. "You've met Cestus!"

Nathan nodded.

"You the only one from today's batch?" the man with the knife asked.

Nathan just nodded again.

That seemed to be the trigger for a rapid circle of naming - almost none of which registered with Nathan. He did get that the thick, junior Cestus was Knuckles, and the one who had warned him about weapons care was Hamstring. About the best he could do for the rest of them was try to remember some of the names, though not who they went with, so that he could avoid selecting an already-taken name and risking a fight over it.

When the naming ran down he opened his mouth to give his own name, but Knuckles held out a huge palm to stop him. "Nope. You're not gonna give us your real name because . . ."

At his pause, the group chorused, "Because we don't care!"

"Right," Knuckles continued. "And we're not going to let you pick something that will get you killed before you're ready. So I think we'll pick something for you."

Nathan shrugged. If he were going to survive in this guild, he was clearly going to need a thick skin so a name he might not like wouldn't be that big a deal . . . unless it was deliberately demeaning - a test of his courage. In which case he'd pass the courage test easily . . . perhaps through dying, but that was still a pass, and he had lived on the streets entirely too long to fear death itself. There were many worse things. Since he was naked, he climbed from the pool and took his own knife (that he had kept despite the loss of his clothes) to the towel to dry it.

Apparently, his movements reminded Knuckles of something.

"Man," he said, "you're as thin as a willow branch, and just about as flexible."

"Willow!" the chorus said, and so he received his first guild name.

"Hey, Willow, let me see that thing," Hamstring demanded.

Nathan . . . Willow . . . gave a reflexive shake of his head. "No."

"Whoa, man, take it easy," Hamstring said. "I'm not gonna keep it. Here, trade me."

The knife that Hamstring offered was so much better than the one that Willow protected that he couldn't think of a good reason to say no, but it still bothered the thin young man a lot. Part of that was a fear of ridicule for having such an unimpressive weapon. It had started out as a light dagger, but it had been broken before Willow found it. He had scraped it on stones for hour after hour to gain a new edge and point, wrapping the also-broken handle in bits of cord and leather scraps.

But it had already saved his life more than once, and saved him from a 'fate worse than death' when a fat old merchant had decided he looked particularly desirable. That was one time that his ability to hide had saved his life from the patrolling guards, but apparently the merchant had a reputation and they hadn't actually looked very hard for the street kid who had . . . relieved him of the desire. Forever.

Hamstring took the blade with surprising respect. He flipped it in his hands and nodded grudgingly. "It has better balance than I would have thought, and the blade is actually pretty good, for all that it's pretty short."

"All I had to work with," Willow said tightly.

"Then you did a good job," Hamstring said, "but you can do better. Keep that one if you want, though. Nobody cares as long as you keep it clean and sharp. Don't matter where you get a weapon from - you always take care of it."

The others had been stripping off their clothes as Willow and Hamstring spoke. It wasn't long before they had all bathed and started to get ready for bed. A thin young man with eyes so pale they appeared colorless approached him as the others were moving off. When their gazes met, Nathan - Willow - was surprised to find that the other had a strange, vacant stare . . . as though he weren't really using his eyes to look out at the world. But he moved with assurance and was clearly not blind.

"I'm Candle," he said. "I didn't figure you'd remember from when we were all yelling at you before. The body is a weapon, too. You're expected to keep it clean and fit. That's not just vanity. We don't want something like body odor to give us away on a covert mission. So take a better bath than that dunking you got. There are bed coverings in the cupboards, along with the clothes. You might as well use them because part of your duties will include a share of laundry and cleaning."

With that, the young man with the strange eyes turned abruptly and began his own bath. Willow figured he should do as he was told, particularly since he wanted a good bath anyway (another legacy of his mother was a desire for cleanliness, even if he could seldom achieve it). The combination of warm water, a decent meal, and too many prior nights where what passed for sleep occurred in cold corners of stone buildings had him swaying on his feet before he reached his bunk again. After that, the world went away.

Chapter 2 - "Physical"

A single deep-throated moan from a distant bell woke Willow the next morning. Actually, he didn't quite hear the initial sound - or else it was so wrapped up in whatever he had been dreaming that it didn't register as an external sound. But the sound faded out so slowly that eventually his tired mind realized it was real. Well, that and the fact the other young men started to scramble out of bed, making no attempt to be quiet while they did so. Quite the opposite in fact.

"Yo, Willow," Knuckles called, whacking the still-groggy newcomer on the shoulder. "Here's a riddle for you: Who gets to clean up the kitchens after breakfast?"

The solid whack reminded Willow of Cestus and he flexed his shoulder in another damage inspection. By that time most of the other apprentices had dressed and were banging off each other as they crowded out of the exit from the barracks. Willow decided he was not going to be close enough to the rest to matter, so he took his time and explored the barracks area a bit more.

As they had told him, clothes, bedding, and weapons were all available within the room. While there wasn't anything as formal as a uniform, all of the other apprentices had worn leggings that were tight enough they wouldn't rustle when they walked, yet stretchy enough not to impede any movement. In contrast, they all had loose-fitting shirts with equally loose sleeves, covered by a more-closely tailored jerkin itself closed by a wide belt. It was only when Willow was looking for a place to put his remade dagger that he realized the looseness of the upper clothing provided places to hide weapons. In fact, with that as a starting point, he was soon (secretly) sporting a better knife up each sleeve with a much-more-impressive dagger riding just over his belt inside the jerkin. He put his reworked dagger in his belt as though it were his weapon of choice, but he knew its only real value was sentimental. Nonetheless, if others thought he considered it a primary weapon . . . let them.

There were even shoes. He was about to try on a few pairs of heavy boots for size when he realized that was not a good choice for his first day. He'd never worn stiff boots in his life. If there were going to be tests, he needed mobility more than armor (even if only made from stiff leather) for his feet. In one of the cupboards he found flexible half-boots that laced snugly to his ankles but felt as light as his often-mended sandals. Yet they had enough sole to protect his feet from irregularities on the ground.

Willow did make one concession to vanity, or at least to establish a difference from his prior life. His clothes had always been brown. Regardless of what color they may have been originally, after he 'obtained' them, they soon acquired enough ground-in dirt to take on the muddy color of the soil around Orion. In contrast, this time he picked leggings and jerkin in shades of gray, with a black jersey. A spare bit of leather lacing held his hair - longer than he realized, once it was clean of all the dirty oiliness and brushed neatly - out of his face and he was ready to see what else was in store for him.

Since he had already been to the eating area he found it with no trouble. True to his expectations, the rest of the apprentices had already finished and vanished. Willow fixed a bowl of grain porridge, found a small sausage that tasted magical despite being cold, and finished with a couple of citrus fruits. He was about to look for someone in charge so that he could help clean up, but realized he was alone in the room.

[Well, I'm not going to go looking for drudge work,] he decided.

Though he didn't have that perfect sense of direction he had heard others claim, he did have enough awareness of his surroundings to work his way inward from the streets that surrounded the guild installation. It wasn't long before he heard the sounds of activity. Lots of activity.

When he reached an open doorway, he saw an exercise or training field with knots of men clustered in several places. One area had a group engaged in shoulder-to-shoulder drills. They wore heavy armor and carried shields along with thick spears. Not surprisingly, Cestus was the drill master and Knuckles was part of the group.

[Not for me,] Willow decided. Even if he had the bulk for that sort of fighting, it didn't have the . . . precision he wanted. Lining up against a similar group of nameless men was too much like war, though he knew the Assassin's Guild never engaged in set-piece battles. This skill set was used on raids or assaults to clear the way to the real target.

Another group was doing tumbling drills that involved obstacles of various sizes. Based on the whoops and calls of the men engaged in it, they were actually having fun. Willow decided he'd have to try that, though perhaps not first. There was a small group working with crossbows, and while he knew he'd need to learn that skill, that wasn't quite right either.

First was . . . over there. A group of younger men including some of those he recognized as apprentices were practicing with knives.

[I wonder if this is another test,] Willow thought. Looking around, he didn't see anyone who was obviously in charge, neither overall for the entire drill area nor even for the group of knife wielders. [So, either I need to find someone to report to, or I just pick what I want. Manners versus audacity; that's not a hard choice.]

He walked over to the group he wanted to join, looking at the various activities that were underway. Some were throwing knives at a target, and he realized that those he had secreted up his sleeves were shaped like the throwing knives. Others were . . .

"New meat!" the call rose again. Half a dozen of the knife students quickly moved to surround him. It wasn't quite menacing, but it was clear he was expected to remain within their circle. One young man stepped forward.

"New meat," he said, addressing Willow, "do you know the price to join our little circle?"

The man was slender, though not half-starved like Willow. He moved very lightly on his feet, barely making a sound on the mixture of dirt and gravel in the courtyard. He made no sound at all when he drew a dagger from within his shirt.

Willow set his balance, but instead of drawing his own blade, he just stood there with his arms crossed at his waist. One hand did move inside his jerkin, and the challenger noted it with a flicker of his eyes. Willow's other hand tucked inside his elbow, but he used that movement to gain a hold on the handle of the blade within his sleeve.

[Audacity. Always audacity,] Willow told himself.

"If you paid it, the price can't be too high," he said with a flat tone that was as dismissive as a sneer.

"No, though in your case it will be higher than you'll want to pay," the challenger said. "It's blood. When you have added blood to the soil, you can claim a place as an apprentice."

He grinned and looked at the others who were encircling Willow. "Though in your case, the place may be about six feet long and six feet deep. You'll find plenty of company."

Willow stood with apparent ease, his arms still folded though he now had a solid hold on the hilts of two of his knives. His challenger flowed easily into a combat crouch, moving his blade languidly back and forth like the head of a snake, his arm cocked to allow a stab or a slash.

"What's your name?" Willow asked.

"Why do you want to know?" the man countered.

"Because I may decide to claim it after you're dead," Willow said with confidence. On the inside, he was shaking but the bullies had taught him to *pretend* to be confident regardless of how he felt on the inside.

"I'm Coil," the attacker said, gliding easily forward.

Just about the time Coil reached a position from which he might attack, there was a crunch in the ground behind Willow.

The next moves were pure reaction, without thought. Willow pulled his longer dagger from his waist and swung it behind him without even looking. The other knife appeared in his hand pointed at Coil. Who was, surprisingly, standing back and grinning.

Willow's swinging hand, at the same time, was trapped in a grip that might as well have been steel pincers. He turned his head to see what he could do about the threat behind him now that Coil had drawn back . . . and found Vorpal. The head assassin's hand was clamped around Willow's wrist, the dagger still six inches from finding any target on the older man's body.

"I don't think you trust us," Vorpal said dryly. He was again showing that small smile of amusement, though once again Willow was not sure whether it was because he appreciated what Willow had done or was thinking about what was going to be done to Willow.

"Let me have your dagger," Vorpal said, then without really waiting for a response he easily twisted it out of Willow's hand, though he did not let go of the wrist.

With a flicker too fast for Willow to absorb, Vorpal used the dagger to nick Willow's wrist. A few drops of blood spilled on the dirt and the guild leader looked at the other trainees. "Does that meet your requirements?" he asked casually.

They nodded, of course, and started to move back to their previous positions.

Surprisingly, Vorpal handed Willow a small rag. "Don't get any blood on your shirt. It's hard to get out."

The guild leader pointed at a shaded alcove. So far, there hadn't been a word of explanation but that was apparently something Willow was going to have to get used to. In fact, once they were seated he still didn't receive any real explanation.

"You're smarter than you let people think you are," Vorpal declared. That didn't seem to require any response so Willow sat quietly. "And it's clear your reflex response is to attack. We can work with that."

At this, Willow nodded, though he still offered nothing of his own to the conversation. Vorpal sat there with the tiny almost-smile of amusement on his face. For a while, Willow matched him. [Can't show him that I'm nervous . . . which is not the same thing as not actually *being* nervous.]

Then an idea came to him. [Audacity. Always audacity.]

"Where is Candle?" he asked.

That little hint of a smile showed again in Vorpal's eyes, but he didn't answer. One eyebrow raised just a bit.

Willow took this as an order to explain from the guild leader. That might not have been the meaning, but he had to choose something.

"There are obviously two major groups of guild members or members-in-training out here, and a minor group with the crossbows," Willow observed. "One group is the power troops, like Cestus and Knuckles. I wouldn't want to follow that path even if I had the bulk for it."

He waved his arm at those training with the knife, but he let his gesture encompass those at the obstacle course as well. "The other group out here is more in my nature; emphasizing agility and . . . individual skills. At least one of the tests this morning was to see if I could pick the right group - both by inclination and a reasonable assessment of my own abilities. I assume another test was to see if I could gain acceptance by that group. The crossbow group is too limited to be a major option, plus it's comprised of both bulky and lean members, so I expect it is a secondary skill required of everyone."

At this he paused, looking for some response by Vorpal. To his surprise, he actually received a small nod.

Then Willow moved on to his real point. "But there should be a third major group, and I would have expected that of the apprentices I met, Candle would be part of it."

"Go on," Vorpal said, his voice too flat to be called encouraging, except of course that he said anything at all.

"If I were, um, 'inventing' an assassin's guild, I'd be sure to include lethalities that don't require either a club or a blade."

Vorpal didn't say anything. Perhaps he felt his previous encouragement should be enough.

[Well, at least he didn't contradict me.]

"So, were you really the last candidate to pass the lost-in-the-maze test?" Willow asked.

If this non sequitur surprised Vorpal, it showed no more obviously than any other reaction. On the other hand, Willow was himself surprised when - after a long, silent moment - the guild leader nodded. At that offer of information from Vorpal, Willow shrugged and continued with his own comments.

"So, my conclusions are: There is a third group of skills . . . well, at least one more than the physical things being demonstrated out there. Candle is a member or candidate member of that group. The only sound I've ever heard you make while moving was that scrape on the dirt behind me when Coil was threatening from the front, so that was obviously a test. If I'm smarter than you thought, and have the right, ah, 'mindset' for the job, are you considering me for some secret inner circle of assassins? At least on a candidate basis?"

"Perhaps," Vorpal replied. He stood, prompting Willow to stand as well. Just before the guild leader disappeared, he turned and said, "Don't cut your hair."

Leaving Willow with a fruitless attempt to hide his surprise at that cryptic order.

After a moment, Willow picked up the dagger - which Vorpal had left sitting on the table - and turned back to the open field. Once again he made his way to the knife training area, but this time only Coil approached him. And this time Coil's hands were empty and his face was smiling.

"Hey, man . . . Willow, right? . . . earlier was nothing personal." With the opportunity to observe without immediate threat, Willow realized that Coil was a bit taller than him (as most man were), and a few years older. Like most of the men of Orion, he had brown hair and eyes, though Coil's own hair was cut so short it was almost hard to tell the color. "Look, I mean, I'd have cut you if you weren't good enough to stop me, but I wouldn't have cut you deep. It's like, first off you need to know that you *always* need to be armed. You don't have to be good at it - yet - but you have to be smart enough to know to be on guard at all times or you'll . . . well, you'll learn that you need to. And if you were so afraid of blood - including your own - that you couldn't face a fight, then you don't belong here."

He smiled and moved up to offer his (empty) hand for a clasp. "Hell, you might have cut me. You were certainly prepared, and damn quick. I've never seen that, um, initial position before."

He put an arm around Willow's shoulder in a companionable way and leaned in with a voice that was a bit more than a whisper, but clearly meant to be private. "But the thing is, there are some young priestesses in the Temple of Angitia. If you managed to cut me, I could get some very . . . personal attention, if you know what I mean. Same goes if I cut you more than a scratch. It almost makes it worthwhile to get nicked."

Coil let go of his shoulder. By this time they were up to the others anyway. "Besides, when I saw Vorpal behind you - did you know he can just appear out of nowhere even in the middle of a field like this? It seems like that anyway - when I saw him I figured you were special so I wasn't going to cut you bad."

"Special?" Willow repeated.

"Yeah, though I don't know how or why," Coil said. "You're certainly not much to look at."

He said that with a laugh, and the others joined in. This time the circle that formed around him was friendly and it wasn't long before they were engaged in a critique of the almost duel. Despite Coil's praise - well, almost praise - of his initial stance, Willow soon found that most of the rest of his motions were wrong. But he was there to learn, so he accepted their comments while still deciding he'd make his own choice on which to follow.

The next few weeks passed so quickly that Willow quit caring what day it was. His only calendar was that every fourth or fifth day he had laundry and clean-up duty in the dorm. There was some sort of rotating duty - he only had the same partners for the chore randomly so it wasn't simple. But they seemed to know when it was his turn, and since it didn't seem like he was getting more than his share, he didn't argue. It was just another no-explanation part of his new life. His initial impressions were both reinforced and changed as he became immersed in the guild. It was clear that guild members were expected to show a lot of initiative and be self-reliant. No one told him where to go or what to do, except for shared chores . . . and even then it was almost self-evident what needed to be done. Yet there was a strong spirit of teamwork. Everyone was willing to help another member and despite the initial sense that the training in the exercise yard was unstructured, it turned out there were almost as many instructors as students. All of the journeymen guild members who were between assignments joined in the various drills both as teachers and to keep their own training sharp. The third major discovery was a surprise, though.

The members of the assassin's guild had an outward disdain for personal injury so ingrained it might have been real for a lot of the men. The knife practice duels were fought with real blades with real edges. It was common when learning a technique to fight until blood was spilled. The agility drills were not much better. Every day someone would fall heavily and broken bones were common.

Willow was lucky - or talented - enough not to receive more than a scratch or two from the knife duels. He picked up a few scars on his arms and once an instructor had casually stitched up a deeper gash in his leg. The worst injury was when one of the trainees who was, frankly, not showing a lot of promise moved the wrong way and ended up with a fatal slash across his neck. He bled out quickly despite some focused efforts by the most senior members present. After the student was dead though, it was back to business as usual. Someone took the body away and it was as though nothing had happened.

Guild members with significant, though non-fatal, wounds including those with broken bones were also carried away, but they soon returned - some even on the same day. Eventually, it was Willow's time to find out about that, too.

Three or four (five?) weeks of decent food and regular exercise had not caused Willow to bulk up, but he would now be characterized more as 'slender' than 'gaunt.' His stamina had definitely increased, and while he had not lost any noticeable quickness, he knew he was stronger as well. That might have been part of the reason for his error.

From the first day he had seen the practice field, he had recognized that the agility drills were accompanied by shouts of good natured humor and high-energy excitement. He was never going to be as vocal as the rest of the apprentices (let alone the always-talking Coil), but he enjoyed the thrill of high-speed leaps across barely adequate supports as much as any of them. The exercise that caused his problem was to climb a wall and run over a rooftop to simulate an assault on a villa. The journeyman assassin, a man named Flint, had led the way with a demonstration that required the use of arms as much as legs. Silence was required, but speed was what separated the winners from the also-rans. Willow, working with some success to stay up with the instructor, scaled up a drain pipe and lunged out to catch the eve of the roof which was covered with terra cotta tiles.

One of which broke off in his hand . . . while he was twenty feet off the ground.

He managed to land on his feet, which might not have been a good idea. At least, landing on his feet without any room to roll and continue to absorb the landing impact was not a good idea. He heard the snap of his lower leg bones even before they started to hurt.

So did Flint.

"Stay there," the instructor commanded. "Don't take the chance on doing any more damage."

Willow just nodded. By now the pain was starting to set in and he didn't particularly want to move anyway. In moments a couple of the apprentices had appeared with a stretcher. In some respects he wasn't surprised to see Coil - who seemed to end up on stretcher duty a lot - but he was a bit surprised to see Knuckles holding up the other end. Not that Willow cared much. It was just something to note, primarily to keep his mind off his leg. Injuries like his - when they occurred on the streets of Orion - usually ended up with cripples, or with festering legs that seemed to consume the injured person from the inside out. That was plenty to think about.

With Flint in the lead, they moved quickly to a doorway exiting the practice ground, and then to a set of stairs leading down. They were moving quickly enough, and the stairs where steep enough, that Willow had to hold onto the sides of the stretcher to keep from falling off, but that was another almost-welcome distraction. His leg was doing all it could to claim his attention, and he was doing all he could to ignore it.

An underground tunnel led into darkness, though Flint had a torch that spilled a bubble of light around them. In a few more minutes they were climbing up another set of stairs and entering a brightly lit atrium within some structure with an architecture unlike any Willow had seen in the Assassin's Guild installation.

And populated with people unlike any he had ever seen.

Well, not entirely. They were clearly women. Though they wore shapeless robes that also hid their faces, there was something about their proportions that said female. However, the robes were in a pale blue color that Willow had never seen before, and he couldn't imagine it remaining so pure and clean in the dirt that pervaded Orion. And they were so . . . fine. So light and soft and flowing that he also couldn't imagine what sort of material could be so delicate. In all his time on the streets of Orion, Willow had never seen anyone wear such impractical clothes. Yet they were beautiful in a way that didn't require tightness or brevity to proclaim the femininity of the wearers. No one in the world of Willow's experience lived a life that would permit such distance from the grind of existence in Orion.

It was almost enough to make him forget his broken leg for a moment. It might be that Coil saw his interest because he twitched his end of the stretcher and that resulting motion brought a groan from Willow that he would just as soon have not shared with the women. With any women, for that matter. Not even the crude sex sellers who had never been nearly as attractive to him as they wanted him to believe.

One of the women, with a posture that was a bit stooped even within the obscuring robes, moved forward with a glide that didn't seem to require separate steps. She took one look at Willow's leg, waved a hand over it in a gesture that he didn't understand but seemed so casual that he wondered if it even had meaning to decipher, and stepped back.

She then said the only words that had been spoken since the group of assassins had emerged in her atrium. "Sister Aria."

At that, one of the other women took a single step forward - well, another glide but it was about the length of a step - then turned down one of the halls spoking out from the atrium. Coil and Knuckles followed, but Flint stayed behind. The soft robes moved into a small room with a constantly flowing stream of water in one corner and some sort of altar laden with things he had never seen, plus other things he thought he did recognize but used in ways he had never imagined. A dagger, for example, stood upright without apparent support, its tip and most of its length surrounded by a slowly flickering green flame. Without a word - there still had not been any words spoken except for the naming of his escort - Coil and Knuckles set the stretcher on the ground and disappeared.

"Clumsy, or unlucky?" a voice asked from within the robes. In contrast to the other speaker whose voice had been roughened with age, this was a bell-toned song of youthful purity.

Willow was about to tell her about the accident, but then he remembered Coil's comment. Again. About pretty young priestesses. Who could be friendly. [Audacity. Always audacity.]

"Maybe neither," he said, trying not to grit his teeth. "Meeting you can't be unlucky, but I don't think I was clumsy."

"You haven't met me yet, fool," she replied, but her tone was too pure to carry any real anger.

She took a blade from the altar and cut away his boot, then his legging. The foot was obviously at the wrong angle and there were . . . bumps under the skin that shouldn't be there.

Once, Willow had seen a street healer set an arm bone on a young boy. The healer had yanked on the boy's hand, which prompted enough of a scream that Willow couldn't say if there was any noise from the setting. However, after a few weeks of wearing a heavy splint, the other kid had seemed to be okay. Except that his wrist wouldn't turn as far as it had before. That was a fairly minor impediment . . . for a street kid. For an assassin? What if Willow's leg never worked correctly again?

Seeing his ankle made him feel sick in a way that even the slash in his leg had not. He tried to steel himself for the pain of resetting the bones, though he couldn't imagine that the slight figure within the robes would have the strength for that.

However, she - Sister Aria - didn't touch his leg once the clothes were out of the way.

"How bad does it hurt?" she asked, then added. "Don't try to be all masculine and tough. I want a true answer."

Willow balanced manliness with truth - despite her order - and in the end tried a compromise that was true . . . if something less than the whole truth. "It hurts," he admitted. "But I'm, um, coping. I can deal with it."

"Believe it or not," the girl said, "we can handle pain as well as broken bones, and in the end it won't hurt. However, this next thing will hurt. A lot. You can yell if you want."

Willow remembered the street healing and tried to ready himself, but the girl still didn't touch his leg. Instead, she took a - well, one of those things he didn't understand - from the altar. At first he thought it was a strange, two-bladed dagger with a small, pointed tang. But then he realized the 'blades' were thick, not sharp. In fact they were almost square.

Instead of using the dagger-thing on him, Sister Aria struck it on the altar. It gave off a clear, single tone that lingered in the air until she moved it to his ankle. Then she set the pointed end of the tang - which wasn't really sharp - on one of the misshapen lumps under the skin.

Willow covered the remaining sound of the ringing fork thing with his own growl. The residual sound of the fork seemed to drill into his leg like a white-hot poker, yet at the same time it spread out with fingers of buzzing pain that raced up his leg and nearly caused him to snap himself off the stretcher when the internal shriek reached his hips.

"Holy . . . god," he panted after a moment. "Sorry about that."

"Goddess," she corrected. "And you have nothing to be sorry about. I told you it would hurt."

Thankfully, she put the forked thing back on the altar. Then she surprised him again by reaching to her own head and removing her veil and hood.

"Holy God . . . um, Goddess. You're beautiful!" he blurted out.




"Thank you," she said, blushing prettily. True to her voice she was young - maybe even as young as Willow himself.

Despite the recent and still-remembered pain from his leg, Willow said, "Yes. Definitely my lucky day."

Chapter 3 - "Musical"

The girl smiled at his comment but didn't say anything. She drew herself up to stand very straight, with her hands clasped in front of her robes. Then she closed her eyes and, apparently, did nothing.

After what seemed like a very long moment - Willow's leg was back to its 'normal' level of pain, but even that was more than enough to make the moment seem to drag on forever - she opened her mouth and released a clear, pure tone that was surprisingly deep for her small frame. The tone modulated into a slow, patient melody and - amazingly - Willow's leg started to hurt less. In fact, after a moment, it seemed not even to be there, as numb as any time it had fallen asleep (just before the pins and needles started).

Then it was even more amazing when the girl started to sing a different, higher sequence . . . without stopping the low tones. Willow had never heard anyone sing two notes at the same time before. The higher tones were quicker, sharper, and more forceful somehow. They weren't really louder, but it seemed as though she were 'pushing' her voice.

Willow was so fascinated by her appearance, so calm and seemingly at peace yet at the same time concentrating so intensely, that at first he didn't realize something was going on within his ankle. It didn't hurt. In fact, he still felt hardly anything at all, but there was something . . .

He looked down and saw the bumps moving under his skin. They seemed to flow back into the interior of his leg. At the same time, his foot was straightening to align with his leg and it seemed to grow to be a little longer, which Willow realized was the way it should be.

Sister Aria must have sung for five minutes, and as best Willow could tell she never even took a breath. She just sang her two-toned, two-rhythm melodies, her eyes closed and looking so serene it was as though no time were passing at all.

After whatever the time interval really was, her voice changed again, this time dropping the lower toned sequence. When she did so, her eyes opened to look directly at Willow's face. He was staring at her, but it wasn't because of a need to focus to counter the pain. In fact, as she opened her eyes he realized he could feel his leg again . . . but that it didn't hurt. She continued her higher-tone melody while reaching again for the metal fork. Willow winced when she struck it, bracing for the shooting pains again, but this time when she touched it to his leg all he felt was a dull buzz, plus just the single point of pressure where the tang touched his skin.

As the tone died from the fork, Sister Aria let her own voice fade away so slowly that he wasn't entirely sure when it actually ended.

"You've never been here before, have you?" she asked.

"Um, no," he said. "I'm, um, kinda new to the guild."

"How new?"

Willow shrugged. "I've sorta lost track of time. I think it's been about a month."

"And this is your first time here?" she said again. "Then I guess you're not clumsy. Unless . . . do you have any other injuries?"

Willow grimaced, then grinned wryly. "Oh, yeah," he sighed. "Mostly just scrapes and bruises, though."

"Mostly? Since you're here, I can fix anything else."

Willow thought again about the stitched-up gash in his leg. It wasn't too bad. One of the other students had cut the stitches out a few days before, but there was still a ridge that was either tenderness or a scar. It didn't hurt so much as 'pull' sometimes.

However, it was pretty far up on his leg. Much further, and he might have lost any reason to appreciate a girl as pretty as Sister Aria. It made him blush and look away rather than answer.

She laughed; a clear shower of sparkling light every bit as pure in tone as her singing. Then she stopped abruptly and gasped . . . followed in turn by a grin entirely too earthy for her angelic appearance.

"Oh my Goddess," she said. "A broken leg is not your only first, is it?"

"What?"

Aria smiled and began to unwrap the folds of her robes. "You've never been with a girl, have you?"

Willow blushed so brightly that any other answer would have been a waste of breath.

"Well," Aria continued, "that is something I can help you with as well."

"But . . . you're a priestess!"

"Yes . . . but no one said we were a celibate order," she said, "and sharing myself with a virgin will more than repay the energy I spent."

It had been a very strange day for Willow, but he had smart to sell. He was certainly smart enough to start removing the rest of his own clothes and if he showed more haste than Aria, it was clear her enthusiasm was nearly a match for his own.

"I'm a bard; was that clear to you?" she asked as they were moving into position. "I heal with song. And . . . I know . . . many songs."

After the first time, and for Willow it truly was the first time, he found out that cuddling was an important part of being with a girl. Aria clearly thought so, moving under his arm without hesitation. She snuggled closer and slowly twirled one hand in his hair.

"Your hair is almost as long as mine," she observed. "Most men, particularly in the Assassins Guild, keep it short."

Willow nodded. "No sense giving an opponent a handle to yank you around. I've heard that a lot."

"So why is yours long?"

"The guild master told me not to cut it."

"Why not?"

"I don't know," Willow replied. "I don't get a lot of explanations."

Aria nodded, then moved her hand down to explore other areas. Just about the time she got to one of the more interesting sites, she saw the ridge of scar on his leg.

"Oh, let me fix that for you."

"I'm okay. And you've done so much for me already," Willow protested.

Aria smiled and said, "Oh, you'll pay me back."

She started another song. It was like, yet unlike her other songs. Willow couldn't quite grasp the melody. He couldn't describe it and he knew he couldn't sing it (as if he could sing anyway) or whistle it, or hum it. Somehow, it just didn't stick in his memory, though he knew as she sang that there were repeating elements so there was a real melody and structure.

His concentration on her song distracted him from the realization that the red ridge was vanishing from his leg as though it were water vanishing into the air on a hot day. In a few moments, she was finished.

"Do you have any other problems?" she asked again.

Willow blushed, but he grinned as well. "Um, maybe I should . . . pay for that treatment first?"

Aria laughed and kissed him, but she drew back. "No, I'm serious. Is there anything at all?"

"Not really," Willow said. "I mean, certainly nothing that is guild related."

Aria poked him in the ribs to get him to continue, then let her fingers lightly dance over the still-prominent rib-bone shapes in a threatened tickle.

He grinned again and slapped her hand away . . . gently. He wasn't sure what would happen if he actually tried to use his strength on her, even in a playful way. But at her sharp expression he sighed.

"It's silly, but I've got a tooth that aches sometimes."

"Oh," Aria said, then smiled. "Oh, well, I did offer."

She stood up and clasped her hands before her midsection again. It was the same pose of her first healing, though doing it nude certainly made it seem different to Willow. What was also different was the tone. For the first time, her voice had a . . . burr in it, a whine that sounded like the world's angriest mosquito. And he felt that whine resonate in his teeth, particularly the one that was bothering him. It hurt worse than when she had fixed his leg - not worse than the first bit with the fork thing, but during the real healing. But it wasn't so bad that he couldn't stand it and somehow the pain seemed to be part of the treatment, as though it were right that he paid a price for his tooth problem.

It wasn't long (thankfully!) before she finished. Willow ran his tongue over the tooth and it seemed smooth and strong, so whatever she did was effective. And whatever he did for her seemed to be effective as well, because after she healed his tooth, she let him 'pay' for her service. Several times.

She had a song for that, too.

When Willow returned to the Assassin's compound he was limping a bit. But it wasn't because his ankle still hurt. It was because his half-boot wouldn't close correctly without laces and he was trying to keep it on his foot with a semi-shuffle to his walk. His cut-up legging also flapped around his ankle so he wasn't demonstrating the soundless flow assassins were supposed to practice.

Not that he cared. The one still-stiff part of him was his face, frozen into a smile so broad he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to frown again.

Not that he cared about that, either.

The priestesses had summoned some sort of glowing ball of light to escort him home, telling him it was only good for ten minutes. That was enough to get him through the tunnel and back to the assassins' compound. From there he went straight to the dormitory to get new clothes and a lace for his boot. Conveniently it was just about time for the evening meal so the dorm was empty. Not surprisingly - as drained as he felt - he was ravenous so he joined the dinner as quickly as he could.

"Hey, Willow, over here!" he heard as he entered the dining hall. It was, not surprisingly, Coil. But others whom he considered friends were smiling and waving him over as well.

"So," Coil continued, "first time injured and you get Sister Aria! I knew you were special!" He interrupted himself to laugh, then continued, "Though I still can't tell why."

Willow just kept smiling. Well, that and eating a bigger meal than he had been allowing himself so far. He didn't figure it would make him sick, and he had earned it. At least, Sister Aria had been smiling when he left, too. It may have been that his . . . input re-energized her in some way. If so, she was welcome to all of his energy that she wanted. God . . . Goddess knew he felt tired enough. But it was worth it.

The others shared their own experiences with the priestesses of Angitia. Some of them claimed time with Sister Aria, but some of their details didn't seem right to Willow. Not that he contradicted them. He just smiled and smiled. The stories became more and more outrageous, including even adventures with Lady Angitia herself (the high priestess, not the actual goddess), and even Willow ended up laughing along with the others at some of the creative imaginations.

What he did learn was that the priestesses had a variety of skills. Apparently, Sister Aria was one of few bards, but there were some who were expert at 'laying on of hands' (which was the source of a lot of stories). Some were potion mixers and according to the claims some of the potions started out as the venom of poisonous snakes but were somehow changed into healing elixirs. Some were seers who could diagnose what caused a medical problem even if others had to fix it. Apparently, the Lady Angitia was one of those, which is why she passed her hand over Willow when he first showed up in her temple. She also had some skill with laying on of hands, but now she used her skills primarily to identify problems and then assign them to the most-appropriate priestess.

The young men enjoyed their meal and their conversations, unaware that they were being watched by three men at the head table.

"It appears your new apprentice is fitting in well, Cestus," Vorpal observed to the solid man at his side.

"He's hardly my apprentice," Cestus countered. "It's clear that he takes after your skill set, not mine."

A voice intruded from the depths of a cowled robe. "Actually, he might have more potential than that."

The speaker was the third man at the head table. There was no sense that the man was hiding within his hooded clothes. He sat tall at his seat and his voice was strong and sure. It was as though he felt it would disturb others if he showed his true face - a sense of politeness rather than furtiveness that motivated his secrecy.

"You think so, Eidolon?" Vorpal asked, but it was asked so dryly that it was clear the guild leader wasn't really questioning the cowled man.

And Eidolon obviously knew the question was not serious, for he didn't answer. Instead he asked a question of his own. "How is his training progressing?"

"Good," Vorpal answered. "He has not really been tried, of course. We've had others who showed the required skills and agility, yet could not apply them as we required."

"When were you planning to try him?" Eidolon asked.

Cestus answered before Vorpal had a chance. "Well, he's obviously a grown man now," the thick man said with a laugh. "No one has been at the Temple for that long since . . . well, me!"

"Quite," Vorpal replied, prompting another laugh from Cestus.

After a moment, Vorpal shrugged. "Actually, I've been trying to discover some of his background. Apparently he lived on the streets for seven or eight years, which is impressive. I have a feeling he didn't make it that long without the need for a few, ah, applications of the skills we train for here."

"He had a broken dagger when he arrived," Cestus reported. "He had sharpened it back to a reasonable point, and fixed the handle as well. That shows a lot of commitment to the weapon."

"Do you know if he used it for attacks? Robbing someone?" asked Eidolon.

"Not so far as we can find out," Vorpal answered. "He stole things - that was basically how he survived - but never with, um, active violence."

From within his cowl, Eidolon turned his attention on Willow - or at least, on those seated in that area. Any closer projection of the hidden man's line of sight was obscured by the covering folds. After a moment, the man said, "He has fought. He has wounded others . . . but not killed. And he has . . . not attacked first. His aura is innocent, yet not weak."

His cowl turned back toward the others. "He may be the one we want. He has the other attribute we require."

"So, you're sure he's not a magic user," Vorpal said to make that completely clear.

"Yes," Eidolon said. "Even after a time with a bard - a very emotional time, as we expected - there is no trace of awakened magic potential. He can be affected, but he will never be active."

The hidden man's voice took on a surprisingly playful turn. "So tell me, Vorpal, did you fix that tile so it would break?"

"No," the leader answered.

"You could have," Eidolon pressed.

Vorpal nodded without any hint of defensiveness. "Yes. We've done enough tasks where some sort of arranged accident was part of the commission. It would have been easy enough to rig. However, I knew I wouldn't need it. Though he's only been here a few weeks, Willow has demonstrated good skill in agility and in working with available supports, such as buildings. I'm sure he was doing a lot of that before he came there - probably escaping our own guards after petty robberies. However, his skill is not yet tempered with judgment. He's rash and aggressive and I knew it would only be a matter of time before he pushed too hard."

Cestus smirked and said, "Perhaps not. If I'd have known it would get me an afternoon with Sister Aria, I might have broken that tile deliberately. He might have pushed just the right amount."

"Sister Aria is young enough to be your daughter," Vorpal said.

"And your point is . . ?" Cestus countered with another laugh.

The lean man just smiled and shook his head. In a moment, he looked back at the table of young men. "It would appear he'll be able to meet our other criteria as well."

"Perhaps," Cestus said quietly. "Despite eating well, he hasn't bulked up so he'll still have the body type we need."

"Quite," Vorpal agreed.

"So, what's the next step?" Cestus asked.

"It's already underway," Vorpal replied. "He's been tracking Candle."

"What?" Eidolon said, clearly unhappy with that statement. "No one is supposed to know where the special students go. Not unless he's one of them."

Vorpal nodded. "And if he's one with those skills, he would already have been singled out and told to join you. I know that. However, Willow is curious as well as aggressive. And smart. He recognized that Candle was different from the first day. I knew he would do something to satisfy his curiosity when I didn't answer his questions."

"What has he been doing?" Eidolon asked.

"So far, just observing. He follows, but very discreetly and only for a few moments. However, after Candle has gone on - sometimes several hours later - Willow will go back to where he lost Candle and look around. Then the next day he just 'happens' to be somewhere that allows him to follow Candle a bit further. He has patience to temper his aggressiveness."

"How far has he gotten?" Eidolon persisted.

"Far enough that tomorrow - or perhaps the next day - he'll reach the portal."

"And then?" asked the cowled man.

"Then I'll be waiting for him," Vorpal said. "It will be time to introduce him to the deeper parts of our guild."

"Are you going to tell him the mission we have in mind for him?" Cestus asked in surprise.

"No," Vorpal said. "I'm just going to admit that there are deeper elements to the guild, and ask him if he's interested."

"He will be," Cestus said firmly.

"Of course," Vorpal agreed.

"And will you tell him that he doesn't have the talent for the shadow arts?" asked Eidolon.

"Not yet," Vorpal said. "That will have to wait until we think he's ready for the part he has to play . . . if ever."

"So, that brings us back to the beginning," Cestus observed. "When are you going to try him on an actual mission?"

"I'm not sure," Vorpal admitted.

Eidolon's cowl swung back toward the young men. "I wonder . . . we may not want to do that."

"Why not?" asked Vorpal.

"It would be foolish to assume that potential adversaries have no perceptives. If I can read his aura enough to see that he has never killed, then so will they."

"But your illusions are supposed to hide that," Vorpal countered.

"Yes," Eidolon said, "and they should. However, the less we have to hide, the easier it will be. The question is: Can we trust him to complete the mission if it is his first death task?"

"Hmm," Vorpal mused. "That is not our normal practice, but . . . you think it might be necessary?"

"Necessary?" Eidolon repeated. "Perhaps not, but it may be prudent."

With that, the cowled man stood and made it clear he was about to leave. "Or it may be the most foolish thing we've ever done."

True to Vorpal's prediction, Willow was ready the next day when Candle disappeared . . . literally, and right before his eyes.

Willow just 'happened' to be traversing a corridor with a view toward the place where he had last lost track of Candle, and just 'happened' to be doing it at the exact time that Candle reached the key intersection. The otherworldly apprentice turned down a short corridor that dead-ended into a blank wall.

Then he walked through the wall.

Since the other apprentice had not seemed to perform any arcane gestures or say anything when he vanished, Willow decided he'd see if he could do the same trick. When he reached the wall, he touched it with his hand - and felt nothing. So he stepped through the wall to find yet another corridor . . . and Vorpal.

The guild leader didn't say anything. In fact, he didn't even show any surprise or concern at Willow's appearance. He just looked at him, nodded once, then turned to follow the still-visible Candle. They didn't follow the other apprentice far. Just a few steps down the corridor Vorpal led them into a side room arranged as a small sitting room. Still without a word the leader took one of the seats.

[So, manners or audacity? Not a hard choice,] thought Willow. Without a word of his own - including any sort of request for permission - he took one of the other seats.

To his surprise and, after a moment, growing concern, Vorpal still said nothing. After a time that seemed very long but was probably on two or three minutes, another guild member - someone Willow didn't know - brought in a tray with some light refreshments.

[This is one time when I'm not going with audacity,] Willow decided. [God . . . or Goddess only knows what's in that pitcher.]

There might have been a hint of a smile on Vorpal's face, but Willow decided it was as likely what he saw was due to his own wishful thinking as a true expression. Nonetheless, after a moment Vorpal poured two glasses of what was revealed to be wine, setting them both equal distance from the two men.

"You mentioned when we talked that you expected there were more tools in our guild toolbox than just clubs and knives. What did you have in mind?" the guild leader finally spoke - with no explanation, of course.

"Apparently not enough," Willow replied. "Well . . ," he paused, looking at the glasses of wine, ". . . I mean, there are poisons. And if anyone knows about them . . ."

"And that's not enough?" prodded Vorpal.

"I didn't expect magic," Willow admitted. "Though, after my time at the Temple of Angitia I should have expected something."

"Quite," Vorpal said flatly. "That is actually pertinent. By an agreement older than recorded history, the Assassin's Guild and our competitors are forbidden to practice direct magic - magic that actually affects the physical world. That sort of magic is reserved to the House of Angitia, who use it only for healing."

"And no one would break that rule?" Willow asked with a hint of disdain he couldn't keep out of his voice. When Vorpal did not continue his explanation - if he even intended to - Willow added, "I mean, if people are willing to go to war - to kill hundreds of men and then ravage innocent civilians - what difference do 'rules' make?"

At this, Vorpal gave a small nod. "Perhaps nothing, except this rule is backed by the firm insistence of the House of Angitia. They will not heal anyone who breaks it, nor any group that includes them. Entire nations have been put under the proscript for a single wizard's transgression."

"Ah, well, that would make a difference," Willow said. When Vorpal did not continue, he thought for a moment, then said, "You said that only the House of Angitia uses direct magic. That leaves, um, indirect magic. Illusions? Like the wall that wasn't really there?"

Vorpal nodded again. "Though perhaps it might be better to call them hallucinations because they can include sound and touch and smell and seem very real."

"Real enough to kill? Like, um, making someone think there was a dagger in his heart? Complete with pain? That could kill." But even as Willow said that, he was shaking his own head. "No, that would probably be too close to the proscribed magic. But . . . you could scare someone to death . . ."

Vorpal continued his normal practice of non-responsiveness. Or did he? Was there a slight frown, a tiny crease between his brows?

"Apparently not," Willow said, claiming credit for noting Vorpal's expression . . . or what he took to be an expression. "So there are limitations to the illusions. I don't have enough information to determine those."

"Quite," Vorpal agreed. "There are limits. The mind has to believe, since there is no underlying reality. If the disconnect between the real world and the illusion is too great, then the illusion breaks down."

Willow nodded, then shrugged to signify a shift in topic. "So, am I being considered as a candidate for this third group in the guild?"

"No," Vorpal said flatly. "But Candle is. So stop following him. It was expected that you would try to find out about the inner workings of the guild. You have. Do not try again."

Willow sighed, but nodded. He stood when Vorpal stood, but as the guild leader turned to leave he asked a final question. "Why don't you want me to cut my hair?"

The lean assassin stopped for just a moment, looking at the young apprentice from head to toe. But he said nothing and moved out of the anteroom. When Willow followed him, the older man was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter 4 - "Personal"

For the next month, nothing happened. At least, nothing that was connected to the conversation with Vorpal. Willow trained every day in blades and agility. He might not have been the best of the apprentices overall, let alone as good as the journeymen, but he was certainly among the best at agility. And the speed and quickness - not quite the same thing - that made him so agile were enough to keep his own blood off the sand more often than not in the frequent mini-duels that were the way progress was measured in blade training. His best tactic was a blindingly-quick strike from a casual rest position though he knew he relied too much on surprise, having donated blood too often once the duel was underway and his opponent was fully prepared.

But even that grew old. When most of that month had passed, Willow was actively - though guiltily - considering some sort of accident to warrant another trip to the House of Angitia. Then he had another concern. Coil got a mission.

One of the journeymen assassins that Willow barely knew pulled Coil out of a training session and led him away. That had happened a few times before for other apprentices, but this time it was different. This time it was Coil.

Willow watched them walk away, then came to a decision.

["It's time for a little audacity,"] he decided. Willow didn't know how things were in the shoulder-to-shoulder group led by Cestus, but in the blades-and-agility group there didn't seem to be any major penalties for just . . . doing something. The lack of rules and explanations seemed almost deliberate, leaving the apprentices room to demonstrate initiative. And there were a lot of things he hadn't been told not to do.

For example, he had never been told not to go into the leadership room where he had first met Vorpal . . .

Willow left the practice area, but his first stop was back in the barracks where he took a bath and dressed in clean clothes. He kept his blades - all of them - but showed only the ancient repaired dagger when he entered the busy command center. Walking directly up to Vorpal, he waited for the guild leader to finish a few terse orders to those surrounding him.

Then, not surprisingly, Vorpal said nothing. His face showed nothing. Only his eyes, focusing with typical intensity, demonstrated that he was not only aware of Willow's presence, but ready to address the uninvited interruption.

"Coil got a mission today," Willow said. As this was self-evident, Vorpal felt no need to respond.

"I beat him on the agility courses all of the time, and his blood stains the arena floor more often than mine when we spar."

Again, the leader felt no need to respond to another statement that was nothing more than the truth.

"Why was he chosen instead of me?" Willow asked, finally getting to a question.

"Are you challenging my judgment?" Vorpal asked, and while his tone was neutral there was lurking menace even in the quiet words.

"No, sir, I'm not," Willow said. "But if there is something more that I need to do to become qualified for a guild mission, then I want to know what it is so that I can achieve it."

"You believe you are already qualified," Vorpal observed.

Willow reflected on his plan to be audacious . . . and felt it melting away as Vorpal inspected him with a strange combination of intensity and impassivity. Willow felt as though the guild leader were looking directly into his soul, yet nothing came back from those piercing eyes.

"I . . . don't know what else I need to do to become qualified," Willow finally said.

Vorpal said nothing. A small gesture sent those who were waiting on his attention to the group around Cestus instead. Another gesture seemed to invite Willow to follow him, though it had the effect of pulling the cowled Eidolon as well. There were still no words as the three men walked from the busy room, nor any as they moved directly but without haste to the false wall through which Willow had once followed Candle.

Only when they were on the other side of the wall did anyone speak, and to Willow's surprise it was not Vorpal.

Eidolon's voice floated from the depths of his cowl with an apparently irrelevant question. "Why did the Norther army invade Orion?"

Though it was possible that the question was not directed at him - after all, it was never obvious where Eidolon's attention was focused - Willow blurted out an instinctive, bitter response. "Because they are mother-murdering scum from the sewers of hell."

"There are many bands of marauders who fit that description," Eidolon said, his voice showing neither impatience nor censure for Willow's words. "Why did a Norther *army* invade Orion?"

Before Willow could answer, Vorpal asked, "Are you aware that all of the leaders of the Norther army from the time when they invaded are dead?"

Willow shrugged. "I have heard rumors of that, though the rumors do not say that all of them were killed. Some were old, some were . . . some led lives of dissipation. If you are claiming that the Assassin's guild killed them because they led an invasion against us . . . well, it would be convenient to take credit for, ah, natural events."

A deeper message lurked in Eidolon's voice when he spoke. "Of course. Why leave the rumors so vague?"

["Another test,"] Willow sighed - though only internally. "If no one - no adversary, anyway - knew exactly what the Assassin's Guild could do, then the fear would be enhanced."

"Quite," Vorpal said. "But you never answered the question. Why did a Norther *army* invade Orion?"

Willow heard the emphasis on 'army' in Vorpal's voice, and realized it had been there in Eidolon's voice as well. ["What makes an army different than - what did he say? - a 'band of marauders?' They're better organized, and . . . they are . . . official? They are acting on behalf of the Norther nation?"]

"I don't know," he finally said.

"Quite," Vorpal said again. But instead of answering the question that Willow could not, he asked another, "What lies beyond Norther territory?"

"Ice," Willow said.

"And to the east of their territory?" Vorpal asked.

Willow had seen some maps that the market merchants used to tell where their products came from . . . hopefully they were right. "I think there is a country called, um, Torrent? Or Rapids? I've seen it both ways, I think."

Eidolon's voice approved. "Both are equally valid translations of their own name for their land in the ancient tongue no one uses any more. It is not a fruitful land, except in two ways. They mine ores for various metals, and they raise very capable warriors. The Norther Territory was forced either to fight Torrent as they began to expand, or to invade Orion to obtain weapons and other materials to deter the expansion. They chose us as the lesser danger."

After a pause to give his words effect, he added, "They chose poorly."

"Perhaps," Vorpal said, not so much contradicting Eidolon as offering a further dimension to the issue. "The leaders were lost in either case. Torrent never lets enemy leaders live, perhaps to raise another army against them. They might have been willing to sacrifice themselves in order to get food - and loot - for their people."

"Perhaps," Eidolon's voice allowed.

Though Willow had been listening intently, his mind had been racing with the implications of the comments from those who led his guild. Perhaps it was another test, to see if he could go beyond their comments. Or perhaps he was just used to being the smartest kid in the room and had to show it. In any event, he made a guess that seemed likely.

"So, you are saving me for a mission to assassinate the next round of Norther leaders, or . . . ? No! You want me to go after the Torrent leaders before they push Norther Territory into another invasion."

"Not quite," Vorpal said. If he were pleased at Willow's guess it did not show, but his partial agreement seemed approval enough. "Torrent is led by a council of elders who are basically impregnable. They respect our capabilities, even if the Northers did not. We could kill a few, perhaps even half of their members, but there are twenty men willing to take every opening."

"Then I am confused," Willow admitted.

"They appoint a war leader when they deploy their army. The current war leader is the son of one of their elders, a fairly young man named 'Modi.' He is also well protected, but there is one way in which he might be vulnerable."

"Ah, and so this war leader is my target?" Willow said.

"Yes . . . and no," Eidolon said, and despite the muffling effect of the cowl Willow had a sense of something . . . guilt? . . . something in his voice.

Vorpal looked directly at Willow, waiting until the younger man's attention was fully captured by the leader's intense eyes. "Just how much are you willing to do to accomplish a guild mission?"

"Whatever it takes," Willow answered reflexively. After a moment to think, he went beyond the expected reflex. "Against those who caused the Norther invasion that killed my mother and destroyed my life? I would do whatever it takes."

"Personally?" Vorpal asked.

Willow actually grinned as he realized that Vorpal had remembered their first meeting. "For them and for me," he confirmed.

As though that were some sort of threshold that had been passed, Eidolon gestured toward a small sitting area, already holding tea and small cakes. He busied himself for a moment with the duties of a host, not asking how Willow took his tea but getting it perfect nonetheless. This did not lead to a more relaxed feeling for Willow. Whatever they were preparing him for could only be . . . disturbing.

Finally, Eidolon spoke. "The Torrent leaders think they have found the perfect defense against attacks by our guilds. It uses our own strengths against us - or so they believe."

Vorpal took up the narrative. "Our greatest strength is actually not our strength at all. It is the healing power of the Temple of Angitia. It allows us, our guild, to be fearless knowing that anything that does not kill us - and quickly - can be overcome without residual effect. However, it comes with a price."

"The Temple of Angitia," Eidolon said, "will not treat with any killing organization - guild, army, or band of marauders - which allows women to be warriors. It is fundamental to their creed, and for all we know may be connected in some way to their source of power. And of course they will not use their skills to kill, nor even to cause deliberate harm."

"And so, the elders and the war leaders of Torrent allow no men near them who are not well known to them. So well known that even an illusion would not be effective," Eidolon continued.

"So they know about your - I mean, our - powers of illusion?" asked Willow.

"Not fully," Eidolon said. "But they have heard rumors. It is enough to cause them to take precautions. Precautions that have - so far - been effective."

"So far?" repeated Willow.

"Can you put it together?" challenged Vorpal.

Willow had continued to think frantically even as he tried to be part of the conversation. If no women could kill, and only women could get close to the war leader . . . An illusion?

"If you're going to use an illusion to make me appear as a woman, why tell me not to cut my hair?" he asked.

"It won't be simple," Eidolon said, nothing in his tone showing approval for Willow's correct recognition of the plan. Though a direct answer was a form of approval. "That is one of the reasons we asked you not to cut your hair. The greater the . . . correlation between reality and illusion, the stronger the illusion. If, for example, a gust of wind blows and your hair does not move correctly because the illusion is not perfectly sensitive to wind, then the illusion starts to break down. The same applies if what appears to be a slender, graceful woman treads on a stair with the weight of a 200-pound man."

"And I'm an agile, but very thin, man," Willow said resignedly.

He sighed and looked away from his two companions, ignoring for a moment their much-higher status within the guild. There was nothing where his gaze rested - nothing visible to the external world, in any event.

Finally he looked back, "You're sure that the reason the Northers invaded was because Torrent pushed them into it?"

Vorpal nodded.

"Just . . . um . . . how far would I need to go to . . . gain admittance? I mean, would I have to . . .?"

"I don't know," Vorpal admitted bluntly. "As I'm sure you've realized, the only transient women who are admitted to Modi's presence are, ah, entertainers."

"'Entertainers,'" Willow repeated, wincing. He sighed, then frowned. "Just how far does this illusion go? I mean . . . what will I be able to, um, do?"

"It will be quite effective," Eidolon promised. "Again, the correlation is important. If you act like a woman, then the subject's mind will . . . correct any problems with the perception. If, on the other hand, you act, ah, strangely, then the subject will begin to look for a reason for the strangeness. That could be a problem."

"'A problem,'" Willow repeated. "Like the basic situation wouldn't already be a problem."

He stared off into nothing for another few moments, then sighed again. "Very well."

"Just that?" Vorpal asked. "No further questions?"

"Oh, I've got a cart load of questions," Willow said. "But you've told me that I will probably need to prostitute myself with a man - maybe more than one. In the end, any further questions are just details. I ask just one thing . . ."

"Yes?" the guild leader prompted.

"Oh, I guess I have two things, now that I think about it. First, don't tell anyone. Don't tell Coil, or, um, Sister Aria what I . . . agreed to do."

Vorpal nodded, his eyes offering Willow the chance for his second condition.

"And, whether my mission succeeds or not, stop the Northers before they . . . before they kill any more mothers and leave any more children as orphans."

"I can't promise that," Vorpal said gravely. "But I will promise you that we will strike their leaders *before* rather than after they invade. In fact, plans for that are already underway. However, we don't know just how close to invading they are, because we don't know just how hard Torrent is pushing them. We feel it is necessary to give your mission time to succeed before we take action against the Northers. So, in part, the success of our pre-emptive strike against the Northers is up to you."

Willow nodded. He looked at nothing for another long moment, then sighed and looked directly at Eidolon - or at least at Eidolon's cowl, and said, "I guess we should begin, then."

Eidolon nodded, but he did not move from his seat. "What is the most important thing about the preparation for your mission?"

"Learning how to act like a woman," Willow said.

"No, on several levels," Eidolon disagreed, "though at least you did not say learning to 'look' like a woman. However, the most important thing about the preparation phase is that it remain secret. If Torrent ever even guesses that we are preparing a 'female' assassin then success becomes impossible. Next question: What is the most effective step for keeping a secret?"

"Not telling anyone," Willow said with a snort. "Like I would ever want to admit to anyone what I was doing."

"Actually, the most important step for keeping a secret is not to let anyone know there is a secret being kept," Eidolon countered again. "In particular, we can't have you disappearing on mysterious tasks with no explanation."

"So," Vorpal picked up the narrative. "You are going to be assigned to a mission tomorrow. Follow the journeyman who summons you. But don't talk with him about the mission. He won't even know. Once he escorts you to the illusion portal, he will leave for a mission of his own."

Willow nodded, though he frowned. Turning to Eidolon, he said, "You said that learning to act like a woman was not the most important issue 'on several levels.' One is about keeping it a secret. I see that. What else is more important than acting - or looking - like a woman?"

"You need to learn to *think* like a woman," Eidolon said. "In fact, the psychological will be more important than the physical in many ways."

Willow nodded again, though he continued to frown. His agreement was more on understanding the words than on understanding the meaning behind them, but he knew that the guild leaders understood that. "So, understanding the mental elements is where we begin?"

"Yes and no," Eidolon said, unhelpfully. However, Willow thought - perhaps he just imagined - that there was a bit of humor in the voice that emerged from the cowl.

Vorpal's face was displayed, though there was little communication in what was shown there, except . . . was there just the faintest bit of a smile in his eyes?

The guild leader's voice was serious enough to dispel any hint of humor, though. "Do you have any wounds from your duels?"

"A few minor scratches," Willow said. "The scars are small and don't inconvenience me. I only have one place with stitches at this time."

"I think that we will need to have those taken care of," Vorpal said, and though his voice continued with serious judgment, there was definitely something dancing in his eyes. "I believe a visit to Lady Angitia is in order . . . and in particular, to Sister Aria."

Willow couldn't keep the smile off his own face, not that he tried very hard. Eidolon stood, bringing the mini-meeting to an end. Reaching inside his hooded cloak, he brought out a sealed message.

"Take this to the Temple of Angitia," he ordered.

["Has he been carrying that message around waiting for me to step forward?"] wondered Willow. ["Or did he have some way to tell that today would be the day? Maybe giving Coil a mission was more than it seemed . . . Another test?"]

A non-emergency visit to the Temple of Angitia preceded about one in five apprentice mission assignments, so it wasn't that unusual for Willow to be sent there. It was, however, almost always the precursor to an assignment so the adverse impact of Coil's mission on Willow's reputation among the apprentices (let alone his own self-image) was eliminated as he once again bathed and selected clean clothes. As was traditional, he didn't say anything about his task but the sealed message left on his bunk while he cleaned himself up was as good as a shout. Yet, as was also traditional, the other apprentices pretended not to notice except for a few smirking grins and a couple of pats on the back.

When he arrived in the entrance chamber of the Temple of Angitia there were several priestesses there, including the Lady Angitia temple matron. And Sister Aria. Without a word, Lady Angitia held out her hand for the message. After Willow surrendered it, she read it and then handed it to Sister Aria. If there were any sort of smile on the matron's face, Willow couldn't detect it through the masking robes, but the younger sister couldn't entire hide a bit of bounce in the usually smooth glide of her steps. She said nothing though, only motioning Willow toward a corridor spoking off from the central chamber.

Sister Aria's silence didn't last long. As soon as they were within a treatment room, she closed the door and started to take off her clothes. "So, you finally got an assignment."

Willow didn't say anything. He didn't hesitate to take off his own clothes, though.

"I know, I know," Sister Aria said with a laugh. "You Guild men have your little secrets."

["She thinks of me as a Guild man,"] Willow thought happily. Of course, his most undeniable demonstration of manhood was more than obvious. He would happily have joined with her before anything else, but Sister Aria held up a hand to stop him while she read the note.

"So, let me guess . . . you're going on some sort of assignment that includes swimming? Are you a good swimmer?"

"I, um, don't know what you're talking about," he said.

"Right. Another secret," she said with a theatrical sigh, though her eyes still smiled. "This note requests that we clean up all the scars and blemishes on your skin, making it as smooth as possible. And it also asks if we can inhibit your body hair. That sounds like swimming to me."

"If you say so," Willow said distractedly. He hadn't known about the body hair request. It made sense, of course, though not in the way she imagined.

Sister Aria frowned for a moment. "It doesn't say anything about the hair on your head. Am I supposed to get rid of that, too?"

"No!" Willow said quickly, then he calmed down and said, "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to remove that. My, um, mission won't only be swimming."

"Ah, of course," she said. She studied his now-revealed form for a moment. "You're actually looking pretty good now. When you first came here you looked like you were starving; just a bag of bones. Some of the thin guys transform into a bag of rocks - all angles and knobs - when they get some food and exercise, but you look pretty . . . good. More, um, sleek than lumpy. Particularly on your legs and arms. Are you worried about looking less, um, manly?"

"Not really," he said with an honest sigh. ["Things will get a lot worse than that."]

"Good for you," she said. "Some men are very sensitive about that sort of thing - particularly the ones that aren't hulking behemoths to begin with. But I thought you would be more secure in your, ah, identity than that."

"I guess so," he said.

Aria reached for one of the esoteric items on the table in the little room, but she leaned close to Willow before she used it. Whispering, she said, "Besides, I like the sleek and smooth look."

With that incentive, Willow would have agreed even without the mission imperative. In fact, with the pretty - and nude - Aria leaning close to him, he would have agreed to just about anything.

Sister Aria had prepared a young Assassin's Guild apprentice on other occasions. In each case, it had been before a mission - which was understood. But what most of her clients didn't know was that the special preparations available in the Temple of Angitia, preparations beyond just healing injuries, preparations requested in written notes instead of sensed damage, were only provided to those going on particularly hazardous missions. She had very seldom seen one again. Very seldom. When she realized what this sort of assignment meant she had decided to make the apprentices who visited her have a 'last night' as memorable as she could provide. She was sure that Lady Angitia knew what she was doing, and approved. She was pretty sure that the leaders of the Assassin's Guild knew as well, and their competitors, but it didn't really matter what they thought of her. She'd make sure the young men had sweet memories to take with them.

Even if, in her austere, private cell, she cried for them after they left.

Chapter 5 - "Invisible"

True to the warning, Willow was selected for a mission the next day. Of course, no one said that it was for a mission. But one of the journeyman assassins approached him on the practice field and, without a word, gestured for him to follow. Since the journeyman was Fumious, who was known to be selected by Vorpal for 'special' missions, that didn't hurt Willow's standing among his peers at all.

Fumious was almost stocky enough to be one of the armored contingent like Cestus, and was made even more distinctive by his brick-red hair and almost-matching skin. He was hardly one to blend into a crowd, yet he moved with an economy of effort that reflected training by Vorpal. Willow knew from sessions on the practice ground that he was instant death with any manner of weapons or just his bare hands so there wasn't the slightest temptation to try to 'make a name' for himself at the journeyman's expense, even when the reddish man turned his back and marched away. He didn't particularly like the name Fumious anyway.

Fumious led Willow directly to the illusory wall, and then through it. This time they went to a slightly larger alcove that had room for several people. Without ever saying a word, almost as though he was building a case for denying it had ever happened, Fumious left Willow in the room and disappeared.

Willow was not alone for long. He was not surprised to see Vorpal enter, and only slightly surprised to see Eidolon. He did not expect Cestus though, and the biggest surprise was the last figure to enter. It was Lady Angita from the healing temple.

"Milady," Willow said, bowing respectfully. Unfortunately, despite his intention to appear calm and confident, his surprise at seeing her added a twitch to his bow.

She noticed, and smiled. "You are surprised to see me," she said. Her smile took on an ironic curl as she added, "Not surprisingly."

That triggered an even larger break in his composure. His eyebrows lifted into a wide-eyed arch that just avoided pulling his mouth open. The voice he remembered from his trips to the Temple of Angita - what he had heard of it, never more than two or three words - had the rasp of an age that had seemed appropriate for the matron heading a major temple. This voice was a light, clear soprano that any young woman would have been proud to own.

Willow's expression brought forth an easy, gentle laugh from the woman - still light and clear with the sound of silver chimes. "Did you think we could not use our skills to sustain ourselves?" she asked.

She didn't really expect an answer - other than perhaps the blush that Willow could not begin to control. That triggered another light chuckle, but no further words.

In an attempt to recover some degree of poise, Willow shrugged. "I did not expect to see you here. That is true enough."

Lady Angita nodded, then looked at the others. "I am actually here on your behalf," she explained. "Do you know the nature of the enchantment that is being considered?"

"I think so, Milady," Willow replied. "It will not change my physical being; only my appearance."

"Exactly," she confirmed. "I am here as witness to ensure that limitation is observed."

She stepped closer and started to move her hands over his body in the way she used to identify injuries needing repair. As she worked, she said, "And to ensure - even if there is no intent for physical effects - that you are not harmed by the enchantment. To that end, I need to understand your basic . . ."

Lady Angita interrupted herself and stepped back in obvious surprise. After a moment, she moved forward and continued her examination, but it was clear she was distracted.

"Is something wrong?" Willow asked.

"No," Lady Angita answered. "If anything . . . quite the contrary."

"What?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she looked at Eidolon and something in her glance - one could never tell if Eidolon had a responsive expression to convey something from his side - indicated that they would discuss whatever she had sensed later.

Nonetheless, she nodded and stepped back. Eidolon moved forward to stand in her place. "Take down your hair," he directed.

While Willow removed the simple tie that held the dark mass in a low ponytail, the cowled leader started to talk to Willow - at least, his voice had an easy, conversational tone. But Willow did not understand the language at all.

It was a rather pleasant language, actually. There were soft sibilants and round, rich vowels. And there was a . . . pace to it; not really a rhythm since there didn't seem to be any recurring meter, but the words seemed to flow in a way that washed over Willow in an unhurried yet compelling structure. And the language had some apparent inflection elements because - while there wasn't anything like a melody and Eidolon didn't seem to be singing - there was a variety in his tone that made it difficult even to place Eidolon's voice range. He might have been a baritone or a low tenor . . . except sometimes it seemed like the words were deeper than those ranges . . . not so much in tone as in some other sort of depth more connected with resonance than pitch.

Willow thought it might be an interesting language to learn, but as he tried to make sense of it, he realized that it was stubbornly refusing to take root in his memory. He couldn't have told whether Eidolon was saying long paragraphs of content or a single phrase repeated over and over because no set of words seemed to repeat . . . or not to repeat.

His distraction with the strange language kept him from noticing anything else. The dark recesses of Eidolon's cowl seemed to demand his gaze in a gentle yet inescapable trap anyway. Eventually, Eidolon finished - not with any sense of abruptness yet with no sense of fading out, either. It was just . . . finished. Willow couldn't have said whether it had been minutes or hours, but the cowled guild leader stepped back and it was suddenly thinkable to look around.

"You do good work," Lady Angita observed dryly, but with an unhidden tone of respect.

Vorpal nodded, walking around Willow. "Yes. If that doesn't get Modi's attention, we may need to find an entirely different sort of bait. Perhaps someone more like Cestus."

Willow frowned, looking at the large man in confusion. Then he realized what they were saying. He didn't feel any different, but he looked quickly down at his body, or at what had been his body. There were . . . shapes impeding his view.

"By Orion's belt . . ," he started to say, then interrupted himself.

"Quite," Cestus said. "That is . . . an interesting voice."

Willow had heard it, even as he spoke. It hadn't felt any different, and perhaps the tones weren't all that different. But what had been a thin tenor was now a rich, full contralto that seemed to resound with pure chimes on even those few words. His eyes started to dart frantically around the room.

With a wry smile of amusement directed at Eidolon for his apparent oversight as much as at Willow, Lady Angita produced a small hand mirror from within the folds of her gown. She was about to hand it to Willow - who was reaching for it avidly - when Eidolon coughed from within his cowl. He made a few simple gestures, and one of the walls began to reflect the scene in the room.

Including one young woman whom Willow did not recognize.




She was beautiful, but more than that, she was interesting. Her features were clean and symmetric, with large, shining eyes. Her figure was trim, yet very shapely even within the loose folds of the soft shirt she wore. Her legs were scandalously revealed in the snug leggings that had seemed unremarkable on Willow when he had dressed that morning.

Yet there were elements that, though Willow would never have thought to include them in any description of a woman's beauty, added something more. Her bright blue eyes seemed to glow with lurking laughter. Her legs, though smoothly curved, seemed to combine strength with grace like a dancer. Her hair tumbled in flowing curves that suggested many hours of careful arrangement, yet the thick locks were clearly free to twirl with easy energy. This was a woman who did not spend all her time on fussy protection of her appearance - which made her unrestrained beauty all the more impressive. There was a 'story' there, more than a mere description, and it would make that woman stand out in any crowd.

Which was, of course, the exact opposite of what Willow - or the Nathan he had been - cultivated. In some ways that change was more shocking than the feminine beauty.

Willow was not given much time to explore that reflection. He heard a voice say, "Milady . . ." But it was only when it was repeated and with a gentle touch on his elbow that he realized Vorpal was talking to him.

"Perhaps some tea, Milady," he said pointing at a nearby table.

"What? Oh, um, if you'd like," Willow replied, his attempt to steal one last look at the image in the mirror interrupted by the twitch his own voice triggered again.

His composure - or lack of it - did not improve when they had moved to the table. Three of his companions were frowning . . . and the fourth was Eidolon who was probably frowning as well.

"What style have you planned for her?" Lady Angita asked, and Willow noticed both that the Temple leader had referred to him as female and that his own guild leaders found that unremarkable.

At the blank looks on the faces of the two assassin guild leaders the temple matron could see, Willow's own frown deepened.

He sighed, then asked of the guild leaders generally, "Why are you . . . all of you, I presume . . . frowning?"

Vorpal shrugged. "Something is . . . wrong."

"With the way Willow moved?" Lady Angita confirmed.

Vorpal nodded, getting a confirming nod from Eidolon's cowl as well.

Lady Angita looked again at Willow, then sighed - again. Which did not help Willow's confidence.

"That's why I asked about her style," Lady Angita said. "She moved like a man. In some cultures that might be acceptable, or at least unremarkable. But if you really want to gain Modi's attention, it takes more than a static appearance. It takes . . . call it . . . feminine sensuality."

Again the guild leaders looked blank. Willow had a matching frown by this time.

"What's wrong with the way I move?" he asked.

"Get up. Walk across the room. And return," Lady Angita ordered.

When the leaders offered no objection, Willow did as directed.

"Now watch while I do the same," the Temple leader said.

At one level, it was the same. She stood, moved across the room, and returned. But there was no doubt - despite robes that were more concealing than Willow's own attire - that it was a woman whom they had observed.

In some respects this was due to the clothes she wore and Willow could see the relevance of the question about style. The hem of her flowing gown flipped in accent to the unforced but clear sway of her hips. Her hands had moved in counterpoint, keeping clear of those same graceful hips. An instant's sweep of her hand, clearly reflexive and nearly unconscious, had kept her skirts neat when she seated herself again.

Recognizing the difference didn't mean that Willow knew what to do about it. He had practiced unobtrusiveness for long enough to know the difference between natural, habitual motions and artificial gestures.

"What did you observe?" Eidolon asked, and the tunnel of his cowl was pointed at Willow.

Willow described what he had seen, winning a nod of approval from the cowl, but also a sigh from within its depths.

"Can't you just . . . expand the illusion to include clothes?" Cestus asked.

Instead of answering, Eidolon just aimed his cowl at Willow again.

The young apprentice tried an answer, feeling out the words even as he released them. "I think that would be like my, um, hair. If the illusion didn't react correctly to wind, or someone brushing against me, it would be a distraction. Or maybe worse, draw someone's attention."

"Quite," Vorpal agreed. "We can, of course, put you in woman's clothes. We were planning on that anyway. But I think we'll have to go with . . . hmm . . . Arisian styles?" The question in his voice was directed at Lady Angita.

"Yes, that would probably be best," she agreed.

"Arisian styles?" Willow repeated.

"In all the known world, Arisian women use the most artifice to enhance their femininity," Lady Angita explained. "They use shaping undergarments to enhance their figures, with specialized shoes. Plus, they use more cosmetics and jewelry than other cultures."

"How will that help?" Willow asked. "If I don't move correctly in clothes I grew up in, won't those . . . impediments make it even worse?"

"Yes, and no," Lady Angita explained. "They will make your motions less natural, but they do the same for Arisian women. They have to learn new ways to move, and not all are equally skilled. It will be easier for you to fit within the range of what real women display."

"Plus, Arisia is far enough from here for their people to seem exotic," Vorpal added. "Others will take any discordances for a sign of that strangeness, not your deeper secret."

"Are you willing to do this?" Eidolon asked.

Willow grimaced, but nodded. "I've already agreed to do . . . things with men if I need to. And you've said that will be likely. Clothes are nothing next to that."

"You haven't seen Arisian styles," Lady Angita warned, and her expression held so much sympathy that Willow wondered just what he was signing up for.

Instead of explaining further, Lady Angita turned to Vorpal. "I believe we will need to let one more person in on your plan," she said. "It happens that one of our sisters was originally from Arisia. Ironically, she entered the order - at least in the beginning - because she wanted to be free of the constricting Arisian styles. But she was quite adept at them when she came to us."

Vorpal nodded. Then he looked at Willow. "For the duration of your continued training, you will remain on this side of the portal. Food and other supplies - including fashions from Arisia - will be brought to you. And the sister from the Temple."

Willow nodded, wondering if this was his dismissal. He was preparing to stand when Cestus reached to help him with his chair, just as Vorpal did the same with Lady Angita.

"My sister will be here shortly," the temple leader promised.

"May I ask which sister it is?" Willow inquired.

"Sister Aria, of course," Lady Angita said with a smile. "There are more attributes to Arisian upbringing than just clothes. Or did you think that all my sisters were as, ah, lively as Aria?"

Willow couldn't think of any response to that. Beyond a desert-hot blush, of course. His blush was followed in a moment by a frown.

Vorpal interpreted it correctly. "I know we said that we would not let anyone who, ah, knew you to know what you have agreed to do. Is this a problem?"

Willow's frown continued, but in a moment he shook his head. "Again, given what I have agreed to do, this is a small thing."

"It is and it isn't," Eidolon said. "It deals with your sense of self. If your friends never know about this masquerade, then the goal of returning to your, ah, real life remains real. That is important. Truly, we can get someone else."

"Not as good," Willow said, "Or you would not have suggested her."

He sighed, then smiled wryly. "Besides, if someone has to know about my, um, adventure, then it might as well be her. She already suspects something."

"She does?" Vorpal questioned sharply.

"Oh, not this," Willow said. "It's just that, I mean, you sent me to the Temple with a pre-mission note. The only ones who get that are going on particularly hazardous missions. As Master Eidolon observed, since she knows that there *is* as secret, she's a risk to keeping it."

The guild leaders nodded at his observation. Willow gave a confirming nod of his own, which brought that topic to a close.

Lady Angita repeated her quick glance at Eidolon, this time sending an echo to Vorpal as well. They moved with her, leaving Cestus to escort Willow to new quarters.

As soon as the three leaders were out of sight of the transformed apprentice, Lady Angita stopped. "Can we talk here?" she asked.

Vorpal nodded, but pointed at a small alcove anyway. They moved into its promise of increased privacy before Lady Angita spoke again.

"We are treading in dangerous waters," she said.

"Is something wrong with Willow?" Vorpal asked.

"Not exactly," Lady Angita replied. "When I sensed his body, I found . . . ambiguity."

"In what way?" Eidolon asked; not challenging, just participating in the conversation.

She replied, "It is as though there is a female essence hidden inside his masculine exterior."

She saw a look of revelation on Vorpal's face, and spoke immediately to show that it was wrong. "No, it is not the case that Willow prefers or is even, um, 'curious' about men - at least, not in any sexual way. This is not a same-sex desire, no matter how repressed. Instead, it is as though in some way he is an actual woman."

She continued with a negating wave of her hands. "Don't misunderstand me. He fully appreciates physical relations with a woman, and is man enough to give pleasure as well. That was very clear on his visits to our temple. I never noticed this new factor until I did a deep scan for what I consider his essential core - something that might be lost if your enchantment were not done as expertly as it was. But there is a . . . resonance, like an echo, that makes it seem like there is another person within his soul."

"Ah," Eidolon's voice issued softly from his cowl. "I begin to understand. This can be a two-edged sword. It might make his - or her - masquerade very effective, but at what cost?"

"Yes," Lady Angita said. "But even that is not simple. If there is another life within his body, are we doing harm by releasing it, or by keeping it captive?"

"Ah," Vorpal said in turn. "You know, though we hope and believe this mission will save many lives, we would not deliberately harm Willow."

"Yes, I do know that," Lady Angita said. "Else I would not have let you proceed even this far. But I truly do not know what the effect will be on Willow, once this is all over."

"So what do you recommend?" Vorpal asked.

"I think we must proceed," Lady Angita said. "This ambiguity is a concern, but the impending invasion by the Norther Army will cause great anguish. However, if we find that true harm will come to Willow, we will have to try to undo what we have done, regardless of what stage the mission has reached."

"Agreed," Vorpal said firmly, and Eidolon's cowl nodded in concurrence.

Willow expected that his new quarters would be spare, at best. He realized he had no reason for that since he really had no idea what went on in this side of the illusory wall. But he thought he'd find a narrow bed with perhaps a wash basin. Instead, he found the grandest sleeping chamber he'd ever seen. The bed itself was very large, and it was clear the thick cushions would offer sinfully deep comfort. There were bright, cheerful windows, mirrors, wardrobes (most of which also had mirrors), and best of all - a bath. It had continuously circulating fresh hot water in a way that was similar to the main bathing area of the apprentice dormitory, yet it was immediately clear this water was much hotter.

The sumptuousness of the quarters was not balanced by a sumptuous meal. Willow had been occupying his time with agility exercises in the large clear area beside the bed when he heard, faintly, the noon meal bell. As the alerting clangs were dying out, there was a knock at his door. Yet no one was there when he opened it. Instead, there was a tray sitting on a small table just outside the entrance.

It was apparently his dinner, nominally the largest meal of the day. In one way it was more than adequate with plenty of food. Unfortunately, the food was better suited for a rabbit than a young man. There were a variety of vegetables, most of which were uncooked, supplemented with only a small slice of meat. Admittedly the meat was delicious, and Willow truly liked vegetables and fruits . . . but not as the majority of his meal.

He was just finishing up - stretching it out, actually, since he had nothing else to do - when there was another knock at his door.

This time there was someone there. That someone was the most intensely beautiful woman Willow had ever seen. Alone in his room, with all the too-convenient mirrors, he had been unable to keep from looking at the stunning woman he had become - or at least had apparently become. Lurking in the back of his mind was a complicated emotion where the strangeness warred with a smug satisfaction at being so pretty. All that smugness vanished in a single heartbeat when he saw the truly fantastic woman who had come to visit him.

She seemed both shapely and slim at the same time, her curves accented by legs that stretched her whole figure out to an incredible length. Her blue eyes were captivating in their own right, but they swam in dark yet colorful accents that made them seem twice as large as any real woman could possess. And in the midst of all that bounty was a waist that seemed as delicate as the stem of a rose for all that it was, somehow, as sleek and smooth as hammered metal.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" a low, sultry voice purred.

"Um, oh, yes. Of course," Willow stammered, but he managed to step back and move one arm in a particularly graceless invitation.

The impossibly beautiful woman flowed into the room with a curious combination of grace and delicacy. She took small steps despite her unusually long legs, yet there was an effortless glide that made her seem weightless - as though she danced on sunlight instead of ordinary stone. As she passed the open-mouthed apprentice, she sighed theatrically.

"I can see why Lady Angita told me to come," the beauty said. "Even though I'm beginning to feel insulted. You're obviously still a man within that package. A woman would have recognized me, regardless of what I happened to be wearing."

"Sister Aria?" Willow gasped, shock as he realized how different this vision was from his memory adding to his confusion.

"Perhaps," she said, sighing again, though Willow's struggling mind was finally restoring enough control to see the laughter in her eyes. "And to think you still see only the outside, even after all we've been to each other."

She moved over and put her arms around the one she had taught how to make love, murmuring softly, "Actually, it is as though I'm a different person when I am dressed like this. You can still call me Aria - or Althea, if you prefer, since that was my birth name. But not, um, 'Sister' Aria."

She leaned closer and nipped lightly on Willow's ear. "Perhaps we can share our first time all over again, as two new people. I've always wondered what it would be like to make love to a woman."

"A woman?" Willow said, then twitched in her arms.

"Not yet," Aria said, laughing out loud this time. "But we'll work on it."

"But . . . you're so tall," Willow protested. "And . . . I mean . . . you're so . . ." He ran out of words, but his hands sketched an hourglass shape.

"Yes, yes I am," Aria agreed with another tinkling laugh. "And so will you be. Though . . . it looks like you're starting with a lot more than I had."

"I think that's the problem," Willow said. "Apparently, what it 'looks' like is not enough."

"So I was told," Aria agreed. "Well, let's get to it. Off with your clothes."

Despite his sense of duty, that thought provoked a smirk from Willow. "After you, Milady."

"Not this time," Aria said, but she smiled. "At least, not right now. Once you're fully dressed . . . well, we'll see how much time we have."

Willow shrugged and proceeded to undress. His efforts were interrupted when Aria started to do the same.

"Keep going, Willow," she said. "I need to show you what goes under the dress. That's all."

Then she smirked and said, "At least, for now."

"You're not nice," Willow said with a small sigh and a larger grimace.

"Not a bit," Aria agreed readily.

What Willow saw when Aria removed her dress did not help his sense of dread for what was coming.

What Aria saw when Willow was undressed nearly caused her to faint.

Willow rushed to Aria's side and steadied her. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," Aria replied. "It's just . . . I was looking at you, and saw your . . . real self, and all of the sudden I was just . . . dizzy."

Willow helped her to the bed, then sat beside her to make sure she was stable. After a moment, he said, "I think I may know what happened. Eidolon said that if something is too wrong between what you see and what you expect to see, it can cause the illusion to break down."

Aria nodded. She reached out and touched Willow's chest - his real chest - and shook her head. "I thought they had done something . . . real to you. But it was just an illusion."

"Can you recover the illusion? Or is it lost until they, um, recharge it or something?"

"I don't know," Aria said. "But it's clear that we need to get the appearance closer to what the illusion requires. And . . . well, there was something I wasn't going to make you use even though not all high-born Arisian maidens do. You're not going to like it."

"You're probably right," Willow said with another frown. "And I don't even know what it is."

'It' turned out to be a snug-fitting undergarment - very snug fitting. It only covered Willow's nether region . . . but once it was in place he heard a disconcerting click.

"What was that?"

"It was a lock," Aria said. "This undergarment enforces a maiden's virtue - whether she wants to or not."

"By Orion's Belt! Take it off!"

"I will," Aria promised. "But not right now."

She shook her head again, blinking a few times. Then she reached out to Willow's chest. Only this time, her fingers seemed to glide over something that just wasn't there. And even more surprisingly, when Willow watched her slender fingers, he could *feel* her touch. His eyes closed almost by reflex . . . and he discovered that the sense of being touched went away when his eyes closed - even for an instant. But as soon as he looked at her hands again he could feel her touch. And the sensation was not merely pressure. There was pleasure as well.

"Ooh," he murmured, reaching out for Aria.

"Not now," she said, though her own heavy breathing proved it was not an easy denial to make.

She stepped away, and that brought another 'feature' of her new clothes into Willow's attention. The corset that constrained her waist wasn't what caught his eye. Though his mother had never been rich enough to afford either the garment or the leisurely movements it required, Willow knew what one was. What caught his attention were the devices that made Aria's legs seem so long.

"What sort of shoes are those?" he asked. "They make you stand on your toes!"

"Pretty much," she agreed, then gave an easy twirl to make it clear they weren't actually as dangerous as they looked.

"Toe shoes?" Willow asked.

Aria shook her head. "Actually, our dancers wear some shoes that truly do make you stand on your toes, and those are what we call toe shoes. These have built-up heels, so we usually call them 'heeled' shoes, or just 'heels.'"

"Why would anyone wear those?"

"Because they work," Aria said. "They make us look taller, more slender, and - when we learn to walk in them - more elegant."

She moved around the room, hips swaying even more than normal. Willow saw the same combination of grace and delicacy he had noticed before and could not imagine ever matching it.

By the time he got a chance to try, when Aria finally put his own toe shoes - or heeled shoes - on his feet, he didn't complain. Even though he almost fell. Several times.

The reason he didn't complain was that he couldn't. The corset Aria had tied around his waist was clearly much too small. He complained about that a lot, until he finally had only enough breath to live - barely - and certainly not enough to speak. Aria steadied him as she helped him move to a low table spread with pots of colored potions, showing him how to sit on the very edge of the seat since his waist couldn't bend at all. That simple movement was enough exertion that for the next several minutes Willow had to concentrate on breathing and so he hardly cared as Aria began to apply some smelly potion to his hair, then wrapped sections of it around thick wooden pegs. Even when she transitioned to smearing other potions on his face, and poking at his eyes with brushes, and pulling out some eyebrow hair he didn't complain.

After a while, he was finally getting his breath back. By then, complaining about whatever she was doing to his face seemed pointless, so he just sat in resigned silence. And then he sat there in uncomfortable silence as his body began to declare a need that Willow had no idea how he could meet while he wore the modesty device. Concentrating on controlling that need carried him through the rest of Aria's ministrations.

"Wow," Aria whispered softly. "Either you're really beautiful, or I'm really good."

"What?"

"Probably both," Aria said, continuing her own comment. She laughed and pulled a small wrap away from Willow's clothes, then pointed at a mirror.

Willow managed to get to his toes in the heeled shoes and turned to look at himself in one of the large mirrors that furnished the room.

After which, he immediately fainted.

Chapter 6 - "Sensual"

Willow's next awareness was of a faint, but crisply perfect melody. He fluttered his eyes open to see Aria leaning over him, singing softly. When he was fully aware again, she leaned back and smiled.

"Okay, so perhaps I did get the corset a bit too tight."

"What?"

"You passed out, probably because your corset was too tight. It *is* hard to breathe in one."

"Um, yes," he agreed, but his eyes flickered to the mirror again.

Aria snickered. "Oh, yes. That was probably part of it, too."

Eidolon's spell had given Willow the appearance of a truly beautiful young woman. But it had been a natural look; a woman who was blessed by good ancestors and a healthy lifestyle. The woman who looked at Willow from the mirror was so far beyond 'natural' good looks that a whole new range of descriptions was required.

Yet, there was a common thread to the new look as well. Everything was exaggerated more than distorted. Her eyes seemed even larger. Her lips were dramatic and full. The contours of her cheeks were elegantly accented. It was as though the artificial enhancement the corset provided to her figure were reflected in the enhancement to her features: everything was more feminine than nature allowed, yet done to be more desirable.

That was a key aspect of the change, and Willow could see it even as it seemed so strange to see on his own appearance. It was artificial, but that very artifice was a statement that the person in the mirror would do whatever it took to be more desirable . . . and it strongly implied that the woman's willingness to please was not limited to matters of appearance. It said more about her desires than about merely her appearance - and what it said was intensely sensuous, and intensely inviting.

Seeing that a look of concentration had replaced his original glassy confusion, Aria helped Willow to his feet. That movement reminded Willow of another problem.

"I need to, um . . . y'know. You need to take this . . . thing off of me," he said, vaguely waving his hand below his waist.

"Not really," Aria said. "Though I will need to, ah, show you how it's done."

"Show me?" Willow repeated.

"Oh, yes," Aria said, this time her smile was replaced by a sigh. "Lady Angita thought it would be best if I were . . . fully involved in a return to Arisian styles."

She pulled Willow's hand in the direction of the necessary facilities - in this case a discreetly private enclosure with the soft burble of running water below the obvious seat. Aria pulled up her skirts to show a tight undergarment of her own, then sat on the opening. After a moment Willow heard the splash of water on water . . . or anyway, of something on water. However, after the sound stopped, Aria did not immediately stand up. Instead, she took a bladder that was placed near the seat and filled it from an also-nearby pitcher. Once the bladder was full, she arranged it appropriately and squeezed the water out in a narrow stream.

"You always need to wash yourself afterwards," Aria said. "Twice or even more if it's not, um, just water."

That was at the same time a lot more than Willow wanted to know, and even more necessary than ever. The sound of the running and splashing water had magnified his own problem and he was literally dancing - despite his toe shoes/heels - when Aria finally finished. His need was so urgent that he didn't even wait for Aria to leave the small enclosure. In fact, she had no intention to leave until Willow had demonstrated a commitment to cleanliness - which was not a real issue since for Willow, almost the best thing about being in the Assassin's Guild was that he could often be clean instead of constantly dirty as his life on the streets had required.

"You're moving better in your heels," Aria observed as Willow rearranged his skirts to a more ordered appearance.

"What? Oh, I suppose so," Willow agreed, realizing that he had not really been thinking about them.

"And you're breathing better as well," Aria said. "Which, if we were truly Arisians, would mean it was time to tighten your laces even more."

"Tighter?" Willow gasped. "That's not possible!"

"If you're breathing well enough to talk, it's possible," Aria countered, but she smiled and waved Willow back into the main part of his new quarters without further threat to his midsection.

It was surprising - but shouldn't have been - that he learned the never-expected new skills quickly. His natural talents for observing and then incorporating behaviors had been steered toward anonymity in his past life, but they worked well in this new life as well. It helped that Aria was a uniquely qualified teacher. She had been brought up in the Arisian culture which made a fetish of femininity, sensuality, and provocative eroticism. But she had then left that lifestyle for the ascetic life of a healing priestess, and in doing so had learned even more about the Arisian mannerisms as she tried to purge them from her persona. Subconscious habits that she had never studied, but instead picked up as naturally as breathing were still sensual and enticing, only she recognized them for techniques to be purged . . . or in Willow's case, embraced.

Aria - or Sister Aria - was not a sensing specialist like Lady Angitia but she still had enough sensitivity to recognize when Willow was becoming saturated with the new experiences. In his case, it was not just that there were many skills to learn. He absorbed those easily. But there was still residual stress at the idea of losing his own identity. He had been forced to learn at an early age to submerge his natural outgoing, almost swaggering personality, yet he knew he had never lost it. He just controlled it rather than allowing it to control him. On the other hand, this was much more fundamental to his self-image than learning not to show off his abilities. The more he succeeded in moving, smiling, dancing, posing, and even flirting as a beautiful young woman, the more questions he had about why he could do it so well. What did it say about him? About who he really was? What part of him - this beautiful young woman or the innocuous young man - was real?

Aria sighed when Willow's flawless face slid into a frown - not a fetching pout - for the third time in just a few minutes. "We need a break," she said.

"I'm okay," Willow replied, twirling easily in the stilting shoes and stiff-waisted gown.

"Well, I'm not," Aria lied. "And we both stink. We've been working pretty hard."

It wasn't hard to get Willow to agree to a break that included a bath. The bath in his quarters was the most luxurious indulgence he had ever experienced. It had been even before Aria locked him in the nether shield. Now, it was the one time she removed it - and let him remove hers.




"Ohh, Goddess," Willow moaned . . . though the sound was cut off sharply.

"What's wrong?" asked Aria.

"It's just . . . the way that you were caressing my breasts felt so good that I . . . well, I guess I closed my eyes."

"You know you can't do that," Aria said gently. "The illusion - even though it includes sound and scent - is still based on a visual spell."

"I know," Willow said. "But . . . it just felt so good."

"Thank you," Aria said with a wry smirk.

Willow sighed, then smirked himself. "I guess it's a good thing that not all my sensations are based on my, um, enhanced parts."

"Not all of them," Aria agreed.

After a fairly quick, but very thorough, demonstration that Willow had not lost what he might consider his most essential characteristic - to their mutual pleasure - they floated easily in the warm water just enjoying the smooth integration of sleekly hairless curves.

Willow was alternately opening and closing his eyes, captivated by the strange feeling of weight and buoyancy that seemed so natural when his eyes were opened . . . and for that matter, seemed natural when they were closed. Just different.

Aria's face pulled into a frown not at all like the fetching pout she had been trying to train Willow to display.

"What's going to happen if someone, um, closes their eyes when they are with you?" she asked.

Willow frowned. "I think that by the time anything gets that far, I'm supposed to be close enough to Modi to, y'know . . . do the job."

"But," Aria said, "what if you're not? I mean, that's a pretty big, and critical assumption. Isn't it?"

"What else can I do? Eidolon can't really change me."

Aria reached out to stroke Willow's buoyant shapes, then closed her eyes more in concentration than in a test of the effect. After a moment, she looked at her friend, who was also a lover, and an honorable man about to embark on a very difficult mission.

"I can," she said finally.

"What?"

Aria sighed, but she kneeled in the water to look directly at Willow. "I can, ah, 'change' you. Physically."

"Into a woman?"

"No," Aria said sharply. Then she repeated her denial more gently. "No. Never. We could never be part of any plan where an actual woman . . . did what you have to do. But . . ."

Her voice trailed off, then she looked over at the pile of discarded clothes. "But the chastity shield would hide, y'know . . . the real situation. That's what it's for, after all. And I could fix the, um, other parts."

Willow ran his hand over his abundant curves, then closed his eyes and ran his hand over his chest again. It was strange to watch. To Aria, it seemed as though his hand moved with very uneven speed, jerking up and over the contours that she could still see . . . until suddenly she felt dizzy again and when her vision stabilized the entire illusion had collapsed.

"What would the others say?" asked Willow. "Eidolon, and your Lady Angitia?"

"After it was done . . . ? I don't know. But I think they'd accept it because if we don't do something, and you get found out because of something as simple as a rude guard closing his eyes . . ."

"Will you get in trouble?" asked Willow. "That's what I really meant."

"Thank you," she said gently, reaching out to stroke his flawless cheek. "But that's not important."

"It *is* important!" Willow insisted. "I'll take my chances rather than let you be harmed."

Aria twitched at his words, but not in disagreement. It was as though his words had triggered a memory. "That's it! That's why it will be okay."

Willow frowned, but before he could ask she explained. "Our temple has rules, but the most important one of all is that we never do deliberate harm. I could tell them - Goddess, I even believe it's true! - that I thought you'd come to harm if the illusion is not . . . supported by some physical changes I can always reverse."

"Can you? Reverse them, I mean?"

"Yes," Aria claimed, and if there were a shadow of doubt in her eyes, Willow either didn't notice or didn't comment.

The tenseness of the moment was broken when Aria giggled. "Another of our temple rules is that we never use our art for vain or selfish reasons. I'm sure no one has *ever* broken that rule to do what I'm about to do even though - what a surprise! - our order has the most beautiful women in the world."

Willow smiled at the comment, but it didn't take all the intelligence with which he had been blessed for him to know he should agree with that. He was moving to claim the reward for his agreement when Aria shook her head.

"If we're going to do this, we should do it quickly."

"Okay," Willow said, but his tone was neutral at best.

"Do you want to do this?" Aria asked. "Really? I don't want to push you into something you will regret."

Willow smiled ruefully. "Oh, I already regret some of it, and I'm sure I will regret more of it. That nether shield is just mean. And, well, I'll do what I need to do - with men I mean - but I'm not looking forward to that. It's just . . . necessary."

"I know," she agreed gently. "But this is a big step."

"Just how big were you thinking?" he asked, but his smile took any real challenge away.

Aria played to his opening, though. "Well, when I'm done, you won't have to worry about drowning . . ."

She reached out to tweak one of Willows prominent buds - prominent when their eyes were open, anyway. He dodged away, moving to the side of the bathing pool to get out.

When Aria finished, only one part of Willow's body was not stridently feminine. Of course, that one part was important on more levels than Willow cared to consider. There was even a small reward for making yet another sacrifice to the mission - if only a temporary one. Once Willow's physical hips matched the illusion that Eidolon had created, his chastity shield no longer fit. Unfortunately for Willow, Aria could take care of that problem though he did gain a day and a night of respite from its constriction.

There were other compensations. Aria's work - or perhaps Sister Aria's work - was well done and so his 'new' parts responded as though they were naturally part of his body. It turned out that Eidolon had not really understood the way a woman's breasts, and in particular the nipples, responded to stimulation - both on the inside and on the outside. Aria did. And so her enhancements to Willow's shape came complete with all the linkages to Willow's senses that a woman could enjoy. With Aria's help, Willow learned that lesson very well.

Well enough, in fact, that by the time Willow's new chastity shield arrived and was fitted to him - or shown to fit, since there weren't really any adjustments - there wasn't much more that Aria could teach him. She left that evening to go back to her temple.

The next morning there was the ordinary, diffident knock on his door to announce the arrival of his breakfast, still placed by someone he had never seen . . . and who had never seen him. An hour later there was another knock. This knock on his door was polite, but there was something more than politeness there. Willow opened the door to see the leaders of both guilds, including a returned-to-modesty Sister Aria.

"Come in," he said with genteel politeness accented by a graceful gesture of slender wrist and an even-more graceful curtsey. Of course, the voice they all heard was sultry and feminine, but that was no surprise. The fact it was natural might be, to all but Willow and Aria. She had worked her aural magic to make his voice and appearance match the illusion that Eidolon had defined so well that none of the others even noticed there was a difference.

"You look lovely, dear," Lady Angitia said. "I can see why that style is popular - at least with men."

"Quite," Cestus agreed, his eyes lingering on the shapes that bulged from the top of Willow's dress. There was more than inspection in his eyes. There was appreciation. A lot of appreciation.

Willow noticed, and could not stop a slight stiffening at the attention. He hoped no one else noticed.

Vorpal nodded with continuing politeness, his own gaze taking in Willow from swirls of dark hair to dainty heeled shoes just showing below the hem of the also-swirling gown. "I see you have made good use of your time," he complimented the apprentice assassin.

"I've tried," Willow said. "Would you care for refreshment?" The offer was made generally, but when Vorpal shook his head to decline, none of the others contradicted him.

Instead, Vorpal turned to Lady Angitia. She nodded and moved toward Willow with her hands extended.

She had just started her perceptive scan when she pulled back sharply and looked at Aria. "What did you do?" she demanded.

"Helped keep him from harm," Aria said calmly, but resolutely.

"By giving her . . ?" Angitia said, interrupting herself with a vague wave of her hand.

"Yes," Aria replied. "We found a . . . risk. And we took care of it. It's not vanity."

As they spoke, Eidolon turned his cowl toward Willow. In a moment, a very unusual chuckle sounded form the depths of his robe. His voice revealed no humor when he spoke, though. Aiming his cowl clearly at Willow, he asked, "Did you consent to this?"

"Yes," Willow replied. His delicate features blushed, but he continued. "We were . . . we . . . discovered that the illusion was too dependent on sight. And we couldn't depend on . . . everyone keeping their eyes open all the time."

"Indeed," Vorpal said, his dark eyes impassive. It was impossible to tell whether he understood their comments or not.

Eidolon's arms waved the others back, then his voice started the strange chanting again. It still didn't take hold in Willow's memory and if he hadn't been through it before he would have wondered if anything were happening. There was a strange tingle in his skin, like distant lightning, but that was so slight he might have imagined it.

In a few minutes, Eidolon was done - or had never started because there was no apparent change.

"You do good work," Eidolon said to Aria. Then the wizard turned to Lady Angitia. "Is this acceptable to you?"

Lady Angitia frowned at her priestess, but after a moment she nodded though a continuing frown said that the conversation was not truly finished.

Cestus, though renowned more for brawn than brains, was still one of the primary leaders of arguably the most successful guild in Orion. As soon as Eidolon complimented Aria, he had realized what she had done. His own rough visage showed a frown that had more of concern and less of confusion in it as he looked at Vorpal. "Is this allowed? We can't use a woman!"

"No, you can't," Lady Angitia answered in Vorpal's place. "But Aria's changes do not touch that most essential element of Willow. She . . . or actually, *he* is still a man. Just a man with some superficial physical changes to go with the powders and perfume."

Her gaze softened a bit when she looked in turn at Aria and Willow. "We do not use our arts for vain or selfish reasons, but I see that Aria truly has Willow's best interests at heart." She sighed, and continued, "There is a great danger coming; one that will harm many, many people. If Willow consents, this is within our guild laws. You have not used anything but illusion magic, most of which is now withdrawn. And though Willow appears feminine, *he* is still physically male and it will not harm our order if he . . . completes his mission."

Vorpal's eyes tightened just perceptively when Lady Angitia said that Willow as still 'physically' male. When she said nothing further though, he asked, "So is she . . . ah, he ready for the mission?"

"Perhaps," Lady Angitia answered. "Will Willow by escorted throughout the mission? By someone who can control access to, um, to her?"

Vorpal shook his head. "Not necessarily. In fact, not likely."

Lady Angitia nodded her head. "That is what I expected. In that case, I think we need a test in a less controlled setting than these quarters."

"Hmm, yes, you're probably right," Vorpal admitted. "What did you have in mind?"

The healer shrugged. "Perhaps if we knew more about the mission . . ?"

Vorpal nodded, but before he spoke he paused and looked at the group, still standing near the entrance to Willow's quarters. "Willow, I think it is time to tell you more about your mission, and perhaps time to take you up on your offer of refreshments."

The pseudo-girl gestured toward the small area used for dining. There was a table with four chairs and Cestus easily moved heavier chairs from the sitting area to provide sufficient seats for everyone. Willow busied himself with glasses, wine, and cheese, smiling in invitation to Vorpal to pour. Throughout, his gestures were an intriguing combination of demure femininity and provocative sensuality. Each pause in graceful, swirling motion was a pose, with carefully placed hip displaying smooth curves or innocently lowered shoulders promising hidden depths in a very shapely bosom. Willow's expression was wide-eyed innocence when it was clear he was the center of attention, alternated with hooded sensuality when he made eye contact with only a single guest.

Once the simple refreshments were in place, Vorpal invited Willow to take the remaining seat. Before the beautiful apprentice could reach for the chair, Cestus was up and holding it in position. Willow gave him a sun-coming-up smile before smoothing his skirts into composed alertness.

Despite Vorpal's indication that it was time for the promised briefing, the guild leader sat quietly for a moment, regarding the subject of their combined attention. After that moment, he smiled with the most genuine smile Willow ever remembered seeing on the taciturn assassin. "When we thought about this mission, I never expected we would find someone so capable."

"Thank you, sir," Willow said with a voice like soft, pure bells.

"I knew that Master Eidolon could work miracles with illusions, but the disconnect between reality and illusion was always a concern. Tell me, did you ever find the illusion to fail?"

"Yes," Willow said. "More so for Aria - I mean, Sister Aria - than for me."

"I understand," Vorpal said. "Is that why you decided to . . . enhance the masquerade?"

Willow looked at Aria, then nodded. "I guess it would be fair to say that we decided together. I didn't know it was even possible - or allowed, but after one of the, ah, 'fails' we realized something had to be done."

"Are you pleased with the way things worked out?"

Willow twitched in surprise at the question. "Of course. Why not? Isn't it effective?"

"Oh, it's very effective," Vorpal confirmed. "But are you *pleased* by that? Does it bother you that you look so beautiful? Many men would find even the possibility to be . . . disturbing."

"Oh. I see what you mean," Willow said, but it was clear his words were at least partly a stall. "I guess there are several levels to that. On one level, it is a skill set that I seem to have some talent for. It's pleasing to accomplish a difficult task, and do it well."

"To do it very well indeed," Eidolon confirmed from within his cowl, not so much interrupting as broadening the focus of the conversation to make it less like an interrogation.

Willow smiled at the cowl, then continued. "At another level . . . well, I just keep reminding myself of what it was like after my mother was killed. It . . . renews my incentive."

"Indeed," Vorpal said. "Is there anything else?"

Willow blushed more brightly than before, and looked at Aria. "Aria . . . helped. Not only with the skills of an Arisian maiden, but with . . . reminders that under it all I was still, um, me."

"Good for you," Vorpal said to Aria. He looked back to Willow, inviting and implying that there might be more.

Willow looked down at his hands and his voice dropped to not much more than a whisper. "Guild Leader, I hope this does not make you reject me for the guild, but I . . . I like it. I like the feel of the clothes and the grace of the movements. I like feeling really attractive." His voice dropped even further. "I like being . . . pretty."

"That's all right, Willow," Vorpal said. "It is nothing to be ashamed about. It may be that these strange circumstances have - temporarily - affected your sense of enjoyment. Or it may be permanent. In either case, I would not think less of you for doing your best in a difficult situation. Just the opposite."

He sat back and looked more generally at the group. "But it does suggest that we may want to modify our plan."

Then he looked back at Willow with a question in his eyes. "I need to know. Do you wear the, um, nether shield over your genitals? The locking one?"

Willow nodded.

Vorpal nodded to confirm he had recognized Willow's answer. But instead of continuing he sat back for a moment, taking a sip of his wine. He looked at Eidolon, and the figure shrugged, but then nodded.

"Very well," Vorpal said. "Here is - or at least, was, our plan."

Chapter 7 - "Internal"

The Assassin's Guild leader relaxed in his seat and looked around the luxurious quarters that had been assigned to Willow. "The basic problem," he began, "is that we need to get you close to Modi, the Torrent warleader. We have discussed how the only men who are allowed close to him are those that he knows personally, or are known to be absolutely trustworthy by those Modi trusts. Since that path seems blocked, we have considered using a woman - or, in accordance with the constraints of the Temple of Angitia - at least someone who looks like a woman. There are three types, or perhaps characteristics of women who can get close to Modi. One type is simple prostitutes. They are actually screened very carefully, both stripped and examined to ensure they have no weapons, plus . . . ah, examined to ensure they are highly skilled. That path did not seem . . . useful."

At his description, Willow had stiffened again, then relaxed when Vorpal ruled out that option.

"A second path is . . . unreliable, but it seemed to be our best opportunity. Rich women are held for ransom. They are kept safe while their ransom is obtained, so that would address the issue of sustaining a disguise. The problem is that Modi does not always see these women. For all that he is a ruthless and effective warleader, he is not personally greedy and does not try to obtain the ransoms for himself. Many times a rich hostage will be sent directly to the Torrent High Council. Nonetheless, our plan was for you to play the role of a rich, spoiled Arisian maiden who was captured from a caravan or ship that passed too close to Torrent territory."

He pointed at the surroundings and smiled. "These quarters are more expensively furnished than even my own, or those of the other guild leaders. We thought to accustom you to luxury."

"Thank you," Willow said, smiling wryly. "It worked."

"Quite," Vorpal said. Then his eyes sharpened and he studied Willow more closely. After a moment, he continued. "There is a third category of women who get close to Modi, yet without going through the . . . examination process by lesser officers. That category contains captive women who are of surpassing beauty. If they are virgin as well, then there is a very good chance that they will not be molested before Modi sees them. They may be rich enough to ransom or simple peasant girls, but they are always beautiful."

The guild leader shrugged and said, "We do not know what Modi does with them. Some, the rich ones, are eventually ransomed and apparently unharmed, though there are disputed tales of whether they remained . . . innocent. There are conflicting claims that they were not innocent before Modi ever saw them.

"Some disappear. It may be that Modi has a harem of them, or they may be used and . . . well, they disappear. In any event, Modi gets to see them essentially untouched. And, if they are within his authority - which includes nearly all the Torrent border regions - he does get to see them."

Willow asked, "Are you saying that I might be in this third, um, group?"

"No," Vorpal said, but he smiled again. "I am saying you are definitely pretty enough to be in the third group. If we can get you to Torrent territory without raising their suspicions, he will definitely want to see you."

He nodded at Aria and added, "The Arisian style, particularly that unusual, ah, undergarment provides an added layer of protection. Only those Arisian maidens who are still untouched wear them . . . or at least, those who claim to be untouched. When they examine you for weapons - and they will - they will find it and that will provide both protection and incentive to take you to Modi."

Willow swallowed as the scene Vorpal described played out behind his eyes, but he nodded.

"How do we . . . what did you say? . . . get me into Torrent territory without raising their suspicions?"

"That will not be particularly difficult," Vorpal said. "There are many caravans passing by Torrent. He does not raid every one of them, but with a bit of . . . flair we can make your caravan attractive. Not all wagons look like boxes to haul freight."

Willow nodded, looking around the luxurious quarters. Vorpal nodded at his insight, then looked at Eidolon.

The cowl nodded, then looked at Willow for a long moment. "When we started this, my art was to be used to provide an illusion. It had a chance of success, but we do not know the quality of Modi's own practitioners of the art. If they saw through the illusion the guild member would have been killed immediately - even if they did not know the intended target. Now there is very little illusion in her appearance and it is more likely than ever that he will keep Willow for his own . . . interests."

"Our remaining illusions will focus on your equipment - in particular, on your weapons. We have a group of folding knives that will appear as folded fans. Some of the fans will be as innocent as all appear. There are combs that also appear innocent, but are quite effective blades. And you are quite skilled. Further, the illusion will hold unless the weapon is in your own hands, and even then appear as they actually are to you alone. While you will be checked for obvious weapons, if they are convinced you are a woman then they should not expect weapons so - we believe - they will not examine them too carefully."

Willow nodded, the seductive pout transformed into a genuine frown of concentration.

At Willow's nod, Eidolon turned to Lady Angitia. "You suggested some sort of test first?"

The high priestess nodded, but her tone implied more depth than her words. "If, ah, if *she* is going to be an Arisian maiden - even a princess - then she should be able to demonstrate that roles in public; perhaps at the market."

"Of course," Vorpal agreed, though his tone also implied something more. Nonetheless, Lady Angitia stood up in an indication that the meeting was completed.

Willow looked surprised - and a bit irritated - to be ignored as key tactical decisions were being made.

Vorpal noticed. Vorpal noticed everything. He looked at his impossibly beautiful apprentice and said, "I'm sorry, Willow. We are just used to making decisions quickly, and with minimum dither. However, you are certainly a party to this. Do you disagree with anything we've said?"

"No, sir," Willow answered, gratified at the attention and respect though the pretty face still showed a bit of frown that wasn't quite the fetching pout he had been taught.

Vorpal nodded, then looked at the door. The others took his message and moved that way, with Willow gracefully moving ahead to act as proper hostess. He had a soft word for each guest at they left and it seemed quite natural . . . up until Cestus gave the elegant apprentice another appreciative look. That prompted just a moment of stiffness from Willow. Again.

And Vorpal noticed. Again. As did Lady Angitia.

When they were outside the door, the temple priestess looked at the lean assassin. "You see the problem, of course."

Vorpal nodded, a corresponding movement of Eidolon's cowl showing a similar agreement. However, Lady Angitia was surprised to see a similar nod from Cestus.

"Can't say as I blame him," the gnarled guild leader said. "I'm not sure I could pretend to enjoy the attentions of men, no matter how much the mission required it. To Willow's credit, after a moment of, ah, instinctive reaction, he acted quite enticing."

"Quite," Lady Angitia replied, a small smile accompanying her word to acknowledge she had underestimated Cestus. "We need to set something up. Something more direct than a simple stroll through the market."

"What did you have in mind?" asked Cestus.

"I think someone . . . 'direct' needs to approach Willow," Lady Angitia said. "Not a brute she could legitimately reject, nor someone, ah, effeminate who would not be a good test. Just the opposite, in fact. The man needs to be legitimately attractive, masculine, and charming."

"Leaves me out then," Cestus said.

"Quite," Lady Angitia replied, but her smile was more than a simple acknowledgment this time. She looked at Vorpal, who was already concentrating on the problem, though his impassive face showed nothing of the deeper paths being followed.

He considered - and rejected - the idea of using someone Willow already knew. It had the potential advantage of being a very thorough test, but Vorpal knew Willow was smart enough to make it an invalid test. If she - he - saw someone he knew, he would recognize that the simple market stroll had additional, and intentional challenges. More than that, Vorpal did not want any more people than necessary to know that the Assassin's Guild had a member who looked like a beautiful woman. If Willow's friend penetrated the disguise, then a great risk would have been added. That risk would not have been a fair test anyway. No one in Torrent would know the masculine Willow.

"I think," he said finally, "that we need to call in a favor. I will contact Poynor of the Merchant's Guild. He should have some young swain who has good luck with the ladies."

"Good luck finding one who *doesn't* have 'good luck' with the ladies," Cestus snorted. "Or at least, one who will admit that he doesn't."

"Good choice," Eidolon said. "With a, ah, a reputation to maintain, the suitor will not give up easily. That will give Willow time to recover from an initial reaction."

"Quite," Lady Angitia said, smiling once again at Cestus. Her smile lingered to encompass the other guild leaders, who nodded in dismissal as she moved into the tunnel connecting the Assassin's Guild and her Temple.

The next few hours passed very quickly for Willow. Aria insisted on an entirely new outfit for the outside excursion. She left Willow to implement her instructions, vanishing down the same tunnel to change her own clothes. The leaders had not forbidden Aria from accompanying Willow, but doing so as a priestess of the Temple of Angitia would impose an artificial structure on the market visit.

* * * * *

Sterrett Hansel had a hard life in the city of Orion. At least, he told everyone that. Sometimes he could even do it with a straight face. Being the eldest son of the director of ports and wharves for the largest merchant's guild in the city made such onerous demands on his time. Like that day, when he was told to go wander the market for a while. Supposedly that was to make sure the vendors were marketing Poynor goods prominently, and with correct prices - at least as such prices mattered in a largely barter economy.

"Opportunity!" he whispered urgently to Trebor Poynor, his best friend. Trebor was the second son of old man Poynor himself. If anything he had even more money, along with even less responsibility. 'Opportunity' was the traditional merchant's call for a potential profit. The young men had unabashedly appropriated it for a more interesting potential benefit. He could have saved his breath. Trebor's attention had locked on the two young women like a quivering hunting dog. Quite like that, in fact.

"Arisians!" Trebor replied. No higher compliment existed, at least in their world.

By long tradition - well, at least two or three years since they started actively hunting beautiful prey together - Sterrett got the taller woman. He was a few inches taller than Trebor and it saved a lot of time arguing on who got which; time better spent in pursuit of the important objectives. In this case, Sterrett was entirely happy with that division of targets. The shorter girl was gorgeous, and blonde, which Trebor preferred anyway. But the dark-haired girl was just . . . incredible.

Yes, he definitely had a hard life.

* * * * *

Any trepidation Willow had at going outside as a girl was soon buried in Aria's infectious laughter and the two apparent girls giggled and teased as they held swaths of bright fabric against each other.

"Don't look now," Aria whispered, "but I think we're being surrounded."

"What?" Willow asked in alarm.

"Don't look scared, either, ninny," Aria said. Anything further she might have said was interrupted by a confident, smooth voice.

"The red," the voice said. "Definitely the red."

Willow turned to the voice and saw a young man with a warm-engaging smile; a man tall enough to look down on him even in his heeled shoes.

And obvious interest in that smile.

Willow stiffened for just an instant, then forced himself to relax. "Am I to presume you are an expert in such things?" his sultry, intensely feminine voice asked with apparent disdain. However, the smile in his eyes made it a tease.

"Actually, no," the man replied, surprising Willow. "Trebor is much more into that sort of thing than I am. But even my limited knowledge knows true beauty when I see it."

"Trebor?" Willow repeated, then turned around to see that another young man had captured Aria's attention. Even a quick glance showed that Aria's new companion had a much greater flair for clothes than the one who was focused on him, though to Willow's newly trained eye there seemed to be a more appealing style in the less-showy apparel of the closer man.

"My friend," the man replied, then bowed. "And I am Sterrett."

One eyebrow lifted in obvious question. A giggle from Aria indicated that at least some conversation was in order, so Willow dipped in a minor curtsey and said, "Willow."

"Ah, a lovely, supple name for such a vision of grace," Sterrett said, bowing again. He negligently tossed some coins at the vendor, gathering up the red scarf and Willow's arm in one smooth motion. If he noticed the momentary stiffening in his new companion, it was not likely he discerned the true reason. But Willow did not actively fight his touch so they strolled easily through the market.

"Were you looking for anything in particular?" Sterrett asked.

[Not for a smooth-talking man,] Willow thought. [Particularly not someone with that much confidence.]

Willow smiled at the young man, then tried to use some of the techniques Aria had demonstrated. "Not really. I'm new to the city and was just . . . trying to get a feel for the place."

"Then you must allow me to guide you," he said, but for all the words of insistence, the tone was somehow almost pleading.

Willow nodded, then realized that might involve more than he was willing to do. He - or at least, Nathan - had lived on the streets long enough to know some of what was available.

It turned out he didn't need to worry about the more esoteric amusements of the Orion marketplace. At first glance, the marketplace seemed a totally random scatter of every sort of vendor, so much so that once you were in the middle of it, it was hard to tell if you were even heading toward the boundaries. Actually there were areas of common focus, some of them - like the leather tanners (bad) and the bakers (good) - identifiable as much by smell as by sight. Of course, Nathan had lived in the market most of his life so he knew the paths as well as anyone, in particular as well as Sterrett. So Willow was a bit surprised when Sterrett headed immediately toward an alley leading away from the market.

Willow pulled up as they left the bustling energy. "Where are we going? I thought you were going to show me the market."

"Actually," Sterrett said smoothly, "I said I was going to guide you. And so I shall."

He pulled his beautiful companion into a shaded area, surprisingly quiet for being only a few paces from the chattering crowds.

[He's been here before,] Willow decided. [He and - what was his name? - Trebor both.]

Willow allowed himself to be 'guided' to a secluded nook complete with flowering shrubs that sheltered several discreet seating areas. [All my time in the market and I've never been here,] Willow mused. [Probably because I never had any reason to bring someone here.]

Sterrett's grandiloquent hand gestures guided Willow to a seat, then he sat next to his newest interest and soon-to-be conquest. "Now, we can talk."

"Talk?" Willow countered, an elegant brow raised in an elegant gesture of disdain. But, true to Aria's training, there was yet another counter in the very subtle smile playing across ripe, cosmetically enhanced lips.

"Among other things," Sterrett said blandly. He slid closer to the beauty whose attention - at least - he had captured.

Whatever move he might have made next was interrupted, yet also enabled, by a titter of giggle from somewhere nearby.

"See?" Sterrett said, quickly seizing on the opportunity. "We might laugh as well. Your friend seems to find our company amusing."

"Amusing," Willow repeated. "Quite." Then he did snicker to himself at the reminder of the massive Cestus. The guild would never require the same sort of duty from him.

Sterrett took her quiet chuckle as another 'opportunity' and leaned closer. With a whisper-soft voice Willow could only decipher by paying attention to his barely moving lips, he asked, "Just what do Arisian maidens do to make their lips so inviting?"

Any answer Willow might have made was lost in the touch of those lips, soft yet insistent.

At first, Willow stiffened. Even as he felt himself do that he knew he needed to overcome that reflex. Sterrett took Willow's reaction as a challenge, as might be expected, and his tongue began to slide lightly against the painted lips, seeking further intimacy. That brought more tension to Willow, but after a moment the disguised assassin made his shoulders relax, and in another moment he allowed his lips to open.

After a moment, Willow lifted an arm to put it around Sterrett's neck, not so much pulling the taller man close as confirming his action. Yet, even as Willow's stiffness faded into carefully enacted softness, Sterrett was pulling back.

"Is it true what they say about Arisian women?" the merchant asked.

"I'm not sure," Willow said. "What do they say?"

"Your pardon, milady, for being so direct," Sterrett said obliquely. "But it is clear to me that you are . . . unfamiliar with our . . . sharing. Even such a minor sharing as that. What I have heard is that Arisian women, for all their alluring beauty and none more enticing than you, are protected from . . . intimacy with men - whether they want to be protected or not."

Willow's hand reflexively moved to his lap, at the same time both hiding (unnecessarily, since it was already well within the folds of his dress) and calling attention to the location of his enforced 'protection from intimacy.' A downward glance highlighted long, dark lashes and confirmed - as though any further confirmation were necessary - Sterrett's guess.

"What a shame," he sighed. "What a terrible, terrible shame."

Willow sighed as well, though in his case it was a sigh of relief, for with Sterrett's words the young man had sat back, removing himself from the embrace they still shared. Then, without quite being abrupt, but without any hesitation, he stood up. "I'm sorry, ah, Willow. We could have had something magical together. But it was not mean to be. I had assumed - hoped - the rumors were wrong, but your lack of experience with even a simple kiss would, no doubt, preclude some options that your hidden prison might still allow."

He turned and walked back to the market, muttering even as he left, "What a shame."

Willow was left sitting alone in the seclusion, eyes and mouth wide with shock at the quick termination of the encounter. He was trying to decide what to do next when a sharp crack interrupted his thoughts.




"I'm not that sort of girl," Aria declared with enough volume to draw attention from the nearest market stall. Trebor laughed, not apparently embarrassed by the rebuke, and in a moment Willow saw him walking toward the market himself, rubbing a reddening spot on his cheek.

"What happened?" Willow asked as the two beautiful Arisians - in appearance at least - rejoined.

"That man kissed me," Aria explained, then giggled at the look of guilt on Willow's face. "Which was rather nice. Then he, ah, touched me . . . where my chastity garment hides. He was quite . . . skilled at that. I lost track of one of his hands - I swear he had six - and didn't realize what he was doing until I felt the pressure."

"He what?" Willow asked in shock.

Aria just snickered and said, "It wasn't the first time. Back when I was still wearing Arisian styles all the time, it was, well, not common but not uncommon either. Apparently the rumor of that device is a subject of great curiosity among non-Arisian men. Most want to find out if it's true."

She looked at the continued expression of shock on Willow's face, and snickered again. "Oh, close your mouth before you gather flies. It's one of the reasons Arisian women can wear such provocative styles."

Aria's eyes narrowed, but then danced with laughter. "Then the slug whispered that it was all right with him, because there were 'other things' we could do. And I swear, he stuck his tongue halfway down my throat even as he said it. I don't know how he managed to talk and . . . probe at the same time."

"His tongue?" Willow repeated, then the implications became clear and he nearly retched.

"Hey, you didn't mind it when we did it," Aria reminded him in a somehow-laughing whisper. "In fact, you quite enjoyed it."

Willow's face was still betraying great discomfort, though. Finally, he managed to say, "I guess I never considered . . . doing it. I mean, I could kiss a man - in fact I just did - and perhaps allow him to caress me now that you've . . . aided my masquerade, but I thought the chastity garment would . . ."

"Quite," a deeper voice said. The two looked to see Vorpal standing there. As usual, he had appeared apparently from nowhere. Willow realized that he might literally have been invisible, now that he knew something of Eidolon's powers. Of course, the total silence and smooth grace with which Vorpal moved helped with that sort of illusion. But regardless of how he got there, Vorpal had clearly observed the encounter.

"Allow me to escort you back to the Temple of Angitia," the head assassin offered. "To prevent any more . . . introductions."

Not surprisingly, Vorpal said nothing more as they made their way back to the Temple. No explanation was given for why he turned away at the door, nor was any offered for why Lady Angitia escorted them from there to the tunnel leading to the Assassin's Guild hall.

For Willow, it had the feeling of a long walk to an executioner. He knew that the encounter with Sterrett had not gone well, though he was not sure what should have happened. After all, he couldn't have 'followed up' on any real invitation. In fact, Sterrett had lost interest as soon as Willow confirmed he wore the chastity garment . . . which actually said Sterrett was not someone a girl really wanted to get to know better anyway. So what should Willow have done? He let himself be kissed. He even overcame his instinctive feelings and kissed the man back. What else could he do?

When they, including Aria, got back to the Assassin's hall they were met by the triumvirate of guild leaders in a small room not far past the illusory wall.

"We have decided," Vorpal began, "to include you in our decisions from now on."

[An explanation!] Willow thought. [With a dose of respect to go with it.]

While he was musing on this change in the normal group dynamics, he nearly missed the next part of Vorpal's statement.

"Perhaps . . . Sister Aria should be excused."

"No," Willow blurted out. "I mean, I'm sorry, but I would really appreciate her help in whatever we have to do."

A glance travelled around the leaders, and no one disagreed.

"Very well," Vorpal said. "Though it's not clear that we can do what we had intended."

"Why not?" Willow asked. "I . . . I mean, what should I have done differently? I let that guy kiss me, and even . . . encouraged him."

"I'm not sure it had that effect," Vorpal said. "Your hesitation made it clear your conquest would be difficult, and your garment made it clear that conventional, ah, 'success' would not be possible anyway. As for other alternatives . . ."

Willow couldn't suppress a shudder of distaste, and of course all the others noticed it.

Vorpal looked like he was about to speak again, but it was Lady Angitia who took up the discussion. "Willow, we appreciate that you have done your very best in this endeavor. But we have observed that every time you are confronted with a man's interest, your instinct is to reject it. That shows, no matter how much you try to overcome it. At one level it could be construed as modesty, or even a becoming shyness, but that is not the right reaction for an Arisian woman. Yet, for other reasons we feel the, um, agent must present as an Arisian woman."

"So I've failed, before I even started?" Willow asked.

Vorpal's frown showed. Cestus contented himself with a noncommittal shrug. If there were a response from Eidolon, it showed only in a possible settling of his shoulders.

However, Lady Angitia did not join in the disappointment of the others.

"Perhaps not," she said. Looking at Aria, she sighed, but after only a brief hesitation her shoulders firmed in a contrasting contradiction of Eidolon's movement. "You may not want to have Sister Aria hear this . . ."

"I don't care what it is. I'd prefer that she stay. Please?" countered Willow.

"Very well," Lady Angitia said. Then she asked Willow to stand, but other than moving her hands over the beautiful face and figure, she said nothing. After a moment she did, however, nod more to herself than anyone else.

Pointing back at Willow's chair had the apprentice sit. Lady Angitia sighed once again, then said, "I sense a duality within you - not as a psychotic break with reality, but as though you were two . . . personalities. Two sets of attitudes and desires. Two sets of perceptions of the world. One is the apprentice who came to the assassin's guild: a brave, determined man; agile in both mind and body."

She paused, and though it was not done for dramatic effect, it might was well have been.

"The other is a woman," she said flatly. "Or perhaps I should say a girl, for she is not mature. But she is as real as any mind without a body can be."

"A girl?" Willow repeated.

"Yes," Lady Angitia said firmly. "I sensed it before, when we first tried to determine if Eidolon's enchantment would harm you. This duality is actually not that uncommon. Most people have elements of male and female within them. In some the balance is quite slanted to one or the other. In others, it is nearly in balance. This is the case in you."

She waved at her own form. "This is the case in me."

"In you?" Sister Aria repeated . . . an instant before Willow could have done the same.

"Yes," Lady Angitia confirmed. "Of course, for most people the external characteristics are all that people perceive, and that determines the course of their life. We, particularly in our temple, have encountered some for whom the dominant personality did not match the external appearance. We've even been able to help some of them. Most who are essentially in balance, like myself, learn to accept their situation and even use the insight that it provides to become more understanding than they might have been."

"However," she continued. "We have never tried to force the secondary persona to the surface. At least, never before."

"But, that would harm him!" Sister Aria insisted.

"Would it?" Lady Angitia countered. She looked back at Willow. "I have wondered about that since before either of you were born. I have wondered if I would have been happier if my other . . . self had been let free. I just don't know."

Willow frowned. "Let free? Like . . . there is someone trapped inside my body?"

"Something like that," Lady Angitia said. "I'm not sure it is as much 'someone' as some aspect of your self, but it is there."

"What does that mean? For the mission?" asked Willow.

Lady Angitia sighed again. "I wish I knew. What I think is that we could . . . release your inner self, at least for a while. If she were dominant, then your hesitation with men might be overcome."

"For a while," Willow repeated. "So this could be, um, reversed?"

"I believe so," the temple leader said.

"If I survive the mission," Willow said.

She nodded.

"Mother Angitia," Sister Aria said, tears in her eyes, "why would you even consider this?"

"Daughter, it is not an easy decision," Lady Angitia replied. "And as the Goddess is my witness, I do not know if I am considering it because it is in Willow's best interests, or because my own sense of . . . incompleteness resonates so strongly with the woman inside him. I just don't know."

She looked at Willow with depths of anguish in her eyes that he had never seen before, in any person, including mothers who had lost a child. Yet there was determination there as well.

"What do we do to let, um, 'her' out?" Willow asked after a moment, and was gratified to recognize his voice had been steady.

Chapter 8 - "Unthinkable"

The attack, when it came, found Willow with rollers in her hair. That was not terribly surprising. Even a princess of Arisia - actually, especially a princess of Arisia - spent a lot of time on her appearance. They had decided immediately on leaving for their notional homeland that Aria would not use her musical skills to take care of mundane tasks. She functioned as Willow's maid and confidant, since a princess would not travel without any personal attendants, but she did so with only mundane skills.

Of course, she was quite skilled.

And, if needed, she could cheat. A quick melody more sensed than heard over the shouting of the fighting caravan guards was enough to complete the drying of Willow's hair. A few minutes after that it was brushed out into lively waves of deep sable.

"At least we did my face first," Willow said. "Yours, too."

Aria nodded, then looked at the door to their wagon.

"Yes, I believe it is time," Willow said, though her eyes were far from confident.

She stepped to the door and despite any internal trepidation, she pushed it open sharply and stepped to the opening.

The open door revealed a surprisingly docile scene. Despite the earlier shouting, all of the guards were lined up in front of one of the freight wagons, facing a much-larger number of well-armed men.

The appearance of the two beautiful, and very provocatively dressed women interrupted whatever had been doing on, but Willow understood anyway. Their guards, hired for the full caravan and pointedly not including any from the Assassin's Guild, were quite competent against normal bandit raids. In fact, they had fought off several already in the weeks since the wagons had left the port of Hyacinth for the long journey along the borders of Torrent to Arisia. But this was clearly more than an undisciplined band of marauders. This was a detachment from an organized army.




A detachment with a tall man on a tall horse leading it.

"Come, ladies," the man said. "We were just discussing you."

"I see," Willow replied disdainfully. "I also see that they have defended us with great . . . care."

"Do not blame them," the tall man said. "They are mercenaries, and while they depend on their reputation for future work, they use judgment to determine how to live long enough to take advantage of that reputation."

"Quite," Willow said. She looked directly at the tall man, looking up at him despite standing on the top step of her caravan, a wagon with too many decorations for that simple name, yet too practical to be a simple carriage. A single elegant eyebrow invited - or demanded - an explanation.

"I am Modi," he said, "Lord Prince Protector of Torrent and all the frontier areas nearby."




"I was not aware that we needed protection, at least, none beyond what these men were supposed to provide."

"Ah, well, of course that's true," he said easily. "But who said it was your protection that I provide?"

He took his helmet off and revealed an interesting face. It had started out, at one time, very regular and even handsome; blond and lean without the overwhelming blade of nose that many thin-faced men had. But a narrow, dark scar traced from near his left eye to the corner of his mouth, pulling it into a perpetual half grin. It might have made him ugly, but to Willow's eyes it gave his face depth; a story of accomplishment and competence. This was not a dilettante who used his family as a path to comfort like the too-smooth Sterrett. The scar carving this man's face became a proclamation of a different sort of carving; cutting a path through adversity to power honestly earned.

Considering his face almost caused Willow to miss the man's own smiling eyebrow query. She covered her distraction by looking at Aria. Even as she did, she saw a light in Modi's eyes that said he had not been fooled. Nonetheless, he looked patiently at the blonde girl.

"This is Princess Willow of the House of Nathan," Aria announced, as though that were supposed to be all that she needed to say.

"It would seem we are to be impressed, though I'm not actually sure I've ever met a maiden of Arisia who did *not* claim to be a princess," Modi said with a laugh, looking at a well-armored companion who was, if anything, even taller. And definitely broader of shoulder. And arms. And thick, powerful thighs. This was the only man Willow had ever seen who might give Cestus a hard time in a pure strength contest.

The heavier man sat a massive horse that made him appear even taller. Yet it moved with surprising grace at a light touch from the man's heels. With a few steps it was close enough that he could reach out to touch Aria's golden mane. "And who might you be, pretty lady?"

"I am . . . a . . . um . . . a lady in waiting to the princess," the obviously flustered Aria replied.

"With no name of your own?" he prodded, teasing her with a smile that offered . . . something if she would answer.

"I, um, Aria. I am Aria, of the House of Conroe," she blurted out.

"Ah, I have heard of the House of Conroe," the man said. "Though as I recall, the only princess of that house disappeared some time ago. Are you sure you're not her?"

Before Aria could answer - before the confused girl could say anything worse than her unintended revelation of the truth - Willow interceded.

"And have you a name of your own?" she asked. "Or should I just call you, 'Horsecrusher?'"

"That's a good one," Modi laughed. "We have a new name for you!"

The large man frowned, then shrugged and removed his own helmet to show a nose that seemed to point in several directions at once. He offered Willow a rueful grin and said, "Well, I have been called Rorn, at least until now."

"Not Lord Rorn, Smasher of Ogres in all the areas nearby?" she challenged.

"Just Rorn," the man said, shrugging and looking at Modi.

"Rorn is my lieutenant, and my friend, and he is honored among all our people," Modi said. "But in our land, titles follow the duty, they are not hung on the people themselves. If it fits your sensibilities better, you could call me, 'Commander Modi' instead of Lord Modi, since I command the frontier."

"And do you think that gives you the right to command a princess of Arisia?" Willow challenged.

"The title? No. And rights mean different things to different people so discussing them can be more complication than aid. But the army I also command gives me the power to command you as well. I think that will do."

He waved a negligent arm and two of his men approached the women.

Aria shrunk back from their approach, but Willow just locked her glare on Modi.

"They will not harm you," Modi promised. "They are going to inspect your wagon for weapons. And they will drive you to my camp."

"I am a princess of Arisia," Willow said regally. "I have no need for the weapons of men."

"No, I don't suppose you do," Modi said. "On the other hand, women use some of the most . . . interesting weapons."

The two men moved past the women with minimal courtesy, but also with minimal contact. It took several minutes before they returned, carrying only a couple of large hairpins and a round metal rod.

"What is that thing?" asked Rorn.

"It is a curling iron," Aria replied. "For our hair."

"Indeed," the big man replied. He grinned at the still-flustered blonde - whom he had noticed could not keep her eyes off him - and then turned to Modi. "I wonder if we should be afraid of that weapon."

"We should be afraid of all women," Modi replied easily, a grin showing no fear at all, of course. "At least, all women who are as beautiful as these."

But with his eyes he told the men to leave the rod with the women, though he did keep the hair pins. One of the inspectors quickly mounted his horse while the other moved around to the front of the wagon to mount the driver's box. Rather than appear to be under Modi's orders, Willow quickly re-entered their section of the wagon, pulling Aria with her. By the time Modi could have told them to prepare to travel, they had disappeared.

Once the two young women were back inside the wagon, Aria collapsed on a comfortable couch and fanned her face with her hand.

"Oh, Lords and Ladies, that big man is so . . . impressive," she gasped, "and when he touched me . . ." Then she giggled. "Do you suppose he's that big allll over?"

"Remember, tart, you still wear your chastity device," Willow snipped, but she had to smile as well.

"You, too, milady Princess Tart," Aria countered. "And it's probably a good thing. I saw you looking at that Lord Protector of whatever."

"He is the target, Aria."

"Yeah, well, if you set your sights on him, you may get more than you expected," replied Aria. Then she giggled again. "So, do you like his scar?"

Willow's eyes got dreamy for a second, then she shrugged. "What? What scar?"

"Don't even try," Aria said, laughing again. "It does make him very, um, real. Somehow," Aria said. "Just like Rorn's nose."

"Rorn's nose is . . . well, 'real' is not the word I would have used," Willow replied, unable to stifle a giggle of her own.

Aria motioned for her friend to sit beside her, then whispered conspiratorially. "So, what did you think when you first saw him? Without his helmet, I mean."

Willow's eyes got dreamy again, then she shuddered but couldn't hide the smile that twitched at her painted lips. "I wanted to touch it . . . lightly, just to trace it with my finger and see if it was sensitive," she admitted.

"And then he smiled at you," Aria prompted.

"Oh, stars, don't remind me," Willow gasped. "I couldn't breathe. I felt . . . achy and itchy and . . . oh, I don't know what."

"Achy where?" Aria teased. "Itchy where?" The blonde's fingers reached out to trace shapes that, though hidden, were very familiar to her.

"Stop that," Willow gasped again. "Ever since Eidolon and Lady Angitia did their . . . treatment on me . . . oh, gods above, I can't stop thinking about it."

"Are you going to be okay?" asked Aria with genuine concern.

"I think so," Willow said. "Ever since they, you know, I've felt more alive, and more . . . just felt *more*, in every way. As though I had awakened from a long sleep. It's wonderful. But I think I can control it."

"I hope so," Aria said.

"Me, too," Willow agreed.

It was not a long ride to Modi's camp, but it was a ride into another world. The dusty trail on the fringes of Torrent showed more of the Orion landscape than anything suggesting the name of Torrent. Once they traversed a narrow pass through an imposing cliff, they saw a world of shining rainbows from arcing water shattering itself on a basin below the cliff. Even the very air smelled fresh and clean.

Willow quietly insisted that Aria perform another not-quite-silent miracle to ensure they were clean and fresh, then opened the door to her caravan to confront once again the assembled army of Torrent. A lot more of it, in fact.

"Allow me, milady," Modi offered a hand that made it seem the courtesy was his only intent, though he had clearly been reaching for the latch to the caravan door.

"She is a princess," Aria corrected.

"Ah, but she is also a lady," Modi said, "and at least for the moment, *my* lady."

Willow said nothing, was not sure she could have said anything because with his words Modi's half-smile spread across his face to restore its one-time symmetry. It made him handsome in a way that even the proud Sterrett could not claim, with the thin scar merely an accent to draw a bridge from laughing eye to confident grin. Nonetheless, she took his offered hand and allowed herself to be helped to the ground.

Rorn was not quite so refined. He was still on his horse, one he could control like a wisp of smoke despite its enormous size, and drifted to a point where he could reach out to sweep Aria into one massive arm. Still holding her, he stepped down from his horse and set her on her feet next to Willow.

Willow had to help Aria stand, and despite her intention to be cool and distant, she couldn't hide a grin at the flustered blonde's unsteadiness, especially in the face of Rorn's huge laugh.

Modi's grin focused its power on Aria. "You should have slapped him," he suggested. "Most women do."

"Only if they can reach up that high," Willow observed with an inescapable smile of her own.

Aria finally managed to regain some composure, looking up at the tall man, "And here I thought you wore your helmet to save the rest of us from your ugly face. Instead, you wear a helmet to protect *your* face . . . who would have thought?"

"Not that he needs it," Modi said, playing along. "Any more bashes would just take out a bend or two in his nose."

"It is a magnificent nose," Rorn said grandly. Then with a flourish as courtly as any in the most refined kingdoms of the world, he offered his arm to the still-flushed blonde.

"Shall we go inside?" Modi asked politely, offering his own arm to the dark-haired princess.

"Since I am apparently yours to command," Willow said, "I seem to have little choice."

"Milady, I promise you here and now, that you have nothing to fear while you are under my protection."

"Am I?" she asked. "Under your protection?"

"Yes," he said simply, but definitely.

They crossed a simple, but sturdy bridge over the tumbling water below the falls, promenading like elegant sophisticates in a magical kingdom, until they came to an also simple, but impressively large tent. Inside, the women found a sumptuous feast on a plain board table. The men helped them to be seated, then started serving the two beautiful women themselves.

"What, no servants?" Willow asked. "For the Lord Protector of whatever and wherever we are?"

"There are few servants in Torrent," Modi said. "Or perhaps it would be better to say that we are all servants, but of Torrent, not each other."

As soon as they all faced an array of edibles, Modi turned his full, symmetric grin on Willow again. "So, where in Arisia is Nathan?"

[Nowhere, actually,] she thought, but of course she didn't say that. Much of northern Arisia was small valleys surrounded by steep hills, most of which functioned as semi-independent principalities - and gave an excuse to have a lot of princesses. The leaders had considered it unlikely that Modi would be familiar enough with that area to recognize a made-up location. "It's a small place, actually, though we have good water and a couple of mines. I think we're much closer to the Norther border than to Torrent."

"Not surprising," he replied easily. "I was through there a few years ago, but we were . . . in a bit of a hurry so I must have missed it."

"It would be easy to do," Willow agreed. "As I said, we're small."

"And you are a princess?" he asked.

"Yes," Willow replied. "But if you are interested in ransom . . . don't set your sights too high."

"Ransom?" Modi repeated. "Why, that would make us no better than the bandits we protect against."

"Protect whom?" Willow countered. Anything further she might have said was interrupted by a slap.

Followed by a deep, booming laugh.

Followed by a giggle.

Followed by silence from the area where Aria and Rorn had been sitting - the source of the previous noises.

"Apparently we don't need to protect you against the unwanted advances of men," Modi observed wryly.

"Nor the wanted ones," Willow replied with a sigh, subconsciously letting one hand move quickly to her unwanted prison, then snatching it away. [That ought to make the point about my unremovable armor.]

Modi noticed, of course. It had been quick, and she had never looked at him to see if he were paying attention, but the tone of voice and the reputation of Arisian women would have been enough even without her gesture.

Willow had expected some sort of reaction from Modi, but she did not get one of the ones she had expected. She thought he would either lose interest, as Sterrett had, or become angry at having such an obstacle in his way. Instead, she saw a look of amusement, coupled with a determination that was at the same time frightening and . . . flattering? Something like that.

After Rorn was so loudly . . . not discouraged because it was clear he was not in any way put off, perhaps ‘delayed’ by Aria’s noisy slap, he laughed hugely and strode to the middle of the room, picking up an enormous round shield on his way.

“Okay, sword brothers, I feel the need for some exercise. Who feels like a real man tonight?"

In moments, he was pushing against two men - apparently no single man even felt like trying - in something that Willow recognized was the short-stepped shoving that took place in the vaunted Torrent shield wall.

And winning. The two men against him were being pushed steadily back, for all that they tried to lunge every time Rorn took a sliding step of advance. His booming laugh filled the hall and another man went to join his adversaries.

The new man cheated, which was apparently quite acceptable. Rather than join the other two pushing on Rorn's shield, he came in from the side and tried to make the bigger man twist out of position. It didn't work, but only because Rorn took a surprisingly quick step back.

"Good move, Heydar," Modi yelled, laughing. Modi had seemed like an island of decorum on the raucous hall, but he was clearly paying close attention. Perhaps he had merely been waiting for some appropriate moment.

"Your pardon, milady," Modi said to Willow, then moved to the center of the room. He didn't pick up a shield, but he did draw the sword at his hip. It was longer that most swords that Willow had seen, and though a bit lighter, the main counter to the potential slowness caused by the length was a two-handed design.

Modi's appearance was apparently another standard diversion. In moments, without any ceremony, missiles were sailing at Modi from all corners of the room. They were non-lethal missiles, typically fruits or rolls or occasionally a wooden bowl. None reached him. With such casual confidence that he hardly seemed to be paying attention, every incoming item was neatly bisected - even the hard wooden bowls - by what must have been a magically sharp sword that moved with faster-than-thought quickness.

[He's showing off,] Willow realized, [for me.] She couldn't keep a smug little grin off her perfect lips, and then decided she didn't even need to try. She let Modi see it, and he smiled in response.

"No," he said when he returned to her side, countering a question that had not been asked. But his eyes smiled and she knew that there was at least an element of truth in her supposition. Modi shook his head anyway. "It is a, ah, tradition when we have a, um, gathering - with or without guests. Rorn shows off his strength and the men expect me to, ah, demonstrate some skill as well."

"Quite," Willow said easily. "Well, you can put me down as impressed. Rorn is certainly strong."

"Impressed only with Rorn?" Modi challenged, but the confidence in his grin showed he knew she was just teasing.

"I didn't say that," Willow admitted, and for the first time she let a little heat into her smile, looking at her escort from behind long lashes that slowly blinked. It was not the same as Aria's slap of Rorn, but it had surprisingly similar effects. Modi's eyes widened, and then just a hint of red showed on his cheeks.

After a moment, he looked at her plate. "Have you had enough to eat? You didn't eat much."

"In Arisia, it is said, 'If a girl doesn't watch her figure, then men won't watch it either,'" Willow answered.

Modi stood and pulled her to her feet. With unquestioning confidence he took her arm in his and led her out through a nearby door into the crisp, washed-clean air near the whispering stream. For a few minutes while he did that, he said nothing. But he was quite attentive, particularly when an uneven spot required her to take careful steps in her strange shoes.

"Why do you wear shoes like that? Don't tell me it's just the Arisian style. There is a reason for the style, and a reason you put up with it."

Willow shrugged, then spoke with another trite saying that nonetheless had a ring of truth to Modi's ears. "Men find them attractive, and I like being desired by men."

"Even when it's uncomfortable?" he countered.

"Perhaps especially when it's uncomfortable," she said, surprised at finding it was true. "Perhaps it is like your demonstration with the sword. It shows an attitude that is as important as the results that follow."

"And yet you wear your . . . shield."

"Yes," she admitted. Then it was her turn for a question. "Tell me, Lord Modi, have you ever used your sword to kill someone in a moment of intense emotion?"

Modi didn't answer directly. "I don't know, for sure. There have been times when I was very emotional when I was fighting someone. But if you are asking if I have ever murdered someone just because I was angry, then the answer is no."

"Good," she said. "But you have obviously studied the sword for many years. It is a focus and an outlet for your passion." She sighed and looked up at the towering mountains around them, shivering just a bit. Modi immediately took off a cloak he had been wearing and wrapped it around her shoulders.

She smiled and continued. "Arisian maidens, from the time we are . . . from the time we become . . . more than children, focus our attention on being desirable to men. It is the outlet for our passions. It is our gift to our husband in a land where only men own property. Yet it is our trap as well. It is so easy . . ," her voice dropped to a whisper, ". . . too easy, to respond when that desirability is confirmed."

Willow shrugged and restored a more cheerful and outgoing manner. Waving her arm at the surrounding beauty, she said, "Unlike the mines and forests of Torrent, or the grain fields of Norther, or the artisans of Orion, we are a poor people. We have a little of each, but not enough of anything. It is also said in Arisia that the desirability of our maidens is our richest and most important resource. A princess of Arisia is a commodity, not unlike gems or rich ore."

She stopped and looked directly at him. "But unlike a gem, it is more perishable than bread. A single moment of . . . weakness and it loses its value."

She shrugged again, dropping her eyes. "Lord Modi, you could free me from this prison in an instant. But if you do, then I would be dead to my family. If I ever returned home, I would be locked away in a tower, fed through a slot in the door. Forever. Even that is considered a mercy because the value I might have brought to our valley could have fed a hundred people - people who would need the food that would be given to me."

"So you are worthless for ransom?" he asked, but the words came out slowly, as though he were exploring the meaning of her revelation.

"No," she said. "I am considered attractive, even by Arisian standards. If I am returned whole and . . . untouched, then my eventual bride price will be significant. But it is not unlimited, either."

"Suppose someone were to meet your bride price?" Modi asked.

"Lord Modi, what are you offering?"

But again she didn't really allow him to answer. Instead, she raised even further on her toes and kissed him with all the passion she had learned from Aria, multiplied by the release of her inner persona for whom the entire world was a new and wonderful treasure.

When she finally lowered herself back away from his lips, she sighed as completely as her crushed waist would allow. "Don't answer, please," she begged. "I couldn't . . . wouldn't want to know. It is unthinkable. I'm sure you have . . . arrangements . . . commitments of your own. And I cannot betray my people."

When Modi started to speak, she raised a finger to his lips to silence him. So instead, he put his arms around her quivering body - which they both knew was not caused only by the cool of the evening - and kissed her until her head swam and she swayed on her towering heels. And then he kissed her again. This time she fell into an infinite depth from which she wasn't sure she wanted to return.

Chapter 9 - "Undeniable"

Willow never knew how much of what followed was part of some deep, convoluted plan from Vorpal and Eidolon, and how much was just the perversity of the universe. Part of it was certainly within the limits of the plan she knew about; at least, within the possible limits that they had discussed. She woke to find herself in bed - her own bed, but with a man in the room with her. To his credit (and to her disappointment?) Modi had brought her to her room and sent for Aria.

The handmaiden/bard had laughed at the tall man's frantic efforts to revive his unconscious guest. "So, do you have that effect on all your women?"

"What?" he stammered, then shook his head angrily. "No. I was . . . we were . . . kissing and she passed out."

"Better than falling asleep from boredom, I'd say," Aria countered. Rather than the ineffectual things he was doing - patting Willow's cheeks and rubbing her arms - Aria went to her bags and got a small container of pungent salts. Waving it under Willow's nose woke the dark-haired girl quickly, though she panted so hard it looked like she might pass out again.

"Corset was too tight," Aria said. "Though in our defense, we hadn't really expected to be welcomed quite so . . . warmly."

Aria gave Modi an arched-eyebrow question, an amused smile on her face. She was intrigued to notice that when he blushed, the scar tended to fade a little since it was already darker than his skin. Without another word, Modi slipped out.

Aria helped Willow out of her constraining outfit, leaving her in a soft nightshirt and fur-lined ankle boots. With no heel. The shapely brunette almost moaned with relief when she massaged her feet, but she winced when she rubbed her ribs.

"It hurts almost as much to take that thing off as to put it on," she complained.

"Maybe more," Aria confirmed. "If your boyfriend could see you now, he wouldn't be as impressed."

"Maybe . . . maybe not," Willow countered, taking a deep breath that emphasized assets even more prominent than Aria's. "And he's not my boyfriend."

"Does he know that?"

Willow's blush was answer enough - though in fact it was not a yes or no answer. Willow herself didn't know that answer.

Any further answer was interrupted anyway, by a knock on the door to their room.

"Milady Willow, are you all right?" Modi's voice asked.

"Yes," she answered. "Please come in."

As Modi entered, she wrapped a fur around herself in lieu of a robe, then tossed the long, dark hair out of her eyes. Aria started to edge out the door as it closed and Willow was about to protest, but then her locked-on shield intruded into her thoughts - again - and she realized there wasn't really a need for a human chaperone.

"I am fine," she confirmed. "It was just the corset."

"Just the corset?" Modi asked, smirking now that he had been reassured. "Why do you wear such a thing?"

"I told you," Willow replied, and felt her voice go soft and furry, "I like to be desired by men."

"You don't need clothes for that," Modi replied. He moved forward and his hands snaked within the covering fur. "In fact . . ."

"Milord Modi," Willow said, though her tone belied her words, "we can't . . ."

"How much is your bride price," he asked abruptly.

"What?" she asked, then gasped. "Are you . . . would you . . .?"

"How much is your bride price?" Modi repeated with a tone that was more burr than purr, but pulsing with emotion nonetheless.

His hands had made their way under her nightshirt to find and trace the outlines of her nether shield. They told him it was leather and could be cut easily. Though of course that would be impossible to hide. Willow still didn't answer him. Unless a moan of need was an answer.

This time, she didn't pass out when they kissed.

Without a word, Modi picked her up in his arms and started to carry her out of the room.

"Modi, no," she whispered. "I . . . can't. Now. Now is not a good time . . . for me. Oh, my love, I am so sorry."

He paused, but did not put her down. "Then perhaps we will find another way to pass the time," he suggested.

Willow buried her face in his shoulder and nodded into the taut muscle. "But, milord, I am not . . . it is not only in the acts prevented by my shield that I am . . . inexperienced. I don't want to disappoint you."

"Let me worry about that," he said.

He carried her to his room and slowly, with full appreciation of the treasure being revealed, he took her clothes from her.

[I could do it right now,] she realized as he patiently worked her limited clothes down her long legs. There were any number of weapons in the room, and she had one on her own person that looked like a hair decoration. [Modi won't suspect anything until it's over.]

Instead, she started to remove his clothes. [I can always do it later,] she told herself. [And there's no reason he can't be happy until . . . then.] When she finished with her self-imposed task, she found that Modi had a good start on happiness. His building pleasure was undeniable. It would have been frightening, yet Willow found it fascinating instead. She was about to allow her fascination to become more . . . direct when Modi initiated his own plan.

Modi found a way to be happy - certainly he was avidly interested - that provided an amazing amount of happiness to Willow as well. Willow's bosom was wonderfully sensitive, the nerves seemingly linked directly to centers of pleasure that spread throughout her body. And Modi was wonderfully attentive to them. Perhaps he was impressed, since her not-quite-smug . . . well, okay, quite smug . . . impression was that none of the other women in Modi's camp were so blessed. Of course, part of Modi's pleasure might have been due to the fact Willow's talented fingers were not idle.

After a long, delicious time, when it became apparent that his patient and skillful attention was not going to be quite enough for the goal he seemed to have set himself, Willow whispered in his ear. "My turn."

Only it was not his chest that became the focus for her attention.

So of course when the attack came, Willow was on her knees, nude except for her locked-on shield, and performing an 'alternate' way to pass the time that men had found highly satisfying since before recorded time.

Perhaps her nudity was a good thing. In fact, it might have been good on several levels. She certainly wasn't impeded by clothing as she launched in a reflexive defense against a horde of men who were charging into the chamber. And her appearance caused at least two of the attackers to freeze in shocked appreciation.

It was the last mistake they ever made.

In seconds it was over . . . and Willow stomach was demonstrating that the muscles of her abdomen had not atrophied from wearing a corset. They were heaving the contents of her stomach throughout the room until even thin, bitter acid stopped coming out.

There were four dead men in the room. One had a comb from Willow's hair - a comb that wasn't quite what it looked like - sticking from his eye. Three had been killed by Modi, who had armed himself even as the door was cracking open. After the immediate assailants were all down, he charged from the room to the sound of further fighting. One of the downed but not dead assailants was purple and gurgling as he failed to breathe through a throat crushed by the split knuckles on one of Willow's hands. The other was curled around a crushed groin that had been pushed into his own abdomen by the heel of Willow's foot. There was a lot of blood around that one and it appeared something - a codpiece perhaps - had pierced a major blood vessel. In moments they were gone.

She wasn't really thinking much at all, but something made her watch until they were gone. When it was done, she gathered up her clothes and staggered back to her room.

There was a guard on the door, but he didn't say anything. Inside the room, Aria was frantically pacing until the dark-haired girl entered.

"What happened?" the blonde demanded.

And then Willow realized what had happened, really realized it. Her stomach heaved again and she collapsed sobbing onto the floor.

Her voice was a hoarse whisper so faint that Aria had to lean very close to hear it. "I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this . . ."

"Do what?" Aria asked gently.

"I killed them," Willow said, pain leaking from her eyes in drops of silver salt. "I killed them all."

"Modi?" whispered Aria.

"No!" Willow said sharply, as though the idea were even more horrible than the torment that left her in a huddled heap.

Somehow that idea - that she was supposed to kill Modi - pulled Willow's mind into focus.

"You have to fix me!" she said urgently. "Do it now! I know you can."

"Fix what?" Aria asked. "Where are you hurt?"

"Not that," Willow said, though she looked at her bleeding hand. "You need to . . . complete me."

"Complete?" Aria repeated, then gasped. "Oh, no, Willow. I can't."

"You must!" insisted Willow. "I can't do that again. I can't . . . won't . . . never again."

She shuddered and huddled her arms around her legs. "I killed someone, Aria. And people will expect me to do it again, unless I can't because . . . because I'm a real woman. Oh, Aria, I'll die before I kill again . . . except, I didn't really . . . I wasn't even thinking, really. It was all reflex. It was all . . . being a man. If I were attacked, I might do . . . something. I can't do that again! Least of all to Modi."

Her tone fell off introspectively on her last statement, and the look of wonder in her eyes showed a lot more than she probably meant to reveal. Aria noticed it. Willow's thoughts glowed so brightly that it didn't take an adept's sensitivity to see it. "Look, Willow, we were sent here to get rid of him. I can't turn you into a woman so that you can, you know, be with him. I mean, maybe he's just using you. And what about the mission?"

"I . . . can't," Willow insisted. "I never killed anyone before. I thought I could do it. I thought I could kill Modi to stop another Norther invasion. But after I killed those men . . . I just can't do that again. I need to be a woman for me! Not for Modi."

"You killed other men?"

Willow nodded. "We were in Modi's room and some men attacked. They looked like the caravan guards. Or same guild, anyway. And I just reacted."

"Reacted by protecting Modi?" Aria confirmed.

"Yes," Willow said. "And, well, myself too."

"Look, Willow," Aria said, "I understand if you don't want to kill again. I've never done it either and I don't want to find out what it's like. Even the idea bothers me a lot. But you can just . . . not be an assassin any more. You can go back to being, um, Nathan, was it?"

"No, I can't," Willow said. "Nathan is a man. Nathan can kill. I can't. I won't!"

She took Aria's hands in hers and pleaded. "Please, Aria. Fix me. Lady Angitia said that I was, I mean, this me - the female me - was inside Nathan all along. I can't go back. I don't want to die, or be buried so deeply within him that I might as well be dead. And if I'm a real woman, with a complete body, then I won't have to go back. Then it will be Nathan who is . . . out of place."

"But Nathan will die," Aria said.

"No," Willow insisted. "He still lives inside of me. He wants this, too!"

Aria looked dubious, but Willow continued. "Nathan had never killed anyone either. I mean, you know that. He thought he could, but now that he's done it, he . . . he doesn't want to come out again. He wants a reason to stay hidden so that he won't have to kill again."

"It's not that simple," Aria said.

"Simple?" Willow repeated with a snarl. "None of this is simple!"

She gathered herself up and started to pace. "Look, what is going to happen in a few minutes, when Modi finishes with whatever happened out there?"

Aria looked guiltily at the door, and Willow continued. "Right. He's going to come in here. He's going to want to know how I could take out three attackers as fast as he did. He's going to insist on taking this thing off me," she waved her hand at her shield. "And when he does . . ."

"He's going to know you were an assassin, disguised as a woman," Aria said. "But, after you, um, finished with Modi, we always thought that might happen."

"Yes, but I haven't finished with Modi. So what will he do?" Then she gasped, and asked, "What will he do if he finds out that he shared his bed with a man?"

"Oh, Goddess," Aria whispered in a truly heartfelt prayer.

"But if I'm a real woman," Willow said, "then I'm clearly not an assassin. I can claim some self-defense training. After all, that part is true. And I can claim that I never killed before, which is also true and which explains the, um, mess I left in his room. Getting sick after killing someone is not something a professional assassin is supposed to do."

She stood straighter and seemed to grow stronger as well. "Make me a whole woman, Aria, and maybe we can salvage something out of this. At least we won't both be executed immediately."

"Do you really want this?" Aria asked gently. "It's not just a way to avoid . . . whatever they might do? You're not just afraid?"

"Oh, Goddess, Aria, I'm afraid," Willow admitted. Then, to the surprise of both of them, a smile showed on her full lips. "But knowing that . . . it makes it clear to me that I truly want this anyway."

She waved a hand down her curves, smiling sensuously. "I really like being a beautiful woman. I really liked being kissed by Modi. I really, really wanted to be, um, be with him. Even without the attack, I know I'd have been asking you for this as soon as I saw you again. I realize that now."

"But what about the mission? What about the Norther attack on Orion? If I make you a real woman, I can't let you kill him."

"I won't kill again anyway," Willow said sharply. "Oh, Goddess, I may have reflexes I can't control if I'm attacked. I hope not, but I know I wasn't really thinking during that attack. I was just reacting. But I will never, ever deliberately kill anyone again. We'll just have to find out some other way to stop the war."

There was a bustle outside the door and Willow looked frantically at Aria. "And hurry!"

It didn't really take that long. Actually, as Aria explained, it would take quite a while, really. But the cosmetic change to make it so that Willow looked like a woman even with her nether shield removed took only a few moments, and the sound of Aria's song was hidden by the thick door and the noise in the outer areas. Willow twitched her hips as Aria finished, then smiled.

"Oh, Goddess, that feels better. I wish I'd have had you do that a long time ago." Then she smirked ironically, and repeated, "A long time ago."

At first they thought they'd be summoned at any minute. But after a long enough time that the immediate crisis seemed to have passed, and for them to become bored, they decided to get dressed again. And then they put Willow's hair up on wooden pegs to control the curl. That way, when they were summoned, it wouldn't look like they were meekly waiting for someone to fetch them, though that is exactly what they were doing.

While they waited, Aria continued her song. It was an unwanted blessing that Willow's stomach was so empty, because the squirming of her insides would have had the demonstrated result if there were anything for her muscles to expel. But Willow also had a sense of pleasure to know that she was becoming complete, becoming the person that half of herself had always wanted to be, and that the other half was more than willing to embrace. It actually turned out to be several hours before there was a knock at the door, and for Aria, that was enough to work true miracles.

"Milady Willow," came a voice they recognized as Rorn's. "Lord Modi requires your presence."

"Just a moment," Aria replied with false cheer. She looked at her friend with a combination of satisfaction and sadness. "Well, Willow, that's about the best I can do. I don't think you're fertile. I'm not sure just what that takes since it's more than just moving parts around. But other than that, you're as female as I am."

"Thank you, Aria. You are a better friend than I could ever deserve. And you know that I love you, from long before any of this happened."

"Yes," the blonde said softly, wrapping her friend in a still-loving, but quick hug.

Willow shook herself and squared her shoulders. Calling out, she said, "Come in if you want. We'll be ready shortly."

Rorn did enter, a scowl on his face indicating an intention to overcome the delay. But when he saw the pegs - well, half of them - in Willow's hair he nodded grudgingly and waited. "It is the middle of the night, milady. Hardly a time for primping."

"I have been summoned by Lord Modi. Can you name a better time to look my best?" Willow countered, smiling with heavy-lidded memory. It was enough to bring a dark flush to Rorn's face, one that showed even with his heavy beard.

In truth it only took a few moments for Aria to finish. Rorn did not know that the blonde had done her own hair with a quick song long before. They moved with the dainty elegance forced on them by their stilted shoes, requiring yet more patience from Rorn that he could still not really fault.

The scene in the main hall of Modi's fortress was not as cheerful as their dinner feast had been. The scowl of impatience Rorn wore was nothing next to the glowering darkness on Modi's face. There was distress there as well, along with a sadness that caused Willow's heart to flutter. And . . . guilt?

As soon as they were in the room, before they had even come to a stop before Modi's seat, he pointed at two men who were sprawled on the floor. They appeared to be still alive, if for no other reason than the blood that still oozed from multiple wounds, but if so it was only a matter of time. And their wounds showed signs of harsh questioning as well as battle.

"Do you know these men?" demanded Modi.

Willow looked at them, then shrugged. "I'm not sure. They are wearing the livery of the caravan guards, just as those in your room were wearing. Were they among the guards who surrendered us so readily?"

"No," Modi answered. "Though they are in fact from that guild. They call themselves the 'Balancers.' Have you heard of them?"

"Of course," Willow answered. "They are one of the, ah, protection guilds in Orion."

"One of them," Modi repeated. "Are you familiar with the others?"

"I know of them," Willow answered. "What is the meaning of this? Why am I being questioned?"

"Because this one," Modi said, rising and pushing a wounded man with his foot, "claims that you are in the Assassin's Guild and have come to murder me."

Willow did not have to fake the shock she felt at that betrayal. Her mind raced to consider who might have told them of her mission, and then to consider many other things. She never did discover just how deep and twisted Vorpal's plan might have been, but her use as a mere distraction, in case she was unable to complete her mission, would not have been beyond his tactics. Or in Vorpal's case, it would be more that she might have been only one string on a multi-arrow bow.

"I don't know what to say," she replied quietly. "Except to say that it is false, of course. I would have thought . . ." She let her voice trail off into sadness, sadness that was also not feigned.

Aria spoke up from her side. "It is my understanding that all assassins are men. The Temple of Angitia would never allow them to use a woman, nor even train her in the required skills."

"That was my understanding also," Modi said. "But . . ."

His eyes flicked to the part of Willow's body hidden behind her skirt.

Willow's eyes filled with tears, but they merely shined brightly as they reflected the lamps in the room. She did not let them spill down her cheeks. After a moment, she moved gracefully over to Rorn. There was no rush or sense of attack in her movements, and she smiled sadly up at the huge man even as she pulled a long dagger from his belt. Turning it hilt forward, so that the point was toward herself, she walked over to Modi.

"I ask, Lord, that you kill me before you dishonor me. That way, at least my body can find rest with my family. If you . . . investigate me first, I will be thrown out with the other waste."

Modi approached her and put his large hand around hers where she held the dagger. He did not push it into her, but his grip made it clear that he could end her life in a heartbeat. "How is it that you are so deadly - and even when unarmed?" he demanded.

"Do not confuse training with profession," Willow suggested. [The best way to lie is with nothing but the truth.] "I have been trained in self defense, to the point that my responses were unthinking reflex. But I tell you the truth, before tonight, I have never killed anyone." Then she concluded with a statement so heartfelt that no one in the hall could doubt her. "And as the Goddess is my witness, I never want to again."

Modi winced just a bit at that statement and his eyes flickered to a man standing near the edge of his attendants. The man was dressed much like the others, but when her attention was drawn to him, Willow realized that he had the half-vacant look to his eyes that she had first seen on Candle.

"So it was reported to me," Modi admitted. "As well as your . . . reaction once the fight was over."

Willow flushed, unable to stop one hand from touching her still-aching stomach. Modi shrugged his shoulders, and in doing so pulled the dagger back from her heart, but frowned again. His eyes met hers, and despite the crowd in the room, it was as though they were alone, just the two of them together. "It seems . . . unlikely that the attack would come on the very night that you arrive, and at the very time when you were . . . visiting me in my room."

"Yes, it does," Willow said quietly. [And is that the hand of Vorpal as well? Did the fact women in a wagon would not be able to travel as far as Modi's army usually does ensure that we - meaning he - would be close to the border tonight? And that I would be in his room tonight?] "I'm sorry, my love . . . I mean, milord, but I have no explanation."

His face softened at her words, words of mistake that were no mistake at all. "What is your bride price?" he asked again with equal softness.

"I don't care," she whispered. "If you will have me, then I am yours." She moved to point the dagger they both still held at the hidden chastity shield, her motion making it clear that she would be more than willing for him to cut if off of her.

Then she abruptly stepped back, her eyes widening as she gasped. "Oh, Goddess, I can't do this any more!" Willow fled from the room, leaving even Aria in surprise behind her.

Three of Modi's men went to follow her, but Modi called them back. "I will handle this" he said. As he strode from the room, he looked at Rorn. "I still do not believe this is a coincidence, but I am satisfied that Princess Willow and her handmaiden were not involved. Escort, ah, Lady Aria back to their rooms and see that they are protected from any further harm."

Chapter 10 - "Angle"

Modi found Willow near the stream that had been the site of their first kiss. Her shoulders were heaving with deep, breathless sobs and from her gasps he knew that she was close to passing out again. He put his arms around her and forced her to look into his eyes.




"Tell me about it," he commanded, his voice a curious mixture of military authority and loving tenderness.

"I can't," she said. "You'll hate me."

"Out of all the possible outcomes, the one you fear is that I will hate you? Not that I will kill you, or hurt you in some other way? Not that I will imprison you? Only that I will hate you?"

She just buried her face in his shoulder and cried.

"Do not worry about that," he said. "I will help. First off, I know you are not really a princess of Arisia."

"You do?" she asked in surprise.

"Yes," he said, a grin working to defuse the situation. "In fact, I have been approached by so many princes of Arisia trying to marry off their daughters that I made a point of finding how many possibilities there are. 'Nathan' is not one of the Arisian principalities."

"You knew, from the first moment we met?"

He nodded.

"Then . . . why did you, I mean, take us? Bring us here? Treat us as though I really were a princess?"

"Because you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And the most provocative. Arisian styles are very effective, but must be challenging to wear. If you, who were not a real Arisian, chose to wear them . . . well, I had to find out why."

Willow shook herself a little and stood straighter. "I am really from Orion," she began. Modi nodded again, so she continued. "I was made an orphan when the last Norther army came through. We heard that you - that is, Torrent - were pushing them again. I was sent here to try to stop you."

"To kill me?" he asked sharply. "A woman assassin like the man claimed?"

"Not a very good one," she sighed. "I truly never did kill anyone before tonight. And I will *never* do it again. But there is more to it. I am . . . not truly a woman, either. Something is wrong inside of me. I have never faced the, um, the monthly problem that I implied was visiting me tonight. So, in that way I am neither man nor woman. And I truly have never been with a man. So I am more girl child than full woman on that account as well. Those details were excuses to allow me to train as . . . as a killer. But we thought we might stop a war, a war so terrible that finding excuses was a small price to pay if we could succeed."

"So all of this was a lie?"

Willow shook her head quickly, then looked around at the little stream, and the sky, and the sheltering trees. "No," she whispered, "not since you first kissed me. Here. That is why I had to leave in there, and why I came here. This place, just before you kissed me, was the last time things were clear to me. When we were talking . . . when we . . . when I suggested you should . . . remove this shield that . . . controls me, oh Goddess that was true. It has been my justification for not knowing what it is like to be with a man, but it is my armor as well. My defense against myself, and I wanted it to be gone with all my heart. Yet I could not give up everything that I have held back for so long to a lie."

Modi smiled at her. "So, are you telling me the truth now? And if so . . . do you still want me to, ah, enlighten you?"

[Am I telling the truth?] Willow asked herself. [It is a very careful truth, if so. I am truly neither man nor woman. That is true in my soul as well as my body.]

Then the second part of his question filled her mind. And she knew the truth there was all too clear. "Oh, Goddess, it means I have failed in all that I thought was important, but yes. Yes, I want you to . . . I want you . . . in whatever way you would have me. But . . ."

Her voice trailed off, but Modi did not let her remain in her private thoughts, though his voice was gentle rather than demanding. "You didn't kill me when you had the chance. And yes, I was aware of the possibility. You are not the first dangerous woman I have invited to my bed. We were aware that the Orion guilds do not use women, but there are other threats - even if a principality called 'Nathan' is not one of them. There are more weapons in my room than you saw. If you had attacked me, I would have, well, when we first entered I would have been ready to defend myself. I will admit you became . . . distracting."

Willow couldn't help herself and had to smile at his comment. "I'm glad. I thought I was doing it poorly."

"Um, no," Modi replied, then returned to his topic. "But you didn't kill me, or at least try, when you thought you had the chance. So you are not truly an assassin regardless of any training you might have had or mission you felt you were assigned, and your lie was simply that you are not a true princess of Arisia, for all that you are more beautiful than any I have ever seen." He laughed and tugged at her elegant gown. "Frankly, it has been my experience that many women who dress like Arisians are not truly princesses of that land." He let a hand brush briefly over a lower part of her clothes. "And I have some experience with those who wear that garment as well. Not all are as pure as they claim."

He turned her so that he could look directly into her eyes, one hand gently cupping her chin. "So your claims were closer to the truth than many women I have met. And your beauty is beyond truth, so precious that I would instantly discount any reports of it."

His hand raised her chin and they kissed again - more gently than before, but more intensely as well.

Then Willow pulled abruptly back. "But my love, I cannot . . . be with you. I cannot bear your children."

Modi chuckled. "There are many mating customs in our world. Some involve exclusivity, and that makes sense. A man needs to know that the child he supports is his own. But in our society, men of great prowess - I am one of those - are expected to ensure that our bloodlines are robust. I already have several children. Though you are the most beautiful, you are not the first attractive woman to come through here. If they consent, and if we are fruitful, I offer them a life of comfort and our children a life of challenge and reward. Most women find this offer interesting."

"I could not do that," Willow repeated.

"I understand," Modi assured her. "But you killed three men as fast as I could, and with your bare hands. You have the strength to be by my side, not just in my bed."

He interrupted himself to kiss her again. "Though I want you in my bed every night."

"I won't kill again. At least, not as a . . . plan."

"Even better. Because I do plan to *sleep* when we are in bed . . . at least some of the time," he grinned. "I will sleep easier knowing you are not a secret assassin sent to kill me."

"But I am!" she protested. "Or . . . I was."

"Exactly," Modi agreed expansively.

He thought his humor would make Willow cheerful as well, but instead it saddened her. She slumped in his arms and buried her face in his chest again.

"What is wrong, beloved," Modi asked.

[That's the first time he's said he loved me!] Willow exulted in her heart. But it wasn't enough to break her gloom. "There is still the war. I didn't stop the war."

Modi asked, "Did they tell you - your, ah, advisors - what to do after you had killed me? What did they think would happen?"

"We didn't really discuss it, except that we thought the Torrent army would not advance on Norther territory without you, at least for some time."

"They are wrong," he said flatly. "I like to think that I am worthy of the responsibilities I have been given, but there are others waiting - anxiously and earnestly - desiring to take my place. Even if they are not as capable as I am, they are capable enough to do what we will in Norther territory."

"Then why don't you do it? Why haven't you done it already?"

"A better question," he countered, "is why would we do it at all?"

"Because you can get away with it," she said. "You are much stronger than the Northers."

"That is true, but it is not the main reason," he replied. "We may fight with them because we have no choice. My people are hungry."

"Hungry? For what?" she asked. "Conquest? Power? Women and other spoils of war?"

"Nothing so subtle," he said with a sad smile. "We are simply hungry. Our land is rich in minerals and timber. We can't eat rocks or wood. And the Northers won't sell us food at a price we can afford."

“You can’t afford it?”

Modi replied. "A single wagon of grain costs us in ore or timber the work of many men for longer than the grain will feed them. We cannot survive on that exchange. So we take what we need to survive. It is not fair to them, perhaps, but I will not let my people starve."

"So why did the Northers attack Orion?" Willow asked.

"Because they are cowards," Modi replied disdainfully. "When they could not become rich by bleeding us for food, they took the wealth of Orion from you. Then they paid us tribute not to attack, knowing that the tribute would come back as the cost of grain we cannot do without."

"And Orion has no army," Willow said.

"No," Modi agreed. "And though I know that the assassins of Orion killed the public leaders of the Northers, our own spies tell us that all the true leaders were not found. So, they thought they could get away with it, and they had nothing to lose."

He shrugged and looked directly at her again. "I believe that your merchant leaders knew this. They have some sort of arrangement with the Northers."

"I don't believe it!" Willow countered, but her voice was a whisper. "Why would the merchants go along with it?"

"Money," he replied flatly. "Or at least, that is what I would presume. The cost of occasional incursions by the Northers is less than the cost of a standing army, and after all, none of the merchants or their families were hurt. In fact, if they had an arrangement ahead of time, the only real losers would be the lesser merchants who live in the town and the people who died - neither of whom are important to the merchant class."

"That's . . . evil," Willow said.

"I can't prove it," Modi admitted. "But it makes more sense than that they would wait until the pillage of Orion was over before they took their own action."

"But they didn't do it this time. I mean, I am here before the next Norther invasion."

"Yes, you are," he agreed. "And how well did that work to stop the invasion? If the Northers are ready to give up some figurehead leaders, do you think the Orions are willing to give up a single . . . unusual assassin?"

"I don't believe it," Willow whispered again.

"Perhaps you are right," Modi agreed. "At the least, I have no evidence that your guild leaders were part of this sort of plot. In any event, forgive me if I think like a military man for a moment, but I see two options. The Northers could have raided Orion for loot to become tribute to us. Afterwards, the only losers were the Orion merchants . . . who are already rich beyond counting. Or the Orion merchant class was in on it as well. The loot that becomes tribute comes out of the lesser houses and after the raids among the lower class slums there are fewer, ah, 'distractions' to keep the artisans from producing efficiently."

"That is . . . beyond cruel. Are you sure?"

"No," he admitted easily. "But the end effect is the same. We raid Norther territory for food until and unless they pay enough tribute that we can afford to buy the food. The Northers raid Orion for loot and perhaps it is coincidence that the top merchant houses lose hardly anything. In the end, we get the food we need, and the Northers get loot. Aside from a few farmers whose land we raid until the tribute is paid, or the lower-class denizens of the slums of Orion, everyone gets what they want. Those are the facts."

Willow looked at him with horror and sorrow in her liquid eyes. "There must be another way."

"Perhaps you are right," Modi agreed easily. "I don't really care. My men will fight if they must, and fight well. But we will lose men that I consider friends. The threat may be enough for the Northers to continue their tribute. If they are willing to pay it without taking it from Orion, then we are content."

"Or if you could get your food without paying their prices for it . . . or taking it by force," Willow said.

"If you can make that happen, then you are magical indeed," Modi said with a shrug.

Willow looked at some distant vista that existed only behind her eyes for a long while. She had been trained as an assassin, but before that she had lived on the streets of Orion. Her memories of the last Norther incursion were clear enough that she knew Modi was right in at least one thing. The rich merchants in their palace/fortresses had not been harmed by the Northers. Willow did not know how much of the wealth that the Northers had taken had come from the upper strata of Orion, but certainly the personal wealth and lives of the merchants princes had not seemed to be impaired.

She also knew the market as a market and knew, at least in general, what things cost. Even those she could never have afforded to buy herself. After those long moments of introspection, she looked up at Modi.

"Just how good is the army of Torrent?"

"Good enough that there is no one who could stand against us," Modi replied with such calm confidence there was no hint of arrogance.

"Even squads of very skilled assassins?" Willow asked.

"As good as you?" he teased, but then realized she was serious. "Perhaps. In our case, our leaders are not hidden. Assassins are always a threat. It would be very difficult for them to penetrate our Council fortress in sufficient numbers to . . . affect our intentions. But if we were on the offensive and far from home, then we - I, for one - would be vulnerable. But what Orion does not recognize is that our strength is not in our leaders alone. Every man in our army can lead. In fact, our leaders are our check on our army. If our leaders were removed, then I can not say how . . . harsh the retribution of our surviving army would be."

Willow turned to look at him. "Suppose you could get, oh, twenty wagons of grain or five of dried fish for every wagon of ore. Would that keep your people from being hungry?"

"Yes, of course," he said.

"Then why not trade with Orion directly? Our artisans are the best in the world and we have enough fish for variety from cattle and grain. We, too, get our grain mostly from Norther territory, but our ships can bring it in from far enough away that the prices stay reasonable even if a local merchant gets greedy. Just trade directly."

"Will the merchants of Orion give up their little game with the Northers?"

"Just how good is your army?" she repeated, this time with a grin. "Perhaps you just need to come at it from another angle. While the merchants may indeed run Orion, it is not a formal thing. We have no formal government that would have to grant approval. If you showed up on the docks of Orion and just . . . ignored the merchants; did your trading directly with the artisans and craft halls, with the fishermen and market vendors, then what could they do?"

Modi shrugged. "I am not sure I like the idea of crossing them. Your assassins are effective, if they identify the correct targets."

"Perhaps I could help with that," Willow offered. "I do know the leaders of the Assassin's Guild. For all that I did not accomplish the mission as it was laid out to me, if we bring peace . . ."

"You would intercede?" he asked. "What is the punishment for failure?"

"Have I failed?" she asked.

"Perhaps not," he said. Then he put his arm around her and led her back toward the hall. "Perhaps you have succeeded beyond the dreams of your guild leaders."

His voice firmed and he said, "If not, then I think we shall pursue this path anyway. I do not like making war on the helpless, and if we demand trade with Orion, it is no different than demanding tribute from the Northers."

Willow replied, "As you said, it may not be the people of Orion who matter - at least, as far as getting what you want is concerned. If you are good enough to force the merchants . . . or their successors . . . to trade with you, then you would not need to conquer the people."

Modi laughed and said, "I wonder if Rorn knows how to swim. The only efficient way to get from Torrent to Orion is by sea."

Once again his eyes hardened. "We may have to fight. We are not by nature a seafaring people, but we can get the ships. If we show up on the docks of Orion, it will be with an army."

They walked along a few moments with Modi deep in thought. Then he pulled up abruptly. "The problem with mercenaries," Modi said dryly. "Is that their only loyalty is to their pay, not to their paymasters."

"Quite," Willow replied. "If your army is good enough to get to the merchants princes even in the face of the resistance of the guilds, then the merchants will not be able to pay for any later retribution by the guilds. And as soon as that became clear . . ."

"The guilds would no longer protect their soon-to-be-dead paymasters."

The tall war leader looked down at the beautiful woman who had shown a way out of the cycle of death. His smile caused her to shiver, but it was not with cold. "Do you remember the question that sent you out here?" he asked.

"What?" she said, blinking in confusion.
"I do," he said. "I asked your bride price."

"But I am not really a princess of Arisia. I am an orphan, and I have no bride price," she replied.

"Perfect," he said, bending down toward her full lips again. "Would you consider being a princess of Torrent instead?"

She twitched, but then her confusion cleared and a smile lit her eyes. "For the right prince," she whispered.

Chapter 11 - "Final"

When Willow returned to Orion, she might not have succeeded in the mission that sent her to Torrent . . . or perhaps she had succeeded beyond anyone's wildest dreams. She returned at the head of an army, riding at the side of the army's commander. The ships of that army, commandeered from most of the traders between Orion and Hyacinth, continued to disgorge troops and horses and weapons until the people of Orion were too amazed to be afraid.

The procession headed by Modi and Willow threaded its way toward the Orion market, but it did not stop there. At least, most of it did not. Some of the ships had been carrying lumber and ore. These stopped off at the appropriate places in the market, directed in advance with a map provided by one who had lived in that area of the city for many years. But the main body continued on until it reached the entrance to the Assassins Guild.

Facing it were assembled troops; far too few to challenge the confident army, but arrayed stolidly to face a duty that was not diminished by being merely impossible.

"Hold," the thick, weathered leader of the defensive contingent ordered.

"Quite," Willow said, her light, sweet voice dancing on the ears of all who were close. The leader looked more sharply at her, and then showed more emotion than she could ever remember seeing on those scarred features.



"Willow?" he asked.

"Quite," she said again, laughter lilting her voice.

The man, who was clearly Cestus, shrugged then his shoulders firmed in resolve. "You can't come in here."

"Really?" Modi asked, swelling just a little despite no real outward movement. Yet it was as though that were a signal, and the men behind him all tensed.

"Gentlemen, please," Willow said. "Cestus, we need to talk with Vorpal. If he agrees, I think it would be best to talk with Eidolon and Lady Angitia as well. There's no need for fighting."

Her next words were barely more than a whisper and were for herself alone, really, but both Modi and Cestus heard her. "At least, I hope not."

Cestus regarded her for a long moment, then visibly relaxed. Like the tension that had swelled Modi, it was not an outward movement, but still very real. In accordance with the tradition at the Assassins Guild, he said nothing and gave no explanation, but a glance at one of the men in the defensive array sent him into the guild compound. Yet the change in the tone of the confrontation was significant enough that Cestus asked an almost friendly question. The question was addressed to a pretty blonde woman, but his attention was sharply focused on the huge man riding behind Modi.

"Sister Aria, is that you?"

"Yes," she said. "Although, I don't think I can really claim to be a sister of the temple any longer."

"Quite," Cestus said reflexively, then frowned. "Though that is not really for me to say."

Not surprisingly, it was only a moment before Vorpal appeared - this time by the mundane method of walking through the gate. His first glance was toward Willow, but he said nothing. Another heartbeat of evaluation of her tall companion, and he nodded, "Lord Modi."

The knowledge demonstrated by identifying the mounted man without introduction did not impress the Torrent leader. He returned the greeting to the supposedly secret assassin, perhaps aided by Willow's earlier request that named the man they needed to see. "Lord Vorpal."

"Come in," the guild leader said. The extent of his invitation was unclear, or perhaps he was just leaving it to Modi to decide. The Torrent leader dismounted and helped Willow down from her horse, a simple nod to Rorn transferring command of the remainder.

Willow glanced at Aria, but after a moment she frowned and shook her head. They had no secrets from each other, but though Willow had asked for the meeting it was not really hers to control. If Lady Angitia wanted Aria, she could be sent for.

Despite the months she - or at least Nathan - had spent in the Assassins Guild halls, Vorpal led them to a room she had never seen. It was not, she noted to herself, behind the illusory wall. Nonetheless, when they entered she saw Lady Angitia as well as Eidolon.

They had hardly entered the room when Lady Angitia stood and walked quickly toward Willow, a frown first showing, then deepening as she approached and waved her hands over the slender girl. "Oh, Willow, what have you done?"

"What I came to realize I have always wanted," Willow replied calmly.

"Sister Aria should not have done that," Lady Angitia said.

"Yes, Milady, she should have. I have thanked her every day for it, and the circumstances at the time made it imperative regardless of what we might have wanted anyway."

"We will talk of this further," Lady Angitia warned.

Willow nodded, but let Modi lead her to a finely carved seat, one that was part of an almost ostentatiously formal arrangement. There were refreshments on the table, but when Eidolon graciously waved at them, no one took advantage of his offer. With the ritual of welcoming over and all of them seated, Vorpal looked at Willow for a moment, then even as his eyes went to Modi he said to her, "You asked for us to meet" as if the invitation to speak was really for the Torrent war leader.

Willow was the one that replied, however. "Lord Vorpal, did you know that the merchants of Orion had an arrangement with the Northers to attack us?"

The lead assassin's eyes tracked back to her. For a moment, he said nothing. After that pause, he merely said, "No."

"But you suspected," Willow pursued.

"No," Vorpal repeated. "However, I had heard rumors. I neither believed them nor disbelieved them. It was a possibility."

"Did you send the assassins to kill Modi after he, um, made us his guests?"

"No," Vorpal said, and this time his response was quick enough to be convincing.

"But you suspected it would happen," Willow accused.

"No," Vorpal repeated yet again. Then, in a deliberate repetition of his previous comment, he added, "However, we had heard rumors after the fact . . . or at least, after you left."

"Yet you sent me in anyway, knowing that as soon as I entered the camp we might be killed?"

At this, Cestus interrupted - with a laugh. "Lady, we knew that was a risk before you left - though it was Modi who we thought might do the deed. You knew that, too."

"Yes, but . . ," Willow began, but she was interrupted by a gentle touch from Modi.

"Do you want another Norther invasion?" he asked directly.

"No," Vorpal replied, and once again the tone in his voice was convincing. However, he took up the challenge that Modi was offering. "And no, I would not have been a party to the slaughter that happened the last time. It was not until after we had . . . dealt with the Norther leaders - or those we thought were the leaders - that we heard the rumors of Orion merchant involvement."

He looked squarely and unapologetically at the Torrent leader. "It was my intent that Willow kill you and stop the impending cycle of war."

"It would not have worked," Modi said. "Even if she had succeeded, another would have taken my place."

"Perhaps," Vorpal nodded. "I know that I am not irreplaceable myself. However, I also know that any replacement - for you or for me - would be less capable. Else we would have surrendered our positions to them."

At this, Modi sat back in surprise. After a moment, he smiled at the assassin. "I . . . should have realized that. My apologies."

"No apology was necessary," Vorpal said, then an actual smile showed briefly on his face. "After all, we are assassins. We should have at least a few secrets."

Now Modi smiled. "Once upon a time I considered assassins cowards. Willow has convinced me that a better term would be 'precise.'"

"Quite," Vorpal said.

Modi now turned to Eidolon, who had been silent and, aside from his waved invitation to refreshments, had done nothing but sit. "It was an ingenious approach to use an assassin who had never killed. My own seers missed it entirely."

"Perhaps," the cowled leader's voice said from within the hidden depths. "Not, however, effective."

"Actually, it was," Modi said. "Perhaps our own defenses were adequate to the challenge. If it had been a man, he would never have gotten close enough to me to attack. And a woman is less . . . objective about such things."

"But she has killed now," Eidolon observed. "Not you, obviously. The other assassins she mentioned?"

"Some of them," Modi said. "Defending herself . . . and me."

"Defending you," Vorpal said flatly.

"Quite," Modi replied, a momentary smile at Cestus giving the stocky leader credit for the convenient response. "So, that brings us to the question at hand: Would you be satisfied if there is no war, or only by my death?"

He might have expected an immediate response. Willow certainly did. The answer seemed so obvious to her. But Vorpal paused. He looked at the other guild leaders for a moment, then back at Modi.

"You said you considered us cowards, but by our own lights we are neither cowards, nor dishonorable."

"I understand," Modi said, and smiled at Willow beside him who could barely contain her own confusion. "Suppose we were able to convince the merchants to release you from your obligation to them."

"I am not sure that can be done, but it would . . . resolve things," Vorpal replied.

Modi nodded. "My plan is simple. I will obtain an audience with Poynor of the Merchants Guild. Nothing in your commitment to him precludes a simple conversation, does it?"

When Vorpal indicated it would be allowed, Modi continued. "I will convince him that it will cost him more - personally and also for his guild - to resist us than to work with us. I am not after retribution. At least, not from him. But I will have free trade."

He frowned, and then looked again at Vorpal. "However, based on their clothing - and confirmed by your statement that you were not involved - those who attacked us were from the, ah, 'Balancers.' I will have their leaders pay the price for their treachery. Does the Assassins Guild have a, um, mutual defense pact with them?"

"No," Vorpal said. His simple answer was delivered without emotion and his face never showed any, and yet that simple, flat word said that not only would the Assassins Guild not interfere, it might even help. If the Balancers had betrayed a client, they would not receive any aid from another protection guild.

Modi nodded, and stood up. "Then I believe this concludes our business."

"For now, at least," Vorpal agreed, standing as well.

For the first time, Lady Angitia spoke up. "Lord Vorpal, with your permission, I will escort them out. I want to speak with Sister Aria."

Her tone started out mild enough, but when she spoke of Sister Aria, it hardened.

Willow twitched as the tone changed, but she nodded and stood with her tall escort. Cestus also accompanied them and immediately fell into a discussion with Modi on the taller man's unusual sword. As though they were old comrades in arms, they genially argued about the merits of the longer, lighter blade over the maces Cestus preferred.

"Sister Aria," Lady Angitia said with that same sharp tone when they reached the waiting party.

The blonde woman dismounted from her own horse and moved toward the leader of her guild. However, as she approached, the expression on Lady Angitia's face changed from stern to curious, then shocked, then something close to horrified.
"Oh, my child, what have you done?" she demanded even as she was moving her hands over Aria's abdomen.

"What I was always meant to do," Aria claimed calmly, and it was clear to Willow that they were not talking about the changes to the dark-haired girl's own anatomy. In a moment, she realized why.

"Aria!" Willow said sharply, the repeated the day's too-common phrase. "What have you done?"

"I expect you can figure that out on your own," Aria replied dryly, but her eyes danced with humor and joy.

Lady Angitia interjected her own enigmatic comment. "You know what this means, don't you?"

"Perhaps," Aria said. Then she looked at her massive paramour and reached up to touch his cheek with tender affection. "Would you excuse us for a moment, my love?"

"Anything for you," he murmured in return, his tone wildly at odds with his rugged countenance.

The three women moved to the side to continue their conversation. Lady Angitia, as was her right, determined the topic. Looking at Aria, she said, "I am . . . disappointed, but I cannot say that I am surprised. Despite your talent, you never truly embraced the overarching love of our Goddess."

"Perhaps not," Aria agreed. "I do love her, and all of my sisters in the order, but . . ."

Lady Angitia concluded for her, " . . . but it was never enough."

Aria just bowed her head, but she nodded as she looked down.

Lady Angitia squared her shoulders and nodded. "Well, your talent and training are yours. I trust you will not cheapen them with . . . commercial exploitation."

Before Aria could even reply, though her eyes sparked and she raised her head sharply, Lady Angitia continued, "I'm sorry. I did not really think that you would. Though you must forgive me for wondering, at least. What you have done for Willow - and for yourself - is not within the bounds of our order. Given that you are going to set your own bounds, it is only fair that I caution you on them."

Aria's eyes softened and she nodded again.

Lady Angitia sighed and nodded in turn. "Our rules have grown over time for good reasons. Yet they are not the only path. I wish you well as you define your own path."

The older woman laid her hands on Aria's head in benediction as she pronounced her wish, then her arms lowered to embrace the young blonde woman and they hugged with a fierceness that showed how much each was giving up.

The temple leader then looked at Willow. "In there, you said you were happy with the changes that have been imposed on you, but Modi was present so your words might have been . . . constrained. Does he know the extent of the changes?"

"No," Willow replied. "He only knows that I cannot have children."

The lady nodded, then asked with a much sharper tone. "When were the . . . final changes done?"

"Not until after the attack in Modi's quarters," Willow asserted. "When I . . . killed, I was still physically a male. And I will never kill again."

She said the last firmly, but something in her tone caused an even sharper look from Lady Angitia. After a moment, Willow shrugged and added, "I will defend Modi - or myself. But I will never willingly kill again. I am no longer an assassin."

At this, Lady Angitia nodded. Then she repeated, "As I said, Modi was there when you spoke. Are you truly happy with the changes to you? They can still be reversed and there are roles for men besides assassin."

It was not clear exactly what response Lady Angitia was looking for. Perhaps she did not know herself. But the look of horror on Willow's face when the temple leader spoke of reversing the changes was clear enough. Willow babbled out some denials to accompany her expression, but they weren't really needed.

The older woman nodded again, and again sighed. "You are also on a path I never planned for you. But of all your potential paths, this may indeed be the best choice."

She stood a bit straighter and her demeanor became harder to match her stance. "But you must not become an assassin again, now that you are female. The consequences go far beyond your understanding. Self defense is acceptable, but do not even join in battle unless you have absolutely no other choice."

"Of that you can be sure," Willow said. "I am still haunted by that night. I will never willingly repeat it. That was actually the reason I insisted that Aria . . . complete me as much as can be done. I cannot be a man, because a man can be an assassin. Instead I am a woman with . . . skills in self-defense."

"Good enough," Lady Angitia said. She nodded once again at the two younger women, then moved over to Vorpal to take her leave.

As soon as the older woman was out of whispered earshot, Willow turned on Aria. "How far along are you?"

"Almost two months," Aria said.

"You didn't waste any time," observed Willow.

"No, it certainly wasn't wasted time," Aria said dreamily.

All of the sudden another thought came to Willow. "But . . . two months . . . we've, um, 'been together' since then!"

"Yes," Aria answered with a smirk.

"But, . . . I mean . . . we've 'been together,'" Willow repeated. "On those days when Modi and Rorn were on that long patrol."

"Yes," Aria answered, laughter dancing in her eyes because she knew where Willow was going with her thoughts.

"But," Willow repeated, "what if, I mean, what if Rorn finds out?"

A giggle forced its way past Aria's lips, loud enough that she looked guiltily at the various leaders and relaxed when she realized no one had noticed. Then she looked back at Willow. "He already knows," she whispered.

"What?!" Willow replied, then looked around with her own guilty glance.

"He knows," Aria repeated. "In fact, the night I told him might just have been the night we conceived. He was a monster in bed that night."

"Oh, Goddess, I can't believe it!" Willow whispered hoarsely, trying to keep her voice down.

"You should tell Modi," Aria suggested with a tinkling giggle.

"Oh, not, I couldn't!" Willow insisted.

"Try it," Aria insisted in turn. "In fact, when I offered to let Rorn watch us . . . I swear, he grew two sizes! I thought I was going to split wide open."

"You what?!" Willow whisper-shouted again. Or maybe not too much of a whisper because some of the others turned to look at them.

"Sure," Aria said blandly. "Tell me you aren't interested. See if you can do it without being struck by lightning."

"Oh, Goddess," Willow sighed, but she couldn't contain a soft laugh of her own. "You are . . . impossible."

"Said the gorgeous woman who used to be a scrawny guy," Aria countered. "Look, Willow, be happy. By happy in everything you find enjoyable in life. If we're good together - and we are - then why not share that happiness? Goddess knows Rorn is interested."

"I couldn't," Willow said, but there was a lot less certainty in her tone than she might have wanted.

Their business at the Assassin's Guild had started out fairly early in the morning. Modi's agents had been negotiating with Poynor and the Merchant's Guild even while he met with Vorpal so it was not long after a deceptively casual lunch that sampled many of the options from the bustling market that they met the head businessman of Orion. The man had arranged - or at least permitted - the previous Norther invasion that had left Willow (Nathan) a starving orphan. If she could have arranged it, she would have gladly seen him dead. But Modi was a statesman as well as a warleader. He had more important matters to resolve. As a result, the meeting was quite bland for all that it represented the largest change in social dynamics in several generations.

It was all very civilized. Modi made no threats. Poynor made no apologies. They discussed the weather and sea travel and the marvelous artifacts of Orion. They discussed the difficulties of mining ore and hauling it to Hyacinth as though it were of merely academic interest. Yet Willow was amazed at how Modi could swell in size even while seated when it suited his purpose. Some signal she didn't recognize must have passed to Rorn occasionally, because he would stand and stretch as though bored, but his bulk seemed to fill the meeting room. Whenever a reminder was needed of Torrent's martial capabilities, one was provided - some more subtle than others - and it was not long before Modi had secured the agreements he sought.

One of those, as Willow noted, was that the Merchant's Guild would not take retribution if the Balancers ceased to exist. Rorn did not even wait for the rest of the meeting to conclude. When that agreement was reached - quite circumspectly and again as though it were of only academic interest - he left.

Willow also noted that Modi did not shake hands with the leading merchants. It was only at this point, when they were ready to leave, that his bland mask slipped - or he allowed it to slip - and showed Poynor and his allies that he and his army would enforce their so-genteel arrangements with a lot less diplomacy if any were violated. In the end, Modi achieved what he wanted: Free trade in the port of Orion, with any merchants he chose, and with prices verified as fair by scouts both overt and covert.

The Torrent warleader seemed to be as gratified by his success as a statesman as he might have been by a battle won. In any event, that evening he was quite . . . energetic with Willow. She did take advantage of a short respite between bouts of passion to arrange herself on top of Modi as he reclined in their bed. A few squirms and they were joined again, though his tool was only modestly enthusiastic.

"Are you happy with the way things turned out? Truly? There was no battle, and it looks like there will be no war. And you are a warrior."

"I am a leader of my people," he replied. "If it were just me, and perhaps Rorn who feels much the same, we might have fought. I do like the thrill of danger . . . though I am good enough that the danger is contained along with the thrill. But I will not see my men injured or killed without more cause than excitement."

"Speaking of excitement," she said with a laugh - and a wiggle. "I could tell that danger, ah, thrills you even without your words."

His eyes danced with laughter and he gave a bump to demonstrate his building interest. But he returned to her question. "And I have to admit that I like directing men in great battles. The power and the responsibility are matchless. No other human endeavor includes that scope of intensity and commitment."

"Intensity and commitment," Willow murmured. "I like that." Her motions became more focused even as her breath shortened. Modi's strong hands reached up to spar with diamond-hard points of attack that welcomed rather than resisted his attention.

"Did you know that Aria is with child?" she asked.

"No," Modi answered shortly, his attention not really on her question.

"Are you disappointed because I cannot give you children?" Willow persisted.

Modi forced his attention back into focus . . . or at least a different focus. "Yes, of course. You're beautiful, and smart, and brave. I would be proud to share in your children . . ." His focus was again captured by something other than words. "But . . . if you try . . . real . . . hard . . . I think . . . you could make yourself . . . useful . . . anyway."

"I'm glad," Willow said, moving to make herself useful . . . at teasing. At tempting. At delaying. But her intention to provide a lasting opportunity were ruined when she said, "If you throw me out, I'll have to try and win Aria back to my bed from Rorn."

Modi said nothing, but he began to buck hard enough that Willow needed to clamp down and grab onto his hands for support. Then she added, "Of course . . . that might not . . . be . . . necessary. Rorn said he'd . . . . like . . . . to . . . watch us."

Modi's roar was loud enough his guards came crashing into his chamber. Not that Willow noticed. When Modi exploded it carried her up and away into measureless distance and she wasn't aware of anything for several minutes.

When she came to she was cuddled in Modi's arms, hidden beneath bed covers that were only for modesty, because their super-heated bodies needed no aid to maintain warmth. She gradually absorbed their situation, finally snuggling closer into his embrace and nibbling at his chin.

"So, will you be thinking of us?" she asked.

"What?"

"Will you be thinking of us?" she repeated. "When you and Rorn are out on patrol and Aria and I are home all alone . . . will you be thinking of . . . us?"

"No," Modi growled softly, "because from now on, you will always be by my side."

"Or at least, close," he said with a grin, rolling up on top of her.

"Thank Goddess," Willow murmured, surrendering herself completely and forever.

Finis