Twisted Fortune - An Escaflowne Fanfiction
By Bonnejeanne and Nixers
Contact: bonnejeanne@yahoo.com and nixerchan@aol.com
Warnings: Spoilers, teensy shounen ai implications, imagined
violence, and mild squickies ahead.
Notes: Set a little over one year after Vision of Escaflowne's end.
***** ***** Indicates a dream

Chapter Six - Distortion (cont.)

Part 12

Van woke to a sense of urgency, and a low murmuring somewhere deep in his soul that he couldn't quite place or hear, but which felt oddly familiar, like something he hadn't been aware was missing until it returned. A throbbing ache spreading from the back of his head caused each beat of his pulse to flare with a lick of pain. His hands clenched almost before his eyes opened, and the right one missed the bite of a sword pommel in it, causing another alarm and an intangible mourning. The next impulse was to reach for the missing object but his wrists would not obey the command. Opening his eyes, he looked around wildly.

"Serena!"

Cold fingers grabbed his chin and forced his face upward. A man in sorcerer's robes, much like Folken's, was leaning over him, staring at him with a detached interest. Vaguely, behind the tall form, Van could make out two armed guards.

"Interesting," the sorcerer commented, ignoring Van's outburst, "Seems they have the same eye color as well. I'd assume the wings are also a family trait."

Van stared at the sorcerer, his eyes sharpening in spite of the throbbing in his head, which the cold fingers moving his head caused to pulse harder. The words did not make immediate sense to Van, but the robes, and more, the feel and smell of his surroundings did, and he glared at the sorcerer as if he could stab the man with his eyes.

"What have you done with her?" he growled, in a reasonable imitation of an earth dragon's tones.

Foruma drew back, mild irritation plain. "What is this it keeps talking about?"

"Sir, he was found with number 64, my lord." One of the guards said with a small bow.

"That one is being adjusted," Foruma stated. Ignoring the growls form his captive, he pushed Van forward as much as the shackles would allow Van's arms to twist. "No signs of muscular structure capable of flight... nor of any sign of manifestation previously." He released Van and stepped back, making a note on a sheet of paper he'd produced from somewhere.

The words were *off*, as if a foreign language was being spoken, but Van found his mind adjusting, supplying answers, and the answers enraged him and terrified him. He was being treated like an object, and the one he loved was being 'adjusted'... Van's sharp intelligence left him very little doubt what that meant and a cry of grief and cold anger moved from his solar plexus up and out, ringing in the strange room like a war trumpet, as he threw his body against the metal restraints. It was useless... but the metal, without giving entirely... buckled. Trickles of warm liquid began dripping from where the shackles had bitten into flesh.

Startled curses came from the proximity of both guards, and there was the faint metallic rattling of hands gripping hilts tighter. The Sorcerer merely regarded Van with almost a smile, as if the struggles were amusing.

"Still spirited. This could be useful in later tests. It will be advantageous to find the nature of those wings. Perhaps pain or trauma..." he mused, hands tucking once again within the sleeves of his robes. He seemed to deliberately stand just out of Van's reach. "Yes, I believe Adelphos will be pleased with this... development. But no need to inform him just yet."

Foruma glanced to the nearest guard, "You. Be sure that he is restrained more properly, and find the person responsible for the oversight."

The guard bowed quickly and mumbled an acknowledgement. Rumor had already leaked around that this subject was a Draconian... as unlikely as that was, given that they were supposed to be myths, extinct ones at that. But there had been no oversight. The bonds should have held a beastman of twice this boy's size easily.

Van fell back, panting slightly, and his eyes remained pinned to the sorcerer. He spoke, and his voice this time was tense, but almost inflectionless. "What is your name?" he said, with a hint of royal arrogance.

The man regarded Van for a moment, dark eyes calculating. "Foruma is what you may call me."

Van repeated the name silently to himself, imprinting it on his memory. Foruma. He was going to kill Foruma.

Having gotten that piece of information, Van leaned back, closing his eyes. He began to concentrate, as Hitomi had taught him. To see what is unseen... form a picture of it in your mind. He pictured Serena's face, bringing every detail to focus, filling the image with life. Serena... where are you... are you all right... Serena...

The clear image he'd formed of Serena's face disappeared in a flash of bright red. The color whitened and dissolved, leaving Van with a feeling of bone deep cold and a vague picture of a circle with an amber cabachon. Even that disappeared as a scalding heat washed over his senses, inching his way up his limbs to envelop him in the embrace of unseen fire. Another flash of red, and a white dragon and blazing phoenix were curled around each other, in obvious battle.

It left with the same force it came, leaving him breathless, in the cold air of the cell and pinned under the observant eyes of the Sorcerer watching every move.

A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face, cooling instant in the chilled air. The vision hit him with force that did not allow him to understand or analyze it, and sealed itself somewhere beyond reach. But there was one meaning that could not be mistaken. Another trickle of clear liquid escaped closed lids as Van was rocked by a sense of loss so profound it left him numb. The trickle died quickly and his eyes opened again, this time as distant as before they had been intensely alive. He looked at the sorcerer and then across him as if he had no more interest in anything around him.

Foruma raised a slender eyebrow. "A defensive technique," he smiled, snakelike. "I think this one will be more interesting than we expected." He turned to one of the guards in a sweeping whirl of black. "See to it that the restraints are reinforced and it gets whatever is necessary for survival. Alert me if there are any new developments."

Satisfied that his orders will be carried out without question, he left the cell to the Draconian and two very unnerved guards.

***** She/he wandered.

"Wouldn't dream of it." *****

Cold, invasive and ever-present swept through him. He could feel his heart struggle and his throat was hoarse from some unremembered overuse.

"Dilandau?"

Red eyes opened in response.

"You're awake?" A slow smirk spread across his face as red eyes glittered from the light above the table. He vaguely knew that he was held down somehow, but it didn't matter, it never did. Focusing again on the question, he nodded.

A pale, thin face leaned over, coming into range. Something held up, and a light flashed in the boy's eyes, one then the other. Soft scratching of a notation being made. Cold fingers against his wrist. Another scratch.

"How do you feel?" the question was asked with no sense of concern, merely gathering information.

Dilandau's eyes had tracked the sorcerer's movements with open hostility. The pain lancing through his muscles at the smallest breath or twitch he made was nearly crippling. He used it as a focus, sharpening his mind with every burst of taxed nerves. Slices of memories were falling into place... a battle...

"Fine," he snarled slightly at the pale man. "Let me up."

The sorcerer frowned disapprovingly. "In time. Inaccurate responses will slow the process," he mentioned. A cover was lifted and impersonal hands moved randomly over the body, examining features, muscle tone, touching in places no one should be touched with such detachment. "Almost a year... the damage might have been irreversible..."

A sharp prick touched the inside of one pale thigh, and the needle bit deeply before discharging its contents. As it was removed and discarded, heat spread from the injection and began spreading quickly through the bloodways, as painful in its own way as the cold, but stabilizing, forcing the muscle contractions to ease, giving rise to a slowly building strength.

His eyes were clenched shut, a grimace contorting his expressive face as he waited for the worst to pass. "A year?" he hissed through his teeth. Despite the pain, there was an unsteady note in his voice.

The sorcerer looked at the boy on the table as if humoring a lab rat. "Irrelevant to you. It's our business to overcome the reversal. Cooperate and it will go more quickly. It's not as if you don't know this."

Dilandau's expression smoothed again, as the pain faded to mere background noise. His ruby gaze once again fixed on the young sorcerer. Inwardly, he contented himself to imagining the neck beneath his hand, the slow collapse of the cartiledge as he squeezed the life out of him. "Of course," he returned, his voice carrying a dangerous note.

As not to be noticed, he slowly stretched, testing the strength of his bonds.

The sorcerer watched him shrewdly. Seeming satisfied with the alertness of the specimen, he turned, making another notation on the paper clipped to a small board. Glancing dismissively at a figure waiting patiently in the shadows, the sorcerer said, "Watch it for the next period. If it appears stable, release it and conduct it to quarters. If there is any sign of instability, summon me."

The shadowed figure stepped into the light and bowed. "Yes, my lord."

A moment later the door shut and the golden-furred figure moved to the table. Quickly, his hands moved from wrist to ankle, releasing the shackles.

Dilandau slowly pushed himself to a sitting position, occasionally wincing as an odd muscle contracted, still protesting. "Jajuka," he said, rasping a bit hoarsely. The corner of his eyes twitched slightly, remembering a flash of the last battle, the guymelef between him and... the dragon. "How did you..."

The beastman's head turned, showing the healed scar and eye patch. The one dark eye warmed. "Captain," he said quietly. "Your memory is working very well."

"Why shouldn't it be?" he snapped, a bit irritably. His hands worked to massage his wrists. He shook his head, hiding the mixed feelings of sympathy and relief for the beastman with only a little success. "A year," he mused. "Where the hell have I been for a year?"

Jajuka watched the young man soberly, removing his own cloak and placing it around the pale shoulders. He answered the question with a partial truth, a reluctant evasion. "I was done, left for dead. When I woke, the field was deserted and you were gone. We were lucky enough to find you again. What has happened in between?" He shrugged, expressing ignorance.

Dilandau tilted his head, accepting the answer without a comment. He clutched the cloak around himself, trying to retain some of the dignity befitting of his status. One of his cold hands brushed against his collarbone and a look of confused consternation appeared, drawing his thin brows together. "I'm missing something."

Jajuka reached into a pocket and removed a slender chain with a pendant of red crystal. He placed it in Dilandau's hand. "To keep the Sorcerers from..." he said softly, leaving it unfinished but clear.

"Good work," Dilandau said with a nod, staring at the pendant. It was as close as he would come to outright thanks. "My uniform?"

"Here," the beastman answered, going back into the shadows to pick up a bundle, bringing it forward. Clothes, boots, and an empty scabbard.

He took the bundle, glancing at the scabbard. He gave a short wry laugh. "They still don't trust me?" he chuckled to himself. "I suppose they all can't be idiots then." He commented with dark humor, dressing briskly as his shaky limbs would allow.

Jajuka acknowledged the comment with an agreeing nod.

He paused after shrugging the overcoat around his shoulders. His eyes narrowed on his customary adornment suspiciously. "The stone is wrong," he said, fingering the metal.

"Yours was lost. You had this when we found you," Jajuka mentioned. "A new one... I'll have it made immediately."

"No," he snapped. "This will do." /Amber wasn't so bad of a color./ The thought floated to the surface. Dilandau put it on swiftly, covering for the slight twinge of nausea. With another considering look at the pendant, he slipped that over his head as well, tucking it beneath the thin waterproofed armor.

As the pendant dropped against his chest, he felt something... no, some one, reaching for him. The sensation was entirely mental and it carried a feeling of heat, and a throbbing, aching need. It seemed to catch around him for an intangible moment, and wash of red flooded his inner vision, fading to reveal an image of a firebird, phoenix, twined and locked with a white dragon, writhing...

"Van," Dilandau half gasped, half growled. The world returned to his eyes, the cold flooding back around him, biting even below his thick gloves. He tried to convince himself it was the chill the cause of his trembling.

Jajuka moved forward, not quite reaching but prepared to catch the boy if he seemed unsteady.

A moment later, a sound that seemed to come from a room very close by, rang and echoed through the sorcerer's enclave. It throbbed with an intensity of rage and a deep despairing grief, and died, reverberating like the call of a wounded dragon.

Dilandau froze, every muscle in his body tensing. He'd heard the scream once before, complimented by the flames of a city burning to the ground, over the radio of the Dragonslayers.. /The Dragonslayers.../ Another voice, younger, somehow more innocent despite all the blood and ashes. /Dilandau-sama!/

From Fanelia... Van, his dragon was here. Wild eyes fixed on Jajuka. "Who?"

The beastman swallowed, once again confounded by the mystery of what seemed to be hanging between the two enemies. "What are you asking, Captain?"

Dilandau regained a touch of his composure. He tilted his head up, tossing his bangs back. "My purpose..." he began, his tone still showing signs of the wild look that had left his eyes. It rose and felt almost randomly to some undercurrent of emotion. "Is to hunt Van Fanel.... What I heard was him, was it not?"

"It could have been," Jajuka answered unwillingly, his voice low. "He's here, Captain. Captive... your old enemy can't challenge you any more..."

What should have been comforting and satisfying on so many levels only further fueled some rage within him. His hand tightened around his scabbard involuntarily as he fought to keep his voice from rising in pitch. "Then why am *I* here? My job is *over*."

Jajuka shook his head, absolute in his denial. "Zaibach needs you, Captain. We lost the war. We rest under the pleasure of the allied enemies. Adelphos... will not submit. You are to choose and train a new company of Dragonslayers..."

"They cannot be replaced." The sheath in Dilandau's hand had begun to creak under the pressure exerted. "NEVER, suggest that!"

The beastman dropped to one knee, bowing his head. "Never, Captain," he answered. Still kneeling, his voice continued. "But there are... the experiments continue... the General will have his army. The wizards will have their... subjects. Your... your job is *not* over...."

The lure struck true as Dilandau's eyes widened at the knowledge of the sorcerer's activities. The only way to keep their disgusting hands off.... "Adelphos." Dilandau snorted, distain in his voice. "What does Dornkirk-sama require?"

Jajuka looked up, his one eye flashing with an unreadable emotion. His head bowed even further. "The Master of Fates.... is dead."

Dilandau seemed to reel from that. Dornkirk-sama.... was immortal, knowledgeable eternal.... nothing could have... Fallen. Like his Slayers. The familiarity of this same situation was not lost on him. He struggled for something, anything to balance himself in the wake of these changes to his world. "Van, what are they going to do with him?"

Jajuka slowly rose to his feet. He watched Dilandau's face. "What they'd have done to Folken-sama, if Dornkirk had permitted it," he said quietly. "He's your enemy. What does it matter?"

"It doesn't," he lied easily. "Get me my sword, and tell them I will chose."

Feeling a sense of relief, the beastman bowed, then saluted. "You've been assigned quarters on the fifth level, Half-moon Wing. The door has your signet."

He nodded, drawing himself up into a stance more customary for him before..../Before what?/ Dilandau inwardly snarled at himself in frustration. The blank patches of his life were nothing new, but never failed to bring unrest to him. "I'll find my way. Dismissed."

Jajuka responded instantly, knowing he was supposed to watch over the young man, but doing so from a slight distance was nothing new. He left the room as if he had no concerns about his charge, and then found a dark place to wait, where he could see Dilandau emerge.

The Captain left not long after, pausing for a moment. He seemed to consider something. His face half concealed in shadows, a growing, resolute smirk was the only feature to be seen clearly from the beastman's vantage point. He stood a moment like that, before turning on his heel and striding towards the other cells that the sorcerers kept.

Jajuka watched, and then ghosted at a distance, with no intention of interfering. What he learned now could shed light on the mystery, which in turn could only help the beastman with his self appointed task... to try, within the limits of his ability, to protect the one the sorcerers referred to as 64.

The guards watching over Van's cell snapped to attention, seeing the red of the uniform denoting higher status. Both were too young to have been enlisted during the Fate wars, but neither were unaware of rumors of the stories of the deadly Dragonslayer Captain. The man before them had a startling resemblance to such stories.

"You are both relieved. Leave immediately," he snapped.

The guards exchanged stunned looks. There was a moment's hesitation. "S-Sir?" the braver of the two managed.

Dilandau drew himself up to his full stature. Red eyes narrowed dangerously. "I have authority under General Adelphos to choose whom I will, and I take this prisoner under my custody. Now, leave the keys with me or... actions will be taken," he spoke the last with an audible note of eagerness.

Swallowing, one of them reacted first, saluting, and dropping a set of keys into the Captain's hand. The other guard reacted a few seconds later, saluting also, and then the two men made tracks. One of them left with the intention of going back to his unit. The other left with the intention of going straight to Foruma, who he feared even more than this startling apparition. Jajuka followed both men. When one parted to head for the barracks, he went with the other, and when it was clear enough to him where the man was headed, he came up silently behind him and slit the guard's throat, pulling his body into a empty chamber and concealing it quickly. Then he returned to the hallway outside the cell.

The Dragonslayer Captain hadn't done much in the mean time. The door to the cell was open, and slightly ajar. Dilandau himself was standing just inside, keys clenched in one hand convulsively.

"I don't understand. Why are you breathing?" he asked, not expecting an answer from the captive. He regarded the state Van was in with a mixture of impassiveness and alarm. Flakes of blood had dried on the boy's face, a trail left from some head wound. "No... I do." He stepped forward, squatting to bring himself eyelevel with the king. "I have no purpose without you."

The voice took a few moments to penetrate Van's consciousness. He'd let himself sink into a very faraway place inside, a place where there was no need to feel loss or pain or killing rage. The voice tickled at him... it seemed to come out of his memories of another time. Yet there was something else, something meltingly familiar and that was what pulled him back, causing his half-open eyes to focus on the face above. His eyes opened wider and his attention sharpened. A jolt of mixed emotions broke through the detachment. The low internal murmur seemed to quicken slightly.

"W-what?" he said, licking dry lips, swallowing to ease a throat that seemed to have become raw somehow.

An irrational fury crossed the face above his, and a rattle of the keys as a hand moved to strike him. The blow never came, stopping an inch away from his cheekbone. Frustration and something unidentifiable took the place of rage, as the hand touched his face, the smooth leather almost gently tracing the contour of it.

Van watched the aborted blow, never flinching, merely watching, almost curiously. When Dilandau touched his face, he shuddered slightly, then looked up, locking cinnamon eyes to garnet, and slowly turned his face into the touch.

Another quicksilver mood swing turned Dilandau's expression to match the previous curiosity. "No purpose without you... it's the same for you isn't it? As long as I breathe, so do you."

Something about that caused the murmuring to slow. Not quite right, Van thought, a little vaguely, but it did have a sense of symmetry. "Dilandau," he said distinctly. It hurt, but it was a necessary affirmation.

The Captain nodded, something flashing behind his eyes for a moment. The name seemed to resolve some unspoken argument in the man. He reached up and unshackled Van. He stepped back, confident of something only he seemed to be able to rationalize. "Until you can fight, you are under my command," he stated, leaving no room for argument.

The young king sat up slowly, ignoring the blood crusting his wrists. He moved off the table a little stiffly, standing, facing the slightly taller boy. His eyes roamed over Dilandau's face and then up and down his figure. Swallowing again, he tilted his head ever so slightly, something unreadable settling behind his eyes.

"Fine," he said. And then. "But I won't fight you. Ever."

Dilandau let out a low growl, his eyes holding signs of desperation. "Why not?!"

A slight tremor moved through Van's body, and then he reached up, and his fingers brushed the Captain's cheek, gently. Tenderly. "Because I can't. You... you're the other half of something I need."

Confusion threatened to overwhelm him, and Dilandau found himself sweating slightly, his heart pounding beneath this ribcage. To his own mild shock, he didn't pull away from the other's touch, couldn't. He hissed, his eyes going dark as he focused his confusion into emotions he was more comfortable with.

"Can you walk?" he asked, his voice strained.

Dropping his hand, a slight, almost sardonic smile curved Van's lips as he watched the man facing him. He answered the question with a nod.

"Hn. Follow then, unless you'd like to see *those* bastards again," Dilandau spat, his eyes darkening slightly. He had plans to make, but first he'd need to contact Adelphos. Unless the General had changed from the power-hungry, brutish man he knew, he wouldn't deny Dilandau his choice.

Van said nothing, waiting for the other boy to lead the way. Only when the other boy was no longer looking at him did an expression of dark sorrow move across his face briefly.

Conscious of his "charge's" condition, Dilandau's stride was shorter, and not as forceful, leading them both down none descript passageways, unremarkable in their indifferent, dark sterility. Occasionally, Van felt a hand on his arm, steadying him, but it was always gone before he could think to look down, and Dilandau seemed to take no notice of him at all as they navigated the passageways.

Finally, he stopped Van opening a door with a signet hung at eyelevel. It opened smoothly to reveal a utilitarian room, consisting of little more than a bed and study within.

"You'll stay here for now," Dilandau said, turning his back to Van, to check the state of affairs of the room. "The infirmary won't be safe yet."

Van came into the room, giving it barely a glance. "Is this yours?"

"I assume so," was the reply, a touch of a smirk on his lips. "Jajuka is loyal beyond such petty misdirection."

Accepting it, Van placed himself in front of the other boy. "This is Zaibach?"

Dilandau nodded curtly, strangely expressionless. "Sit. You need some tending or I doubt you'll survive the night."

Van regarded Dilandau silently. Then he said, "I'll survive. We need to return to Fanelia."

Dilandau seemed to ignore the Fanelia comment altogether. "Good, I'm not ready to die yet," he smirked. A look of distinct irritation passed across his features. "And still no sword, what's keeping him?" he muttered to himself with unconcealed impatience.

The mention of a sword caused Van's hand to move reflexively to his side, which of course held nothing, not belt nor scabbard nor blade. He frowned, but held his tongue.

A moment later there was a tap on the door. "Captain."

"Enter," he commanded, reflexively putting himself between the door and Van, although whether to shield him or to prevent his escape wasn't entirely clear to the man himself.

Van saw the movement, with another slight curve of his lips, and turned to sit on the low bed.

The door opened and Jajuka entered. He carried a naked blade in his paw and offered it to Dilandau, hilt first.

"I have not been able to speak to the General as of yet," he said. "And I'll need to return and wait if I'm to see him today."

Dilandau nodded, accepting the blade with a slight softening of his expression, even as his eyes lit up. He made a few harmless passes of the blade through the air before slipping it into the scabbard on his belt. Then turned to regard Jajuka again.

"Very well, see that a uniform is obtained for my charge, as well as a list of those currently under Foruma's.... program," he said, his upper lip curling slightly. "As well as how far along each are. Under Adelphos' authority of course."

Jajuka inclined his head. He glanced at the Fanelian king, sitting on the low bed, and a shadow of emotion crossed his impassive face and was gone quickly. "As you order, Captain." He waited a moment to see if there were any further instructions.

Dilandau followed Jajuka's gaze back to Van, eyeing the boy critically. There was something slightly .... off. "Was he armed?" he asked the beastman.

"Yes, Captain," Jajuka replied, and his muzzle wrinkled ever so slightly.

"Return his blade to him then. Dismissed."

The beastman saluted again, bowing swiftly and left the room, closing the door. As he returned to the wizard's wing, his thoughts churned over the orders, the events and the attitude of *his* charge.

In the room, Van waited, watching the person who had now become the central figure in this act of his life's play.

Dilandau returned the gaze, then shrugged. "Do as you wish. I doubt you need any training, so you are free to do what you want until you can walk out of here on your own."

Van stood, already steadier on his feet. He thought he was nowhere near as bad off as Dilandau seemed to think.

"I could do that now," he said. "But I'll wait for my sword."

Ruby eyes lit up with a sort of anticipation. "Very well. After that we'll test that non-violent idea you seem to have."

Van shrugged. "Test it. Do as you wish. Then we need to return to Fanelia."

For some reason, the phrase from Van's lips made him flinch slightly. "We?"

Van nodded, holding his gaze on those garnet eyes. "You promised you'd help me protect it."

Silvery white bangs fell forward as Dilandau dropped his head slightly. Any memory of it eluded him, but something struck him as a truth. Hardly noticing it, he felt a soft warm pulse against cold skin. "I don't remember that," he said, a note of challenge in his voice.

"You were dreaming when you said it," Van answered, another flare of quickly masked grief darkening his eyes.

A look of understanding dawned, before being erased by a dark laugh. "What do dreams matter. They don't last." Indecision struck him, Dornkirk sama was de.. gone, Folken a traitor... the only two who gave him orders. If Van left, there was no purpose. "You can't leave," he said.

"I have to. And you have to come with me."

"Fanelia is gone," Dilandau said, "And I have work here still.. I think," the last was accompanied by another deep scowl of frustration.

"Fanelia is not gone. We rebuilt. You have work... the... the wizard's prisoners?" Van guessed, having tried to follow all the exchanges with determined attention.

A slightly darker look directed at Van was the only change of expression. Reluctantly, Dilandau nodded.

"Bring them."

A wry smile curved Dilandau's lips, forming a rather unpleasant expression. "I doubt right now most of them can move, much less travel to *Fanelia*."

"Then we'll take whom we can and return for the rest." There was a flat determination that dictated clear answers to every objection.

Dilandau crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the edge of the room's desk. "And what will you do if I don't leave?"

The flash of grief was more obvious now. Van swallowed. "Stay," he whispered.

Dilandau regarded the other man quietly, in a rare state of complete motionlessness. He weighted his options carefully, assessing the ties and the questions he had. He'd little love for Adelphos, who'd shown him disregard until his Dragonslayers had become the most powerful force in Zaibach. There was Jajuka as well... but there was some sourceless bittersweet feeling stemming from there as well.

"The sorcerers would have to be killed," he said slowly.

"My sword works as well as yours," Van asserted.

Something stirring in his chest answered that blatant commitment to murder. He swallowed, closing his eyes. Then, eyes still closed, he spoke softly, and his voice held the first note of real pleading Dilandau had ever heard from him. "I have to go. If... if you stay, I will stay. If I stay... it will come. If I don't go to it, it will come to me."

A look of confusion passed over Dilandau's sharp features, but he pushed it aside to be analyzed later. Whatever this it was, it could wait. "I have no need for a prisoner. You in a cage will bring me no satisfaction...." he paused, his hand curling around the hilt of his sword. "To the border, you can change your mind until then."

"What happens at the border?"

"I don't know," Dilandau said simply, shrugging. "I'll go, or stay, or maybe you'll have decided to fight," he smiled a bit at that. "I'll know by then."

Van looked into the garnet eyes again and then nodded, accepting it. Turning, he stretched out on the low, flat bed, leaving half the space empty.

The Captain regarded the sight, the nausea almost becoming painful. With clenched teeth, he turned sharply and left the room, waiting for the door to close behind him before slumping to the wall, letting the tension drain out of him, as well as the conflict.

The sound of the door closing was loud in Van's ears. By sheer force, he kept himself from getting up and going to it. Resting one arm over his face, he closed his eyes. His body shook for a little while and then he fell into an exhausted half doze, turning his cheek to cover the damp stain on the pillow.

THE END OF PART 12

Twisted Fortune - part 13

Twisted Fortune - Index