As Amanda struggled to fall asleep, another young woman struggled to stay awake.

Eyes of indigo fought to stay open behind wayward curls of brown. Her head was propped up, palm under her chin, fingers curled against her soft, cherubic face as she drowsed. Before her, deep amber liquid dripped patiently into a flask, a light fog of white drifting slowly above the surface of the rising fluid.

She dozed. Her head slipped from her hand, jerking her awake.

Evella experienced a moment of panic that she had missed the moment. When she reassured herself that the mixture was not yet done, she let out an exhausted sigh.

She groaned and rubbed at her eyes, her chair creaking as she leaned back. She raised her arms and stretched. The sash of her Healer robe came loose, and one side fell away, exposing one small, pert breast. The nipple stood erect from the touch of the chill autumn evening.

She uttered a tiny gasp and yanked her robe closed. She wrapped her arms around herself and blushed furiously despite her solitude.

Gods, why does she insist on humiliating me? Evella lamented silently.

But she knew perfectly well the reasoning behind it. By denying her any clothing save for the trappings of her position, she would not attempt to leave until her task was done. It was in case her own obsession would prove insufficient to insure her loyalty after she had figured out to what end her Mistress intended to put this altered formula.

Evella covered her eyes with her hand, then ran her hand up and into the wild curls of her hair. She let out a shaky sigh, her eyes misting as if on the verge of tears.

She didn't have time for hysterics, however. Not when the last bits of amber fluid were snaking their way through the apparatus.

She drew her hands around to her cheeks, framing her face in her slender fingers for a moment as she let out a quick sigh. "All right," she said in a wispy voice. "Let's see if I got it this time."

Evella opened a drawer and pulled out a small cloth bag held closed by a drawstring. She looked distressed at the lightness of the bag in her hand, and even more so when she opened it.

I'm nearly out of Kinsalla again.

She grabbed a tiny wooden spoon from outside the circle of brilliance afforded by a small oil lantern hanging above her head. She scraped the bottom of the bag several times until she had enough to fill the spoon.

She took a breath, held it, and slowly tipped the herb into the flask.

The fluid began roiling at once. Amber deepened to gold, and then deep crimson sunset. Evella's eyes widened. Her lips quivered and curled into a slow smile. "I-I got it ... yes, I ..."

Evella gasped as the liquid abruptly turned tar black and spurted from the neck like a miniature volcano. Wads of thickening goo splattered to the table around it. There was a sizzling sound and a smell of ashes as what remained in the flask frothed into a sticky mess.

The young Healer threw the spoon to the table and covered her face with her hands. "Gods be damned, this is impossible," she muttered in despair.

Evella knew there was only one thing she could do. She had to clear everything and start over again. But now she was out of a key ingredient, one only the Overlord could order. The Overlord was going to be doubly angry with her. Once for failing to modify the formula yet again, and twice for failing to watch her supplies so she could avoid another delay.

She trembled as she stood. She hated going out. Walking around the Manor in only a thin robe made her feel like a common slave. If it were not for the fact that her virtue was still intact, she would be a slave for all intents and purposes.

But the Overlord threatened to take even that from her if she kept failing at her task.

Evella stepped out of her office and shivered, but not from the crisp early autumn air. She looked across the curving path, towards the circle of water that surrounded the Overlord's private chamber like a moat. A narrow, ornate wooden bridge spanned the water, flanked by tall, slender trees in muted fall splendor. Small lamps glowed by magic along the paths.

The young Healer pulled her robe more tightly around her petite body and set out.

The soft sands against her bare feet still retained some of the warmth of the day, but it did little to chase away the chill that had settled into her. She picked her way around fallen leaves, her heart pounding as she crossed the bridge and headed up the path to the Overlord's chamber.

She was barely halfway to the door when she heard it, causing her to hesitate and her cheeks to glow. The Overlord had company.

Maybe she will be too busy to want to see me, Evella thought, but she knew it to be a vain hope. Nevertheless, she knocked on the door and waited to be summoned.

"Mmm ... enter ..." murmured a sultry voice.

Evella shuddered. She swallowed hard and let herself in.

A torrid wave of air blew past her as she crossed the threshold. In the center of the round chamber, a fire burned and crackled within a wrought iron hearth. Smoke trails twined like snakes, drawn up by a constant updraft towards a vent in the ceiling. One half of the room was devoted to business, a desk and a filled scroll rack dominating that side. The other half was devoted to slumber and pleasure.

It was very much the latter that was in evidence that evening.

Despite how many times she had walked in on such an interlude, she wanted to cringe. It never got any easier. She had never wanted a posting at a Manor, and this was why.

Three naked, nubile young slaves lay upon thick furs on the floor. Strained moans and pitiful whimpers rose from all of them, writhing in rising pleasure that never consummated.

One of the girls was turned such that the Healer could see between her legs. Clinging like a second skin to the slave's sex was a piece of satiny black cloth that squirmed and squished against her folds.

As the Healer watched, the girl gasped and tensed, then fell limp with an anguished cry as her orgasm was again denied despite the intense rise.

"Mmm ... so have you done it?"

Evella flinched. Her eyes glazed as they fell upon the Overlord.

Overlord Freya D'yros lay upon her bed, her nightgown open and baring much of her voluptuous body, her honey-brown tresses strewn on the cushions about her head. Her long legs lay unabashedly spread, a fourth slave licking her lightly-furred sex. The slave's hips writhed and jerked, her pussy under the same merciless assault as the others.

Evella opened her mouth but could not get her voice to work. She was still too shocked by the wanton display to speak. Though with as long as she suspected the slaves had been kept from climax, she suspected it was more torture than pleasure for them.

Freya turned her head. "Well, Evella? You said you thought you had it this time?"

"I-I-I'm sorry, my Lady, I ... I failed again ..."

Freya narrowed her eyes, though her breathing was heavy from her rising pleasure. "Then you will try again until you get it."

"Yes, My Lady ... but ... but I-I need more Kinsalla. I'm all out."

Freya's gaze grew icy. Evella drew in her breath and bit her lip, wrapping her arms around herself tightly.

The Overlord lay a hand on the slave's head. "Stop."

The slave drew back, trembling and panting hard. Her hips writhed madly, and she struggled not to whimper her distress. Freya swiftly rose from bed. She reached behind her slave and touched the object on the slave's pussy. The slave's panting eased and her hips slowed as the stimulation stopped.

Freya did the same to the other three. Each one in turn went limp, her pussy no longer being pleasured, but still aching horribly for release. The last one whimpered softly. Freya spanked her backside hard five times.

"Quiet," Freya snapped. "I will have no weakness in my slaves. Stand up, all of you."

The four girls rose shakily to their feet and gave their Overlord a pleading gaze.

Freya smiled coldly. "My little Healer here failed me again. So none of you get to cum tonight."

Evella gasped.

"And maybe not tomorrow, either, if she still continues to fail me. Oh, but then, she can't continue tomorrow because she stupidly ran out of an important ingredient and we have to wait until it gets here."

"My Lady, p-please, don't!"

Freya ignored her. "So your little pussies will have to just ache and strain for awhile. Maybe for a whole quarter moon."

None of the four made a sound, but it was clear in their eyes how horrified they were. The one that had been spanked was close to tears.

Gods, this isn't happening, Evella thought desperately. She can't do this!

"Now get out of my sight, all of you."

The four slaves turned and silently departed. Evella's heart lurched as she heard their still heavy and strained breathing and saw the unsteadiness in their legs.

Once Evella was alone with Freya, she shot the Overlord a small glare. "You can't ... you can't do that to them, my Lady. You could hurt them if you deny them too long."

Freya folded her arms and stepped up to Evella. The Healer shifted nervously at her Overlord's nudity. "They've handled worse. You see, I train my slaves properly, Evella. I make sure they can handle it. Not like at some Manors."

"I-I don't want you torturing them over me!"

"Then stop failing me, you whiny little brat. You told me you would have the Draught modified for me almost a moon ago."

"It's more complicated than it looks!" Evella wailed. She caught herself and forced her voice lower. "Y-you're having me compensate for an effect that I don't even fully understand. I've never even seen the formula for the Draught of Forgetfulness until you showed it to me."

Evella was still reeling from that revelation. The Draught was supposed to be a closely guarded Overlord secret. She and other Healers knew that when administered to a newly acquired captive from another world while still unconscious from Portal transit, it would erase all memory of her life prior to waking. It was supposed to make the captive more tractable and easier to train.

What she had not known was the additional ingredient that heightened sex drive, and the incredible amount that went into it. Or at least the amount that went into Freya's version. She assumed all Overlords' Draughts were so. Those slaves Freya had dismissed were suffering from their orgasm denial, but once Freya relieved them, they would eagerly come back for more. Sex was a physical addiction for them.

Freya looked thoroughly unimpressed. "And you were supposed to be the best chemist the Healer Guild has."

Evella blushed. "I'm not the best, my Lady. There's at least one that's better ..."

"Yes, I know, but he is working for that upstart bastard Roquan. He's not exactly available to me, now, is he?"

"My Lady, please. You ask for the impossible. Even the Healer Guild doesn't fully understand the strange state an offworlder's mind is in when she's pulled through a trans-world Portal, and you're asking me to ..."

"Enough!"

Evella nearly bit her tongue in her effort to silence herself quickly. She stared fearfully at her Overlord.

"You don't seem to understand, Evella. This is my only option. This is my only means to get what I want."

Evella said nothing, too afraid to speak.

Freya turned away from her Healer and folded her arms. "Damn that Roquan," she muttered vehemently. "Damn him."

Freya, of course, knew of Roquan's main transgression, that of training a Draughtless slave. But she had not known of his other, even more heinous crime until she had pieced it together herself recently.

Roquan had used Amanda as a spy on the other Overlords at the Conclave. That was how he had managed to counter every deal that Gronnus had tried to make. Freya had not bothered to examine the deal-making at the time. She had simply assumed that the oaf Gronnus had bungled the deals himself.

Now she had a new plan, one that would finally let her destroy Roquan. The first part had been to stir up resentment towards Roquan and force him to open trade with the Urisi. But the second part counted on Evella completing her task.

"M-My Lady ... " Evella finally ventured in a small voice. "What ... what exactly are you planning to do with this alteration to ..."

Freya turned. "That is not of your concern."

"But ..."

Freya sighed. "Stop sniveling! But what?"

"I-I don't want to see anyone hurt."

"Then I suppose you should make sure your changes to the Draught are not painful."

"That's not what I meant! Who are you going to use this on? You don't need it on offworld captives, you give them that when ..."

Evella gasped in surprise when Freya suddenly surged forward and cupped her hand under the Healer's chin. Evella trembled as she stared at her Overlord.

"You are not going to ask me any more questions, Evella," Freya said softly. "You are just going to do what I want you to like a good little girl."

Evella shuddered. "Y-you can't ... you can't treat me like one of your slaves."

Freya's lips curled into a smile. "Oh? Can't I?" She lowered her hand and stepped back. "Undress."

Evella clutched at the folds of her robe.

Freya's smile faded. "I will not tell you again, Evella."

Evella slowly lowered her hands. They trembled as they undid the sash, her cheeks glowing in humiliation as she parted the folds and bared her slim, lithe body. Freya held out her hand. The Healer whimpered as she held the robe to her Overlord.

Freya snatched it from her and stepped away, tossing it haphazardly over the back of her chair near the desk. "You latest blunder as forfeited your right to any clothing whatsoever. You'll stay naked until you get your task done. Just like the other slaves."

Evella sniffled once. She wiped quickly at one eye just before Freya turned around.

"And each time you fail me again, you lose another privilege. Another dignity. I'll have you entertaining me in the evenings instead of my other slaves."

"P-please, no ..." Evella moaned.

"Then don't fail me again. I will place the order for your Kinsalla and whatever else you need. Perhaps I can get them to send it by Portal. But if you let yourself run out of Draught ingredients again, then I will collar you and make you truly one of my slaves."

"No, My Lady, I won't, I promise!" Evella cried.

"Now go away, before I decide I want you licking my pussy to make up for what I just missed."

Evella fled. She barely made it back to her quarters before she finally burst into tears.

While the young Healer gave vent to her despair, a merchant was doing his best to suppress his own.

Sitting cross-legged and perfectly still upon the bed, the only thing distinguishing Jollis from a statue was the very slow rise and fall of his chest. Even then, his breathing was shallow, purposely reducing his oxygen intake to assist his descent into meditative trance.

The hut he occupied had been a slave's quarters. The Wanderer Jollis had stripped it of all decoration, in hopes that the austerity would remove distraction and allow him to focus.

Yet with all his meditation -- indeed, this seemed to be his more common state these days -- it had helped him little. Each time he hoped for a revelation, for a quick means out of his increasingly precarious situation. The solution continued to elude him.

More troubling was the fact that these sessions were less about his main problem and more about the one remaining distraction, one that could not simply be removed from his sight as the simple hangings and ornaments of the room had.

Every thought that crossed his troubled mind was impeccably logical. All his reasons made sense. The greater good was paramount. The bigger goal was the priority. Surely he could bow to that wisdom, to the supreme vision of his ultimate work realized.

Slowly, Jollis opened his eyes.

He took a slow, deep breath and let it go. His dark eyes were sharp. His senses were open. His mind was clear. Leaving his face as stoic as his surroundings were spartan, he reached into a pocket of his robe and withdrew a Farviewing pearl.

Jollis held it before his eyes and stared at it hard, as if daring it come to life on its own and summon an image of the one to whom it was bound.

He willed his other hand to pass over the pearl and activate its magic. The hand left his side and rose slowly. His face was stone. Like the one time in his life he was forced to kill, this was simply a job that needed to be done. No feeling. No regret. Just summon, explain, and terminate the dialog forever. The consequences to his feelings did not matter. The consequences to her feelings ...

... to her feelings ...

His hand faltered.

Jollis let out a frustrated sigh. His fingers curled around the pearl tightly as both hands dropped.

He brought the clenched hand to his face and closed his eyes. It was gone. The crystal clarity of purpose he had summoned in his head shattered the moment he envisioned Amanda standing before him.

Jollis took another deep breath and slid out of bed. He dropped the pearl into his pocket and wandered over to the makeshift desk in the corner of the room.

Spread out upon the desk was a map of Oceanus. It was similar to the one that Roquan possessed, but marked differently. A smattering of red dots represented the palaces of Noble Lords. About a third were clustered on the mainland near Overlord Gronnus' Manor. The rest were scattered haphazardly about Oceanus, several dotting the islands in the ocean to the east and the sea to the south of the continent.

Barely a quarter of the Nobility. That was all the supposedly "well-traveled" slaves of Gronnus could give him. It was not enough. Had they been all concentrated in one area, the Inonni could have used it as a consolidated base with which to take the rest of Oceanus.

Jollis needed a new plan. He had needed a new one for the past moon. Each day would bring the Mages closer to discovering the secret of the Inonni Portals. He was out of time and out of options.

Well, not quite. He did have one remaining course of action, but he despised it. It meant pulling another into his ring of confidantes. He had already regretted having brought Gronnus into his circle.

Jollis turned from the map and extracted a second Farviewing pearl from his pocket. He waved his other hand over it.

The pearl glowed bright blue. Soon after, the image of a thin man in a robe and hood appeared from somewhere in a night-darkened glade. He bowed his head once. "Yes, my Wanderer?" he said in a reverent voice.

"I have thought on your suggestion, and I will use it," Jollis said curtly.

"I am honored."

"Do not be. It is not a good plan. It stands out only because it is the only plan."

"Is it not said that to gamble on a slim chance is not always wise, but to pass up even a small chance of gain when all is lost is surely the way of the fool?"

Jollis considered and nodded once. "True. Very well said."

"I thank you, Wanderer."

"But your plan lacks something. It needs an attractant. A lure. Bait." A pause. "I have an idea."

"What may I do to assist, Wanderer?"

"Obtain one thousand platinum for me as soon as possible."

The Cohort paused. He turned his head and leaned to the side in a whispered consultation with another. He nodded a few times before returning his attention to his Master. "It will be difficult."

"Nevertheless, it will be done. Notify me at once as soon as you have it. And I will need another thousand soon after that."

The Cohort exchanged a look with his compatriot. "Doubly difficult, Wanderer. We cannot obtain that much through anything but illicit means."

"Do what you need to do. I authorize it."

"Killing as well?"

Jollis heard the obvious hint of disgust in the Cohort's voice. It was well and good that his people did not crave blood. It was not the Inonni way. But sacrifices must be made. Things were out of control. They needed to be brought back under control by whatever means necessary.

"If needed," Jollis said tonelessly. "The blood will be on my hands. You are absolved."

The man bowed his head slowly and gratefully. Honor and responsibility were very important. Now he could not stain his soul with any violent acts he may have to commit. Yet the thought of performing them remained most distasteful to him. He would do it only as a last resort.

"That is all," Jollis said tersely, snapping his hand over the pearl. The Cohort disappeared as the pearl went dark.

Jollis lowered his hand, fingers tensing in an uncharacteristic display of anxiety. He looked back towards the map.

He had thought on it for so long. He had come up with nothing better than his underling's plan. And yet he was missing something. He was still not thinking straight. Was it because he could not purge himself of his feelings of love for Amanda?

Jollis had nearly half of Gronnus' slaves. There was no point in taking any more. He had stolen a look at Gronnus' records. The remaining two thirds would give him only three, perhaps four more Noble Lords.

He had seen why Gronnus was able to claim they were well-traveled. It was Overlord doublespeak that someone outside their circle would not know. Gronnus had obtained the bulk of his slaves by purchasing them from other Overlords all over Oceanus for as cheaply as he could. Which meant many were cast-offs. Slaves that were not as skilled, or that had training difficulties, or physical imperfections.

And yet as he stared at the map, he still believed there was something he was not seeing.

He pulled Amanda's Farviewing pearl out and looked at it with resignation.

Precious one, you continue to thwart me, he thought with wry amusement, one corner of his mouth curling upwards slightly. And I am again abetting it.

Regret was not the exclusive purview of the merchant. It could also be found in the frustrations of an ancient Mage.

Despite its enormous weight, the massively thick iron door to the Chamber of Protection flew open from the combined push spells of the exuberant apprentices that now flooded into the elegant corridor. They paid little heed to the mantra drilled into them from day one about leaving such chambers open, too distracted as they were jabbering to one another in unbridled excitement.

"It is trick. An illusion. A spell reflecting the focusing energy and making us believe that it comes from the source," proclaimed one prim-looking lanky young man.

"Oh, here now, enough of that trite theory of yours," cried a short, wild-eyed youth with permanently mussed hair. "I will not hear of it any longer!"

"It is certainly better than the fairy tale you spin!"

"And just what is wrong with my idea? Certainly we know there are gems that can store the essences of power and patterns of energy ..."

"But of a location? You cannot bottle a point in space and time!"

"But what if you could? Then it makes perfect sense! Place it within the matrix of the Portal column, and the essence will seek to rejoin its point of origin and pull the Portal energies along ..."

"Now you are really stretching it."

"Oh, stop it, both of you!" cried the shrill voice of a young woman with flaming red hair. "Surely this can be explained by a simple time-skip."

The prim one rolled his eyes. "Oh, now don't you start!"

"But we know that the flow of time can be altered by perception. If somehow we could tap into such a thing and reverse ..."

The wild-eyed one laughed. "Even I know you cannot separate space from time! Really, what did they teach you in ..."

From inside the chamber, a staff was thrust with a muttered curse at the door. It swung closed just as fast as it had opened. The walls rang like a gong.

The Mage Q'yros turned away from the door with a frustrated grunt and thumped his staff hard against the floor once, briefly adding to the still echoing reverberations.

He leaned heavily on the end of the staff, breathing hard for a few moments longer. Even the one spell to move the door had taken a lot from him. His body's physical age was again creeping towards parity with his chronological age, despite no longer being in the service of the Emperor. His workload had seemed to increase rather than decrease since returning to the Guild Hall.

Q'yros took a long, deep breath and let it go, pulling himself up to his full height, ignoring the popping and aching of his joints. His already heavily lined face creased even further as he frowned, his diamond-hard gaze narrowing as it looked upon the artifacts.

There was not much left that was recognizable. Some twisted remains of a gem chamber. Part of one energy column reflector. A few glittering shards of the Portal gem itself. The bulk of the remaining detritus were chunks of wood and masonry that had formed the floor and walls of the chamber in which the original Portal device had been housed. They had not contributed to the operation of the Portal, but contained very faint residual energy patterns.

Behind him, the door opened just far enough to allow the entry of another elderly Mage. He moved with much more alacrity than Q'yros, motivated not so much by relative vigor as by his red-faced anger. He threw a hand gesture behind him without looking back.

As the door closed with a much more sedate ringing thump, the other Mage stomped up to Q'yros and roared, "Why are you not dead?"

Q'yros gripped the top of his staff more tightly. Without turning, he replied, "I feel as if I should be, Guildmaster. Does that make you feel any better?"

Guildmaster Q'ixanna glared at Q'yros' back. He thrust an arm back towards the door. "Do you know what I just saw before I came in?"

"A group of apprentices talking amongst themselves, I would wager."

"Not just talking about anything, Q'yros. They were talking about that!" He gestured wildly towards the artifacts. "At least until I silenced them."

Q'yros turned. "I do hope you did not damage them," he said with undisguised acid in his voice. "We have so few promising ones as it is."

"I merely placed a quiet spell upon them. And just what did you mean by that remark about ...?"

Q'yros shook his head and waved a hand in dismissal. "Withdrawn. I am tired and in pain."

"Ha! Pain! Perhaps you have breached your Oath!"

Q'yros remained remarkably calm. He was at the point where nothing this petty could get to him anymore. "As much as I deeply regret depriving you of your fun, Guildmaster, I am in as good health as I can expect. No, the Oath remains as it was."

"I do not see how. Not after you have revealed the presence of the artifacts to the apprentices."

"At your blessing, I remind you."

"After you browbeat me into it! And I did not tell you to let them prattle about it through all the hallways."

Q'yros drew himself up straight, as uncomfortable as it was. He used the pain to focus his thoughts. "Perhaps I do not care anymore, Guildmaster. Perhaps I am still troubled enough at the lack of progress that I am willing to take risks."

"So was that your plan all long? To ..."

"I am going to say this one more time and never again. I am not interested in your position. I am not interested in deposing you." He turned and swept an arm towards the artifacts. "This is my last great work, Guildmaster. After this is done, I am to retire. I will remove myself from your sight at that point."

Q'ixanna looked surprised. "You mean ... you will not retire here?"

"No. I thought that would please you."

The Guildmaster looked conflicted and did not reply.

It did not take long for Q'yros to figure out what was going through Q'ixanna's mind. Yes, he was interested in Q'yros no longer being an active Mage. But he had hoped to reap the benefits of Q'yros vast knowledge, which was far more than Q'ixanna ever possessed.

Q'ixanna valued information. It was like currency to him, and he was a miser with it. The more he hoarded, the more powerful he felt. It had taken nearly a moon for Q'yros to convince the Guildmaster to let others at the Hall take a look at the artifacts.

Normally, Q'yros would have taken matters into his own hands, consequences be damned. He was too popular among the others for the Guildmaster to have any true power over him. Some longed for the day that Q'yros would again take the position himself, as many were not happy with Q'ixanna.

But Q'yros could not work in an environment of extreme paranoia. He had had enough of that with Z'haas. So upon his return to the Guild Hall, Q'yros had sealed a Wizard's Oath declaring that he would do nothing that could be considered undermining to Q'ixanna's position.

Only Q'ixanna used a very broad interpretation of the word "undermining." The consequences of violating the Oath was painful death.

"Guildmaster, have you given more thought yet to my other requests of late?" Q'yros asked in a tired voice, already knowing what the answer likely was.

Q'ixanna glowered. "And why should I do such a thing?"

"Because I asked you nicely."

The Guildmaster almost laughed. "I see. So now you decide to be civil towards me, eh? I cannot imagine myself making any other decision than what I have, so reviewing your requests would be pointless."

Q'yros did not visibly react. He had asked two things of the Guildmaster. He wanted to inform the Nobles and the Overlords what they knew of the Portals -- that they were being opened without the need of a focusing pearl at the destination -- and he wished the Guild Hall to sever ties with the Emperor.

Q'ixanna looked uncomfortable under Q'yros' gaze and instead peered around him and at the artifacts. "Have you found anything more?"

Q'yros shook his head, but not in response to the Guildmaster's question. He turned towards the artifacts. "Yes, I have found that even our best apprentices cannot help but soar into flights of fantasy rather than apply critical thinking to the problem at hand."

"That is not what I meant!"

"Nevertheless, it is the best answer I can give you. I have no more insights. I am missing the last piece of this puzzle, and without that, I cannot begin to tell you how to stop these Portals."

Q'ixanna paused, then nodded, forcing himself to hold his head up and look confident. "There have been fewer of these Portals opening in the recent quarter moon. Perhaps the danger is passing."

Q'yros could detect the hopeful tone in the Guildmaster's voice. He is scared and doesn't want to admit it, the Mage thought. Bastard. "Fewer Portals is actually bad news, Guildmaster. I would prefer an increase, not a decrease."

"What? Are you mad?"

"Each one that forms is another opportunity to study the Portal energies," Q'yros said with forced patience. He took a few steps towards the artifacts. He bent down, ignoring his aching joints, and picked up a single crystal shard in his age-spotted and knobbly fingers.

"We have taken all the readings we can," declared Q'ixanna. "They get us nowhere!"

Q'yros held up the shard to the light of a lamp on the wall. He turned it around, watching the light play off the facets. His Mage senses could just barely see the remaining wisps of Portal energies remaining in the material.

He was close. Very close. Something one of the apprentices had said clicked in his head. Place something in the power matrix, something to direct the focusing energy and pull the Portal energies behind it.

The rebuttal had been correct. One could not contain the "essence" of something as abstract as a location. Magic did not work that way. It worked on tangible energies by proscribed laws. But if one could do such a thing, and somehow "fool" the Portal device into thinking the focus was at the location instead of sitting inside it ...

Q'yros frowned and let his hand drop. This is where his understanding broke down. There was something he was not seeing. He was not making the connection.

"I know you will not agree to divulge our research," said Q'yros as he placed the shard back on the floor where he had found it. "But perhaps you will reconsider my other request."

"Absolutely not! We cannot take sides in this matter. Historically, we have been neutral in times of conflict ..."

"With all due respect, Guildmaster, the last conflict as you so blithely refer to it was over two centuries ago!" Q'yros thundered, using anger to invigorate himself for the moment. "Times are nothing like they were then. The Emperor is a barbarian and a tyrant. The sooner he is deposed by the Nobility, the better off we will all be. And cutting him off from magical supplies and service would help ..."

"I will hear nothing more of this!" Q'ixanna shouted. He marched for the door.

Q'yros stepped forward and thumped his staff. "You can close your ears to me, Guildmaster, but not to reality! This will catch up with you in the end. With all of us. We must unite Oceanus if we are to ..."

Q'ixanna gestured wildly and the door opened. He turned towards the other Mage. "And when have we become politicians, Q'yros?"

Q'yros nearly dropped his staff in shock at the audacity of the Guildmaster's statement. When had the High Mages not been politicians in their own little games of power at the Guild Hall?

"We cannot involve ourselves in affairs of state. I remind you of our own ancient history, of the Mages that crowned themselves Emperor and ruled as brutal despots, and of the bloody wars that were required to usurp them. Or of the Mages that ruled from the shadows, that created for themselves a figurehead through which they would bend the will of a kingdom. That sordid chapter is over, Q'yros, and yet you would bring it back!"

Q'yros said nothing. There were no words he knew now that could sway the Guildmaster, now that he had framed the debate in such unconscionable terms.

Q'ixanna lowered his voice. "We will no longer speak of this. We will remain outside this conflict, and that is my final decision. You are not to utter a word of this ... this scandalous idea to me or anyone else in this Guild Hall, or mark my words, Q'yros, I will consider that a most heinous act of sedition against my authority!"

The Guildmaster left in a huff, the door swinging slowly closed behind him.

As the dark deepened over Oceanus at the midnight hour, the sun was already rising upon their sister empire across the ocean. The tall, frosted panes that lined the wide corridor of the King's palace glowed with milky radiance in the morning light. Beneath them, bejeweled tapestries and hangings along the high walls shone in lavish splendor.

The opulent beauty did little to impress or soothe the tall man that now hustled down the corridor, the click of his boots echoing against the stone. His breathing was ragged, his face alternately betraying annoyance and fear.

He raised his eyes towards the gilded door that was his unfortunate destination. He would have preferred the King's own audience chamber to this. Being brought before His Majesty would have been tolerable. The man knew people by name only when others reminded him. Even if he were to be berated, the sovereign would forget his name by the next day.

The guard before the door leveled his gaze lazily at the approaching figure. He showed no reaction when the man came to a stop and stood straight with almost military precision.

"Lord Ambassador Mandas to see His Excellency the High Minister of State," the man said, his voice quavering slightly.

"Your business with His Excellency, my Lord?" the guard asked, sounding bored.

"I was summoned," Mandas managed to say without his voice catching. Nevertheless, perspiration broke out across his brow.

"One moment, my Lord."

The guard turned away and opened the door just enough to admit himself. Mandas took a deep breath to try to calm himself. He ran his hands over his hair, brushed at his bushy mustache, and straightened his formal tunic. He once more went over in his head the explanation he would give for the diplomatic debacle with Oceanus.

He had dearly hoped that it would be overlooked. Until that moment, his record had been spotless. He was sure he had not been at fault. But that would not play at the King's court. No, it was his fault. It had to be. That was how things worked. When something failed, find someone to blame. He could only hope to mitigate it by "admitting" to less serious errors and hope it would past muster.

But all his scenarios had involved him delivering his arguments to His Majesty, not to the High Minister of State. The King could only glower and tongue-lash him. The High Minister of State could actually take real action against him.

The guard appeared. "His Excellency will see you now."

Mandas nodded once as the guard opened the door fully for him. He strode forward with a rigid, purposeful step.

The office of the Urisi High Minister of State was designed for holding audience with foreign dignitaries and diplomats. As a result, it was overly large, lavish, and intimidating. Mandas tried to ignore it with limited success. His nerves were frayed as it was, and his heart pounded as he approached the huge desk that dominated the back of the chamber.

The High Minister did not appear to take note of Mandas' presence at all, even after having just admitted him. His steel-blue eyes were lowered to a parchment, a quill pen occasionally flicking back and forth with a soft scratching sound.

As Mandas grew close, High Minister Erodon could be heard to mutter such things as "indeed not" and "gods no" and "utter rubbish," generally accompanied by another quick scratch of the quill or a jot of a scathing note in the side margin.

Mandas came to a stop before the desk. "Your humble servant, Lord Ambassador Mandas, answering your summons, Your Excellency."

He placed his arms at his sides and bowed once. He let out a short breath of relief. He had managed it without his voice cracking.

Erodon continued to make notations as if he had not heard a word. Mandas had to exercise a great deal of will to remain standing still and not show the extreme anxiety that he felt.

Erodon finally stopped, put down the parchment, and lay the quill across it neatly. He raised his head, peering imperiously over the tops of his slim spectacles. He scratched idly at his mustache as he regarded the ambassador with a cool and evaluating gaze. Finally, he folded his hands over the parchment and began to speak in a high, resonating voice.

"Mandas. It has come to my attention that we have much to speak about. Concerning the Empire of Oceanus ..."

"It was a momentary lapse in judgment, Your Excellency, nothing more!" Mandas blurted loudly. He quickly swallowed and forced his tone to something more sedate, his voice now quavering. "I did not seek counsel of my betters before I chose to trust the Oceanus Emperor enough to conclude that treaty. I-I realize that I should have seen the signs that he would not abide by the letter of the agreement. I will know in the future not to be so ambitious as to entangle the great Urisi Nation in a venture which ..."

"Stop."

Mandas' teeth caught his tongue briefly in the effort to halt the torrent of words. A faint coppery taste briefly made his stomach clench.

Erodon let out a noisy sigh and leaned back in his seat. "You are not being reprimanded, Mandas," he said in a tired voice.

"I'm not? I mean ... yes, of course, Your Excellency!" Mandas gushed, his knees nearly going weak from the sudden flood of relief crashing over him. He cleared his throat and recovered some of his aloof calm, lifting his head and peering at the High Minister with renewed confidence. "How may be of service to Your Excellency?"

"By returning to the court of the Emperor of Oceanus."

Mandas' eyes glazed.

One bushy eyebrow rose on Erodon's face. "Yes?"

"Are ... are you sure this is not a reprimand, Your Excellency?"

The High Minister looked amused. "Are you saying that you consider such a posting to be a punishment?"

Of course, he did. But he was not about to say that to the Minister's face. "Not at all, Your Excellency. I will go wherever you wish to send me."

"I am not sending you anywhere, Mandas. If it were up to me, you would be the last person I would send."

Mandas' face fell. The High Minister rose from his seat, the chair creaking at the sudden absence of his corpulent frame.

Erodon clasped his hands behind his back and stepped out from behind the desk. He regarded the ambassador with a disdainful gaze. "I said you were not here for a reprimand, and that is true. But were my hand not being forced, you would be reprimanded." He gestured towards the desk. "I have enough foolishness to deal with in reviewing these infernal treaties, I do not need you causing us trouble to the west."

Mandas' eyes flicked to the desk briefly. That explained the High Minister's behavior earlier. He had been proofing a treaty negotiated by one of his peers. Most likely one in particular.

Erodon glowered at him. Mandas did his best not to cringe. "My orders come directly from His Majesty. I am thus bound to them. As are you."

Mandas' eyes widened. "His Majesty? I ... this ... this is an honor! I did not even realize he knew my name."

The High Minister waved a hand. "Do not be so quick to offer yourself accolades, Mandas. His exact words were 'whoever was there last, send that chap back.' Hardly a ringing endorsement."

"Of course not, Your Excellency."

"He would not even ask at all were it not for the grave concern he has for the situation in Oceanus."

Mandas looked puzzled. "Situation, Your Excellency? It is merely a civil war between competing Monarchist factions. There is absolutely no hint of Republicanism among the masses, if that is the source of his concern."

"That is not what has His Majesty troubled. Were it a simple internal matter, we would simply remain neutral and treat with whatever the new regime is. His Majesty is under the impression that there is a third power at work in Oceanus."

"Third power? But where would he get the idea that ..." Mandas trailed off, and his eyes widened. "Surely he's not basing that on what I ...?"

"Your report was not the only source of information at His Majesty's disposal," Erodon continued in a curt voice. "But your report was the catalyst."

It was obvious to Mandas that Erodon was not happy about this. But then, neither was Mandas.

"But Your Excellency, I characterized the Oceanus Emperor's thoughts as delusional. Colos could not pose even the remotest threat to him. Surely he was using this idea of a phantom enemy from the west as ruse to go on a war of conquest. His Majesty could not ..."

"Enough."

Mandas fell silent.

The High Minister paused a moment, then stepped up to Mandas. The ambassador was so surprised that he nearly bolted.

Protocol was very strict. Superiors remained at arm's length -- and often more -- from inferiors. To draw this close usually meant that a confidence was about to be bestowed, and someone of the High Minister's standing did nothing like this lightly.

Erodon fixed his stony gaze on Mandas. "Some reports have come to the attention of the throne that have His Majesty greatly disturbed. They give more substance to the claims of the Oceanus Emperor, far more than His Majesty is comfortable with. I do not have to tell you of the implications of a foreign influence in Oceanus."

"No, Your Excellency," Mandas said, his voice hollow.

The peaceful coexistence and trade that the Urisi Nation enjoyed with their powerful neighbor to the west was a cornerstone of their foreign policy. It left their entire western frontier secure. They reaped the benefits of a powerful Oceanus navy as well, as it allowed them to dedicate only minimal force towards dealing with the few pirates that escaped the Oceanus fleet.

It also allowed the Urisi to concentrate their efforts where prospects were less rosy, such as the aggressive independent kingdoms to the south and the barbarian clans to the east.

"We cannot afford to remain in the dark about possible outside influences in Oceanus," said Erodon. "That nation must be allowed to settle its own internal problems with no interference. But before we can act, His Majesty needs to know more. And the only reliable source of information would be Emperor Z'haas."

Mandas blanched. "And you are to send me back to him?" he said with obvious distress before he could catch himself.

The High Minister frowned. "It is His Majesty that sends you, not I."

Mandas opened his mouth, thought better of it, and closed it again. There simply was no argument. The King wanted him to go, so he would go.

Erodon frowned at the ambassador before turning away. "You will leave as soon as we can convince the Oceanus Emperor to allow a Portal to be opened to his palace. He is quite paranoid about security in this area for some reason."

"Yes, Your Excellency," Mandas said in a forlorn voice. "But ... may I ask a question?"

Erodon sighed, but nodded once.

"If you send me to the Emperor, now that civil war has been formally declared, would this not be seen as supporting one side over the other?"

"Hmm. You are more intelligent than I gave you credit for."

"Um, thank you, Your Excellency."

Erodon stood behind the desk. "It would be, were it not for the fact that His Majesty has ordered an ambassador to be sent to treat with the other side in the conflict, namely, the Overlords."

Mandas looked surprised. "The Overlords? But ... oh ... His Majesty is going to force them to open their slave market to us."

"And again you surprise me. Keep this up, and I may forgive you for the blunder for which you thought you would be reprimanded."

"It was my understanding, Your Excellency, that the slave trade was not his priority."

"But it is the priority of the High Council of Lords, and they have placed enormous pressure upon him since we received the first hint of conflict in Oceanus. His Majesty is doing this merely to placate them."

Mandas could understand this. The Lords played at slave trading like an Earth person might play the stock market. Half their fortunes were invested in it. The King had no choice but to acquiesce in this area if he wished the Lords to remain happy and not get thoughts above their station.

"If I may ask, who is His Majesty sending to the Overlords?" asked Mandas.

"Lord Ambassador Norlan."

Mandas gaped. "Surely you jest, Your Excellency?"

"And when have you known me to be humorous in the least?"

"Point taken, Your Excellency. But surely His Majesty realizes there are better men to ...?"

"You do not need to tell me this, of all people!" Erodon thundered. He picked up the parchment he had been editing and brandished it with a shake of his hand. "Another of that fool's ill-conceived treaties with the southern kingdoms! Again he gives away too much! And again I will have the King accept my corrections as the better way! And again he will influence the Lords and force acceptance of his version!"

He tossed the parchment to the desk and threw up his hands. Mandas now understood at once why the King had selected Norlan. It would place a whole ocean between him and the court. His Majesty likely hoped to reduce the man's influence in the interim.

Or more likely, given the King's ambivalence towards the slave trade, he was sending Norlan on what he thought was a fool's errand. If the attempt to negotiate a new trade agreement failed, he could place the blame on Norlan and destroy his influence over the Lords.

Erodon returned his gaze to Mandas. "The point is, Mandas, that by sending liaisons to both sides, we show we are not playing favorites."

"Yes, Your Excellency. So is that the stated purpose of my visit? Trade?"

"Yes. And you will make it clear that we will not trade war supplies with either side. You cannot possibly overstate our neutrality in this."

Mandas frowned. "He will not like this, Your Excellency."

"That is not my concern." Erodon took his seat. "You will find other ways to make him happy enough to confide in you more information about this supposed enemy from the west. And if he will not confide in you ..." Erodon leaned forward and peered over his glasses. " ... you will find other ways of gathering information."

Mandas looked aghast. "You do not mean espionage?"

The High Minister stared at Mandas, and replied in a low, deadly voice. "You will find the information that His Majesty wants, or you will not bother coming back."

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