He turned, the sheets rustling as he wrapped an arm tighter about the warm form beside him. They were both awake, neither really being able to sleep; they never did, not together. Both of them were intimately aware of the wrongness of their situation, of where they were, of who they were supposed to be.

"We can't keep doing this," the voice whispered to him in the darkness, hoarse and reluctant to voice what they both knew to be true.

"I know," Radé replied feeling the brush of his lips against the bare neck as he spoke, enjoying the faint scent of powder and exotic spices mingled with some fine soap. They were scents unique to him, a man used to the smell of leather and grease.

He knew it was wrong, hell they both knew it was wrong. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the nape of that neck breathing the scents in deeply. He'd wanted so badly to exact his fathers will, waited for his chance his entire life, every moment bringing him to a point where all he had to do was reach out and slip his hands around that slender neck...

Yet every time he tried, he'd ended up there, wrapped closely in an embrace that sent his sense of duty screaming in frustration. His father's vengeance would go un-satiated yet again.

"Why don't you just do it?" the quietly sad voice asked, again it seemed as if his thoughts were being read.

Radé sat up, biting back the anger at himself as he scrambled to pick up his worn clothes, tossing the shabby but lovingly mended shirt on to ward off the late winter chill. The embers in the fire had long since died to a glow, and they cast the room in deep shadows.

"Because you're not even sure he did it," His companion sat up in bed and fumbled for the glasses that he had dropped on the nightstand, "...don't go..." he said, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"I have to," Radé replied, bitterness seeping into his voice searching for his trousers, "What'll your father say if he found me in here?"

"Guards?" the young bookish dark haired man succeeded in putting his glasses on and was now sitting upright in bed, amused at Radé's lack of progress towards leaving.

Radé looked across at him, "Very funny," he bit off walking back to the bed, "Look I..."

The pale glow of the night sky from the tall windows reflected off of the glasses as they tilted to look up at him, and he could almost see those luminescent eyes gleaming at him. "Stay, just a little longer. We've never ... just talk."

"We talked the first day we met," Radé replied defensively folding his arms and setting his jaw.

"That was mainly you drawing your sword and yelling a whole lot, right before you fell off your tree branch and..."

"Yes, thank you, we don't need a reminder." Radé replied petulantly, but even he smiled as he sat down on the edge of the bed. Cashel Jerjerrod, son of his father's sworn enemy the Squire of the Tenterden Estate, Arch-grand Magister of the Northern Isles, the list went on and on.

"You do at times," his companion said sombrely, "You were the most inept assassin I've ever met."

"And you were exactly what I bargained for in a prince of Evil." Radé shrugged, again shaking his head at the ludicrousness of where he found himself.

"Well when you fell I couldn't just leave you there." The young man smiled and raised an eyebrow, "Stay..." he insisted again, his hand resting on the cuff of Radé's shirt, those eyes weighing heavily with concern.

"I'm staying," Radé replied, rolling his eyes and clambering over the demanding young man, rolling over onto his back and folding his arms behind his head, "You know, one of these days you won't get what you want Cashel."

"No?" Cashel curled up around his pillow presenting his back to Radé.

Radé rolled up and curled an arm around Cashel's chest, resting again on the soft nape of his neck, "Nope."

"I got you right where I want you don't I?" Cashel smirked, turning his head back a little, "Seriously though, you're not safe here, my fathers posted a reward for your capture."

"I noticed, five hundred." Radé shook his head, "You're father's cheap."

"He's conscientious about spending his peoples money," Cashel admonished.

"Money he made exploiting my people." Radé countered.

"You're people willingly settled our land," Cashel set his head down on the crook of his arm, "Who can blame them, its good land."

"He killed anyone that refused." Radé replied, sighing as they began to slip into the same argument. Both young men trying to desperately convince the other that they were right, and both remaining stubbornly loyal to their own beliefs.

"Look," Cashel said, exasperation in his voice, "I'm not going to waste what time we have arguing about the same old things," He rolled over, "I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine," Radé replied adamantly, "I'm Larius Radé, Blademaster..."

"You attended one lesson under Diego Del La Rocca, that doesn't make you a Blademaster..." Cashel said shaking his head at Radé's same old line, touching Radé's clenched jaw and tracing it up to his soft features.

"You're an arch mage..." Radé fired back.

"Apprentice Mage, there is a difference," Cashel shook his head with a smile, "Why does everything have to be ten times more important that it really is?" He chuckled lightly just enjoying Radé's presence a moment longer, "I want you to leave my fathers estates, go somewhere safe, where you're not being hunted."

"I don't know if I can," Radé said softly, just holding on as if the world outside that small room didn't exist. For a time it was a place without fathers and without sin. It was a place for just them.

"Promise me," Cashel insisted, "I have to go back to Paradise Bay, I have to complete my training at the mages guild," he smiled as Radé absently played with his dark hair, and shook his head he wasn't going to be distracted again, "You should come with me."

"What about my father, my family?" Radé asked, he was always fascinated by the way Cashel's hair just refused to stay combed, it seemed to have a mind of its own, springing back into disarray the second the comb was put down.

"What about me?" Cashel asked, "You know they'll only keep looking till they find you, and..."

Radé offered a lighthearted smile, "You'll miss me." He said with a nod.

Cashel nodded, "Who else scales ramparts, dodges guards and risks the ire of one of the most powerful Mages in the region just to come and see me?"

"I heard Lady Whatzit from Radu found you charming." Radé chuckled, "That'd please your father, marrying the daughter of the Baron."

"Please leave the estates," Cashel insisted again, "You're a talented swordsman, you can find work in Paradise Bay become an adventurer, you could see the world and tell me all about it." There was eagerness in Cashel's voice; it was a chance to live vicariously through someone not bound by the duties and expectations of a domineering father who had already planned his future for him.

"You just want me close to you while you attend your school." Radé shook his head and grinned at the young mage whose motives were as transparent as water.

"Promise." Cashel repeated firmly.

"I give you my word of honour as a Gentleman." Radé swore solemnly.

Cashel eyed him suspiciously a moment, but settled for it with a firm nod, "I found something... of yours." He said getting up and sliding from Radé's arms, padding across the cold stone floor of the tower and digging through a large chest, shifting musty old tomes and parchment scrolls to heave out a long package carefully wrapped in leather.

"What?" Radé asked pulling the heavy wool blanket about him as he came to lean over Cashel's shoulder and get a better look.

Cashel stepped back as Radé wrapped the blanket around the pair of them, his fingers fiddling with the stubborn knots till he wrested the sword free of its wrappings.

It was worn, a hint of rust on the pommel, the brass faded now into a dull green and the leather wrapped hilt cracked with age. The blade of the long sword was sharp, but delicate cracks ran the length of the blade from where it had once been shattered, and despite someone's best efforts the blade remained a dark blue from sheer age.

"Ort." Radé said reverently, recognizing the old family friend.

"It was sitting in my father's trophy room," Cashel commented, "Broken and pretty much forgotten so I asked him if I could have it for a spell experiment I was working on over the winter break."

Radé took the blade and held it a moment feeling the weight, shifting to touch the broken blade against his forehead, feeling a communion with his Grandfather's sword, a weapon stolen from his family when the old man had been taken.

"I..." Radé managed swallowing and looking over at Cashel watching him and nervously adjusting his spectacles.

"I couldn't get it fixed properly," Cashel said reluctantly, "It took forever just to put it back together, but it's yours and... a Blademaster needs a sword, even a make believe one." The young mage rested back against Radé, glad when the warm arms embraced him again, "I got you a scabbard too," he reached down and pulled out the fine black leather scabbard that looked too good to house the ancient and decrepit looking weapon. "You know, so you have something that doesn't make you look like a pauper all the time."

Radé tussled Cashel's hair, "The way I dress is comfortable, you should try it some time, ditch the breeches for a good pair of trews..."

"I somehow doubt my father would approve of the patches." Cashel reminded, he turned still wrapped in the blanket with Radé, "or all the mud on the hems... nor the chain mail and leather..."

"There's a few other things you're father wouldn't approve of," Radé commented taking a moment to slip Ort back into its scabbard and laying it down, before gathering Cashel up and holding him tightly, "So Paradise Bay? Adventuring?"

"Yes, and staying safe," Cashel added in there, smiling fondly as he rested his forehead against Radé's shoulder, "and faithful..."

"Right..." Radé replied leaning back a little, "worried are we?"

"Adventuring leads to rescuing damsels in distress who could easily fall for the charms of Larius Radé, Blademaster..." Cashel smiled firmly, "I'd hate to have to turn them into newts and the like..."

"Possessive Arch Mage..." Radé chuckled, "Duly noted," He looked over at the window and the darkness that was beginning to lighten into blue, "I should go soon if I'm to leave the estates."

"Go to Radu," Cashel said firmly, "we can take the same boat down to Paradise Bay, spend a few days before I have to start my spring term... actual days." He smiled wistfully.

Radé stepped back and returned to his search for his trews, leaning down to rummage under the bed, pulling out his boots, which was progress he supposed.

Cashel wrapped the blanket closely about him as he sat down beside Radé, "I think you tossed them over there," he said with a smile, "You were in a hurry..."

Radé laughed lightly as he recovered his trousers, slipping them on and tucking in his shirt, "I recall you doing most of the tossing." Radé reminded balling up his coat and light chain so that it wouldn't make a noise, pausing a moment to kiss the man he risked everything for, "Should I show myself out?" He joked pointing to the door.

"You can't go out the front door..." Cashel hissed in shock, "The guards... My father..."

"Oh I'm sure once I explain what I'm doing here they'll let me right out..." Radé smirked and stole another kiss.

"My father is the arch Grand Magister, you'd be lucky he didn't turn you into something particularly horrid..." Cashel smiled and picked up Radé's sword, "You should take the balcony..."

"You've been reading too many romantic stories about Errant knights, chandeliers and such," Radé looked over at the window and sighed, a fine layer of snow had fallen, meaning the way would be icy and treacherous, "I could just stay here and hide under your bed."

"You could," Cashel replied adjusting his glasses and sitting cross legged, "I used to hide a pet mouse under my bed when I was younger... problem was I forgot about it and..."

"I'd be safer going out the window of facing your father." Radé said firmly taking Ort and strapping the weapon on, he smiled and crossed to the window, wrestling the latch open.

He felt Cashel wrap himself around him tightly from behind, holding him one more time, and he relaxed into the embrace. It was such an impossibly ludicrous situation, wrong on all the levels, yet to them it was all that really mattered, a scruffy boy with a broken sword and a near sighted apprentice mage.

He climbed over the rubble, finding sure footing amidst the destruction, bounding from one rock to another as he continued the climb towards the precarious structure that jutted out from the mountainside. A squat, fat dome, all that remained of the once proud city of Astrakhan, with the faint glimmer of firelight shining out into the early morning, beckoning him home.

He picked his way around a crumbling tower, buckled almost whole when the city had collapsed under its own weight. The end of a civilization, a way of life, and an era.

It always fascinated him to imagine what the city must have been like before its fall, a man made plateau high over the world below, a pinnacle of human achievement over the will of nature. That was until the Arch-Grand Magister cast the entire city down.

He jumped across a small chasm created when one of the temples statues had crashed through a boulevard, its great head rolling to look up towards the former palace, its face smashed into a grotesque smile, as if predicting an inevitable fate.

Pulling the peaked fur hat down on his head staring up at the drifting snow as it flittered down. He always felt depressed on that walk home, climbing the trails in the early morning light. But he rested his hand on the worn hilt of his sword; smiling at the flush of warmth the reminder of Cashel gave him.

He caught the motion in the shadows of the ruins, a blur of dark motion closing on him, and years of instincts had him jump down from his perch, Ort pulling free of the fine scabbard, gripped tightly in his hands, the blade light and almost eager to be drawn again.

He studied the shadowy windows of the broken buildings around him. Dark stones and recessed shadows that provided concealment for the hunter. His eyes flicked left and right as he maintained the broad stance he had learned so long ago now, a slight smile dancing on his face. His stalker was considering a moment to strike, choosing a point when Darius would start to feel safe.

Darius dipped the blade of his sword a fraction of an inch, spinning a second later as the shadows erupted, the tall man dressed in blacks swinging the deadly blue blade in a broad sweep, surprised as the younger man side stepped the attack and pushed the blade aside.

Their blades clashed again, the taller man's sword spinning as he leisurely chose his next point of attack, sweeping in and low again meeting Darius's sword before sliding up again in a blow that would have decapitated anyone else, anyone that was unfamiliar with his fighting style.

Darius popped up again, smiling, "Morning father," he said glibly.

The older man stepped into the light, the curved blue blade sliding back into the black lacquered scabbard he always carried but refused to wear. Darius's father studied him a moment with heavy eyes, resting easy, his steel grey moustache twitched a second before he spoke.

"You were out all night again." His said, the voice accented and thick, grumbling like old stones.

"I was?" Darius said looking about him, "I must have been sleep walking again..."

His father didn't seem amused by the joke, sword resting in the crook of his arm he waited for an explanation. Darius shrugged, he could try a feeble excuse, but then his father certainly wouldn't want to hear the truth... age old catch where no matter what he said he was in trouble. He chose to say nothing at all.

The two men stood waiting for the other, Darius's sword still drawn and held in a guard position. The fact his father's sword was sheathed meant nothing; the man was still as deadly as he was if it were drawn.

"You smell like herbs..." His father remarked dryly.

"How about," Darius said smiling, "We accept the fact that you're not going to like what ever I am going to say, and just get to the part where you teach me some humiliating lesson about swordsplay, gruffly remind me that Mother has breakfast waiting and then we walk home in an uncomfortable silence..."

The corner of the old man's lip quirked into a smile, "...not to mention that you're wearing a scabbard that had to cost a fair amount. Now were I to put these facts together I would have to surmise that you were courting..." He blade was out in a flurry of motion, sword striking sword as Darius warded of the short quick blows with his dual handed swings. Master De la Rocca had taught him that, the mark of a Blademaster was stability, cantered mass, keep control and both hands on the sword.

His father turned the broad strokes of the longsword effortlessly, taunting Darius forward with only passing strikes, stepping back from the attacks and sweeping his blade back into his scabbard again.

"You're distracted, and tired." His father remarked, "fornicating all night has slowed you..."

Darius was aware of the other faces around them, perched up on the rubble or in the shadows watching. The remnants of Astrakhan's guard, a dozen or so young men, all wearing grubby patchwork uniforms, their peaked furred caps, like Darius's tilted at odd angles as they watched the early morning sport.

"It's not like that," Darius said, gritting his teeth and raising the blade again, his father was right, he was tired. He hadn't slept and his father was coming into this fresh, even on a good day it was all Darius could do to keep up with the old man. Darius braced himself, trying to think.

"So the question is," his father remarked leisurely, aware now that he had an audience, "Who could it be? You left last night, and returned by dawn, and unless you're surprisingly quick..." he turned and smiled at the collection of guardsmen, before launching another of his surprise attacks, Darius caught the first blow his boots slipping on the frozen gravel as he reluctantly gave ground just to fend off the attacks, pushing himself fully on the defensive just to stay ahead of the blows. He was being driven backwards, past the broken statue and out onto the frozen ice sheet that ended in the sheer drop over the cliff face.

"I... can't... tell... you..." Darius replied between gritted teeth, feeling his feet slip on the ice as he slid around to keep his balance, his father moving like a deadly cat circling around him, that wicked blade hovering waiting to strike. Behind them the young guardsmen had taken up better positions to watch, nudging and jibbing each other enjoying the fight.

"Can't?" His father asked, a dark grey eye brow lifting in amusement, "That implies it is someone I wouldn't approve of..." He swept in again, changing his fighting stance and gripping his own sword in two handed strokes, masterfully slamming Darius backwards with carefully timed long blows, now he had the boy on the defensive, driving him back towards the edge, it was only a matter of time.

"I'm not going to tell you..." Darius replied, knowing he was beaten, he was always beaten, now all he had to do was find a way out...

His father dropped low, sweeping Darius's feet out from under him as he pulled his sword up, striking the flat of the blade against Darius's sword hands, Ort spiralling through the air as the young man crashed to the ice sheet, the older man catching the blade by the hilt.

"You don't have to," He said holding the blade up for Darius to see, "I think I know exactly who."

Darius groaned, sitting upright as he scooped up his hat, pulling it back onto his head, "I stole it last night?" he offered weakly.

His father turned the old blade over in his hand, taking a moment to touch the flat of the cold blade to his forehead and smiling that same reverent smile Darius had given when he had accepted the sword. "You know the Arch Grand Magister is going to have an apoplexy when he finds out..." He chuckled watching his son get up and handing the sword back.

Darius stared at his father's good temper, confused, he'd expected... well he'd expected a great many things, amusement certainly wasn't anywhere amongst them.

"Get back to yer posts," His father bellowed at the rag tag collection of boys, who scrambled from the rubble and darted off back amongst the ruins, laughing amongst themselves as they went.

"You're supposed to be angry," Darius murmured, almost sounding disappointed that he couldn't use the long list of carefully prepared come backs he'd drafted for just that eventuality.

"Revenge, my son, takes many forms," His father chuckled clapping an arm around his slender shoulders, walking with him back up towards the shattered keep, "Certainly this is not the form I expected when I began to train you... It certainly fits the bill quite nicely."

"I'm not doing this for revenge..." Darius replied firmly, still confused at his father's jovial reaction, the normally gruff man was seldom so amused, and when he was, it usually boded ill for someone.

"No... no... I know," His father replied, reaching out to push open the double doors into the cramped and warm hall. "Let's not tell your mother..."

"Not tell me what?" The severe looking woman demanded, turning from the fireplace where she was overseeing the cooking being handled by a couple of the women.

Life existed in that lone hall, once a place of grand balls and parties, now it had become the home to those who had chosen to reject the Squire's offer of tenants land and chose to remain in the shattered city. Beds arrayed against the wall in a near haphazard manner. Children studying their lessons over by the great windows boarded over now to keep the chill out. The cities numbers had dwindled to no more than a village, but they that choose to remain served their last queen loyally.

"Nothing my love." Darius's father intoned, hand over his heart as he bowed to her, "Just teaching the boy a lesson about staying out all night."

"Off stealing again?" His mother inquired, rapping the pot with her ladle, indicating it was time to pull it off of the open flame, setting her shawl closer about her shoulders as she turned back. "The Squire has already sent his magistrate up here once looking for you, I don't want trouble brought here again..."

"I shouldn't worry," His father commented, cuffing Darius to the back of his head, "I'm sure he's learned his lesson."

Darius nodded, "Absolutely," he agreed, putting on his best false smile and innocent look.

His mother was not convinced, but she returned to preparing the breakfast, gesturing for the two men to get out of her sight.

Darius gratefully darted off towards the stairs and his bunk on the upper level, his father's gruff throat clearing gave him pause. He turned, doffing his furred cap and tucking it under his arm.

"You can't expect to keep this up for long," The old man warned, "especially not right under his nose."

Darius came down the steps and stood uneasily before his father, "We were talking about Paradise Bay," He shifted uneasily, his hand resting on Ort's hilt.

His father weighed him a moment, before looking back across the hall towards his mother and back again, "It will do you some good to go and see the Islands."

Darius smiled, "Thank you..."

"Don't thank me," His father said gruffly, "You're going to have to prove your ready to go," he turned and started to march to the doors, "Come along boy, and bring your sword."

Darius groaned, setting his Astrakhan hat back on his head and following his father, knowing it would be a long, long day ahead.