I

 Walker Deavant slowly walked around the table, his long sword held low.  He stared at the man standing in front of him and swallowed.  The man in front of him was a little taller than six feet and was dressed in a black tunic and pants, over his clothing he wore a light black cloak that looked as it were made of shadows, indeed if he looked hard enough he could almost see various shapes of creatures flowing throughout the cloak.  Although the man in black had not drawn any weapons, there was a hilt poking up behind the man’s head.  The only part of the man that was visible were the whites of his eyes, as he wore a wrap over his face that hid his features.  The man’s eyes were flat, emotionless, devoid of anything that could be considered human life.  It would have appeared that the man was a corpse or a part of the undead if not for the sound of light breathing coming from where his mouth should have been.
 “What do you want from me?” asked Walker nervously.
 “Are you called Walker Deavant?”
 “Yes.  But you didn’t answer my question, what do you want with me and why are you in my home?”
 “Walker Deavant I have come to give penance for your past sins.”
 “No!  I have a wife, children.  Please honored sir, you don’t understand the circumstances!” pleaded Walker.
 “They are already dead, that was the first part of your penance.”
 “NNNOOO!  Damn you to hell!” screamed Walker in anguish as he rushed the man.  The man sidestepped Walker’s offbalance swing of the sword and grabbed him by the neck.  With a quick twist he heard the sickening crunch as he broke Walker’s neck.
 The man knelt down and whispered over the fallen body of Walker Deavant, “Mourdth nes vern villo.  Now your sins have been forgiven, may A’ram have mercy on your soul.”  And with that said the man stood up and quietly left the house.  He walked through the town heading for the east gate on silent feet.  It was almost impossible to discern the man from the eddying shadows created by the oil lamps on the sides of the streets.  The man walked through the town with the confidence of someone who knew their destination and wasn’t going to let anything deter him from where he was going.
 He walked with his head, but as he walked by an alley his head shot up.  The reek of garbage flooded his nose but that was not what had made him stop.  On top of the refuse he could smell something  else, something that did not belong in an alley full of garbage.  The man peered into the darkness, his eyes searching for something.  In an instant he threw himself to the ground, rolling out of the way as a dagger flew overhead, dripping a vile green liquid onto the ground.  The dagger clattered against one of the lamp posts and fell to the ground.  The man crouched low near the entrance of the alley, his sword drawn low so as not to reflect the light.
 The man waited, as a snake waits for a rat to cross its path.  Slowly and carefully two men walked out of the alley, both held short swords and daggers and carefully walked to where the dagger had fallen.  The man did not move, but instead watched as one of them, the shorter of the two, knelt to pick up the dagger.  Still the man did not move as he watched the two men converse quietly between each other.  Then the tall one turned and motioned towards the alley, as if he were calling someone to join them.  The man watched the entrance of the alley as a third person walked to the other two.  As he watched this third figure he felt a tingling of some other power seep out of the third person.
 Instantly he leapt up, his sabre swinging back as he smashed the hilt into the third person’s neck.  The person crumpled to the ground with a sigh, it had happened so quick that the figure could not even utter a word to the other two who were still engrossed in their conversation.  Quietly the man walked behind the taller of the two and reached into the tall man’s boot, he slowly pulled out a long dagger.  The two men looked to where the third of their number should have been and recoiled slightly.
 “Where the hell did she go?” asked the shorter one.
 “How am I supposed to kn…ack,” gasped the taller one as he felt his head being pulled back revealing his neck.  With exquisite slowness the man in black pulled the dagger across his throat.  Blood spurted from the wound drenching his shorter friend as the tall man dropped to the ground grabbing his torn throat in a vain attempt to close the wound and prevent his lifeblood from spilling onto the dark cobblestones.  The other man watched as his friend fell to the ground gasping and wheezing.  He looked up fearfully, and took a step back as he saw that no one was there.
 With a clatter the man turned, dropped his weapons, and fled into the night.  He ran up and down various alleys, blindly choosing any path that opened itself up to him.  Buildings flew past him but he ignored them.  He ran for what seemed like hours but was actually only twenty minutes.  Finally he stopped, gasping and wheezing for breath he turned around and peered into the darkness.  He stood there for five minutes, breathing heavily, cringing at every little sound.  He walked a couple of steps backwards when he felt a burning sensation in his stomach, looking down he saw the end of a sabre bursting through his chest.  He gasped and choked as blood spewed from his mouth.  Just as fast as the sabre had appeared it slid back and out of the man’s body.  The man fell to the ground like a ragdoll.

 “What took you so long?  And what’s with all that blood?  They wanted it to look clean not like a slaughterhouse,” said a young man sternly.
 “You worry overmuch, little brother,” replied the man in black as he walked into the room carrying a body over one shoulder.
 “D’hurstin, what happened?  And who is that?”
 “Tell them that the deed has been done, Walker Deavant and his family will not see another sunrise.  Also tell them that it was done the way that they liked it.”
 “As you say, D’hurstin,” replied the other man submissively.  “But you are going to have to get cleaned up.  And if the blood is not the sinner’s then whose is it?”
 “On the way back I was attacked by two men and this lady,” replied D’hurstin as he lay the inert body on a chair.
 “How did they see you?”
 “The lady has power.”
 “How do you know that?”
 “I could sense the power flowing off her, K’Alek.  I don’t know how but I was somehow being attracted to this power.”
 “I think you’re losing your mind, big brother.  Never in our people’s history has anyone been able to command magic.”
 “I’m not saying that I can command it, only that I can sense it.”
 “I still think you’re losing your mind,” insisted K’Alek.
 D’hurstin shrugged as he started to remove his head wrap.  When he had peeled it off he walked over to the lady, his bald head gleaming in the candle light.  He slowly checked her over while his brother walked over to where D’hurstin had dropped his weapons and looked at a cloth wrapped parcel lying next to his sabre.  Unwrapping it, K’Alek looked at a small plain dagger and that was covered with a thick green liquid.  It was the smell again that saved D’hurstin’s life, he dived quickly out of the way as K’Alek grabbed the dagger and spun, trying to bury it into his brother’s back.
K’Alek gasped as he saw that he had missed and stood up slowly. D’hurstin rolled into a crouch, his hand sliding towards the long poniard that he kept in his boot.  K’Alek, however, seeing that his first attempt had failed twisted his arm and with a shout buried the dagger into his own side.  D’hurstin leapt over one of the seats and caught his brother as he fell.
“Why?” asked D’hurstin, his voice still emotionless and detached.
“I was told to, by the guild.  They said that you needed to be eliminated,” coughed K’Alek as his body began to twitch.
“Why?  I have served them honorably.”
“I do not know why,” K’Alek whispered hoarsely.  “They came to me and told me that if I did not kill you then they would kill me and Lena.”
“You should have died then brother,” said D’hurstin, his voice as cold as ice.
“I wanted to, but they wouldn’t let me, they held Lena hostage, brother, I could not spare to see her harmed!”
“Bah, you are weak, brother mine.  You have dishonored our name,” reprimanded D’hurstin as he stood, up letting his brother fall to the ground.  He slowly stood up and walked to where his weapons lay.  Quietly he drew his sabre, and walked back to where his brother lay, still twitching as the poison worked its way through K’Alek’s body.
“Go to the Khedive, brother.  Take the girl, they will provide you with answers.  Please, brother, avenge my loss of honor,” whispered K’Alek.  D’hurstin nodded as he knelt down and lifted his brother’s head up.  K’Alek’s twitching had increased to a fever pitch, sweat poured off his body soaking his clothes.  The acrid smell of urine filled the room as K’Alek slowly lost control of his bodily functions.  D’hurstin turned his head as he pulled his sabre across his brother’s neck.  He did not look as he felt a warm liquid seep over his hand.  Detached, D’hurstin stood up and gathered his things as he walked over to pick up the girl, he stopped and turned back to his brother’s body.
Kneeling over it he whispered, “Mourdth nes vern villo.  Now your sins have been forgiven, may A’ram have mercy on your soul.”  D’hurstin stood up and walked to where one of the candles burned, picking it up he also reached into his tunic and removed a small silver pendant.  The pendant was a hollow circle with eight silvers bars that crossed at the middle of the circle.  D’hurstin held the pendant in the candle flame, letting it spin gently.  He waited for five minutes and then calmly lifted the pendant up.  He removed his glove and placed the searing hot pendant on the back of his hand.  He calmly watched as the silver seared into his skin, the smell of burning flesh overcoming that of both the poison and K’Alek’s urine.
D’hurstin replaced his glove and walked over to a small liquor cabinet.  Opening it he took a bottle at a time and emptied each of the bottles onto the floor.  D’hurstin then picked up the still unconscious lady and kicked over a small table which had a candle on top of it.  Without a backwards glance D’hurstin walked out of the small house as flames raced along the floor engulfing everything.  D’hurstin quietly closed the door as the house continued to burn.
 D’hurstin walked the city streets with a quiet practiced step.  He seemed unburdened by the weight of the lady mage.  At times he would stop, his eyes circling warily around him, his ears pricked forward, and his nose constantly searching for any odor that would seem out of place.  He knew that the guild would not have placed all of their chips on his brother.  No, the guild was an intelligent gambler and would make sure that other ‘gamblers’ would have a chance at winning the jackpot.  The house would, of course, gain the most of the game, it would get rid of D’hurstin.  D’hurstin pondered this as he stepped into an alley to catch his breath and check for any pursuers.
 Obviously they would try to attack at the dock, there were always sailors on shore leave that were always looking for some easy gold.  Anyway, Kamner ran the docks and he was notorious for being cheap with his labor.  Dock workers and sailors were plentiful and relatively cheap, besides the authorities made very little noise if a few of them were found dead in the harbor or found stacked like cordwood in an alley.  D’hurstin nodded in satisfaction, the docks would be a definite place for an ambush, but Kamner’s cheapness would make the attack somewhat easier to deal with, besides, thought D’hurstin, Kamner and his men were amateurs and he despised amateurs.
 He carefully shifted the dead weight in his arms and started back onto the streets.  D’hurstin started down the city streets once again, keeping close to the walls of the buildings and frequently changing both direction and speed.  D’hurstin had noted that patterns tended to get people killed.  Being deliberate and careful separated the professional from the rest of people but sticking to a routine or pattern was usually relegated for the flashy showboats or the amateurs, both of which tended to have very short life spans.  A true professional struck quickly and quietly and avoided leaving such affections as calling cards or warnings to the authorities.  D’hurstin’s ruminations were suddenly interrupted as a crossbow bolt shattered just to the right of him.
 Quietly cursing his inattention he threw the lady mage behind a pile of garbage lying next a building.  He then crouched quietly beside a building on the other side of the small street.  D’hurstin waited, straining to hear any sound that might betray the position of his attackers

The sun beat down unmercifully, she wished for anything to take the accursed heat away, even death’s cool touch would be welcomed.  She was tied to the horse and in a way was happy for that as it allowed her to lay there without actually having to concentrate on holding onto the saddle bow.  She then looked at her captor, the man that she had tried to kill.  He walked beside the horse, seemingly immune to the heat.  Indeed she had not seen him in any sort of discomfort during their entire journey.  She looked back up and stared at the never-ending desert.  The desert of the Quam was the largest in the world, easily thrice the size of the second largest desert which were in the lands of the Dormiks.
They had been traveling now for at least two weeks and she knew that the city of the Quam, indeed the only place in this accursed desert where any life flourished, lay in the exact center of the desert.  In a way it made sense as the city of the Quam was the only place where an underground spring lay and in the desert water was of the uttermost importance.
“Are we almost there, honored sir?” she croaked.
“You should be careful of the heat, Motzi.  The sun can dry the least bit of moisture from an open mouth, dehydrating and killing you.”
She quickly shut her mouth in fear and wilted back down to her saddle, praying for the night.  Yet the nights were no better than the days.  ‘Indeed,’ she thought, ‘nothing is normal or right in this godless land.’  Since there was no humidity in the air, the heat of the sun left as soon as the sun went down.  In the night it was colder than a winter in Sawaga, the capital city in Motzi and her homeland.  They plodded on like this for another week, although she felt like it had been a month.  D’hurstin led her and the camel down into a slight valley, at first she thought it was a mirage in front of her, for many people who traveled the desert told of mirages, images born from heat and lack of water.  Yet as they walked closer she saw that it was real.
It was not a real mountain, but rather a structure formed of mud brick that rose high into the air.  It was terraced and there were stairs to each of the terraces.  In all there were twelve steps and each step was slightly smaller than the one below it.  It was a pyramid and the only structure in all of Quam.  It was the largest man made structure in the world and also the oldest, having been built by the Quam at beginning of their civilization when the desert had not existed.  It had once served as a temple, not only to the Quam’s nameless god but also to the numerous gods of the Motzi and Pantheon of the Ilynx.  Yet legend had it that both the Motzi and the Ilynz had gone into a holy war over whose gods should have precedence over the temple.  They had thrown themselves into a bitter holy war, while the Quam sat and watched.  Both groups asked the Quam for their assistance for both groups had believed the Quam to be godless as they never invoked their god’s name in front of either group.
The Quam did not side with either group and instead tried to remain as neutral as possible.  Yet the leaders of both the Ilynx and the Motzi took neutrality as siding with the other side and the two groups turned their blades off each other and attacked the Quam.  The Quam were then a peace-loving race and nonviolent, yet the decimation of more than two-thirds of their people changed them.  The Ilynx and the Motzi then learned that the Quam were not godless as their nameless god struck at both races, driving them out of the temple and destroying the surrounding city.  He then created a massive plague, drying out the land and making it inhospitable, forcing the Ilynx to the southwest and the Motzi to the southeast.  The plague continued until it reached the Darkene Mountains, where it ended.  The Motzi and the Ilynx looked for some way to try and attack either the Quam and each other but could find no way, the desert was simply too massive and the Darkene Mountains that separated the two races from each other were virtually insurmountable.
She shook her head, trying to come back into reality.  She had learned about the past from her tutor, but had believed the stories to be just that, stories.  No one had ever been to the solitary temple after the supposed curse had driven out the Motzi and Ilynx.  Indeed no one ever visited the desert of the Quam, it was too inhospitable a land and the Quam had become fierce warriors devoted to their desert land.  The Quam, did however travel outside of their desert, usually explorers and mercenaries that were more assassins than anything else.  The Dormiks had also managed to coax some of the Quam out into their diplomatic circles, although no Dormik ambassador had ever been to Quam they did have one in the Tanter motherland capital of Von Tar, the closest city to the Quam.
Rumors persisted that the old land was still in the temple, before the plague the temple had been a hollow shell filled with lush vegetation and wildlife, a pinnacle to the beauty of nature.  Now she stared at the mythical temple, the supposed birthplace of her people, the Motzi.  While the Quam had become reclusive and the Ilynx had fallen into the study of science and nature, the Motzi had slowly become more ethereal and placed their studies in what they called the Art.   Their studies in the paranormal had turned them into a race of people that could do what other races could only dream about, they had the ability to use magic, to take what they called mana out of the very air and weave it into fantastical creations and spells.  Their magic differed from that of the other races, they did not have to pray for their spells they just shaped the mana around them and created what they had formed in their minds.
D’hurstin led the horse and camel down a slight hill to a dark opening in the temple.  She was surprised that there were no guards at the entrance of the temple, until she realized that the desert was more than adequate for protection of the Quam.  He led her into the cool tunnel and it took awhile for her eyes to adjust to the darkness at the end of the tunnel there was a small pinprick of light and her eyes focused on that light.  With a slight push, D’hurstin shoved open the door that was placed where the light came from.  The light was blinding and she pulled back from her initial shock.  She gasped and her eyes widened in awe as she stared at her surroundings.  Lush green vegetation hung from the walls and giant trees grew up to the center of the temple.  She looked up astounded at the size of the trees, she reasoned that for them to be so tall they had to have existed since the beginning of time.
Yet, what was even more shocking were the Quam themselves.  Always before the Quam had been thought to be quiet and efficient killers, assassins.  People that were cold and heartless, they never smiled and never showed anything resembling human emotion.  Here, however, in there home, they laughed and smiled.  They walked among the trees and plants laughing and joking with each other.  She looked up and saw that the Quam lived on each terrace on the inside of the temple, there they lived much like any other race of people.  She saw two Quam hugging as they met each other and then wander further into the dense jungle in the middle of their city.  Indeed, life thrived in this forgotten corner of the world, surrounded by an immense desert that killed anything in it.
“Where are we going, honored sir?” she asked.
“To the Khedive.  It is there where you will receive your penance for your sins.”
“Sins?”
“Yes.  We all have sins, Motzi.”
“Surely not all of us have sins.  There must be some innocence in this world.”
“We have all sinned, Motzi.  You know about that, look at your past, what your people did was a sin and you must serve penance for your sins.”
She decided to try a different tact, “Where are your priests then?  If we have all sinned then penance must be administered by someone.”
“We have no priests, for priests serve no one but themselves.  They contaminate HIS word and make it unholy.  HE speaks to us through our prayers, our dreams.  HE administers our penance and we live to serve HIM.”
“Who is HE then?” she asked, somewhat afraid at the sudden softness in D’hurstin’s voice as he spoke of his religion.
“HE is our god.”
“Has he no name?”
“The Quam will not befoul HIS holiness by saying his name in front of pagans,” D’hurstin replied shortly, the softness leaving his voice so quickly that she felt that maybe she had just imagined human emotion in his voice.
“Wait.  Why am I going to the Khedive then?  If your god is so powerful then shouldn’t he be the one giving my penance?” she questioned.
She shrank back as D’hurstin slowly turned around.  He stared at her and in his eyes she saw her reflection, a hunched over figure broken by her past ordeals and someone who had overstepped their bounds.  He spoke coldly, “You have fallen away from HIM and HIS beliefs, you could not hear HIS voice no matter how hard you tried.  Therefore the Khedive must rule for you.  Now no more questions, Motzi, you should think about your upcoming penance and be prepared to atone for your past sins.”
She shut her mouth with exasperation and idly watched as he led her deeper into the temple.  They passed trees that were millennia old, bushes and flowers that had long been extinct in the outside world, springs of the clearest water, and small animals that had been wiped out everywhere but in this temple.  She looked around, trying to find where the Khedive would be, history had told her that the Khedive was the king or lord of the Quam, no one knew how the Khedive came into his position but rumor and myth persisted that he had been chosen by their god when he was born by having white hair.
“Ahh, it is good to see you, my son,” came a quelerous old voice from in front of them.  She looked and was surprised to see an old man with long white hair sitting on any old tree root.  The root had come to form a sort of throne for the old man and on each side of him sat his advisors.  D’hurstin walked toward the old man, he had removed his head wrap and his bald pate reflected light back at her.  She swallowed nervously as D’hurstin knelt in front of the old man.  The two whispered quietly in their native language, even if she could have heard them if would have done no good as Quam was long thought by the rest of world as a dead language and could only be found in very rare and old books.
The old man looked up as D’hurstin moved off to his side and turned and looked at her.  “What are you called, child?” the old man asked gently in a voice that reminded her of old paper flapping in the wind.
“I am Asa Lali, honored sir,” she replied with a small curtsey.
“Asa Lali,” he repeated quietly in his stilted accent.  “D’hurstin, please remove our guest’s bonds.”
Asa smiled gratefully as D’hurstin walked up to her and cut away the ropes binding her hands.  She rubbed her wrists vigorously trying to get circulation started.  “I thank you.”
“It is nothing.  We have many questions for you Asa Lali of the Motzi.  I have heard what D’hurstin told me about his sojourn into the outer lands and like you he has many questions that need to be answered and very soon they will be.  Now, however, let us repair to more comfortable chambers where we can talk in private and where you can and D’hurstin might refresh yourself on the food we have here.”
“As you wish, honored sir,” Asa replied with another curtsey.
Asa was surprised when the old man fell in line with her.  Although he looked old and used a staff she saw that the staff was an affection as he did not need it to walk.  She marveled at the youthful sparkle in his eyes as he walked with her in the forest in the middle of temple.  He seemed to take a naïve delight in each flower and small animal that came into his vision.  He looked up at her and smiled, “I see, Asa Lali of the Motzi, you are taken aback at our city.”
“Yes, I did not know that this place even existed.  The outside world believes that the Quam all live in underground caverns in the center of the desert.”
“It is sorry that they think so, yet I believe that it was a necessity for HIM to create our desert for our protection.  We have always been a simple people with a desire for peace and happiness.  HE created the desert so that we would not know war, yet even our desert could not protect us.”
“Your desert is formidable, honored sir.  But in what do you mean by the desert could not protect you from war?”
“You have no concept of history, Asa Lali of the Motzi,” replied a man behind her.  He was tall for the Quam, almost D’hurstin’s height, but still stood five inches shorter than Asa.  Like the rest of the Quam he had shaved his head, indeed only the Khedive had hair and his reached to his ankles and was braided with small wooden beads and grasses.
“Now, Manara, treat our guest with the proper respect.”
“I took no insult,” replied Asa quickly.  “I have made a study of history, however, and I would like to hear honored Manara’s words.”
The Khedive laughed shortly, his laughter bubbling from deep within and bringing a smile almost unconsciously to Asa’a face.  Manara smiled briefly and then continued, “I know that the Motzi pride themselves on their knowledge of history and I mean not to offend.  You must surely know of the Great War?”  Asa nodded quickly, her eyes intent on Manara.  “The Great War occurred over a century ago and it involved all the races, although historians tend to ignore the fact that the Quam had a hand in the dealings of this war.  It was when all seemed lost to humanity that the Quam entered the war.  We had wished to hide out in our temple, away from the rest of humanity yet our Khedive at the time, Timor K’Ales, told us that no matter how much the Quam wished to distance themselves away from humanity and the war, we were still humans and thus a bond was created.  We use no magic and had no knowledge of weapons before the war, after the war all was changed for our people.  Although historians overlook all of this, half of all the Quam were wiped out in the war.  That is how we discovered war.”
“Okay, but where did the Quam fight?  Surely there must be some sign that the Quam joined the rest of the races against Lord Sife and his daemons.”
“The Quam joined the battle on the third day of the siege of Sife’s fortress.  I told you that the Quam lost half of its people, we sent half our people to war.  Our entire army was wiped out and destroyed, not one Quam lived to see the end of the war.”
“There were no injured,” Asa asked in a small voice.
“No, no Quam were injured, only killed.”
“So…”
“Enough for now, child,” the Khedive cut in softly.  “The rest of your questions will be answered shortly.  Now you must replenish yourself, I am certain that you are hungry.”
Asa smiled gratefully as she sat at the table and stared at the food in front of her.  The food was piled high on silver platters, there were fruits and vegetables that she had never seen before, ripe and succulent.  Assorted breads were stuffed into baskets and beside the baskets were small ceramic pots almost overbrimming with assorted fruit spreads.  The Khedive smiled faintly, “I’m sorry but we eat no meat.  We will not profane nature by the slaying of others.”
“I’m sure that I can make due,” smiled Asa as she sat down to eat.
It was after dinner, Asa felt full for the first time in two weeks and she sat comfortably in her chair slowly twirling a glass of water in her hand.  The Khedive cleared his throat and Asa quickly looked up.  “I have told the both of you that all your questions will be answered and so they shall,” he said quietly, addressing Asa and D’hurstin.  “As you both know a century ago the world was caught in a great war that would eventually decimate two-thirds of the population and create a famine that would last a decade long.  Two whole races would be exterminated in this war, the Mentheons who lived on the Dark Island and the Xhots, a peculiar mixture of ancient Napth and Dormik.  All of the world united to stop Lord Sife and his minions of daemons and the Mentheons.  Eventually Lord Sife was killed by a Quam assassin who immediately died after due to wounds he received in battle.
“Yet, as in everything, there are parts of the story that are hidden from all.”  The old man sighed and stared for some time into his glass, finally he started to speak again, “What Manara told you, Asa Lali of the Motzi, is part of the truth and what you have learned in your schools is also part truth.  Now, however, you will know the whole truth.  The Quam joined the war against Lord Sife for one reason only…you see Lord Sife was one of our own.  His lineage was exiled due to their violent nature almost two years before Lord Sife came into power on the Dark Island.”
D’hurstin looked at the Khedive, his eyes wide.  “But, Khedive…”
“Shh, my son.  You have your part in this story as well.”
“I do?”
“Yes, although it pains me terribly.  See we only exiled the male children both those already grown and those that were born that year.  The female half of the lineage were allowed to stay as they showed no aggressive actions, only the males and only at the age of twenty-five.  It was a curse of madness, a bloodlust that forced the Quam to exile their brethren.”
“I have one question,” Asa supplied quickly.
“Yes, child?”
“How did you exile them to Dark Island?”
 “At the time we retained close ties to the Napth, it is they who ferried the exiles to the Dark Island.”
  “I see.”
 “Yet, one child managed to escape our notice.  His mother had given life to him the night before and she and her sister had conspired to save and protect him, so when he was born they swaddled him in girl’s clothes and pronounced him stillborn.  He grew up outside the normal circles of our culture, but amazingly did not show any sign of the hereditary madness.  When he was discovered as he had been adopted into another family unit, he was allowed to stay as he was already twenty-six and had not shown the customary madness that usually showed in his family.  He was allowed to keep his family’s name and was allowed to become a father.  Although the madness escaped him, the killing did not.  He became an exceptional warrior, almost as if our GOD had given him special powers that allowed him to learn the killing arts faster than any other.  He also had not the morals of the rest of the families, killing came easy to him and without any ethical struggle.  He was a fine warrior and his family was one of the few to survive the Great War, before there were eighteen families, now there are only eight.  His name was Kh’Aron Al’Kazeck, his father was Sife Al’Kazeck.”
 D’hurstin looked up quickly, his black eyes boring hard into the face of his Khedive.  He gently placed his glass on the table and filled it.  Without another thought he swallowed the entire contents and in a hushed voice said, “So what does this have to do with me and her?  And why did she try to kill me?”
 “There is only one other race that know our secret and they are the Motzi.  I am sure that Asa Lali will be able to tell you the rest.”
 “I don’t know very much,” said Asa.  “I was told to find you and kill you, they told me it was something about the protection of the world.  I had no idea of your background.”
 D’hurstin looked back at the Khedive, his eyes flashing.  “I still do not understand.”
 “No, neither of you do.”  The Khedive sighed.  “People say that Lord Sife was killed because they could not find his body.  That is not entirely true.  Sife lives and so do the Mentheons.  When defeat seemed eminent he took a part of the Mentheon population and hid them in tunnels deep in his fortress.  He fled the scene of the battle by taking to the ground as well.  He instructed his daemons to demolish any evidence of the tunnels and to then flee back to Hel where he would call them at the appropriate time.  You see Lord Sife has returned and he has come looking for revenge.  Already the nations of the world are assembling at Free City to find a way to stop Lord Sife before another Great War, and you two are to come with me.”
 D’hurstin nodded quietly, “If that is my penance then so it must be.”
 Asa swallowed nervously and then also nodded her acquiescence.
 “Excellent, we leave in the morning.”