They were five moving through the tunnels of the Undercity. Colwynn was in the lead, following a mystic thread that connected her to Max Duvall. The connection was a tenuous, shifting thing. Several times already she had stopped the group while she got her bearings or to backtrack to a prior intersection.

Jason Valentine stood on her right side, trying not to seem too protective. It was not as if she was in any real danger, Kildare could fight, and his two knights were obviously professionals. If it came to that, Colwynn had grown a lot in the time Jason had been gone. The willow-thin limbs he remembered had been replaced with slender masses of taut, athletic muscle. She wore a bow and quiver of arrows with the ease of someone used to the awkward burden. Jason had also seen the sword she carried in a back scabbard. The blade was well maintained, and the guard showed nicks that could only have been gained in combat.

Little Colwynn had grown up, or at least grown. Watching her follow Gwenivere's friend's trail, Jason was amazed at her business like demeanor. The clinging way that she looked at Kildare bothered him, though. Once again he wondered what had happened while he had been gone.

Now was not the time to worry about it, though. "We're going up," he observed.

"I know that," Colwynn snapped. "He moved. Something changed, like one minute all these paths went one way and the next everything was going different ways."

"What?" Jason had never really understood Finding, even though that Gift was not far removed from his own.

"I don't know what it means. I just know the way to where Max Duvall is has changed."

"Troubling," Kildare mused. "Nevertheless, we are committed to this course. I suspect that we will find out more when we reach the end of the trail."

Jason turned his attention to their surroundings. The Duvall kid had been dancing with a pair of Night Children. Jason had been getting ready to step in before things got out of hand, when all hell broke loose. He'd been out of the Netherlands too long. His situational sense had atrophied. The real world was no where near so complex. Worse than that, Jason's sunglasses were making it a pain to see, even with the lanterns they'd brought with them. Damned if he was going to take them off in front of Kildare, though. He could deal with the darkness. He'd need to sooner or later anyway.

Night Children had a hard time with light. The older they got, the more it repelled them. Young ones couldn't bear direct sunlight, which was rare enough in New York that some of them didn't even notice. Older ones could be held at bay with flaming torches. The very oldest could be driven back with nothing more than a good candle, except that they usually had such Arts and Gifts as to eliminate any lights they found offensive.

Jason's thoughts were halted abruptly when, not knowing why, he stopped and tensed.

Whatever it was, Kildare was alerted as well. Jason saw the Lord Knight reach for the sword he carried.

"Over there," Jason said, indicating the direction with his gaze. "In that rift."

At the same time, he reached under his coat to ready his own sword. He decided against using his pistol. In the Undercity, or anywhere else in the Netherlands, ammunition would be hard to come by. Gwenivere could pass the Threshold at will, at least for short periods of time. For Jason it was much harder. To cross the Threshold, he had to find some sort of portal into the mundane world, and refrain from using his Gift while he was there. It was something like being a recovering alcoholic surrounded by bars.

Recovering his professionalism, Jason pulled his thoughts back to the present. The Touch let him zero in on the area where his mundane senses had located a disturbance. He felt two people, human, and not very big.

Kildare had drawn an English styled battle sword and was tracing runes that had been etched into the blade.

"Don't do anything permanent," Jason cautioned. "They're just kids."

Kildare took that revelation in stride. He didn't sheath his weapon, but neither did he advance. "Come out where we can see you. I swear that you will come to no harm."

The two kids crawled out of the crevice. They were dressed in the patched, mismatched rags that really marked a deep Netherlander, someone who hardly ever saw the real world. One of them, a boy, held a knife made from a piece of scrap metal and wood. He stood protectively in front of a younger girl. Neither of them seemed inclined to get any closer to a band of armed adults.

Jason approached the children carefully, arms away from his sides, hands open. Colwynn's elfin figure would have been less threatening than Jason's dark bulk, but if the boy panicked, Jason trusted himself to be able to handle the knife better.

"Hey, it's OK," he said soothingly. "Nobody wants to hurt you. I'm Jason, what are you called?"

The kids didn't answer. Their eyes were wide and showing white. With the lanterns behind him, Jason couldn't see their faces well. The boy's hair was drawn into a simple tail. The girl's was in intricate, but very disheveled braids.

"Where did you come from?" Jason tried again. "The Dutchman's?"

Her fragile control breaking, the girl started to cry. She reminded Jason of Colwynn on the day he told her that their parents were dead.

The boy looked hotly at Jason, for making his little sister cry, Jason guessed.

"The Coventrys are my enemies, too," Jason said. "These men are Knights of the Circle. We're trying to find out what happened."

Jason kept the knife in view, though he tried to keep his attention on the children's faces. He would have taken off his glasses, but no one wanted to see his eyes. The rust speckled, jagged blade wavered just a bit.

"Are you kids hungry?"

The boy's resolve was wavering. The girl moved around from behind him, nodding.

Of course, having asked, Jason realized he wasn't carrying any food. He'd been in the real world, with ATMs and fast food, far too long. "How did you get here?" he asked.

"Soldiers came, with guns. They killed everybody, and we ran away," the girl's voice was made of mixed portions of fear and excitement. Her mind hadn't fully wrapped itself around what had happened.

To judge by the haunted look in her brother's eyes, he understood. "We were trying to get to the Forest, to the Green Witch, but the tunnels all changed and I got lost."

Colwynn knelt down beside Jason, pulling a bundle from a pouch. "Here, it's not much," she said. "My name is Colwynn. Jason is my brother."

The boy finally relented and took the cloth wrapped rations. He tasted a bit of the dried food before breaking the bar in two and giving the larger portion to his sister.

"So, what are you called?" Colwynn asked again after they'd had a chance to eat.

"I'm Rose, and that's Bran," the little girl smiled.

"Rose..." the boy was still defensive.

Jason regarded him. "Do you know who attacked your home?"

"Only that they had rifles, and black uniforms." That was rare enough to stand out in the mind of a Netherlander. "And there were big war-dogs with them."

Kildare leaned over Jason's shoulder. "These children are from the Dutchman's, or nearby, obviously. We will need to question them. They might be the only survivors."

Rose was engrossed in conversation with Colwynn, who had pulled the girl into her lap, but Bran heard Kildare clearly. The boy was angered, since anger is a more comfortable emotion than fear.

"That's not true," he hissed.

"It remains to be seen, lad. None of my scouts have reported yet. Nevertheless, you and your sister will return to my Chapter house. You will be safe there." Kildare stood straight again. "Sir Allan, Sir Kail, escort the children back to the Chapter house. See that they are cared for and await my return."

"You're sending both of them?"

"The Knights of the Circle never travel alone if it can be avoided. A threat that fells one might be survived by two."

That was true, Jason allowed. Besides, even if only one survived, at least you got to hear what happened.

The Knights bowed in acknowledgment of their orders.

Colwynn disengaged Rose from her lap gently. "These are my friends. They'll take care of you now," she told the girl.

The children both looked doubtful, but they did as they were told. As they retreated down the passage, Kildare addressed Colwynn.

"Earlier you said that your trail had abruptly shifted."

Colwynn nodded. "Yes."

"Does this happen often when you are Finding?"

"Sometimes. The person I'm trying to Find has to be moving very fast, using a Gate or traveling the Darkways, or moving out into the Shards somehow."

Kildare looked thoughtful. "It is possible that the Night Children have that capability, but it is still daylight yet. They aren't likely to be that active."

A horrible thought occurred to Jason. "Colwynn, is there anything else that would make a trail move like that?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if all the tunnels had moved?"

Kildare snorted contemptuously. "Impossible. That would be a greater thaumaturgical effort than teleporting, unless..."

"Unless someone shut off the Dutchman's Foundry. The Dutchman's Village is way too big to be natural, and it produces food, has a border to the Night Sea..."

"Yes, I see your point, Lord Valentine," Kildare said. "But why would the Coventrys stop the Foundry. Once the fires die, it takes major effort to re-ignite them, and killing the flames defeats the very purpose of taking such a valuable Domain." The preceptor looked around, returning his attention to the immediate situation. "Whatever the case, we must first find your charge. Perhaps the Night Children will know something. Perhaps they will tell us."

"Not bloody likely," Jason muttered.

Colwynn took the cue and started back down the passage, looking once over her shoulder in the direction where the children had gone.

* * *

Gabriel woke up in a dark room, on a thick piled feather bed with silk sheets. He didn't really remember falling asleep. The entire past day was a hazy, disturbing experience that felt like a wound he couldn't keep himself from touching.

Everything was hazy, though. There was only a little light coming from a crack under the door. The shaft of light illuminated a haze of smoke that filled the room with almost choakingly sweet incense. In the darkness, the room seemed to be cavernously huge, but the walls absorbed sound such that when Gabriel coughed, there was no echo at all. Just beyond his hearing, though, there was a continuous, droning chant, and another sound that he couldn't identify, a scratching at the back of his skull.

He stayed in the bed, not fully trusting himself to move, and tried to sort out his scattered thoughts. There had been a girl, and a woman, and a sword. The sword was terribly important. The little voice in the back of his head wouldn't stop talking about it. He shook his head trying to stop the incessant buzzing.

There had been a fight. Something really bad had happened, something that had led him here. The fear was very clear, the only thing that made any sense. He remembered thinking that he was going to die. Someone was in trouble. Sabrina? His head swam as he tried to rise.

"Gotta find Sabrina…"

Just then, the door opened, momentarily filling the room with a blinding shaft of light. Gabriel held out a hand to shield his face. Squinting, he made out the silhouette of a woman.

"Gabriel," she said, "I'm so glad you're alive." Her voice was impossible. "I was afraid we wouldn't get to you in time."

"…Crystal?" It couldn't be her. She had died in his arms. He remembered the pain like fire in his chest, the smell of blood. The memory of it cut through the weight of the incense in the room. "You're dead."

She didn't come to him directly, but circled the room slowly, lighting candles all along the perimeter.

"I saw you die," Gabriel said. "I was there."

He could now see her somewhat clearly. She was dressed in a robe of white satin with a red belt. Her honey colored hair shown in the candlelight, and Gabriel's throat grew tight at how beautiful she was. His memories were pale mockeries of the truth.

The whining at the base of his neck increased in pitch, but he ignored it. She was coming closer, and the scent of rose petals started to cut through the fragrant smoke in the air.

"How can you be here?" he asked. "I didn't save you." It was a memory that haunted him for every moment of his life, but now he dared to hope that somehow it might not be true.

Crystal pressed herself against him, cradling the back of his head with one hand and pressing a finger to his lips with the other. "Shhh… It doesn't matter. All that matters is that I'm here now."

"But…" He realized he wasn't wearing a shirt, and the smooth pressure of the satin against his chest stirred him.

"No, Gabriel. Don't ask questions. I don't have any answers. All I know is that we can be together now."

She kissed him, covering his mouth with hers as she pressed him back down onto the bed.

He found himself ravenous for the taste of her mouth, the feel of her slender arms around his body, stroking his shoulders and spine. He had been alone for so long. For what seemed like hours, he was lost in her kiss, and in the feeling of holding her in his arms again. The sound of her panting breath and her beating heart drowned out all distractions.

Reluctantly, he pulled away to catch his breath, inhaling more of her delicious scent with every breath, but she wouldn't leave him. Her hands explored every curve of his chest and shoulders while her mouth traveled down his neck. The belt of her robe had come untied somewhere, and his hand was inside it.

There was the smallest flicker of sound from the voice in the back of his skull, but Crystal's mouth closed over his again with urgent energy, and he was lost.

"Never leave me again," he said, afterward.

"Never, Angel eyes," she purred, nuzzling herself into his chest. "We'll never be apart again."

* * *

Key mewed and rolled over in her sleep. She was resting on a cot in the chapter house of the Knights of the Circle in Manhattan. Things were not going well. In her dreams, the child ranged across the world easily, and beyond it into Shards that not even a Traveler could easily find.

First she had dreamed of Sister Magdalene, her friend at the Monastery of St. Simon-Magus. The nun was hurt, but alive. She was one of the only survivors, huddled in the one barn that the Coventrys hadn't destroyed. She was tending to the wounds of a priest. Key judged that the man would not live another full day without more treatment than she could give. Magdalene had the Gift of Healing, but like many Healers she needed herbs and roots to focus her powers. The Coventry soldiers had burned all the supplies that they had not stolen.

Key's dream self turned to face the door, then projected herself beyond it. There had been a sound from outside, and she wanted to see what was making it. She almost wished she hadn't. The place she remembered as being warm and friendly, if rather quiet, was a wasteland. The Coventry soldiers had taken everything they could move and burned everything else. A portion of the yard had been piled with stones. A number of crude, wooden crosses were nestled amongst the stones. Key realized they were graves, or rather a single grave, little more than a covering that would ensure that worms, rather than ravens, consumed the dead.

The sound was easy to identify. Two Knights crossed the yard cautiously. One held a crossbow at the ready. The other had a small pistol, a great treasure in the Netherlands, even if it would be hard to find ammunition. The knight with the pistol was also leading a white horse. Since the chapter house didn't have any stables, Key assumed he'd found it somewhere else.

The Knights moved slowly and methodically through the compound, finding no signs of life. Back in the barn, Sister Magdalene was deathly quiet. She had no way of knowing who was outside, and was reluctant to risk her secrecy until she knew. The nun's eyes strained at a narrow crack in the barn door. The Knights outside were obscured by their black coats. The heraldry of their uniforms was obscured. The Circle Cross was hidden beneath the black folds.

Key would have said something, since her position let her know everything. But to do so would be to give up her anonymity. No one had noticed her yet, and she didn't want them to.

The old priest made the choice moot. He moved the wrong way, awakening sleeping pain, and clutched at his ribs with his one good hand. Outside, the Knights were instantly alert. The one with the crossbow trained his weapon on the door. His companion dropped the horse's rope halter and ran to the doorframe, pressing his body against the blackened stones.

Inside, Sister Magdalene was drawing a knife. Key had no idea what the woman intended to do with it.

The Knight near the door reached for the handle. He dragged the door open, using it as a shield.

Sister Magdalene gasped as she saw the leveled crossbow. Behind her, the old priest tried to sit up. Key was now watching from behind Magdalene, sitting atop a narrow railing.

The Knight pointed his crossbow away from the door. "We are Knights of the Circle. We're here to help you." His Circle Cross was a white emblem on a black shirt. There was another one tied as a sash around his left arm, black on red. Key should have known what the colors designated, but she didn't.

Magdalene almost sobbed. She rose slowly, careful of her companion. The knife fell from her trembling fingers.

"Is there anyone else here?"

The nun was not able to find words. She just shook her head, tears in her eyes.

Beyond her, Key saw the other Knight enter. He had sheathed his pistol. "There were no other survivors?"

It was the priest who spoke. "None. Alistair's soldiers took everyone he didn't feed to his dogs." He coughed and recovered his breath. "I was able to use my Arts to keep Sister Magdalene and myself hidden. I would have shielded more, but my strength fails..."

Back in her body, Key stirred. She had wondered what had befallen the Monks. The scholarly clerics had been rather flustered to have a little girl as a houseguest. They had dealt with the disruption of their lives largely by ignoring it. Under her present limitations, Key could only scry upon people she knew fairly well. In the Monastery, that was only Sister Magdalene, and she had been unable to scry upon the Sister. The little girl was relieved to discover that the reason was the priest's spell.

She then tried to cast her dreaming attention to her chosen, Gabriel Rider. All she could find was a thick, choking fog so sweet it made her gag. She knew he was somewhere inside it, but she could not find him.

Reluctantly, worried, she pulled away and tried to find Gwenivere Valentine instead. Gwenivere had carried the Sword of Glass for a long way, and had also spent some time with Key.

Her dream self stepped into a dank, chamber with little light. A sputtering lantern hung behind her, its light being cast through iron bars in a door. She was standing at the head of a short staircase, with the iron bound door at her back. In a moment, as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she took in the scene. Walls of grey rock squatted under a relatively low ceiling, interrupted at regular intervals with iron bars forming cages. The cage faces were arched prettily, though that probably had more to do with engineering than aesthetics.

She made her way past the rows of cages to the one that held Gwenivere. The Wizardess was in some sort of pain, being held by Sabrina Lucas. The younger woman was clearly worried, with good cause. In the cell across from them, a dead body, almost stripped clean by carrion creatures, was chained to the wall.

Key 'tisked' at the needless theatricality. She willed herself on the other side of the bars and laid a sympathetic hand on Sabrina's shoulder. The Prime World woman truly did not deserve what she was going through.

Sabrina Lucas' head snapped up at moment of contact. Key was startled. No one should be able to perceive her in this form. Shocked, she transported herself back across the bars to the dungeon passage.

"Who's there?" the young woman asked, afraid. "Key?" She was squinting into the darkness, and her eyes had fixed on Key's location.

Key willed herself more invisible, if such a concept could exist. Sabrina blinked once, then rubbed at her eyes with her hands.

"Great," she said. "Now I'm seeing things."

"You might... really be." Gwenivere Valentine's voice sounded weak and strained. There was a length of chain closed around her neck with a small, silver colored lock. "Prime Worlders are cut off from Magick, when they cross the Threshold, sometimes they change. Magick floods into them and they get Gifts."

"You mean I might be turning into a witch?"

"Not exactly." Gwenivere had to catch her breath before continuing. "Gifts aren't like the Arts... not as flexible. They're more like natural talents. You might be turning into a Seer."

That was something Key hadn't accounted for. Gabriel's companions truly might be developing supernatural powers of their own. Since Key herself was unable to help those two, Sabrina's fledgling powers might be what saved them. If only the girl had thought to develop a really useful Gift, like Beast Speech, or Fire Casting.

Still, the Sight might prove useful as well. Some Sighted could learn Astral Projection, which would possibly allow Sabrina to summon some help.

Key couldn't really do anything here without revealing too much. If she lost her shield of anonymity now, the others would move to stop her, and she could not let that happen. Reluctantly, she left the dungeon.

Her travels took her into Covenshire. As always, the oppressive weight of the place nearly repulsed her. This was a world built on the evil dreams of one man, a cyst formed to hold in the cancer he represented. Within its prison, the disease of Mordakai Coventry had festered and grown. Key had appeared inside Mordakai's keep. She saw him sprawled in his chair, painfully sucking green-gold smoke through a tube. Behind him stood a woman all in white, with a black collar around her neck. Neither of them was the reason for Key's visit. Instead, her eyes found the crystal box surrounded by a protective circle. The thaumaturgical design could not stop her, but of course, she posed no threat. She stepped across the border against a pressure no greater than breaking a spider's web.

Inside, she knelt beside the Box of Sorrows and laid gentle fingers up against the cool surface. Even in the stuffy confines of Mordakai's workroom, the box was cool to the touch. Standing, she checked the integrity of the twelve seals. They were holding, for now. She could see the signs of Mordakai's attempts upon them already. She wished she could know exactly what he was planning, but she had never had the opportunity to read the Simeon Grimories, and it was dangerous, even in dreams, to remain too long in the aged necromancer's presence.

Key's physical body was leaving the state of sleep in which she could project her thoughts this way. Not for the first time, she railed against the limitations of her body, but she was doing the best she could with what she had. When she woke up, she would have to think of some way to get the adults to find Gwenivere and Gabriel, especially Gabriel.

* * *

Jason's sense of the Netherlands was nothing compared to Colwynn's, but he knew they were now making for the surface.

"What's the news?" he asked.

Colwynn looked over her shoulder and answered, "I thought there was a straight way to get there. He was in a place with a tunnel, but the opening is gone."

"Closed up?"

"No, just...gone, like it was filled in."

Jason turned to Kildare. "This is too strange to ignore."

"Yes," the Lord Knight agreed. "It is also taking too long. Night will fall soon, and our advantage fades with the sun."

The small company moved quickly. Colwynn's trail led them up into the Old City, a quiet, empty place without the Market. Colwynn took a second to adjust to the reddish light, then moved unerringly down the street.

"How far?" Kildare asked.

"A couple of blocks."

"Too far. It will be dark enough in a few minutes." Jason said.

"Mr. Gloomygus," Colwynn laughed. "Didn't you bring a flashlight?"

"Did you?" Her answer might give Jason some idea where she'd been. In the Netherlands, modern technology was hard to come by.

"We have some flares," Kildare answered. "They will provide adequate defense, and if they do not, I have other alternatives."

"I think we're about to need them." Jason's awareness drew his attention to an alley behind them. The walls of the Old City cast the lower reaches of the streets into dark shade, and Jason felt a stirring on the cobblestones.

He drew his sword in one fluid motion, but didn't take a fighting stance. He laid the blade across his arm with his hand reversed on the grip. Colwynn and Kildare were following his lead. Colwynn got her bow ready and notched an arrow. Kildare pulled something out of his coat, but Jason couldn't see what it was.

"You might as well come out," the Knight said.

"We're not afraid of you, Kildare," said a young-looking woman as she stepped out of the shadows.

Like all Night Children, she was pale. Blond hair hung over her blue eyes. She was wearing a tattered red and gold coat over white lace. Her hands were already formed into long, wicked claws. If it weren't for the six-inch talons, she'd look like somebody's rebellious daughter, the kind you'd like no matter how hard she tried to drive you crazy.

Jason sensed more nearby. He scanned the darkness, but couldn't make out the others. A skittering sound from the building across the street told him what he needed to know.

"What do you want, children?" Kildare asked. The man seemed unfazed.

Jason spared a glance over his shoulder. Kildare was holding a shard of blue crystal about eight inches long. His other hand was invisible beneath the folds of his coat, probably holding a weapon.

Another voice came from behind, a direction from which Jason had sensed no threat. This was a young male. "You're on our territory, I think you should be answering the questions."

Kildare evidently knew him. "Greetings, Peter. My errand need not cause you any trouble. We're seeking a mortal. If you have him, you may give him back to me, and we will be on our way."

"Ya' see, that's going to be a problem," Peter laughed. "I bet your little friend is with Molly, and me and the girls are going to take Molly home and kill her boy toy."

Kildare nodded gravely. "I see. That will be a problem."

The Night Children all tensed. The threat woven into Kildare's cultured words was obvious.

The Lord Knight held his crystal shaft aloft and began chanting. Jason picked out a few words in something that sounded like German.

Jason shielded his eyes as Kildare's incantation reached its peak. Even through closed eyes, he was almost blinded by the flash of blue-white light.

The Night Children had been prepared, though. Fields of solidified darkness dissolved into puddles of inky liquid. Night Children grew more vulnerable to light as they aged, but the really old ones developed defenses. Out of the melting darkness, the little blond girl charged, howling.

Colwynn loosed her arrow, but the girl dodged it, moving so fast that Jason could barely track her motion.

And he had no time to worry about her, as he had an opponent of his own seconds later. A red-haired kid swung a length of rusty chain at his head. He swept the improvised weapon away with his sword, fading away from the attack. She was no warrior.

She screeched as he dodged past her, and overcorrected when she tried to hit him again. Jason would have laughed. She must have been a recent conquest, since she lacked the speed or strength of one of the others.

He almost regretted gutting her with his katana. Maybe as little as a year ago she had been a real little girl, younger than Colwynn, with the potential to do whatever she wanted. He followed his stroke with a kick to the side of her head, knocking her to the ground. If he were lucky, she'd be unconscious while the black ichor that replaced her blood seeped into the ground.

Another one was coming, an older one. Her face was twisted into a bestial shape. Razor sharp teeth protruded from her jaws, and her hands ended in something more like curved knives than fingers.

Over his shoulder, Jason saw a blur of movement and another blue flash. He had no time to see what it was. The monstrous Night Child lunged at him and he ducked under her slash, parrying upwards with his free hand. The moment his hand touched her, he stretched out with the Touch, then lashed out with his sword. The blade caught a weak spot behind her knee, and she fell. Jason gave her no time to recover. He cut off her head and moved into the rhythm of the fight.

Colwynn was being backed into a corner. She hadn't had time to draw her sword, and her recurve bow was not much help. Before her opponent could finish her though, a blast of blue energy slammed into the Night Child, throwing her across the street. The Night Child fell and was still.

Jason looked over at Kildare, who had not bothered to draw a weapon. The Circle Knight was standing, arms casually at his sides, in the awning of a building.

"A Dervish?" he asked.

Kildare inclined his head. "It seemed well suited to the task," he said. "This is availing us nothing."

The Knight was obliged to step sideways as one of the Night Children, possibly the male, tore a section of masonry out of the side of the building. Jason would have helped him, but the air spirit rushed to its' summoner's side and blasted the Night Child with a gust of air.

Kildare's opponent was stronger than any of the others. He threw himself to the ground, digging talons into the pavement. The blast stopped his advance, but did not move him. The Night Child actually managed to drag himself forward. Kildare's Dervish kept the onslaught, but even as it did so, its blurred form began to flicker and dim. The spell Kildare had used to summon it was fading.

Biting back a curse, Jason sprinted across the cobblestones with his sword poised to strike. The wind bit at him like needles, but the intensity was dropping with every step. He brought down his sword, but the Night Child rolled out of the way. Jason's katana drew sparks on the stones. Jason followed his first cut with a rising strike, trying to catch his retreating foe. He pressed furiously, knowing that he couldn't afford to let the Night Child take the offensive.

With the battle rage upon him, Jason lost track of anything else. His Gift gave him absolute control over his blade. His training made him a deadly opponent. Every movement flowed like water into the next. A Seer could not have predicted more accurately what his foe would do.

"How are you so fast, mortal?" The Night Child's monstrous voice came from deep in the throat, holding a hint of worry.

Jason didn't spare breath for an answer. His blade glanced off the Night Child's arm, then struck in the same direction again, raining down blows.

With fear replacing anger, the Night Child was losing the ability to maintain his transformation. His form wavered and became more human. Jason's onslaught was merciless. The boy was reduced to shielding his head with his arms and scrambling away. What counter attacks he made were obvious, and easily parried.

"Leave me alone!" he almost whined.

Jason felt shadows looming up behind him, and knew the Night Child was not out of tricks. He abruptly lowered his range of attack, drawing the sword across his target's guts.

Peter almost blocked the attack, but the blade slid home and the Night Child hissed in pain.

"Give it up," Jason snarled. His blade tip hovered at the kid's throat.

The Night Child needed no further urging. He turned tail and ran back into the shadows. The others of his brood who could follow did so.

Jason cleaned the icor from his sword and turned to the others. "Do you still have the trail?" he asked Colwynn.

His sister just stared at him. "Jason, that was amazing." Fear laced the complement.

"Yes, Lord Valentine. I would not have believed a normal human could face a Night Child of such advanced age on equal terms."

Jason didn't meet either of their eyes. "You didn't do too badly yourself, Lord Kildare. Let's find the kid before anything else goes wrong."

After a long pause, Colwynn nodded reluctantly. "Just this way."

Jason followed her, and Kildare took up the rear. The rest of the walk took only a few minutes. They closed upon an ancient church.

"He's in there," Colwynn reported.

Kildare stepped up onto the church's stoop. "We must be cautious. We know there is at least one more Night Child. Your friend may be beyond our help."

"Let's worry about that when it happens." Jason stepped out in front and pushed the door open, keeping his sword ready.

The church was dark, of course. It was little more than one large room with a smaller chamber at the rear. The windows had largely broken out long ago, and the woodwork inside had suffered from the elements.

"Duvall?" Jason called out.

There was a cat-like hiss, and Jason saw a pair of glowing eyes.

A voice came out of the darkness. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do it. I was so hungry."

* * *

Other than the strange impression Sabrina had of seeing Key, being locked in the dungeon cell with Gwenivere had been more boring than anything else. The dungeon was exactly the way it would have been described in all the fantasy novels Max liked to read. It smelled like a dank alley. There was a covering of moldy straw on the floor. The only amenity in the small cell was an empty bucket in one corner that made Sabrina glad she hadn't eaten too much before all this started. She would have been pacing restlessly, except that she was worried about her companion and wanted to stay close to her.

Gwenivere had improved a little. Her breathing was still labored, but it was steady now. Conversation seemed to tire her, so Sabrina tried to leave her alone.

That left her plenty of time to worry. She worried about what was happening to Gwenivere. She worried about what would happen to her. She worried about what had happened to Gabriel. If he was in the dungeon, he wasn't within the sound of her voice. Or perhaps he was, but he couldn't answer her.

Part of her still couldn't believe any of this was real. Since Gabriel had brought Gwenivere, things Sabrina had thought to be elements of bad fiction had started confronting her with deadly reality. Gabriel had picked up a magic sword. Sabrina had been kidnapped by an evil sorceress, and now she might be turning into some kind of witch herself.

"Sabrina?" That was Gabriel's voice. He didn't sound like he was hurt or anything, just slightly tentative.

"Gabriel? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Everything's fine."

Something about Gabriel's voice sounded wrong.

"What do you mean? Gwenivere's hurt. I'm sitting in a dungeon."

Gabriel came into view. He was holding a lantern and wearing clean clothes, a blowsy white shirt and close fit black pants with high boots. He had the Sword of Glass in a baldric at his side. He hung the lantern on a hook on the wall and approached her cell.

"It was a misunderstanding." Gabriel said. "She couldn't be sure the Valentines hadn't corrupted you. We had to be sure it was safe. That's why I'm here."

"Who are you talking about, Derdrie Coventry?"

The look on Gabriel's face was radiant. "Not Derdrie, Crystal. Sabrina, she's still alive. She's here."

"That's impossible." Of course, even as she said it, Sabrina wondered if it was true. Yesterday, she thought that the idea of a street market full of goblins selling magical merchandise in the middle of Greenwich Village was impossible, too.

"I know. I thought so too, but it's real. She's here." Gabriel wrapped his hands around the bars.

Sabrina stood up, feeling a protest in her knees, and walked over to the front of the cell. She laid one of her hands up against his. As soon as she did so, she felt something like an electrical shock. Impressions rocked through her, so surprising that she stepped back involuntarily.

"Oh my god, something's wrong with you," she said.

"What? I told you, I'm fine."

"No you're not," Sabrina insisted. "Give me your hand."

Gabriel obliged, and Sabrina took his hand in both of hers. She wasn't exactly sure what she was doing, but she had sensed something before, and she thought she might be able to do it again.

The thrill of power was less intense this time, but Sabrina was able to hold onto it. For a second, it was as if she was seeing with two pairs of eyes. Through one, she saw Gabriel on the other side of the bars. Through the other, she saw a chaotic swirl of colors and images. It was difficult, but she focused on the second set. She was able to hold onto the impressions for just a little while, then they faded.

Sabrina didn't begin to know how to explain what she had seen. "Someone has done something to you, changed the way you see."

"What do you mean? I told you, I'm just fine." He was suddenly defensive, almost hostile. "Look, Crystal is with the Coventrys are fighting against the Valentines. Gwenivere lied to us. The Valentines are the bad guys. Gwenivere stole the Sword of Glass from them. We need to help them."

"Gabriel, Crystal is dead. The Coventrys are lying to you if they say she's alive. She died over a year ago. You almost died, too."

Gabriel backed away, eyes going wild. "You're wrong. You're lying. She told me you would lie. Gwenivere has gotten to you, like she almost did me."

"I'm not wrong." Sabrina was getting desperate. "Gabriel, I wouldn't lie about that. Let us out of here, please." She reached out to him across the bars.

He was almost back at the steps. "Crystal is alive. We're together again."

"Gabriel, please," Sabrina begged. "They'll kill us if you don't help me now."

"We're together again, the way it should be." Gabriel threw open the door and fled through it, slamming it behind him.

Sabrina was left alone in the cell. Shock left her too stunned to even think, holding the reality of her situation at bay for several seconds. Then the weight crashed through her little bubble and she fell to her knees and cried.

* * *

Jason knelt in the back of the church, looking at Max Duvall. Colwynn stood at the doorway with her bow, standing watch. Kildare stood near the middle of the room watching everything calmly.

The Prime Worlder didn't look good. He was leaned up against the wall without the strength to even move. His skin was deathly pale, with bluish veins clearly visible. His eyes were glazed, unfocused, and unresponsive. The Night Child, whose name was Debbie, hovered next to him while Jason tried to ascertain his condition.

"I didn't mean to do it. I was just going to take a little. I had fought with Peter, and I was hungry. I was so hungry." She alternated between kneeling down over the Prime Worlder and pacing back and forth. Her hands were empty, but Jason could imagine them nervously holding a cigarette anyway. "He tried to help me in the Market. Then he defended me against Peter. Nobody can beat Peter. I only meant to take enough to stop the hunger, but once I started, I couldn't stop. I couldn't stop."

Jason stood abruptly, blocking the path of her manic rotation. "Shut up," he said. "Start making sense."

She gulped back a sob.

"I need some answers. You fed on him, almost enough to kill him, right?"

The girl nodded, choking back a jag of crying.

"Did you turn him?"

She didn't answer, turning her face away.

Jason grabbed her and spun her toward him again. "Did you turn him? This is too important."

She stared into his eyes, not answering.

"Damnit, answer me!"

She broke down then, whimpering like a puppy. If she hadn't been a lifesucking creature of the night, it would have broken Jason's heart. "I'm not sure."

The Night Child could no longer bear Jason's anger. She dropped down next to Duvall and took up his cold hand.

Kildare stepped up to Jason's side. "We don't really have time for this," he said. "To have any hope of saving him, we must get him to the Green Witch."

"Your Healer is closer."

"Perhaps so, but her talents are limited. If he's close to turning, she is the only one in the city who might save him."

"How happy is she going to be to see either of us?" Jason asked. He had given up on arguing with Kildare as long as the Knight was moving in generally the direction he wanted to go.

"Her feelings don't matter. The Coventrys took the Dutchman's Village. They will attack the domain of the Green Witch soon enough. I must have troops there."

"Good. Then we call your men and go climb a tree. Once we're there, and we know the situation, I'm taking Colwynn to find Gwenivere."

"Time is of the essence. I think it would be wisest if you and the Night Child took the boy to the Forest while Colwynn and I returned to the Chapter house. We will be able to meet you at the Witch's stronghold."

"You want me to go with her?"

"There is really no other option. The girl is obviously attached to the Prime Worlder. She will either follow him wherever he goes, or return to her master. Since you did not kill her before, I assume you do not intend to kill her now."

Jason absolutely hated it when Kildare was right. "OK. You two had better get going. Leave me some flares. If Peter decides to attack again, I might need them."

The church building didn't have much that Jason could use as a stretcher, so he simply reached down and picked up the boy's prone form and slung him across his shoulders.

Debbie looked up at him. "What are you doing?"

"We're going up."

"What?"

"I'm taking Duvall to the Green Witch, hoping she can undo whatever you did to him. You can do whatever you want, but I suggest you follow me."

"The Witch?" Debbie backed away almost the same way she would have if he had flashed a strobe light in her face. "She hates Peter. She'll kill me."

"Maybe so," Jason agreed. Without waiting for her, he started for the door. Kildare and Colwynn were already gone.

Behind him, he could sense her moving, first to follow him, then standing still. Jason just kept going. He was almost across the street and on his way back to the gates of the Old City when she caught up with him.

"Glad you decided to come along," he said.

To be continued next month...

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Changeling Seed

A Novel of the Side World

The First of the Valentine Chronicles

Copyright 2000 David Goodner

Continued from Chapter 5

Changeling Seed Archive

Chapter 6

To be continued next month...