The Dreams of Children

Written by TZ
Edited by PD Wonder

Part Two
Copyright August 11, 1998

See Part One for Disclaimers

With a sigh, Gabrielle contemplated the ceiling in her room for the thousandth time that evening. Meleager and Serypides had visited her earlier. They had shared the news that Apagron had been taken with fever, and was resting in Hippocrates' hut. Cyrene had shooed them out after a short stay, saying that the expecting mother needed her rest.

As her hands rubbed her swollen belly, Gabrielle let her thoughts drift to Xena. There was still no word from her, but a traveling bard had brought them news that she was leading an army north in Macedonia. He could not give them any more details, but Gabrielle figured that if Xena was leading her own men, she was probably doing well.

Her eyes welled with tears when she captured a vision of the warrior in her mind. Her heart stopped for a moment when she recalled the startling shade of Xena's blue eyes. Her body ached for something she had not yet experienced. She was not sure if she would ever know. She yearned for the warrior to return and ease the pain that seized her chest when she remembered.

She had been naive to think that her childish dreams would come true.

A strong kick caused the bard to gasp and she reflected ruefully that her pregnancy was due to come to an end soon. Eight and a half months had passed since Perdicus had attacked her that day at the river. The baby's lively presence, though, had pushed the bad memories into the farthest corner of her soul. Her three drinking buddies, as Cyrene referred to Apagron, Serypides, and Meleager, had boosted her spirits. They had made her happy again.

She felt as if she belonged somewhere. She found unconditional love from the family that had adopted her. The prospect that she would be adding to it excited her with hope for the future. She chuckled again when her baby kicked against the gentle pressure of her hand. "Hey, down there, cut that out."

"He's a strong one," a voice whispered from the opened window.

Gabrielle's eyes widened in disbelief and then irrational fear. A sweat broke out all over her body and she began to shudder uncontrollably. A scream froze in her throat when she saw the shadowy figure enter her room.

"What, no loving words in greeting for the father of your child," Perdicus sneered.

Frightened noises, not unlike those a cornered animal makes, escaped the bard's tight throat as the demon who used to haunt her dreams, approached and sat on the edge of her bed. Her body jerked when he laid a hand upon her stomach.

"I can't believe I'm going to be a father," he whispered. "There are so many things I want to teach our son, Gabrielle."

The sound of her name snapped the young woman out of her paralyzed state, and she smacked his hand away from her body. "If you don't leave right now, I'll scream," she warned as she scooted away from him.

"Come on, Gabrielle," he crooned with malevolence, "you know I love you...and our son. We can be one happy family," he said as he licked his lips and reached for the arm that was raised in defense.

"No, Perdicus, I said go away, now."

He could hear the fear in her voice, see it in the eyes that watched every move he made. It thrilled him, excited him. Power. She cowered at his strength and force of will; she was his to do with as he pleased. "If you'd prefer, you could stay here. I'm sure my family won't mind raising the little one."

Gabrielle shook her head slowly at first, and more vehemently. "No. No," she sobbed. "You aren't getting my baby. It's mine...not yours," she cried as she moved to escaped his clutching hand. "I won't let you!" With a force that nature provides those who protect their young, the bard clambered off the bed and reached for the nearest object she could find.

Perdicus watched, frozen by shock, as Gabrielle swung the candlestick at his head with more speed and power than he had expected. His vision went dark after a flash of agonizing pain, and he collapsed unconscious.

Dropping her weapon, Gabrielle's hands went to her mouth to still the screams that had found release. She trembled when strong arms enfolded her in their embrace, and she sank to the floor. Her fall was eased by a familiar presence at her back.

"I've got you," Meleager whispered as he cradled her in his arms. He watched as Cyrene and Serypides looked from the opened window to the still form on the bed.

When Lyceus entered behind them to find the source of the commotion, Cyrene ushered him out of the room. "Go fetch Parmac," she ordered and then repeated herself louder when the young man could not tear his eyes from the still form on the bed. His mother's words finally caught his attention, however, and he ran with all haste out of the inn and through the village to the magistrate's house.

Cyrene stepped around the end of the bed and moved to take Gabrielle from Meleager's arms, but a gasp of surprise and a low moan stopped her short.

"Oh, gods," Gabrielle groaned as she covered her protruding stomach. "No, it's too soon," she cried.

"Oh, gods," Cyrene repeated. Looking up at the bed, she considered her options. "Meleager, can you carry her to my room," she asked. When the ex-soldier nodded, she turned to the old farmer standing in the doorway. "Serypides, Gabrielle's gone into labor. We need Hippocrates now."

The old man's eyes widened in surprise before he, too, left to do the innkeeper's bidding.

When Gabrielle was made comfortable on Cyrene's empty bed, the older woman rushed back and forth, preparing the items she knew from experience, would be needed for the delivery.

Meleager held the moaning bard's hand and patted it absently with his own scarred and callused one, as he watched Cyrene leave the room, only to enter with an armload of clean linens. He looked up with relief when the healer entered the room and ordered him out. He had been present at the birthing of his second child, and it was an experience he had no desire to relive.

When he entered the common room of the tavern again, he ran into Parmac, who was still wiping the sleep out of his eyes.

"You, there, Meleager, what is the meaning of this?"

The ex-soldier looked at the magistrate with growing annoyance. "Somebody tried to attack Gabrielle again," he explained.

"Is that why I was roused from my bed," the official asked haughtily.

Lyceus held out a restraining hand when Meleager meant to grab the arrogant magistrate by the shirtfront. "Not now, Uncle," the young man urged. "Let my mother deal with him."

Meleager considered Lyceus' warning and relaxed, stepped back and raised an arm to direct Parmac to Gabrielle's room. "I'll go let Cyrene know that he's here," he whispered, knowing that if he were in the same room with the magistrate, that he was likely to do something he'd regret later.

Lyceus smiled tightly and nodded. "Thanks," he muttered as he followed the official into the bedroom.

Cyrene was just coming out of her room when Meleager turned to fetch her. "Parmac is here," he said with restrained anger, "and he's his usual pompous ass-self."

The innkeeper rolled her eyes and rubbed her temple. "I will not deal with this tonight," she muttered as she looked back to her room. "Will you go stay with Gabrielle until I finish this...other business?"

He nodded and entered the innkeeper's room, considering it the lesser of two Tartarus'.

"Parmac, I demand that you take action on this matter," Cyrene declared as she entered the bard's room. "That man stole into my inn and tried to accost my daughter, and I expect the law to take care of him this time."

The magistrate clapped his hands and smiled. "Now, Cyrene, I can't just imprison the man without knowing the facts of the case. For all we know, the girl could have invited him into her room."

A pounding headache began to throb behind her eyes, and Cyrene narrowed her gaze. "I know, and you know, after what he did to her, she would certainly not have invited him," she spat. "Now, you either take care of him, or I'll find someone else to do it."

Parmac smiled greasily at the woman's threat. "That would be unlawful," he cajoled, enjoying the power that he wielded over the people of the provincial village.

"If my mother says that Perdicus attacked Gabrielle, then that's the way it happened."

Cyrene turned and beheld her oldest son. "When did you get back?"

Toris, who had gone north to arrange for the shipment of some wine, did not release the magistrate from the hold of his blue eyes. "Just now. I ran into Apagron on the way in."

Parmac watched the exchange and swallowed the lump that had grown in his throat. The eldest of the innkeeper was almost as intimidating as the she-demon Cyrene had spawned. A cold sweat clung to his palms, and he resisted the urge to wipe them on his sleeping shirt.

"Now, Parmac," Toris said as he entered the room and spared a glance for Perdicus who had begun to groan in pain, "I'm going to carry this scum over to the jail, and I expect that my efforts will not go wasted. Understand?"

A chill stole down his back to settle in his bladder, and the magistrate nodded. "Of course, he broke in and attacked a helpless pregnant girl, of course," he mumbled.

Toris nodded curtly and lifted Perdicus over his shoulder. He did not wait for Parmac to follow, as he wanted to rid his body of the filthy burden as soon as possible. "Go to Gabrielle, Mother. I can take care of this."

Cyrene clasped his hand briefly in gratitude and walked back out into the short hallway that separated her family's rooms from the common room. Out of curiosity, she poked her head around the corner, and sure enough, Apagron and Serypides were sharing a pitcher of ale, their glances shifting from their tankards to the room where their bard was in the process of delivering new life into the world.

Atop Argo, she could see far into the distance across the valley that her army had captured. The farmers they had faced were more than willing to yield their newly harvested crops in return for their lives. It had been a hollow victory, and all she had gained from it was food for her army for another few months.

Life as a warlord was in the best of times, tedious.

Movement caught out of the corner of her eye drew her attention to the present. With suspicious eyes, she watched her first lieutenant approach her position. "Yes, Borias?"

"Lord Xena, the men have returned from the village. The grain has been secured."

"And our insurance?"

"She is waiting in your tent, Commander," the soldier replied in his strange accent.

Xena nodded her understanding and forced a smile for her loyal soldier. "You and Darphus will join me for dinner."

The tall man bowed his head and turned, running down the hill until he reached the encampment below.

With a bored sigh, Xena nudged Argo into a slow walk, and she followed Borias until she was in the middle of camp. Those who stayed loyal surrounded her because she was successful. She was good at what she did.

A young man took control of Argo's bridle. He whispered calming word's into the horse's ear while Xena dismounted. With cold observation, the warlord noted the positions of her sentries. Assured that they were safe for the evening, she turned to Borias. "I want my dinner in half an hour," she ordered curtly. She turned and entered her tent when the lieutenant nodded his understanding.

She knew that their insurance was a young woman, probably the daughter of one of the village leaders. The sight of the girl, however, was enough to make Xena stop and inhale sharply. She was reminded of the gentle bard that had been left behind in Amphipolis; a pale replica stood before her. As she had been expecting the girl to cower in fear, the warlord was taken aback by her greeting.

"Oh, my gods," the young woman whispered in awe. "I heard so much about the great warlord Xena. So beautiful, but deadly," she gushed. "I can't believe you actually wanted me to come here to your camp."

Xena pictured the girl with a little more muscle and a few inches shorter. Other than that, the hair was the same and the eyes equally green. The girl's enthusiastic worship refreshed memories of a long-forgotten past.

Lariel's giggle jolted her out of the past. "Are you nuts," the warlord growled, trying to hide her discomfort. Xena wanted to believe that the gods were playing a trick on her for following their warlike kin.

The blonde girl shook her head emphatically. "No, I'm Lariel," she said as she raised her hand to shake the warlord's.

Resisting the human inclination to answer the gesture, Xena ground her teeth and stood imposingly to her full height in an attempt to make the chatty girl cower.

"Boy, you sure are tall," Lariel giggled. "And such pretty armor," the girl murmured as she unthinkingly reach out a hand to trace a swirling pattern.

Xena grasped the young woman's hand in a harsh grip. "Never," she snarled, "never touch me," she warned. "Unless I order you to. Understand?"

The young girl winced and tears of pain sparkled in her eyes. "Yes," she gasped.

"Good, now fetch me some wine...slave." Xena refused to let the young woman's hurt so evident on her open features, soften the granite walls she had erected around her heart. She stiffened her posture and lowered herself into a high-backed chair that denoted her allegiance to Ares. Closing her eyes, she let her blood cool like ice. She opened her eyes slowly.

Lariel found the jug of wine the warlord had requested and had poured the liquid carefully so as not to spill a drop. Her efforts were nearly undone when her eyes rose to meet frigid blue chips watching her intensely. Swallowing with an audible gulp, she forced her legs to carry her to Xena's side. She lowered her eyes nervously and handed the wine to her captor.

"I have a few simple rules," Xena began after she sampled the strong vintage. "You follow them, you'll live." When the girl nodded, the warlord continued. "You will serve me and my guests at dinner. You will polish my armor and care for my leathers. You will speak only when asked a direct question, and even then, you will answer simply 'yes' or 'no.' You will sleep when I sleep, and wake when I wake. Do you understand?"

"Yes," the slave answered meekly.

"Any attempt to escape will be met with severe punishment. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

Xena looked up as a guard cleared his throat and announced that dinner had arrived. She waved the small parade of cooks and tray bearers into her tent. When a taster had survived the first bite of all the courses, the warlord nodded her acceptance of the meal. "Serve us," she commanded her slave. She gestured for Darphus and Borias to join her at the long table.

Her hands trembled as she prepared the plates for Xena and her guests. She shuddered when she heard them callously discuss the events of their latest victory. After she had handed all three their platters, she glanced nervously at her master and conveyed a look of ignorance. When the dark woman pointed at the ground to her right, Lariel knelt to her knees and bowed her head in subjugation.

She had only wanted to escape her sleepy little village. When she had been chosen to visit the conquering warlord's camp, her naivete had left her blissfully unaware of Xena's true nature. The moment that she felt the pain in the warlord's powerful grasp, however, knowledge had quenched her desire for excitement. She knew now, the reason that the men of her village had cast pitying looks towards her as she had ridden off with Xena's lieutenant. They knew and they had not told her. Now, she could only pray that she would survive her time with the notorious Destroyer of Nations.

A hard flick on her ear caused her to turn her head. She found the warlord staring at her. When Xena turned her goblet upside down, Lariel knew the action was a call for more wine. With a submissive nod, she stood and poured more wine for the warlord and her guests. A sound of alarm from outside the tent caused her to gasp and drop the jug. She shrank from the warlord who stood with fury lighting an unearthly promise of retribution in her hard gaze.

Lariel was spared, however, when a soldier burst into the tent.

"Lord Xena," he praised as he fell to his knees. "The people have burned their village, including our grain, and have fled for the hills to the north."

With a care that masked her anger, the warlord set her goblet gently on the table and approached the messenger. "Who was on duty in the village this evening?"

Although his commander's tone was even, a tendril of cold fear clutched the soldier's insides. A cold sweat broke out along his back. "Petriles and Macon, sir," he answered, grateful that his voice remained steady.

"Darphus, I want those two brought back to my tent," Xena said as her eyes remained fixed on the soldier at her feet.

"I'm sorry, sir," the kneeling man apologized, "but the both of them were killed by the farmers."

"Damn," Xena swore loudly as she began to pace. She stopped before the table and slapped it with an unforgiving hand, splintering two planks.

Lariel jumped and ran behind the warlord's chair where she trembled with fear.

"Borias, I want you to round up every soldier, every man, every piss-ant who can hold a weapon. We are going to track those people down like the scum that they are," she snarled, "and we are going to kill them all."

The warlord spared not one second's thought for the young woman who had collapsed to the ground, sobbing for her loss of her future. Lariel had no village to which to return. Soon she would no longer have any family, either. She was oblivious to the activity around her as Xena and Borias made quick plans to head north towards the hills. Even by night her friends and neighbors would not stand a chance against the relentless Destroyer. They were simple farmers, unskilled in the ways of war. They only knew how to coax life from Demeter's blessed earth. She knew that they would all be gone in the morning.

"I can't believe how much she looks like you," Cyrene chuckled as the toddler in her lap pulled a string from her blouse into her little mouth.

Gabrielle looked at her daughter and smiled. Hope had been a gift from the gods. She was sure of that now. If any part of Perdicus flowed through the child's veins, it was hidden well. The bard mentally sighed in relief. "Meleager said that she acts just like I did, too."

The innkeeper's dusky blue eyes saddened momentarily. "Too bad your ma isn't here to see her granddaughter."

Shrugging her shoulders to dislodge the pain that sometimes weighed upon them, Gabrielle smiled wistfully. "Poteidaia isn't so far away," she whispered. "If things ever get better, they know where I am."

Cyrene nodded in understanding. "I suppose one grandma is enough to spoil her for now," she remarked with a laugh as Hope squirmed to get off her lap. The two women watched the toddler waddle over to a table and greet a customer. "So," Cyrene said as she watched a young soldier ruffle her granddaughter's fair hair, "Lyceus tells me that you started practicing with your staff again."

Gabrielle reached for her weapon and caressed the rawhide that protected her hands from splinters. "Ever since hearing about Perdicus being released, I thought that it would be best...just in case he makes it back."

Both women looked at each other; they shared a sad knowledge.

"It won't be long before the news gets out," Cyrene said in a tight voice.

"I can't believe it," Gabrielle whispered, fighting the tears that always came when she thought of the woman she had once admired.

Cyrene accepted Hope into her arms again when the little girl returned. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," she admitted. "Xena always was her father's child."

The bard shook her head in denial. "Atrius never led an army like...like they say she is."

"But he still served and fought for the glory of war and death, Gabrielle." The older woman reached up with a free hand and rubbed weary lines etched across her forehead. "When Xena left, I knew something like this could happen. She had that same fire. She enjoyed battle, just like her father. I'm surprised it took her so long to become so...famous," she ended quietly.

"She's been gone almost five years, Cyrene. How could things have gone so wrong in such a short time?" Gabrielle knew that the innkeeper felt the warrior's absence as terribly as she did. Five years seemed like an eternity. When news of Xena's exploits had reached their ears, they had found solace with each other after the shock had faded.

"I heard a merchant say that she is preparing to go to war with the Thessalian army," Cyrene said as she bowed her head. "That's why Perdicus was released. They needed soldiers."

Gabrielle reached across the table and laid her hand comfortingly over her mother's. "Don't worry, Mom. She'll survive, just like she always does. And some day, she'll find her way back home."

The innkeeper looked up into the young woman's eyes and found a sliver of hope in the emerald pools. "If she does," the old woman predicted, "she won't be the same."

"I think she's just lost." The bard's eyes grew distant as she remembered the girl who always helped her out of one scrape or another. Whether she had been stuck up in a tree or had fallen down a ravine, Xena had always been there to save her. Now, though, the warrior needed someone to save her.

Gabrielle's moment of sadness passed when Hope raised her arms in silent entreaty. "Hey there, my little sunshine," she cooed.

"Mama, I wanna go play with Jett," the little girl pleaded in sweet, lilting tones.

"Honey, Jett went with his mommy and daddy to Athens."

The little girl pouted and her lower lip trembled. "But I wanna play," she whined.

"Tell you what, my Hope," Gabrielle promised, "if you help me clear that table over there, I'll tell a story."

The little girl's face lit with excitement. She slid off her mother's lap and took a tray from the table. Without direction, she went to the table in the corner and began to gather the plates that had been left behind. Before the child could pile the tray too high, however, Gabrielle caught up and held it while Hope finished stacking the dishes.

After dropping the dishes off in the kitchen, the bard returned to find her daughter standing on a chair, wiping the table off with a soapy rag.

"She's definitely got a skill for that," Cyrene chuckled. She beamed with pride at the attention the little girl paid to her chore.

When even the chairs had been wiped, Hope returned and gave her grandmother the rag. "Now, Mama?"

"Since you did such a fine job, my little one, I'll tell two stories. What would you like to hear?"

Hope nibbled on her lower lip and her golden brows furrowed in contemplation. "I wanna hear 'bout Herc'les and the feece."

Cyrene laughed and ruffled the child's head. "Hope, sweetie, that's 'fleece,'" she explained.

The little girl shrugged and smiled brightly. "Okay, Gramma." Hope ran to the bar and climbed up onto a stool. From her higher vantage, she could see her mother climb the two stairs to the little stage that Lyceus had built. Her eyes widened with anticipation. She waited with bated breath for the bard's opening words.

"Hey there, runtling, you want something to drink?"

Hope turned and charmed her uncle with a smile that melted the man's heart. "Juice, please, Uncle Tor?"

"Sure thing, runt," he answered with a grin. Pulling a miniature cup from under the bar, Toris filled it with the juice that his niece favored and laid out a plate of sweetbread. He tweaked her nose before she had a chance to evade.

Her laughter rang through the tavern that had suddenly quieted. "Oops," she said, smothering her giggles with a dimpled hand.

Toris stuck out his tongue and propped his chin in his hand, eager like the tavern's patrons to hear Gabrielle's tale.

The story of Hercules and another about Odysseus earned Gabrielle warm applause and cries for another. She declined, however, for she knew that Cyrene and Toris would need help cleaning up after the lunch crowd. As she made her way back to the bar, she accepted praise from the patrons with a humble blush and timid smile.

"Mama," Hope cried with eyes wide in childish awe, "that was the best stories ever."

Gabrielle cupped her daughter's face in her hands and kissed the girl softly on the forehead. "You always say that," she admonished gently.

"She's right, though," Toris agreed as he handed the bard a tall tankard of cider. "I can't believe you pick up all those stories from just listening to travelers and bards who come through."

Taking a long sip of the cool cider, Gabrielle shrugged. "All you have to do is listen. The rest," she added with a vague wave of her hand, "is just a little embellishment."

Toris' reply was stilled by a call for drink at the other end of the bar. With an apologetic shrug, he left Gabrielle and Hope to themselves.

Gabrielle was watching him leave when a heavy sigh caused her to turn the other way.

"I wish I had only half your skill."

Looking up into the face of a tall, sandy-haired man, Gabrielle sipped her cider. The wide mouth of the tankard mostly hid her renewed blush.

The stranger unfolded his arms and offered his hand in greeting. "Aracan," the stranger said, introducing himself. "I'm a traveling bard, or at least I thought I was. You must travel more than I to have developed such technique. The way that you drew the crowd into your story was inspiring."

Gabrielle shifted uncomfortably and ducked her head in embarrassment. "I'm just a simple storyteller," she whispered. "I live here in Amphipolis and only repeat what I hear from bards like you."

"Hardly," the bard gasped as he seated himself upon a stool. "Have you ever thought about going out on the road to hone your craft? If you meet even half the people I have," he chuckled, "I'm sure that you would bring home tales that would astound."

The young woman shook her head and took another swallow of her drink. "I can't," she replied with a tinge of regret, "I have responsibilities here."

"Oh," Aracan whispered as he smiled for the little girl who had climbed into the bard's lap. "Who might you be?"

Hope merely looked at him with curiosity.

"This is my daughter Hope," Gabrielle answered, hugging the little girl. "She's why I...prefer to live here instead of traveling."

Aracan's practiced ear caught the melancholy tone in the fair woman's voice. He wondered what had made her suddenly sad.

Ruffling the child's hair, the traveling bard smiled. "Well, I just wanted to pay my respects before I headed out."

"It was very nice to meet you," Gabrielle said as she shook Aracan's hand.

"Same here," the man replied before he stood and nodded farewell.

"Safe journeys," the bard called to his retreating back.

Those who were there swore that Ares himself rode into the battle. Men from all walks of life had been recruited to battle the Destroyer. Her army had laid waste to half of Thessaly before anyone found the courage to raise a defensive hand. Used to fighting only villagers and poorly trained militias, her men were overwhelmed by the sight of a thousand armed warriors.

Mitoans and Thessalians set aside a long-running feud to join against their common enemy. Their combined numbers plus those from Thrace were enough to give Xena's army pause until the warlord had committed them to the battle. With a piercing call to arms, Xena led her army. Her ululating battlecry sent chills down her opponents' backs. She swept down upon the larger force.

For a half-month, the two armies battled. The tide turned one way and then the other. It seemed almost impossible odds, but relentless training and drilling had honed Xena's soldiers into efficient killing machines. It was a battle that was told of for a long time; one hundred fifty marauding soldiers defeated the mighty Draco and his legion of warriors and criminals.

It was a battle full of surprises for the warlord. To her grim astonishment, she crossed swords with Perdicus. As she drove her blade home, she watched his life's blood seep into the soil. She was struck curious by his parting words. He asked that she apologize to Gabrielle for him.

The battle raged around her. She nearly lost her head, but Borias had been guarding her back. A short bark from him pulled her back to the present in time to see Draco bearing down on her.

She found herself pitted against her childhood friend and one-time lover. He sat upon a black charger. His military armor denoted his rank as an accomplished general.

Draco had been her first lover. For just a moment his deep brown eyes softened with sadness when he faced his enemy. "This isn't a game anymore, is it," he asked at one point when their swords had been locked in combat. His wistful smile caused the icy blood in Xena's veins to thaw a bit.

"We aren't children anymore," she whispered.

Draco nodded and grunted with the effort of deflecting a high swing aimed for his head. "I wanted to tell you, Xena, I never did tell anyone about what happened that night at the Harvest Festival," he revealed.

The battlelust in her eyes hid the Destroyer's surprise. "Why not?"

The general jumped back to avoid a thrust and grinned charmingly.

"I was afraid that you would kick my ass," he joked. "You were so beautiful, but so dangerous," he recalled. "I suppose that is still true."

She growled, not wanting to remember her childhood anymore. Seeing her old friend as a respected and successful general at such a young age reminded her how far she had gone in the wrong direction. "You have no idea just how dangerous I am." After a series of feigns and wounding thrusts, she had scored the mortal blow.

He was the best part of the battle, for he gave her a run for her dinars. In the end, though, Ares touched her soul.

As the decorated general fell to his knees on the blood-soaked field, he stared up dumbly at the fading figure that loomed over him. "What happened, Xena," he asked on a last bloody breath.

She had turned then, to find Borias watching her carefully. Draco's words tumbled through her mind and she fought against the memories of happier times. With an effort, she hardened her eyes to blue chips of ice. She knelt to clean her sword on Draco's trousers.

"Are you all right," a concerned Borias asked.

"I'm fine. Get back to work," she ordered in a voice husky with pain.

After the initial battle was fought, the Thessalian/Mitoan army fled into the surrounding forest to regroup. A retired soldier by the name of Marmax took control of the army and set up his command post in a temple to Asclepius. Even those blessed stones, though, were no match for a warlord who liked to play with her war machines. With unerring precision, Xena hunted her enemy like a wolf sharp on the scent of blood. Her victories fueled a raging battlelust in her own men.

In the end, only a handful of Thessalians survived the bloody battle. They were rounded up and taken to the conquering warlord. Xena dismounted her horse wearily and looked into the faces of men who had fought for their land and families. Her cold blue eyes pierced deep into their souls. She gave them a moment to pray to their gods before she gave the order to her men to execute them.

Xena lay back in her large wooden tub and relived the battle that had forever secured her name in the annals of history. She had heard herself described as the coldest bitch to lead an army. The sentiment left her neither proud nor triumphant. She was simply empty. She had sold her soul to Ares and had lost her heart on a battlefield. There would be no other way for her; there was no salvation.

Her gaze fell on her slave who huddled against the side of the tub. "Join me," she ordered softly in a weary voice.

Lariel had learned long ago to not escape the warlord's attentions. She had received a broken nose for one attempt. With trembling hands, she disrobed and stepped into the tepid water. She stiffened when strong arms wrapped her in an embrace, and tendrils of fear snaked through her gut.

"Relax, Lariel," Xena whispered. "I'm in no mood to hurt you tonight."

The girl acquiesced and sank into the soft warmth of the warrior behind her. She was no stranger to the warlord's affections, or more to the point, her carnal urges. But this evening, Xena seemed almost pensive and was certainly distracted.

Lariel's curious nature prompted to ask of the woman what was wrong, but the memory of a fractured rib that still throbbed on occasion, made her hold her tongue. So accustomed to the older woman's anger, that Lariel was unsettled by the quiet. It was a strange sensation, to be held in the warlord's arms, and to not feel pain of some kind.

For all of Xena's dark nature, however, Lariel still found herself attracted to the warlord. She could feel the soft mounds of flesh pressed against her back and the long legs that framed her own. The warrior's steady breathing teased warmly across the top of her fair hair and caused her own heart to beat erratically. She cursed her growing desire and gasped when Xena adjusted her hold.

The warrior's eyes opened to mere slits when she heard the younger woman's sharp intake of breath. She glanced down at the golden hair that spilled over naked shoulders and she shifted her arms again, brushing her forearm against Lariel's right breast. When the young girl moaned in sexual excitement, she felt her own wetness gather.

She had never found pleasure in loving another person; sex was a way to control the weak and to release battle tension. Despite her exhaustion, the sounds that her slave was making were causing the carnal beast within to wake. With a firm, bruising grip, she grasped Lariel's jaw and guided the woman's soft lips to her own. Her tongue traced their supple contours with strokes that increased with intensity.

Lariel could not stop her traitorous body from responding. The moment that Xena's tongue slipped into her mouth, she knew that she was lost. She only hoped that the warlord would not hurt her too severely, as was often the case. She encouraged the older woman to explore her body, and she trembled with anticipation when she was lifted from the tub and carried to the bed.

Xena consumed the flesh of her slave; she left marks of unbridled passion. When her lust reached a fevered peak, she proceeded to take Lariel's writhing body. A vision of Ares and blood and the sounds of men dying brutally revisited her. With a scream, she drove her fingers deep into her willing partner's wetness.

When Lariel cried out her release, Xena felt no satisfaction. Her body refused to be satiated.

Lariel was weak after her passion had been wrenched from her with every ounce of energy she had. When the warlord continued to move above her, she simply laid upon the bed and allowed Xena to use her body. By the end of the evening, she had been introduced to sex that she had not even considered possible before in her young life.

Xena awoke later, cradled in Lariel's arms. She felt a foreign comfort. A sense of security and warmth caused memories of her childhood to float through the gore that stained her waking life. She let her mind drift back to the games that she used to play with her friends, two of whom would never draw breath again. The life that she led now was a distant cry from the heroic dreams she once had.

Something that Lao Ma said whispered through her mind. "Anger and rage cloud the mind, Xena," her teacher had admonished one day when Xena was fighting against her natural inclination to strangle Cortese. "To be empty of both is to see the way."

She had dismissed her beloved mentor's words then, for she had been too distracted to stop and consider them. However, as she lay peacefully in the arms of an innocent soul, she understood. After all that she had done to Lariel, the young woman had remained loyal, had never tried to escape. Xena suspected that the young woman had even come to love her. Not truly understanding it, Xena became restless.

She was unworthy of any tender consideration. She was evil. She was the Destroyer that had decimated peoples and lands. She enjoyed the power she wielded over her "subjects." She was feared. No one dared to tame her. No one told her she could not be who she was, especially the slave who had been foolish enough to care for her.

With a growl, she pulled out of Lariel's arms and struck the young woman upon the face. "Get up," she ordered as she rose to dress herself. "I want my breakfast now."

"Mama?"

"In here, Hope."

Gabrielle looked up from her chore of counting barrels of ale to see her daughter poke her head around the door into the storeroom. "What is it, sweetie?"

The little girl answered as she tugged on a braid of flaxen hair. "Gramma said there's someone out here you should see."

The bard nodded and made short work of her chore as she jotted a few notes on the parchment that she was carrying. She followed her daughter out into the tavern and set the scroll on the bar. She glanced around the room and found Cyrene at a back table, deep in animated conversation with a handsome man. When the stranger smiled at something the innkeeper had said, a flicker of recognition tugged at her brain. She crossed the room and stood quietly, waiting for her presence to be acknowledged. When the stranger turned and looked up at her, his eyes widened in shock.

"Gabrielle?"

The bard mentally rolled her eyes at the man's obvious appreciative inspection. One did not spend six years working a tavern without learning how to read a few dirty thoughts.

"My, how you've grown," the man whispered in awe as he stroked his mustache.

"Gabrielle, I was just telling Autolycus about Hope," Cyrene said with a knowing look, realizing that her daughter had not yet pegged the man's identity.

A soft smile covered the surprise that caused the young woman's heart to leap into her throat. "If she tells you that my daughter is an absolute angel, don't believe a word of it," the bard joked, ruffling her daughter's hair playfully.

"So, you must be Hope," Autolycus murmured as he bowed slightly in greeting.

"Are you really the King of Thieves," the little girl asked shyly.

Autolycus chuckled lightly and turned his gaze to the girl's mother. "King of Thieves," he drawled. "Now where would you get an idea like that?"

When Hope merely shrugged, Gabrielle blushed. "I...uh...tell her stories about when we were kids," she explained.

"With a little embellishment, I'm sure," the long-lost friend replied with a gleeful wink.

Gabrielle took a chair that Cyrene had pulled out for her and she settled Hope on her lap. "Well, you have to admit, you were always getting into trouble for snatching one thing or another," the bard chided with a smile.

"You won't believe why he's back in town," Cyrene interjected with an amused grin.

"Oh?" Gabrielle turned a questioning gaze to the handsome man.

Autolycus shifted a bit before he shrugged. "I'm here to replace Parmac," he revealed.

The bard nearly choked on her laughter. "You...are a magistrate," she managed to gasp between chuckles.

"Hey," the man cried with mock indignation, "it takes a thief to catch a thief, and all that," he stated.

"Yeah well, with you gone, there hadn't really been any stealing going on," the bard answered with a playful toss of her hair.

Autolycus chuckled into his mug. "The only stealing I do now," he retorted playfully with a wink, "is of fair maidens' hearts."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head. "You're out of luck here, Auto," she informed him. "There aren't any maidens left in Amphipolis."

"Ephiny?"

"With the Amazons."

"Cleo?"

"Married a merchant who trades in Egypt."

"Callisto?"

"Joxer."

Auto winced as he choked on his ale. "Joxer?"

Gabrielle shrugged. "I guess she saw something she liked. They have two kids now...Jett is...four years, and Cirra is two."

"Lila?"

"Poteidaia," the bard answered, mentally wincing at the mention of her sister of whom she had not seen for over five years.

"Well," he said as she puffed out his chest and stifled a belch behind his hand, "I guess that leaves you, then," he replied with a sly grin.

Reaching across the table, the bard slapped his hand and snorted. "Not a chance in Tartarus," she teased.

"What? You have someone? Lyceus? Toris?" The magistrate listed the obvious candidates since Gabrielle was living with Cyrene's family.

"Please, Auto, you are really beginning to scare me," she chortled. "Lyceus isn't even here any more. He married Pirani's daughter and they moved to Corinth. He works at Pirani's shop there. And Toris? Well...he's seeing Eresthenes, the local wine merchant."

Autolycus hid his surprise well, although, even in the faint light, he was sure that his blush was visible. "Gee, with practically everyone gone...I guess I'll have to inject a little fun into this village again."

"Uh, uh, uh," Gabrielle chastised with a wag of her finger. "You're the magistrate, now. Can't go around doing the things you used to."

Looking between the innkeeper and the bard, the handsome man ran a nimble finger across his mustache. "Please, what I have planned is going to be minor compared to the schemes Parmac had going."

"You don't say," Cyrene urged as she leaned over the table. "We all knew he was a lazy, no-good, son of a...."

"Mom...little ears," Gabrielle hissed as she pressed her palms to the sides of Hope's head.

"Well," Autolycus said as he cleared his throat, "far be it for me to argue your apt description," he said with a nod towards Cyrene, "but I can't go into the details. He hasn't been formally charged just yet."

Gabrielle looked up when the tavern door opened and Meleager entered. She watched as he searched the crowd and then finally settled an unreadable gaze on her. Instinctively, her back tensed when he approached the table.

"Cyrene, Gabrielle, may I speak to you alone?"

The older woman nodded for the both of them. Autolycus studied the retired soldier, uneasy with the foreboding look in his eyes.

"Say, Hope," the magistrate said as he rose and took her small hand in his, "your Gramma tells me that you like to draw."

"I sure do," the little blonde replied with a sunny smile.

"How about we leave all these grownups to talk, and you can show me your pictures."

"Okay," she agreed. "Bye, Gramma. Bye, Mama. Hi, Uncle Mel. Bye, Uncle Mel," she rushed out on an excited breath.

"Bye, sweetie," the three said as the magistrate led her towards the private rooms.

"Uncle Mel, what is it," Gabrielle asked as her hand clutched helplessly at Cyrene's under the table. Meleager had been receiving news about Xena's conquests from an old military friend who passed through with a caravan once a month.

"It's not good," he warned with a frown.

"Wait," Cyrene said as she stood. "I think we are going to need a drink."

Meleager reached across the table to clasp Gabrielle's right hand in his own. His firm hold gave the bard strength and courage.

When Cyrene returned with a tray that carried three tankards and a jug of wine, Meleager took a deep breath.

"Salmoneus returned from Thessaly last month. He said that her army wiped out the Thessalian/Mitoan forces. Draco is dead," he revealed as he took the tankard offered to him. After a long draught, he continued. "Half of the farmland is worthless. She salted most of the fields and set the livestock to roam."

"When was this," Gabrielle asked as she looked up from her untouched wine.

"Last spring," the older man answered.

"And since then?"

Meleager glanced to Cyrene and then to the young bard who had gone pale with his news. "Sal said the last he heard of her, she had defeated the Arcadian Cavalry. Rumor is that she's moving east to attack Corinth."

Cyrene gasped and looked to Gabrielle. "Lyceus."

Xena shook the rain from her face. She could not do the same with the perpetual rage that possessed her. Realizing the futility of the gesture, as she was sitting atop Argo outside in the middle of a storm, she raised her head to the weeping skies and silently screamed. Sporadic bursts of lightning revealed the macabre details of an Arcadian battlefield. Thunder could not drown out the blood-chilling screams of Cavalry mounts that begged 'mercy' to end their suffering. Lowering her head, the warlord recalled the events of her life since her victories in Thessaly.

She could see clearly across the Arcadian plain. The lightning continued to reveal images that would replay in her nightmares. Broken and bloodied corpses of the finest Arcadian Cavalry littered the field. Warhorses were still crying shrilly for the end of their suffering

The battle had been fought well. Of that, Xena's calculating mind would concede. But her army, whose ranks had swelled after her rousing successes in Thessaly during the past year, had overwhelmed the Arcadians. Although trained soldiers, the Cavalry did not possess a ruthless love of death and war. The men that she had trained personally, however, did; they were men whom she had infected with her god's-fired bloodlust.

Xena released Argo's reins and spread her arms wide, as if begging for mercy and seeking relief from her hidden shame. The continuous rain poured in sheets upon her exhausted body, her wounded spirit. The absolution she sought, however, never came. She was simply wet, hungry, exhausted, and alone.

Knowing that there would be no one to greet her in her tent, she rode slow returning to camp. Even Argo sensed her black mood and was reluctant to voice her disapproval for the lengthy shower. The warhorse gave a snort of approval as a young soldier finally took her bridle and guided her into the tent that had become her shelter during the worst of weather.

Entering her tent, Xena unclipped her weapons and tossed them onto the end of her pallet. Her armor and leathers fell into an untidy heap where she stood. With a ragged sigh, she fell onto her bed and covered her eyes with an arm. In moments, she was asleep and her dreamscape was as littered as the Arcadian plains. The child she had once been, the young bard she had left, and the family that would despise her existence now, were her victims in the dreams.

She was almost thankful when a dark presence pulled her from the drowning depths of her restless slumber. She blinked her eyes and acknowledged Ares' presence with a blank stare.

The God of War knelt at the side of the pallet and wrapped his fingers through lengths of ebony hair. "That was an incredible battle today, my love," he purred as he leaned close to inhale the warrior's scent of leather and sweat. "You have no idea how gooood it made me feel," he drawled.

Xena shuddered when the god's familiar lips pressed against her shoulder.

"You were born to raise the victor's banner for the glory of my name," he said as his lips feathered softly across the warrior's chest. "And I never want you to forget that, Xena. Your life is mine. Your body is mine," he growled as he disrobed with a wave of his hand.

Shutting off the part of her mind that thrilled at the god's touch, Xena lay passively under Ares' searing touch. A single tear squeezed from under her closed lids. Against all her efforts, though, she felt a part of herself come alive and struggle against the seductive control he exerted. When he slipped into her with a betraying ease, she surrendered. The small part of her soul that was a beleaguered child wailed against the joyous reunion with her cursed destiny.

When at last sated, the god rolled off her trembling body and branded her abused sex with a long kiss. "Never forget, Xena. This is what you love. I am who you love. War and lust sets our souls free."

She wanted to scream that it was not possible, that he was a soulless bastard, but she was deadened. She did not fear the God of War. He could not make her life worse than it already was. He could, however, end the life she had begun to despise.

As she drifted back to sleep, she suffered the nightmares that were as much part of her routine as sharpening her weapons. They reminded her that she was damned to Tartarus. They helped her to realize that she had made the wrong choice when she had accepted Ares into her life. She saw her failure and her weakness.

She understood Lao Ma's words. Her rage had blinded her to her initial reasons for leaving Amphipolis. She had wanted to be a warrior; she had become a brutal deliverer of misery. In her nightmares, she could find no way back to that person she used to be before Cortese had driven her towards her fate.

The next morning when Borias awakened her, she felt the emptiness in her soul. She could not forget the cruel evils she had done in the past; they were all unforgivable. Where lust for power once resided, there was now a void in her soul. She ached when she recalled her childhood dreams. She could hear the child crying for comfort. The Destroyer was still alive but felt no love for the war she waged. Xena was slowly dying, trapped in the void she had fallen in. For the first time in her life, the warlord wanted to quit. She wanted to end it all.

Xena rose and donned a blue silk robe that had been taken from an unfortunate merchant train that had thought to pass near her camp one day. No one had survived to relay the tales of her brutality. In Xena's army, maiming, killing, and torture were skills to be honed. Her men practiced them with unruly diligence.

"Are we still marching on Corinth," her lieutenant asked as he avoided looking at the empty blue eyes the battle-toned body that was no longer offered to him.

"Yes," she responded dully. "I want the men and supplies ready to move out by mid-day."

"Yes, Commander."

She followed her man out of the tent and watched as he trotted over to Darphus to relay her orders. Turning to the guard who was stationed in front of her tent, she requested a hot bath and a simple breakfast. Marcus ran off to do her bidding and she returned to her tent.

She found a familiar comfort in the routine of cleaning her armor and sharpening her weapons. After Lariel, she had sworn that she would not take another slave. She had survived without one before and she could do so again. Her thoughts drifted to her nightmares of the night before. She was tired of fighting for a god that controlled her life. She had become a warrior initially in an effort to prove that she did not need anyone and the shame of her failure weighed heavy on her heart. Too weary to be angry about it, she resolved to find a solution. The entrance of slaves that delivered steaming water for her bath delayed her thoughts.

She considered her options as she relaxed in the large tub. She envisioned the life that Ares had planned for her and she remembered the life of heroic adventure of which she had once dreamt.

She suffered in her reality. Men and women fell to her army. Gabrielle was surely lost to her.

The two were obviously incompatible. Her self-hatred flared when she realized that she had given up everything to follow the God of War.

Ideas scrambled for purchase as her planning became frantic. Ares wanted her to march on Corinth. It would be the stepping stone to conquering Attic and with it, Athens. The war god was ambitious and sought to conquer the world. She had become but a mere body for his ravenous appetite for power. Without her, Ares would have to find a second-rate soldier to lead his minions. Without her, he would lose and she would win. From the lowest pits of Tartarus, where she was doomed to spend an eternity, she would relish her victory.

A strategy began to formulate and she briefly acknowledged the thrill of planning a victory. Considering that she was already damned, she easily accepted the choice she made. It would be an action that she herself would have punished with a slow, painful death, if any of her men had contemplated it. Xena, however, felt no remorse for breaking the rules. She would end the reign of the conqueror that ruled her life and destroyed those of a million others.

By mid-day, as per her orders, her army was ready to move out. With calculations based on experience and the occasional militia that hoped to stop her and collect the bounty on her head, she figured that they would see the gates of Corinth within the month. The prosperous city-state supported a well-trained and well-equipped garrison of soldiers. She would make her stand there. With any luck at all, she would meet her fate. She did not plan on coming away from the battle alive.

"If you keep looking at me like that, Auto, I won't be responsible for where my staff ends up," Gabrielle warned as she continued to go over the inn's ledgers.

The magistrate stepped from the bar and claimed a seat across from the bard at a nearby table. "I was just wondering how you managed to stay so sweet and happy," he said in a soft voice.

Gabrielle looked up from the scroll she was reading and cast a quizzical glance to her friend. "What are you talking about?"

Clearing his throat, Autolycus played with his goatee distractedly. "For all his sins, Parmac kept good records," he revealed as he leaned back in his chair. "I suppose he did it so that he could keep track of whom he could blackmail," he continued with a shrug.

Gabrielle's quill fell to the tabletop as she raised her head and looked the magistrate in the eye.

"Between those records and talking with a few people..." he trailed off, letting the bard figure out the rest.

"It was a long time ago," Gabrielle whispered. "I would have figured that people would have forgotten it by now."

Auto shook his head and smiled sadly. "Amphipolis is a small town, Gabrielle. Nobody forgets a thing. What Perdicus did was a pretty big thing for a backwater place like this."

The bard mentally patted herself on the back when the mention of Hope's father did not even cause a twinge of fear. "Still," she said with a slight pause, "Xena's given them enough to talk about now."

"You're telling me," Autolycus muttered. "What happened, Gabrielle? What happened with her?"

Gabrielle shifted in her chair and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, Auto. When she left, it was to become the greatest warrior of all Greece. She just wanted to be the best there was."

"Well, she's accomplished that much," he said with inappropriate cheer. "Sorry," he mumbled when he saw the vivid pain flash in the bard's eyes.

"We haven't heard a word from her since she left. Meleager tells us most of what we do know. And none of it's good." Gabrielle hung her head and studied her hands fidgeting in her lap. "When she left, I thought that she would be gone for a year or two, and that she would come back and we'd...."

"You two were close?" The magistrate sat up and leaned closer to the table, resting his arms on its surface.

Gabrielle shrugged. "I don't know anymore," she rasped.

"Aw, hey now...don't cry," Auto urged as he stood and took the seat beside the bard. "Don't give up on her. Maybe she took a wrong turn, or bumped her head...or something. But Xena is Xena, and when she realizes what she left behind, she'll figure out a way to get back to it...to you. You'll see."

"How can she? She's done some terrible things. She'll never come back."

Autolycus shifted in his seat. "Gabrielle, I never told you why I became a magistrate, did I?" When the bard wiped her eyes and shook her head, he settled down to tell his story.

"After I left here I went to live with my aunt. She was something, let me tell you. She owned her own store in Athens. She sold pottery that she made with her own hands...and she was good. But this other guy...Tarsis...he didn't like the fact that a woman was outselling him. But, my Aunt Marrill, heh...she was a tough one. She didn't let anyone tell her what she could or could not do. She continued to run her shop even after some goons Tarsis hired threatened to burn the place down. I admired her a lot for that at the time. After Tarsis ordered the shop torched, well, I thought she was stupid, you know?"

Auto ran his hand through his hair and exhaled a trembling sigh. "I was angry that she refused to back down. She tried to save her store and her pottery. The ceiling collapsed on her and she died," he related succinctly. He smiled sadly when Gabrielle held his hand to offer support.

"I went after Tarsis. I wanted to make him as miserable as I was. One night, I was trying to sneak into his house and was caught. I was taken to a friend of my aunt's who happened to be on the judge's council. He understood what I was going through and he offered me a place to stay. If it hadn't been for him, I think I would have done something I would have regretted." Autolycus' gaze settled intensely on the bard's face. "Xena didn't have someone like I did. There wasn't anyone there to tell her that she was making a mistake. And I know that she's done some pretty bad stuff, but she's still our friend, and we have to be here for her when she does come back."

"That still doesn't help me understand why she would come back, Auto," Gabrielle whispered as new tears began to fall down her cheeks.

"She'll come back, Gabrielle, because she is pretending to be somebody she isn't. Eventually, she'll come back to find out what went wrong with her life."

"Is that why you came back here?"

"Nah...that's why I stayed with the judge. I didn't like the fact that I had considered killing another person. Uncle Solon helped me find who I really was again." In an effort to lighten the mood at the table, the magistrate winked. "I came back here because I heard about the beautiful bard that lived here."

"You really know how to charm a girl, don't you," Gabrielle asked as she wiped away the wetness on her face.

"Nah," the gentleman replied. "I'm just a softie inside."

"A real prince."

"A prince? I thought you said I was a king."

Gabrielle laughed. It was a good feeling considering how miserable she had felt moment ago. "The King of Charm, then," she acceded.

"Now, that's more like it," the magistrate replied with a laugh of his own.

"Auto?"

"Yes?"

"Not to seem rude, or anything...but why are you here? Lunch won't be served for another hour."

The magistrate blushed and ducked his head. "Well, since all the lovely ladies in this town are otherwise involved, I thought that I would find some gentle company that I don't have to work so hard to impress."

"Huh?"

"Oh, Hades," he mumbled, "I promised Hope I would help her bake some mudpies today," he admitted as his face flushed a deeper shade of crimson.

The bard nodded her understanding. "Yep, she gets them all that way. First the mudpies...and then, before you know it, you'll be helping her sew clothes for her dollies."

Autolycus jumped back with feigned shock. "No!"

"Yep," Gabrielle drawled. "Just last week, Meleager was patching holes in her stuffed pony."

"And you call me the charmer."

Gabrielle patted his cheek in sympathy. "You aren't the only one in this town."

Auto chuckled as he considered his own experience. "My dear bard, I'm afraid you are a little late in telling me what I already know." He looked around the empty room of the tavern and scratched his chin. "Where is the little runt, anyway? She said she'd be here."

Gabrielle picked up her quill and twirled it between her fingers. "Check out back. She's probably turned half the back yard into a mud pit." Looking the magistrate up and down, she quirked a brow. "I hope you don't favor that outfit," she said, "because Hope shows no mercy when the mud starts flying."

Looking down at his green linen shirt, Auto shrugged. "What's a little dirt between friends?"

Shaking her head and returning her attention to the scroll before her, the bard smiled conspiratorially. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Trust me. I'm great with kids." Autolycus stood and pushed his chair back under the table. He gave one last look to the bard who was again immersed in the neat figures she was scribing. "I'm glad to see that you made it through everything so well, Gabrielle," he whispered

as he left the inn to find his new playmate.

Two hours later Gabrielle was filling trenchers in the kitchen for the lunch crowd. Her hands stilled their task when she spied the magistrate and her daughter standing at the back door. Looking from one to the other, she could not help the look of amusement that battled and won over disapproval.

"Guess I should have listened to you," Auto said as he picked a hardened piece of mud from his ear.

"Wise men do," the bard retorted. "Hope, sweetie, please show your Uncle Auto where the rain barrel is."

"Yes, Mama," the little girl chirped as she tugged on the man's hand. "Come on," she urged, "the second best thing to a mud fight is a water fight," she said with a giggle.

Gabrielle ignored the magistrate's pleading look for rescue and waved them off. "I guess he'll learn the hard way," she sighed.

The man beside her laughed as he took the tray she had finished preparing. "To take one look at her, you'd think she was an innocent little girl."

"Toris, don't you start now," the bard warned. "She's a darling compared to some kids I hung around with when I was little."

Toris cradled the tray in his arms and fixed a soft smile on the young woman with whom he had grown up. "Anyone in particular?"

"Oh, I seem to recall one boy who brooded every time he lost to his sister."

The man's gaze turned inward for a moment as he remembered the anger he had felt for his sister. Thinking about how things had turned out, he only felt pity for her. "Yeah, well, that was a long time ago, and people do change."

Gabrielle struggled against the tears that threatened when she thought of the kids she had known, and the adults they had become. Toris was now practically running the inn by himself. Joxer was a successful smithy. Draco had lost his life but had secured his place in history in the legendary Battle of Bloody Tears. Xena had become a feared warlord.

She herself had never once considered ending up tied to Amphipolis with a family of her own. Things certainly had not turned out like the simple stories she had written as a naive child. "I know, Toris. I know."

"The Fates do weave a strange tapestry," the man said softly as he turned to leave the kitchen. "You never know what will happen."

"Toris, I do believe that Eresthenes has made you sentimental in your old age," Gabrielle joked.

Suddenly shy, Toris turned his head to look at the bard. He glowed with the peaceful comfort he had found with the wine merchant. "Love can do that, I guess."

"I'm disappointed with you."

Xena, who had been watching a battle in the valley below, glanced down to the god who materialized at her side. They had met with an army that was ordered to capture the Destroyer of Nations. The fighting had begun when the opposing leader raised his sword to attack. Her men joined the battle with thunderous cries. They were ruthless, shedding blood and taking life with a glee that she no longer felt. She had not given the command to attack, nor had she gone down to join them in their celebration of death. She had simply hung back to watch her destiny unfold out of her control.

"I don't like what has become of you," Ares continued as his lips pursed in distaste. "What happened to that fire, that enjoyment of battle?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," she answered dumbly.

"The old Xena, the one who I rescued from a stinking cell and a death sentence, lusted for battle, craved the thrill that ran through her veins." Turning again to watch the battle, Ares scowled. "You've changed."

"Happens to everyone," the warlord muttered.

"Not to my Chosen," the god growled. "I shaped you, created you in my image, and this is what you have become."

Xena tore her eyes from her army and stared intently at the war god. "You did not create me, Ares. You may have shaped me, but you did not create me."

"You are what you are because of me. You are a great warlord. People tremble at the sound of your name. You live only for the battles I give you. You live for the fire, dance with the fire. You are the fire that consumes your opponents."

Xena turned away from him and the truth that he was speaking. She wanted to remember the joy she had once gotten from battle as much as she wanted to remember all that she had lost because of it.

Ares cleared his throat as he let his anger fade to a low growl. He laid a callused hand upon Xena's thigh. "So now, I want to know. What happened to you?"

"Go away, Ares," the warlord muttered. "I'm too tired to deal with you today." Xena scowled when a raging ache began pounding in her head.

Knowing that he would get nowhere with the recalcitrant warrior, the war god stepped away from her and her warhorse. "There will come a day, Xena, when you will deal with me. If you don't shape up and do things my way...."

Xena sighed as the god vanished. His threatening words still hung upon the air. She knew that he was talking about her reluctance to join the fray that was coming to a bloody conclusion. Although she was marching according to his orders, she no longer had her heart in it. Her lack of participation was less than flattering for the war god's image. She knew that Ares' ego was bigger than all the other Olympians combined and her disinterest angered him.

When the victorious cheers of her men rang across the small valley, Xena nudged Argo towards her lieutenants. Her blood ran cold when she saw the corpses her men continued to maul. Body parts littered the trampled grass and the coppery tang of blood assailed her senses. She scowled when she tasted the familiar odor on the back of her tongue.

Argo voiced her displeasure in her own way, skirting limbs that had been tossed about and fighting against the control her rider exerted. Her eyes rolled in their sockets as the stench of death was burned once again into her equine brain.

Fighting her repulsion and her desire to turn and ride away as far as she could from the field, she held her ground. She tightened her grip on Argo's reins as her mount chomped at the bit.

Borias saluted as she approached and gave his report without her order. "Ten wounded, three dead. All of the enemy have been killed."

Nodding absently at the soldier's report, she wondered for a moment how men that she had never met, soldiers that had never harmed her or her family, could have become the enemy. "Put the wounded in the carts, bury the dead. I'm going with a squad to scout ahead for a suitable place to camp."

Borias nodded and shouted orders for several of the newer soldiers to carry out their commander's directives.

Knowing that her will would be done, the Destroyer turned Argo from the sight of battle. She ignored the soft sloshing that the mare's hooves made in the blood soaked earth. "Darphus, Marcus, gather twenty men and follow me."

Two hours later, Xena watched as the rest of her army poured into the large clearing she had chosen for the night's rest. They were a motley collection of criminals, mercenaries, corrupt state soldiers, and farmers seeking to improve their lot. All had been trained under her direction. All were willing to cut their own throats in loyalty to her. With a shake of her head, Xena unsaddled Argo and waited for Borias as he approached her.

"I've sent scouts ahead on the main road. We'll know if there are any more detachments coming after us."

"Fine," the warlord nodded. "Set up the sentries thirty paces apart, and I want two men on that hill," she said as she pointed to the point below the rising moon. "They should be able to see anything approaching for a couple of miles from the north."

Borias bowed his head and saluted. "As you wish, my lord."

As was her habit when camping out under the open sky, Xena laid bedroll far from the rest of her army. Although it was common knowledge that her sleep was often restless, she felt uncomfortable letting her men witness it as fact. Only Marcus was allowed to be close to her. He had traveled with her from nearly the beginning, and she trusted him to be discreet.

With methodical efficiency she laid out her bedroll and started a fire with the wood a collection detail had gathered for her. She sat against a convenient log and fell into the practiced routine of sharpening her weapons. The rhythmic scraping of stone upon metal soothed her tortured thoughts.

Her brow furrowed when she remembered how in the battle earlier, her men had fought like animals. They had been like a horde of bloodthirsty, rabid savages. They were a pack of animals of which she was the leader. She had once been the most bloodthirsty of them all.

Recently, however, her need for battle had been quenched by one too many lop-sided victories. There was no more challenge. The part of her that might have celebrated a good fight for any reason was tired of easy conquests. She realized with a cold rationalization, that she was no better than a butcher. She was a terrorizing bully that destroyed everything in its path.

She poked at her fire with a long stick. Everything would be rectified soon. The torment would end. She regretted that she would not be able to pay for all the wrongs she had committed, at least on this plane of existence. If she succeeded in Corinth, however, people would be too busy celebrating her army's defeat to cry over their lost chance to extract payment in warlord blood. For her it would be a victory.

Settled in her thoughts, Xena laid back comfortably and watched as the moon rose and outshone the crystal pinpoints of the stars above. It would be the last full moon she would ever witness, she realized, if things went the way that she had planned.