he chief officer for Prince Eimir Bori held the chain of the slave fighting in the dusty ring, moving quickly around the outside of the circle, trying to keep the chain from tripping the Impaler's own Viking champion. In the ring, the two bodies circled -- the champion, tall and hairy and huge; the slave, small, oddly long-limbed, fragile it seemed except in the confident way she moved. Both arena-fighters wore only ordinary shifts and their bodies were caked with dust from the ground beneath them.

"Ah, the big one's only got to get his arms around that child and it's over," one of the soldiers said with a trace of sadness though he, like the others, had bet on the Viking.

"But maybe the Viking will want her for something else, hey?" his companion responded. The men around them chuckled at the joke, but uneasily, for with her raven curls and wide-spaced gray eyes, the young slave in the ring had a magnetic beauty about her that none in the room could ignore. Since she had been taken near the battle site the day before, she had sat motionless in the back of the crowded common cell. Unlike many of the other prisoners who made frequent moves to escape, she never threatened anyone yet none of the guards had dared approach her.

Word had spread among the soldiers that last night when she had been given a slave's collar, Prince Eimir himself had gone to watch the fitting, that guards were unable to approach the strange youth, and that, at the end, the prisoner had snapped the hot metal band into place herself. Afterward, it was said, the prince had dismissed his guards, then stood and watched the prisoner for hours. Though no words were exchanged between the pair, the prince had seemed unusually thoughtful afterward, spending the night alone in his quarters. Now tonight, in a move his men thought insane, Prince Eimir had placed the slender youth in the ring against the Impaler's giant and all were prepared to watch the prisoner die.

All save one. In the shadows, in dark corners where torches threw no light, a black-robed figure studied the fight. Once his blue eyes met those of his sister, the slave. ---I am anxious, Isabelle. Let us forget about this and come home--- he said mind to mind in the silent was they communicated their thoughts.

The slave kicked, her foot falling deliberately short of its mark. It would not do for the fight to end too soon. ---You are always anxious, Izzrah. And this is our real home, back here in Valdemyr---

The youth sprung over the crouched Viking, spinning, wrapping her arms around the huge man's arms and shoulders, laughing as her slow-moving adversary tried to shake her off his back. Her head pressed against the Viking's, pushing it sideways and up.

The crowd grew suddenly hushed and the dark figure watched, waiting to see the inevitable end, the feeding that would come. ---Are you hungry enough that you would betray your own!--- he challenged.

Isabelle's head jerked back, the champion screamed, and a snap was heard by the closest soldiers. The two arena-fighters fell together, only the young slave moved. ---Betray? Never!---

---And when will you end this madness, Isabelle?---

The chief officer handed the chain back to his lord and Price Eimir jerked it, reminding his slave that she took too long. ---Madness?--- Isabelle responded, and Izzrah, her brother, detected the silent laugh. ---Vengeance isn't madness, Izzrah.--- Isabelle stood and bowed to the prince, her mockery hidden behind the impassive mask of her face.

"Leave us!" Prince Eimir ordered and the arena cleared except for the prince, the slave, the prisoner motionless on the floor, and the dark-robed figure overlooked in the shadows.

"You are hungry?" the prince asked Isabelle when they were alone.

"Yes, deliberately. I have reason to hate this one."

"If I had known, we could have conducted this match in private."

Isabelle laughed. "A girl against a seasoned fighter? Didn't I shame him well? Didn't you earn a peasant's fortune on your wagers this night? Besides, he is alive. I broke his arm, not his neck. He'll wake soon. Then you will witness the real struggle. The one that you would prefer to see."

"I wish I had your power," the prince said honestly.

"Do you?" This time the mockery almost reached the surface.

The prince detected it. "I am aware that you can leave me anytime you choose. Why did you allow my men to take you? When I offered to free you last night, why did you demand to be treated as a slave? And why do you stay?"

"Do you wish the truth, my lord?"

"I do."

Isabelle kicked the prisoner hard on the arm she had broken. The larger man began to moan and stir. Isabelle ignored him, looking intently at the prince as she answered, "I let your men capture me because I understand there is no other role they can play. I let you rule me because I value the peace your father may bring to this wrecked land. "I have, and will, stay" ---she rested her bare foot on the prisoner's shoulder, holding him pinned to the ground---"because I intend to be well fed."

Prince Eimer chuckled. "I see."

The prisoner stared up into the face of the victor, into gray eyes that promised to devour him. Isabelle crouched beside him. "Do you recall a little dark haired celtic girl, a child that you ran down three years ago during the raid? Do you remember how you stabbed her with your sword even though she pleaded with you to spare her life? I remember your face, Viking. You haunt my dreams, the figure of my nightmares. I have promised myself this revenge. Now you will be the first one to die."

"Not possible! You could not have lived!" the prisoner said, holding his arm, his feet pushing his body away from the thin young slave.

"I came for you. I wear this collar for you. I will record every scream, every plea, every perfect moment of your death. I will share your pain with my brother and it will cleanse him of his own."

"How could you still live? How!"

Isabelle smiled, and took out the sharp onyx pendant she wears in a chain around her neck.

"The Dark Ones!" the prisoner wailed, then scrambled to his feet and ran. Isabelle jerked the chain from Prince Eimer's hand and moved so fast she seemed to vanish, reappearing a moment later in front of her target, swinging the heavy metal links, lashing the huge Viking back into the center of the ring. The man routed in a different direction with no better luck. And again. And again. Terror building with every attempt. At last, exhausted, his arm a white-hot bar of pain, he fell where he had fallen for the crowd.

"Beg."

The prisoner shook his head and a bolt of fire blasted into his mind.

---You will--- his executioner promised. ---Before we're done, you'll beg me the way I begged you three years ago.--- The prince leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands, and watched Isabelle slowly devour her enemy. The victim's agony built exquisitely in him, a growing silent scream that wove together the prince, the predator, and their shared prey.

Hours passed before Isabelle dropped the corpse and faced the dazed young prince. "I will stay," she began, "as a slave, until all the barbarians who killed my family are all rotting in hell. Do you comprehend, my lord?"

"Such agreements require stability and peace in my part, do they not? Why not rest...you and your silent kinsman from the shadows. If I could, I would give a banquet in your honor, for defeating my champion, but the questions..." The prince left the thought uncompleted.

"I've had my banquet. As to rest---" Isabelle glanced at Izzrah before responding---"my brother and I accept the hospitality you offer." Isabelle sensed her brother's reluctance. ---It has been a long and bloody day, Izzrah. Perhaps we could use a warm bath to soothe the aches?--- At her brother's nod, Isabelle turned to the prince.

"I would appreciate if you leave us now, my lord."

"Of course. As you wish."

As the prince made his hasty exit, Izzrah stepped out from the shadows. "I don't know what you have in mind, Isabelle, but I fear for your safety. You are too young, barely 14 winters, to fight in the arena! Let us end this stupidity and go back to Mornedealth." he pleaded.

"This is only the beginning, Izzrah. Remember, they have a blood-price to pay." Isabelle said, then gestured to the bloody carcass of the prisoner she had devoured, "Perhaps you'd care to taste his flesh and blood?"

Izzrah gave his sister a disgusted look, and walked away in anger, leaving Isabelle laughing softly in the middle of the dim ring.