Chapter Sixteen: Crossroads

"Would his name happen to have been Keom 'Yerumee?"

Her brother's name cut through the gibberish as light would pierce a fog. Kala 'Runumra felt as if the breath had been torn from her lungs. She stared at Haskins, reaching for the back of the chair her mate sat in to steady herself as Aro 'Silnumee leaned forward in exasperation. The unkempt human, sitting with its legs dangling off of the opposite chair, lowered its head and nodded, again speaking in its rough tongue.

"What does it say?" she asked. "How does it know his name?"

Her mate clicked his mandibles together and translated her question into the human tongue. Aro seemed even more surprised by the human's response, questioning once more to be sure. Now certain of the answer, Aro turned to look her in the eye.

"He says he met him."

"How?" Kala said. "How did he know him? If they had met in combat, how could he have learned my brother's name?"

Aro translated this, and the human replied a moment later.

"He says they did not meet in combat."

The human continued to speak. Aro was frozen by the human's words, tightly gripping the armrests of the chair.

"Please," Kala said, "Aro, please tell me!"

Aro woke from his shock. "He said... that Keom was captured."

From across the room, Haskins sullenly looked on as Kala 'Runumra's expression dropped. He felt as if he had just driven a knife into her heart. The sergeant had slowly come to realize how important honor was in Sangheili society. By saying what had happened, he was shattering the perception that they had been left with: that Keom had been killed in combat, his guns blazing until his body hit the ground. Was it right to tell them what had truly happened? Was it right to draw this pain back to the surface?

The story of Keom 'Yerumee's death was not unique. How many thousands of elites had died during the Human-Covenant war? How many humans? If there could not be reconciliation on a personal level for the crimes of the past, then there could be no true peace between their people and no alliance could ever hope to be forged. He was risking everything by telling them what had happened on Coral, but he had already decided that he would to tell the whole truth.

It was time for the wounds of the past to begin to heal.

"How did this happen?" Aro asked.

"I wasn't there when he was captured," Haskins said. "I only saw video of how it happened afterwards. He and a small landing party set down in a forest on Coral. It turned out that a group of ODSTs... special forces... were stationed nearby. They were doing a training exercise in the same woods, and the two groups collided. Keom's group was surrounded, heavily outnumbered, and covered from the air. But he didn't surrender. He went down fighting. He was knocked out from behind."

Kala listened to the human speak for what seemed to be an eternity. Aro's expression softened as the human spoke, but as he translated, she tightened a fist, looking to the shrine on the wall. Keom had been too strong of a warrior to warrant such a fate. It was unthinkable. Was she to believe the human? But then, what reason would it have to lie about such things? Before she could voice her concern, her mate asked the human another question.

"You were an interrogator," Aro said.

Haskins nodded.

"You say you have questioned Sangheili warriors before."

Another nod.

"You were brought to question him, were you not?"

The sergeant nodded once more.

Aro 'Silnumee clicked his mandibles together. Haskins couldn't help but take notice of the plasma sword clipped on the Mirratord First's hip. He did not know quite how to read the expression on Kala 'Runumra's face. She was hungry, desperate to know what had happened to her brother, yet at the same time anger and grief seemed ready to overwhelm her. Would she try to kill him if her mate did not?

But then, he thought, wouldn't I try to kill the elite who killed Julia?

Yes, I would. Without hesitation.

Maybe she would be justified to do the same to me.

"You questioned him," 'Silnumee said. "I saw you question the mutineer on the Pious Inquisitor. I had doubted your abilities, human, but to my surprise... you loosed a Sangheili warrior's tongue and made him talk. Keom... did he..."

Keom had talked, Haskins remembered. Only a little, and only when Haskins had threatened to destroy a Forerunner crystal that ONI had been studying in the facility. Keom had landed on Coral in hopes of finding such an artifact to bring back to High Charity. The Covenant was not yet locked in civil war, and after the loss of Halo, it seemed he wished to help the elites save face in the eyes of the prophets. He had been acting in the best interest of his people. His actions had been honorable, admirable...

But how could Haskins tell his family that he had folded under interrogation? Wouldn't it be better to say that he had held his silence, and let them salvage some piece of the strong image they had of him?

Haskins decided that he would not want to be lied to, so he would not lie.

"He said that he was trying to protect his people. That the Covenant was ready to break, and he was trying to find something that would give the elites an advantage if it came to civil war. He would say nothing more."

"So it is true," Aro said sadly. He had known the purpose for which Keom had left High Charity, and now that the sergeant had just retold it, there could be no doubt in his mind that the human was telling the truth. Kala spoke once more, and the Mirratord First paused. He glanced at the shrine before translating her question.

"My mate wishes to know how her brother died."

The question came quickly, and sooner than Haskins would have expected it. The sergeant glanced at Kala, who leaned forward intently with infinite sadness in her eyes. Haskins played the events on Coral back through his mind. 'Yerumee had made life a living hell. After escaping captivity, he had killed one man, kidnapped another, and vanished into the tunnels. After hours of searching, he had finally been tracked down in an alien structure buried deep underground... a manufacturing facility for the Flood. He was shot once and died instantly, his body then left to the horrible scavengers that inhabited the long-abandoned tunnels.

But what had Keom 'Yerumee truly done? He had killed the man that killed his apprentice, the man who had shot him like a dog locked up in his cell. The man he kidnapped he could just as easily have killed. Once cornered, he had tried to avoid causing serious harm, explaining as best he could what he had learned from the ancient tunnels. Since that fateful day, Haskins had come to have a better understanding of what Keom had tried to tell them. Whatever it was that Keom had found in those tunnels had told him that the prophets were wrong, both in attempting to activate Halo and in exterminating humanity. Keom had learned that his people were wrong to follow the prophets, and they had to be shown the error of their ways, even if it cost him his life.

And through whatever misunderstanding had manifested itself on that fateful day, it had.

The sergeant looked 'Silnumee's mate in the eyes. This question had been a long time in coming. If answering it ended his life, then his life would end.

"I killed him."

Kala 'Runumra heard these words, not comprehending them but knowing what the human had said before her mate translated them, many silent seconds later. A hundred memories of her brother came to her at once. His graduation from the Inquisitor Academies. The commencement procession through the streets of Hyllas, leading right to the doorstep of the Great Hall. How he and Aro, friends since their youth, used to spar over other females.

They had graduated from the same class in the Inquisitor Academies. Keom was sent to fight on the Jiralhanae homeworld, but Aro was assigned as a proctor at the Academy, a prerequisite for his induction into the Mirratord. Not knowing why Aro was spared the fighting, Keom had made his friend promise to look after his sister. And in Keom's absence, Aro had kept his word. What began as an obligation for Aro developed into a friendship. They began courting, and upon Keom's return to Tterrab two years later, Kala had become Aro's mate. It was an eventful homecoming.

Aro's service in the Mirratord kept him on Tterrab for some time, but Keom, by then a veteran, had left for High Charity over two cycles ago. He returned to Tterrab only once in that time, when Kala and Aro's son graduated the Academy. It was not to last. Keom returned to High Charity with Rolo 'Mornumee accompanying him as he began his service to the Covenant.

It was the last time she ever saw them.

Two years later, her only son met an undignified death at the hands of a Jiralhanae captain, pushed off of a ledge in the midst of a holy site. Kala's faith in the prophets was completely lost upon learning that they had not condemned the murder. As her mate later told her, Keom had then left High Charity without permission to seek a Forerunner relic in hopes to win back the prophets' favor, and he had never returned.

When Aro returned from High Charity with the human, she had not found the news of the prophets' betrayal as a surprise. Though suspicious at first, she had sympathized with the human, and his broken race. Now she knew that it was her brother's killer who stood in her home, at their mercy. And the human had admitted to the murder willingly, telling the truth behind her brother's death with no regard for his own survival.

What now?

Aro 'Silnumee stood, his hand drifting near the hilt of his sword, but Kala 'Runumra calmly gripped his arm.

Her longtime mate turned to face her, and in his eyes she saw the same rage that she had felt upon learning of the death of their son. She glanced at the human, sitting unarmed with its shattered limbs in metal casts. She was uncertain why she did not wish to see the human die, but she did not wish for that to happen.

Given the circumstances, it would have been wrong.

"What manner of human is it," she said, "who would kill my brother and save the life of my mate?"

"Kala..."

"On account of this human, our daughter still has a father," Kala said softly, "and I a mate. I see in you now the same anger that I feel every time I think of what happened... but this is not the way, Aro. You seek to bring punishment... even if it is only to yourself. You have blamed yourself for the loss of our son. I see in your eyes that it consumes you every day. But I remember. I remember standing on the beach, looking on as you taught him the art of the blade. I remember your commitment as a mate, a master, and a father."

'Silnumee lowered his eyes, tightening a fist.

"Aro," Kala said, "look at me. I do not hold you to blame, my love. You did all that you could to prepare him. Nor do I blame this human for what happened. Not after what we have done to his people. Keom would be alive today were it not for what the prophets started... as would our son."

Haskins did not know what to make of what he was seeing. Kala spoke calmly to 'Silnumee for nearly a minute, never taking her eyes off of him. But as she spoke, 'Silnumee's hand fell away from his sword and he lowered his head. Kala looked to Haskins with an expression filled with hurt, but there was mercy in her eyes. Haskins lowered his head, and Aro 'Silnumee finally nodded.

"You knew what you had done, and you did not disguise it from us," Aro said. "My mate has forfiet the Writ of Vengeance, human. You are forgiven."

# # # # # # #

A lone Phantom sank through the storm clouds that had quickly accumulated above the city of Hyllas, coming to a hover above one of the rotundas of the Hall of the Council. A single elite clad in gold armor was deposited on the balcony by the Phantom, which quickly returned in the direction from whence it came. Fleetmaster Aya 'Daulanee watched as the dropship vanished among the gathering clouds. The glassing of two hundred square kilometers of the planet was bound to have long-lasting effects on Tterrab's weather, but the Fleetmaster could not have imagined that the changes would be so immediate. Rain was falling in droves from a sky that was clear but a few hours before, and he could see that wreckage from the Jiralhanae convoy still marred the street before the Great Hall. The state of alert had not been relaxed. Four Sangheili warriors were stationed atop each rotunda, armed with beam rifles and antiaircraft weaponry. They did not acknowledge his presence, instead keeping their attention focused on the empty streets below. Hyllas was under martial law, and it seemed now that it would remain in that state for some time.

A lieutenant of the Guard with a bandaged chest emerged from the central gravlift to receive him.

"Fleetmaster," he said, "it is an honor. I am to bring you before the Council at once. If you would follow me..."

'Daulanee took one last look across the sprawling city. He did not know how to feel. The city was now in mourning, and in temples and on rooftops, the funeral pyres would burn like candles for days to come. Hundreds of Sangheili warriors and dozens of females and children had perished in the city, and thousands more had died elsewhere on Tterrab as a result of the Jiralhanae's attempts to cover their retreat. The tragedy could have been avoided altogether if the Council had had the willpower to act sooner against the Prophets, yet at the same time, the toll could have been much, much worse.

The gravlift activated, and soon it whisked them both down into the warmth of the rotunda. Suspended weightlessly in a column of inverted gravity, 'Daulanee let his mind drift. For ages, the Sangheili people had been the conquerers, undefeated and unyielding. Now, for the first time since the war of the Sangheili and the Prophets, his people had fought on the defensive. And by 'Daulanee's standards, they had lost. The bitter irony had only begun to hit. Regardless of the bravery and skill of warriors on the ground, the battle above was what truly decided victory and defeat. There had been no chance to resist for those who perished in the glassed regions of Tterrab, and no enemy to fight. Only death.

Now that his own world had fallen victim to orbital bombardment, the Fleetmaster was painfully aware of how dishonorable the nature of his service to the Covenant had truly been. Would the humans have seen more success against the Covenant, had it been the ground war that decided victory? How many human worlds had he burned? He had excelled in the Masters Academies, earning full command of a Spirit-class destroyer immediately upon graduation and moving steadily up the ranks from that day forth. Had he been less ambitious, he could have avoided such commands altogether, and he would never have had to shoulder the burden of dead planets on his conscience. But then, had he not achieved his position, he would not have the influence now to undo the damage that had been done.

A strange fate, that the potential for good may arise from such evil, he thought. Nonetheless, the gods shall have great reckoning with me.

The well-lit interior of the Great Hall stood in stark contrast to the gloomy weather outside, and 'Daulanee could see honor guards and common soldiers stationed on every level they passed. The two elites came to a stop on the ground floor and the gravlift deactivated, the holographic runes surrounding it fading out of sight. The Honor Guard lieutenant stepped forward, and 'Daulanee kept pace. It had been many years since he had walked these halls.

"I have heard news that Supreme Judge 'Yalamae has been slain by an assassin," 'Daulanee said. "Is this true?"

"Regrettably, yes," the lieutenant replied. "Several councilors have been lost, but the main body is still intact, gods be praised. It is but a matter of filling those positions which have become vacant. Many changes are afoot. The prophets' betrayal has left the Council to decide where, now, we are to go as a race."

"So the victor returns in triumph," a familiar voice said.

'Daulanee and the lieutenant looked to see an elite in gleaming ceremonial armor emerge from a side hall.

"I am pleased to see that you made it."

"I could say the same for you, Arbiter," the Fleetmaster said. "How did you fare in the battle?"

The Arbiter sighed. "The Guard sealed the Council within these halls during the fighting, and I along with them. Our will to fight was strong, though they would not permit us. They did not wish to see any of the Councilors fall in battle... the foolishness behind such thinking! But you, my friend... you shall be received as the Council's guest of honor. You took quick action against the Jiralhanae fleet and repelled them with minimal losses."

"I do not see it this way," the Fleetmaster said. "Our world has been forever scarred and thousands have perished."

"From one Fleetmaster to another, you must learn what is within the range of acceptable losses," the Arbiter said. "This city still stands."

'Daulanee nodded, not wishing to pursue the topic. "I see that Hyllas itself saw hard fighting."

"Indeed. After the Judge's assassination, the prophets attempted to flee the city. Fire broke out upon the Guard's attempts to intercept them, and the Jiralhanae attacked the Great Hall itself to divert attention from the prophets. Their attempts were thwarted by the citizens of this city, and save for those few who escaped, all remaining prophets are now where they truly belong: locked away in the very jails they created for those who did not ascribe to their lies."

"They are here?"

The Arbiter nodded. "Until they are tried, of course."

"What of commanders 'Harlamee and 'Zamamee?"

"Commander 'Zamamee has returned home, to the best of my knowledge... but young Motak 'Harlamee has been badly wounded. They say he shall recover, though he shall not fight in the battles to come."

'Daulanee's heart sank. "How?"

"He led the Guard in pursuit of the Prophets' convoy. He was cut down by a sniper, just shortly after the Jiralhanae were defeated."

"Was the one responsible caught?"

"I fear he was not even identified. A small number of determined Kig-Yar snipers would appear to have eluded our forces within the city, and our patrols and checkpoints have met with some harassment. But if the culprit were a Sharquoi, we may never find them."

"Sharquoi?"

"We have confirmed at least two were on this world, both now slain. Of the Twelve, eleven have now fallen. Where the other one is, we do not know."

The memory of his meeting with Commander 'Harlamee resurfaced, but 'Daulanee quickly buried the thought. He would have to see to his blood brother before leaving the planet, but there were far more pressing matters at hand. "What of the Council?"

"With the prophets' betrayal, the Council seeks now to rebuild the chain of command. Much of the Council's infrastructure was shaped to accomodate the prophets, giving them voices and ears where they had no true business being. In their absence, a restructuring is in order... but the loss of Judge 'Yalamae has left a terrible void, and many now aspire to fill it."

'Daulanee could barely contain his disgust. With worlds at stake, what time was this for his people to become embattled with politics?

Speaking of worlds...

"What of the human?" 'Daulanee asked.

The lieutenant perked up upon hearing the question, but quickly his sense of duty stifled his curiosity and he led them on emotionlessly. The Arbiter grinned as he walked alongside his fellow Fleetmaster. "You would not believe me if I told you what your ambassador did in your absence. Suffice to say, he has earned the respect of the Council."

'Daulanee cocked his head doubtfully. "Do not play games with me, Arbiter."

"I do not. He was abducted following his first audience before the Council, but he escaped his captors and tore a path of destruction through the Jiralhanae's ranks. He was badly wounded and shall not fight again, but he is now in the care of a First, awaiting audience before the Council."

"Abducted?"

"He would not say by whom."

'Daulanee looked towards the main entrance of the Great Hall.

"That is not acceptable. We must know who the human is protecting. Have him brought here immediately. We cannot afford another betrayal. I must know who our enemies are before proceeding any further."

"I shall see to it."

# # # # # # #

Haskins regarded the shrine on the wall in silence. It was such a simple thing, yet it held so much meaning. He could see how every element of it had been placed with loving care, and kept completely free of dust. Yet it embodied so much pain, so much loss... and he was the cause of it all. From seven hundred light-years away, he had fired a single shot and altered lives, taking from them something that could never be replaced.

Now he knew... now they all knew... throughout the entire war, when humans and elites had met in combat, they had been fighting potential allies.

Perhaps that was the greatest tragedy of all.

Aro put down his communicator. The order had arrived. It was already time to leave.

"I do not know what the Council intends to do," Aro said. "I do not know when the Jiralhanae shall return. I fear for your safety, Kala. For the life of our daughter. I would have you taken somewhere safe, somewhere the Jiralhanae could not reach you... I would see that you leave this place, that you be spared of what treachery the prophets wish to unleash... I..."

"This is our home," Kala said, "and we shall not to be driven out. Not by the Jiralhanae or the Prophets, or any other."

"Kala..."

"I know that you wish to see us safely hidden away," she said. "You have always placed us before any other concern, and I am... so grateful. But we must not hide from our enemies any longer, Aro. You have a duty to our people. The Fleetmaster has deemed that alliance with the humans is the best way to keep our people safe. Whatever needs to be done to ensure this, I know that you shall have the courage to do it. But do not worry for our sakes. I shall see to our daughter's safety, and we shall be here upon your return. I ask only..."

Kala 'Runumra lowered her head, collecting herself.

"I ask only... that you do return."

Haskins looked from the shrine to the three elites, embracing each other as they said their final goodbyes. Five years of separation, and so soon after reuniting, he had to leave them again... possibly for the final time.

Not exactly the cruel, prolific, male-dominated society we always envisioned them to be, Haskins thought ironically. Not that that matters to all the people they've already killed.

Aro 'Silnumee brushed a hand across the side of Kala's face and crouched to speak to Meru briefly before picking his plasma rifle back up off the table and walking towards Haskins. The sergeant took his attention away from the shrine and began hobbling alongside the elite, who slowed to stay with the human.

As they passed through the foyer to leave the house, Haskins looked once more at the blue shrine that hung on the wall in the entryway, now beginning to understand its significance. How much had this one family been devestated by the human-covenant war? What kind of losses had the Sangheili race suffered in these past three decades? Halo, the Unyielding Hierophant, High Charity, the conflict he has just witnessed on Tterrab... and all because of a lie.

Aro 'Silnumee tightened a fist as he passed by the shrine of his son. If the Forerunners themselves had to rise from the grave to deliver justice, the prophets would pay for their crimes.

A storm had gathered outside. They passed through the small courtyard and entered the spectre parked before the house. The antigravity propulsion system came to life, and the vehicle lifted off the ground, turning to face down the road from whence it came. Aro looked once more to the front step of his home to see his mate and daughter looking on. The Mirratord First said a silent prayer for their safety; to whom he no longer knew.

As the house receded in the distance, Haskins looked into the broken crystal of his watch, no longer noticing the picturesque view across the harbor. He thought once more of the shrine in the foyer.

"What was his name?" he asked.

"Rolo 'Mornumee," the Mirratord First replied. "And hers?"

The sergeant looked with surprise at the expressionless elite.

"Julia Haskins."

# # # # # # #

"It is the Council's privilege to receive the honorable Aya 'Daulanee, Master of the Fleet of Persistent Regret."

The speaker bowed to the Fleetmaster and returned to his place by the wall as the gold-armored warrior strode up the podium in the center of the room. As he did so, deliberation among the councilors tapered off.

It had been a day of many changes. Since the exodus of the prophets, the High Council had been in session for eight hours without recess. In addition to multiple screenings of the human's recording, dozens of military and civilian witnesses had come forth to testify about the Prophet of Truth's actions on High Charity, convincing even some of the most conservative members of the council that it had truly happened. Coupled with the outbreak of violence on Tterrab, the Council was faced with a truth that its members could barely comprehend: the Sangheili race had been cast out of the Covenant. For the first time in a thousand year, war had been brought to them.

"The Council is most honored to accept your audience," the Judge of the Council of Justice and Law said. "Your quick actions about High Charity in the face of both the Jiralhanae and the parasite saved the lives of countless warriors and civilians. You have served our people well, and for that you have earned the gratitude both of the Council, and of the Sangheili race."

'Daulanee bowed.

"However," the Judge continued, "in these troubled times, we find ourselves severed from the hierarchy which we have long served, and as such, we as a race have reached a crossroads. No heresy was committed to provoke the prophets' actions, and it seems now that this was planned for some time. It is now quite certain that the Covenant, as it was, shall never be whole again."

"The Sangheili are the strength of that which was once the Covenant," 'Daulanee said. "It is not our people who have broken."

"Quite true," the Judge said. "Our people are unaccustomed to defeat, thanks largely to exceptional commanders such as yourself. Now that the prophets' intentions have been brought into the light, the codes they have long enforced have also been cast into doubt. In light of your negotiations, along with... other recent events, the Council has agreed that the perpetuation of war with the humans would be impractical, and quite possibly immoral. As such, the Council has agreed to an immediate ceasefire with the humans."

The Fleetmaster breathed a sigh of relief. Though at some terrible cost, his people had begun to see the truth.

"Indeed," 'Daulanee said, "our actions against the humans were both immoral and despicable. Our hands are stained with innocent blood, and we are now honor-bound to undo what damage we have done. For far too long we have exterminated their kind without cause or provocation. I have spoken before their leaders, and they have also agreed to a ceasefire so that we might cooperate to defeat Truth and his allies."

"And we certainly appreciate the Fleetmaster's efforts, and acknowledge the terrible price that the humans have paid for our ignorance," another Councilor replied. "But we can barely mount an adequate defense of our own world. To send ships to the human homeworld would spread our forces too thin. We cannot afford to assist them if we wish to keep our own people safe."

"Assist them?" a cleric snorted.

"I would never have thought that our situation could change so much, so quickly," another Councilor said. "Before the fighting above Tterrab, there were 2685 ships and numberous defensive weapons platforms keeping silent guard over our world. Now, we are reduced to two-thousand one hundred and thirty four, and that includes frigates, destroyers, and support vessels. Many of our heavy carriers are in need of repair. A great deal of our orbiting defense platforms and shipyards have been damaged or destroyed, and the command base on Leda was severely damaged. The Jiralhanae suffered heavy losses, but they knew precisely how to attack us. If Truth is in command of the entire fleet from the Jiralhanae homeworld, as I suspect he is, then he has over sixteen hundred ships at his disposal. If the minor prophets join forces with the hierarch, Tterrab could be overwhelmed."

Join forces? 'Daulanee thought. Something about the prophets' behavior did not fit that scenario.

"What time is this to abandon hope?" yet another Councilor interjected. "Do not forget what a determined fighter is capable of when defending his own keep. One Sangheili warrior protecting his home is stronger than ten conscripted Jiralhanae."

"Quite, but defense of a planet is a far greater task than attacking one. Do not forget that a handful of Jiralhanae vessels bested our entire fleet."

"And what of Halo? Should Truth begin the Great Journey while we wait on this world for fear of his return..."

Several Councilors around the speaker looked on resentfully. Feeling their eyes, the cleric took a seat. 'Daulanee was encouraged by the nonverbal exchange. With the prophets' betrayal, it meant that there were councilors who now disbelieved the prophets' lies. But whether they were now confident enough in this newfound belief that they would act to prevent the lighting of Halo was another matter entirely.

"This is not an invalid concern," another Councilor said. 'Daulanee turned to see Milo 'Ornala standing near the Pulpit of Judges. "This betrayal, coupled with the acts of the prophet Truth on High Charity, has cast the Great Journey into doubt. But we must not ignore Halo in our efforts to safekeep our world. Might we be excluded on the Journey, if we do not participate in the rings' activation? Yes. But might the rings serve some other purpose entirely? Our most cherished beliefs have been challenged, and we must consider the possibility that the rings do not do what we have long believed to be their intended purpose. The rings may prove to be the single greatest threat that our people have had to face. But Great Journey or no, I believe it is the consensus of the Council that they not be activated without our knowledge or consent. It would be best to err on the side of caution, and not allow the prophets to activate the Rings."

Though several shook their heads, a murmur of consent washed across the Council. 'Daulanee was surprised by Councilor 'Ornala's tact in approaching the situation. There were surely councilors that still believed in the Great Journey, even though all now knew the prophets themselves to be false. 'Ornala had stated his case in a way that, regardless of their beliefs, the entire Council would see good reason not to activate the rings.

"There are five others, and we know not where they are," a Councilor said. "How are we to do this, without spreading our fleets too thin?" A cleric glared venomously at the Councilor as he spoke.

"It is safe to believe that the prophets are also uncertain as to the location of the rings," Milo 'Ornala said. He looked to the center of the room where Aya 'Daulanee stood. "But there is a place from which all of them can be activated. A place that the Hierarch knows all too well."

A flash of realization struck the Fleetmaster. The Ark...

"For ages, a great ship has stood at the heart of High Charity," Councilor 'Ornala continued. "Truth has loosed it from its moors, and he now commands his entire fleet from within it..."

"Forgive me, my lord," 'Daulanee said, "but the Ark is not on Truth's Forerunner ship."

A rumble of conversation floated through the hall.

Councilor 'Ornala paused. "Is that so?"

"Yes, my lord. According to the Oracle, it is on the human homeworld."

The Council fell silent.

"Really," 'Ornala finally said. "That does change things, doesn't it?"

"Indeed. I have summoned the human representative, and soon he shall arrive so that we may negotiate a true alliance."

"Very well," the Judge said. "The Council has much to discuss, Fleetmaster. You shall be summoned again once negotiations are ready to begin."

'Daulanee bowed, turned, and left.

# # # # # # #

As he watched the trees rush past, the borders of his vision grew dark. A sudden spell of dizziness overpowered him, and he leaned forward as he tried to regain his bearings. He felt the headache come rushing back to him like a train in a dark tunnel, and prepared himself for the bout of nausea that was sure to follow. He would consider himself lucky if he did not throw up all over the console.

Aro 'Silnumee looked at Haskins in surprise. "Are you ill, human?"

The staff sergeant yerched, gritting his teeth and drawing several slow, deep breaths. "I'm OK," he finally said, "I'm OK."

Reassured, 'Silnumee returned his attention to the road. Leaving behind many acres of farmland and fisheries, the spectre passed by one of the massive refit towers that surrounded the city. Purple shafts of light had once again appeared, connecting the massive docked ships to the ground. Many of the ships that had arrived from Earth had since offloaded the refugees they carried, undergone repair, and returned to orbit with fresh soldiers prepared for battle, but still other ships damaged in the recent foray with the brutes could be seen sinking through the clouds for their own repairs. Haskins watched this with awe through the rain-distorted glass of the spectre until buildings began once again to block his sight. The Hall of the Council lay ahead, but this time no civilians lined the streets and armed soldiers manned checkpoints with rapid-fire plasma turrets transforming intersections into potential killzones. Hyllas had been officially placed under martial law.

"Is the Council back up and running?"

"The Fleetmaster did not elaborate," 'Silnumee replied. "It seems he wished to converse with you alone. But as I said before, the alliance stands a much better chance now that the prophets have been exposed for the wretches they are."

Haskins nodded.

"Still," 'Silnumee said, "I do not understand myself why it has taken this long for the Council to prepare. Of course, the prophets were thoroughly entrenched in our government, but they filled no roles that Sangheili leaders are not more than capable of performing."

"Shell shock?"

"I would think not," the Mirratord said. "Ours is a strict military hierarchy, and with the loss of a superior, the next below in rank should have immediately assumed power. Given our situation, a high ranking official in the Council of Masters. Nonetheless, whoever is appointed as Supreme Judge 'Yalamae's successor shall have to be convinced of the value of an alliance if one is to form. 'Kyrona was seduced by the prophets, but we still have strong allies by our side. Fleetmaster 'Daulanee and Councilor Milo 'Ornala shall prove quite helpful in swaying the Council's opinion."

Haskins' eyes widened. He fought the urge to slam a fist against the side of the spectre in frustration, but that would accomplish nothing. Milo 'Ornala. Would the Councilor still hold the same position after what had happened? Was he in a position to do anything about it? He glanced at 'Silnumee, and for a moment, he wanted to tell him everything. He wanted to say what the Councilor had revealed about the Ark. He wanted to say what 'Zamamee had revealed to him. But seeing the Mirratord First's lack of emotion, the will to speak died in his throat. Revealing what he knew now could only cost him in the long run... after all, the Mirratord were subservient to the High Council.

"Is... something wrong, sergeant?"

"No," Haskins said, "nothing. Let's just get there."

# # # # # # #

The bandaged Honor Guard lieutenant led the Fleetmaster down a series of corridors and gravlifts. 'Daulanee noticed how the accomodations grew more inhospitable the further they moved, an effect aided by the complete lack of light from the surface. Red doors glared on both sides of the dim hall as they passed through the decrepit jails that lay below the northwest corner of the Hall of the Council. Long used to hold suspected heretics, they now housed the prophets who had placed them there. But something had troubled the Fleetmaster since his arrival at Tterrab, something he now needed to know before committing his fleet on any path.

The Honor Guard coughed. 'Daulanee saw that the purple-stained bandage had been changed since their last meeting. The elite had been pierced through a lung, but his sense of duty kept him from taking leave to see the wound properly treated. The Fleetmaster smiled inwardly, again impressed by the strength of his people.

"How did you sustain your wound?" he asked.

The lieutenant turned, surprised to be asked by one of such high rank. Slightly embarressed but welcoming the break in silence, the lieutenant lowered his head. "It was the Jiralhanae, my lord. They launched an assault upon the High Council, drawing the Guard to the surface. But at that time they also moved to strike from within, entering the Hall through the tram. Many of my brothers were lost, and my captain as well... but..."

Another cough.

"Forgive me, my lord. I... do not know where he came from, but a human was there as well. I sustained a hit to the chest, but he did not strike while I was vulnerable. He fought by my side, and together we repelled the Jiralhanae's advance."

'Daulanee shook his head in amazement. Perhaps the Arbiter had not been playing games, after all. He and the human would have much to discuss once this madness was over.

"We have arrived," the lieutenant said. He stopped before a door and entered a series of validation codes before it finally opened. The Fleetmaster nodded and entered the room alone as the Lieutenant stood guard outside. As there was no lighting inside the cell, the door remained open.

The Fleetmaster heard something whimper. Blinking in a corner there sat a minor prophet, dethroned and helpless. The creature recoiled at first, but seeing that the gold-armored elite did not draw a sword, it quickly veiled its cowardice and reached out for the Fleetmaster dejectedly.

"At last!" the prophet said in a loud, melodramatic voice, "one who might listen to reason! Have you seen what your leaders have done to us? Tied up in chains, cast into the pit by those whom we have long served!"

"A condition that suites you," 'Daulanee said coldly.

The prophet's mouth hung open. "It was not the prophets who struck at your city," it blustered. "The Jiralhanae are loose-tempered. Their overzealous behavior has proven that which I have long suspected; that the Sangheili deserve to be our true guardians!"

"Be still, brother," a calm voice said. Annoyed, 'Daulanee looked to see another prophet sitting in the shadows in the opposite corner of the cell. The first prophet whimpered as the Fleetmaster drew near, but 'Daulanee wished to see which prophet held so little fear for his own safety.

A gaunt face on the end of a long, distended neck stretched out from the darkness. "Fleetmaster," the prophet said. "It has been some time since our last acquaintance, has it not?"

"Supposition," 'Daulanee said, tightening a fist. "Indeed, it has."

The prophet in the other corner looked between them in confusion.

"I shall not waste time, Fleetmaster," Supposition said calmly. "You come here seeking information."

"And knowing this, you shall surely tell me that which you think I want to hear," 'Daulanee said.

"It is not to our advantage to conceal the truth any longer," the prophet replied. "With the Hierarch's betrayal, our fates are now bound. Your death is our death. Ask what you have come to ask, Fleetmaster. If it is within my power, I shall accomodate you."

'Daulanee remained suspicious. He did not appreciate Supposition's new patronizing attitude, but it had not lasted long enough to become a true irritant.

"The prophet Envy has taken command of a fleet and abandoned the rest of you to our limited mercy. Your days of power are now passed," 'Daulanee said.

"You wonder to what end Envy has mobilized this fleet?"

"I wonder how Envy knows where the Prophet of Truth has gone. The Hierarch has had ample time to regroup his forces and lash out against the human homeworld, but he has not yet done so. There must be some reason for his hesitation, some other thing which he now seeks. And I believe that you and the prophet of Envy know what it is that has kept Truth occupied for this long."

Supposition smiled. "Ah, the humans... a fine impression you have left on them, no? I am certain they would welcome allegiance with your kind with open arms, given the desperation of their people. I am certain that your past actions have been wholly... forgiven."

'Daulanee felt a pang of guilt, but his resolve did not falter. He knew the prophets' deceptive nature, and he would not allow himself to be manipulated.

"I asked you a question, prophet."

"Truth does seek to return to the human homeworld. His determination to eradicate the humans has not faltered," Supposition said. "The Hierarch grew bitter over the course of the war, what with the loss of a sacred ring and the death of brother Regret. He shifted the blame to your people, and now attempts to exclude you from the Great Journey. The remaining rings are scattered beyond his reach, and he has not the time to search for them. That which his fleet now seeks is the key with which to activate the Ark, and though he may not find it with any certainty, the prophet Envy shall surely find him. Truth has committed a grave crime against the Covenant, shaking loose the faithful of the Sangheili, Lekgolo and Unggoy in light of his own personal prejudice. It is Envy, with his fleet, who now seeks to bring the hierarch to justice and shepherd the faithful back to the righteous path."

'Daulanee recoiled as the prophet offered his frail hand.

"We needn't be enemies, you know," Supposition said. "We share both a common enemy and a righteous cause. Both of us have been betrayed by the Prophet of Truth. If our people were to unite against this treachery, we could bring an end to this madness, at last fulfill the promise of the Great Journey."

"You must think I am a fool," the Fleetmaster huffed. "It is the prophets, and not the humans, who are the true foes of the Sangheili people. I do not foresee the Council standing idly by while you manipulate your way back into a position of authority. Tis an error we have no intent to repeat. You are to be tried and executed for crimes against the Sangheili race."

"What?" Supposition recoiled. "I offer you salvation and allegiance! You should know not to let peace pass you by when I have offered it!"

'Daulanee wanted nothing more than to drive his sword into the creature's heart, but discipline stayed his hand. Supposition would die, but punishment rested with the High Council.

"Your Great Journey is a lie," the Fleetmaster growled. "For ages my people have fought and died for false gods. I myself have burned entire worlds in pursuit of your empty promises! Now that your true intentions have been unmasked, you had best make peace with your Forerunners while you are still able. I assure you... you shall receive the same degree of mercy that you have displayed to us."

Supposition's face curled into a scowl. The Fleetmaster turned his back, casting a menacing look at the other prophet cowering in the corner before exiting the cell a moment later and sealing them both back into darkness.

"Did you learn what you came to ask?" the Lieutenant questioned.

'Daulanee did not know what to say. The Key to the Ark, he thought. Your death is our death.

So there was another factor involved in the prophets' scheme. The prophets were about to go to war with each other for control of Truth's Forerunner ship, wrongfully thinking that it was the Ark. They knew that the Great Journey was false all along, yet still they sought to activate Halo. And they needed something else before they could achieve that end.

Why? Why would they knowingly wish to commit such a horrific act?

"I thought I would find you here."

The Fleetmaster turned. "You come here with no escort?"

Milo 'Ornala smiled. "Need we feel unsafe within our own halls?"

"I suppose not."

"Then let us proceed unescorted," 'Ornala said. "You may return to your post, Lieutenant."

"But first," 'Daulanee said, "see that your wound is properly tended to."

The honor guard bowed and walked in the other direction.

"Walk with me," 'Ornala said. "We have much to talk about."

The Fleetmaster thought there was something sinister about meeting in the Jails, but the Councilor quickly led them to a more hospitable wing of the Great Hall. Most of the talk on the way to the main level was idle, but soon the Fleetmaster could hear the thunder outside. They reached the inner courtyard, walking along the covered boardwalk that surrounded it. 'Daulanee looked across the Commons, a cobblestone terrace graced with well-kept gardens that stretched beyond what he could see in the rain.

Whenever an argument between councilors led to a duel, it was held here, before witnesses. Such engagements were almost never to the death, however, and frequently they were held over minor disputes out of sheer boredom. The Commons appeared perfectly natural, even though it was depressed in the roof of the Great Hall. Hearing the rain pelting the plants in the courtyard, 'Daulanee realized that they were alone. Due to the weather, there was almost nobody else there. Perhaps a less sinister place to meet than the jails, but it was just as isolated.

"How have your sons held up with the loss of their mother?" 'Ornala asked.

"They are strong," 'Daulanee replied. It had hung heavily on his mind that he had not even had time to speak with them since it had happened. What he knew about how his two sons had fared came from speaking with SpecOps Leader 'Harlamee before the fleet's arrival at Tterrab, but since then, he had been too tied up by concerns with the alliance.

"What do you intend to do with them, if you are to lead your fleet in battle against the prophets?"

"That is something I must still discuss with them, sooner rather than later."

"Hmm. If you decide that they are to remain on Tterrab, I shall see to it that they are well cared for, and their education in the Academy resumed."

"The Councilor is too kind," 'Daulanee replied.

"By no means. I know what it is to lose a mate, and a child."

'Daulanee raised his head. "Councilor, might I ask what you wished to speak with me about?"

"The Council has reached a breakthrough in its deliberations. You surely remember the vacancies that have arisen in the Council?"

"Painfully so."

"They have now been filled. A new candidate has been selected to join the High Council of Masters, a leader of vision and courage who has time and again proven his worth to the Sangheili people through battle. Through his devotion, I believe, he has displayed all the traits of a worthy leader of our noble race in these... troubling times."

"Who might this be?"

"You do not know of whom I speak?"

"I fear not, my lord."

'Ornala smiled. "The Council has selected you."

Aya 'Daulanee stopped walking.

"Congratulations, Councilor," 'Ornala said.

This is it, he thought. The dream that he had pursued his entire life, one that so few could ever hope to achieve. He had been inducted into a supreme order, an exclusive group to which only the greatest military leaders of the Sangheili people could claim membership. Only those with lifetimes of combat experience and undying devotion to the Sangheili people ever could hope to achieve even the lowest positions in the Council, but he had been promoted directly into the upper echelon; the Council of Masters.

It was here that he could make the greatest difference to the war. It was here that his decisions could sway the power of the fleet to fight in a righteous cause. He would do honor to his family. His title would be carried through his bloodline for generations as a badge of honor, his name living on long after the war had come to an end...

It was then that he realized he had remained silent for some time.

"Forgive me, my lord, but this comes to me as quite a shock," 'Daulanee said.

'Ornala nodded. "But of course."

"I was not aware that a vacancy had arisen on the Council of Masters. During the fighting..."

"No, no," the councilor interrupted. "Supreme Judge 'Yalamae and Councilor 'Kyrona were the only to fall, and 'Kyrona was not of the Council of Masters."

"Then where has my position come from?"

"You shall hold the title that was once my own," 'Ornala replied. "As I held the highest position in the Council of High Charity, I have been appointed as the new Supreme Judge of the High Council."

# # # # # # #

The spectre came to a stop two blocks away from the Hall of the Council as it reached a checkpoint. Haskins looked through the window to see a red-armored elite with a mounted plasma cannon keeping tense watch as an honor guard approached the spectre. Aro 'Silnumee opened the driver canopy, blasting them both with the wind and rain outside, and disembarked to speak with the honor guard in his own tongue. The sergeant took note of two minor inquisitors checking the underside of the spectre for explosives, occasionally looking over windows and rooftops that surrounded the intersection, and after a moment's thought, he knew why. Standing in the open as opposed to being inside the guardhouse, they would be exposed to sniper fire. Something must have happened after the brutes in the convoy had been killed off. There was still someone out there that the elites were afraid of.

Aro 'Silnumee seated himself back in the Spectre, rainwater running off of his armor in streams as the honor guard and the two minors beat a hasty retreat to the shelter of the guardhouse. The canopy closed, and the spectre continued towards the Great Hall.

"What happened back there?" Haskins asked.

"They fear another attempt on the Council," the Mirratord replied. "Squadrons are trolling the streets to search for concealed mines which may latch on to vehicles bound for the Great Hall."

"Are the brutes really capable of that?"

"Do not underestimate them," 'Silnumee replied. "Though their weaponry is crude, it is highly lethal. Much of it you have not yet seen, as your people have yet to fight the Jiralhanae in direct combat."

"The checkpoint guards seemed to be looking out for snipers pretty intently."

"And with good reason. Commander Motak 'Harlamee was critically wounded by one, and after the battle ended."

The spectre came to a stop, and was instantly surrounded by a dozen heavily-armed Sangheili warriors. The spectre was once again swept for explosives, and only once the all-clear was given did they allow the canopy to be opened. Rainwater splayed across the controls of the spectre, distorting the hologram as they passed through it. Aro stepped out of the driver's seat and walked around to where the sergeant was lifting his braced leg over the side. The sergeant refused help, managing with some effort to extract himself from the vehicle and set his worn combat boots down in the muddy street. An honor guard took control of the spectre, pulling it away from the main entrance of the Great Hall as the Mirratord First led the marine sergeant up the ramp.

This time, the honor guards defending the entrance respectfully stepped out of the way as they passed.

# # # # # # #

"My lord," 'Daulanee bowed deeply. "The Council has chosen wisely."

"Now, Councilor, let us polish our laurels at a more appropriate time," 'Ornala chuckled. "I am the same person with whom you spoke minutes ago. And we have far more important things to discuss."

'Daulanee nodded slowly. "What shall we discuss, my lord?"

The elder elite leaned against a railing and looked out over the rain-drenched courtyard, water gathering in bowl-shaped plants to amplify the pelting rain. The storm showed no sign of abating, and set a very somber mood that 'Ornala found quite appropriate.

"One unfortunate lesson that I have learned during my years in the Council is that our people are slow to react to change," he said. "Even now, there are those who resist peace with the humans, let alone an alliance. The Council remains conservative, and there are now a great many changes for our people to consider at the same time."

"Indeed," 'Daulanee said.

"You, however, have proven quite adept at facing new challenges when they have presented themselves," 'Ornala said. "Your versatility allowed you to quickly react to the Purge of High Charity, assuming control of your own ship from the Jiralhanae and leading other ships in resistance when open war was upon you. You braved the parasite by docking your fleet with the city to evacuate survivors, even when infection had spread beyond hope of control. You did what you thought was necessary concerning the humans, dealing a mighty wound to the Prophet of Truth and negotiating an effective ceasefire with those whom we have fought for three long cycles."

"The Judge flatters me," 'Daulanee said. "What of the Council's agreement to a ceasefire?"

"Ratified by a slim majority. Necessity has truly forced our hand," 'Ornala said. "The Council has grown stuck in its ways. Many are unwilling to forget the past and do what is needed to protect our people now. Halo is the single greatest threat we have ever faced, and our efforts to defend our world shall come to nothing if the prophets activate the rings. Indeed, the prophets have the combined strength to return and burn our world to ashes. But they would lose many ships in so doing, and would then lack the strength to defeat the humans outright. They seek to light the rings, and the glassing of Tterrab would bring them no closer to this end."

'Daulanee cocked his head. "What are you saying?"

'Ornala sighed. "The prophets have no reason to return here. By activating the rings, they could destroy our world without losing a single ship. They mustn't be allowed to do this, but the Council is in the grip of fear and ignorance. Some do not wish to pursue the prophets for fear of weakening our defense of Tterrab, and still others do not believe Halo is a threat to begin with."

Thunder shook the air, and the sky darkened. 'Ornala did not even look up.

"To stop the prophets, the Council must be convinced that our fleets would do more good seeking them, rather than uselessly orbiting Tterrab awaiting their return. My authority as Supreme Judge is not infinite, old friend. We need leaders at this time who are willing to face this challenge head-on."

"If that is what it takes to safeguard our people," 'Daulanee said, "then I shall see it done."

'Daulanee's communicator chimed. He looked at it and briefly read the message it had received.

"Alas, our walk shall be cut short. I had questions for the human before he goes before the Council."

'Ornala folded his hands and leaned on the railing, watching the rain fall. After a moment's consideration, he nodded. 'Daulanee stepped out from beneath the eaves and started to cut across the courtyard towards the main entrance to the hall.

"Councilor..."

The former Fleetmaster stopped short, standing in the rain to look at the Judge standing under the eaves. "My lord?"

The judge sighed. "You stated before the Council today that the Ark is on the human homeworld. You are certain of this?"

'Daulanee nodded. "Quite certain."

"We may need to... reconsider the nature of this alliance."

Rain pelted the Fleetmaster's armor, but he did not notice. "In what way?"

Milo 'Ornala lowered his head. "You have business which you must see to, Councilor, and I shall not delay it. But do contact me once this work is done. We must have a clarification session."

Standing in the pouring rain, Aya 'Daulanee regarded at the Judge with suspicion for a moment before turning and walking away. As soon as he passed out of earshot, 'Ornala reached for his communicator.

# # # # # # #

The door chimed and slid silently into the ceiling, and Haskins again caught sight of the room where he had initially been held on his first day on Tterrab. Amused by the irony, he caught sight of his crate of supplies in the corner and immediately headed for it.

Aro 'Silnumee took a final look down the hallway and closed the door. The Fleetmaster would arrive soon, and had made it clear that he wished to meet in private.

Haskins tensed his arm as he jammed the injector into the crook of his elbow, repeatedly clenching his fingers until the numbness went away. Setting the air-powered syringe aside, he looked again at the directions on the vial of blue fluid which he had just administered. ONI had included a spectrum of antibiotics in his shipment of supplies that he was supposed to inject himself with on a regular basis, to be followed by an extensive period of quarantine upon his return to Earth in case he brought back any sort of alien disease. Diseases to which the elites had long since grown immune could easily prove fatal to a human, and he hadn't had a chance to give himself the shot since he first arrived. But at the moment, the procedures that would follow his as-yet uncertain return to Earth were the last thing on his mind.

The sergeant rubbed his temples. Though not as badly as before, the dizziness had returned as soon as he had entered the gravlift to this floor. It was the second time it had happened since he had been struck by the SpecOps leader in the brig. He had thought otherwise at first, but now he was beginning to believe that he had suffered a concussion. Nausea and disorientation were sporadic, but the headache was the worst part. And beyond the cocktail of antibiotics and vitamins that he had just administered, there were no other medications among his supplies save for two doses of morphine, a squeeze-tube of biofoam, and a single capsule of potassium cyanide.

Sighing in disgust and suddenly aware that he had not eaten for nearly two days, the sergeant picked up a package of dehydrated food from the crate, tearing it open to see its powdery contents. Reconsidering, he set the package aside and looked back at the door. The Mirratord First stood to the side, prepared to kill any assassin who dared to enter.

After what I did?

Haskins couldn't understand the elite's mentality. He had killed a member of his family, but still the Mirratord First was willing to fight to defend him. Was it his sense of duty? Some cultural taboo? Or was it something else?

"I understand why you did it," 'Silnumee suddenly said.

The sergeant stared blankly. Had the elite read his mind?

"To lose your mate on Coral... such loss can drive one to commit terrible acts," 'Silnumee said. He sighed deeply. "Terrible acts."

"Is there... something you want to ask?"

'Silnumee nodded. "For the sake of my mate, I did not wish to delve any deeper into this matter at the time, but I must know how it happened. Was it an execution?"

I don't know, Haskins thought. Was it?

"On the seventh day," he said, "after Coral was glassed... the man who was supposed to guard the Covenant prisoners snapped. He killed one of our own, and then he started executing the members of 'Yerumee's landing party one by one. Like it was a sport."

'Silnumee said nothing.

"There was a second elite in 'Yerumee's party. A minor named Ilion 'Hoksatee. When the guard couldn't intimidate 'Yerumee, he killed the minor instead."

The elite tightened a fist in anger, but it was not directed towards the sergeant. Somehow, Haskins felt that he had struck a nerve.

"'Yerumee didn't take it," the sergeant continued. "With the first chance he got, he killed the guard with his bare hands and escaped into the facility. He found his weapons in a lab and took one of our people hostage, going into a series of caves to try to link up with Covenant forces on the surface of the planet. It took us hours to track him down, but he wouldn't give up when we found him."

"He died with a weapon in his hands?"

Haskins cleared his throat. "Yes. He did."

"This man you spoke of... the man who executed my brother's apprentice... who was he?"

"I didn't know him very well," Haskins said. "He wasn't the most agreeable person. His name was Tyler Blancett, and I know that he was also from Coral. But come to think of it... his ex-wife and son were both on the planet when it was glassed."

'Silnumee lowered his head. Both the sergeant and the guard seemed to have taken their vengeance in their own way, though in the guard's case, he had allowed it to destroy him.

Bracktanus...

# # # # # # #

The Jiralhanae captain who had killed his son was ignored by the prophets, and the Council decided that the Mirratord were to deliver justice in their stead. As a result of his crime, Bracktanus' very survival became an insult to the Sangheili people. Among his brethren, however, the brute had become a symbol of defiance; and as such, was kept under heavy guard. But this would not deter justice.

To spill Sangheili blood was to die by Sangheili hands.

He swore that he would avenge his son's death or die in the attempt, no matter how many Jiralhanae crossed his path. And at last his search had ended, in a room full of brutes who raised their weapons as he approached. Charging into their midst with twin blades slicing through the air, he had dealt death to all who opposed him.

Poorly-placed bolts of plasma streaked through the air, leaving the room scented with blood and ozone. Fighting until his blades drained and died, he continued to punish his enemy with their own arms as he made way towards the target of his wrath. All the while, the captain stood at the end of the room, firing with a brute shot. But Aro 'Silnumee did not falter.

Bracktanus would take a great deal of time to die.

Once the captain breathed his last, the Mirratord First allowed himself to close his eyes. His son's killer had met the justice that the prophets would not enforce. But it had not been enough. Revenge had not quelled the flame of hatred that burned within him. Revenge would not bring back his son.

The Mirratord First stood in the midst of his fallen enemies, at last realizing the magnitude of what he had done. Ten brutes lay dead before him, the floor coated with blood, the air hanging thick with the putrid stench of death. A disturbance the prophets would surely notice. A crime the Jiralhanae would certainly avenge. What had he done?

In the months that followed, hostilities between the Jiralhanae and the Sangheili continued to escalate on High Charity. Retaliation drew greater retaliation, death in exchange for death. Civilians and soldiers alike on both sides fell victim to the madness that had swept the city like a plague as assassinations and murders became a daily occurance. But the moment the Icon fell into Truth's frail hands, all semblance of unity was shattered by the horror of genocide.

With the Great Purge hostilities reached a terrible new climax, but war had simmered between the Sangheili and Jiralhanae for many years. Rolo 'Mornumee was but one death in a long list of grievances between their people. Where the first shots had been fired, and by whom, none could hope to remember. But now, it had come to this...

# # # # # # #

A sudden chime brought 'Silnumee to his senses as the door opened. He snapped to attention as Aya 'Daulanee entered the room.

"Fleetmaster," Haskins nodded.

"Councilor," 'Silnumee observed, "my congratulations."

'Daulanee nodded to the Mirratord First and returned his attention to the human. "It seems that you have made quite an impression, sergeant," he said. "I myself find it difficult to believe the stories I have heard, but regardless of which are true, it seems you have done your people a great service. The Council is prepared to accept audience with you, given proper notice."

"All of the vacancies have been filled?"

"Yes. The Council of Masters has been called back to order, and a ceasefire has been declared with your people. I do not know how receptive they shall be of an alliance, but we are at last ready to proceed with the negotiations."

"Thank God," Haskins sighed.

'Daulanee huffed. "You are to be present during the negotiations. You do not know what an honor it is to be accepted before the full assembly. You must have done something quite impressive to earn an audience. I have heard many stories... but one element remains the same through them all."

Haskins' breath caught in his throat.

"Though my people now acknowledge the prophets for what they truly are, there are those who still remain faithful to the Great Journey," 'Daulanee said. "The ceasefire was forged from necessity. All have agreed that defense of our world against the Prophets takes priority over waging war against your race, and seeing the prophets' deception, many now know that what we have done to your people is wrong. But thirty years of war with your race and centuries of faith in our beliefs are not easily forgotten. Convincing the more dogmatic elements of the High Council that the activation of Halo is not in our best interests shall not be an easy task, and you must already know that there are still those who would see us both dead if it prevented an alliance from being forged with your people. As such, I must be certain of who our enemies are before we may proceed. Surely you understand this."

'Silnumee saw the man's jaw tense. The change in the human's behavior was subtle, and the Mirratord First doubted that the Councilor had even taken notice.

"Yes," Haskins said.

"Do you know who it was that abducted you?"

The sergeant furrowed his brow in deep thought for a moment, finally shaking his head.

"I can't say I know who it was," he said.

"You must think," 'Daulanee insisted. "You must remember. The fate of the alliance may hang in the balance."

"I was hit in the head. I don't know. I can't really remember who it was that hit me."

The sergeant removed his dented helmet, revealing a vicious bruise. 'Daulanee was certain that if the man had not been wearing the helmet, his skull would have been fractured by the blow. Nodding with understanding, 'Daulanee conceded the subject.

Aro 'Silnumee watched silently as the sergeant replaced his helmet, tightening his fists.

"I suppose," Aya 'Daulanee said, "that we shall have to make due with the information we have."

"The mutineer I interrogated," Haskins said, "what was his name?"

"Muda 'Harukee." the Councilor replied. What a strange question to ask at a time like this?

"What happened to him?"

"He has since been executed. Rebellion against one's superior cannot be tolerated."

"Did he tell you anything?"

"He did not betray his brothers. He gave us no names, only the reasoning behind the mutiny; poor fools. They blindly followed the Great Journey to the very end."

Haskins nodded slowly. "So what happens now?"

"Regardless of the obstacles we face, I remain optomistic about an alliance. The prophets have been ejected from the Council and locked away in the Jails where they belong. I have been inducted directly into the Council of Masters. You come in good standing before the Council, having earned their respect on the field of battle. And perhaps most importantly, lord Milo 'Ornala has expressed support of the ceasefire, and now presides over the Council as Supreme Judge."

'Silnumee saw as perspiration broke out on the back of Haskins' neck, but towards the Councilor, the sergeant remained completely calm, responding only with a nod.

"I shall contact you both when preparations are complete," 'Daulanee said. "I have unfinished business which I must tend to."

He turned to the First and spoke in his native tongue. "You are to guard the human with your life."

'Silnumee bowed to the Councilor. Aya 'Daulanee turned and walked back to the door of the storage room, and it slid into the wall to allow his passage. Kyle Haskins sighed deeply as the Councilor left the room. But the moment the door closed, a heavy hand clamped tightly on his shoulder, whipping him around one hundred and eighty degrees and nearly sending him tumbling to the floor due to the unwieldy brace on his leg.

"We must talk, human," 'Silnumee growled.

"Yes, I lied," Haskins said quietly. "But I had good reason to do it."

"You lied to a member of the High Council."

"He's been compromised. He's being watched. Telling him what I know would only increase the risk that he'll be killed sooner than he will be already."

'Silnumee tightened his fists menacingly. "What?"

"It isn't safe to talk here," Haskins said. This was the same room he had been held at before meeting the Council the first time. By now it was almost certainly bugged. He hobbled towards the door, reaching for the controls with his good arm, but the Mirratord First grabbed his wrist.

"You lied to Councilor 'Daulanee's face without consideration or remorse," 'Silnumee said. "How do I know that I can trust you?"

"How many people here do you think I can trust?" Haskins countered. "You and Councilor 'Daulanee are on a very short list, which has grown shorter since I first arrived here. The only reason I would lie to him is to protect him. Now if you're going to try and stop me, I'm in no condition to fight back. But I've seen a planet glassed before. I know what's at stake. I have a job to do, and I'm going to do it with your help or not."

After a moment's thought, 'Silnumee released the sergeant and hit the controls to open the door.

"Lead the way, human."

"We need to go to the brig that I was held in before my capture," Haskins said. He caught sight of a plasma pistol in a neaby storage container, and holstered it. "Once we get there, I can show you all the evidence you could possibly need."

# # # # # # #

It is by shedding the blood of the innocent that I have gained my title, and it is by saving those who remain that I must now earn it, he thought. May I be remembered for what I do today, and forgiven for what I already have done.

Clad in the ceremonial garb that accompanied his new title, Aya 'Daulanee drew a calm breath. The honor guards beside the doors pulled them open, revealing the Assembly already gathered within.

"On this day, the Council had seen fit to improve its ranks once again," Judge 'Ornala announced. "It is my honor to induct Aya 'Daulanee, former Master of the Fleet of Persistent Regret, to the High Council of Masters."

"It is my honor to accept the Council's invitation," 'Daulanee replied with a bow.

"While the Councilor's achievements are certainly worthy of recognition, the Council reluctantly finds itself pressed for time," 'Ornala said. "I should hope the Councilor would not take offense if the normal ceremonies of the Writ of Induction are forgone for the time being, so that we may return to the matters at hand."

'Daulanee nodded. There were too many lives at stake to waste time on a mere formality, and he did not wish to have the names of all the human worlds he had glassed thrown back at him.

"I was of a like mind, my lord."

"Then take your place in the Assembly, Councilor, and we shall begin."

As he proceeded up the stairs towards the vacant bench among the Council of Masters, 'Daulanee could not help but notice that the hologram projector that hung enormous from the center of the room displayed the human's video from High Charity on a silent loop. Being subjected to hours of testimony from survivors of High Charity, the events it depicted were now impossible to deny. He thought of what the Judge had mentioned earlier. Was the Council resisting the idea of an alliance? If it was, then 'Ornala had been wise to place one of a like mind on the Council of Masters. On matters of military importance, every voice counted.

"Aida, I believe you held the floor."

An elder across the room stood. "The betrayal of the prophets has shaken our confidence, and as a representative of the Council of Deed and Doctrine, I understand that my opinions in this matter may face scorn in light of recent events. But we must not be so quick to abandon our most cherished beliefs. Have we not seen the Rings, just as they have been foretold? Have we not seen their power? The prophets' actions have been inexcusable... unforgivable... but we must remember that our Covenant was forged by war, not peace. Thousands of years ago, our people fought with the spear and the sword whilst the prophets rained death from the sky. And still, our people did not submit. It was not until the truth of the Forerunners was revealed to us that we joined the prophets in their quest for salvation. We now stand, again divided by those who we long called our caretakers. But now, we stand armed with the weapons of the gods. Can we not fight them, and retake what we have earned in blood? Are we not worthy of the salvation we have long sought? We must take this Ark, so that we may reap our reward and begin the Great Journey."

The cleric sat back down in what 'Daulanee saw to be a largely empty section of the room. The Council of Deed and Doctrine had been comprised mostly of minor prophets, responsible for interpreting Covenant religious law. Now its ranks were very thin, indeed.

One among the Council of Concordance raised his hand, and Supreme Judge 'Ornala acknowledged him.

"Councilor Zora 'Utscara has the floor."

"A fine point, Cleric," 'Utscara said. "I am certain that you would be quite familiar with the prophets' intentions, what with your years of correspondence with them. Perhaps you could enlighten us as to where the Prophet of Envy has gone now?"

The cleric lowered his head in shame.

"We cannot forget the blow that our world has already been dealt," the Councilor continued. "Under the prophets' guidance, the Jiralhanae do not appear to be as tactically inferior as we had hoped. They handle their light vessels well, and the masters of our fleets have little experience with defensive tactics. Ours was an army on the road of conquest. Now we must devote our energies to defending our world. Numbers are with us for the time being, but to divide our forces on such a pursuit would be foolish."

"Are we too weak to defend our world?" the Cleric shot back. "Now that we have been struck, are we to huddle our forces together like whimpering animals, waiting to be struck again? Or are we to go out and deliver justice to the enemy on their own turf? I had hoped that I would not live to see the day that my people would lose heart and hide, too intimidated to do what we were born to do. Too intimidated to fight for our beliefs. None of us foresaw the prophets' treachery as it has been revealed to us today. But now that our true enemy has revealed itself, let us strike him down before he does the same to us! Let us go to the Ark!"

In the Pulpit of Judges, Milo 'Ornala raised a hand. "Calm yourself, Councilor 'Sihruda," he said. "The cleric is right in that the prophets' betrayal came without warning. As witness to the carnage of High Charity, I know this all too well. We cannot forget that their motive is still unknown to us, yet we can assume that their ultimate goal remains the same: to light the rings and begin the Great Journey. For some of you, this belief has been cast into doubt, and as such, we must decide as to whether this may be allowed to happen. Councilor 'Sihruda, as senior cleric of the High Council of Deed and Doctrine, answer us this: if the prophets were to begin the Great Journey without Sangheili participation, what would become of our people?"

The cleric stood with his mouth open. The other councilor crossed his arms and huffed in dissatisfaction, knowing that the judge had just handed victory to the cleric.

"Go on, cleric."

"I do not know. But caution would dictate that such a thing cannot be allowed."

A murmer spread throughout the assembly, and a councilor next to 'Daulanee stood.

"Councilor Daka 'Zorina," 'Ornala said.

"I move that we reinforce the Ark, so that the prophets may not activate it at our expense," the Councilor said. "In terms of military success, our best chance to do this is to honor the allegiance which Councilor 'Daulanee has forged with the humans. With our combined strength, we would mount twice the resistance to the Prophet of Truth's attempts to reclaim the Ark, while still leaving an adequate force to defend our people at home."

"Councilor 'Alsuda."

"With all respect due to Councilor 'Zorina, are we truly to align with the humans?"

'Daulanee's head shot up.

"Go on, councilor," 'Ornala said.

"In our travels, we have seen these humans for the vile creatures that they are. Their own records show that for thousands of years their civilizations would rise to great heights, only to consume themselves in revelry and greed and sink back into the dust from whence they came. For centuries they have broadcast their depravity to the heavens for all to see. As soon as they were able, they began to spread unconstrained from world to world, poisoning all that they touched. They do not respect their own authorities. They do not know discipline. They are scattered, divided... why, these creatures have not even advanced to the point of a common tongue. Indeed, they have been greatly wronged by our people. But are are we to compromise everything we have built? Are we to honor an allegiance with those who honor nothing?"

"Councilor 'Daulanee," 'Ornala said. "Have you a reply?"

Unable to read the Judge's expression, 'Daulanee stood and cleared his throat, looking once more to the frozen image of High Charity hanging in the room.

"We must not forget that it was the prophets who instigated war with the humans. With their betrayal, the principles they long enforced are also called into question. At the behest of the prophets, our people have led a genocidal campaign against the humans for three cycles. But in this time, we have seen another side to their people. They fight with honor on the battlefield, sacrificing themselves so that others may live. We come together today to decide how best to defend our people. Is this not what the humans have done? In spite of decades of war, the humans have agreed to set our differences aside and fight with us. We now share the mutual goal of survival against a common enemy. Let us not allow our prejudices to destroy what chance remains."

"Have we forgotten that these humans are not powerless?" 'Alsuda shot back. "Twice we have witnessed the terrible power of their new weapons. Reach and Coral, two worlds crushed to dust before our very eyes! Indeed, we have wronged these people. But rhetoric aside, their thirst for vengeance runs deep. Would they not deliver the same destruction here, given the slightest opportunity?"

Milo 'Ornala stood, slamming a fist down. "There shall be order in this council!"

"Forgive me, my lord," 'Alsuda said, taking a seat.

"The humans are unpredictable," 'Ornala said, "and they have proven this many times in the past. But one must ask themselves, what of the dignitary the humans have sent? Have we not seen a demonstration of their commitment to this proposed allegiance? One must also ask, to what length would one go to prevent such a pact from being forged?"

Councilor 'Alsuda shot to his feet. "Does the judge accuse me of abetting the prophets?"

"By no means, councilor. Our stance regarding the humans, with the guidance of the prophets, has remained unchanged for the last three cycles. That some still hold this belief is to be expected, given this sudden turn of events. But now that you mention it, why would you be so adament in your defense when no charge has been leveled?"

"I played no role in the human's abduction," 'Alsuda said. "Though I do not support this unholy alliance, I do not believe it is the right of any to silence those who oppose them. It is not proper for a... dignitary to be kept in hiding. Let us bring the human here. Let him testify as to who is responsible, that he might clear my name. I have nothing to hide."

"Very well," 'Ornala said after a short pause. "If it is the will of the Council, I shall summon the human at once."

'Daulanee looked at 'Alsuda, standing with clenched fists and seething with anger. That such hostility from some still existed towards the humans came as no surprise. But still, he found himself uneasy over the exchange that had just taken place. 'Ornala had drawn him into it intentionally, and the veiled accusation that 'Alsuda had been behind the human's abduction was a groundless charge that created division for no good reason. Why would the judge do such a thing?

Because he is silencing opposition to the alliance, 'Daulanee realized. The judge had lain out a blanket accusation, and any who dared to speak out could come into suspicion from fellow members of the Council of sabotaging the negotiations. But the human alone knew who was responsible for his own abduction, and if he spoke before the council, such accusations could be dispelled immediately and future threats would be meaningless. Unless...

Unless the human never had a chance to testify.

There was some dark plan in the workings. The human was still in danger, and sending an anonymous sentry or guard with unknown political connections to retrieve the human could have disasterous results. At last 'Daulanee stood, knowing what had to be done.

"I shall go," he said.

"Very well, Councilor," 'Ornala immediately said. "But return with haste."

'Alsuda glared at 'Daulanee as he descended the stairs and made for the exit. The poor fool, 'Daulanee thought, does not even realize that I have done him a favor.

The honor guards before the main entrance to the Council Chambers stepped aside to allow his passage, and the door slid open with a soft chime. Heated debate ignited once more as 'Daulanee left the room, but the moment the door closed behind him, a more disturbing idea occured to him. Could the Judge himself wish to see the human silenced? If the sergeant were to be assasinated before he could testify, the truth behind the abduction would die with him. But the accusation, baseless as it was, would appear more legitimate to the rest of the Council.

'Daulanee shook himself. What nonsense was this? The Judge clearly sought allegiance with the humans, so why would he assassinate the 'dignitary' they had sent to represent them? Why kill the ambassador of a people with whom one sought alliance? Councilor 'Ornala had to be more reasonable than that.

But then, what was it that the human had said about weak allies?

The councilor shook his head. He could not know for certain what the Judge intended to do, and he was most certainly being shadowed. The Council would expect him to return with the human, but if the intent was to kill the human, 'Daulanee could very well be leading the assassin to his intended target.

Fighting the urge to look over his shoulder, the councilor forced himself to move forward. From experience, he knew paranoia to be as dangerous as any foe, but it was not easily shaken. But given the stakes, he could not afford to be kept in the dark any longer. As a member of the High Council, he had to trust that the Judge's intentions were sincere until solidly contradicted. He had been assigned to bring the human directly to the Council, and to do anything else would be treasonous. He would find the human. He would force it to admit what it knew, and convey that information to the Council as quickly as possible. With luck, this madness would end without further bloodshed, but only time could tell.

Ahead, a female moved a tray of medical implements quickly down the hall. Looking down, 'Daulanee realized that Sangheili blood stained the polished floor. Quickening his pace, he saw as a door automatically closed behind the nurse, who had been delivering supplies to a portion of the Hall now dedicated to treating wounded from the fighting in Hyllas. A doctor in white armor approached the door, and 'Daulanee stopped him.

"My lord," the doctor said.

"There was a warrior injured by a Kig-Yar sniper not ten units ago," 'Daulanee said. "Special Operations Leader Motak 'Harlamee."

"Commander 'Harlamee, my lord? He is here."

"How bad was his wound?"

"He was struck in the neck. It is only by the gods' protection that the shot missed his spine, but it burned his throat as it passed through. He may yet die, but his will to live is strong. There is nothing more I can do."

"Let me see him."

The doctor bowed, stepping to the side of the door and using his medical clearance to grant his passage. Aya 'Daulanee caught sight of the young Special Operations leader as the door opened, and a wave of sadness washed over him.

Motak 'Harlamee lay on a table, stripped of his armor and hooked to various machines. His head had been bandaged a great deal, his eyes shielded from the light. 'Daulanee walked to the side of the operation table, placing a hand on the warrior's shoulder. If 'Harlamee was conscious, he could not reply. 'Daulanee spoke a short prayer and took a step back, trying despite the bandages to assess how badly the warrior had been wounded.

"Let me see him," someone said beyond the door, "I must see him!"

"There are many wounded," the doctor replied, "I cannot grant you that permission-"

"Let her through," 'Daulanee barked.

The door opened behind him. He turned to see a female standing in the hall beside the indignant doctor, who bowed to the councilor and hastily walked to a recovery table at the far end of the room. 'Daulanee stepped aside as 'Harlamee's mate walked to the warrior's side, grasping his hand.

As she knelt by the bedside to speak to him, the Councilor turned his back to give them a moment of privacy, surveying the other wounded in the room. Knowing their deaths were inevitable, the Jiralhanae had cut a bloody swath of destruction through the city, killing as many civilians as they could. Wounded elites now crowded every medical facility the city had to offer, and several ships had even been brought to port to lend their medical bays in the effort. Those who rested here were mostly honor guards and trained warriors who had fallen protecting the Hall of the Council itself.

"How severely was he wounded?" 'Harlamee's mate asked.

"He has a long road ahead of him," the Councilor replied, "but he has a strong heart. I believe he shall live."

Bringing her emotions under control, she gently lay his hand beside him and stood to face 'Daulanee. Upon recognizing his rank, she looked away in shame.

"Forgive my outburst, Councilor," she said. "I did not know."

"Please, do not address me as though I were your master," 'Daulanee smiled thinly. "It has been many years since we have spoken, but I have known your family for far too long to let the formality of rank come between us."

"My lord," she said in surprise, "have we..." Her eyes widened in recognition. "Aya 'Daulanee? Is that you?"

"Hylya 'Sulam," he said. "Yes. It is I."

"I must admit my surprise, even in one so ambitious as you," she bowed. "I was impressed when you graduated the Academy of Masters and were granted immediate command of a ship. But now, not three cycles later, you return as a member of the Council itself."

Speaking of ambition, 'Daulanee thought ironically. There were three tiers in the Sangheili caste system, and over the course of her life, Hylya 'Sulam had risen through them all. In Sangheili society, those males who were deemed unfit for the Inquisitor Academies by blood or ability were relegated to the Labor class. It was into this caste that she had been born, working alongside the unggoy at a small family fishery for much of her early life.

As she matured, she had refused to submit to living on the lowest rung of society. Overcoming much resistance, she at last began to accompany her father to the city markets, where she quickly learned the ways of the Warrior class to which they catered. She was entranced by the daily maneuvers and ceremonies she witnessed in the city, and began associating with anyone with ties to the Academy or the Council. A shrewd, intelligent social climber with great aspirations, she began work in the city as a courier, steadily moving from position to higher position within the outlying bureaucracy of the Academy and eventually earning an administrative title working for the Council itself. Hylya advanced as far as any female could hope to go in Sangheili society, and when the son of High Councilor Soha 'Rolamee at last proposed to her, none of her associates thought there was anything unusual about it.

Being associated with 'Rolamee's family through his mate, Aya 'Daulanee knew that the surrounding circumstances had been largely political. Motak 'Harlamee had been about to go to war, and Councilor 'Rolamee would not let his only son face death without leaving an heir. Such arrangements were not uncommon, especially among high society. But seeing the way that Hylya now behaved toward her mate, 'Daulanee realized that their bond had come to mean more than that.

"You spoke of me with him," Hylya said.

'Daulanee's eyes widened in surprise. "How did you know?"

"You addressed me as Hylya 'Sulam. You knew that I am not a mother. Only he could have told you this."

"Yes. We spoke of it."

"You know my concern."

"I do," 'Daulanee said softly. "Fear not. He has seen the end of this war."

Hylya was visibly relieved, but still shook her head. "None of us have seen the end of this war. I must know, Aya... I have heard dreadful rumors of what happened on High Charity. Your mate... did she?"

'Daulanee lowered his eyes.

"I am sorry, Councilor."

He looked back at the fallen warrior on the table. "I have lost that which was most important to me. Your mate has forgiven me for what happened to his sister, though I myself have not. I know that you were close to her. I did not wish to bring you more pain than you have already been dealt."

She lowered her head, placing a hand on 'Harlamee's chest. "It is not easy, being separated for years at a time," she said. "Wondering every day if he still lives... that a warrior may fall in combat is a burden that all bonded females must learn to live with, and we must come to terms with it in our own ways. But what the prophets have done to your family is a crime."

"My loss does not make this tragedy any less," 'Daulanee said, desperate to change the subject.

"Do they know who did this to him? Did they catch the one responsible?"

'Daulanee faced 'Harlamee again and sighed, but he then noticed something that made his blood run cold.

The beam that struck the warrior had come from behind.

The Councilor looked around at the other wounded in the room. They had all fought in the streets before the Hall of the Council, repelling the attack that the Jiralhanae had staged to divert attention from the fleeing prophets. But the Arbiter said that 'Harlamee had led the pursuit of their convoy, meaning he was not present at the Hall when it was attacked. How would he have ended up here, unless he was wounded outside the Hall of the Council?

"Aya... what is wrong?"

The Councilor drew a deep breath. "A crime, indeed," he said. Too many lies surrounded 'Harlamee's injury. There was more at play than he had first realized.

The young warrior could not be safe here.

"Doctor," 'Daulanee called across the room, "if I might have a moment of your time."

The white-armored elite promptly returned, studiously ignoring 'Harlamee's mate.

The Councilor nodded towards the row of tables along the wall, speaking in a hushed tone. "What would you say is the level of care that can be provided here as opposed to, say, the medical bay of a Divinity-class assault carrier?"

"Well," the doctor said, "fair, my lord. The Great Hall was never meant to be a hospital, and I find many facilities to be severely lacking."

"And out of those you are treating here, in your professional opinion as a practitioner of medicine, how many would you reasonably say are in need of the kind of care I have described?"

The doctor hesitated briefly before speaking. "Including this warrior before us... there are four honor guards and a Major Inquisitor who remain at serious risk."

Hylya stiffened, and 'Daulanee cast her a reassuring glance before speaking again. "The assault carrier Pious Inquisitor has docked for refit. If I were to provide transportation, would you recommend that these warriors be transferred there?"

"Ah... I believe such accommodations would do nicely," the doctor said. "The Councilor is most kind."

"Then prepare them to be moved," 'Daulanee said. "I shall summon a phantom at once."

The doctor bowed and left.

"Aya," Hylya said, "what is going on?"

"Forgive me," 'Daulanee said quietly, "but as long as he remains in the city, your mate is still in danger. I must move him to a place where people I trust may keep watch of him until I know what is going on. He knows something that he was nearly killed for. And I would die before I would permit these assassins to finish the job."

"Then I shall stay with him," Hylya said.

"I must warn you," the Councilor continued, "I fear that I shall soon lead my fleet into combat against the prophets. I go where I would not have you follow, and you would not be able to return to Tterrab."

Her face hardened with resolve. "Then you would have to force me to stay."

'Daulanee nodded. Though it was certainly within the power his title afforded him, he would not separate them against her will. "So be it. I shall make the arrangements."

"And what about you?"

"I have business with the Council."

# # # # # # #

"Sergeant," the Mirratord First said, "if you have reason to believe that Councilor 'Daulanee is in danger, you must tell me why."

"Where do I start," Haskins muttered. "You said that 'Harlamee was badly wounded by a sniper. 'Harlamee is a special operations commander. An Ultra."

"Any warrior can be taken by surprise."

"But an Ultra's shielding is capable of taking three or four direct hits to the head from a beam rifle before it goes down. He was only shot once. That means his shielding was off, which means he wasn't in combat at the time. He wasn't sniped by a jackal. It was a hit. I know how this game is played."

The Mirratord First processed this, shaking his head in disbelief. "Why would someone do this?"

"Because 'Harlamee knew who had really abducted me. Because he overheard what Councilor 'Ornala plans to do."

"Judge 'Ornala?"

Haskins continued hobbling down the hall. "He intends to stop the prophets from activating Halo, literally at any cost."

"What is in the brig?"

"I figured after I gave testimony before the Council the first time that I was going to be assassinated in my cell," Haskins said. "One of the memory cards I brought with me had the recording of High Charity on it, but the other was blank. So I left my PVU recording in the brig on a one-hour timer, that way it would be possible for 'Daulanee to figure out what happened to me. I didn't figure Councilor 'Ornala would pay me a visit."

"You intend to use your video to blackmail the Supreme Judge of the High Council?" 'Silnumee huffed. "Human, I believe you are perceptive enough to realize that the elites held the prophets in suspicion for some time before open war was brought to us. Your recording of High Charity was seen as legitimate because it supported what my people had already feared. But if you believe that you can convince the Council that the Supreme Judge himself is guilty of wrongdoing, I fear you are sadly mistaken."

"Who said anything about blackmailing the judge?" Haskins said.

"What does 'Ornala plan to do?"

"He plans to destroy the Ark so the prophets can't activate it."

'Silnumee stopped dead in his tracks. Rain rattled against the glass windows of the room, overlooking the mist-shrouded courtyard beyond.

"His support of the alliance is false," the Mirratord First said.

"He'll organize a fleet to go to Earth in the name of an alliance, but as soon as he gets there, he'll glass it. If 'Daulanee finds out, he'll try to stop him. And if he tries to stop him, he'll be killed too."

"You truly intend to stand against the Supreme Judge of the High Council," he said. "Do you know what it is you are about to do?"

"I don't care what happens to me," Haskins said. "Everything I cared about was on Coral. The rest... will be lost if I don't accomplish what I came here to do. But you still have something to live for. A family. A home. You are putting your life on the line by helping me. If you don't want a part in this... no hard feelings, no questions asked. But I can't stand by and let him do this. I won't."

The Mirratord First's silence was unexpected. Warily, the sergeant began to turn to face him when he was roughly shoved forward and slid face-first across the floor and towards a corner. Plasma washed across the wall overhead and he instinctively reached for his holster, but the plasma pistol was missing. Groaning as he thoughtlessly bent his braced leg, he grabbed at his reserve holster on his ankle only to remember that the M6B that he kept there had been confiscated. He looked up to see 'Silnumee tustling with a black-armored elite firing a plasma rifle. Liquid fire melted holes in the ceiling before 'Silnumee broke the attacker's grasp on the weapon and it skidded across the polished floor. The attacker, taller than 'Silnumee, backed up a few steps and activated two single-bladed energy sceptres. Haskins then saw that he bore a single black spike in the center of his helmet.

The assassin was a Mirratord First.

"Stand aside, brother," the attacker said.

Aro 'Silnumee activated his own swords and stood ready.

"So be it."

Instantly the two warriors began parrying blows at lightning speed, glaring white blades whirling through the air, letting off sparks and flashes of light where they collided. The Mirratord positioned themselves masterfully, seeking to exploit the slightest flaw in their opponent's defenses. Both represented the most well-trained fighters in their entire race, each capable of killing the other in an instant. For either, the slightest error would prove fatal. 'Silnumee attempted to keep his back to Haskins, but the attacking First kept trying to maneuver around 'Silnumee to deliver a quick killing stroke to his primary target.

Haskins pulled himself along the floor with his good arm towards the discarded plasma rifle, but the attacker snuck a foot in and kicked it away, a white blade slashing down close to the back of the sergeant's neck. Rolling to the side as heavy hooves crashed down all around him, the two elites were now between Haskins and the gun.

Mirratord First Aro 'Silnumee stood firm as the master fighter continued to deliver blow after strategic blow. For the first time out of many duels, the power and strength of his adversary rivaled his own, and his prowness was everything that could be expected of a warrior of his caliber. He actually had difficulty countering the attacks. Every time 'Silnumee tried to stab forward, the attacker would whip a blade through the center in efforts to slice his arm off. He could feel the static where the attacker's blades passed through his energy shield, and see where his blades did the same. But against weapons that could pass through such shielding as if it were nothing, skill and quick reaction was the only defense. He had yet to cause injury, but the swords were quickly draining of energy, and if the fight continued for long, one of them would find themselves at a horrific disadvantage.

Aro quickly tried to cut the First's head off with a high swing, but his opponent ducked and countered with an upward thrust that jammed a sword into his ribs. Aro leapt back, purple blood streaming profusely down his chest. Not a fatal sting, but it would impede him nonetheless. His opponent reversed his swords in his hands so they conformed along his forearms towards his elbows instead of extending outwards and stood ready in a defensive stance. The attacking First's swords were beginning to drain, and fighting in this style would let them last longer. Aro did the same with his swords and stood ready.

Haskins watched for a moment, frozen. The elites instantly began fighting in the new backhanded style, where slashing at the opponent rather than stabbing was more effective. They did so even more rapidly than before, single blades grazing across each other with streams of sparks washing off of them. Purple blood was beginning to appear on the floor, from whom the sergeant could not be sure, but now the path to the gun was clear. He threw himself across the floor and grabbed it, aiming at the two Mirratord, but in the chaos it was impossible to tell who was who.

'Silnumee reversed one of his swords again, spearing his opponent through an arm and nearly striking him in the heart, but the First brought up his other sword from behind his skewered arm and directed the blow high into his chest, piercing his upper-left lung instead. As 'Silnumee withdrew the sword, its overtaxed energy cell gave up and the blade disappeared with a flash. 'Silnumee smashed the hilt of the depleted sword across the attacker's face with incredible force, but the First reacted as if he hadn't even noticed the blow. Blood pouring from his arm, chest, and face, the First marched forward with machinelike determination and raised his swords.

Aro blocked a single blow before plasma splashed against the First's shields. The plasma only slightly drained the attacker's shields, but the shields flared bright around the surprised attacker who, temporarily blinded, whipped around in a reflexive defense maneuver as 'Silnumee lunged forward with his good blade in his left hand. The attacker parried the blow from the sword, but was struck hard in the back of the head by the hilt of the depleted sword and stumbled forward towards the wall.

Haskins continued to fire in bursts, but the plasma rifle clearly wasn't going to put a dent in the Mirratord's defenses. With the weapon's poor shot placement, he had struck 'Silnumee twice already, and he could see that their shields were regenerating as soon as they stopped taking damage - cyclical armor, just like the Sharquoi. He would need something else.

The attacker turned back to 'Silnumee, raising his two swords against his opponent's one and casting a cold look at the human on the floor. 'Silnumee knew his remaining sword was quickly draining of its energy, but in backhand fighting style he would be sacrificing reach and lessening the likelihood of delivering a killing stroke. He stood ready as his opponent warily circled him, twin blades glowing in his hands. The attacker spat dark blood on the floor and lunged forward. 'Silnumee blocked both swords with his one - a costly maneuver - and landed a blow to the ribs with the rock-solid fist provided by the depleted hilt. The attacker lashed out with one of his blades, slashing it towards 'Silnumee's throat. Aro felt heat and a horrible numbness as the blade passed through his collarbone effortlessly, and purple blood splayed across his enemy's armor, but the sword in his opponent's left hand winked out.

A six-inch ball of green plasma smacked into the First's shielding, draining it completely, and three bolts of blue plasma from the plasma rifle struck home before the armor regenerated. The attacker roared in pain and fury from the new wounds on his side as Haskins dropped the overheating plasma pistol and screamed, the weapon having burned straight through the leather glove on his hand. 'Silnumee took advantage of the distraction, pushing forward mercilessly and driving his opponent back towards the wall. His adversary drew a third sword which he kept in reserve and activated the fresh blade as he struck the wall, swinging both blades in attempts to decapitate 'Silnumee, but he ducked both blades, whirling the single blade about and stabbing it straight into his opponent's heart.

The attacker's eyes grew wide. His swords dropped out of his hands and vanished in plumes of light, scoring the floor. He leaned back against the wall and slowly slid down, falling on his side. His mouth fell open, and his hand finally fell off of the fatal wound, dying without uttering a word. Aro 'Silnumee let his sword deactivate as he stood over the body.

"Forgive me, brother."

The Mirratord First grimaced, pressing a hand against the wound to his ribs. A shallow cut bled on his neck where his opponent's final strike had nearly cut his throat. 'Silnumee took a deep breath and jolted his collarbone back in place, cringing at the sound. Exhausted, he leaned against the wall next to his fallen adversary, looking to the sergeant who clutched his smoking hand, now sporting a third-degree burn.

Haskins sucked in a breath, gingerly peeling the glove off of his hand in strips. He stopped doing so as he saw flesh come up with it, but already his entire forearm had gone numb. Later on it was certain to hurt like nothing he had ever felt before. Tearing his eyes away from the burn, the sergeant couldn't help but take note of how much blood was on 'Silnumee's chest. Dammit, he thought, I didn't want something to happen to you because of me!

"Are you OK?" he asked.

'Silnumee took his hand away from the stab wound on his ribs. Purple blood continued to leak down his chest. It was deep, but had not struck anything essential. "I will live," he replied. He glanced down at the body and a pang of sympathy struck him. "That was Veli 'Uhcasee," he said. "I never would have thought that I would one day turn my blade against my former master."

"It was self-defense," Haskins said. "He attacked you."

"The Council ordered him to kill you, human. I merely stood in his way."

"Are there more where he came from?"

"Yes," 'Silnumee said. "Four Firsts, five Seconds... and thirty-three Mirratord warriors."

"But if the Council as a whole wanted me dead, they wouldn't need to be covert about it."

"No... unless the attack was ordered by a single councilor. And the only councilors with the authority to give orders to the Mirratord without consent of the Assembly are the Judges."

"So the plan was to kill me, and place blame on councilors that oppose an alliance," Haskins said. "It would have driven the opposition into silence for fear of being accused of my murder. Unopposed, the fleet gets assembled under 'Ornala's supervision, they move to Earth..."

"It will not be long before the Judge learns that you still live," 'Silnumee concluded.

"Then we'd best get moving while we still can."

# # # # # # #

The communicator chimed, bringing a sudden end to an enthused conversation. After a moment, SpecOps Commander Zuka 'Zamamee grudgingly left his family to answer it in the next room. He had been telling them stories of his feats in battle, rings and demons; tales that his children seemed most eager to hear. He had known from the time the Pious Inquistor docked that his leave on Tterrab would be very brief, but not this soon. Secretly hoping for a reprieve, he looked at the origin of the call before answering it.

It had come from the Hall of the Council.

'Zamamee picked up the communicator, sitting to look into the holographic display as it made the connection. "Lord 'Ornala," he said.

"Half-Jaw," the reply came.

The SpecOps leader leaned forward in exasperation as the human sergeant appeared on the monitor with the Mirratord First standing in the background.

"Human?" 'Zamamee said, lowering his voice and glancing at his family in the other room. "I thought you were dead!"

# # # # # # #

"Really, now," Haskins said. "I guess you have been following current events."

He glanced over his shoulder at 'Silnumee, who nodded to him and kept watch of the door as the sergeant sat at the console.

The hologram of 'Zamamee shook for a moment and stabilized. "If you believe that I was behind it..."

"Of course not," the sergeant interrupted. "You don't have any authority over the Mirratord, any more than you had authority over Veli 'Calasee as soon as he took control of the mutineers from you. But if we were talking about Commander 'Harlamee, on the other hand..."

"I did not wish for that to happen. As soon as I learned of the Judge's intent, I sought to warn him, but by then it was too late."

"You see, I have a hard time believing that," Haskins said. "Look. We don't have the best of history between us. Since we've met, you've sent an assassin to kill me, initiated a mutiny which led to the deaths of hundreds of elites on the Pious Inquisitor, and finally abducted me on Tterrab, sparking the small war we saw yesterday. Of course it got out of hand - I'm sure you didn't anticipate that the brutes would actually begin glassing Tterrab, but that's besides the point. They did, and you're part of the reason it happened."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"Let me get straight to the point," the sergeant continued. "You agreed with 'Ornala that the only way to stop the prophets from activating Halo is by destroying the Ark, by which you mean glassing Earth and killing billions of people. But Councilor 'Daulanee is now looking for the one who was responsible for my abduction. I had an opportunity to rat you out, but I didn't. If you're unwilling to cooperate, though, I might have a change of heart."

'Zamamee looked over his shoulder at his mate and children in the next room.

"They'll never see you again," Haskins added.

The commander scowled, leaning closer to the display and lowering his voice.

"What do you want, human?"

"'Ornala is organizing a fleet to go to Earth under the guise of an alliance, but once he gets there, he is going to try to glass Earth, and kill 'Daulanee if he gets in the way. That means that for the time being 'Ornala will suspect any of 'Daulanee's people, but you can get close to him. You are going to open the gates of Troy."

# # # # # # #

Aya 'Daulanee's communicator chimed. Looking at it, a video of poor quality appeared on the small holographic display. He saw the human sergeant seated in a cell in what appeared to be an otherwise empty room. The door opened, and Councilor Milo 'Ornala approached to speak with the human.

"I wished to congratulate you for your performance before the Council," 'Ornala said. "I had doubts that you would survive the experience."

# # # # # # #

Zuka 'Zamamee sighed. "You realize what it is you are asking me to do?"

"What I do know is that 'Ornala is willing to sacrifice fifteen billion lives, based on the assumption that the elites are too weak to defeat the prophets. Do the right thing, leader. For once in your life, do the right thing."

Haskins terminated the connection, pushing himself away from the console. Wincing as he stood with the leg cast's support, he and 'Silnumee quickly left the room.

The board had been set. The game was ready to begin.

Author's Note: So I realized about a third of the way through this that the whole 'shorter chapters more often' thing quickly fell apart. I rushed to publish the last chapter, and I've since come to regret it. Sorry about the delay, but I hope this update was worth it. I'll try to finish the next one as soon as possible. On a final note, I have received several requests for an update on the Chief's status. You'll get it, believe me: it's just not that important at this stage of the story.