Charmayne was not having a good week, and it was all due to one man. Alfred Montbank had, in the space of just a few days, singlehandedly done more to annoy her than anyone else she'd ever met. He had somehow managed to make the dragon-snakes threaten a war of extinction against their entire race (something about revenge, a dragon, and a mountain. Their illusory ambassador had been a bit vague in its rants. Not that it was that much of a threat, as its race consisted of beasts going up against Sartan, but guess who got to clean up that mess?), given the mensch access to Sartan law books, incited those same mensch to further rebellion, and then physically knocked her to the floor of those Patryns' ship before banging her around like a child's ball. And, worst of all, he'd made her fail in two missions that had been personally assigned to her by Samah himself.

The Head of the Council of Seven did not forgive failures easily. Charmayne could almost see her chances of promotion from servitor to Councillor plummeting.

Her first failure had taken place just a couple of days ago when she had gone to remind the mensch that they had agreed to obey the Sartans' laws… only to be told that all changes in their existing legal code had to go through their Sartan advisor. The infernal children had cited the law of her people chapter and verse, using the exact same legal language it had been written in.

Charmayne had pointed out that they didn't have a Sartan advisor yet, that one would be appointed for them by the Council. The mensch had just grinned and informed her that no, that wouldn't be necessary, they already had an advisor. Then one of their legal experts had cited the duties of a Sartan advisor as they appeared in the law: provide advice (obviously), provide explanations for the Sartans' actions regarding the other races, attend state functions, and plead the case of the mensch before the Council of Seven. He also had to be 'above racial conflict.' Whether by intent or by accident (Charmayne suspected the latter), Alfred Montbank had fulfilled all those requirements. Therefore, the wickedly grinning mensch had told her, the Sartan had to go through him. After all, we did agree to follow your laws.

That was when one of the nobles present, a minor human politician, had had to flee the room. He was not quite out of earshot when he broke. His laughter had echoed through the halls.

Charmayne had been decidedly less amused.

In a clipped, cold voice, she had informed the mensch that their so-called advisor was a bumbling idiot whom the Council wouldn't trust with a goldfish, much less their welfare. Unfortunately for her, the children knew every last clause and sub-clause of the laws pertaining to advisors. They informed her (with really much too much sadistic pleasure) that insulting the Sartan advisor of a mensch ruler, much less the Sartan advisor to all three mensch rulers, was punishable by jail time.

She had spent the night soaking wet in a submarine-turned-cell that held some of the elves' least harmful prisoners.

When Ramu finally rescued her (rescued her! Rescued a Sartan from mensch!), she had gone straight to the law books and read through everything about advisors and mensch she could find. Sadly, the children were right: Alfred Montbank had carried out all the duties of a Sartan advisor, albeit in a very unusual way. He'd only attended one state function, a funeral, but that was enough to qualify him. He didn't need the Council's approval (and hadn't that nearly sent her into paroxysms when she'd read it. Why in the name of the Sundering didn't Sartan advisors need the approval of the Council?), just to fulfill his duties and to be named advisor by the mensch. Which was exactly what had happened, though Charmayne couldn't help but wonder if Montbank even knew of his new position.

Fortunately, there was a loophole. If the man was declared a traitor by the unanimous vote of the Council of Seven, he was disqualified from holding any position of authority, including that of mensch advisor. The Council had called an emergency meeting and condemned him in less than five minutes, a new record. Charmayne had gone back to the mensch and smugly told them that they had a new advisor now—only to be reminded that, under Sartan law, the accused had to be present if his trial was to be considered valid.

That time, more than one nobleman had laughed at the look on her face. They'd tried to flee, but she had heard them laugh. Oh, yes, she had heard them.

And that, of course, resulted in her disastrous mission to Arianus, wherein she'd been tossed around like an abused toy and had failed once again. She'd never been so humiliated in all her life!

And it was all Montbank's fault.

Ramu had suggested waiting a few hours, letting them land, then attempting to kidnap the traitor again. Not wanting to go back and face Samah without their prey, the other Sartan had agreed—only to discover that something was blocking their magic. Perhaps the Patryn man wasn't on Arianus anymore? It was the only thing that made sense.

So they'd gone to Pryan, to Abarrach, even to Chelestra and tried again. Once more, they'd had no results. The Patryn man might not have existed. Obviously he and his comrades had fled back to the Nexus. Into the Patryn-infested Nexus that was probably bristling with booby traps.

No, they could not pursue them there. They had to return home in disgrace, outwitted by a buffoon and a pair of Patryns.

Charmayne was not looking forward to delivering her report.

Sure enough, Samah's visage grew steadily darker as she told the tale. She really should have made Ramu do this. Anything would be better than reliving her humiliation in front of the man she respected above all others.

"Perhaps we could change the law itself?" she suggested, desperate to make up for her embarrassment. "Or another approach, remind them that this is our land and that they should treat us with more respect. Skilled seafarers or not, they can't survive in their ships forever."

Samah raised his arm, ordered her to be silent. Flushing, she obeyed his unspoken demand. The Councillor growled, "I propose a recess so that we might think on our response to this… situation."

For the first time, Charmayne understood Montbank's unhealthy fascination with fainting. Even unconsciousness and a bruise on the back of her head would be better than standing around quailing under Samah's disapproval.

"You could have helped me," she growled at Ramu several minutes later as they sat in one of the discussion rooms.

The other servitor had grace enough to look embarrassed but not enough grace to apologize. "I was attempting to think of ways to rectify this situation. If the Patryns brought the traitor back to the Nexus, it would be suicide to take him directly. We cannot lie to the mensch, say that Montbank was present at his trial, and even if we could we would be so inexperienced at deceit that the children would see right through it. However, any attempt to change our own laws—at least before we've appointed a suitable advisor for each of the mensch—would make us look incompetent, foolish." He scowled. Clearly changing the law was not an option. "What we need to do is find some way of luring the idiot away from his Patryn 'friends.'"

"We don't know his name," Charmayne pointed out. "If we did that, we couldn't transport him in and out."

Ramu winced. "Yes," he admitted. "That is where all my plans start to fall apart. Not to mention how difficult it would be to even make him aware of the bait. We have no lines of communication to the Nexus, no way of hooking him."

"Perhaps our brethren from the other worlds will have some ideas," Charmayne sighed. "A brother or sister from Arianus, for example." She scowled. "I refuse to believe the traitor's stories about mass death and necromancy."

Death. Charmayne fell silent. Her heart paused for a moment before leaping into double time. Blood surged through her body, pounded in her ears.

Montbank could not serve as an advisor if he were dead.

Horrified at herself, the Sartan woman gave her head a violent shake. No! Corrupt or not, traitor or not, Montbank was still a Sartan. Since the beginning of time, no Sartan had ever murdered another. No Sartan had ever arranged another's death. So what if that was a neat solution to all their problems, so much easier than taking him alive?

Deep shudders wracked the woman's frame. She felt sick to her stomach, wondered if she should send Ramu for some kind of repository in case she had to throw up.

Montbank had made her consider an abomination. He had infected her with his corruption, twisted the center of her being. Even when he wasn't present, he was a blight on his own people, a force of destruction and decay.

He had to be stopped, Charmayne realized. For the first time she understood that the strange, different man with his mensch name and tattered coat had his own brand of power. Not a good kind of power, not the wholesome song of magic. Something else, something different. Something insidious, a creeping-crawling thing that crept into one's mind and waited for a moment of weakness.

Alfred Montbank, with his clear eyes that saw and disquieting assurance, had the ability to change people.

And not, Charmayne thought, for the better.

"Sister? Sister?" Ramu's voice, concerned.

"He must be stopped," she rasped. Her trembling hadn't abated, hadn't even slowed. "Do you hear me, Ramu? The traitor must be stopped before he destroys us all."

"I have to warn you," Jarre said, voice filled with quiet pain, "he's changed."

"Changed?" Haplo queried.

The dwarf sighed as they entered another tunnel. The Sartan and Patryns had to duck to get past the threshold, and Alfred still hit his head, but Bane and Jarre could stay upright. The dwarf woman kept her gaze on the tunnel, away from her guests. "I mean that he's changed. He's a lot more focused now, but he's not Limbeck anymore." Her shoulders slumped, making her skinny as a human child. Then she forced herself to stand up straight. A smile plastered itself onto her face, even though the others, who were following her to Limbeck's headquarters, couldn't see it. Even though it wasn't genuine at all. "A more efficient leader, though, so that's good for WUPP." She shrugged, embarrassed by confiding in them. "Oh, and he has glasses now."

"Good for Limbeck," Haplo said. Something twisted in his gut. The dragon-snakes couldn't possibly be influencing Limbeck, could they? If they had set their sights on the curious, passionate, patriotic dwarf, he didn't know what he'd do.

It would be bloody, though.

"Will he call together the rest of your people, though?" Marit demanded.

Jarre didn't hesitate. "Yes. Gladly. Our people might not worship the We—the elves—anymore, but we still have a lot of respect for the Mangers." She twisted her head, gazed at Alfred sidewise. The Sartan, red-faced, tripped over his own feet, fell sprawling across the floor.

"You shouldn't," Marit muttered.

"In fact," Jarre continued, "Limbeck says that even the W—the elves respect the Mangers. The Sartan. I wonder what would happen if a Manger asked hem nicely to quit warring against us."

Alfred gave a low moan. He curled up ever so slightly, face hidden against the floor.

"If the Kicksey-Winsey starts working, they won't need to fight you," Haplo pointed out. He squatted down beside Alfred, offered the Sartan a hand. "The machine's purpose is to bring water to the Mid Realms. They're fighting you for water."

Alfred lifted his head. "And control," he said quietly. "Once people think you're a god, it's very disheartening to see them become learn the truth. Gods-on-earth dislike being reminded that we're mortals just like everyone else." He sighed heavily, breath rattling in his throat. "Respect, power, control—it's hard to give such things up once you're accustomed to them."

"Is that why—sorry, sorry." Jarre flushed. "I shouldn't have asked."

"I think it is," Alfred sighed.

Marit frowned. She wasn't certain how much she liked the Sartan's lingering influence. On the one hand, it would make the completion of this task that much easier. On the other, there were other Sartan on the other worlds. They could easily come from Abarrach and Chelestra to reclaim their old dominion. Actually, on second, thought, she did know how much she liked their power: not at all.

Alfred accepted Haplo's help. The Patryn hauled him to his feet, raised an eyebrow in question. Something passed between them, a silent question. Marit's hackles raised, though she kept the scowl from her face.

"Jarre. There are…. During my travels, I encountered creatures called dragon-snakes." The cords in Haplo's neck bulged with tightly controlled anger. Alfred, much to Marit's horror, laid a comforting hand on the Patryn's shoulder. Neither man seemed to notice. Haplo continued, "I think that they might have something to do with Limbeck's changes. How long ago did they start?"

"Since he got back from the High Realms."

Haplo relaxed. He noticed Alfred's hand for the first time, raised an eyebrow. The flushing Sartan mumbled an apology, backed away.

"It's been sometimes slow, sometimes fast, but that's when it started."

"Then the dragon-snakes couldn't have done it," Haplo assured her.

"And if they had," Marit growled, "we wouldn't have had to worry about it. They are our allies, Haplo."

"They tried to murder me and three children."

Jarre gasped.

"I've told you, Mar-Marjorie," he corrected himself, hating the false name that passed his lips, "what they said. 'Chaos is our life's blood. Death our meat and drink.' I saw them grow larger, sleeker, fatter, as they fed off of discord and hate. They are evil, just as bad as anything in the Labyrinth." Passion burned in his eyes, in his low, quiet voice. He believed his words with his whole heart, and the force of that belief was almost enough to sway Marit.

Almost.

"Our lord—the man who saved both our lives—says otherwise."

"He hasn't seen them in their element. If he'd watched them around pain and suffering, if he'd seen how they gloated when Alake died in my arms, if he'd heard about the massacres they'd created among the mensch for no reason, then he'd know what they really are."

"What are they?" Jarre demanded, her voice high and frightened.

Haplo opened his mouth, ready to give his answer, but Alfred beat him to it. "They are Evil," he said quietly, sadly, just as confident as Haplo. "And we—all of us—created them."

I feel a bit bad for Charmayne. Sure, she's a snob, but Alfred is kind of ruining her life. Not that he means to (as she suspects, he has no idea whatsoever that he's now an ambassador, poor thing), but he still kind of is. On that note, this chapter disagrees with an AN from a couple chapters ago, wherein I stated that the Sartan just wanted to interrogate Alfred. As this is so much more amusing, I changed my mind. This is now fanon! You don't mind, do you?

-Antares