CHAPTER II

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She held her breath as the grappling hook sailed through the air, it's prongs catching hold of prince Klide Rhoannafar's window with a muffled ding. Giving the attached rope a few experimental tugs, she hoisted her slim frame against the dormatory's wall and began to climb.

     Klide's heart raced. Shades! Something was out there! Leaning closer to the wall, he risked a quick peek around the window's stone frame.

     A small metal object clung to the outside window seal, holding itself in place with four out-facing prongs.

     A grappling hook?

     The device quivered; if it was a grappling hook, something was using it to scale the wall just outside the prince's window. For a moment, Klide fought the impluse to punch through the glass, shove his dagger blade under the prongs and send this potential assailant plummeting twenty feet to the earth below. But if this was a real threat--an assasin, hired by some enemy to his father's kingdom perhaps--that action would only trigger a counter reaction, which might end the prince's life anyway, if that was indeed what was on the line here.

     The curved prongs flexed, digging into the window seal's monsonry. Whatever it was, it would soon finish the climb.

     Klide ran through his options: (A) he could open the window and pluck the hook, (B) he could stay behind the wall, wait for the intruder to enter, and then pop 'em on the back of the head, or (C) he could go wake Dirk, and then they could both tackle this together.

     Rhoannafar drew his sword and dagger. Their straight, double-edged blades glinted dully, pale luminescence from the courtyard without reflecting like milky pixels on their charcoal colored surfaces.

     None of those ideas sounded particularly bright, much less failproof! But he was running out of time. The prince steadied himself, breathing deeply, forcing his mind to calm. Was there anything he hadn't thought of? He glanced for a moment at the displaced sheets on his bed.

     It was then that an amusing scheme came to him. Resheathing his ebony blades, Klide flipped the latches over their silver hilts, locked them securely, headed over to the unmade bed and began feeling about underneath. After a moment, he produced two large, rectangular pillows.

     A small scraping sound escaped from the window seal.

     Rhoannafar shoved the pillows under the sheets, throwing the rest of the blankets over the makeshift decoy. Satisfied, he moved back to the inside wall, behind the window.

     Outside, someone exhaled sharply as they pulled themselves level with the window seal.

     Unlatching the hilt, Klide redrew his sword and waited.

Princess Nale Waterflower glanced over her shoulder at the swaying blades of blue-green turf twenty feet below. A silky breeze whispered through the castle grounds, climbing the dormatory walls and playfully whipping a few strands of the princess's crimson-gold hair into her face. Brushing them back, she gazed introspectively across the hushed courtyard. A cobbled walkway extended to the far end of the spacious enclosure, leading directly from the dormatory to one of the great study hall's doubled entrances. Halfaway between the two structures, a large fountain rippled quietly. Coiled, celtic patterns weaved an intricate band around its raised perimeter.

     From the pool's center, on a circular dias facing the dorm, the image of a large, jade colored dragon stood above the cerulean waters on its raised serpentine body, its forelegs sweeping wide, claws extended, the jaws of its angular head open in a silent roar. Seven dragonair surrounded it, their marble bodies forming an intwined septagram around the fierce green guardian. Eyes of clear topaz and angular-cut aquamarine burned with captured moonlight in their smooth heads, casting a thin ring of pinprick rays into the fountain's reflectant cool. From Nale's vantage, the green dragon's eyes were black as coal.

     Just as well, she thought darkly.

     The jade statue was that of the legendary Luthuln Rayquaza, a supreme guardian to the gates of Ilshgalath. According to historical accounts, Luthuln's hold was one of the last to fall. His body was never found, and so it could not be determined if the valiant dragon lord had perished or somehow managed to survive.

     Needless to say, he was now a verteran mascot of deep folklore and intricate mythology. He'd been portrayed as everything--from a devine being watching over the souls of all living things, to a hateful spirit seeking vengeance for his defeat at Ilshgalath.

     Many thought he was neither--just a dead pile of bones somewhere, or perhaps nonexistant altogether.

     It was quite impossible to know the truth. Like Scelfdon and Ilshgalath, Luthuln the Rayquaza was more frequently being dismissed as pure legend.

Nale exhaled sharply as she pulled herself level with Klide Rhoannafar's bedroom window. Funny she should be thinking of all that right now. Perched on the granite seal, she steadied herself, reattaching her grappling hook to an iron latch in the window's frame. She took a final glance at the sprawling grounds below, absorbing its serenity.

Within the shadows that concealed him, Klide was doing everything he could to banish his growing anxiety.

     A scraping sound escaped from his window seal, followed by several blunt snaps.

Nale sighed. Then, turning, she inserted a small metal tool into the glass barrier's locks, disengaging the latches. She cautiously pushed the detached window in on itself, taking care not to let it bang against the walls within. It creaked slightly, but nothing more.

     Gathering her cloak about her, Nale slipped quietly inside.

There was a muffled rustling sound as the intruder entered--they were wearing a light cloak; probably canvas, by the sound of it.

     Klide grimaced. Their body movements would be difficult to read, if they attacked. Obviously, he should make the first move--probably a direct blow to the base of the skull. He wanted them alive; try to find out who they were are why they were here.

     The prince slowly inhaled. He would have to be silent, and above all, quick.

     A droplet of sweat ran down his forehead.

     "O God," he breathed, "please don't let me be an idiot!"

Darkness enveloped Rhoannafar's sleeping chamber. Nale squinted, trying to identify the vague silhouettes that filled the room. To her right, the wall turned into itself, creating a corner she couldn't see. To her left, the wall ran parallel with the open window.

     Her eyes adjusted slightly. Along the enclosure's left, Nale could make out the fuzzy mass of a small dresser, and just beside it, a twin-sized bed. Something was curled up under its plush blankets.

     Leaving her gear behind, Nale moved silently to the foot of the bed.

Klide shifted closer to the edge of his concealment. Gripping its corner, he carefully reviewed his line of assault.

Undoing the front of her shady apparel, Nale stared hard at the motionless form lying beneath the sheets.

He waited for the grey-cloaked figure to make a stab at the decoy, but they just stood there.

Something about it didn't seem quite right.

What if they'd discovered his scam?

Nale's brow furrowed. She reached down and gingerly put a hand on the bulky form.

     Why was it so . . . soft?

Rhoannafar eased himself around the corner and behind the would-be assailant.

     Sayonara, villain!

As Klide lifted the butt of his sword's black, leather-wrapped hilt, Nale pushed back her dark hood.

The princess's luxurious, crimson locks fell about her slim shoulders and down the back of her bleak shrouds, shimmering as though they bore a light of their own. In one, graceful motion, she slipped free of the gray cloak and let it fall to the ground.

     ". . . Klide?" she whispered.

Rhoannafar, utterly stupified, just stood where he was--bearly a foot away from Nale, sword hilt raised and mouth hanging open.

     He looked every bit a complete idiot.

No response came from the sleeping form. "Klide!" Nale hissed. Still nothing.

     Impatiently, she grabbed the double set of sheets at the headboard, and swept the whole assemblage into the air, casting it to the other side of the bed. A couple of large white pillows tumbled onto the floor in front of her. There was no prince Klide.

     The princess inhaled sharply, stunned disbelief rivetting her complexion. Then a wave of panic seized her, followed immediately by acute embarassment.

     "Klide!" Nale rasped, not daring to speak above a harsh whisper. "Klide, where are you! This isn't-!"

     "-Funny?" someone finished from behind.

     Nale whirled around.

Klide had managed to recover from his initial astonishment. He now stood in front of his bedroom's open widow, silhouetted against what small light came through. Both hands rested casually on his inverted sword's diamond studded crossguard.

     "Princess Nale. . . " the prince regarded her with reagal suspicion. "Pray tell, what brings you here, and at this hour?"

     Nale turned beat red.

     "Oh, cut that out already, Klide! I just came here to talk!"

     Rhoannafar sighed wearily and resheated his sword. Stepping around Nale, he lit the oil lantern on his dresser.

     "At half past four in the morning? Really, Nale--you could have picked a more convenient time."

     "Well, nobody else is up."

     "No, I suppose not."

     "So," Nale ran her index finger across Klide's chest, making his chainmail clink, "what's all this for? You and Dirk throwing some wild costume party?"

"What? Certainly not!" Rhoannafar brushed her hand away, "I thought you were some bloody assailant coming up here. Shades, Nale! You could've been killed!"

     "Okay, I'm sorry--I'll just use the stairs next time!"

     "Indeed."

     Klide scooped up Nale's shadow-gray cloaking. The soft canvas ruffled as he folded it.

     "You know, silk would've been a lot quieter."

     "I'm wearing silk."

     Klide paced around her.

     "Well, well--you are indeed. So, what've we on this time. . . Forrest green leather tights, knee-high hunting boots--heeled of course. Oooo! Here's your silk: jade low-breast, lace-up front. . . no shoulders. . . extended bell cuffs. . . gold drawstrings. . . As always, height of fashion. Very nice."

     Nale crossed her arms. "Are you quite finished?"

     "Quite. Here." Klide unfurled Nale's cloak and drapped it over her bare shoulders. "Sorry--one ravishingly attractive princess alone with the heir prince of Rhoannafar is a political fisco I will not have on our record."

     "Only you would think that way."

     "Yes--and you're one of the few who really knows it. I don't like being disadvantaged on my own side of the court."

     "Uh! What's that suppose to mean?"

     "Put bluntly, it means 'thanks for coming, but now you'll have to leave.'"

     Klide and Nale turned quickly about.

     Standing in the doorway, Dirk Waterflower regarded them with amused suspicion, head cocked to the side. He was garbed completely in black mail, a claymore broadsword strapped across his back, and a pair of long fighting knives at his side.

     "I don't recall any special meetings being planned for this night, Klide," he stated archly, strolling casually into the small room. "Especially with the likes of this master of siren tactics." He gave his sister a mischievous wink.

     Nale's face flushed rose.

     "Dirk, you rogue! How long have you been evesdropping?"

     "Long enough to put this party suit of mine on." He replied archly and nodded in Klide's direction, "I see our chief executive didn't completely abondon intelligence, either."

     Klide grimaced. "Indeed. If your sister were not so distinguished, I might have finished the act." He tapped his sword's hilt. "It would not have been a pretty sight. I can tell you that."

     "Indeed." He returned his attention to the red-head. "So, what brings my most capricious of sisters to the Halls of the Princes?"

     Klide came around to stand beside Dirk. "That's just what I was trying to get out of her."

     "And what did she say?"

     "I said I needed to talk to Klide," Nale interjected, "alone, if you please." She crossed her slim arms, pale cloak sleeves hanging neatly at her elbows.

     Dirk's eyebrow arched.

     "Alone, eh?" He scratched his chin. "Well, then," he continued, grinning mischievously, "I suppose this is between the two of you. Far be it from me to interrupt intimate bonding."

     And with that, the prince of Waterflower turned to beat a hasty, snickering retreat, intent on leaving the other two alone in the small room, blushing crimson.

     Nale's iron grip caught him around the collar of his mail jacket and behind his right ear, stopping him dead in his tracks.

     "Oh, no way are you escaping now, Dirk Waterflower!" She growled in his captured ear, dragging him back into the room.

     "Ah! Royal abduction! Klide, help!"

     "Like you need it!" Nale smirked.

     "Children, peace!" Klide crossed over and casually broke Nale's grip, holding both her hands with one of his, lending the other to Dirk. "Shades! what am I to do with you two?"

     "You could start by getting me a new ear, I think," Dirk replied, ginerly inspecting the side of his head with one hand, straightening his collar with the other.

     "I should start by chunking you both out the window!" Klide looked around for a moment. "Alright, everybody stays. Find yourselves a seat somewhere," he glanced back at Nale, "And you tell us what this is all about."

     Dirk stood by his sister, an arm draped lightly across her shoulder. "What? No midnight strolls through the park? Alone, with this lovely Charmeleon? I say, Klide," he grinned, "you're actually thinking in a rational fashion!"

     "I resent that." Nale retorted lightly from under her brother's embrace.

     "Always a pleasure, dear sister of mine." Dirk grinned. "So, tell us, what brings you here?"

     "I'll tell you both when you take your dead weight off my shoulder and Klide stops crushing my poor little hands!"

     "Fair enough," Klide replied. He released Nale while Dirk sat them both on Klide's bedside. "Now, please--what's this all about? And while you're at it," he added, "you can also explain your particular method of entry."

     "Fair enough, prince." Nale returned sweetly, leaning against Dirk's shoulder.
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