Cenon leaned in and whispered, "Lysandra's performing; she always gets a good crowd."

Cyrene gave Cenon a sideways look. "But are they eating and drinking, Cenon? Are they ordering from the kitchen?"

Cenon smiled and nodded. "Ravenous as lions, Cyrene, and drinking like fish!"

Cyrene beamed in satisfaction and shooed Cenon into the kitchen. Turning to Xena she said, "I had hoped to surprise you. Come," she took her daughter by the elbow. "Come listen."

Standing at the center of the crowd she had drawn, was a young woman no older than 15 and yet she held the assembly rapt as she vividly spun her tale.

"In dreams she walks, she knows not where,

Xena moved to join her mother behind the bar. She was spellbound as was the crowd, but while they erupted in well-deserved applause, her countenance remained fixed, her own hands at her sides, still. Cyrene leaned close and whispered, "Her name's Lysandra. She arrived two days ago; she offered to perform in exchange for a room."

"Another stray, mother?"

"I could hardly turn her out, Xena, a young girl like that...but she is good, isn't she?"

Acquiescing, Xena gave a small nod. "She’s good." She listened intently as the young bard began to weave a tale of avarice, betrayal and retribution, the players in which, although disguised, were achingly familiar to her. "I can't help but be struck by her choice of material," she said pointedly.

"She told me she sometimes uses Gabrielle's stories as inspiration." Cyrene set a half dozen mugs on a tray and filled them from a pitcher of wine. "She's late today. She’s normally here during the afternoons, while you're minding the traps. I'm so pleased you have the chance to hear her stories. I thought it might be like having a little bit of Gabrielle with you." Cenon appeared on the other side of the bar and slid the tray into his hands, nimbly navigating the close quarters to deliver the round of drinks. Cyrene appreciated his speed and conscientiousness. "Cenon's been a great help to me. Business triples every time Lysandra performs."

"I can see why; she's very gifted," Xena conceded.

Cyrene arched an eyebrow. "But she's no Gabrielle." She squeezed Xena's arm. "You miss her."

Xena let out a pent up breath and at last moved her eyes from the bard to her mother.

"It’s..." she began, struggling for articulation. "It’s like a part of me is missing...like being half awake."

Cyrene gave her a daughter of look of profound surprise. "Xena, such eloquence from my

warrior child..."

Xena reddened. "Blame Gabrielle."

"No. I like it."

"I’ll tell her you said as much. Anyway, I think we both needed the time apart." Her sharp eyes caught the frantic gesticulations of a bar patron as he tried to hail her for service.

"Yo! Miss!"

Xena tried to restrain the urge to roll her eyes and took up an empty tray. "Xena: Warrior

Waitress," she quipped and turned to tend to the patron's order.

hoebostermincallistovaratheodoruscletusgilles...Gabrielle clamped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes closed in a futile attempt to shut out the incessant murmur that had assaulted her consciousness, penetrated the core of her being for...how long had it been? In the confines of this tiny cage within the stifling heat of the cavern, time had ceased to have meaning. Had it been days? she mused. Yes. Definitely...at least one day, perhaps two...she hadn't closed her eyes in sleep in two days. mesmerbarruchdolasliniusboriasagaliarheabitonmarcustaluslyceusambrus farrisalyssaphoebostermincallistovaratheodoruscletus gilles... "By the gods," she moaned, "Please...please make it stop..." She lay exhausted on the floor of the cage which hung suspended a full fifty feet above the cavern floor. Peering down at the gurgling red cauldron of lava below, a recent addition and a nice touch, she conceded, she began to have profound doubts that she would ever leave the cavern alive. After all, no one outside of Manus and his cronies knew she was here. Xena believed her to be safe in Poteidaia with her family, and her family didn't know to expect her home. She closed her eyes in utter exhaustion. At the edge of consciousness, amidst the din of indiscernible voices, she heard a chain rattle, clinking endlessly over its pulley and then she felt the cage descending at a dizzying velocity until it rested on the cavern floor. She thought she heard the cage door swing open, but couldn’t summon the strength of confirm the suspicion.

Momentarily, she felt a strong hand supporting her neck and the rim of a cup pressed against her lips.

"Drink," ordered a voice, gravelly from disuse. "Drink," he repeated, sensing her apprehension. "It’s only water."

Thirst won out over caution and Gabrielle drank deeply, without opening her eyes. Oh, please, gods, let this be a nightmare, she thought, tepid water sliding down her dry throat. If I open my eyes slowly, it’ll be Xena sitting here beside me...please, sweet Athena, let this be a nightmare...Her fingers brushed those holding the cup to her and tentatively she opened her eyes

to find Anthor, and not Xena, squatting beside her; the compassionate look on his otherwise unremarkable face emboldened her to ask, "Anthor, what does Manus want with me?" Her own voice, raspy, not much more than a whisper. Anthor parted his lips, as if to reply, then ripped the cup from her hands with undue ferocity, as if he despised himself for this momentary lapse into humanity. Gabrielle sat up, gripping the condensation-slick bars for support. "Why doesn't he just kill me and be done with it?" Anthor slammed shut the cage door and moved once again towards the crank in the floor. "Anthor, wait!" she cried and got to her knees. "Just tell me why!"

"Why?"

Gabrielle started. It was Manus, standing at the foot of the cage; she hadn’t even seen him enter. "How do you do that?!"

"One question at a time," he replied, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Even in his heavy robes, he seemed impervious to the waves of heat rolling off the lava pit. Manus looked at Anthor, waggled his fingers, bidding him to continue with his actions. As Anthor raised the cage, Manus expounded, and as he spoke, the endless litany that had plagued her waking hours gradually faded to an annoying murmur at the edge of conscious perception. "I hold no ill feelings towards you, child. I simply want what is mine."

Summoning her strength, Gabrielle retorted, "This is a guy thing, isn’t it?" She kept her gaze centered on him as she fought to remain lucid; her body cried out for rest and nourishment, but she knew she had to stay focused if she stood any chance at all of escaping. "If this is about

Morpheus..."

"It is. And it isn't," he said cryptically. "Of course, Morpheus was quite displeased with the end results of your first visit to us. You had such potential. We had such high hopes."

"Get over it," she quipped. "I wouldn't kill then, and I won't kill now. Can't you give this revenge thing a rest?"

Manus smiled, showing a little too much canine to be taken seriously. "Now what kind of person would I be if I only lived that philosophy eight hours a day?" He made a steeple of his fingers and pressed them to his lips, considering her as he moved about the outside of the cage.

"No, as I said, I bear you no ill will; you were merely a bystander in the injustice inflicted upon me. I reserve my animosity for those who played a more integral part in my exile into the dreamscape...that sanctimonious old mystic, Elkton..." He stopped and looked down at her. "And Xena." He read the terror in her eyes; Manus could recognize terror better than anyone else. "Because of them I have spent the last two years confined to this netherworld," he gestured expansively with his hands, and for the first time Gabrielle noticed that although she was suspended in the cage far above the cavern floor, Manus moved about freely, without visible support.

"Is that where I am?" she asked, her jaw working reflexively, "...the dreamscape?"

"No, child. As you can see," he pinched the back of her hand hard and she yanked it from the bars with a small yelp of pain. "-- it’s quite real."

Gabrielle was skeptical. "You were banished to the dreamscape. How can you be here?"

"With comparative ease, child. We are between sleep and wakefulness, that delicious twilight where mind and body hover on the edge of consciousness. I am able to cross to and from the dreamscape at will, but only for brief periods of time. In those moments when I am unable to be at your side, I have employed other means to hold your attention."

"You mean Anthor...and those...voices...who are they?" She cast about the room. "More tenants?"

Manus loosed a hollow laugh. "Oh, the voices are not of my making, but your own."

As if on cue, there arose the chorus mesmerbarruchdolasliniusboriasagaliarheabitonmar

custaluslyceusambrusfarrisalyssaphoebostermincallistovaratheodoruscletusgilles... "Listen to them...I’m convinced the young do far too much talking and not nearly enough listening..." mesmerbarruchdolasliniusboriasagaliarheabitonmarcustaluslyceusambrusfarrisalyssaphoebo

stermincallistovaratheodoruscletusgilles. "They speak to you, Gabrielle..."

Gabrielle clasped her fingers behind her head and covered her ears, squeezing her eyes shut, willing the voices to be silent. "I...I don't understand what you want from me..." she cried.

mesmerbarruchdolasliniusboriasagaliarheabitonmarcustaluslyceusambrusfarrisalyssaphoeboste rmincallistovaratheodoruscletusgilles. Rocking back and forth, lost within the misery that had become her life, she chanted, "I..I can't...I can't..."

"You can," countered Manus. mesmerbarruchdolasliniusboriasagaliarheabitonmarcusta

luslyceusambrusfarrisalyssaphoebostermincallistovaratheodoruscletusgilles. "Open your mind and listen...with their words, all will become clear." mesmerbarruchdolasliniusboroasagaliarh eabitonmarcustalusambrusfarrisalyssaphoebostermincallistovaratheodoruscletugilles...

Gabrielle's eyes opened, mere slits at first. She unclasped her fingers, whiteknuckles quickly grew pink with blood. As she moved into a sitting position, the voices...the names became distinct... and familiar. Mesmer. Barruch. Dolas. Linius. Borias. Agalia. Rhea. Biton. Marcus. Talus. Ambrus. Farris. Alyssa. Phoebos. Termin. Callisto. Vara. Theodorus. Cletus. Gilles. "Ah, I see at last a glint of recognition in your eyes. You hear at last..." said Manus, breaking into a pleased grin. "A roll call of death...Mesmer. Barruch. Termin - her first...Theodorus, Callisto's lieutenant...yes, possession aside, we count him as one of her victims. And the list grows daily. Marcus, her lover. Talus...what would he have been to you, I wonder, if not for her?" Gabrielle's eyes narrowed in seeming comprehension. Manus could barely contain himself. "Oh, yes, she used you, Gabrielle, like so many others in her wake."

"No," she rebuked, shaking her head. "No, it wasn't like that. Xena's not like that!"

Mesmer. Barruch. Dolas. Linius. Borias. Agalia. Rhea. Biton. Marcus. Talus. Ambrus. Farris. Alyssa. Phoebos. Termin. Callisto. Vara. Theodorus. Cletus. Gilles...to her utmost horror, the list while gaining clarity and volume grew in capacity. Phantes. Lyceus. Perdicus. M'Lila. Kepa. Cadmon. Fedor. Philamond. Ephiny. Melosa. Neola. Pandora. Orion. Diana. Lila. "No!" she screamed. "No. I don't believe you!"

"She used you then as she continues to use you now. Do you see yourself as her friend? Can you possibly be that stupid, I wonder? Surely not. Then, perhaps, you play the willing role of squire; you cook, tend her horse, mend her clothes, wash the blood from her wounds. But

the truth...and you should hear the truth...is that she sees you as nothing more than a tagalong, a stone around her neck."

"That's a lie," she countered through her tears.

"Think, Gabrielle." He was close enough now to tap her brow with his forefinger, emphasizing his words. "Think. Wasn't it her idea you separate? She insisted that you set out alone on this journey. She didn't even offer to escort you to Poteidaia. Are those the actions of a

caring, loving friend? No. You could be dead for all she knows...or cares. How many have died at her hands? How many more will die because she failed to act?" Cadmon. Fedor. Philamond. Ephiny. Melosa. Neola. Pandora. Orion. Diana. Lila. "Names and faces... human beings who, until her advent into their lives, had families, hopes and dreams. Hear them, Gabrielle." Not a request or a suggestion, but a flat command.

"Nooooo!" screamed Gabrielle, challenging the voices for dominion of her conscience and soul. Her exclamation still ringing off the cavern walls, the voices died and lay to rest in silence. Her head lolled forward like that of a child's rag doll, her body collapsing in on itself, as if spent of air and energy. Perspiration mingled freely with tears and fell unimpeded through the bars of the cage.

Manus' keen ears picked out the satisfying sizzle as each droplet met the gurgling lava below. He reached into the cage and stroked the damp red hair, almost lovingly, as a father would soothe a distressed child. "Submit. Submit and it ends here," he crooned, speaking in warmly seductive tones. Under his hand, her head did not move, nor did she utter a sound. The same hand that had so gently ministered now closed into a fist, catching a handful of hair in its grasp. "I can help you," he said, pulling her head back until he could see her face clearly.

Her eyes were closed, and her face, save for the obvious signs of exhaustion, was otherwise expressionless. For a moment, he feared he had pushed too hard too quickly, and then she took a frantic gulp of air, like a swimmer breaking the surface; he expelled a breath of his own in its wake. "I can help you, Gabrielle. I want to help you." He loosened his painful grip on her hair and slid his hand down her jawline to her chin, raising her face up to meet his. "Submit, and you can have peace."

Reluctantly, Gabrielle returned Manus' gaze; he was beaming benevolently down at her in his best savior-father-figure smile. She wanted to look away, to spare herself his toothy hypocrisy, but instead, with the last ounce of defiance left in her aching, exhausted body, she

narrowed her eyes at him and spat, hitting him deftly in the right eye. Even as it dribbled down his face, she knew she had at last made an enemy of him.

Manus clicked his tongue and shook his head sadly, patiently wiping the spittle from his face with the voluminous arm of his robe. "That bit of insolence cost you more than you know, little one." He straightened and drifted back from the cage and as he did so, Gabrielle thought he looked suddenly worn, exhausted; she was inwardly pleased to have had this effect on the man. "I'll leave you to contemplate the wrong decision you have made," he was saying. "But I won't have you wait alone." With an airy wave of his hand, the voices returned and that same now-familiar litany echoed in the cavern, but secondary this time, to another, deeper sound... rhythmic, basal, strangely comforting... "Generous man that I am, I will grant you a metronome to mark the minutes as they pass. You have but to call my name for me to appear."

Gabrielle summoned a temerity she didn't know she possessed. "Never."

"Oh, child," he said, and his face almost kind, "You will call for me...you will."

Xena awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in her bed, drenched in perspiration, a deep sense dread replacing the rapidly fading details of the dream. She threw back the thin blanket which clung to her uncomfortably and rose from the bed. As she moved unsteadily across

the room, she wondered briefly if she were ill, but she knew the rhythms of her own body so well that this seemed unlikely. She poured water into a basin and splashed her face and then leaned heavily on the table, cool water coursing down the contours of her face, the hollow of her

throat. She caught her reflection in the small mirror above the table and said aloud, "I have to go." She’d been restless for a couple of days and now something was pulling her inexorably back to the road. She had never been a slave to her muse; war, as art, was a concept few could embrace with any genuine understanding. And more often than not, she delighted in denying those sometimes overwhelming impulses to act, or not to act. But today...today the muse would win. As she dressed, not in the flattering blue peasant dress, but in her well-worn leathers, she tried to think of a gentle way to break the news to her mother. Things had gone so well between them on this visit. Her mother, Cenon, the townspeople...each had gone out of their way to make her feel at home. She would never again dread riding through the narrow village streets, or arriving unannounced on the threshold of the family inn. Amphipolis was again her home, and she was free...and welcome...to come and go at will. And now it was time to go. She would tell her mother now, and leave before noon. With some hard riding, she might reach Poteidaia by nightfall and surprise Gabrielle. Leaving her armor and weapons hanging from pegs on her wall, she went downstairs to the tavern.

* * * * * * * * * *

Leaning against the back of the cage, with her knees drawn up against her chest, Gabrielle suffered the heat, exhaustion and thirst in relative silence. She found that with effort, she was able to shut out a great deal of the ambient noise in the room -- the persistent murmur of voices, Anthor’s guttural snoring -- all receded into a dark corner of her consciousness. At the moment, Manus’ promised metronome was no more than a muffled base, rising from the cavern floor, thrumming through the iron bars of the cage, and thence into her own frame...and yet, it was nothing with which she felt she couldn’t deal. She ran her tongue over her dry lips and settled her head against her knees, determined to mine some sleep from her exhausted body.

"Gabrielle."

The bard responded incoherently without opening her eyes.

The voice persisted, "Gabrielle...it’s me..."

"Oh, please...." she murmured into her lap. "Just five minutes more..."

"You may not have five minutes. Wake up and look at me...and let me hear you say you love me just once more..."

Gabrielle’s eyelids fluttered reluctantly over her tired eyes. "Oh...hello, Perdicus," she murmured; his pleasant features blurred around the edges. "Am I dreaming?"

"Does it matter? You know the saying: when you think of the dead, the dead hear you."

"Yes," she replied, coming more fully awake to find him a solid presence standing before her. "Yes, Perdicus. I’ve thought of you often."

Perdicus squatted outside the cage and caught Gabrielle’s fingers in his own. "I know. There are some days I hear your voice in my head and it never ceases." His free hand reached through the bars and wiped a smudge of dirt from her chin. "I hear your voice and it’s almost more than I can stand." He tightened his grip on her hand and licked his lips. "By the gods, I’ve missed your smile, your voice...your smell..."

Gabrielle wrinkled her nose. "Perdicus, I smell like..."

"Roses," he breathed. "Sweet, white, perfect roses...like the ones that grew outside my mother’s house. Do you remember?"

Gabrielle closed her eyes and leaned her head against the bars in a vain attempt to get closer to him. "Yes, I remember."

"And do you remember our wedding night?" She nodded and sighed in response. Perdicus lowered his voice until it was a smoky whisper. "How can I know you so well after just one night? I remember everything..." He caught strands of her hair in his hand. "You wore white, and a laurel wreath with tiny white flowers...and my heart...I thought it would break you were so beautiful..."

Gabrielle silenced his reminiscence, laying a finger across his lips, the same perfect lips she had kissed on their wedding night. "Please, stop..." she sobbed. "I can’t bear to remember..."

"No, Gabrielle!" he admonished passionately. "Embrace the memories. I thank the gods for mine. In the beginning, I thought it was a curse, now I can look back on that night and see how I once had it fine, and perfect...how you once loved me."

"I still love you..."

"Do you really?"

Gabrielle’s brow furrowed. "Perdicus, of course I do! You’re in my heart."

"Then prove it. Do something for me."

She pulled her legs beneath her and looked at him in earnest. Her hands anxiously fretted at the bars of her jail as she breathed intensity into verbal surrender. "Anything."

"Survive. Do what you have to leave this place, whatever it takes..."

Gabrielle shook her head. "Perdicus, you don’t know what he wants...he wants me to --"

"Then do it!" He took her face in his hands and looked fervently into her eyes. "As badly as I’ve missed you, as much as I love you, and want to be with you, I know that it’s not your time." He stroked her lips with the ball of his thumb. "I won’t have you back under these circumstances. It’s not fair to you. You deserve to live a full, rich life...you deserve a future with children, and memories, and captive audiences..." He kissed her through the bars without delay.

"Live for me, Gabrielle," he whispered as he released her. "Do this one thing for me..." He rose and moved away from the cage, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on hers. "Live for me..."

His words faded even as his body lost mass and color until all she could see was the memory of him, and then, not even that.

"Live for me..." she murmured, her eyes suddenly introspective. Live for you...Perdicus,

* * * * * * * * * *

"Good morning, mother."

Cyrene looked up from her work, took note of her daughter's apparel but tried not to let her distress show on her face. "Good morning, Xena," she said brightly and turned her attentions back towards the pot she was scrubbing. "You slept late; that's unusual for you."

"Yeah, well..." she muttered, trying to sweep aside the issue. "Did Cenon bring anything by for me? A package?"

"I haven’t seen him this morning," replied Cyrene absently. "Should I send Petros to look for him?"

"No, it’s nothing that can’t wait," Xena said simply. "What can I do to help? The marketing? I noticed last night that we were out of chicken and salt pork..."

"We have lamb to see us through till tomorrow," Cyrene replied pointedly. "Notus brought

by one of his ewes early this morning. Did you -- " she began delicately. "-- have a late night with Notus?"

"Ooh, nice segue, mother," crooned Xena appreciatively. Every night since her arrival in Amphipolis, the farmer, Notus, had been a constant presence at the supper table; he would arrive conveniently at dusk, just in time to dine with them, and stay long into the night. Xena found his company pleasant, but nothing more, much to her mother's chagrin. "No, mother. As a matter of fact, he left shortly after you went up to bed."

Cyrene turned, wiping her hands on a towel. "Oh?" she said innocently.

Xena laughed aloud. "A blatant attempt at matchmaking, mother."

Cyrene placed her hands flat on the bar. "So where's the harm? You're a beautiful, young woman. Notus has his own farm, his own vineyard, and nearly one hundred head of sheep."

"If you tell me he makes his own tunics --"

"And he's quite handsome, don't you think?"

Xena considered a moment. "As men go, yes, he's handsome." She drew a stool up to the bar and proceeded to dry some newly-washed mugs and flagons. "Mother, we've talked about this..."

Cyrene became animated. "Did he tell you he has plans to expand his farm?"

"Yeah. He worked it in. Twice. Casually." Xena reflected that Notus did not excel at casual conversation. "If you think he has such potential, why don't you marry him?"

Cyrene reached across the bar and stilled her daughter's hands with her own. "Xena," she began seriously. "I just don't want to see you alone."

Xena blinked, waited a beat and replied, "But I'm not alone, mother. I have Gabrielle. Speaking of which..."

"You're leaving," said Cyrene, cutting her off. She turned away and once again began scrubbing the pot. "I thought you were enjoying your visit home."

"I was. I am!" retorted Xena defensively. "But you know me -- not one to let the grass grow beneath my feet." Her mother’s dead silence was a cutting retort. Xena felt compelled to rise and join her behind the bar. "Mother," she began. "Mother, please look at me."

Determined to keep the emotional upper hand, Cyrene set the pot aside and leisurely dried her hands on a towel before turning to face her daughter, but as she gazed into those fathomless blue eyes, her resolve faltered. "Xena, I had hopes...foolish hopes, I realize now, that you might stay this time. Every morning I held my breath, waiting for you to descend those stairs and tell me you were leaving...and every morning you surprised me...nine mornings..."

Xena rolled her eyes, "Mother, don’t make me feel guilty. You’re too good at it. I told you when I first arrived that I wouldn’t be staying..."

Cyrene lay a hand gently alongside her daughter’s cheek. "I’m jealous of everything that takes you away from me...freedom, adventure...yes, even Gabrielle."

Xena lay her own hand atop her mother’s and brushed her lips lightly against her mother’s palm. "Mother, you know you have my heart. I’ll always come home."

"Focus, Gabrielle..." she told herself. Every sound, every movement outside the small cage was a distraction. Manus' metronome -- deep, resonant pulses, bouncing off the cavern floor, stuttering off the walls in a staccato assault on her senses, her eardrums, her skin -- there wasn't a part of her that didn't scream out for silence. "I can do this..." she muttered, eyes closed, breathing in long, deep breaths through her mouth. It was purely by chance, while trying to employ one of Xena's meditation techniques that she discovered that the heartbeat filling the cavern was her own, pulled straight out of her chest, reflected and amplified with devastating effect. The source identified, she had immediately begun the difficult process of controlling the intensity and frequency of the assault. "Focus...in...out...in..." deep breaths, willing her heart to slow, to steady its rhythm...amazingly, it complied, its meter now a tolerable speed and volume. Tears slipped down the blade of her nose; to have played a part, even a small part in her own rescue was immensely satisfying. Success bolstered her morale, and inspired her to wage yet another offensive on the cage lock, which, to Gabrielle's astonishment, sprang fully open after a few minutes of intense banging and jiggling. "By the gods..." she murmured, swinging the door open. "I can't believe it..."

"Given any thought as to how you're gonna get down from there?"

Gabrielle's heart leapt at the sound of the voice...so familiar...so wry...so timely...

"Xena!" she cried, and got hurriedly to her feet, sending the cage into a slight swinging spin. "Xena! Thank the gods you're here!"

On the ground, beside the warrior, Anthor lay unconscious, his bulky frame curled into an uncharacteristic ball. "Hang on. I'll have you down in a second." Xena's strong arms moved the crank with ease and when the cage was within a foot of the cavern floor, Gabrielle leapt from its confines, sprawling in a dirty, exhausted heap at Xena's feet. Momentarily, two hands gripped her shoulders like a vise and hauled her roughly into a standing position. "The predicaments you get yourself into..."

Gabrielle laughed with nervous relief. "I had some help this time," she said and went to hug her friend, who stepped back, putting space between them. "Hey, I know I'm a sight. Nothing a bath and a week's sleep won't cure." Xena's stare was cold, her face set in a grim mask

of disgust that Gabrielle had no trouble recognizing. "Xena, what's wrong?"

"This scenario is getting old, Gabrielle."

Gabrielle's brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"

Xena put her hands on her hips and made a slow circuit round the disheveled bard. "How many times have we been here? You in some dire trouble. Me coming to the rescue." Xena moved to where Anthor lay unconscious; she prodded him with the toe of her boot, and then regarded Gabrielle expectantly. "How many times?"

Gabrielle’s response was a wounded whisper, "I've lost count."

"At least you're honest." Without missing a beat, Xena drew her sword and thrust it

once into the unconscious man's chest. From somewhere to her left, Gabrielle emitted a

startled gasp. Xena turned to face her, sword at her side, sword point dripping blood. "What?"

Gabrielle's heartbeat, already fast, became frantic, and once again intrusive in the midst of this strangely callous and poorly-timed sermon. "Xena," she said, shaking her head, "Why? Why did you kill him?"

"This man is dead because of you," retorted Xena, approaching, leaving a trail of crimson droplets in her wake. She tilted her head and regarded the young bard with a vague sense of surprise. "Don't tell me you didn't know I would kill him. You got me here knowing full well

that someone was going to die." With a flick of her wrist, she brought the blade to Gabrielle's throat in one swift movement. "Someone always dies." Savoring the terror on the girl's face, Xena caught the hem of Gabrielle's shift and nonchalantly wiped the blood from her blade.

"Xena...I...I don't...I don't understand...I thought we were friends..."

"Oh, please!" Xena threw her head back and laughed. "Your decision to follow me to

Amphipolis was never, for one minute, motivated by friendship." She resheathed her sword in one of those graceful, casual movements she performed without thinking. "No. It was the opportunity to leave Poteidaia that intrigued you, and you didn't care how you managed it."

"That's not true!"

"Be honest with yourself, Gabrielle. I was a means to an end, nothing more."

"Xena, I don't know what's making you act this way, but you're scaring me. Please," Gabrielle appealed, only to be abruptly pushed aside. "Xena," she stammered, her eyes brimming with tears. "You’re my best friend I love you."

"Never!" Xena wheeled and struck her across the face with such force that Gabrielle stumbled and fell backwards against the wall. Momentarily, Xena collected her thoughts and said in measured tones, "Don't you ever say those words to me again." She paced, hugging the periphery of the cavern, and when she spoke again, her voice was expressionless. "Early

in our travels together you appointed yourself my conscience, my moral barometer. I never asked you to save me. I never wanted to be saved by you. Your petty proclamations of faith, loyalty and love offend me, they really do."

The sheer venom with which Xena's words were being hurled at her wounded Gabrielle more than had the physical blow; she sank to the ground and buried her head in her hands, sobbing.

"I've gone about as far as I care to with you, Gabrielle." Xena crouched down beside the girl, searching for just the right tone of voice to deliver her coup de grace. "You don’t have to

wade through any subtext here, Gabrielle. I’ll say it straight out so your tired little pea brain will understand: we’re finished...as friends and as traveling companions...find your own way from now on."

"No," sobbed Gabrielle, raising her tear-streaked face to look into Xena's. "No, don't say that..."

"Look at you, sobbing like a child. I always suspected you were weak." Xena clicked her tongue in disgust. "Go home to Poteidaia, little girl, if you can work up the backbone to face Perdicus' parents...or maybe I should just do the merciful thing and put you out of your misery right here and now." Putting actions to words, Xena lay her fingertips on the hilt of her bootknife. "Your choice: home to Poteidaia, or dead...dead like Termin, and Mesmer, Marcus, Talus,

Callisto, and Perdicus..."

"Perdicus," echoed Gabrielle miserably.

"Yes, dead like Perdicus." Mesmer. Barruch. Dolas. Linius. Boroas. Agalia. Rhea. Biton. Marcus. Talus. Ambrus. Farris. Alyssa. Phoebos. Termin. Callisto. Vara. Theodorus. Cletus. Gilles Phantes. Lyceus. M'Lila. Kepa. Cadmon. Fedor. Philamond. Ephiny. Melosa.

Neola. Pandora. Orion. Diana. Lila. Perdicus. "Just like Perdicus." She raised an eyebrow and offered a sly smile. "I could've saved him. You know me -- always there for the block...when it counts." Xena squinted at the bruise already coming on Gabrielle's face. "Ooh, that's gonna be a beauty. You should put something on that."

Gabrielle gathered her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "Oh, gods," she moaned, "Make it stop! Please, make it stop!"

"I can make it stop," Xena offered, trapping the girl's chin between her thumb and forefinger. "I can make it all go away."

In a little girl's voice, Gabrielle asked, "Would you?" She sniffed and fought back tears at the thought of release. "Would you do that for me?"

Xena smiled benevolently and stroked the girl's head. "I can give you peace. I want to give you peace. Submit," she crooned, showing a mouthful of perfect, white teeth. "That's all I ask. Submit."

Heartbeats sounded, echoed, passed, marking the nanoseconds it took for Gabrielle's. tired eyes to lock onto those settled just inches from her face; Xena's now-serene countenance promised relief and peace. In a voice not her own, the bard whispered, "Yes."

Xena dropped to her knees before the girl and took her face in both hands. "Whose servant are you?"

Gabrielle returned the fervent, expectant gaze. "Yours, Manus. I am your servant."

The game won, the need for deception no more, it was Manus' coarse hands that held Gabrielle spellbound. Barely able to contain his elation, he ran a long thumb across her brow and murmured, "Sleep, child. Peace is yours." Gabrielle's eyes closed immediately, and her head grew

heavy and limp in the high priest's grasp. With uncharacteristic gentleness, he eased her into a more comfortable sleeping position, going so far as to arrange one hand beneath her cheek for comfort. "Sleep, Gabrielle. In sleep, you are mine."

"Was it really necessary to kill Anthor, Lord?" asked Hesperos as he knelt at the sentry’s body.

"I felt the extra push was required, and you saw the effect it had on the girl." Manus rose in his own time and turned to face his lackey. "You question my methods, Hesperos?"

"You know your will is mine, Lord. I’m simply expressing regret at the loss of an able soldier. We have so few that are truly loyal to Morpheus."

"Agreed, but all that will change when I am once again flesh."

Hesperos regarded the sleeping girl with interest. "The girl was a prime subject...very susceptible to suggestion, but will the conditioning hold?"

"Long enough for retribution to be mine, and victory to be Morpheus’. Everything that has transpired within these walls has been preparatory, Hesperos." Manus once again knelt beside Gabrielle. "The real work begins in the dreamscape. Yes," he whispered, stroking her hair.

"The metal is at last ready for the Maker's hands."