Battle for the Holocron (Silas/Kita)

[Kita_Ikari]

Kita had been taken aback as the wound she managed to inflict; quickly healed before her blue gaze. Not one drop of blood had managed to fall down the echani's skin. "T-thats possible!?!?" she thought. Distracted momentarily from the shock, Silvanius was quickly met with a sharp blow to her stomach. The pain alone was a vibrating pain, one that remained for a moment from the force of the blow. Silvanius fell flat on her back, barely landing partially on her elbows to avoid hitting her head into the hard floor of the throne room. There was no blood, but she felt the thin top layer of skin scrape off her elbows in the process. It was a small price to pay keeping herself from receiving a concussion or any other head injury.

Still having managed to keep the dagger in hand, she sheathed it and slowly staggered up off the floor. As she grasped the hilt of her lightspear once more, she listened to his words. To her it seemed like she had really hit a nerve this time around. Good, he deserves it. she thought. Meeting his gaze as he slowly turned her direction, she smirked in response. Her fading blue gaze held a fire of mockery and intent to bring down the echani's pride. "I held back for a reason." She replied bluntly.

The aura Silvanius gave off seemed to change, a more serious flash shown behind her fading blue gaze as she ignored the stinging pain on her elbows. She held her head high, eyes locking with his as silence briefly filled the air. "To merely observe your movements. Your strengths. Your weaknesses. Even at the bit of cost to a beat down for me, it gives me a idea on how to better fight you. Even if you haven't yet pulled out all your cards, its still better then nothing at all."

Observing Silas, she could tell by the sound of his breathing and body language alone, Silvanius was managing to somehow wear down the echani. The silver clad apprentice was amazed by this, especially since she had come into this fight with no knowledge of the Dark Lords powers. Had she been more powerful, there was a small thought in the apprentices mind she probably could have actually defeated Silas Karn for the throne. However, even to her it seemed impossible. "Don't lose your focus." Igniting her silver glowing blade, she lifted it in preparation for his next incoming attack as he lifted his sword. Every hit he tried to make, she managed to block, sweat glistening off her skin in the dim light given off by their weapons.

As his sword came downward, the buzzing of her saber clashing with his ice cool blade echoed through the room. He held her in place, keeping her guard up without much of a option to counterattack. Every hit she had taken so far made her body ache, however her stubborness to give in canceled out the pain with adrenaline. Every spark almost seemed blinding in the dim light, yet she kept her eyes focused on his as he began pushing her back. Her heels scraping against the ground as she held her own. Every second, the Dark Lord seemed to be getting stronger, swifter, and more intent on overpowering her. Silvanius had a feeling he was trying to wear her down now as much as she had with him.

“For your sake I hope you have a greater array of abilities. There is no hope for you to maintain this defense for much longer.”

--BEGIN FORCE TELEKINESIS APP--500 WORDS---

Silvanius remained In her blocking position, sweat beading down from her pores, as she used what strength she had to keep the Dark Lord's sword from taking her out. In her mind, it seemed more like a fight to the death now, despite being a simple duel for Lord Tormentous's holocron. Which in hindsight, was Silvanius' fault. The Dark Lord was now taking her more seriously in battle since she pulled her tricks with the ysalamiri and smoke bombs.

Reaching out with her mind in the Force, she felt an energy pulsing nearby in waves catching her attention. Briefly she allowed her faded blue gaze to see one of the Dark Lords sabers laying on the floor of the throne room. She had almost forgotten that the Dark Lord once had them in his possession.

Figuring out her next battle plan, the silver clad apprentice already knew what she needed to do in order to have a chance in winning this fight. But doing so while holding back the weight and Force of the echani's sword was going to make the task a LOT more challenging. Her strength was already diminishing and muscles became more fatigued with every passing moment as she held her ground, heels scraping along the ground inch by inch. The blow received from Silvanius' side was already becoming sore from the Dark Lord's elbow ramming into her just moments before. Taking a breath to mentally and physically prepare herself, Silvanius reached out her left hand towards the lightsaber.

She could sense the darkside's energy from the kybers crystal within, its presence calling her to wield it in this battle. Silvanius' heart raced as she tried to focus on the Force alone and grasp the hilt. Her right arm trembled as she pushed back against Silas weapon, Silvanius meanwhile also envisioned the Force as an extension of her other forearm.

Using the Force, Silvanius began enveloping around the cool metal hilt. She tried pulling the object towards her. The connection to her was seen as an invisible rope tied to a ship that had been tied to the wooden docks on Tibrin. The young sith apprentice's eyes widened a bit in surprise as the hilt moved ever so slightly. However…It wasn't enough. She clenched her teeth as Silvanius soon realized the hilt seemed to carry weight to it. One that was much more noticeable then as if she went to pick it up with her hand.

Despite the object probably weighing no more than a pound in weight or a little bit more, her inexperience in lifting objects with telekinesis began to inwardly make her panic. She knew she could eventually lift the saber…but considering her current position, she didn't have much time to completely focus. But the young sith apprentice had no choice in the matter. If she was to win Lord Tormentous's holocron, she needed to defeat the new Sith Lord.

Trying once more, Silvanius reached her hand out towards the sith lords saber. The Force connection trying to obtain the hilt grew stronger with Silvanius as the saber moved a few centimeters at a time. Seconds went by, but to the apprentice it felt like years as her right arm and the rest of her stamina began draining even faster. She grew more tired by the second as she kept Silas blade from striking her down. There was no way Silvanius could keep going like this without distance to recover some of her strength. Finally in desperation, the Force bent to her will, although…not in the way she planned.

The saber came flying in her direction, but missed her palm. Instead, her aim had been off by a couple inches and slammed into her injured side the Dark Lord had brought upon her earlier in their spar. It clattered as it hit the ground next to her feet, Silvanius stumbling slightly forward from the impact as pain shot through her. Knowing the Dark Lord was possibly preparing his own attack of some sort as she lost her balance, Silvanius swiftly pivoted aside with her lightspear, allowing the echani's own sword to fall as she left her offensive position. As swiftly as she could, Silvanius lifted the saber once more with the Force as she took a few paces back. This time the hilt managed to land in her palm. Without hesitation, she ignited the red blade and dashed forward to aim at the Sith Lord's head once again. This time, if she did manage to kill Silas Karn while attempting to draw blood, then so be it.

--END TELEKINESIS APP-- 763 WORDS---

[Silas Karn]

The inelegance of the first form in Silas’s otherwise masterful sword-arm betrayed the Dark Lord. Having assumed he had the full grasp of Silvanius’s capabilities alongside this fact in further placed the Sovereign at a disadvantage. The apprentice’s improvisation succeed in lancing a fiery blow across Silas’s jaw. The Dark Lord halted his assault in excruciating and exquisite agony as traces of blood broke from the charred skin of his face.

A black ichor began to spread across the Sovereign’s right eye as a thunderous shockwave rippled through the Force. In a rasping tone the Dark Lord spoke, “Well you have fulfilled the conditions of this contest and have earned the holocron.” Dropping his hand from his sword only for it to be held by his mind (Telekinesis), Silas clasped both of his hands together and called forth the true depths of his supernatural might (Sith Sorcery). Opening the domain to the fathomless pool of energies as the void that had now fully consumed his right eye now began to claim Silas’s remaining iris.

“Now, young apprentice. I will reveal to you the truth of the disparity between us.” As he spoke the Sovereign reclaimed his blade with his right hand as he outstretched his left arm and called his helmet to his free hand. Donning the obsidian armament a pale silver light soon gleamed from the visor slit just beneath the embossed crown. With his full armor in place a resonance soon emanated from the sacrilegious plating etched with the script of the ancient Sith. A faint chant in the old tongue began to fill the halls of throne room as the Dark Lord’s potency within the Force reached it apex.

The profound presence of the Sovereign was further amplified as the Irus’s Mirtis as the Dark Lord’s fatigue was all but erased. Though small in magnitude the current of dark side energies that constantly seeped into Silas’s core rejuvenating him. Channeling this flow alongside the peak of his own nearly unmatched connection to the Living Force to the tightly clenched fist of his left hand. “An art unseen since the days of the Old Republic,” the Sovereign spoke his intentions knowing Silvanius had little hope of defending against the legendary technique. Raising his left hand toward the apprentice an instantaneous biting fatigue would soon wash over Silvanius as luminous violet sparks leapt out from her body (Manipulate Life Force).

[Kita_Ikari]

Silvanius had managed to land herself a winning blow...as well as finally grasp the power of telekinesis.
Watching silently as blood began seeping from the Dark Lord's jaw, Silvanius wanted to laugh in relief as she deactivated her weapons. But instead just smiled to herself with a small bit of pride. Something she didn't really care to feel or much less show. But landing any blow on the echani was a major stepping stone for the apprentice. And as a reward, Lord Tormentous's holocron was now in her possession.

The pride the young sith apprentice had felt quickly left her however as she noticed the atmosphere drastically change. The Dark ripple she had felt in the force was rather unsettling to Silvanius, as she had felt it once before. Noticing the change in his eyes coloration, Kita knew whatever the Dark Lord was planning to do, it was rather downright terrifying to her. She didn't care for sith sorcerery by any means. The use of it sent a uneasy chill down her spine, yet for some it seemed to be nessary in the sith.

Ignoring his comment on her victory, Silvanius took a few steps back as he began summoning forth his darker powers. The echani's other eye being completly consumed by darkness til both stared back at her like pitch black voids.
“Now, young apprentice. I will reveal to you the truth of the disparity between us.”

Silvanius sensed a very bad turn coming as the Sith Lord donned his helmet. There was no talking the echani out of whatever was coming her way, yet the apprentice still made the attempt. "I already know your far more superior In power, but..."
She had lost her train of thought as whispers began filling the throne room, the apprentice stood silently, frozen. Her nexu Warv had been patiently laying outside the throne room doors, his head lifting curiously as he heard the echani's chant. Even Silvanius's beast sensed something was obviously wrong.

The silver clad apprentice felt her body quickly becoming weaker, adding onto the energy she had already spent just to win the duel. Her legs shook, unsure if she could even hold herself upright much longer through every agonizing second as fatigue swiftly consumed her. Every muscle burned throughout her body, Sore and worn, Silvanius tried to hold out as long as she could from his sith sorcerery, but instead fell to her knees in defeat. A rather frustrating situation in her mind. If there was one thing that made Silvanius uncomfortable, it was just the fact of feeling vulnerable.

Kita's faded blue gaze glanced up at the Sith Lord, silently unsure what his motives were.
Was he planning to kill her? That seemed highly unlikely. He wouldn't have wasted his time battling with her for Lord Tormentous's holocron had he killed her. No. It was for some other reason.

[Silas Karn]

Silvanius’s body was discarded within the Valley of Sith Lords with her prize placed upon her chest. Rain began to drop upon her as a storm seemingly conjured from nothing slowly moved over the entirety of the desert sands which held the tombs of the greatest of their sect. Perhaps as a matter of coincidence, mirth, or even a far more subtle plan beyond the young adept’s grasp, Silvanius would soon waken at the entrance to the domain set aside from her wayward former master.

The Throne of Skulls recreated in perfect order as if transported by an unseen hand yet now housed in the hollow emptiness of of its antechamber sat in front of an exquisite sarcophagus. The grand statues of Tormentous’s past acolytes honored by the former Dark Lord adorned the long hallway leading to the antechamber. The key required to access any of the sacred tombs that had been restored from failed imperial efforts to wash away the grand history held preserved within now lay upon the unconscious apprentice’s prone form. The holocron and Silas’s own signet ring were the only two artifacts capable of granting access to the wealth of knowledge and secrets held within. Lightning soon rippled across the black clouds that now completely encompassed the valley.

An immense presence echoed through the barren land as the Sovereign sat in meditation at the peak of the highest tower within the citadel. Manipulating the climate of Moraband had become a unique custom for the Dark Lord during his tenure as High Priest and had not left him. Seething with indignation for losing even a sparring contest with such a rank amateur as Silvanius, the white hot rage that boiled within Silas fueled the arcane craft from which the unnatural storm had been birthed. “I should have just ended her…yet to lose the last remnant of his teachings with the Sith.” Silas brooded.

[Kressara Thryn]

Rain plinked and spattered off metal talons as each pointed tip pricked wet sand, a hooded figure skulking up puddling steps towards the tomb of the late lord. Kita, a girl who’d grown on her since their less than ideal start, lay unconscious collecting rain, bloodied, and clearly in no condition to wake. Leather audibly rubbed together as fists clenched by the figure’s sides, jaw hitching. Acid leaked hot into her veins and the glimmering gray matter in her skull throbbed, icy behind steadfast eyes. Her rage manifested across a network of broken, severed, and rebonded nerves, and oh, it was rage…

Kressara didn’t understand it herself. Why care at all? Would they offer such unsolicited help if she were wounded? Would they feel so deeply the need to avenge her honor were it desolated? Did it matter if they didn’t?

No. Blinking rain from her vision, Kressara stood over Kita’s battered form in a moment of clarity. No, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter one damnable bit whether or not anyone felt as strongly as she did. She didn’t need a reason. Her nature needed no excuses. That was what made the difference between a ruler and a leader.

Kneeling, deft hands unclasped her cloak and draped corvid black fabric protectively over the younger blonde. Kita’s body was dead weight when Kressara hoisted her up, but her arms were strong enough. Carefully, quickly, the assassin carried Torm’s bleeding apprentice through the storm, towards the academy. Kita was put to bed in the safety of Kressara’s own chambers, sending for one of her own to tend her wounds. She waited by her side, doing what she could until another punk came to take her place.



~Atop the Tower…



Yet Kita wasn’t the last. While she was the true apprentice of Tormentous, another infrequently roamed those ominous halls who once fought beside him. Like every other friend and foe before, Kressara learned from him what she pleased. His own apprentice who rose to be lord of the sith before Kita had taken her as his pupil, though she could scarcely recall him. The scars of those lessons still marked her skin, hidden among countless others. What's more, had Silas seen Kressara before the glitterstim changed her, he might have thought she and Tormentous’s last apprentice favored one another in a certain light.

Shimmering droplets peppered stone off her soaked attire, sopping white gold clinging to her face and neck as clawed boots hooked the balcony’s railing. The guards refused her entry, so Kressara scaled the tower to appear at Silas’s terrace door like a dark and glittering smudge in his stormy expanse. Her energy was pointed like her glaring, obscured by the cloud of sparkling smoke to exit her lungs in plumes. Clawed infiltration gloves grasped a lit glitterstim laced deathstick from her lips before tossing it to wet tiles with a frantic dispersing of embers, before similarly sharp footwear stamped it out.

“...She could have died out there, Silas.” Vocal chords slackened. Usually light tones were instead a smoke and damp irritated growl.

Lightning fired up the flecks of glitterstim in her irises, staring predatory at the sovereign through his archway. He was in a foul mood, but so was Kressara. A distinct lack of murderous intent existed within the harnessed chaos of her stare, yet the rage those eyes held couldn’t possibly be lessened by having no desire to end a life. One of the few sith Kressara gave a bantha’s ass about had been badly hurt in a squabble she’d been trying to prevent since that day back on the bridge when Silas rained on the recently abandoned apprentice’s head. Now, after months and months of effort to keep the peace wasted, there was a boiling desire to tear into the both of them. She might have let Kita have it too, were she not in such bad condition.

Tossing a stimpak across the floor, it skidded to Silas’s feet. If he chose to use it to recover some of his lost energy, Kress intended to allow it…before she brought an unexpected challenge to the echani’s door.

Her mind, should he delve into it as he often liked, would be torn with the wrath of someone who felt rather surprisingly possessive over the sith. Anger over the injury and treatment of a friend, and loyalty to a man who earned it from her. In that second storm, her only beacon was structured violence.

Silas constantly taught her lessons whether she felt like learning or not. Now? She was aiming to teach him one.

“These brooding, force obsessed little idiots are YOURS. They’re YOUR CHARGE, SILAS. You are their leader…their growth is your responsibility. Not the dead’s.” Scolding words held more electricity to them than the thunder cracking overhead. Silas was the dark lord of the sith now, but Kressara was a leader too. She knew what it took to inspire. She HAD what it took. Leveling him, she drew a simple, war scarred vibro sword. “You treat her as though she is still some dead old lord’s apprentice, and until we see otherwise he is most certainly dead. She is yours to teach now. That? That wasn’t teaching! That was anger, postering, and unresolved emotions! I’ve been tiring myself keeping the peace between you two! How childish can a man so long in years be?”

Whether or not he’d see it, Kressara was attempting to instill in him advice which could turn him from the shadow of his former rival, to stand separate in his own great deeds.

“I have survived the rise of three dark lords to rule these sith. You’d do well to find value in that point of view. I play the fool and you more than anyone here should see through that…so show me you deserve that pretty chair of yours, Sovereign, or I’ll take it from you.”

[Silas Karn]

The Sovereign recalled the stimpak with a flick of his wrist and deftly jabbed his right eye before dispersing its contents then discarding the container at high speed towards a wayward canister reserved for such refuse. As Kressara attempted to chastise the Dark Lord it drew a smirk as the boisterous fervor only served to grant the crow allure in his eyes. The crescendo of this encounter drew focus to the throne room behind the pair.

Rather than engage the fiery woman Silas altered his gaze and snapped the fingers of his left hand igniting a spark from his index finger before sweeping his arm backwards toward the serpent-entwined pedestal (Pyrokinesis). The flame leapt from his hand and ricocheted of the floor before dancing outward toward the ornate chair. With a second stunningly loud snap of his fingers the fire erupted in a cataclysmic fireball shattering the throne (Combustion).

Turning his attention back to Kressara the Sovereign finally granted his reply. “As long as they elect to refrain from proper study that ‘throne’ is a mere chair and those that remain here simply outcasts. In truth the totality of what any of them, Silvanius included, have endured to achieve the true standing of a Sith is not but a drop in the ocean of those that came before them. If she could not survive being discarded out in the valley alone what hope does she have to attain the prestige once set before her by her former master?”

There was no irritation of malice in the Dark Lord’s words. In fact, what the crow could likely discern was apathy. Kressara could likely tell that the boredom of his rule no longer held sense with what she had learned of the man. What held Silas on Moraband was an increasingly perplexing mystery. The weakening schism had also resulted in a divergence in the Sovereign’s motives and actions. This disparity was magnified by every moment the pair spent in each other’s company.

“Three lords huh? I’m afraid that isn’t the case. Only Tormentous can truly claim to have been a Sith Lord since the destruction of that foolish council that gave birth to his rule. Any other in the interim prior to my ascension lacked any of the study, training, or knowledge necessary to truly sit upon a throne and rule a proper order.” Something lingered upon the Sovereign’s words as even the mere mention of the former Dark Lord’s name drew a complex mixture of emotions despite any alteration to whom Silas had been over the past decade.

[Kressara Thryn]

And there he went smirking again. Climbing against permissions through his storm just to draw a sword on him somehow improved his mood? Kress managed a good look at his eye before he accepted the stimpak, making a mental note that Kita had gotten a decent little hit in on the echani rain caller. Not too shabby at all, though he returned it with twice the cruelty.

Silas snapped and in a blaze the throne fractured and burned, pieces of flaming seat scattering. Her arm went up reflexively, blocking squinted eyes from the blast, then slowly lowering with an impressed whistle. That was hardly the reaction his soaked challenger expected, which staved off her rage long enough to listen as a new brighter light from the smoldering mass played over his pale tones.

Annoyed she was losing that sharp angry edge already, Kress hissed and spat, “So flinging her into something she couldn't handle alone is supposed to fix that? You’re so close to understanding, yet so OFF!” Fingers gripped the handle of her rugged vibroblade tightly, causing gloves to creak and scaling prongs to scratch against metal irritably. “They were no better off now then they were when Tormentous ruled! The instructors of this academy are jokes! Sa’ato is among one of the few competent teachers this place has seen in decades, and he isn’t even an official academy instructor! You have only a select few who show any real promise and I've been trying to steal them for my own ambitions because they need SOMETHING to do that isn't this dump of tradition! Hammers can’t cut and knives can’t build houses! Every student in this tired old place has a different purpose, set of talents, and mind. Sharpening every tool you possess on a whetstone will ruin more than half!”


Eyes wandered sideways in thought at his next point when a wry pull to one corner of her lip drew out a chuckle. “Yeah. Can’t argue that.” Hints of memory tried breaching the damaged matter in her head, only to fritter away again. The hatred she felt remained though, which brought her to snicker at the opinion that her former master was not a true leader either. Forgetting her anger that easily, her blade slowly lowered until its needle sharp tip rested upon the floor. When she looked Silas over again, she saw something familiar. Boredom. The same boredom she felt all those years ago before she found her passion. How could she expect him to care about the success of the students if she wasn’t taking her own advice? Silas was a blade, not a hammer. He needed sharpening to feel like himself. He needed a challenge. Why else would her threatening him lift his mood? His rival was gone. The one who pushed him to exceed his limits, no longer anywhere to be found.

Remembering the state Kita was left in, Kress exhaled slowly and steeled her sword for a fight once again.

“...but did I not speak loudly enough for you? Do echani men have a problem with excessive ear wax? Or do you merely think yourself too important to listen to a lowly junkie? Face it, you only listen to me sometimes because the glitterstim makes me look a little like one of your people, because you’re horribly trapped by your own prejudice! You’re nothing more than a pretty boy brat playing wizard in his tower, judging all the little people he’s raining on, laughing about how many pairs of boots he’s ruining. Because who keeps making it flood in the desert? Oh yeah…YOU!”

Flinging her arms up to either side of her as she leaned in with a smarmy grin, Kress snipped, “Half your guards have athlete's foot and I’m shocked the neti has yet to develop root rot!”

Was she giving him a reason to fight her, or making one for herself?

“I’ve had to treat my armor for rust FIFTEEN TIMES THIS MONTH! Could you turn off the waterworks for the rest of us and just cry like a real man, or do echani struggle with fragile masculinity as well?!” Her voice was raising, but the bite from before was missing. Instead, it almost felt as though her insults were meant as a pep talk of sorts, lending energy to their interaction to push them both into a scrape. Kress continued with a showy twirl of her blade before igniting its vibro function, heating metal with a staticy hum and smell of evaporating moisture. The simple weapon steamed from water on its blade, clouding the boisterous crow who adopted an aggressive stance with metal talons clinking. Ripples distorted the puddle developing from rain seeping in from the open balcony, added to by dripping clothing.

“So put’m up, Silas! I wanna see them pretty manicured nails!” Her eyes flashed, teeth bared into a feral smile. “Pick up your sword if you aren’t afraid to dance with a real killer!!!”

Before Silas could back out, she swept into a crouch and kicked at the puddle beneath her, summoning her fresh glitterstim dosed influence on the force and channeling it into the water. Slush formed at her feet and ice shards hardened midair, sailing towards the echani in a flurry of white and shine (Cryo). Kress leapt from her frigid puddle behind the ice spray and followed through with an upward thrust of her sword aimed to slip between armored plates with the precision only an expert assassin could bring to the table, like a seamstress ripping threads without damaging the fabric they bound.

She emerged from the sudden frost and glimmer before Silas like a diamond dust devil, focused as though entranced by the art she devoted herself to perfect. She wielded her own body with the same revenant hunger most used when studying the force. Silas was no longer facing the failed apprentice he’d been attempting to improve, but the other half of Kressara which was uncannily practiced. Unlike Kita, she aimed to carve that vibroblade longwards from the soft of his belly to the base of his neck, producing a nasty scar he’d never live down should he actually allow her to wedge that sword in between his plate armor.

[Silas Karn]

Silas was momentarily taken aback. It seemed that Kressara’s training has finally begun to yield fruit as shards of ice clashed upon his armor. Yet it was swiftly the crow’s turn to express surprise as the visage of the Dark Lord all but vanished instantaneously with the Sovereign placing a gentle hand upon the small of her back as he mimicked the flow of her follow-up sword strike. It was more than the speed of his movements, which even with her advancement Kress could not decipher whether it was enhanced or natural, but the deft draw of his blade that now aligned with the young acolyte’s own that magnified Silas’s aura.

“A dance you say? It has been cycles since I’ve had a proper partner. As for the lethality of your capabilities, it seems you do know how to orate unto my kin.” Of course words would only gave Kressara a brief pause before attempting to continue in her assault. To whit the Sovereign swept the forlorn blade of Light’s End upon its opposition before leaping out of range entirely with an overtly flashy reverse summersault and landing upon the outer facing of the palace walls (Force Adhere). Stunningly, the Sovereign’s movement halted as he stood perpendicular to his flighty opponent and looked down to meet her gaze.

Holding the Irus’s Mirtis aloft toward his foe Silas continued to speak, “Come now, you must learn to deny such retreats.” As if to retort to her opener the Sovereign then swept his off-hand toward Kressara and launched a brief burst of unfocused flame in a swathe while holding his focus on maintaining his footing (Pyrokinesis). It was a feint of sorts, as Silas waited and gauged the reaction the crow would have to his new offensive. Beyond this a gleam now lit behind the Sovereign’s eyes as this confrontation had pushed all other thoughts away and there was now just this moment.