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Ok, finally here we go with the 3rd instalment. I really am sorry for the delay, I've had problems and distractions aplenty but I do feel like I've dragged it out. If the story feels rough, it's because I'm launching it as a first draft just to get it out here. I think I shall go back and clean it up a little later.

And yes, this is about the most complex background I've ever done and it was a pain in the ass >_<

*Edit 1st March 2010: reviewed the text a little, minor tweaks for grammar and flavour.*

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Part 3

Several months passed. Spring blossomed into summer, the pale, fresh greens making way for richer, more verdant tones as the warmth and daylight grew. Within the walls of the compound however, little change was to be seen. The guards still patrolled the perimeter, the apprentices still ran to fetch and carry for their masters, and the sorcerers enshrined themselves in solitude, meeting but rarely and briefly, only to produce yet another result to add to the enclosure for those semi-feral creatures that grew more numerous by the week.

Aristotle’s days remained of poring over ancient manuscripts, of frowning at faded and fragmented scrolls, of gently reminding Kiva that she had until a second ago been holding that scroll open on the floor for him, and would she please let the ladybug go now.

The Master remained at least partly true to their deal, ensuring that they stayed in moderate comfort – a starving, cold and hungry translator being of less use to him than one whose empty stomach and chilled feet do not intrude upon intelligent thought. He even agreed to the removal of Aristotle’s chains, although the iron cuffs and collar remained as a reminder that he was still a prisoner. Despite this, he leaned constantly on Aristotle, demanding updates with clockwork regularity.

While Aristotle felt sure that the knowledge the sorcerers sought was indeed somewhere in the vast store of ancient knowledge they had amassed, he also felt no closer to actually finding it. And week after week, the Master reminded him that yet another innocent life had been wasted.

It was often Kiva who would rouse the feline from the pit of depression that his talks with the Master would throw him into. While Aristotle managed to keep the details of his work from the girl, sparing her the true horror of their situation, she seemed to pick up enough from the notes he dictated, and perhaps from overheard conversations between the apprentices, to have some inkling of why he would sometimes return looking drawn and tired, and say not a word for several hours.

At such times, she would sit next to him, her hands resting upon his fur, and talk softly of what she had seen while climbing trees in the orchard, of the sunset, of how the cloud beyond the window looked like a horse, or whether she should grow her hair – anything that didn't matter at all and wasn't related to any of the research they were doing. Whatever fear she had once held of him had long since vanished, and Aristotle found unexpected comfort in occasionally waking to find her sleeping against his flank. Somehow, it made him feel more human.

And so it was that matters almost settled into a routine, the strangeness of this loose captivity becoming something dangerously close to normal.

Until the death of the Emperor changed everything.

Where the old emperor had invited the sorcerers into his cities and towns, had bidden them to take all they needed in the name of research and progress, his first-born son and heir had often counselled against such leniency. The old ways of the empire, the traditions of generations taught that all things magical were blasphemous, atrocities against the gods of Sun and Moon, and not to be allowed in their sight.

Barely had his father's body cooled than the order was given; remove the sorcerers from the empire.

In payment for deeds done – even the new Emperor had to concede that some useful results that come from their work – they would be allowed to leave peacefully. But their possessions, their works and learnings were to be destroyed, burned in the sight of the Sun and Moon, that the gods would know the empire still followed their rule.

It was with curiosity that Kiva watched the arrival of a platoon of the empire's soldiers at the compound gates. The abysmally keen rooster that lived around the compound – and yet somehow evaded all attempts to locate and silence it – had woken her early, as it often did. Failing to rouse Aristotle, Kiva had decided to go exploring, as she had become accustomed to doing whenever he wasn't in the mood to follow her. Now, safely out of sight in the early dawn light of late Fifthmonth, she watched from a vantage point up on the roof of the gatehouse, her inhumanly sharp ears strained to pick up the conversation from below.

A man in shiny armour and a plumed helmet had arrived with the soldiers and seemed to be arguing with the guardsmen. The exchange escalated rapidly into a shouting match, and soon one, then a second and third dark robed apprentice appeared, hurrying across the courtyard. They brought no weapons, made no threatening moves, but seemed to be saying that entry was absolutely not permitted without the Master's permission.

The man in armour didn't seem to agree, and nor did he look likely to wait for the Master. Grabbing one of the apprentices as he tried to retreat back inside the compound, he gestured along the road behind him. It looked like once the apprentice was out, he wasn't allowed to go back inside. The guards moved to intervene, and swords flashed in the dawn sun.

Pressed tight against the roof tiles above, Kiva didn't see much of what followed, but judging from the hoarse shouts and rapid verbal back-pedalling, the armoured man seemed to have won the argument. The soldiers behind him marched in step through the gates of the compound, the rhythmic tread of their heavy boots sending tiny tremors up the wall of the gatehouse. Every second man in the ranks carried a lit torch, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows to either side of the column.

Edging around to the other side of the roof, Kiva could see them fanning out across the courtyard, some of them entering the building, some passing through the archways that would lead to the wider compound beyond the walls, and some opening the great wooden hatch that lead down into the cavernous catacombs beneath the main building. It was from this last that the encroaching soldiers got the strongest reaction – a sudden outpouring of a half dozen sorcerers, pushing them back with the surprise of their appearance, forming a line between the entrance and the platoon.

The armoured man stepped forward, raising a mailed fist, but the sorcerers were not as easily intimidated as their apprentices at the gate, reaching into pockets with practised haste and accuracy.

It was Kiva's first experience of the dreadful power wielded by a user of the black arts, and she clung tightly to the tiles, ears flat back against her head as flame billowed around the courtyard below, issuing in streams from the sorcerers' hands.

But the armoured man was not so easily disposed of. Even as the sorcerers had reached for their spell reagents, he had flung himself to the ground, raising his great metal shield in front of him, protecting himself from the blast wave. As his men collapsed screaming behind him, he held his position, knowing that such a power could not be maintained for long, and as the flames faltered he sprang to his feet, sword in hand. By the time his reinforcements arrived, streaming in from the sides of the courtyard, the sorcerers already lay dead at his feet.

He spat upon them, and led his men into the catacombs.

Pressed tightly against the roof, Kiva felt her heart hammering against her ribs. She had to run, had to warn Ari! They had to get away! But she could only watch in horrified fascination as flickers of light lanced out from the depths of the catacombs, fiery flashes lighting the stairway down for a moment before fading into darkness once more.

Down the steps of the mansion building now came another group of sorcerers, four, wreathed in flame, cutting down the soldiers in their way with dazzling blasts of jagged light, sharp cracks sending echoes around the walls of the courtyard. Behind them a pack of their mercenary guards, bows at the ready, sending a volley of arrows into any shadow where they sensed movement. They stopped at the entrance to the catacombs, looking around to be sure the courtyard was clear before three of them descended, chasing the soldiers and the armoured man into the black depths where they performed their most secret, most dangerous works. The last and several of the guards stayed to guard the entrance from further assault.

What was down there, Kiva wondered, that they wanted to protect it so badly? And did the armoured man know, or was anything the sorcerers held dear something he wanted to destroy? What was he even here for? It made no sense.

Sense or no, it was going to change the fact that around the other side of the mansion, a group of soldiers was methodically breaking down the back door. Prowling along the rooftop of the gatehouse to the far end, Kiva could just see the flickering light of their torches coming from round the corner.

“I gotta find Ari...” she murmured under her breath.

Carefully letting herself down over the edge of the roof, the girl climbed with cat like agility down the heavy metal drain pipe, the careful flow of her movements causing barely a creak from the iron screws that held it to the wall.

“Well I can't go in the front door because there's always guards there... bet there's still one or two... and I can't go in the back door because there are soldiers there now,” she whispered to herself as she crept through the shadowy bushes on the outside of the main cluster of buildings. “Window,” she decided. Up the cherry tree, her tallest and most sturdy of friends over the last few months, little jump across to the window she'd left open on the way out, and in she went. Creeping along the corridor, around the corner, the dawn cast pale pools of light against the wall. From somewhere on the floor below, she could hear muffled shouts and booted feet running up and down the wooden floor. Looked like she didn't have long.

Peeping over a stone windowsill she could see down into the courtyard, the sorcerer still standing, flames at his feet, sparks in his hair. Actually, it would be pretty cool, if only he didn't seem to want to kill everyone...

“Ari?” she hissed, poking her head around the door to their chambers. “Are you...” she began, stepping forward into the darkened room, then let out a scream that was cut short as the impact from behind both knocked her down and pressed her hard against the floor.

“Sakes, girl, what are you doing sneaking in like that?” Aristotle asked, quickly removing his large paw from the small of her back.

She rolled over and sat up, looking at him reproachfully as she rubbed bits of her that had impacted the floor.

“Ouch!” she hissed at him for extra effect. “I needed to find you. There's men...”

“I know,” he interrupted. “I've been watching from the window. We need to leave.”

The girl blinked at him. “Leave? Then why are you still here?”

“Because, you stupid girl, you sneaked out again without telling me where you were going! I had to wait for you to come back else you'd be stuck on your own!”

Kiva hung her head, acknowledging the point, but rather glad that he had waited for her.

“Come on now,” he added, padding towards the doorway, and she hurried to catch up, one hand finding his shoulder, fingers twining into his thick fur.

They moved quietly along the corridor, the early morning light guiding them between the shadows, increasingly aware of the sounds of activity on the floor below. Shouting, banging, smashing – it seemed like the soldiers were under orders to wreck the place. Aristotle hesitated at a corner, leaning around just enough to take a look along the corridor beyond.

“Ok, that's a problem,” he winced, withdrawing his head rapidly and backing up.

“What is?” Kiva asked, then heard the sound of running footsteps.

“Get behind me, quickly!”

It didn't seem like a time to argue, and as the three soldiers rounded the corner she ducked down behind his large form, leaving them staring dumbly as the flicker of movement that had drawn them turned out to be over six hundred pounds of very large, very angry looking feline.

With big teeth.

All three looked at him for several seconds in complete silence, apparently frozen into immobility by the complete unexpectedness of this adversary. Aristotle, trying to work out whether they were about to attack, remained motionless. It wasn't a stalemate that looked like it could last for long. Shields were already being slowly raised, hands creeping towards sword hilts as the soldiers tried to work out whether they could take the beast with a surprise attack.

“Growl,” Kiva hissed, poking the feline's nearest leg.

Aristotle hesitated, then growled, head low, ears back, teeth bared. The soldiers twitched backward.

Aristotle twitched forward.

As one man they paled, turned, and fled right back up the corridor. Kiva could hear them clattering down the stairs. She giggled as Aristotle gave half-hearted chase, just to make sure they didn't even think about stopping.

Aristotle sighed as Kiva caught up to him at the top of the stairs. “Anything that works I guess,” he muttered. “Come on, I suppose they won't be back for a while. Let's go while we have chance.”

After a quick check around the corner again, finding nothing but a corridor that was empty except for picture frames and a single vase, they hurried towards the stairs. Peering down over the edge of the landing, they could hear shouts and see flickers of light from below – although nothing seemed to be decisively coming towards them. Wherever the three soldiers had run to, they obviously hadn't given the impression that someone should go back and check out the top floor.

“Stay in the shadows,” Aristotle said quietly, and Kiva nodded, then...

“Wait... you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Boom...” Kiva said quietly, her voice low, imitating the sound on the edge of her hearing. “Boom.”

A slight tremor ran through the mansion, a feeling that seemed to well up from the soles of feet.

“Boom?” Aristotle suggested, and she nodded, eyes wide and drawing herself closer to him.

Again, regular as the heartbeat of some earthen giant, this time the feeling accompanied by a faint creaking of timber and stone, the entire building shivering on its foundations.

“What is that?” she breathed.

“I have no idea... but I don't think we want to stay here and find out. Quickly now, come on!”

Padding carefully down the stairs, hardly daring to breathe for fear it might be overheard, that rhythmic rumble added haste to their movements.

A descent of two floors and still no soldiers had appeared as they reached the last step. The arching hallway into which the staircase led showed light in three of the doorways leading onto it, the rest were in darkness.

Kiva stifled a scream and grabbed Aristotle around the neck as the floor heaved, the ornate crystal chandelier detaching from the ceiling to land with a tinkling crash against the tiled floor. Shivering, she held herself against him, hiding her face.

“Come on, girl, keep moving.” Amber eyes scanned the doorways around as Aristotle padded forward, half pulling, half carrying the girl with him. Shouts echoed through the mansion, but it didn't look like anyone was coming to investigate the noise of the chandelier. Likely they had their own problems to deal with.

The sky through the windows was beginning to turn pink with the rising sun.

“One's missing...” Kiva whispered. For a moment, Aristotle didn't know what she meant, then he realised; the rumble had missed a beat. Two. Three.

The windows overlooking the courtyard lit up like lightning. Bright, glaring white light that made them both turn their heads away.

Far above, a flight of sparrows broke and wheeled in the air as a column of light rose from below, spearing upwards until it was lost in the cloud above. Any bird that might have looked groundward at that moment would have seen a ring of the purest white light burst forth from the base of the column, expanding in the twinkling of an eye, a moving wave of the utmost luminance sweeping outwards towards the horizon. The ring passed the horizon and dipped beyond. The beam of light faded.

The flock of sparrows reformed and continued on its way to the cornfield.

Aristotle blinked, bright sparks lingering on the backs of his eyelids.

“W-what was that?” Kiva whispered into his ear.

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “But...”

“They’ve stopped shouting.”

The girl was right, he realised. The voices of the guards had stilled. Throughout the whole mansion, not a sound could be heard except for their own breathing.

“B-big brother... what’s...”

“Shh,” he hushed her. “I don’t know, but we’re getting out of here. Come on.”

He led the way forward, her hand latched onto the metal collar around his neck.

“Wait here,” he said softly, stopping outside a room from which torchlight could be seen flickering.

Kiva shook her head, her grip on his collar tightening.

“Kiva! Wait here,” he told her again, more firmly. Looking at her face, his expression softened. “I will come back for you, I promise. I need to be sure it's safe for you. Come on, let go now.”

Slowly she relaxed her grip, and he crouched low to the floor, inching forwards into the room beyond.

“By the light...”

“What? What is it?” the moment he spoke, she had followed him round the door. Her gaze followed his for a moment, before she let out a scream, covering her face and shrinking back into the hallway. “They’re... are they...?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured, padding forward into the room.

“They’re not moving...” Kiva’s voice quavered from the shadows behind.

“No, no they’re not. They’re...” he lifted one massive forepaw to prod at the object of investigation. “Statues?”

Statues of soldiers, dressed in stone uniforms of exactly the cut that the invading platoon had been wearing. Two of them carrying torches that still burned. All were positioned differently, three standing, one hunched over as if shielding his head, all wearing fearful expressions and looking out towards the courtyard.

“No...” Aristotle realised quietly. “Not statues. Kiva, come, we’ve seen enough, we’re going right now. Kiva?” he turned, realising she hadn’t followed him. “Girl?” Retracing his steps he found her, around the corner of the door, hunched into the corner, knees up to her chest and her face hidden in her arms.

“Come on, girl,” he said quietly. “We have to go now.”

But the girl just shook her head and huddled down further.

Aristotle sighed, leaning over her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“I will keep you safe,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to be afraid. They can’t hurt you now. Come here, climb on my back.”

She lifted her head and blinked at him. This was something she had several times tried to do, but Aristotle’s dignity had always stepped in and pointed out he was not a beast of burden and unceremoniously dumped her onto the floor. Kiva gazed up at him suspiciously.

“I won’t drop you. Come on. That’s right. Now, take a hold on my collar.”

She did as instructed, lying flat against his back, fingers tight around the cool metal.

“Do you trust me?”

“Mmm,” she nodded.

“Good girl. Close your eyes, and hold on.” He felt her head rest against his neck. “That's right. Keep your eyes closed. Just trust me.”

Quietly, slowly, he carried her through the hall of statues. It was creepy, he couldn’t deny it. While the stone had robbed them of the finer details of expression, it did nothing to hide the overarching terror on their features or the fear in their postures. But what had happened here?

The courtyard outside was silent under the dawn sky, but on the floor, in various positions, lay stone sculptures that looked an awful lot like slain bodies, their limbs twisted in varied positions of agony. Kiva stirred on his back, her arms tightening about him.

“Don’t look, girl, don’t look.”

“She should look!” the voice came from behind. Aristotle turned.

Standing at the far side of the courtyard, dressed in robes of a luxurious purple, the man smiled calmly.

“She would do well to remember the power here today.”

“It’s him!” Kiva hissed into Aristotle’s ear.

“What have you done?” the feline demanded, pacing towards the Master – if such a moniker still fit him.

“Me?” the man raised a hand to his chest. “Absolutely nothing. I tried to stop this happening, in fact, but the fools insisted on trying to destroy the weapon. They’re still down there, if you want to talk to them,” he nodded at the gaping entrance to the catacombs. “Although you may find their conversation... a little stiff.”

“You son of a...”

“I did not do this!” the man forestalled him. “I told you, I tried to stop it.”

“You created the weapon!”

“On request.”

“You could have refused.”

“I could have refused to create you as well,” the man stated flatly. “I don’t see you arguing about that.”

“You deserve to have died with them...” Aristotle growled.

“Died? Well, I suppose they might be dead,” the man mused. “I really don’t know. Magic made them this way, magic may one day turn them back.”

“Then do it!”

“I can’t, I don’t know how,” the Master smiled thinly. “That was never a part of the research. Disable the enemy without affecting their cities or farms, that was the instruction. You could always help me figure out whether there's an antidote, if you like. You seem to be a natural research assistant.”

“You bastard.”

“I’ll take that as a no. You should be running, by the way. The enclosure broke in the tremors, and the girl must smell like such sweet, tender meat.”

As if reacting to its master’s call, a sharp, guttural bark sounded from somewhere behind the mansion house.

Aristotle froze, feeling Kiva’s grip around him tighten.

“That is, assuming they consider her food.”

“I hope they kill you,” Aristotle spat.

“Oh, they won’t. They know their master. If you want to live, run. Now. I’ll give you that much as payment for the work you did.”

Aristotle hesitated for a moment.

“Ari...” Kiva whispered.

“This isn’t over!”

“No, I’m sure it isn’t,” the man sighed. “Your type never lets go. Farewell now, my dear pet. I will see you again, I'm sure.”

Shadows moved at the corner of the mansion, half humanoid, stooping, hunched and thick limbed.

Aristotle ran. Across the courtyard towards the main entrance to the compound.

“Hold on!”

Through a trio of stone soldiers, each standing with back against the wall of the gatehouse, gaze directed to the centre of the courtyard. Somewhere behind, a low baying. Something in pursuit? Or something that just found its meal? Couldn’t take the chance.

Keep running.

Along the road in the warm orange light of early morning. A rabbit, startled, standing upright for a moment before bolting for the hedgerow. A woman walking towards them – no, not walking, not running in terror at the sight of the beast bearing down upon her. Standing calmly, mid stride and oddly balanced, expression as unwavering as stone.

How far had this mysterious effect spread? How many people had suffered this unfair and unexpected fate? Aristotle could only imagine. For now, it didn't even matter. He needed to get away from the mansion, away from the compound, and away from the Master, as far as his legs would carry the young girl on his back.

“Are you ok?”

“Y-yes... A-ari? Whe-ere are we g-going?” Each impact of his paws upon the road sent a jolt through her words, but he couldn't slow down, not yet, not until all sound of pursuit had faded.

“I don't know. We'll find somewhere safe. It'll be all right.”

The road stretched on ahead of them, past trees and villages, beyond towns and cities, to where a fishing boat returned to port. The crew, leaning over the side, wondered at the lack of reaction on the dock. Not a man ran to throw them a line, not a child waved. Not a single person moved. Laughing at what he thought was an elaborate joke, one of the fishermen threw a lifebelt at the dockmaster, and watched open mouthed as he keeled over backwards, as stiff as a statue.

Behind the hills far to the south, a trio of men blinked and stretched as they exited the mine, pushing ahead of them a cart full of hope and dreams, nearly running over their fourth companion as he stood motionless on the tracks.

Deep in the underground prisons of the capital city, a prisoner clanged his metal cup against the bars, shouting for his breakfast.

Not far from the mansion, the flock of sparrows finally settled in farmer Duckworth's field and began squabbling over seedlings.