Bayentes looked at the map and sighed. Where to be, where to be, he wondered as he tapped his fingers under the city of Zemal then looked at Amphipolis. Should he go to see Xena fight against another platoon or go to see the rest of his army level her home town. Choices, choices, he thought. He sat back and contemplated his options.

"Sir, reporting as ordered," his newest first lieutenant entered the tent, standing at attention.

"Sit down Rolf," Bayentes smiled, immediately putting the young man on guard. "Come now, I won’t bite . . . " he added with a grin.

"Yes sir," Rolf answered, hesitantly sitting down. He smiled weakly, surviving that nerve-wracking task.

"I have a dilemma," Bayentes relayed with a perplexed look on his face as he stared at his map.

"Sorry to hear that sir," Rolf answered, his eyes darting around the tent before returning back to the warlord and his map.

"Thank you for your concern, Rolf. You see, I’d like to attack Zemal and Amphipolis at the same time but I can’t be both places at once," he relayed to the nervous man, who quietly listened. "Which is what I’d like," he added with a smile.

"I understand," Rolf relayed, then held his breath, realizing he just spoke aloud.

"Now, what would you do?" Bayentes asked, pointing to the map. "A platoon here in Zemal, then the rest of the army here, just outside of Amphipolis."

Rolf looked tentatively at the map.

"Well, you could delay the Amphipolis attack until you finish with Zemal," he responded, pointing at the town. "The only advantage of a simultaneous attack that Xena can’t be in both places at the same time either. You could leave in the middle of the battle, while she’s still busy in Zemal and go to Amphipolis," Rolf relayed enthusiastically.

"Yes," Bayentes smiled. "Well thought out, Rolf," he added.

"Thank you sir," Rolf said proudly. "Do you have any orders for the platoon or should I tell them to make camp?" He asked.

"Tell them to make camp, I want her to wait a little longer," Bayentes informed him as he still studied at the map. "She hates waiting," he grinned.

"She’s awfully quiet," Staveros relayed to Gabrielle as he wiped the sweat from his forehead while taking another break from practice. The merchant and bard eyed the warrior as she walked around the practicing Zemalians, looking distant.

"She has a lot on her mind, Staveros," Gabrielle relayed. Staveros nodded sympathetically.

"You should tell your people to stop for the evening," Gabrielle quickly changed the subject. "You don’t want everyone to be exhausted when Bayentes’ men comes back," Gabrielle relayed.

"Yeah, we need all the rest we can get," Staveros relayed. "Do you think the two look outs will be enough?" Staveros asked.

Gabrielle looked around at the city then the locations for the lookouts. "Absolutely," she relayed with more confidence than she had. But two sounded good, she thought.

Staveros smiled and nodded.

"You should make it three, one should be a roving watch to check up on the two, sleep becomes tempting in the middle of the night," Xena relayed as she walked up.

"Ah, good idea, I’ll get right on it. Thanks Xena," Staveros blurted with a smile. Xena eyed the man she still did not trust. Her eyes returned to a much prettier sight and she offered a small smile.

"Ok, not so absolutely," Gabrielle eyed her warrior with a grin. "Well, it seems your hearing and knowledge of warfare is still intact," she observed, reaching for and capturing her warrior’s hand.

"Yeah, great. That knowledge and good hearing will do us a lot of good in the middle of a battle. . . ," Xena relayed sarcastically with a sad sigh, squeezing the bard’s hand slightly.

"Well, you can still teach us what to do," Gabrielle relayed optimistically.

"You know what they say, those who can’t do. . . teach," Xena blurted, looking around town for signs of trouble. Not that she’d be able to do anything to stop it . . . .

"You tired?" Gabrielle changed the subject.

"Yeah, I’ve feel exhausted. I could go for some . . . ," Xena blurted then stopped, seeing the bard’s frown and feeling the pleasant tingling the bard’s gentle caresses brought to her hand.

"OH. . . I, uh . . . not really," she responded, lying through her white teeth.

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "We’ll see if that’s the case once your head hits the pillow," Gabrielle added, tugging her warrior’s hand as they headed towards the inn.

As they walked past the front desk, Xena looked around. "I wonder where the inn-keeper is," Xena mentioned.

"Me too," Gabrielle relayed with a thoughtful sigh, pulling her warrior’s hand as she led her up the stairs.

"Gabrielle, I still don’t like staying here," Xena relayed as they entered their room.

"I know," Gabrielle shut the door. "But there are look outs who will alert us if Bayentes men come again," she offered, slowly taking the Warrior’s armor off, stealing caresses that were unnecessary for the task at hand. She moved behind the warrior and pulled the armor free from her and carefully placed it on the table.

"Like last time? We heard the attack before they told us it was coming," Xena complained. "Some look outs . . . ," she muttered and rolled her eyes.

"Yeah . . . well, I think they realize they have a vested interest in being alert now," Gabrielle slowly faced Xena and reached with both hands for one of the warrior’s bracers, managing a long caress as she slowly slid the bracer down Xena’s arm.

"Gabrielle, you should leave tomorrow before dawn, like we planned," Xena blurted.

"I am not leaving, Xena, so don’t try to talk me out of it. It’s a waste of breath," Gabrielle responded calmly as the warm breath of her words teased the warrior’s sensitive skin. She followed with a kiss to the warrior’s collar bone.

Xena swallowed hard, determined to ignore the bard’s obvious attempt at distracting her with gentle kisses that were slowly progressing up her neck.

"Gabrielle, I . . . " the resisting warrior started to counter but was interrupted by an amorous bard, who’s kisses made it up to the warrior’s mouth.

After the kiss, Gabrielle gently captured the warrior’s hand and pulled her towards their canopy bed. At the foot of the bed, the brooding warrior paused.

The morbid thought of their last night together always lingered in the back of Xena’s mind. When they first met, she had to not only defend herself, she had to see to it a young bard also survived the battle. As Gabrielle’s skills with the staff grew, Xena became more comfortable during battles, able to focus more on the enemy and less on the far-from-helpless bard. Now who was helpless, she pondered with a clenched jaw, far from comfortable now.

The warrior looked at her bard, wondering if their last night was now here.

Seeing the incredible sadness in her warrior’s eyes, Gabrielle gently caressed her face. "I love you," she said simply, wondering if . . . NO, it wasn’t going to be their last night, she thought, angry with herself for considering such a thought.

"I’m afraid, Gabrielle," Xena admitted in a whisper. "You should. . ."

"Shhh," Gabrielle interrupted gently. "If something happens. . . which it WON’T. . . but if something does, I want to be with you," Gabrielle responded softly, starting to tear up.

"I know," Xena pulled her bard into a hug. "I just want you safe, but I guess that’s not so easy anymore," Xena whispered into her hair, and kissed her head.

A silent moment passed in each other’s arms, each savoring the satisfying contact. Contact each had grown dependent on.

"Well . . . nothing has ever been easy with you," Gabrielle relayed thoughtfully, pulling herself away from the warm embrace.

"ME??" Xena blurted, looking into her grinning bard’s face.

"Yeah, YOU, my love," Gabrielle responded, poking her in the stomach. "A big, brusk, pain in the . . . WHOA!"

Gabrielle was swept up by the warrior, who grinned wickedly as she stepped toward the bed. A loud thunk wiped the wicked grin off the warrior’s face.

"OW!" Gabrielle’s hand shot up to her head, which ached from the collision with the bed post.

"Gabrielle!" Xena quickly put the bard down. "I . . . I’m . . . I’m SORRY!" Xena sputtered, reaching out but stopping herself from touching the bard’s head. She didn’t want to inflict any more pain.

"HEAD wasn’t the word I was looking for . . . but it will do," Gabrielle rubbed her tender spot, and shook her head with a soft chuckle.

"I can’t believe I just did that," Xena relayed uneasily, eyes darting between the bard and her hands.

"Xena, it’s ok," Gabrielle responded, moving toward her nervous warrior. "I’ll let you kiss me and make it better," Gabrielle added with a grin.

"I’d better not . . . " Xena stepped back.

Gabrielle sighed and sat on the bed.

"Xena," Gabrielle said softly, starting to untie her boots. "We should take things slowly, that’s all," she offered as she took her time removing a boot. "Slow can be good . . . very good," the bard relayed to the warrior with a knowing glance before continuing to remove her other boot. . . slowly.

If anyone knew how to make the removal of boots an erotic experience, Gabrielle was certainly the one, the warrior considered, watching uneasily. "But . . . I don’t want to hurt you . . . ," Xena admitted softly, swallowing hard as the last boot slipped from the bard’s nimble fingers and dropped to the floor.

"Xena," Gabrielle said slowly, her voice dripping with desire. "You don’t have to worry, you won’t have to lift . . . one. . . finger," she spoke silkily as her fingers trailed up to the laces on her green top.

She had a point, Xena considered. If the warrior wasn’t expected to do too much, the chances of injury would be lower, Xena reasoned, taking a hesitant step forward.

"Leave everything up to me . . . " Gabrielle added with a seductive grin, as she slowly tugged on the laces until she released two pointed and extremely compelling reasons for the warrior to join her.

The warrior now stood at the bed side, before her bard, who slowly helped the warrior remover her leathers.

"Do you always get your way, Gabrielle?" The warrior asked with a small grin. When her leathers dropped to the floor, Xena got her the answer.

The bard gazed upon the warrior’s beautiful form with hungry eyes. Unsatisfied with her pleasure being limited to sight, her fingers eagerly sought the pleasure of contact with the warrior’s smooth skin.

Hearing a sharp breath from the warrior, who’s previously smooth skin became rippled with goose bumps, Gabrielle looked up curiously into the warrior’s eyes.

"Cold fingers," Xena explained.

"Not for long," Gabrielle responded with a sly grin, slowly tracing her fingers up the warrior’s flesh to the back of the warrior’s neck. With the slightest of pressure, the bard encouraged the warrior to lean towards her parted lips.

Slowly, their lips met. Their gentle, probing kiss lasted as long as the warrior could stand not lying next to her bard. Xena broke their kiss and glanced at the large bed then the bard, who grinned. As Xena climbed into bed, she felt Gabrielle’s hands suddenly on her shoulders.

"Stop," Gabrielle blurted briskly, greatly disturbing the Warrior Princess, who froze with two hands and a knee on the bed and one foot still on the floor, staring into the bard’s grimacing face. Xena’s heart stopped; She didn’t think she hurt her again.

"Your boots?"

Georg couldn’t stop Mel from taking a peek outside the temple entrance. She pushed her glasses up on her nose as she peered out over the rocks. Suddenly, Georg saw her retreat back into the temple.

She put her finger up to her lips and stood back in the cover of the shadows.

Georg’s heart pounded harder. He hoped the loud sound wasn’t going to give him away as he also retreated into the shadows. Considering his increased breathing likely to be too loud, he held his breath. He also prayed to GOD, thinking that couldn’t hurt.

Georg’s eyes widened as a tall man entered the darkened temple with a pistol drawn. He gasped, attracting unwanted attention.

Though not seeing the source of the gasp, the man pointed his pistol directly towards Georg. "Show yourself," the man blurted, squinting to see what was in the shadows, his eyes not yet adjusted from the bright sunshine to the darkened temple.

Taking another step deeper in the temple, he repeated his command and added a threat. ". . . or I’ll start shooting," he blurted and cocked the hammer back.

Another gasp sounded. This time from the armed man, when he felt someone grab his wrist. Within a second, his hand was slammed against a knee, easily knocking the weapon away. He turned to see his attacker, finding light reflecting off a pair of glasses a few inches above his head. Then he felt a fist.

A surprised Mel stood over the unconscious man.

Georg emerged from the shadows out with his mouth gaping wide open. His eyes dropped to the man on the temple floor. He quickly knelt down and picked up his pistol.

"Wow," he blurted, looking up at the equally amazed southerner, who pushed up her glasses.

"Oh my."

"So honey, where did you put the gold?" The bearded man offered Janice a cigar. Both sat at the table in her tent while Richard nervously stood watching.

"Thanks," she smiled, accepting the cigar. Drawing it under her discriminating nose, she inhaled appreciatively. "You have good taste," she added, making the man crack a smile as he lit his lighter and held it out for her. Not too many women he knew appreciated his cigars.

"So do you," he responded, as she leaned to the offered flame and lit her cigar. "So, where’s the gold," he repeated softly.

"Why do you think I have the gold?" Janice asked innocently, puffing her cigar.

The man chuckled. "Well, I’ve heard about you Dr. Covington," He leaned back in his chair, waiting for a response.

She looked at him a moment, then smiled thinly. "You can’t believe everything you hear."

"Well, I’ve heard that you are intelligent and have . . . experience . . . in these matters."

"Really? From whom?" She asked nonchalantly with a shrug.

The bearded man smiled, offering no more. "Seems we are at a stand still . . . you have something I want and I have something you want . . . your lives," he said.

"Interesting dilemma," she relayed thoughtfully, puffing on her cigar.

"I could kill you right now, and search for the gold," he informed her.

Richard tried counting to ten to not panic.

Janice nodded her head in agreement and took another puff. His eyebrows furrowed for a moment before he thought of a different approach.

"But that’s not a very enjoyable way of passing the time," the bearded man grinned, stroking his beard. "Ass-hole, leave the tent," the bearded man barked, his eyes overtly assessing the red-head’s small form.

Janice’s eyes narrowed.

Richard stood frozen. Three . . . three . . . three. . . .

"Go on Richard, you’d just be in the way," Janice relayed softly, still looking at the bearded man, who was pleasantly please by her answer. She did have good taste, he considered smugly.

"Make sure we aren’t interrupted either," the bearded man added with grin, noticing the archeologist overtly assessing him. "It will be a while, I promise," he added with a hungry twinkle in his eye.

Don’t count on it, Janice considered with a thin smile.

Richard looked at the two uneasily then cleared his throat and left the tent. He stood outside, uncertain of how far away he should stand. He also wondered what he would say to anyone who wanted to see the bearded man. He didn’t have long to wait to find out.

A blond man came up to the tent pushing past Richard. "WAIT!" Richard said nervously, holding the blond man’s arm then immediately letting go when he felt the barrel of the blond man’ gun in his gut.

"Uh. . . I mean . . . he said he didn’t want to be disturbed," Richard relayed nervously, glancing down at the gun, then pointing at the tent.

The blond man looked at Richard, then the tent. Hearing a woman’s moan, the man rolled his eyes. "Great, that’s just fucking GREAT," the man blurted and left in an annoyed huff.

Georg and Mel finished tying up the unconscious tall man and propped him against the base of the altar.

"Now only seven to go," Georg blurted, shaking his head wearily, eyeing the pistol in his hand.

"One at a time, Georg," Mel replied confidently, feeling a surge of pride for how she handled herself with this man.

Her body responded exactly the way it needed to, she mused, looking down at her hands in amazement. Like a dancer’s trained body instinctively responding to music, she considered . . . or rather, imagined.

Even after four painful years of ballet lessons, designed to instill upon the gangly youth some much-needed grace, she could still only imagine what a trained dancer must feel like . . . much to the chagrin of her strict teachers, father, and her own miserable self. Her mother tried to encourage her to continue, telling her she wasn’t going to keep growing forever. Yet thankfully, she remembered her father taking pity on her and telling her she should focus on more important things.

This feeling that washed over her now was indeed a unique and heady one, she admitted with a smile.

Mel’s head snapped when she heard footsteps approach. Before she could tell him anything, Georg was already retreating into the shadows. Mel followed suit. This time two armed men entered the temple.

"Bob? You in here Bob?" The shorter man called out, his loosely held machine gun pointing at the ground.

"He’s probably taking a leak or something, Nick," the blond haired man relayed as he followed the shorter man into the temple, right past Mel.

Mel felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through her. Both men were vulnerable. She had the element of surprise on her side. However, she wasn’t sure if she could take on both at the same time.

"I can’t believe we are stuck looking around this god-forsaken dump for the gold," Nick complained. "It was supposed to be an easy pickup," he added shaking his head.

"Well, I can’t believe we are stuck looking around this dump while Hank is getting some action with that broad," the blond man blurted. "Life just isn’t fair," he added with frustration.

Mel’s eyes widened in surprise.

"Dan, he’s the boss," Nick responded. "And what Hank wants, Hank gets," he added snidely. "Even if it IS at gun point," Nick chuckled.

Mel’s eyes narrowed with growing anger. Perhaps she could take on two. . . .

"Hank always did have a weakness for red-heads," Dan relayed looking around the temple. "He says they’re not just hot tempered . . . they’re really hot in bed," Dan relayed. "But I’ve never noticed the difference," he added with a shrug.

"That’s because you haven’t had a real red head," Nick responded with an amused chuckle. "The bottled reds don’t count."

Hearing the bearded man groan followed by a loud thump, Richard glanced back to the tent uneasily, debating whether to go in or not. He swallowed hard and stayed put.

Glancing around as she carefully poked her head out of the tent flap, Janice whispered, "Dick," making Richard jump.

"NO, don’t turn around. You need to keep everyone thinking we are . . . preoccupied," she informed him, glancing around the campsite. "If you are going to survive this Dick, you need to be very convincing guard," Janice blurted then slipped back into the tent.

Looking at the now bound and gagged unconscious man on the floor, Janice knelt down and picked up her revolver and put in her holster. "Is this enjoyable enough for you?" She asked with a smirk as she extracted a small knife from her boot.

Reluctantly, the archeologist cut through her tent, contemplating the time it would take to sew yet another patch over the already worn material. Cautiously, she poked her head out the new opening. Confirming all clear, she left the tent.

"BOB!" Dan blurted with surprise, tripping over the unconscious man when he came around the altar.

"Freeze!" Georg called out uneasily, stepping from the shadows his pistol pointed at the blond man’s head.

"No, you freeze, buddy," Nick replied smugly, pointing his bigger weapon at Georg.

His smugness turning to concern, Nick felt a strong hand grab his shoulder and turn him around. He gasped when he saw the tall brunette with angry blue eyes glaring at him from behind her black-framed glasses. He broke his gaze from her unnerving glare to her fist, which rapidly approached his face.

Mel watched the now unconscious man slump to the floor and pushed up her glasses, with a content smile on her face. She needed to act, and she did. Janice would be - Janice! Her thoughts jumped to the archeologist’s present problem. Within three long strides, the southerner was next to a grinning Georg and a shaking blond gunman.

"So, Daniel, where exactly IS Hank?" Mel asked with a polite smile, part of her strangely hoping he would not want to cooperate.

"You can’t be thinking of going out there . . . with five armed men still roaming around," Georg blurted nervously, making Mel take a breath to try to explain she couldn’t possibly sit by and do nothing now. . . especially now.

"Four, Hank’s busy," the disgruntled man blurted absently, earning an irritated glare from the southerner.

Georg knew there was absolutely no chance now for him to convince her to listen to reason and stay put. So much for looking out for her, he sighed, hoping Dr. Covington wouldn’t get too angry with him.

"Where’s Hank?" She asked crisply. The blond gunman nervously gulped, suddenly glad he wasn’t Hank.

"The tent closest to the river," Dan informed her then quickly squeezed his eyes shut when he saw her fist approach his face.

"Three down, five to go," Mel relayed casually, dusting her hands off as she stared at the latest unconscious gunman added to her collection. Pushing her glasses up, she looked over to Georg.

"You stay here Georg and watch these men," Mel ordered him.

"Miss Pappas, please be careful?" Georg asked uneasily.

"Georg, don’t worry, I’m just going to have a little visit with this HANK," Mel spoke through another polite smile.

Georg sighed as he watched her leave the temple. He glanced down to the unconscious men thinking they were the lucky ones.

Chapter 25 - No Complaints

Xena woke and smiled as Gabrielle shifted in their bed, taking up more space and more of the covers. Sleepily, the bard scratched her cheek, managing to pull more of the blanket towards her. She moaned contentedly and returned her arm to cover the warrior’s bare chest, now the only thing protecting the warrior’s skin from the chilly air. Xena shivered.

"Xena?" Gabrielle asked groggily.

"Hmmm?" Xena responded with a kiss to her bard’s head.

"You ok?" She asked. She felt her warrior shiver again and noticed how she was hogging the blanket. "Oh . . . sorry," she said sheepishly as she relinquished some of the covers, pulling them over her warrior. "Why didn’t you say anything?"

"Didn’t want to disturb you," she answered with another kiss to her bard’s head.

Gabrielle propped herself up on her elbow and looked into her warrior’s eyes. They smiled at each other. Silently, Gabrielle indulged herself by tracing her fingers over the warrior’s beautiful face, pausing at her lips which puckered to kiss her fingers.

"Do you think he’ll come today?" Gabrielle asked softly. Xena sighed and glanced away as she reached up and captured her bard’s hand in hers.

"I don’t know," Xena answered, then tenderly kissed her bard’s palm.

"Have I mentioned I love you?" Gabrielle leaned down and kissed her warrior.

"Well, you certainly showed me last night that you do," Xena grinned. The grin faded. "I’m sorry I wasn’t more. . . " Xena blurted uneasily.

"Shhh," the bard put a finger to the warrior’s lips. "You were fine once you got over your nervousness of touching me," Gabrielle relayed sincerely, replacing her finger with a quick brush of her lips.

"FINE? . . . oh wonderful, just wonderful. That’s like saying ‘gee Xena, you have a GREAT personality," Xena complained, rolling her eyes.

"Well, I’d never say THAT," Gabrielle answered, then grinned.

"What??" Xena responded indignantly. "First my reputation in bed is shot to Tartarus, then my personality is attacked," Xena blurted.

"Whoa, my warrior," Gabrielle countered defensively. "First off, I have absolutely NO complaints about last night, trust me," the bard offered and leaned down to the warrior’s ear.

". . . your reputation is very much intact," the bard added in a whisper and gently nibbled at Xena’s earlobe. The sharp intake of air by the warrior made the bard grin as she pulled back, thoroughly enjoying her ability to stoke the embers of her warrior’s desire.

"Second . . . your personality. . . ," the bard paused a thoughtful moment, drumming her fingers on the warrior’s chest. ". . . well, there’s really not much we can do about . . . Ack!"

The bard found herself on her back, looking up at the Warrior Princess, who’s eyebrow was raised.

"You realize this does nothing to help improve my opinion of your personality," Gabrielle blurted quickly. If she wanted to, she could have easily escaped her captor’s gentle grip. . . but that would have been no fun at all.

Xena lowered her lips to the bard’s, but stopped just short of contact.

"Oh . . .OH!" Gabrielle bellowed, making the warrior grin, thoroughly enjoying her ability to frustrate the bard. "And TORTURE, my dear warrior, will NOT get you ANY personality points," Gabrielle added in a threatening tone.

"Really?" Xena responded with feigned hurt, gazing into the bard’s green eyes. "Then what would, Gabrielle?"

"Don’t you want to keep going?" The bard suggested, eyeing the frustrated warrior who wiped the sweat off her forehead.

Xena moaned her answer as she sat on a hay bale in the stables. Putting her staff down across her lap, she sighed heavily and started rubbing her shoulder which the bard had whacked a number of times during practice.

"Gabrielle, you can’t expect me to gain back what I lost in a single day of practice . . . it will take YEARS of training to get my skill back," Xena relayed with great irritation.

The bard looked at her own staff and nodded with a knowing sigh. And both knew they didn’t have years to wait, they had days . . . if that.

"Besides, we need to go back and check on the militia’s training. Staveros and his men keep coming by wondering what we find so fascinating in here," Xena blurted, shaking her head.

Gabrielle chuckled softly, scratching the back of her neck.

"You know, you have improved since the morning," Gabrielle offered encouragement, then became nervously silent, wondering how the proud warrior would react to that comment . . . from a bard.

"But not enough . . . I can’t even block all YOUR blows . . . ," Xena complained with great frustration, then paused, realizing the unintentional insult. "I’m sorry, Gabrielle, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded," Xena apologized as she stood up.

"It’s just. . . ." Xena shrugged and glancing at the wood weapon in her hand. She was as clumsy and awkward with the staff as she was with her sword. ‘Years . . . ,’ the warrior repeated silently, not finishing her thought to the bard.

"I know," the bard responded, understanding the warrior’s loss. The loss of something so much a part of her. "It’s not easy . . . for either of us, Xena," Gabrielle admitted.

"I’m sorry for putting you through all this," Xena responded, knowing her words fell woefully short of expressing how she felt. As they usually did.

"Xena. . . you shouldn’t apologize. You’re the victim here," Gabrielle relayed softly.

"I am NO victim, Gabrielle. I created victims, remember?" Xena countered harshly.

"Xena," Gabrielle countered in a scolding tone.

"NO! It’s about time you face facts, Gabrielle, and just listen to me for ONCE," Xena snapped. "I have a crazy man seeking revenge because I drove him mad when I cut his EARS off, Gabrielle. And he happened to recruit a bunch of my enemies, an entire armies worth, to do his bidding," Xena added sharply. "Enemies I created when I wronged them, and there are SO many I can’t even remember them . . . Do you know what this all means? As long as you stay with me, YOU will be the true victim, Gabrielle."

Gabrielle looked at her warrior and sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She knew there was no arguing with her now, she was too upset.

"With my fighting skills gone, I can’t do ANYTHING to protect you . . . not to mention protect my family or home town . . . or even total strangers who are victims because of me," Xena relayed bleakly.

"This has to be my punishment," the warrior added, shaking her head wearily. "A bard should appreciate THAT irony, don’t you think Gabrielle?" Xena asked her bard with a plastered on smile.

Gabrielle sighed, which she was doing a lot of lately. "If you are right, and this IS some sort of punishment . . . ," Gabrielle offered reluctantly. ". . . who would do this to you, Xena?" She asked calmly with a shrug. "And more importantly, who COULD do this to you? You said yourself, Ares wouldn’t."

"You two . . . finished in there?" Staveros called out hesitantly at the stable doors, poking his head inside.

The two annoyed women abruptly turned their heads to eye the interruption.

"Uh, I was just wondering what other drills the militia should work on," he relayed nervously, taking a few steps into the stables.

"Blocks," Xena responded flatly.

"But we’ve already done blocks . . . isn’t there anything . . ."

"I said BLOCKS, now get OUT of here and go practice your damn BLOCKS," Xena snapped.

He looked nervously between the two women and wisely retreated out of the stables, muttering about blocks.

"Xena," Gabrielle called to her warrior, who started to leave follow Staveros out.

Xena paused and looked at the staff in her hands. Surprising the bard, she tossed it to her.

"If I am going to die in battle, Gabrielle, it will be with a sword in my hand," Xena explained coldly and walked towards the stable doors.

"Now wait a DAMN minute!" Gabrielle blurted angrily, throwing down the staves and rushing to grab the fatalistic warrior’s arm and prevent her from leaving.

"I’m done talking," Xena said neutrally and pulled her arm from the bard’s hand. "If you’re smart you’ll leave tonight, when the sun sets," Xena said with forced indifference. "But I know you’ll end up doing what you want . . . as you usually do," Xena added wearily, then departed.

As the daylight retreated behind the mountains, Gabrielle suggested the group break for the night. "Good work everyone, get some good food and a good night’s rest," she said warmly and watched the tired Zemalians happily stop training and start rubbing some sore body parts as they broke ranks to return to their homes.

Staveros watched the Warrior Princess silently head towards her horse, not waiting to talk with Gabrielle as was their usual routine after a break. The waiting must be wearing on them too, Staveros concluded.

"What’s wrong with Xena?" Staveros asked softly, joining Gabrielle as she walked towards the Inn. The two saw the warrior grooming her horse, outside the stables where it was safest for Argo.

"It’s catching up to her," Gabrielle relayed truthfully. She feels the pain of guilt . . . now more than ever, the bard considered sadly, feeling the beginnings of that damn wall her warrior was determined to rebuild around her heart. Old habits are hard to break, she concluded.

Staveros nodded thoughtfully.

"Good night, Staveros," the bard said softly and entered the Inn.

"Well, girl . . . what do you think? Have I lost my touch with you too?" Xena asked Argo, scratching her neck.

Argo snorted softly and nuzzled her warrior, bringing a smile to Xena’s face.

"I don’t suppose you could talk to Gabrielle and convince her to go, huh girl?" Xena asked.

Argo snorted loudly and shook her head, then stared at Xena.

"What!?!"

Finished drying the dinner plates, a quick chore because there were only two, Cyrene dried her hands on the dish towel as she walked outside. She sighed, joining her son Toris outside her empty Inn in the heart of Amphipolis. The usually healthy pulse of the town had slowed so much over the past few days that they were contemplating a funeral service.

"I don’t like this," Toris blurted, suspiciously eyeing the Amazons who had arrived earlier that day.

"Neither do I, now THEY are scaring away the rest of my customers," Cyrene sighed, seeing yet another couple strolling the street smile uneasily and walk around the intimidating warrior women.

"Mother, that’s not what I mean . . . first that army sets up camp just beyond the south hill and then . . . the Amazons come to town," Toris scratched his chin.

"And NOBODY seems to be hungry or need a BED!" Cyrene added with annoyance, turning the heads of a few Amazons who heard the woman’s loud complaint.

"Yell at the Amazons . . . good move Mother," Toris informed her, rolling his eyes.

"Keep it up, Toris," Cyrene threatened, turning her cold blue gaze to her son, who smiled weakly.

Xena finally returned to their room and was not surprised to find Gabrielle still up, at the table by the fireplace, writing. The focused bard didn’t acknowledge the warrior’s entrance and continued to write on her parchment, which was fine with Xena.

Xena glanced over to her predictable bard as she took off her sword and smirked, ready for that seemingly off-hand comment she knew would come. A comment that would be carefully constructed to make the warrior feel bad and apologize for her actions earlier.

Finished removing her weapons and armor, she put them down on a chair by the bed and glanced over to the bard with a knowing grin, waiting for that comment.

Gabrielle continued to write.

The knowing grin faded with a small shrug and sigh. Taking off her bracers, the warrior remembered how much more enjoyable it was when her bard helped. So THAT was it, the warrior concluded. The bard was giving her the cold shoulder treatment, the warrior smirked. A cold shoulder treatment specifically designed to make the warrior feel bad and apologize for her outburst earlier. The warrior silently chuckled at Gabrielle’s predictability.

"Did you eat?" Gabrielle asked softly, looking up from her parchment.

"Uh . . . no," Xena responded with surprise, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"I saved some meat and bread for you, I debated about wine but decided you’d probably want just water . . . considering," Gabrielle relayed, pointing to the tray on the table with her quill.

Xena walked over to the table and lifted up the cloth napkin covering the tray to find healthy portions of meat, bread, and some cheese. She picked up a hunk of already sliced meat and took a small bite which reminded her how really hungry she was. Picking up a soft roll, she ripped off a piece. As she placed it in her mouth, she paused, suspiciously eyeing the bard, who went back to writing.

So . . . she’s being nice, the warrior concluded. Being NICE to make the warrior feel bad and apologize for earlier, Xena considered with a smug smirk and placed the bread in her mouth and chewed with satisfaction.

"Xena could you please SIT, you’re really annoying hovering over me like that," Gabrielle complained.

"Oh . . . " Xena blurted weakly with her mouth full. Sitting down, Xena swallowed as she pulled the tray slowly towards her. She ate in silence, glancing between her food and the bard, who was still intensely focused on her parchment. Her curiosity finally getting to her, the warrior broke the silence.

"What are you writing?" Xena asked nonchalantly and sipped some water.

Gabrielle briefly looked up from her parchment. "Letters," she said simply then looked down at the words. "Friends, family," the bard added with a shrug. "You know . . . ," Gabrielle relayed softly with a small laugh. " . . . It’s amazing the things you put off because you think you’ll get to them later," Gabrielle noted and shook her head as she started to write again.

A pained look crossed the warrior’s face. After clearing her throat, Xena asked softly "what are you telling them?"

"That I’m very happy but I do miss them . . . that I should visit more. . . kinda boring stuff," Gabrielle relayed distantly then fell silent for a long thoughtful moment. "Funny, writing usually makes me feel better," Gabrielle said sadly, looking at her quill and parchment.

Glancing up from her letters to her warrior’s eyes, the bard found them full of sorrow. "Oh Xena . . . I didn’t mean to . . . ," Gabrielle shut her eyes, feeling tears welling up.

Xena was immediately kneeling at her side. "I promise you Gabrielle, I will fight the best I can. I won’t give up," Xena relayed with conviction, evoking sobs from her bard, who melted into the warrior’s arms. "I promise . . . "

Chapter 26 - In Search of Janice

The southerner cautiously exited the temple and ascended the path, listening for signs of the remaining five armed men. She paused behind the pile of rocks blocking the path from the temple. Peeking over the top of the highest rock, her eyes scanned over the area. All clear, she concluded but waited a little longer, just in case.

Her pulse raced as she glanced at the trail back to their tent and concluded that waiting would just give HANK more time. Mel prayed she would arrive in time as she climbed over the rocks and headed back to their tent.

At the edge of the clearing of their camp, Mel paused behind a tree and scanned the area for gunmen. Not finding any, she crouched down low and ran to the tent. She breathed a sigh of relief no one saw her as she paused a moment to catch her breath. Stealthily moving along the tent wall, Mel stopped when she found a vertical tear in the canvas she knew wasn’t there earlier. Pushing her glasses up, she looked around then poked her head in. She grinned with relief.

Good ol’ Hank was on the floor, hog tied and gagged.

Hearing someone approaching the tent, Mel quickly sought cover and entered through the tear.

"I want to see Hank," a man blurted with annoyance. "Get out of the way," he added, starting to go around.

"You can’t see Hank, he’s busy right now," Richard responded firmly.

The man smirked. "It sounds like he’s not so busy right now. . . "

"I said you can’t go in there. . . Hank will shoot both of us," Richard responded uneasily, starting to panic.

"Look ass-hole, I’m tired of this, now move aside or I’ll shoot you," the man snapped, pushing pass him and entering the tent flap.

"Hey!"

Richard didn’t hear anything else except the sound of a punch and a body collapse to the ground. "Whew," Richard blurted as he looked around, spotting no one else.

"Richard?" Mel carefully poked her head out of the tent flaps, startling Richard.

"Melinda? What are you . . . " Richard responded, eyes nervously darting around camp.

"Where’s Janice?" Mel interrupted impatiently.

"Uh . . . I don’t know. She just told me to keep guard out here and don’t let anyone in the tent."

Mel rolled her eyes. "Keep up the good work Richard," Mel relayed flatly before retreating back into her tent.

She stared at the two unconscious men on the floor a moment. It was almost too easy, Mel thought with amazement, looking at her hand she clenched into a fist then opened again. She wondered if Janice ever felt like this after a fight. The amazing surge . . . or perhaps, buoyancy would better describe it she considered. That might explain Janice’s tendency for getting into fights, Mel mused with a small grin.

Five down, three to go, she counted. Pushing up her glasses, she took a deep breath before leaving the tent to search for Janice.

Janice quickly ducked behind a large tree at the top of the hill. A thug was climbing back up the steep dirt path, finished with his search at the river’s edge. She patiently waited, hearing him mutter between groans that came with each grinding step up the trail.

Finally at the top of the hill, the winded man looked back down at river and rolled his eyes. Shaking his head, he started back to camp. He passed the tree and suddenly stopped when his face ran into the archeologist’s elbow. His knees buckled as his hands shot up to cover his bloody nose from the cartilage-shattering blow.

Removing a piece of hemp from her pocket, Janice quickly stepped out from behind the tree to tie up the fallen man. Her eyes widened to find the man was still standing.

"Shit," Janice cursed as the man lunged towards her.

Grabbing her shoulders with his bloody hands, he shoved her against the tree. "Ugh," she blurted as her back slammed against the rough bark. "Do you know how hard it is to get blood out?!?" She complained looking a hand on her shoulder as her knee found his weak spot.

"Uhhh," the bloody nosed man yodeled with an unnaturally high-pitch as he quickly huddled over.

Janice grabbed the new soprano’s shoulder as she hurled her fist towards what she hoped was a glass jaw. Her fist was deflected as he surprised her with a tackle. They fell back onto the dirt trail leading to the river, each struggling for control as they tumbled down the steep and bone-jarring path.

Their tumbling was abruptly halted by the glue-like mud at the river’s edge. Janice broke free from the man’s grip and scrambled to her feet with an annoyed groan. The mud was slowing her down.

The man reached for a rock where he lay and threw it at her, hitting her in the arm, causing a sharp sting and the mud on her shirt to splatter.

"What the hell was THAT?" She berated the man now on his feet, and grabbed a fallen branch. "You throw like a girl," Janice added, knowing it would annoy him. She swung the branch at him with such force it knocked him back down into the mud and broke the make-shift bat in half.

"GOD DAMMIT," the man yelled than moaned, grabbing his throbbing arm. "I think you broke it!" He blurted with shock.

"What are you complaining about? Now you have an excuse for throwing so bad," Janice smirked, tossing the broken branch away.

With his pride more damaged than his body, he eyed her with the growing desire to shut her up . . . permanently.

"Get up," Janice ordered as she pulled her muddy pistol from its holster.

"Drop it," a man at the top of the hill ordered loudly, bringing a slow grin to the muddy gunman’s face.

Janice slowly turned to see the rifle pointed at her. Her eyes rolled.

"Toss the piece," the man repeated more forcefully to the annoyed woman.

Janice sighed, tossing it onto the dry ground, causing a thunk.

The muddy man scrambled to his feet with a full grin on his face. He rubbed his arm and slowly rotated it as his angry eyes focused on the archeologist.

This wasn’t good, Janice concluded. Her mind raced for options and quickly came up with nothing. This really wasn’t good, Janice reluctantly admitted.

A loud crack at the top of the hill averted everyone’s attention away from the muddy riverside. The startled man jerked his rifle towards the surprising sound as a second, more purposeful snap sounded. He found a tall, raven-haired woman on the other end of the whip now wrapped around his weapon. His wide eyes followed his rifle as it quickly left his hands and was caught by the intimidating woman.

"You really shouldn’t point guns at people . . . its not just impolite . . . someone could get hurt," Mel relayed with a frown of disapproval, reluctantly holding her new possession.

The pair by the river stood motionless, gawking at the skillful disarming of the rifleman. Dawning on the two muddy spectators that their battle was not yet finished, their eyes slowly turned towards each other.

As the man quickly reached down to his boot, Janice tackled him into the river, making a huge splash.

"Oh my!" Mel blurted nervously, looking down to the river. Seeing an opening, the rifleman lunged towards her.

As Janice and the thug wrestled for the knife, they fought the knee-deep water as much as they fought each other. Janice grew concerned her punches and kicks seemed to produce little more than spectacular splashes. She was getting tired.

In a small victory, she knocked the knife from the man’s hand before it could stab her. However, it took both her hands, leaving herself open.

As the large hairy hand on her head started to push her under, Janice gasped for air before her face was thrust into the water. As he tried to grind her face into the mud on the river bottom, she successfully squirmed to be face up. However, the man’s girth and well-placed knee kept her pinned beneath the surface. Her eyes opened to see the dark rippling blur denying her the air she desperately needed.

Frantically she grabbed for his hands as her lungs screamed to let their valuable contents out. Feeling his knee let up, she desperately pushed up with a surge of her fleeting strength, hoping to break the surface to steal some precious air. Her hopes were dashed when the man’s knee crashed down against her.

Large bubbles of air burst the surface, bringing a sadistic smile to the man’s face.

His smile disappeared when he felt two hands latch onto his shoulders with bone crushing strength. He was immediately yanked from the water and thrown against a boulder, with a thud.

"JANICE!" Mel called out fearfully, pulling the archeologist from the water.

Water trickled out of the archeologist’s mouth as Mel quickly carried her friend’s limp form to shore. Mel nervously lay her friend down on the firm land.

"Janice. . . JANICE," Mel frantically called to her friend as she grabbed her chin and shook to wake her. Not getting a response, she turned Janice’s head to check her pulse and found it racing wildly.

As more water dribbled out of the archeologist’s mouth, Mel took a nervous breath and straddled the archeologist. Placing her hands on her friend’s abdomen, Mel reminded herself there would be plenty of time to faint later and pushed. A gush of water escaped the archeologist’s mouth. Another firm push expelled the remaining water.

The archeologist started to cough, gasping for precious air.

"Thank the Lord," Mel said in a whisper and closed her eyes a brief moment.

Janice’s coughing subsided as her breathing slowed and became deeper. Blinking a couple of times, the face of the beautiful woman hovering over her finally came into focus. If this was what death was like, Janice didn’t think she’d mind it so much.

"Janice?" Mel asked tentatively.

The archeologist coughed again and eyed the raven-haired woman curiously. Thanks to this woman with the whip, she wasn’t dead. But that didn’t make any sense, the dazed archeologist thought with confusion . . . .

"Xena?" Janice asked weakly, making Mel roll her eyes.

"No silly, It’s ME . . . MEL!" Melinda blurted in her distinctive southern voice, shaking her head then pushed up her glasses.

"Mel . . . ," Janice repeated, letting the information sink in. "You saved me . . . ," Janice said in soft amazement, looking from the southerner still hovering over her, to the unconscious man about twenty feet away.

"You looked like you needed some help," Mel responded with a smile.

"Yeah . . . thanks," a still dazed Janice said softly, making the southerner, who was still hovering over her, beam.

"Your welcome," Mel responded and affectionately removed soggy wisps of hair from her best friend’s face and squeezed her shoulder.

Janice cleared her throat, incredibly aware of the hovering southerner’s invasion of her personal space. However, the archeologist didn’t want to say anything . . . this time. The woman did, after all, just save her life and was feeling really happy about that, the archeologist considered . . . .

Chapter 27 - A Battle

"I hate waiting," Xena relayed with irritation as she walked with Gabrielle through the streets of Zemal to check on the defenses . . . again.

"Really?" Gabrielle responded crisply with a thin smile, having heard that particular comment more than she cared too.

Xena sighed and rolled her eyes. She noted the other Zemalians were also getting frustrated with the interruption to their normal life. One group shook their heads, muttering something as they eyed the two walk by.

"Xena, waiting is good. It gives us more time," Gabrielle informed her with conviction, seeing but ignoring the group of Zemalians.

"More time as prisoners?" Xena snapped, then felt the bard hold her arm, stopping their walk. The bard looked at her warrior, who sighed in anticipation of the lecture she was expecting to receive.

"More time for hope, Xena," Gabrielle relayed as firmly as her grip on her warrior’s arm, looking into her warrior’s eyes. "As long as there’s life, there’s hope," Gabrielle informed the unconvinced warrior, who wondered where she got that hope. Her own source was in short supply.

"It’s still not too late . . . you could to leave with Argo," Xena suddenly informed her as if it hadn’t been discussed before, as if it wouldn’t lead to another heated argument.

Gabrielle’s jaw clenched tightly as she glanced to the ground, thinking how to respond to that very annoying and very old debate. With a deep breath, Gabrielle stood with her head up and looked Xena in the eye.

"You wouldn’t have been able to convince the bard from Poteidaia to leave her betrothed. What makes you think you can convince the Queen of the Amazons?"

"I was HOPING the Queen of the Amazons would see the bigger picture," Xena snapped.

"I can’t and WON’T leave you . . . and if you think I will, you’ve been hit in the head one too many times!" Gabrielle snapped back.

"Well the QUEEN is being just as stupid as the bard!" Xena snapped, making Gabrielle plaster on a dangerous smile.

"When I said I would marry you," Gabrielle countered coolly. "Apparently you didn’t realize what that really MEANT. . . ."

"It wasn’t supposed to mean THIS," Xena blurted angrily, motioning to the blockades in the streets and the militia mulling around.

"For Better or WORSE," Gabrielle responded crisply.

"It’s not supposed to mean ‘stick around until you get yourself killed because you are to dense to know when it’s time to GO," Xena countered.

Opening her mouth to respond, Gabrielle’s eruption was preempted. The lookout’s bell rang wildly, prompting the Zemalians to run to their defensive positions. A chill ran through the women as they realized their argument was now moot.

Bayentes men finally appeared in the distance and were advancing towards the city.

"On the bright side Xena. . . ," Gabrielle relayed weakly, her heart dropping. " . . . the waiting’s over."

The two woman looked at each other a silent, urgent moment. A wide range of emotions swept over their faces - from anger . . . at the other for being so pig-headed and themselves, for wasting time being angry, to fear . . . of the uncertain future and the chance that if one of them actually survived, they would be the one, to love. . . the calming force they shared, giving them focus and strength in the frightening chaos surrounding them.

Xena opened her mouth, wanting to say something but fell silent, unable to find the right words. Empathizing with the source of Xena’s irritation, Gabrielle put her fingers to her warrior’s lips. Looking into the apologetic blue eyes, she offered a small understanding smile, indicating words were not needed. The bard replaced her gentle fingers with her lips.

"Be careful," Gabrielle relayed simply, pulling back from the kiss.

Xena took a deep breath and nodded. "You too," she whispered.

They turned to face the uncertain future. . . together.

Bayentes glanced down at the battle in the valley below them with a grin.

"Nice day, isn’t it, Rolf?" He asked his lieutenant and sipped water from a skin.

"Yes sir," the lieutenant relayed flatly, also looking down at the battle unfolding.

The warlord’s uneasy horse shifted forward, but Bayentes quickly stopped his movement with a small tug at the reigns. "Easy boy," he added warmly and patted his horse on the neck.

"Did you notice how she put the blockades in the street," Bayentes pointed enthusiastically. "The riders will try to jump over them no doubt," he added.

Lieutenant Rolf nodded, then saw three daring horsemen easily plucked off their horses with a taut rope that mysteriously appeared across their path as they attempted to jump over the blockades.

"Look! See, just what I told you. That must have hurt," he responded with a chuckle and shook his head at the fate of the riders.

The lieutenant’s eyebrows furrowed at the warlord’s amusement about the loss of three horseman. A loss he fully expected. . . the lieutenant noted.

"Oh! . . . LOOK, Rolf. Look how effectively that militia uses FIRE against our small squad, there," Bayentes pointed out interesting aspects of the battle as if it were a training exercise.

Rolf looked uneasily between his warlord teacher and the battle below. A battle that didn’t seem to be going well for his men.

"One should not underestimate a desperate people trying to protect themselves . . . or those trained by the Warrior Princess," Bayentes offered, shaking his head. "A lesson to be learned well, Rolf," Bayentes added with fatherly conviction.

"Sir?"

"Yes Rolf?"

"Are you expecting us to lose?" He asked nonchalantly, trying to keep the growing concern out of his voice. He didn’t want to annoy Bayentes . . . like all his former lieutenants.

"Why?" Bayentes spoke slowly, his eye drifting from the battle below to the young lieutenant.

"Just wanted to know what you thought," Rolf responded uneasily and swallowed hard.

The Zemalian defenses slowed the soldiers but did not stop their advance.

With swords clashing around him, Staveros dodged a soldier hurled against a wooden post which still managed to hold up a store’s porch roof after the violent impact. Only small stones and dirt came sprinkling down on him. Glancing up, he breathed a sigh of relief then focused on Xena. His hands nervously clenching around his axe.

The Warrior Princess stood in the middle of the street with her sword drawn, waiting for the rider racing towards her.

Gabrielle glanced up from the soldier, now on the ground thanks to a swift sweep of her staff. Seeing the rider, her first impulse was to yell out to her warrior to watch out. But she didn’t want to distract Xena, who looked like she knew what she was doing. The bard silently prayed looks weren’t deceiving. When the rider came within forty paces of her warrior, Gabrielle couldn’t help but take in a sharp, fearful breath.

Xena raised her sword over her head and brought it down quickly, slicing through the air.

With that signal, Staveros swung his axe against the wooden post, chopping through a rope. A barrel of stones, swung into the street. As the barrel hurled towards the rider, Xena’s eyes widened when she realized her timing was a off.

Dropping with his now unconscious horse, the rider hit his head on the ground and didn’t move.

Glancing around to see if Argo saw, Xena grimaced, feeling bad about the headache the innocent horse would have. Seeing Staveros instead, she cleared her throat and nodded confidently.

A proud smile emerged on the merchant’s face.

Gabrielle rolled her eyes with a sigh of relief, considering her rapidly beating heart wouldn’t be able to take much more of this. She wondered how Xena ever managed to fight with the distraction of a vulnerable young bard, who used to think a staff was no more than a walking stick.

The bard’s legs were knocked out from under her as the soldier on the ground swept his leg under hers.

"Ugh," the bard blurted, falling onto her back with a thud. "Serves you right," she silently scolded herself, sitting up and blocking a blow by the soldier’s sword. With powerful strike to the back of his knees, she toppled him to the ground next to her. With a quick follow-up blow to his head, he remained on the ground as she jumped to her feet.

The bard scanned the street, eyeing the various fights as she looked for her warrior.

She noted the Zemalians holding their own, buoyed by the early successful surprises with the barricades and fire bombs. Her eyes finally found the familiar leather clad woman . . . but in an unfamiliar situation. The Warrior Princess was losing ground to a swordsman.

The bard’s attention was reluctantly diverted from her warrior when another soldier came rushing towards her.

Xena knew the strikes were nothing extraordinary . . . yet they kept coming, hard and fast. The sword that was once a seamless extension of her body was now a foreign piece of metal, fighting her just as much as the enemy standing before her.

A sting shot up her arm with every awkward block. Very close to losing her sword a few times, Xena’s sheer determination not to be bested by this unremarkable soldier, not to mention a strong grip, kept the weapon in hand.

She remembered defeating men like this with no more than a cold glance. Now she was actually being driven back by this thug, Xena silently groaned with frustration.

Hearing another eager soldier announce his presence with a war cry, she quickly ducked, allowing the sword meant for her back to bury itself into the thug’s gut. No sense in letting an opportunity pass, she considered, eyeing the skewered soldier fall over.

Xena turned and grabbed the surprised second soldier, shoving him into two more swordsmen rushing towards her. She glanced around, spotting Gabrielle busy with two soldiers of her own. Xena’s attention quickly returned to the three men cautiously approaching her.

They stopped and looked at each other, then the infamous Warrior Princess, anticipating a dangerously spectacular move. Yet, she just eyed them, unsure of how to proceed.

Though she could think of a bunch of possible moves, she had no idea if her body would respond as needed. Considering her current skill with the sword and staff, she had no desire to risk a somersault. Xena really did not want to be remembered for losing a battle because she broke her own neck.

The three swordsmen once again advanced towards the Warrior Princess, causing her to back up, step for step. One brave man broke from the pack, deciding to lung first. But his sword missed its mark. Xena’s reflexes were quick enough for her to avoid the sloppy attack.

A second man tried his luck, whirling his sword and rushing towards her.

"What in Tartarus is going on?" Bayentes wondered aloud, gawking at unsuspected turn in the battle below them.

"Another trap?" Rolf offered.

"Perhaps," Bayentes responded. His jaw dropped when he saw the Warrior Princess barely block the second man’s attack with her sword, but get hit in the jaw with the hilt of his sword and stumble to the ground. "Why would she let herself get hit like that?"

"Maybe she’s tired," Rolf suggested.

"No," Bayentes disagreed, shaking his head with a frown. "I’ve seen Xena go for days without sleep and STILL best platoons much better than this pathetic group," Bayentes blurted with great disappointment at what he was witnessing.

Rolf’s eyes narrowed with annoyance at the slight on his men.

"This is really . . . odd," Bayentes muttered and scratched the side of his earless head, seeing the redheaded woman just save Xena from the third soldier’s sword blow with a well-timed staff block.

"Maybe she was hurt in the previous battle!" Rolf blurted hopefully.

"Maybe," Bayentes sighed then looked at Rolf. "Let’s see for ourselves," he ordered, pulling out his sword and kicking his horse into a gallop.

Finished blocking a blow meant for Xena, Gabrielle knocked the third soldier onto the ground. Spotting the other two soldiers attempting to get up, Gabrielle quickly responded with two hard blows, keeping them down.

As she caught her breath, the bard’s heart dropped as her weary warrior quietly picked up her sword from the dirt and stared at it in her now unskilled hands. Xena glanced up to the bard. Xena’s eyes briefly betrayed her feeling of loss before it was quickly buried.

"Hey, that’s only three. I’ve still got four thousand and seven to go before we’ll be even," Gabrielle joked, with an uneasy smile.

Xena nodded and looked around as she rubbed her throbbing jaw. Spotting Staveros, who held his bleeding arm as he was being chased by the soldier who gave him that wound, she tensed and looked to Gabrielle.

Gabrielle also glanced over to Staveros then back to Xena expectantly.

"Go . . . I’m fine." Xena blurted as she stood erect and squared her shoulders.

Gabrielle paused a second then nodded and rushed off to help Staveros.

All around them, the Zemalians were growing tired and losing ground. There were less than half still standing, and there was still fighting going on. The only consolation was that only about half of the platoon was still standing as well.

The one soldier Gabrielle fought, became two, then three. She grew uneasy as they surrounded her. At first she was able to stop their blows, but when they started to work together, she found each strike towards a soldier resulted in attacks from the others. She grew tired and started to feel the sting of sword tips which left small cuts on her skin.

The three men finally disarmed the red-headed woman only after suffering through a number of painful blows. "Bayentes will be pleased," one soldier mused, eyeing the wooden trophy in his hands.

Seeing a nod from the soldier with the staff, the two struggling to hold the bard suddenly let go. The staff whipped through the air, solidly hitting the bard’s back and knocking her to her knees.

Hearing the pained moan from her bard, Xena glanced over to see Gabrielle on her hands and knees. With the next strike by the soldier with her staff, the bard collapsed forward, into the dirt.

Forgetting her own fight, Xena started to go to her when she was struck solidly in the arm by the soldier’s sword. Through only luck, the sword hit her bracer. Xena’s head snapped back to the attacking soldier in time to see the sword hilt before it hit her squarely on the temple. With her knees buckling, she fell to the ground in excruciating pain.

The soldier raised his sword over the fallen ex-warlord with stories of victory dancing in his head. . . the soon-to-be-famous head of the man who bested the Warrior Princess. He’d be known as Timerus The BRAVE, or Timerus The GREAT . . . perhaps Timerus the Brave AND Gr . . . .

Timerus moaned and crumbled to the ground after being kicked in the chest by the fallen warrior.

Xena remained on the ground, shaking her clouded head. Looking up, Xena blinked a few times. Finally able to focus, she saw the disturbing sight that until now, only filled her worst nightmares . . . Gabrielle down and surrounded by soldiers and her enemy riding into town to claim victory and most likely . . . his pound of flesh.

She felt sick.

Bayentes trotted through the streets of Zemal, shaking his head with an amazed grin at this surprise victory. Only one platoon of mediocre soldiers had managed to defeat the Warrior Princess, who was struggling to get up, still dazed from blows to her head.

"Seize her," he called out to his men, pointing to Xena. Four soldiers, including Timerus, carefully surrounded Xena, then jumped her.

She fought to free herself, kicking and punching the best she could but couldn’t manage to break out of the soldiers’ hold.

"Xena, calm DOWN," he ordered her as a father would a rowdy child. He quickly dismounted and walked to the bard, pulling her up on her knees by her hair.

"Ugh," Gabrielle moaned, her hands grabbing his hand on her head.

"Or she dies now," Bayentes added placing a dagger at Gabrielle’s throat, getting the Warrior Princess’ undivided attention and immediate cooperation.

Gabrielle’s eyes blinked opened to see the man with no ears.

"Bayentes," she gasped, barely above a whisper.

The fear in her wide eyes amused him. He returned the dagger to his belt and chuckled.

"What gave it away?" he asked, stroking the side of his head where his ear once was.

"And you must be Gabrielle," he said warmly, releasing the handful of red hair, and stroked her head gently. "I’ve heard so much about you," he offered, caressing her ear before she pulled away from his touch.

A touch that sent shivers through her.

"I feel like we’ve already met," he added, smiling warmly, then looked over to Xena, who was staring at him, motionless and restrained by three soldiers. Timerus the Great lay unconscious at her feet.

"So, Xena," he called out to her as he walked towards her. "Bad day?" He laughed and suddenly stopped, looking up to the bright sun.

"Hot day, isn’t it?" He offered. Xena took in a sharp breath.

"Yessss," he hissed slowly, relishing the moment. "You remember, don’t you?" He asked, looking deep into the eyes of his enemy. "Only. . . ," he paused and smiled. "You’re the one sweating . . . could it be you’re cold heart has finally melted, Warrior Princess?" He asked curiously with an amused smirk.

"I’m sorry Bayentes," Xena offered softly.

He stared at her a moment. "You actually sound sincere," he acknowledged with a shrug and unsheathed his sword. "But it’s a day late and a dinar short. You’ll understand if I’m still angry with you, won’t you?" He casually motioned to the side of his head.

He turned away from the Warrior Princess and walked towards the very concerned red head, who struggled unsuccessfully to get out of the soldiers’ grips.

"NO! Bayentes, I was the one who hurt you. Not her. It’s MY crime," Xena blurted fearfully as he continued walking towards Gabrielle.

"Oh, don’t worry Xena," he responded with a wave, closing the distance to the bard. "I have great plans for you. . . but you’ll have to wait," he relayed with a smile.

Xena struggled and pulled her arm from one soldier’s grip only to be punched in the kidneys. "Uhhh," she blurted bending over in pain.

"You don’t want to do this," the bard blurted firmly to the earless warlord, still trying to twist free her arms from the soldiers.

"You know, it’s a good thing you don’t wear earrings," he relayed with a smirk.

Gabrielle blinked a couple of times, then swallowed hard.

"Really, you DON’T want to do this," the bard repeated quickly. "If anything happens to me, my family and friends will seek justice . . . they won’t stop until . . . "

"Gabrielle, that is all I am doing. . . seeking justice," Bayentes interrupted her and lay the tip of his sword on her shoulder. He motioned to the soldiers and they released her.

Xena struggled once again and received another round of crippling punches from the group struggling to hold her. She fell to her knees with a moan.

Gabrielle looked around at the soldiers then the sword on her shoulder.

"What will you do after you get your . . . justice?" The bard asked. Bayentes’ eyebrows furrowed, not expecting that question.

"Do you really think you’ll be able to talk your way out of this?" Bayentes leaned in and quietly asked the bard.

"Well, I thought I’d give it a shot," Gabrielle answered honestly. Bayentes smiled.

"I’ll tell you what, since you amuse me, I’ll just kill you," Bayentes offered, looking closely at her ears.

"Is there a third option?" she asked weakly, as Bayentes limbered up his sword arm by whirling it around. He looked at her and sadly shook his head no.

The distant sound of thundering hooves and Amazon war cries drew Bayentes’ attention away from the bard, who’s hopes soared. The soldiers not busy restraining the Warrior Princess, readied their swords for the impending battle, including Rolf who considered they should be payed a lot more for fighting Amazons.

Turning his attention back to the bard, Bayentes nodded with approval. "Amazons . . . I didn’t count on them," he admitted with a smile. "Too bad we don’t have time to discuss how you managed that," Bayentes relayed with a shrug.

"I’d be more than happy to tell you ALL about it," Gabrielle offered.

Rolf looked nervously at the bard, the Amazons riding in fast, Bayentes, then his sword and concluded it was likely to be a bad day for them too.

"You’re stalling almost saved you, Gabrielle," he relayed. "Almost," he repeated as he took a breath and lifted his sword overhead.

Gathering the last bit of strength from within, a blood-curdling yell erupted from the beaten warrior who released her rage upon the three men. Her eyes flickering with wild anger, she ripped free from their hold, brutally pummeling them into the ground.

Undeterred by the angry display, Bayentes smiled and started the blow which would finally give him some satisfaction. Some revenge for his scarred life . . . .

As the sword descended, Xena was too far away to plunge her sword into his chest or even tackle the bastard. In sheer desperation, she reached for her only chance to stop him and hurled her chakrum towards Bayentes with all her might.

As the cold metallic weapon left her uncertain finger tips, she held her breath as she watched its wobbling flight towards Bayentes.

With a loud clang, the round blade clashed into the warlord’s sword, successfully knocking it far from his hands. Continuing its furious flight, the chakrum collided with the stunned Lieutenant’s sword, causing it to smack him in the head. Finally, chakrum’s desperate journey ended.

It struck flesh.

The southerner stood, inspecting the area. She double checked the two unconscious men, who were now by the boulder, neatly tied up and gagged. She glanced to the river which almost claimed the life of her best friend and shook off the chill that accompanied that disturbing thought.

"Do you hear something?" Janice asked as she tried to stand, unsuccessfully muffling a moan.

Mel was quickly at her side helping her up.

"No, which is a good thing," Mel informed her weak friend, who once standing, motioned for Mel to let go of her arm.

Mel frowned, reluctantly letting go. The archeologist took a few steps before her knees buckled. Once again, the southerner was at her friends side, preventing her from falling.

"Uh, Janice, Maybe you should sit and rest a spell. . . ," Mel suggested uneasily, left arm firmly supporting the archeologist’s arm, while her right arm wrapped snugly around the smaller woman’s back.

"There’s eight armed men out there, Mel," Janice responded with annoyance. "Make that five," she corrected herself, eyeing the two men and thinking of good ol’ Hank. "We don’t have the luxury to sit and rest a spell," Janice stubbornly added as she removed the southerner’s hands off her arm and hip.

‘Lord grant me the . . . ,’ Mel silently prayed as she watched Janice take two steps and fall down with a thud.

‘. . . strength,’ Mel completed her thought as she shut her eyes a moment and took a patient breath.

"Actually, by my count, there’s only one left, Janice," Mel relayed to the archeologist, who was closely inspecting the ground.

"Ppffftt. . . ," Janice blurted into the dirt. "One?"

"Uh huh," Mel answered, rolling her eyes considering the red-headed woman was absolutely THE most stubborn person she had ever met.

"So you . . . took care . . . of the others?" Janice asked hesitantly, rolling on her side and looking up at the southerner.

"Well . . . yes. It just kind of happened," Mel shrugged and crouched next to her friend with a weak smile. She averted her gaze, finding some fascinating blades of grass.

Janice’s suspicious eyes narrowed.

"And you suddenly becoming so good with the whip?" Janice mentioned, remembering the incredible display on the top of the hill. . . the tall woman’s confidence and skill . . . so amazing, so . . . . Janice cleared her throat.

"That also ‘just kind of happened’?" Janice asked skeptically, making Mel uneasy.

"You’re acting like something BAD happened. Saving your life was a GOOD thing, don’t you think?" Mel countered with annoyance.

"Depends on what it cost you, Mel," Janice responded with innate caution.

"Cost me? I didn’t BUY anything and I certainly didn’t ask for this, well, not at first. . . But that man kept pestering me about what I wanted . . . so I told him. It got him to go away. . . well, he actually. . . ."

"Whoa. . .WHAT man!?! What "THIS" are you talking about?!?" Janice snapped, thoroughly confused by the southerner’s rambling.

"Janice . . . It’s a long story," Mel hedged, and quickly stood up to pace.

"Well, gee Melinda, why don’t you just sit right down here a spell and tell me?" Janice responded in a sarcastic southern accent, drawing an unamused look from the southerner.

"Janice," Mel uttered with annoyance. The archeologist sighed wearily and sat up, rubbing her eyes. After a silent moment, Janice sighed again.

"Mel, please . . . tell me what happened," Janice urged her southern friend softy. Mel glanced down to the archeologist who’s green eyes reflected genuine concern.

"I’m not sure what happened, Janice. . . or why, but I really believe it’s a good thing," Mel relayed with soft enthusiasm.

"How can you say something is a good thing if you don’t even know what happened," Janice countered. "Or WHY?"

"Janice. . . ," the southerner started to reply but stopped when her eyes darted towards a sound at the top of the hill.

Janice curiously glanced up the hill, wondering what Mel heard. Before Janice could ask, Mel wrapped the archeologist’s arm around her neck and lifted the surprised redhead off the ground.

"What the He. . . ow," Janice blurted as she was placed down behind the cover of a large boulder, near their unconscious captives.

"Sorry," Mel cringed. "I’ll be back," Mel informed her and started to stand.

Janice grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"Where do you think you’re going?" Janice snapped.

"To take care of the last one," Mel answered, glancing up the hill then back to upset green eyes.

"You can’t be serious," Janice asked incredulously.

"I’m very serious," Mel responded, pushing her glasses up and glared at Janice, who was not pleased.

"Mel, the guy has a GUN," Janice informed Mel.

Mel sighed.

"You don’t LIKE guns," Janice reminded Mel of that very important point.

Mel stared patiently at her irritated friend, who wasn’t going to give up.

"Do you remember WHY you don’t like guns? They shoot BULLETS which really really hurt if you get hit by one. . . if your LUCKY enough to not get yourself KILLED!"

"Janice, I’ll be right back . . . don’t worry," Mel relayed in a soothing voice as she patted her fuming friend on the shoulder. When she squeezed the archeologist’s shoulder and once again tried to stand up, Janice quickly grasped Mel’s hand.

"Janice," Mel exhaled, her patience wearing thin.

"Do you have any idea what you’re going to do?" Janice asked, struggling to reason and not yell.

"I think so. . . ," Mel relayed with a shrug. That wasn’t the answer Janice wanted to hear.

"Mel . . . ," Janice responded with a strained voice.

"I was able to handled myself with the others," Mel quickly countered with annoyance. ". . . and you KNOW we need to take care of the last gunman or he could free the others. So unless you can get up and stop me, Janice, I’m going."

There was something different in Mel’s eyes, Janice noticed. An almost threatening glare which Janice met head on.

"So, you’ve made up your mind to do this," Janice stated fact as she continued to meet her southerner’s gaze until Mel dropped it. Janice didn’t know if that was a good or bad sign.

"Yes Janice," Mel sighed. Janice reluctantly let go of the southerner’s hand she realized she had been still holding on to.

"Could you kill?" Janice asked bluntly.

Mel looked up abruptly. "I . . . I won’t have to, Janice," she responded uneasy about the thought. "Why are you asking me that??" Mel asked with annoyance.

"Guns, smuggling, gold. . . those men are not playing ‘tea party’ Mel," Janice spoke curtly.

"I know that Janice," Mel snapped at the condescending remark. "We’re wasting time, I should go," Mel added coolly.

"You still owe me an explanation about what happened to you," Janice muttered angrily, staring at the ground. It was useless to argue. Mel had made up her mind to go, and nothing was going to change that incredibly stubborn woman’s mind, Janice concluded with irritation.

Janice’s eyes widened in surprise when she suddenly felt the southerner’s gentle fingers cradle the back of her head and soft lips press against her forehead.

"I’ll be careful, Janice," Mel relayed softly with a warm smile for her very quiet friend, who no longer debated whether to complain about the southerner’s huge personal space problem. She was far too worried that the southerner would never invade her personal space again.

With the silent archeologist looking on, Mel pushed up her glasses, picked up the whip, and took a deep breath before departing on the steep trail up the hill.

When Mel disappeared over the top of the hill, Janice looked to the sky then closed her eyes. Damn . . . she’s going to drive me nuts, Janice concluded, taking a couple of preparatory breaths before slowly standing up.

A stunned Bayentes glanced down to the ground. Laying before him was the bard, her back torn by the red-stained chakrum resting in the dirt beside her still form.

He glanced to the Warrior Princess who was equally still, staring at the woman she called her soul mate . . . the woman she just felled.

Grinning with delight, Bayentes reached down for the unexpected prize. As he stood with the chakrum, he was hit by two Amazon arrows and collapsed to the ground.

With an arrow protruding from his leg, Rolf quickly hobbled over to the warlord’s side. A small wave of vocal Amazons rode into Zemal quickly following the wave of deadly arrows. The two dozen soldiers who still stood after the surprise attack scattered, fearing for their lives.

The small group of Amazons paused a moment, seeing their injured Queen, before doing their best to realize the soldiers’ fears.

The Warrior Princess was oblivious to the fighting erupting all around her. Oblivious to everything except the disturbing calm in the center of the violent storm . . . where all lay still . . . where all time had stopped.

Her body somehow managed to move to the wounded bard’s side. She blinked a few times, realizing no amount of blinking would erase the bloody image before her or wake her from this nightmare.

When the weight of this accident finally hit her, the Warrior Princess sucked in a ragged breath and dropped to her knees . . . the weight was far too heavy.

"Gabrielle! Xena!" Sustra called out, jumping off her horse and rushing to their side.

Sustra felt a wave of nausea hit her seeing her Queen’s back. She pushed that feeling down, quickly realizing she couldn’t afford to waste any time being sick. Xena was not doing anything . . . except staring at Gabrielle’s wound.

"Are you going to let her BLEED to death?" Sustra snapped at the motionless Warrior Princess, then groaned with frustration at the lack of response.

As anger competed with fear, Sustra swiftly inspected the injury. Here we go again my Queen, she though uneasily, glancing at the old scar on her back. This injury was longer than that dagger wound, she noted. Like you’d expect from a glancing slice from a sword, she considered, which didn’t make sense since she thought she saw the Bayentes’ sword was knocked away by Xena’s . . . . Her eyes widened as she looked at the Warrior Princess.

Gabrielle groaned slightly, returning the uneasy Amazon’s attention to her immediate concern. . . stop the bleeding . . . .

With a hard swallow, Sustra reached past the dazed Warrior Princess. The Amazon’s nervous hands hesitantly pushed the two sides of the wound together and pressed down.

"Artemis help me," Sustra blurted nervously, looking around at the battling Amazons, then to Xena, who’s shocked eyes stared at the injury she caused. "Help us," Sustra added.

"We need a healer!!" Sustra yelled to anyone who would listen.

Pouring ale for the small group of Amazons who came in her empty establishment for a meal, Cyrene’s eyes met the eldest Amazon’s curiously.

"That army camping in the South, is that the reason you came here?" The Inn-keeper mentioned. "To fight them?" She added uneasily.

"Yes. Please sit," Frea offered. "I am Frea, the eldest of this group," she added.

"Frea, our city has seen enough fighting. We don’t want any more trouble," Cyrene relayed as she sat down. Toris came up and stood behind his mother, placing his hand protectively on her shoulder.

"Don’t blame you. But you’ve got it," Frea answered. "That army is waiting to attack Amphipolis. We’re here to . . . discourage . . . them."

"How do you know they want to attack Amphipolis?" Toris blurted, drawing the Amazon’s eyes to the tall man with striking blue eyes as she sipped her ale. Frea’s eyes lowered to the older woman with equally striking blue eyes.

"Your daughter sent word," Frea relayed to Cyrene, ignoring Toris, who’s eyes rolled at the slight.

"Xena sent word?" Cyrene smiled with surprise.

"No, Queen Gabrielle sent word," Frea countered, finishing her ale.

"QUEEN Gabrielle?" Cyrene asked with an amused chuckle. She quickly stopped chuckling when she noticed the annoyed glares from the Amazons.

"Gee Mother, is there ANOTHER family secret you’ve been keeping from me?" Toris joked, a sly grin.

"Toris," Cyrene scolded him. "So Gabrielle is a Queen?" Cyrene asked with surprise, having vaguely heard she was sort of adopted by the Amazons through the little information her daughter bothered to let slip.

"Yes," Frea answered, looking at her empty cup and frowned.

"Oh! Here you go," Cyrene responded, grabbing the pitcher.

Gabrielle, a QUEEN of the Amazons, Cyrene thought to herself as she poured the older Amazon a drink with a smile. She always smiled at the thought of the red headed young woman, who’s friendship had made such a difference in her daughter. A remarkable difference, she thought thankfully. Cyrene made a mental note to have the young bard tell her the story of how THAT managed to happen.

"Thank you," Frea responded politely.

"So, you were saying . . . why was the army camping outside of Amphipolis?"

"Your daughter didn’t say why," Frea relayed.

Cyrene chuckled again. "You do know, though I love her like one, Gabrielle is not really my daughter, don’t you?" She grinned with amusement.

"What!?!" Frea blurted with furrowed brows, sitting straight up in her chair. Cyrene almost jumped.

"You have not recognized Queen Gabrielle?" Frea asked with great concern.

"Recognized?" Cyrene repeated, thoroughly confused, looking up at her son who shrugged.

"You have not yet given your blessing?" Frea asked with alarm in her voice.

"Well, I have prayed for her safety," Cyrene offered, still confused about what this Amazon was talking about.

Frea’s eyes narrowed, wondering what she meant by that.

"Do you not intend to formally recognize the Queen?" Frea asked forcefully.

"Formally recognize?"

"As is the custom," Frea informed this difficult woman.

"WHAT custom?" Cyrene asked, throwing her arms up with exasperation.

"The formal recognition before the ceremony," Frea added the obvious.

"WHAT ceremony??" Cyrene and Toris blurted in unison.

In the make-shift hospital that once was a bustling tavern, the Amazon Queen was carefully lowered to a cot by Eponin, Staveros and Trayla, as Sustra continued to hold the wound together. Though cringing when hearing another moan out of Gabrielle, Sustra knew that was a good sign. The dead don’t moan.

"Trayla, send word back to Ephiny," Eponin ordered the Amazon, who nodded and immediately departed for Amazonia to inform the Regent of the events.

"She’s not dead YET, Eponin!" Sustra snapped, still pressing her hands on the bard’s back.

"Sustra, Ephiny needs to know," Eponin said calmly as she knelt by her nervous friend, checking the Queen’s pulse. It was weak but beating, Eponin noted with a sigh.

". . . all of this," Eponin added, glancing up at the still silent Warrior Princess, who numbly followed them into the tavern.

None of the Amazons believed Xena could deliberately cause Gabrielle harm, yet, none could believe the Warrior Princess was capable of such an accident. They didn’t know what to believe and Xena wasn’t speaking. All they did know was their Queen was injured and helping her was their first priority.

"I’ve already sent Solari to get Frea," Eponin relayed, shifting her gaze from the immobile Warrior Princess.

"That’s a day’s ride there and a day back," Sustra snapped, her hands still pressing against the wound.

"I know," Eponin relayed with a sigh.

"What should we do?" Sustra asked Xena, who continued to look at Gabrielle, oblivious to the question.

A disgusted Eponin unsheathed her sword and walked over to the fireplace.

"WAIT! If the wound is seared, the back muscles might not heal right . . . she might not be able to use her staff. . ." Sustra nervously blurted to the group, which fell silent.

"Do you really think you’ll be able to keep her from bleeding to death over the next two days while we wait for a healer?" Eponin snapped.

"I’ll. . . I’ll sew the wound," Sustra relayed with forced confidence and cleared her dry throat.

"Did you know?" Cyrene asked, pouring them both a mug of ale after their meeting with the Amazons and Amphipolians about the army.

"No," Toris answered, shifting on the bar tool to look at the last people leave the once again empty Inn. When he looked back at his mother across the bar, she was staring at him skeptically.

"I didn’t, I swear," Toris blurted defensively. Cyrene held her skeptical gaze a moment longer then sighed.

"Marriage," Cyrene blurted, shaking her head in amazement as she sat down next to him on a stool.

"Yeah," Toris sipped his ale. "I suppose it must be love. . . ," Toris offered, withholding an amused grin.

Cyrene nodded, as she sipped her ale. A small lopsided smile emerged as she thought her little girl finally finding love after everything she’s been through.

". . . unless Xena got her in trouble, " Toris added, bursting out in a giggle, earning a healthy swat from his mother.

"Be nice."

Mel stood behind a tree and carefully peeked around to see the camp. She immediately spotted Richard, who was still standing in front of their tent, scratching the back of his head. Rolling her eyes she started to leave the cover of her tree and head for the tent, when she saw Hank emerge.

Her wide eyes saw Hank say something to Richard, before patting him on the back and returning to the tent.

"Oh dear," she silently moaned, retreating behind the tree.

Climbing the first few steps on the steep path, Janice felt like her tired lungs were going to explode. She reluctantly sat down, frustrated with herself. How did she let things get so out of hand, she wondered with a grimace.

As her heartbeat slowed and her breathing became more regular, she became more aware of the numerous aches and pains throughout her body. A body in desperate need of a long, hot bath. Like her clothes, she mused and looked down at the drying mud caked on her shirt. "Ugh," she moaned at the ache in her neck rebelling against the movement.

A massage would be really nice too, she considered, rubbing her knotted neck with a sigh. My kingdom for a back rub, she considered with a silent chuckle, wondering what it would take to convince those southern fingers . . . . Janice immediately stopped rubbing her neck, staring blankly at the trail.

Taking a deep breath, Janice resumed her slow climb up the steep path. It wasn’t long before her muscles started to shake again from exertion. With a disgruntled groan, she sat again, trying to catch her breath and rest. She was thoroughly annoyed that she hadn’t even made it half way. Too impatient to get enough rest, she pushed herself off the unforgiving path. To her surprise when she looked up, she found Mel rushing back down the path. No sense in wasting energy, the archeologist considered and sat back down.

"Mel? What’s wrong??" Janice blurted, seeing the uneasy look from the southerner.

"Richard let Hank go and I don’t know if they found Georg in the temple yet," Mel quickly relayed to Janice as she kneeled beside her. She took a deep breath and waited for Janice to tell her what they should do.

"Temple?" Janice asked with alarm, wearily wiping the sweat from her brow and still trying to catch her breath.

"What do you think you’re doing?" Mel scolded her restless friend as she reached out and squeezed the archeologist’s shoulder.

"Wheezing right at the moment . . . who’s temple?"

"Janice, never mind the temple, Richard let Hank go . . . that means we have MORE than one left. . . at least three now," Mel blurted and pushed her glasses up.

"Mel, I want you to take my truck," Janice told her as her hands patted her pockets, looking for her keys. "and . . . aw SHIT!" Janice blurted, when she remembered she gave Georg the keys.

"What kind of friend do you think I am? I’m not . . . ," Mel responded with great annoyance.

"I don’t suppose you know how to hot wire a truck now?" Janice interrupted with a hopeful suggestion and raised eyebrow.

"Janice, I am not going to hot wire . . . "

"We need to get to Georg, can we get to the temple without being seen?" Janice interrupted again.

"Ah . . . I think I can," Mel relayed, looking uneasily at Janice, who understood her hesitation.

"Yeah, I’d slow you down," Janice acknowledged quickly. "Go get Georg and the keys and get some help . . . the police in Amphipolis are probably the best bet," Janice relayed with an encouraging nod, pleased with that plan.

"Janice! I’m not going to leave you here alone. As you have so carefully pointed out to me, these men have GUNS," the southerner blurted, her blue eyes glaring at the archeologist.

"I won’t be alone, there’s Dick," Janice shrugged, realizing that really wasn’t much.

"But he’s on THEIR side, Janice," Mel responded with confusion.

"No, he isn’t," Janice informed her.

"You mean, he’s on our side?" Mel asked hopefully.

"No, Mel, he’s on HIS side," Janice relayed bluntly.

"Oh well, THAT’s a relief Janice," Mel rolled her eyes.

"Mel, would you stop arguing and just GO," Janice blurted with exasperation.

"Not without YOU, and how can you possibly trust Richard now, after he . . . ," Mel responded heatedly then added "Oh dear . . . ."

Not hearing the noise that alerted Mel, Janice did, however, hear two rifles being cocked. The two women took a breath and sighed as they slowly turned to look up the hill.

"And here you are . . . honey," Hank blurted with a smug grin.

Mel looked back at Janice with panic. Janice gazed into her wide eyes with a surprising confidence. Mel’s eyes darted to Janice’s hand which was now on the southerner’s knee.

"Help me up," Janice said softly. Mel silently nodded.

"If you weren’t so damn STUBBORN, you’d be driving back from Amphipolis now," Janice blurted loudly, surprising Mel, who was lifting the archeologist from the ground with a firm arm wrapped around her back.

Mel’s face contorted at the accusation. Before she could respond, she felt Janice’s hand on her shoulder squeeze gently, halting the rebuttal on her lips.

"There’s only two," Janice said very quietly so only Mel could hear.

Mel glanced up at the two men waiting on the top of the hill with their guns still trained on them. "They were in the tent. The three in the temple may still be tied up," Mel whispered.

Feeling Janice squeeze her shoulder again, Mel realized it takes two to argue. "Oh," she blurted quietly, making Janice roll her eyes.

"ME?" Mel yelled back. "Where do you think the other gunman is?" Mel asked softly then added loudly, "If you didn’t keep ARGUING about me going, we certainly wouldn’t have been CAUGHT."

"WHAT? Ugh. . . " Janice yelled, stumbling. Mel quickly prevented her from falling to the ground. She assumed the stumbling was a delaying tactic. That kept her from fainting.

"Don’t know, but I bet Richard is still at the tent. He won’t get in the way," Janice softly informed her.

"If I had a nickel every time YOU started an argument . . . ," Janice blurted loudly as Mel helped her upright. Looking up to the men at the top of the hill, Janice noticed them shaking their heads.

"You’d have five cents, ALMOST!" Mel interjected, wrapping her arm around Janice’s back again. "Are you suggesting we . . . ?" Mel asked in a low, soft voice that unexpectedly resonated through the surprised archeologist.

Janice turned her gaze to the southerner and nodded weakly, feeling a little flush.

"I, on the other hand, would be a MILLIONAIRE!" Mel turned forward and added loudly. "Are you sure you’re up to it?" Mel asked quietly with concern, unconsciously tightening her hold around the archeologist’s waist.

"Would you two just SHUT UP and get up here?!?" Hank finally snapped, rolling his eyes. "WOMEN," he responded to his fellow gunman. "Can’t live with ‘em," he offered then stopped, patting his rifle. After a quiet moment, the two men chuckled.

"I don’t think we have many options," Janice offered softly with an apologetic look in her eyes.

As they slowly ascended the hill, Mel felt more of the archeologist’s weight leaning against her. Under any other circumstances, Mel would have found that weight comforting. However, at this moment, Janice was weak, gasping for air and they were heading towards two angry men with guns. And, Mel strongly suspected, the angry men would have no compunction shooting them.

"Took you two long enough," Hank blurted suspiciously, carefully eyeing the two women, recently learning the lesson to not underestimate Dr. Covington.

"She’s hurt," Mel offered coldly, her eyes narrowing at HANK as she pushed her glasses up slowly.

"So it seems," Hank blurted, unimpressed. He pulled a cigar out of his pocket. "You know honey, you weren’t very nice in the tent," he added, lighting his cigar.

Janice took a deep breath. "Sorry," she said insincerely.

"Uh huh. I’ve wasted valuable time looking for the damn gold. Now, you can save us all some trouble and just tell me where you put it . . . before I start shooting your friend here," Hank informed her with a smile as both rifle barrels pointed at Mel.

Mel glanced between the two men and their guns and judged them careless for standing so close. No problem, she concluded and looked at Janice, who struggled to push down her fear.

When Janice glanced towards Mel, she found a confident southern eyebrow raised. Janice’s eyes narrowed questioningly, causing the second southern eyebrow to meet the first. Janice nodded almost imperceptibly before looking back to Hank with a thin smile.

"What makes you think I have the gold?" Janice asked innocently, successfully provoking the annoyed man, who groaned as he swung the butt of his rifle towards Janice’s head.

With gravity on her side, Janice managed to duck under the blow as the southerner grabbed the barrel of the other man’s rifle. With a growl, Mel swung the surprised body on the end of the rifle into Hank with such force, Hank fell to the ground.

Janice pulled out her pistol, hoping she wouldn’t have to see if the caked on dirt would prevent it from firing. She pointed it at Hank, who quickly glanced around and found his rifle, just out of reach.

"SHIT!" Hank yelled out.

The man clung to his rifle in a vain attempt to wrestle it free from Mel’s grip. Janice watched curiously as the determined gunman continued to struggle as Mel scratched the back of her neck with her free hand. Mel sighed and thrust the heel of her free hand into his face.

The rifle now in her possession, Mel quickly turned the scary weapon around and aimed it at the stunned man who stumbled to the ground with a broken nose.

Mel glanced uneasily at Janice, who looked at her with concern.

"I’m ok," Mel said softly, pushing her glasses up with a nervous hand.

"Mind if I hold the rifle? I’d feel . . . " Janice offered and immediately received the weapon from the relieved southerner. " . . . better."

Hearing footsteps approach the tent, Richard smiled and got up from a cot. Pushing the tent flap aside, he stepped out of the tent. A strong hand grabbed his throat.

"Ugh," he blurted, surprised to see the tall southerner.

"It must be really exhausting to constantly be switching sides," Mel said with crisp civility. "How DO you do it?" She added with feigned interest.

"Urghuh," he blurted in response, as she drug him from the tent opening by the throat.

His eyes darted nervously to the two bound men marched into the tent by Janice and her rifle. As Janice passed him, she paused to look up into his bulging eyes. Shaking her head, she entered the tent.

Finished gagging her captives, Janice left the tent to join Mel and Richard outside.

"Mel, he’s turning blue," Janice relayed uneasily.

"Oh," Mel responded casually, letting go. Richard’s hands shot up to his neck as he gasped and fell to his knees.

"I’ve never wanted to strangle anyone before," Mel admitted coolly, eyeing Richard, who still was gasping. "Well, not counting Hank," Mel added with a shrug, glancing back at Janice, who stood looking at her with concern.

"You’ve got to watch your temper, Mel," Janice spoke. "Especially now," she added with concern.

"Me?" Mel blurted with an amazed chuckle. "Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?"

"Well this old POT is just trying to help an inexperienced KETTLE so she won’t do something she’ll regret," Janice responded with annoyance.

"Just because I am NOW capable of expressing my displeasure in a physical form, doesn’t mean I’m going to just start smacking everyone around, Janice," Mel relayed indignantly. "Though, I must admit, some people do deserve it," she added, pushing up her glasses and glaring at Richard, who rubbed his neck.

Janice sighed and stepped towards the southerner, placing a hand on Mel’s arm, gaining Mel’s undivided attention. "You know what it’s like to save a life, Mel. I don’t want you to ever know what it’s like to take one. It’s too easy let anger cloud your judgement," Janice informed her. "It’s too easy to do something you’ll regret," Janice added. "Just. . . be careful."

Mel looked into her friend’s serious green eyes, wondering what regrets she was living with. With a slow nod, Mel started to place her hand over Janice’s but the archeologist pulled her hand away.

"We ought to get Georg," Janice suggested quickly. ". . . and get out of here," Janice added.

As the two women headed towards the temple, Richard called out.

"Wait."

Sustra grimaced as she threaded the needle. She did not want to do this. But there wasn’t much choice.

With a sigh, she squinted to look at the just cleaned wound, which Eponin was helping to keep pressure on.

Staveros quickly put down the bowl of hot water and bloodied cloth and grabbed a candle. Holding it over the area, he received a nod of appreciation from Sustra, who glanced over to the dark corner where the Warrior Princess silently stood. It was if she were elsewhere, Sustra noted with frustration, hoping she’d snap out of it and do this damn stitching . . . . Turning her focus back to the wound, she wondered if it mattered where she began the stitches.

"You know, it’s a lot easier causing them then fixing them," Sustra relayed casually.

"That is NOT what I want to hear now," Eponin blurted back. "Do you even know what you’re doing?" Eponin snapped.

"Kinda," Sustra responded with a shrug.

"WHAT !?!" Eponin barked.

"Don’t worry, I’ve seen it done before," Sustra informed her.

"Artemis help us," Eponin groaned.

"Everything is UNDER CONTROL. I’ve got the needle, the thread, and wine over there for me after I’m done. . . ," Sustra rattled on but stopped when their Queen moaned and started to stir.

"She’s waking up!" Staveros blurted uneasily.

"Damn it. What do we do? She can’t be awake for this can she?" Sustra asked with concern, glancing to Eponin and Staveros.

"I wouldn’t want to be," Staveros offered squeamishly.

Gabrielle moaned again and moved more, evoking another painful moan.

The three looked at each other in panic.

"Have her drink this," Xena spoke calmly as she knelt down, with a mug in hand. Her eyes never meeting theirs, not focused on anything in particular.

The three looked at the mug, then Xena.

"What is it?" Sustra asked.

"Something that will knock her out," Xena informed them weakly.

"How do we know it won’t kill her," Eponin challenged coldly, then saw the Warrior Princess cringe as if she were struck. That reaction added to Eponin’s confusion. She didn’t know what to believe. Every action Xena took seemed to contradict her previous one.

"EPONIN! She could have killed her by now if she wanted to . . . " Sustra barked at the dark-haired Amazon, and turned to the stoic Warrior Princess and took the mug.

With that fact she couldn’t dispute, Eponin shook her head and sighed, giving up on this current battle.

"Are you sure you don’t want to do this?" Sustra asked holding up the needle, asking Xena, who looked to the ground.

"I . . . I can’t," Xena admitted with a crack in her voice as tears formed in her eyes.

After a hard ride, Solari finally made it to Amphipolis. Scanning the streets, she quickly spotted a group of Amazons and rode over to them. "Where’s Frea?" She asked urgently.

"At the Inn, why?" The Amazon asked with concern. "What. . . ,"

The Amazon’s question was never heard by Solari, who immediately raced to the Inn. The concerned Amazons looked at each other, then jogged after her.

Outside the Inn, Solari dismounted quickly. With a few steps, she burst through the swinging doors.

"Frea! Queen Gabrielle been injured," Solari blurted, immediately spotting the elder Amazon.

"Xena knows the healing arts," Cyrene blurted out nervously, glancing over to Toris.

Solari gave an annoyed glance to the Warrior Princess’ mother, then looked back to Frea.

"Xena is unable to help her," Solari explained coldly.

"We must go at once!" A young Amazon blurted, causing all the Amazons in the room, except for Frea, to bolt out of their chairs. They shared uneasy looks when the elder Amazon remained still.

"But what happened," Cyrene asked, not sure she really wanted to know. She knew that the only thing that would stop her daughter from helping Gabrielle would be if she was hurt herself . . . or worse.

"Sit down Amazons, we will first listen to Solari’s news. . . before acting," Frea blurted with annoyance at the impetuous youth.

"Solari, sit and catch your breath." Frea said with finality. "And tell us what happened," Frea said with a practiced calmness.

All watched as Sustra poured the strong medicine into the groggy bard’s mouth, much of it just dribbling to the ground. However, some of the liquid was finally swallowed, and the bard quickly stilled.

Sustra cleaned her hands for a third time, giving her an excuse to delay the stitching of the wound. As she handed the towel back to Staveros, she looked at the bowl of water, debating if she should wash a fourth time. Seeing Eponin glaring at her, Sustra decided it was time to begin and picked up the needle.

Eponin moved her fingers to allow Sustra room to pierce the skin with her needle. Before Sustra plunged her needle in her Queen’s flesh Xena spoke numbly. "Start with the muscle first then the skin."

Sustra nodded and swallowed hard. She pushed the needle through the muscle, finding it nauseating. Taking a deep breath as she quickly prayed to Artemis, she started to push the needle through again.

"The stitches need to be closer together, it will help speed up the healing and minimize scarring," Xena added in a detached monotone. As if her betrothed were merely a piece of meat, Eponin thought with irritation as she continued to hold the skin in place.

"Xena, are you sure you . . . ," Sustra asked uneasily, feeling ill. Xena took an uneasy breath and shook her head no.

"She’s done enough already Sustra," Eponin blurted.

"For the love of Artemis! Would you just concentrate on this and stop with the cheap shots?" Sustra blurted.

"You’re right Sustra, our Queen first," Eponin responded guiltily. "We will deal with the Warrior Princess later," Eponin added coolly.

"We rode to Zemal and saw Bayentes and his men, it looked like he had secured the town," Solari relayed, sipping a mug of water. "When we finally could see what was going on we saw Bayentes’ sword fly out of his hand, another soldier’s sword get knocked into his head and Queen Gabrielle . . . collapse," Solari relayed, shuttering.

"It happened so fast we didn’t realize what happened until the fighting died down," Solari added. "We still can’t believe Xena wounded Gabrielle," Solari said is amazement.

"It had to be an accident," the warrior’s mother responded automatically.

"The chakrum is her best weapon," Solari countered.

"But my Xena would NEVER hurt Gabrielle," Cyrene blurted in her daughter’s defense, her heart dropping.

"Your Xena did," Solari responded simply, looking into the worried mother’s eyes. "Badly," Solari added, looking at Frea.

Cyrene cringed with worry, knowing what Xena must be going through now - or what she might go through if Gabrielle’s didn’t make it.

"Where are they now?" Frea asked.

"Zemal, in a tavern," Solari answered standing up. "It is a day’s ride Frea, we shouldn’t waste any more time. You need to go to our Queen," she blurted with growing impatience.

"I will go with you Solari," Frea responded as she stood. ". . . but the rest of you stay in Amphipolis," Frea announced to the Amazons, evoking annoyed groans. "There is still an army still out there threatening Amphipolis. Our Queen wanted us here. Our job is not over." Frea added, getting reluctant nods from the women.

"I will ensure you get news of what happens," Frea offered Cyrene, as the Amazon started to leave.

"That won’t be necessary," Cyrene said firmly, making Frea’s brow furrow curiously.

"I’m going with you," Cyrene added firmly.

"Mother NO!" Toris blurted, moving to his mother’s side. "Traveling now is too dangerous," he added.

"Listen to your son, Cyrene," Frea responded.

Continued...Part 5

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