When Andii returned everyone fell silent, waiting as he took his seat. He carefully placed a small battered book on the tablecloth before him. Its mottled brown cover caught the candlelight, revealing flashes of scarlet under the dirt. Inside, rough cut pages foxed with age were covered edge to edge in inky scrawl.

Andii looked up a little self-conciously before speaking. For the first time, Buffy could see the bright mind lying just underneath the childlike surface of Ahnja’s companion. He hadn’t Spike’s sensual voice but soon settled into a storytelling rhythm that seemed intrinsic to all Aurelians.

“There was a time, when mages and mystics often had to escape the clutches of certain warrior lords, those who would use the powers they possessed for their own ends. Lossangel has always been a good place for fugitives and outcasts to ‘disappear’ for the price of a few jewels, or a favour or two.

"It was Snidda who found this book, nearly twenty years ago, in the tunnels under our city. There is no-one still alive with the same nose for finding things that want to stay hidden and, while exploring the oldest passages to the north, he came across fresh rock fall. When he cleared it he found the entrance to a concealed cave. On one of its walls was a painted figure, surrounded by arcane symbols, and in the corner was a bed. On this lay the crumbling remains of a robed man, the book before you by his side.”

“Forgive me for being sceptical,” Spike interrupted, a raised eyebrow aimed at Andii. “But how do we know that this isn’t all just some fanciful dragon-shit, designed to make us part with our money? And what has an old book got to do with Saya’s axe?”

Andii didn’t look surprised at Spike’s rudeness. “Because we don’t want your money. We want you to stop the coming darkness before it consumes every habitable world you’ve ever heard of, including this one. This book may hold the only clues as to how it can be defeated.”

For anyone who knew gemhunters, the very idea of them not asking for money was unheard of, and the visitors were speechless.

Ahnja alone muttered under her breath, “Stupid idea, I know. I mean, why can’t we be compensated for helping to save the world?”

Andii cast fond eyes on his squirming mistress. “Because it's the right thing to do.”

“I know, I know. I don’t have to like it though.”

Pleased that he still had his audience’s complete attention, he went on. “This journal belonged to Jontan the Apprentice. I like to think that if we’d met, we could have been friends,” Andii said a little wistfully. “In it he grumbles about his living conditions and how miserable he is, but underneath that he had a purpose; to leave us a true record of one of the most powerful magicians who ever lived, and to carry out his final request. I’ll read what he says.”

“It is with a sad heart that I finally put these words to paper. I regret that I have no apprentice of my own to tell this to face-to-face, but my master always warned me that I should trust my own instincts and that people may mean well, but secrets are like hot embers in the breast, burning holes until they have burrowed out and released their knowledge in a fiery conflagration. I miss my master, and, as this cough of mine worsens, I sense him standing at the edges of my vision, waiting for me in the great Beyond. After all this time, he is a welcome visitor.

"I have finished the painting on the wall and added the magicks to keep it in place. I’m no artist, but there is something in her form that makes me smile and wish that we could meet, just once. When she was completed I could see a second faint shape outlining hers; it wasn’t my doing but it looks right. Like he belongs there.

"I still wonder, even now, how my master could see so far and still care so much about things that will happen when the world has long forgotten his old, dusty bones, and mine. He was only a young man when he stole Saya’s casket from its protected resting place and sent it through the forbidden portal. That he had the power to do so, even then, astonishes me. Whenever I asked him about this one act, the one that tarnished his name and reputation in the eyes of the world, he would get a faraway look and merely say that it was necessary. That Saya needed help before she could return to defeat her worst foe and find the peace she deserved. “When it is time, make a door to what is lost,” he told me, “for a reluctant warrior-bride given by an enemy will need it to find her weapons and her purpose here. She must let the comfort, strength and love of three hearts protect her from the eyes of hell. For to reject what is offered will make her weak. Tell her that even the oldest of threads can be unravelled and be made anew in the fabric of space.”

“I swear that some of what he told me made no sense at all, but I am writing it down anyway. I am trusting that these words, and the splinter of ebbon that I have carried for so long, sewn into my cloak, will one day find their way into the hands of those that need them. I pray that they do, for evil is cunning and its shadow has long fingers. Whoever you are, Saya or stranger, may the Goddess be with you in your final battle.”

Andii closed the book with reverence. “That was his last entry. There are some symbols written at the end, but I don’t know what they mean.”

As the guests digested this information, Andii glanced shyly at Buffy. “I...we believe that you are the one chosen to carry Saya’s spirit and strength back to us.”

“No!” Buffy stood up abruptly, knocking her chair over in the process. “I’m me, not...not some vessel for a demon ghost with issues. Sure I want to help, but I’m just a human. Don’t wrap me up in all this prophecy crap or you’re going to lose. Badly.”

Spike stood up too. He looked stonily at Andii and Ahnja. “I don’t know what you two are trying to do, but upsetting Buffy will bring you nothing but grief. Grief, and possibly an early grave.”

Andii gulped audibly.

“Oh, please,” Ahnja retorted, unimpressed. “Can you deny that she has strength far beyond that of a normal earthling? As soon as news of your marriage reached us we started to make enquiries and when Ennico told us...”

“What!” Everyone looked in amazement at the young man who was now wilting under their scrutiny. His hand crept out of sight but Brack grabbed his wrist and thumped it back on the table.

“Don’t be stupid, lad,” the old soldier hissed in his ear.

Faythe leaned back in her chair, arms folded. “I might have known. Last night in The Blue Rooms, you were far too familiar with the place. You’re one of them, aren’t you? A gemhunter!”

Ennico sat up straight, his dark curls framing a now defiant face. “Yess, I am a gemhunter, one who is despised outside my city. But I am also a soldier, am one of you. Have I not proved myself to be worthy? It is not my fault that you don’t trust my kind.” He looked at each of them, expressive brown eyes filled with hurt.

“That’s enough.” Buffy, appalled by the hostility now aimed squarely at the forlorn young man, forgot her own anger and moved to protect him if necessary.

Ennico gave her a weak smile, grateful for the support. “Mistress, when I saw you kill the skeelers I knew. And you were also very reluctant to be Spike’s bride, yes?”

Buffy blushed. Spike growled.

“I got word to Ahnja and she sent a message to General Anjell about the axe, requesting that you come here too. I kept my secrets until Snidda could see for himself that you were the one.”

“Snidda?”

“Yes, mistress. He is my uncle. My mother raised me in the south before returning home and bringing me with her. It is why my speech is not of here and why you could not guess my heritage. I talked with Uncle Snidda this morning while you were, er, enjoying your lying down time with Spike. He will take you to Jontan’s cave tomorrow.”

“So, just how many of you know about Buffy and why did we bother to keep her presence a secret?” Spike was mildly annoyed with Buffy for hovering so close to the little traitor.

“We have kept all knowledge of the cave and journal to ourselves for twenty years,” Ahnja stated. “They were found when humankind first made war with Aurelia and so we kept quiet, wondering if these events were connected. As prophecies will only make sense as they are unfolding, we waited for the warrior-bride, hoping that she would not appear in our lifetime and so signal the final confrontation with evil. Buffy’s part in this is, hopefully, still a secret, but if Nesst is searching for Saya’s axe then he also knows that there is one chosen to use it against him. That is why he wants it.”

Andii spoke up then, quietly, but everyone heard him. “The prophecies in the journal are deliberately vague, but I believe that Nesst is only part of the coming darkness. The real face of our enemy hasn’t yet been revealed.”

***

It was a very subdued Buffy who finally crawled into their bed that night. Spike was lying on his back under the covers. Turning his head towards her he looked at her questioningly but said nothing.

Shaking her head a little she answered him anyway. “I, I’m not ready to talk about what happened tonight. I’m not ready for any of this really.” She inched closer, tugging the heavy quilt up over her shoulder. She looked lost.

“Will you hold me?”

Spike smiled and lifted his arm so that she could get close, before bringing it down around her. She laid her head in the crook of his neck, fingers cupped on his chest. Reaching across with his other hand he brushed the hair away from her forehead, making her scalp tingle. As her eyelids fluttered, his thumb came to rest at her temple, making tiny strokes that continued long after she’d fallen sleep.

***

It was still dark when they were roused by a frantic banging on the door to their suite. Someone, probably Brack, went to open it and the slightly hysterical voice of Teller the Innkeeper could be heard, his words urgent but muffled. Buffy and Spike both rolled out of bed in a state of readiness just as Brack entered.

“Terr-Khan,” he said. “They’ve entered the city. Teller is rounding up the guests to hide in the tunnels.”

“How many?”

“Too many.”

Spike grabbed the most practical clothes from his wardrobe and slipped them on. Black leather pants, boots and a thick black shirt. Strapping on his weapons, he grabbed his cloak. Buffy was faring less well, struggling into the least tarty dress she owned. Her tight leggings were of navy suede, so at least her bottom half would be warmer than usual. Without speaking, Spike withdrew a knife and knelt down as she was buttoning up her black velvet bodice. Heavily embroidered with fine silver wire, it resembled an exotic breastplate. Grabbing the floor length ribbons of her skirt he proceeded to slash them away till they ended mid thigh.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Fastening a dagger to her thigh and sliding the ebbon stake into a dark sable boot - one of a new pair bought on her shopping trip with Faythe - Buffy grabbed her own cloak and they joined the others.

Everyone was ready.

“What do we know?”

“Terr-Khan appeared from nowhere and decimated the guards at the gate. Killed the wulfs too. They’re systematically breaking into houses and slaughtering the people inside. Something is going on in the marketplace. That’s all Teller knows.”

“Well, we’d better move then,” said Spike. “Brack, your shoulder is still a mess so you’re no use in a real fight. Sneak out and get to the portal. Get Anjell. Scarr, it’s too much to hope that the way will be clear, so you help him. Faythe, Ennico, go with Teller and round up any useful citizens who can help defend the tunnels. Buffy, you and I are going to check out the marketplace then go to Ahnja’s to get that book.”

Orders given, the soldiers moved out.

***

Spike and Buffy moved like ghosts through the city, quickly backtracking whenever the dull crack of splintering wood sounded too close. The Terr-Khan were making no effort to be stealthy and the pair caught glimpses of citizens fleeing their homes, many still in their nightshirts, cloaks or blankets their only defence against the bitter cold.

The unlucky ones, those trapped and caught by the Terr-Khan, gave a sickening wail of despair that cut off mid-note. The deep silence that followed filled Buffy with sorrow and cold loathing. Spike’s expression showed that he, too, wanted to tear the predators apart limb by limb, but he hadn’t survived this long by being stupid.

Suddenly, something lurched out of a doorway on their right. A massive clawed arm whipped towards them and only a quicksilver jerk back saved Spike from having his face slashed to ribbons. Quick as a snake, Spike retaliated, his sword driving into its chest. The thrust should have pierced the creature through but it barely went in an inch.

Cursing, Spike dropped the sword and grabbed his weremetal dagger instead. The seven foot tall monster regarded him with gleaming red eyes; it appeared to be grinning. Dismissing Buffy, it leapt forward, heavy jaws open wide. Ignoring the creature’s rank breath, Spike swerved neatly to one side, sliding the blade under its armpit as it turned. At the same time, Buffy struck with her stake from behind. Instinctively, they pierced both the creature’s hearts simultaneously.

***

Reaching the buildings overlooking the marketplace, Spike guided Buffy towards one that was being renovated, the wooden scaffolding at the rear making a convenient ladder up to the gutter. The slate roof was slippery with ice but the lead pins that held the tiles in place gave just enough purchase to allow them to toe their way up to the crest of the roof.

Spike reached it first and hooked an elbow and one knee over the ridge. Buffy didn’t have the same reach and found herself slipping back down. With a muffled “Crap!” she grabbed onto his other leg and swarmed up his body. When she was in position they lay side by side, cocooned under his cloak and taking in the scene below.

What they saw sickened them.

Two hundred or so townspeople were gathered in a terrified huddle below, surrounded by perhaps ninety Terr-Khan. The metal framework of the market stalls, stripped of canvas awnings and wares for the night had been turned into makeshift gibbets. A dozen or so unfortunates, hands tied behind them, ropes wound tight around their throats, were suspended, strangling by degrees. They’d been secured so that they could just touch the ground on tiptoe, the effort to relieve the pressure and breathe left them wild eyed as they choked. A few had lost their fight for life, twirling gently by the side of their struggling companions.

Within this hellish scene was a small female, pacing on top of a small raised circle of steps. Back on Earth an ancient stone cross would have stood at its centre, but here a worn marble statue, depicting a stern, pale warrior, took its place.

Buffy recognised the fur swathed figure immediately from the recorded bloodbath on Watcher 10. Dalla. As if on cue, Krallik - her son and Anjell’s half brother - almost danced up the steps to her side. He grabbed her by the upper arms and, in a very unfilial move, thrust his tongue down her throat. After a few seconds of heated writhing, Dalla roughly pushed him away.

“We haven’t time for that, you idiot. Nesst will have both our hides if we delay. Now get back to what you do best and get some more of these brainless woolbacks strung up. THEN MAYBE SOMEONE WILL ACTUALLY TELL US WHAT WE WANT TO KNOW!” she screamed, aiming her anger at the people below.

Calming down, Dalla scowled and addressed the crowd. “Tell us where Saya’s axe is and we’ll stop. Keep silent and we’ll hang every last one of you, and let our pets warm their claws in your innards.”

One citizen, a portly man wearing the remains of a well made jacket over his nightshirt, dared to step forward. Bowing, he addressed Dalla, his voice quavering. “Mistress, I am the magister of this city and I can assure you that no-one here knows of this axe. I beg you, don’t destroy us for a myth, a folktale. We have many other treasures, please take what you want, but leave us be.”

“Wrong answer, bloodbag. Krallik, I think our mayor here has just volunteered to join his precious subjects on a rope’s end. It’s a pity all those civic dinners will weigh him down and make it a quick dance.”

“No, no, wait!” gasped the magister. “What if one of us has the axe, not knowing its true importance? We are all collectors here, let us go home and bring you our weapons. You can examine them yourself.”

“Hmm...” Dalla considered his words, her eyes calculating. Sweeping her long blonde hair back she looked around at the assembled townsfolk; they huddled, waiting, a few whimpers broke the silence.

“Very well. The city is ours and we really haven’t time to search every home thoroughly. Half of you may go back to your hovels and bring back what you have. The women and children will stay here. You have one hour, after that we’ll start killing them, two for every minute you waste." Dalla, warmly wrapped as she was, shivered. “Gods, it’s colder than a witch's tit here. How can you stand it? I think we’ll build a nice little bonfire. Maybe your worthless bodies will heat us up a bit.”

“What of them?” asked the magister, staring at the victims suspended from the market stalls.

"They’re not part of the deal. After all, it would be cruel to deprive my son of his bit of fun, wouldn’t it?” she said, smiling sweetly.

***

“Oh God, oh God,” Buffy murmured her distress against Spike’s throat as they clung together on the rooftop. “We have to do something.”

“We can’t fight so many of them, it would be suicide.” Spike said. His voice sounded harsh, betraying his own fear and revulsion for the plight of those left below. “Anjell will come soon and we must get to Ahnja’s. I promise we’ll make them pay, Buffy. I promise.” Spike squeezed her shoulders once before they retreated back down the roof, not making a sound as they descended.

***

They were too late.

The door of the curiosity shop hung loosely on one hinge, the ancient armour flung halfway across the street in a puddle of glass. Everything that could be broken had been. Inside, the shelves and all their contents lay tossed and twisted. Carefully stepping around the wreckage, the pair moved into the private rooms beyond with a sense of dread. In the middle of the large space, surrounded by smashed and plundered display cases was Andii. He was kneeling on the floor, his arms clasped around Ahnja.

Rocking and weeping quietly, completely oblivious to their presence, he stroked her face, crooning soft words while supporting her neck in the crook of his arm. Her body was stiff, bent at an unnatural angle, her eyes open, staring. Across Ahnja’s chest ran a deep diagonal line of red, her lifeblood soaking the carpet around them.

“Silly mistress,” Andii scolded gently. “I wasn’t worth it. I shouldn’t have listened to you, shouldn’t have hidden like you said. And now you’ve left me. You had no right to, you know. No right to be doing that, not when I love you. Your beautiful body is all torn and you won’t look at me again, or scold me, or let me brush your pretty hair and fetch your slippers when your feet get cold. Oh, Ahnja, please don’t do this, I... I don’t know what to do now.”

Sobbing harder, Andii’s tears fell into the eyes of his beloved. They gathered for a moment then trickled gently down her cheeks, giving the illusion that she shared his sorrow.

Careful not to startle the boy, Buffy stepped forward and knelt down next to him. Andii's grief for his beloved mistress brought back memories of another senseless death, that of her own mother, and, for the first time, she didn't regret not being allowed to see the body. This wasn't Ahnja, not any more.

Buffy gently pulled him towards her, away from the dead and back to the living. Spike stood over them both and watched, a wereblade in each hand, offering his protection for as long as they needed it.

Just then, a rustle in the shadows broke the silence. They were not alone.

***