The last rays of the dying sun were fading, the warm light they cast visible against the faces of the tallest buildings. Siduri Sasan walked briskly through the darkening streets, his arms folded tightly across his chest against the evening chill, to which he was particularly sensitive. He looked the same as he always did on days when he stayed late to work at the office, and for all anyone else knew, he was merely headed home for a late dinner and an early sleep. However, this was not the case. There was someone he had to meet. As long as he kept moving, he could stay warm enough not to shiver, and he certainly did not want to be shivering upon arrival.

He turned onto a deserted street and walked about halfway down it before turning again, into an alley this time. It was much darker here between the buildings, and his ears strained for any possible sounds of an ambush or attack. The realistic, calculating portion of his mind didn't really expect anything of the sort to happen, but another very paranoid portion told him not to let himself get careless. This was a part of the city with which he was not as familiar, and were he to disappear now, there would be no one to know what had happened.

Stop it, he chided himself mentally. You're acting like a child. Siduri edged further along the alleyway until he was approximately halfway down, then leaned against the wall behind him. He couldn't help but wish it wasn't quite so cold... but he was in the right place for sure, and now there was nothing to do but wait.

But if he thought his imagination had been getting the better of him before, he was in for a nasty surprise. Hanz Morde. . . It was a name he had only heard spoken with the utmost of careful, wary respect. Did he really think he was prepared to deal with the man himself? He was probably set to be killed on the spot, which would serve him right for getting involved in things as dangerous as this. Siduri took a deep breath to steady himself; he simply couldn't afford to appear nervous later on.

Hanz Morde was not built for subtlety.

His mechanical leg alone alerted Siduri to his approach; the quiet, faint hiss and wheeze of the pneumatic pumps seemed to sneak its way into his ear, even under the usual noise of the city at night. If Siduri were to look, he would see the silhouette of an enormous barrel-chested man with a long, dark cloak in the mouth of the alley.

The tall galdor approached quickly. He was helmeted, only a slight winking of light in his iris showing that there was life inside his armor. He stood looking at Siduri for a moment without a sound or any display of emotion.

Siduri took a final moment to steady himself before stepping away from the wall and turning to face the leader of the Seventen. To say that the man was intimidating would have been a drastic understatement. He seemed to tower over Siduri, who felt distinctly dwarfed with his own slight stature and slim build which was essentially devoid of any meaningful muscle mass. Feeling himself under scrutiny, he decided that it was now or never.

"Sir," he acknowledged the other man, his tone sounding surprisingly level and controlled. He bowed respectfully in the senior galdor's direction. Then, still bowing, he glanced up at Hanz Morde though the silky curtain of his dark bangs, his green eyes searching for some sign or indication as to what he ought to do next.

There was a horrible, awkward pause as the two men stared at each other.

"Speak your piece," said Morde abruptly, his voice barking and echoing inside his helmet. Somewhere nearby, a flock of birds took off in abject terror. "I haven't got all night."

He shifted, his body language all but unreadable; still, Siduri got the impression that Hanz had a hundred things to do, each of which would require less mental than physical exertion, and that he was not the sort of man who enjoyed mind games.

With another nod of gracious acknowledgment, Siduri straightened up. He also took a step back, so that he would not have to crane his neck up at an awkward angle to address the other galdor.

"Very well then, I'll cut right to the chase." He inhaled through his teeth in a quiet hiss of air. "I have been given reason to believe that there is currently a plot in operation to seize control of Anaxas--a plot which is headed from within the Seventen itself."

There was a creak and a hiss as Hanz Morde shifted again. As his cloak fluttered to one side, Siduri could see a shockingly excessive array of weaponry concealed within.

"I see," said Morde shortly. "What reason have you to believe this?"

His eyes lingered for a moment on the impressive arsenal concealed beneath the Seventen leader's cloak. It was then he realized that he was staring, and promptly forced his eyes back up to meet Morde's.

"I was approached by a Seventen initiate who offered me career advancement, presumably through illegitimate means, in exchange for inside information regarding state politics," Siduri explained, as quickly as he could without seeming to rush. "The man seemed to think that Anaxas was 'doomed' unless he somehow came to power."

"An initiate?" mused the Seventen Commander. "Do you have a name for me?"

Siduri nodded. "Alstair Murdoh." Then after a pause, he added, "He also mentioned an affiliate by name of Ilithyia, although I have no knowledge of her surname or whether she has any ties to the organization."

"They are both new recruits," said Hanz immediately. He had clearly memorized the Seventen manifests. "If Murdoh is getting ideas above his station, it may be something to look into. Do you think he will contact you again?"

Siduri nodded immediately. "He said at our last meeting that he would send the girl to meet with me. I have to reason to suspect that he would renege on this commitment."

"Do not let on that you have spoken to anyone," said Morde, "obviously. I will expect a report when you have spoken to them. Do not contact me again; leave a message for my second-in-command, Pinter Lars."

He saluted - at least, Siduri imagined it was a salute. His jerky movements seemed almost mechanical. It was clearly beyond Morde to express gratitude, but he added "You have done the right thing" before stalking off into the street.

Siduri stared after him, listening to the hiss and groan of his mechanical leg as the sound faded away. When at last he could no longer hear it, strain his ears though he might, the galdor exhaled and released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His heart was pounding, and the rush of adrenaline which he had thus far managed to restrain coursed through him, causing his knees to tremble violently. Stretching out a hand, his fingers brushed the wall to his left, and he leaned against it to keep himself from falling should his knees buckle, which seemed a very real possibility. He slid down the wall to sit with his back against it, knees pulled close to his chest. It was far below his usual standards for dignity, but at the moment Siduri was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to care.

Oh for the love of Alioe. . . what's wrong with you? You just got the clocking ticks scared out of you by a three minute chat with a walking scrap yard.

. . .although to be fair, it was more like some unholy combination between a scrap yard and an armory, the result of which just so happened to wield expansive political power, he reminded himself.

This last thought brought him abruptly back to reality. It was quite late now, he hadn't eaten, and he was still a fair distance from home. With the recent unrest in the city, this was not a particularly desirable place for one such as himself, who cut a fairly unimposing figure, to be. Then there was also the fact that he was sitting in what was quite possibly a manner less dignified than anything he'd employed since childhood--not something he cared to dwell on.

Siduri got hastily to his feet, brushing himself off and straightening his overcoat. It was then that another thought struck him.

"You have done the right thing."

He smiled grimly to himself as he started down the alleyway towards the street, walking at a brisk pace. It was too soon to assume that he was safe from the Seventen, but this was certainly no longer among his chief concerns. The shadows seemed to come alive as he passed, even as they faded into the all-encompassing shade of dusk. There was still the very real possibility of a knife in his back, or perhaps something still more unpleasant, and the thought causing him to pause for a moment, listening intently for any signs of pursuit. Then, with a slight shake of his head, he continued on his way.

Now all I have to do is lay low and pray that Murdoh doesn't find out about this. . .