He didn't mind the cold, even as the wind blew through his thick Coat of Unusually Large Rat fur. He didn't mind waiting, even though his contact was 45 minutes late. Again.

He was used to waiting, used to the cold. But even so, he wouldn't have noticed. The Underground was finally over ground, and he could taste victory through his frozen lips. His anticipation for the impending New World Order heated his blood. Time was growing short for the so-called High Council and its drunk and pompous minions.

How fitting that these meetings took place in the Frozen Highlands, right under the eyes of his father's guards. Anthony Stone might have thought himself the cleverest of the High Council; he was, but only in comparison to his colleagues, absent minded, narcaleptic, or so greedy for knowledge or money that the real world faded to insignificance for them. Stone (he always thought of his male parent as Stone) at least noticed that the economy was faltering, the people were depressed, and monsters were on the roam in freetowns again. But his dear progenitor didn't know enough to realize how horribly unsuited the royal family was to reversing this new course of history.

The bastard son of Anthony Stone and Sylvania (Diva of the Enroth Imperial Opera) might have been 143rd in line to succeed Roland Ironfist as King of All Enroth, but his future domain would span half the known world. When Xenofax's Temple of Baa took its 'wrongful' place as the new religion of the land, mother wouldn't be proud. But he doubted she would even notice the impending changes of government and church. The silver-tongued singer of the upper class probably thought she had been a devoted and loving mother. Hadn't she always selected the best governesses, most reputable boarding schools, and choicest horses for his travel? He doubted that she even knew who he was, on those rare occasions when they lived under the same roof.

Bad enough that he would be known as Silvertongue, after his mother. Bad enough that Stone did him the 'favor' of acknowledging paternity, forever branding the boy as a bastard. But did she really have to name him 'Slicker?' Baa be damned, 'twas worse still that the reason had become well known. A midwife's remark, after he had fallen from her grasp: "Aw, I'm so sorry milady, but his legs were just too slick with, with, … well, they were slick, I tells yah." Slicker than the others he had been, and so Slicker he must be, his mother had declared.

Thankfully, long before Archibald's failed coup and the arrival of Xenofax, Slick had made peace with his history. If slick he had been, and Slicker he was named, then slickest he must be. Although he had not his mother's melodious voice, he vowed that his tongue would be as silver as hers. His decision to take voice lessons pleased her, as she had no idea that he wanted a wonderfully sonorous larynx so that he might talk the sweetest debutantes out of their ball gowns, the wealthiest matrons of their fortunes, and the royalist leaders of their kingdom.

He glanced at his 'watch,' the new device given him by Xenofax. A necessary convenience when visiting his father, as the constant snow made it difficult to tell the time night or day. But it reminded him that his contact was now an hour late. He supposed, ultimately, this meeting mattered little. He had easily won Humphrey's trust, and had already been able to use his position with the High Council to discover the deepest secrets of all its members. If the populace but knew how Fleise had made her original fortune, how many died so that Newton could brew his latest potions, why Humphrey would have banned men from the streets of Ironfist…

Plus, he now thought it possible to discover the secret of the enchantment that had cast Archibald in stone. Privately, he considered it unwise to free the King's brother, as he would, no doubt, challenge Xenofax's decision to ally with the creatures from Hell (or "Outer-Space," as they called it). (Still, he liked his superior digs at the latest Baa temple on Hermit's Isle and found, after a few hours, that he actually enjoyed the smell of brimstone, as he associated with his future leadership.) Moreover, he would soon have free roam of Ironfist Castle, which might allow him to disappear that little runt of a cousin of his. The symbolism of a vanishing Nicolai after the long absence of Catherine and the presumed death of Roland should send thousands of converts to the Temple of Baa.

He wondered why his contact was so late. Rumors of crusaders roaming the land and leaving the eviscerated corpses of bandits, lizardmen, and baa supporters along the roads between New Sorpigal and Ironfist had reached him in Free Haven. He was worried enough that he had cast spells increasing the fertility of the harpies and minotaurs in the North, even though it made travel more difficult for his non-spellcasting associates. He hoped briefly that Agar might succeed in cross breeding the two species-a flying, magic-invulnerable, magic casting powerhouse could be the result. On the other hand, the scientist's experiments in Kriegspire had backfired in a most annoying way; his failure had left them all in the 'lurch,' so to speak. Now, Slicker and Xenofax had but one Oracle crystal to study.

"Milord Silvertongue, hail thee!"

Slicker looked up. At last, materializing in a shimmer of light, Princess Nicoletta appeared. "Milady, well met. It has been far too long since last I was able to rest my weary eyes on your most beauteous countenance. How fare thee, my princess?" He bowed low, yet continued gazing up into the emeralds of her eyes.

"Oh, Slick, for crying out loud. You'll make me wet my pants with laughter, not passion. But never mind that. I have news, both good and bad. I have confirmed the rumors: a group of heroes roam Enroth, trained in might and magic by Klavis Verge himself. They have begun to gain approval to visit the Oracle, something even your silver tongue has not yet achieved. I fear that they may yet defeat our plans."

--to be continued