This is an entry for a short story competition for the Monkeys Writing Shakespeare Union.

Two of the Regal Guard stepped from the passage into the entryway to the main chamber of the Great Basilica. Their mane and fur was trimmed short, in accordance with their position. They crossed the high-ceilinged chamber, walking in perfect synchrony, their lightweight armour clinking quietly in time, yet echoing across the otherwise quiet hall. They walked between the vaults that held the high ceiling in place, some fifty feet above them. They approached the throne on its raised platform, both carved exquisitely from marble.

"Ellendreel," one of the Guard addressed the person upon the throne as he knelt and bowed his head, while the other stood his vigil.

"You may rise," intoned the seated man, in a calm and collected voice. As always, his tone was confident; in the time they had known the Ellendreel, he had never lost his temper, and the only time his voice became excited and betrayed much emotion was during Acts of Suppression. The Guard rose, and the Ellendreel could tell he was nervous from his uncertainty as he began.

"A... A man seeks your counsel. Tseone has come to seek an audience." The Ellendreel's face gave away no emotion. His deep, almost-white eyes did not flicker nor did his brown pupils dilate. He sat regally upon the throne, his arms laid down on the armrests, palms curled around the marble ends. His white-grey mane was pulled back and tied near the back of his neck. The hairs of his chin were braided, a custom of those in his position.

"And he shall have it," the Ellendreel said without pause.

The Guard hesitated as he stared momentarily. "He... Tseone has requested the right to bear arms in the Basilica."

"And he shall have it," the Ellendreel repeated, with more conviction in his voice, a tone that indicated this statement was not to be questioned.

The Guard stared momentarily with his mouth slightly agape, as realisation dawned on him. "I understand. May the virtues of our ancestors guide you."

"Before you take your leave," the Ellendreel began as he stood from the throne, "I would have you deliver a message to the Council of La Vesh." He reached into the cream robe he was wearing and pulled out an envelope, stepped forward from the platform and gave it to the Guard. "Please do not return until Tseone has left. I give him free passage." The Ellendreel turned back to the throne, and swung out his coattails before seating himself once more.

"Yes, your Holiness." The Guards, both the speaker and the one who had remained silent throughout, turned and left at their normal pace back the way they had come.

It was not long after they had left that another figure entered the chamber, from the same way the Guards had left. His name was Tseone. He was lightly garbed, wearing what appeared to be a leather overcoat, lightweight while offering some protection from combat. His fur was a very pale yellow. His hair, both the top of his head and the greying strands on his chin, were not untidy yet obviously not well treated. Two of his teeth protruded slightly from his lips, though this was not a sign of anger; perhaps a good half of their race had a similar trait. A scabbard hung from his side, and its condition indicated it was far better looked after than its owner. It was safe to assume that the sword residing within it would be equally well looked after.

He paused only momentarily to look from one side of the Main of the Basilica to the other, then strode across the open space between himself and the throne, until he was perhaps a dozen paces from it. Meanwhile, the Ellendreel had not moved.

"Orden", the newcomer addressed the seated figure.

"Tseone," the Ellendreel responded in kind. "I wondered how long it would take you." There was a momentary silence, then he slowly rose, and with a deliberate pace walked down the three steps that separated the main floor from the throne. Again there was a momentary silence before Orden continued.

"How is Ralina?" There was the slightest crack in his voice, one that only Tseone recognised, given their history.

"She fares well enough for one with a broken heart."

Orden's head fell to look at Tseone's feet, his first open show of emotion for many months, an indication of his shame.

"I had hoped she would have forgotten about me, and found another. I did not wish her heart to be filled with emptiness." Tseone merely nodded in response.

After another brief pause, Orden nodded to the scabbard at Tseone's side. "May I?"

Without a word, Tseone drew the blade to the sound of the slightest whisper, reversed the sword, took a few steps forward and offered the blade to Orden.

Orden took the blade carefully, and tested its weight. As he had suspected, the straight blade was perfect, and had been looked after. "Another of Jarrod's creations I take it?" The words were meanlingless, for he already knew the answer. Tseone nodded in response. Orden reached towards the back of his robe with his free hand; Tseone did not flinch. Orden brought forward one of the silk tails of his robe, and flicked it into the air, so that it would fall across the blade. As it drifted across the blade, the silk split in two. "I am sorry about your previous blade, but this is a superior replacement".

"And yours?"

Orden smiled wanly. "You know I am no longer allowed to keep such weapons." He reversed the sword and offered it back to Tseone, who took it.

"I know that your doctrine dictates as such," Tseone said as he sheathed the sword, "But I know you have it."

"Of course. I knew this day would come." He sighed before continuing "I believe in what I do. Acts of Suppression are for the greater good. But I know you hold a different view, and I know you well enough, that that view will not change. You will kill me, but another Ellendreel will take my place."

"You are also aware I am here for vengeance, not disagreement of policy."

"Well, in this case, they are interlinked. I knew I was dead the moment that Clay-ja was chosen for the Act of Supression. But I did not make a mistake. His life saved many others, and ensures the peace of our cities and realm. His life and mine were lost that day, but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make."

"Is there anything else you would have me know?"

Orden reached into his robe, and pulled out an envelope. "I wrote this for Ralina after the Veerkamin took Clay-ja's life." He rubbed the hair on his cheek. "I was hoping you would be kind enough to give it to her. Knowing she still mourns for me, I might change some things, but obviously there is no time for that."

Breaking his controlled state for the first time, Tseone spoke in anger. "How could you just kill one of our own? Someone who had been a friend for over a decade? Your lovers best friend?"

"I understand your love for your sister, for her friend, and even for me. I was not turning on my friends, Tseone. I was protecting them. I believe in a higher purpose now."

"Your blade?" said Tseone, with a hint of impatience, as he reached forward and grabbed the envelope.

"Ah, I see it is time. I knew eventually my words would bore you. I can't give you the answers you seek. The only thinkg I can do is satisfy your thirst for revenge." Orden unclipped his robe, walked up to the throne, and laid it across it. He wore the regal suit awarded his position; it would be sufficiently comfortable for combat. He knelt down and manipulated the bottom of the throne, to pull out a large hidden drawer. In it lay his blade in it s scabbard. He raised it out, and pulled it from its scabbard. He raised it up, turned it over, and inspected it. "It has not seen use for such a long time. But being of Jarrod's creation, it scarcely needs attention. This will do just fine."

Tseone unclipped his leather overcoat, and flung it aside to land on the marble floor. He wore nothing underneath to cover his fur-covered chest. Orden stepped away from the throne, until they were several paces away from each other. He took a few swings to get used to the blade once again.

"We both know what the outcome will be, but I will do my best. You deserve nothing less." With that, Orden inched forward, and Tseone followed suit until they were within striking distance. Both held their swords in two hands; an observer viewing them side-on would have seen the tips crossed, though they were not touching. Then it began. Had anyone been watching, it would have been instantly clear that both were master swordsmen. Though the cat-people were agile by nature, the scene unfolding was a beautiful sight to behold. The ring of steel on steel, the fluid motion of their steps, the echoes that played out through the chamber, the way the muscles of their torsos contracted beneath their short fur as they moved to defend or inititiate the next strike; it all appeared beatifully choreographed.

And then there was blood. The two men stepped back, Orden with a puzzled look on his face. "Well that was unexpected."

Crimson began to stain on Tseone's face, blending into his fur. He reached up to his face to touch the wound, then wiped the blood off on his chest before gripping his sword again. "Your duties as Ellendreel have not diminished your ability at all. You impress me."

"As I said, you deserve nothing less." Then it began again. The two swords met, slid upon one another until the two were up close. With his hands underneath, Orden pushed up on his haunches to force Tseone backwards, using the same force to spin and land a kick on Tseone's hip while his sword simultaneously blocked Tseones next strike. This put him slightly off-balance, but he was able to recover to parry the next strike. The back and forth continued for a few more moments.

And then, the bells rang. The Ellendreel backed away. Tseone did not advance "Those bells. They signify an attack by Veerkamin, don't they?" Orden nodded. He stood ready, sword raised. Before he could determine what the next course of action should be, they could hear running from the hall that led to the Basilica. "I guess that means your Act of Supression did not work."

The two guards ran into the hall, and seeing the Ellendreel apparently in combat, drew their swords as they continued to race towards them.

Tseone sheathed his sword. "I know your skills will be required to close the rift. Do what you need to to save the people of your city."

Orden nodded, turned to the closing guards and raised his voice "Put away your swords."

The guards recluctantly did so. "Your Holiness, Veerkamin have breached us," he looked from Orden to Tseone, unsure as to whether the Ellendreel was in a position to help.

"Take me to the rift. As I said before, Tseone has free passage." The guards nodded. He turned to Tseone. "Until we meet again, Tseone," he said as he bowed. Without pause he turned, ran to the throne, put his sword in its sheath, and grabbed his robe. He nodded once more at Tseone as he ran after the guards while clipping on his robe, and exited the chamber.

"Yes," said Tseone as he began to casually stroll from the chamber, "until we meet again."