Take Two for Trilly (DONE)

[Rikku]

Woohoo! =D Yay Trilly!

[Amneiger]

=D Congratulations! *waits for you to post more parts*

[Trilly (18426 words)]

Thanks for the congrats, it feels really good to be finished. ^^ Now I actually have time for posting replies, putting up chapters, and drawing things other than quick pencil sketches.

Here are some more parts. ^__^ I might just do the same thing as I did last year--put up one or two a day until I get sick of it and just post them all at once.

SPOILER: Click to show

CHAPTER 12 The Falcons are Circling


Baxter wasn’t sure where staying at a really nice inn came into play in the entire ‘rethinking the plan’ idea, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain. It was one of the better-class lodgings in that part of the city, so there was complimentary food and stabling for Mask out back, the beds were actually filled with real goose down and there were fireplaces in some of the guest rooms. Additionally, the establishment often had a number of bards performing there on any given night, so the place had a party-like atmosphere in the evening.

If he didn’t know better, he’d almost think that Mooshi was trying to make him feel better.

When he tried to bring it up, he had been cut off by a sharp look from the shapeshifter. “Before you ask, we have plenty of money for a couple of nights here. We’ve barely even used up half of what we got from the robbers, and there’s a good crowd here tonight. People might pay to hear you bang away on that foul banjo of yours.”

This wasn’t the answer to the question he had been wanting to ask, but it did answer some things he had been wondering about. So he decided to leave it be, for the time being.

Baxter was glad to take a seat at one of the tables in the main common area (which was larger than the entire inn in Wheathold) among guests who were all chatting and lighthearted. The atmosphere was one of a sort of relaxed anticipation-- everyone was excited to see who the next performer would be, but there was no sense of urgency. People were there to kill time and enjoy themselves, not find something new to stress about.

The bard who had been playing when Baxter and Mooshi came in finished his song, a graceful violin solo, just as they sat down. Mooshi’s unusual appearance was attracting some looks of curiosity, but none were suspicious or hostile in the slightest, and most people were too busy cheering for the musician and tossing coins as he bowed lowly.

“He’s very good,” Baxter said, joining in on the applause. He had ended up missing the best part of the festival that year, so it was very nice to get another opportunity for great music and a jovial atmosphere.

Mooshi grimaced. “To tell you the truth, half the time I can’t really tell the difference between good and bad music.”

Baxter was about to reply with something suitably witty, but the sight of the next bard stepping up onto the stag made the words die in his throat, unspoken. The bard was a young woman with red hair, confidently unwrapping a beautiful lyre. Mutters spread through the audience, Baxter obviously not the only one to have recognized the player.

“Gwenna...” Baxter realized excitedly, recognizing that face as the same one he saw at the festival only days ago. “I had no idea she would be here.”

Mooshi glanced at her as the first few notes began to play. “Huh. I don’t see what the big deal is. You’ve seen one bard, you’ve seen them all,” she smirked wolfishly at Baxter. “What do you say, idiot?”

“No, you don’t understand,” Baxter protested, completely missing the intended jab aimed at himself. “ Gwenna Jay is one of the best bards of the day, and she is insanely young for that sort of standing. She’s only about two years older than me, and far more accomplished.”

“Your eyes are kind of popping out of your head, lover-boy. You might want a doctor to take a look at that,” Mooshi said drily, taking in Baxter’s suddenly eager and attentive pose. “Or you could ignore me, that always works, too.”

Baxter was too lost in the music now to even register that his companion was speaking, much less decipher what she was telling him. He had never actually heard Gwenna play before, since she had never actually performed at Wheathold’s festival before (probably because she considered it Baxter’s ‘bard territory’ and didn’t want to intrude on it), and Baxter had never travelled to a place where she might’ve played. He had heard that she was extremely good, but the praises of others hadn’t prepared him for the slow rolling of music, or notes that sounded like liquid light as they rose and fell in perfect timing. Gwenna was also unusual in that she sang to accompany her playing, whereas most bards were only truly proficient in one or the other. Her voice and the soft tones of the lyre perfectly complimented each other, creating a harmony unlike anything Baxter had ever really heard before.

Beautiful.

Baxter felt an overwhelming sadness when the notes died away and the song ended, and people began stirring again as if woken from a trance. It took a few seconds for them to notice that Gwenna had finished and was re-wrapping her instrument before they began cheering in earnest, showering her with applause and coins. She smiled out at them, bowing modestly as she gathered the coins and made her way off the stage despite their cries for another song.

“Hey, Gwenna!” Baxter waved and called out, his loud voice sounding above the exclamations of everyone else in the room. Mooshi winced at the assault on her ears.

Amazingly, Gwenna heard the call and her head whipped around, fiery hair whipping past her face. She looked simply shocked to recognize the tall, smiling individual who had shouted to her at first, but her face gradually melted into a grin and she made her way over to their table through the throngs of people who crowded around her.

She shot Baxter a dazzling grin as she approached. “Baxter Crane. What are you doing this far out of Wheathold?”

Baxter scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Aha, that’s a long story. Anyways, I had no idea I’d run into you here.”

Gwenna shrugged, and her expression shifted into something more serious. “I’m actually really glad to see you. I was kind of worried when you didn’t show up at the festival in Wheathold last week, you know-- when we talked, I knew you’d been looking forward to it. Featherfinger was worried, too, before he cut out of the celebration entirely. Actually, now that I think about it, I barely saw any of your little group that night, and you all seemed so close....” her eyes widened. “Does that have anything to do with the fact that you’re here now?”

Baxter grimaced slightly. “You can sit down, if you’d like,” he said, gesturing to a chair beside him and continuing as she took a seat. “It kind of is, actually. I don’t think telling you everything right now is a good idea... you’ll think I’m crazy, and there’s some pretty big stuff going on.”

“At least tell me why you’re out of Wheathold for what’s probably the first time in your life,” Gwenna insisted, gesturing for a server to bring her a mug of cider. “Be as vague as you want, if you’re uncomfortable about it.”

Baxter frowned thoughtfully. “I’m looking for a friend,” he said. “I think she’s around here somewhere, but we kind of lost her, so Mooshi told me to-- oh! Gwenna, this is Mooshi,” the bard introduced, gesturing at his surly companion, who gave a sarcastic wave at Baxter’s sudden remembrance of her. “She’s been... helping me find the person I’m looking for.”

“Very pleased to meet you, Mooshi,” Gwenna said politely, extending her hand. To her credit, she didn’t bat an eye at Mooshi’s silver hair and less-than-inconspicuous name. “I’m glad that Baxter has a friend with him to help out. The city can be startling at first.”

Mooshi snorted. “No kidding. Probably be hit by a carriage if I wasn’t there to drag him out of the way, stupid bard that he is.” She took the hand and shook it, looking a little bit annoyed about having been forgotten up until that moment.

Gwenna chuckled, then turned back to Baxter conspiratorially. “Want to be let in on a secret?” she asked.

“I don’t know. What kind of secret is it?”

“A good one,” Gwenna said. “See those Falcons sitting there?” she pointed to the other side of the room, where a good number of strong-looking men in copper and brown were sitting, sipping away at mugs of something that was probably a good deal stronger than Gwenna’s cider. “I noticed when I was up on stage. Look at the one on the edge of the table, the older one with the grey mustache that looks like a brush.”

Baxter saw, but didn’t understand how this was supposedly significant. The man looked a little on the old side to be on such an elite force of guards, and was admittedly quite tired-looking, but he wasn’t that old, and there was something steady about his brown gaze that suggested he could be calm even in the face of disaster. He still looked like someone who should be taken seriously, and Baxter couldn’t tell what he was supposed to be looking at.

Mooshi did, apparently. She choked on a swig of her own drink, and spluttered as she tried to regain her breath. “What in the gods’ names is he doing here? In disguise, no less?”

Baxter gave a puzzled frown, feeling very much out of the loop. “Why? Who is he?”


“That, Baxter,” Gwenna said in a whisper, “is none other than Duke Peregrine, leader of the Falcons and chief law enforcer of the realm.”

Disbelieving, Baxter took a closer look at the mustached man. He certainly didn’t look like the chief enforcer of law in the realm. He didn’t even really look like Chesse, who was supposedly his daughter.

Well... there was something about him (the nose, maybe, or the determined set of the eyes) that reminded Baxter of Chesse. Chesse’s dusky skin and curly hair must have come from her mother’s side, however, as Peregrine seemed to have very pale skin and pin-straight hair.

“Wow...” Baxter said, unsure of what else he should say in response to this sudden knowledge. “Well, what would he be doing here, anyways? And dressed like one of his Falcons, too?”

“Looks like he wants some time out on the town for some drinking and quality company, maybe,” Gwenna guessed with a shrug, returning her attention to her cider. “Can hardly blame him for wanting some anonymity once in awhile... that job’s bound to be stressful. And since his daughter went missing, I’m sure he’s no stranger to the bottle.”

Mooshi, however, looked bothered and nowhere near as noncommittal as Gwenna about Duke Peregrine’s presence. “All of the Falcons are armed,” she whispered in Baxter’s ear, low enough that Gwenna wouldn’t hear. “They’re serious, not here for fun and rowdy drinking--maybe like they’re waiting for something to happen.”

No matter how much he liked Gwenna, Baxter found that he more readily trusted Mooshi’s interpretation of the situation. She had probably been trained since her creation to be able to sneak around and read people just by their looks.

However, if she was correct, that meant that they would have to tread lightly and keep an eye out to make sure they didn’t get caught up in anything ugly.

Although in all rights, he thought that he and Mooshi were about due for some action. If this story was ever going to make a decent ballad, the hero would need to face Certain Peril sooner or later. The incident with the highwaymen didn’t count, because Baxter had ended up being rescued by Mooshi (who really didn’t have a role in a heroic ballad), and to make it worse, Mooshi had currently looked like an aging woman at the time. It wasn’t particularly impressive and was, if anything, quite embarrassing and best forgotten.

Baxter suddenly realized that Gwenna was talking to him. “So, are you going to play for us, or is the mandolin just for show?” she asked wickedly.

His hand automatically going to the instrument strapped to his back, he replied, “I don’t really know....” There had been a lull in performers since Gwenna’s truly memorable performance, as if everyone knew that whatever they did would fall flat after her display of musical prowess.

“Oh, go on,” Gwenna said, smiling as she gave Baxter a helpful nudge. “The guests are starting to get bored with no music.”

Grinning sheepishly, he stood and said, “Okay, I’ll try it.”

The guests looked suddenly interested to see someone else--someone new, at that--step up onto the low wooden stage after Gwenna Jay, the famous Traveling Bard had played. Baxter flashed them a friendly, personable grin and within a moment, everyone in the hall was mentally cheering for the tall, bright newcomer.

It never ceased to amaze Mooshi just what an impact Baxter’s charisma could have.

He plucked a few experimental notes to start off with, just testing the sound, before launching into a breakneck and upbeat tune that made a person want to get up and dance. Some guests of the inn seemed to agree with this, looking delighted at the cheery tune and clapping along with the beat, barely holding themselves back from running through the aisles and pirouetting over unused chairs.

Mooshi flicked her ale glass, the ring it made lost in the applause. Baxter was stupidly transparent about everything... his emotions, especially. From just quiet observations, she now knew that her best source of leverage over the bard was he pretty human who sat next to her, clapping away and looking on proudly, as an older sibling would for a little brother who was doing well.

Surely Baxter Crane wasn’t s stupid as to think that no one would notice the way he beamed at Gwenna Jay, the way he would do anything she asked of him. It was pathetically obvious, even if it didn’t seem that Gwenna returned the feelings. She was fond of the other bard, was for sure, but obviously not to the level that Baxter liked her.

He hadn’t been careful enough with Mooshi, not in the slightest. Despite all the spells and traps and rules he imposed.

She could crush him, if she wanted. Crush him and finally regain her freedom from this wretched collar.

But... not yet.

At the moment, she was working with Baxter. To steal Chesse-- the girl-- back from Lucianus. She might still require him, or at least the girl’s trust in him, in order to complete the mission for her Master.

After they had accomplished that... she’d have to act. She couldn’t be a prisoner forever, and threatening Baxter Crane with something he cared about may be the only way to escape.

***

The comedic song finished with a roar of appreciation from the audience. The song hadn’t been nearly as polished and perfect as Gwenna’s, but no one even seemed to notice as they threw coins and Baxter waves enthusiastically at the crowd. Only Mooshi noticed that he glanced at Gwenna Jay more often than he did anyone else.

Thanking his new fans as he went, Baxter made his way back to the table, weighed down with his earnings. “This is a fun bunch to play for!” he exclaimed, looking so much like a child. “They really get right into it--”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Mooshi drawled in a monotone, sounding bored. “At least you managed to earn something, so now you can pay for things once in while.”

“Ah, you don’t have to sound so sad,” Baxter said kindly, and Mooshi almost thought there was a bit of genuine fondness in his voice. She decided she was hearing things, or else Baxter just got all soft around Gwenna and he was absolutely radiating his love to the entire room. “I know you don’t really like music, but hopefully it wasn’t too bad.”

“It... wasn’t,” Mooshi said quietly, surprising herself. “It was too loud and mindlessly happy, and got really annoying in places, but it... wasn’t terrible, I guess. Kind of okay.”

Baxter gave her the bright Gwenna-smile he’d displayed almost all evening. “Hey, that’s almost a compliment, coming from you! You know--” he broke off as someone tapped his shoulder, and he turned to come face-to-face with one of the Falcons they had been observing earlier.

“You’re new around here, aren’t you?” the Falcon asked lightly, his tone conversational. “You’re very good... you have a lot more life than we see around here these days.”

Baxter’s glaring smile shrank to more tolerable levels, and he shook the man’s offered hand. “Glad you liked it,” Baxter said. “I’m nowhere near as good as Gwenna Jay, though,” he tried to wink roguishly at the female bard, and she rolled her eyes.

“Not many are,” the guard chuckled politely. “Sorry about the bother, but it’s standard procedure if you’re new around here. I need to see your license from the Bard Guild if you’ve made a public performance and received funds from it.”

Baxter froze, and Gwenna’s head snapped up in alarm.

“I... lost it,” Baxter said. How was he supposed to explain the fact that he was not an accredited bard simply because he’d never felt the need to register. If things had happened differently, he never would have left Wheathold.

The man’s face hardened slightly, no longer sociable, but not entirely heartless. “If that’s the case, you’ll have to come with me. It’s illegal to perform without a permit in Falcon’s Peak, and the penalty for it is two months in the gaol and a hefty fine. If you’ve truly lost your permit, you will be looked up in the guild ledgers and they will decide upon your punishment. However, in the meantime...” he looked at Baxter, sizing him up. “You’ll be accompanied to a lockhole for the night, and you’ll be transferred to another facility in the morning. Are you clear on this?”

Mouth dry, Baxter nodded.

“Are you going to come quietly, and not make a scene?”

He nodded again, not trusting his voice.

“Okay, then,” he turned to face the rest of his party, and Baxter’s stomach lurched as he saw that Duke Peregrine’s eyes were right on him. “Lieutenant! I need you to help accompany an offender to a lockhole.”

Another Falcon joined them, and they began leading Baxter out the door. He swallowed, wondering how in the world he was going to get out of this one-- there was no telling how long it would take for the issue with the Bard Guild to be solved, and the longer he waited, the greater the chances were that he would never be able to find Chesse again.

“Baxter... I’m really sorry,” Gwenna said, looking for all the world like she was going to cry. “I didn’t think--”

“It’s okay,” Baxter reassured her, trying to smile but knowing he fell far short of the mark. “See you when this is all worked out, right?”

His blue eyes met silver, but Mooshi just stared, and didn’t say or do anything as Baxter was led away.

SPOILER: Click to show

CHAPTER 13 In Which Prisons are Broken
The Falcons were not cruel, but neither were they particularly considerate of Baxter’s feelings as they escorted him down the streets-- less empty than they’d been during the day, but still rather well-populated-- with a relaxed yet businesslike air. He knew he was attracting more curious looks and shy giggles with every minute that passed, and it was embarrassing.

More than anything else, he was bothered by the fact that he was being treated like he was absolutely nothing--not dangerous enough to warrant an armed procession and heavy iron chains, but having done enough wrong to not be simply let off with a warning. This seemed like an everyday occurrence to the guards, who told the occasional joke and made comments to one another every so often, about mundane things like how pretty that one dancer was and how he was pretty sure she’d winked at him, the price of ale, or how successful the latest catch had been on a particular fishing ship. They were simply escorting a minor offender to a holding area, not anything that really made any difference in the grand scheme of things.

It all served to make Baxter miserable, because it certainly didn’t feel like a small deal to him. There was no way he would be able to find and rescue Chesse from a gaol cell, which was probably intended to be his final destination. He also felt sad because Gwenna would blame herself for getting Baxter captured, and he seriously hoped that the Falcons didn’t take him too far away, because Mooshi would be killed by the collar if she ended up over a kilometer away from him.

His stomach twisted up at that. He had finally reached the point where he felt terrible to keep Mooshi a prisoner under pain of death, and he was mentally kicking himself for not just letting her go earlier. She’d been fairly trustworthy for the duration of the trip, of course, but Baxter knew that logic had nothing to do with this decision-- he simply liked her too much, and he could never hurt people that mattered to him in some way.

“So... Lucianus, huh?”

Baxter jumped slightly, both upon hearing the guard speak and hearing his chosen subject matter. It suddenly struck him that he should listen, since the guards were largely ignoring him after labeling him ‘harmless’, and because this conversation promised to be more informative and relevant to him than the previous ones.

Not noticing their detainee’s sudden interest, the other Falcon replied lightly. “Yeah, who would’ve thought. I half wonder if he hasn’t been keeping the poor little girl all these years, just waiting for the right moment to use her as a bargaining chip.”

“Well, it would certainly explain how she just vanished off the map. Not the gypsies that Peregrine’s always been ranting on about....”

“But the real question here,” the guard flashed a grin, “will we show up at the docks tonight and really find Peregrine’s legendary long-lost daughter, or just a very powerful and very smug sorcerer waiting to ambush the Duke?”

“We’ll know come midnight, is for sure. Lucianus may be many things, but he’s never been a liar-- thinks there’s no honour in lies, or somesuch. But who knows, people change. And if this is a hoax, it’ll be the perfect set-up for an attack on the Duke as he comes to negotiate for his daughter.

“I wonder what the mage would ask for in return.”

The other man began reciting a list of possible demands the Duke might receive from Lucianus the Blood Mage, starting with a magical suit of armor that was rumoured to be in the Duke’s possession and growing steadily more unlikely as he went.

Baxter stopped listening around there, already knowing exactly what the mage wanted: the exact same thing that Morgano, his brother, had hoped to gain in exchange for Chesse.

He wanted command of Peregrine’s legion of elite Falcons, so he could launch an attack and finally wipe out his brother, once and for all.

And if that wasn’t a scary thought, he didn’t know what was: the best fighters in the kingdom all under the control of someone who crushed towns and didn’t bat an eyelid.

A few minutes later saw Baxter and his guards arriving at a tiny, single-person holding cell at a junction between two major streets. It was a very basic structure, block-like in shape, made of sturdy bricks, and without decor of any kind. Also, Baxter noted nervously, displaying a distressing lack of windows.

The guards hauled open the door and gestured for Baxter to step inside. “Sorry, young ‘un,” one of the guards said, not unkindly. “You don’t seem like a malicious sort, but rules are rules. There’ll be someone from the gaol by to pick you up in the morning. I hope your trial goes well for you.”

Baxter nodded, polite to (what felt like) the end. “It’s not your fault. Thanks for the company.”

They shut the door, and Baxter was left in the dark.

***

As it happened, Baxter did not even get a chance to properly languish in the pitch black before there was a crash and a fist was protruding through the brick wall opposite him. The bard just stared at the arm, silently marveling at how short of a time it had taken him to break and go mad in captivity. Usually, the hero managed to stick it out for at least a couple of years before the imprisonment got to them. He had managed... what, two or three minutes?

The hallucinatory arm began to move, pulling out slightly until the hand could get a decent grip on the bricks around the rather sizable hole in the wall before it pulled, and a large portion of the wall came away with it.

Baxter felt a fresh breeze on his face and he breathed in deeply, feeling incredibly relaxed considering the circumstances. It was dark outside as well, but not the impossible, all-consuming dark of the cell, and Baxter could make out two figures beyond the hole in the wall. One of them came closer, ducking through the hole in the wall, and he just had a chance to register silver hair before there was a sudden pain in his jaw and Mooshi was in his face, yelling at him.

“Arrested because of playing without proper licensing? What the hell kind of a bard are you anyways, you scamming, pansy-toed mudcrawler? The next time you get yourself into a mess, I am not saving you again, be it more robbers or gaol or gods know what else! Got it?”

Baxter rubbed his stinging jaw, the fact that he was not hallucinating just beginning to sink in. “Uh... okay,” he said, because there wasn’t much else he could say. “How did you find me?”

Mooshi sneered, straightening up and dragging Baxter roughly with her. “Followed you. It wasn’t hard.”

“Haha! Really, because I thought--”

“Just don’t talk,” Mooshi interrupted as they crawled through the hole. “Your voice makes me want to shove you back in that hole and leave you there to rot.”

Baxter obediently closed his mouth and concentrated on getting through the wall without becoming too scraped up on the edges, since Mooshi didn’t seem inclined to be particularly gentle with her dragging. Outside the cell he was met with another pleasant surprise--Gwenna had apparently accompanied Mooshi when she went after Baxter, and she actually looked delighted to see him. She looked a little bit freaked out, too, but that was probably because she’d just seen Baxter’s skinny, surly little companion decimate a brick wall with her bare hands.

“Thank the gods you’re okay,” she said gratefully, enveloping Baxter in a hug once he was free of the rubble. “I’m sorry I didn’t even consider the fact that you’re a solitary bard and they always inspect newcomers when they play--”

“I said it was okay, didn’t I?” Baxter said with a smile. “It wasn’t your fault, and really, I’m the on who should’ve known better.”

She unstrapped his mandolin from her back and placed it in his eagerly waiting arms. Baxter slung it around his shoulder, reassured by its familiar, comfortable weight. “Guess what, Mooshi?” Baxter said, excitement in his voice.

“You’ve decided to become a disciple of Morgano?” she stated drily.

Baxter laughed and shook his head. “No, I was listening to the guards talk on the way here, and I think I know where Chesse is!”

“Chesse?” Gwenna asked, not having been filled in on the details of Baxter and Mooshi’s mission. Her gaze sharpened as she drew a connection. “Chesse! The curly-haired girl from Wheathold...Featherfinger’s apprentice. Is that the friend you’re looking for?” she asked, alarmed. “What is she doing here alone?”

Baxter scratched his head. “It’s... complicated.”

“Well, spit it out, bard,” Mooshi ordered. “What do you know?”

Baxter obliged, trying to dredge up the Falcons’ exact words from his less-than fantastic memory. “Lucianus has her--right here in the city, too! He’s contacted Duke Peregrine and set up a hostage negotiation at midnight tonight, and I guess that’s why he was at the inn with so many Falcons right now. They’re just waiting there until midnight, and they’re ready to fight in case it’s a trick.”

“All well and good, dear Baxter, but this does us absolutely no good since we have no idea where this negotiation is to take place,” Mooshi drawled, her arms crossed in front of her.

“But I think I know where it’s going to be,” Baxter exclaimed. “They mentioned something about the docks... how do you get there, though?”

“Just go east along this street until you come to the intersection at Coppers and Glassland Row, then turn right. That’ll take you to the shipyard. It’ll be empty now, since all the fishers will have gone home for the day.”

Baxter and Mooshi both turned to stare at Gwenna.

Gwenna shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I have no idea what’s going on, or just how big it is, but I want to help you. I want you to find your friend, even if there’s not much I can do.”

Baxter smiled at her. “Thanks, I really appreciate it. But....” he hesitated. “Things are really in a mess right now, and it’ll probably get dangerous. And, well... this isn’t your fight. I want you to go back to the inn now, and keep yourself safe.”

She looked started at first, and a bit put off at the implication that she couldn’t take care of herself, but after a moment of considering the situation she backed down. She even managed a smile for the other bard’s benefit. “All right, you macho thing... I’ll go back to the inn and leave you to whatever craziness you have planned.”

She took a few steps away, before turning back and returning to press a light kiss on Baxter’s cheek. “Good luck,” she murmured as she broke away and disappeared into the darkness. “Stay alive, okay?”

Baxter felt like his entire face was probably scarlet as Wheathold’s ripe tomato crop by then. Gwenna Jay had kissed him. She had kissed him. It had been just a pleasant, little thing-- yet it was also something he admittedly had wanted for most of his young adult life, a sign of acknowledgement from the only person ever to hold his interest in a way that maybe wasn’t purely amiable. It was the sum of many of his hopes, and he found himself quite happy.

But surprisingly, it wasn’t as much of a pinnacle of success as he had always imagined it would be. It certainly wasn’t True Love’s Kiss... but maybe they had to be mouth-to-mouth for it to count anyways. It had just been an affectionate little peck on the cheek, nothing as powerful as an act of absolute love, after all. Maybe the big epiphany and the choirs of angels came later.

Baxter shook his head, as if willing away a stray thought. He would worry about dramatic romance or whatever its equivalent was in his story later. He turned to Mooshi, intending to suggest they head for the docks, but he was stalled by the sudden realization that the knuckles on her right hand were rather badly bruised and bleeding sluggishly. She examined it in an almost detached manner that actually alarmed Baxter somewhat.

“Huh. It hurts,” she said, her voice filled with a mild interest.

“What-- oh! Gods, you just punched through a wall,” Baxter exclaimed. “Are you okay? Do you need a bandage?”

Mooshi snorted, waving the injured hand carelessly. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not like a human, you know--the only reason this injury is staying here is because I can’t fix myself when I’m stuck in one form. I’ll just heal it the next time I get a shapeshift.”

Despite her tone--surprisingly light, considering Mooshi’s personality--Baxter still felt guilt well up in his stomach. “I’m sorry.”

She looked up. “What?”

“It’s just... I’m sorry. For everything I’ve done to you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up, idiot,” Mooshi snapped, turning away. “I don’t need any pity, least of all from someone as pitiable as you.”

But Baxter pressed on, unwilling to be deterred. “I’m serious, Mooshi. I want to make it better... here,” he said, pressing a finger to the cold collar around the shapeshifter’s neck. The runes glowed once and the catch clicked open, and Baxter pulled it off. “You’ve helped me find Chesse. I never made any demands that you do anything more than that, and I owe you my life twice over by this point. It’s only fair that I let you go now.”

Mooshi whipped around, a look of undisguised shock in her silver eyes as she registered the fact that the collar was gone, and the bard who was watching her with such a pained expression across his face (a face wholly unused and unsuited to pain) no longer had any control over her.

When she finally found her voice, she said with a thin, hard smile. “You know what I can do now?” she asked.

Baxter swallowed, but didn’t flinch. He was growing. “I don’t know. What?”

“I can make you pay for everything you’ve done to me,” she said conversationally. “I can kill you-- it’ll be easy, I know at least a hundred ways to do it just off the top of my head. You might’ve been able to harm me almost as easily as you could any human while I was trapped in one form, but I’m almost indestructible as long as I’m free to shapeshift. The magic required to stop me is far beyond you, little bard.”

She sized up his expression before continuing. “On top of that, you just cheerily announced exactly where I will need to go to recover the girl from Lucianus. It’ll be a simple matter to bring her to my Master and fix the mistake his other underlings made. That should make him happy, don’t you think?”

Baxter grimaced slightly at that. It was all Mooshi’s game now, and there was nothing he could do to alter whatever action she took. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d done the right thing in granting Mooshi her freedom.

“Honestly, what were you thinking?” her voice was incredulous, and there was a frown on her face. “There was absolutely no logic to you letting me go, and you must have known that me killing you was a distinct possibility, yet you did it anyways! You are a stupid, sentimental fool.”

She looked like she was about to say more, but she just growled and ignored the bard in favour of her injured hand. The skin there shimmered even as Baxter watched, turning silver and shifting smoothly, sweeping away jagged gashes and bluish marks to leave only pale, unmarred flesh behind. “Midnight, you say?” Mooshi inquired suddenly, startling Baxter out of the mild daze he was in.

“Huh...?”

“When the hostage negotiation is going to take place. It’s at midnight, right?”

Baxter nodded, a bit unsure of where this was going. “Yeah....”

“Well...” Mooshi said, her face twisted in an expression that Baxter couldn’t even begin to comprehend. “We’d better get over to the shipyard quickly. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find the girl there before Peregrine arrives and Lucianus appears on the scene. If he’s anything like the Master, he’ll wait until the last possible minute to show up.”

Baxter opened his mouth... and closed it. “Why... what are you doing?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t ruled out killing you, yet!” she snapped defensively. “However, we have the same goal at the moment-- that hasn’t changed. You may assist me for the time being.”

Comprehension dawned slowly, but finally, Baxter understood that Mooshi was actually cooperating with him. Willingly.

And that was enough to make his smile come back full-force.

“You’re right; we should get moving,” he said agreeably.

And somehow, despite everything, Baxter thought it had been a pretty darn good night so far.

[Kathleen]

Congrats, Trilly! =D

I shall definitely have to read this, along with everyone else's, now that I have the time again. =D .. although, studying for midterms might be a good idea, too, now I think of it.

[Rikku]

... I love the fact that Mooshi is defensive about not killing him. xD

Enjoying this. =D Post mooooooore.

[Trilly (18426 words)]

Yes. Studying is always advisable. *nodnod*

Mooshi is an expert at lying, especially to herself. ^^ Be warned, though... things are about to get disjointed and downright weird. The next chapter is kind of important and kind of long, so I'll post it separately to ensure maximum retention within the minds of all those who are still reading this. Yes, ALL TWO OF YOU.

I lied. I'm just too lazy to italicize-code another part, and I've just been to the dentist and can only move half of my face. I feel the need to take a break.

Anyhow...

SPOILER: Click to show

CHAPTER 14 Unlucky Number Ten

The streets of the city were lit with lamps, like the ones back in Wheathold, but they were kept burning all night. This was a fact that Baxter was happy to learn, as it meant that following Gwenna’s directions and finding the shipyard (or the docks, as the Falcons had called them) was quite simple, and they didn’t lose any time because of having to slog through the dark. When they got to the shipyard, however, Baxter’s slowly-recovering optimism suffered a bit of a blow.

The shipyard was quite large, and not not nearly as well-lit as the streets had been. There were several levels of piers, wooden platforms strategically raised to allow the easy unloading of some of the larger ships, with rickety ladders that lead up to them from the main level--where Baxter and Mooshi were currently situated. The docks were also not ‘empty’ in every sense of the word. It was true that they were utterly devoid of people, but there were many remnants of the day’s work scattered across water-warped planks, like ridiculously big coils of rope, barrels, and broken coracle boats in the middle of being repaired that would make prime hiding places.

Mooshi’s hand began to glow, and Baxter jumped in alarm.

She laughed at his reaction. “Just a little trick I learned from a firefly, bard. We run the risk of being spotted more easily this way, of course, but we’ll be able to find your friend and leave quicker if we’ve got some light.”

Baxter nodded, deciding to trust the shapeshifter’s logic. He had been trusting it a lot lately, and it hadn’t really led him astray yet.

They went over the main level with a fine-toothed comb, bearing in mind that it was possible that Chesse hadn’t even been brought to the meeting point yet, while also mentally keeping an eye on the clock that was steadily ticking down to midnight. If that time came and they hadn’t gotten Chesse back, the negotiations would take place and either Lucianus or Peregrine would take her away, and Baxter would probably never see her again. That couldn’t be allowed to happen.

After concluding that Chesse was not being held on the main level, they began searching the raised levels of the docks. This was most certainly not fun, both of them having to climb a toothpick-like ladder to get up onto a raised platform high above only planks of wood and the open ocean--a raised platform that was made of brittle, worn wood that creaked alarmingly when stood on.

The fact that they were climbing up onto these things in the dark didn’t help matters much, either.

When they finally reached the top of the fifth structure they’d been forced to climb--and Baxter’s smile had taken on a desperate and slightly manic edge-- they were finally, finally met with success.

In this case, success showed itself in the soft yellow light Mooshi’s hand was emitting as a pair of bright brown eyes that met Baxter’s with a look of fear. Full recognition came a second later, after the bard’s mind, numbed from constant failures and disappointments, finally recognized the slight figure who was tied up only a few feet away, tucked between two rather large sacks of grain.

“Chesse,” he breathed in disbelief. “Chesse!”

He ran over immediately, the dangerous creaking of the wood beneath his feet suddenly seeming unimportant in light of his current mission.Kneeling down beside the girl, he gently removed the gag from her mouth and graced her with a full-blown smile as he pulled out his small knife and began sawing through the ropes that bound her. “Chesse,” he said, voice heavy with relief, “do you have any idea how much you’ve made us all worry?”

As soon as the last twisted fibre was cut, Chesse shook her limbs free of the rope and dove into Baxter’s arms, almost as if she was still a small child. The force of it knocked Baxter out of his crouch and into a sitting position--quite painfully-- but he hugged her back with all the strength that he had, like he would never let go again.

“Easy, it’s okay now,” Baxter said softly as he felt dampness on his neck and knew that she was crying. He ran a hand through her messy curls in a manner he hoped was soothing. “We’ll get you back to Wheathold now... Felix will be really glad to see you, and I know he’s probably been worried sick about you this whole time.”

She sniffed. “How did you ever find me? I thought I would never see your stupid face again after the festival... they just came out of nowhere, and I fell asleep. I didn’t even get a chance to fight back or anything....”

“Shhh. It’s alright, now. As for how I found you, well... that’s a bit complicated, but I’ll let you know as soon as I get a chance--”

“Hate to interrupt the reunion, bardic fool, but we’d better get out of here,” Mooshi interrupted, frowning. “I really don’t like any of this... Lucianus is no fool. I can see him not showing himself at the hostage negotiations until the last possible moment, but that’s because he’s one careful, clever old spellcaster who’s never given anyone the chance to catch him. I find it really difficult to believe he’d just leave your friend here without a guard--that’s not careful or clever.”

“And she was so easy to find all the way up her,” Baxter said, surprising even himself with the sudden sarcasm. “Still, I suppose you’re right. We’d better leave before someone shows up.” He began helping Chesse to her feet.

He was startled and nearly dropped her when there came a screech from behind him. He spun around, expecting to come face-to-face with a furious Blood Mage, screaming at him in rage and clothed in Hellfire with the scent of brimstone in the air, but was instead faced with something a good deal less interesting.

A particularly stupid seagull was apparently roosting up on the platform, and was perched on a corner post and appeared to be glaring at them for disturbing its rest.

Baxter couldn’t help but release a quiet laugh. “Ah, poor thing, we must’ve woken it up.”

“Baxter, get away from the bird,” Mooshi said, and Baxter turned to see that her sharp tone wasn’t motivated by annoyance, for once. Her silver eyes were wide with alarm as she watched the gull, which seemed to be watching her in return.

“Why, what’s going--”

Baxter didn’t get a chance to complete his question before the bird too off from its perch on the post and dove at him and Chesse-- and was it actually getting larger...?

A shimmer of silver along the surface of the bird’s feathers answered all of Baxter’s questions.

A Mirrorling. Like Mooshi.

Baxter felt sure that the shapeshifter’s first target was him, if the suddenly-appearing talons were any indication. He instinctively threw himself over Chesse, intending to protect her even though it was likely she was too valuable a bargaining chip to damage. Baxter knew that the one in real danger here was him, and he’d be deluding himself if he thought otherwise.

A shadow fell over Baxter’s face and he looked up just in time to see a startling silver wildcat leap across Baxter and Chesse’s bodies and seize the bird--now an eagle-- in its jaws They both fell heavily to the wooden planking, screeching, and snarling and tearing at each other savagely, drawing blood and pulling up fur and feathers in clumps. Baxter only just managed to catch a glimpse of a marking in the shape of the number 9 on the back of the cat before they were rolling, moving more quickly than his eyes could follow. They ripped open the sacks of grain, scattering seeds everywhere and pulled up large chunks of wood from the platform, but they never ceased their movements, neither appearing to gain any ground.

The eagle managed a vicious swipe across the wildcat’s nose, and the feline snarled, sinking its teeth deeply into a wing as the platform trembled violently before the slats of wood beneath the warring shapeshifters finally cracked.

Baxter watched in horror as the boards that had supported them failed utterly, and Mooshi plummeted out of sight, dragging the Eagle down after her.

***
Mooshi wasn’t particularly afraid of falling.

Unlike a human, or indeed most living things, she would not be killed by a fall. In most circumstances she would simply shapeshift into a form that had wings and fly away to safety, but she currently had her teeth sunk into the flesh of the other shapeshifter, and she wasn’t willing to relinquish that grip. Even if it meant the inevitable broken bones and other injuries she’d undoubtedly acquire.

That stupid bard owed her so much for this.

The wildcat and the eagle made contact with the wood of the dock with a resounding crash and the crunch of bones. The impact knocked the bird free of Mooshi’s jaws as she bounced a few feet away from the crash site and lay there in a haze of pain. She took a few seconds to recover coherency from a mind that was still fuzzy with agony, then forced herself to focus on mending her injuries.

Pain, pain... it was so hard to put up with it. She really had no idea how humans stood it--the long healing periods and the knowledge that, one day, they might very well receive an injury they would never recover from. Even with the current state of her body she remained conscious, while her injuries would have permanently crippled or killed a human. She allowed her body to dissolve into its natural, liquid form before reshaping herself into her fabricated silver-haired human persona, her injuries disappeared as if they had never been. She stood once again, ready to face the other shapeshifter on solid ground.

There were benefits to being virtually indestructible.

Unfortunately, the fact that Mirrorlings were indestructible was not necessarily a good thing in this situation, as Mooshi’s opponent was also a shapeshifter, and had healed itself at the same time as she had. It had chosen a young and nondescript male human form, completing the change from liquid to solid just as Mooshi turned her gaze on him.

She really had no idea how this was going to go. Why there would a be Mirrorling working for Lucianus, sworn enemy of the Master--who had created the Mirrorlings in the first place--was beyond her. Was one of the nine Mirrorlings a traitor?

“Why are you working for Lucianus?” Mooshi asked, not particularly worried about him attacking, or trying to gain an edge while she was distracted. As far as she knew, there had never been a fight between Mirrorlings before this, but she also knew that because they were created to be perfect equals in every way, neither had an advantage over the other. They had the same strength, the same way of fighting, they could both shift shapes and neither could actually kill the other. Being identical, the other Mirrorling was bound to also come to the realization that they were at a stalemate.

The young man quirked an eyebrow. “Clarify,” he said by way of response.

“You are a Mirrorling, aren’t you?” Mooshi growled. “Why would you turn against the Master, whom you owe for your creation?”

“I am a Mirrorling, yes.”

“Answer the rest of the question, darn it!”

He shook his head slowly, as if trying to explain something complicated to one who was very young. “You don’t understand at all, do you? I’m not a traitor--the Master was the one who ‘freed’ me in a manner.”

“State your number!” she ordered, becoming very frustrated with the situation. It wasn’t often that she interacted with the other Mirrorlings, but it had never been this aggravating. Mirrorlings tended to stick to the bare facts, while this one seemed to be dancing around points, whether intentionally or not.

“Well, you asked for it,” he said laconically, with a shrug of his shoulders. “But you won’t like it.”

He turned and bared his neck, showing the other Mirrorling his number.

Ten.

Mooshi backed away instinctively as the Mirrorling turned his face to her. There was a sad look in his silver eyes. “You remember, do you?”

Mooshi just nodded, unable to summon up the fire to spit something angrily or even hide the obvious shock she was sure dominated her features.

“What number are you?” he asked eventually.

“Nine,” she replied, her voice toneless.

“So you were beside me in line, weren’t you? When we were created, that is.”

She nodded again.

“You may remember that I had... second thoughts about turning over my entire being to the Master, even if he did create us. We were all scared, and I guess I was just a bit more afraid than the rest of you.” He grimaced, his expression shifting darkly. “I tried to escape, and he killed me. Didn’t think twice about it, even.”

“Yes, but then why are you here?” Mooshi asked, her voice regaining some of its customary derision.

“Lucianus.”

Mooshi frowned. “Explain.”

“Even though I was technically ‘dead’, strong magicks always leave a trace. Lucianus had been trailing Morgan that day, and he found me--well, what used to be me--after Morgano had taken the rest of you away,” Mirrorling 10 explained. “I don’t know how he did it, but he managed to reanimate me somehow. It wouldn’t be like bringing someone back from the dead, I think, because I don’t know if we were ever really ‘real’ or ‘alive’ in the first place.” He laughed dully. “I work for Lucianus now, because I owe my existence to him.”

“You owe your existence to Morgano, your creator!” Mooshi snarled.

“Morgano threw me away, Lucianus gave me my life again,” he snapped back. “Morgano is my enemy! He killed me-- like he’ll do to you and the others if you ever defy him!”

Mooshi sneered. “Do you really think your precious Lucianus will do any different if he doubts your loyalty? In the end, we’re just the tools of whoever we feel saved us, aren’t we?” an odd look crossed her face as soon as the words exited her mouth. “Just tools...” she said more softly.

The other Mirrorling shifted uncomfortably. “Well... you’re trying to free Lucianus’s prisoner aren’t you? The Duke’s daughter?”

“She was Morgano’s prisoner first,” Mooshi grumbled, bristling. “I’ve simply come to retrieve what belongs to the Master.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously, all business now. “I can’t let you do that.”

“You can’t stop me.”

They began circling each other like wolves, searching for openings regardless of the fact that there couldn’t possibly be a victor in this fight. Mooshi just hoped that Baxter had the sense to take the girl and get her away from the shipyard before Peregrine and Lucianus arrived... but why would she hope that? The entire point was not to get the girl home, it was to get her to to Morgano.

Well... at least Lucianus wouldn't have her, this way.

The other Mirrorling tensed to spring--or shift shape, but he never had the chance to follow through with this action, and Mooshi therefore never learned what he was planning to do.

Because in the split second before he moved to attack her, a dreadfully familiar metal object clicked into place around his neck.

The Mirrorling lunged forward in surprise, yanking Baxter Crane (who was still holding the collar, looking a little bit shocked that he had actually managed to catch the shapeshifter in the first place) off his feet. Shapeshifter and bard both crashed face-first into the ground, Baxter quickly rolling to the side and backing away from the hissing, spitting Mirrorling as it clawed and bit at Baxter’s collar, trying to dislodge it in a way very much the same as Mooshi had when she’d first been trapped in it.

“What do you think this is, human?” Mirrorling 10 spat, thrashing around violently. “I’ll kill you!”

Baxter felt sad. He remembered hating Mooshi, but it actually kind of hurt to imprison someone that reminded him so much of her now.

“Sorry,” he said, trying to keep his voice gentle and polite. “I don’t like doing this to you, but it’s really necessary.”

“You’ll be stuck in that form for as long as you’re wearing the collar,” Mooshi announced, occupied with carrying one of the bundles of rope over to the captive Mirrorling and dropping the coil on the ground next to him. She began binding his limbs. “So that means no shapeshifting, and if you kill the bard, the collar tightens. It’s not nice--believe me.”

He spat, and Mooshi wrinkled her nose. “Hey, I was just trying to help a sibling out. Maybe if you’re a bit nicer, the stupid bard will think to take off the spell that kills you if you’re over a kilometer away from him.” She eyed Baxter. “You can do that, can’t you?”

He nodded and made a short pulling gesture in the direction of the other Mirrorling, eyes surprisingly focussed with concentration. A wisp of gold mist seeped out of the metal of the collar, then dissipated in the air. “All done,” he said cheerfully. “Can we go now?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Baxter waved his hand into the shadows behind him, gesturing to Chesse that it was safe to come out. She arrived at a run, and Baxter wrapped an arm comfortably around her shoulders. “Come on kiddo, let’s go home.”

She huddled in close to his side as they made their way out of the shipyard and back onto the crowded streets as quickly as possible. The last thing they wanted was to be caught off-guard by either Lucianus or Peregrine, when they showed up to make the exchange.

Mooshi glanced up cautiously at Baxter’s face. He looked...content. There was still a stupid smile plastered over his face (obviously), but it seemed a bit less stupid than usual, and without the sad edge it had carried lately. His blue eyes were half-closed, relaxed.

But why wouldn’t he be? He had his friend back now, and was probably looking forward to beginning the trip back to Wheathold the next day. He couldn’t possibly think anything would go wrong a this point.

It was the perfect chance to grab Chesse and run. Fighting Baxter would be easy, especially since he just left the one thing that would give him an advantage over her with the other Mirrorling. He certainly didn’t suspect anything.

She tried taking a deep breath to prepare herself, and shifted her weight slightly. Go on... it’ll be nothing....

She couldn’t do it.

She turned away, disquieted by this realization. At what point, exactly, had she lost the ability to attack the stupid, annoying, smiling, mudcrawling solid? At which point had she begun to think of herself as more of a gods-darned bodyguard than a prisoner?

This was like no problem that she had ever encountered before. Problems, in Mooshi’s world, were things that could be punched or kicked until they went away. This problem was different--she had allowed herself to be given a name, controlled, and tamed.

She was actually afraid.

What have you done to me?

[Trilly (18426 words)]

Here's another two. ^^

SPOILER: Click to show

CHAPTER 15 The Perfect Fairy-Tale Ending

Baxter was worried. Very worried.

In all rights, he knew he shouldn’t be. As it stood, everything had gone very smoothly--he had managed to get out of several sticky situations, Mooshi hadn’t killed him, they found Chesse and rescued her, and had never even had to fight an epic battle against one or more of the Blood Mages on a rooftop above stormy seas while lightning crashed all around them and thunder shook the shingles under their feet.

According to the stories, this sort of scenario was supposed to happen often, and Baxter was sort of surprised it hadn’t. There had been a bit of a final battle to conclude their adventure, but Baxter had barely participated and really, Mooshi had ended up doing all the real work--the stuff that took real courage.

But that brought him back to the subject that was tremendously, utterly worrying. It had something to do with Mooshi, which already made it worrisome without even stating the precise reason. He had known all along that it took an awful lot to damage a shapeshifter--he’d tried to damage the shapeshifter before, so he should know-- but he had been thinking long and hard on on the last night, trying to figure out his own feelings.

He’d been terrified when Mooshi had fallen off the pier.

It was completely ridiculous that he would be worried, since if there had ever been any real danger, she could have either turned into something that could fly or healed herself after the fall. There was really next to no way she could have been permanently hurt by a simple fall.

He tried to tell himself just that numerous times during the rest of the night, curled up and lying awake on one of the single beds in their room back at the inn. Chesse had taken the other bed, and Baxter was comforted by the sound of her breathing next to him, knowing that the next day they would finally be able to return to Wheathold, and things would go right back to the way they had been before.

Right back to the way they had been before....

Only, Baxter wasn’t sure if that was really the way he wanted it anymore.

Mooshi was spending the night in her silvery liquid form, pooled in a bowl that had been snuck from the kitchen. There was no sounds from that corner of the room, and the softly lit Mirrorling was perfectly still. It was strangely comfortable with just the three of them, Baxter having gotten quite used to Mooshi’s particularities and Chesse simply being too exhausted to care. She had only once asked who Mooshi was, even after seeing her shapeshift into a vicious wildcat and survive a fall that should have killed her, but she hadn’t pressed the issue after Baxter hadn’t answered immediately. She could be surprisingly insightful for a fifteen-year-old.

Baxter rather thought he could get used to having Mooshi around, which was a sudden change from how he’d been feeling before. It almost physically hurt to know that she would inevitably leave, whether she undercut Baxter and took Chesse with her or not. Back to the Master, where she belonged. The end, and they all lived happily ever after.

He wasn’t even sure he was writing a song about a heroic journey anymore.

Ironically, he was beginning to come to the horrifying realization that the one element he had already pretty much discounted from the story was rapidly coming to the forefront, overshadowing any would-be heroic deeds and making them seem insignificant in Baxter’s eyes.

The hero was always expected to fall in love, but it was supposed to be with a beautiful and gentle princess whose voice tamed wild beasts, who would be rescued by the hero in a daring manner. They would share True Love’s Kiss, and instantly fall in love. They’d marry and the hero would become a wise, gracious king, loved by his Queen and their subjects for the rest of his life. And when he died peacefully in his sleep, with a long white beard and his beloved wife holding his hand softly with their children gathered around them, everyone would tell stories about his goodness and courage, and above all how happy they had been.

Baxter knew he wasn’t really a hero--he just fit that role in the story at the moment--so he had never expected to marry a princess. In all likelihood, he had not expected to encounter any romance on this mission, but defying all probability, he had. And it was with someone he had never expected it would be.

It wasn’t even with Gwenna Jay, although he couldn’t get over the feeling that maybe it should’ve been.

Mooshi wasn’t gentle or soft-spoken in the slightest; she was loud and foulmouthed with an abrasive personality. She might be beautiful, but it was a matter of circumstance, and she could look disturbing or downright ugly when she wanted to. She was less likely to tame wild beasts and more likely to fight them (and win), and it seemed that she was usually the one who ended up saving him from any situations of Certain Peril he blundered into. She wasn’t even really a ‘she’ technically.

And she hated him.

Whenever he began to think that maybe there was something real there... some possibility, he had to correct himself because there was no spark between them whatsoever. They couldn’t connect--there was no logic to it. There was no sudden moment of truth in which they both realized they had loved each other at first sight, and had always been destined for each other because really they hadn’t-- only a week ago Baxter had hated Mooshi every bit as much as she hated him now.

And he had no idea what to do now that he didn’t. Really, hating had been so much simpler.

He remained awake for hours in the dark room, watching the stars shine tiny pricks of light through the tiny spaces between the shutters and the window frame, wondering how in the world he was going to resolve this problem, or even if he should try to resolve it. He could always leave it be... let her go as if he had never felt anything more than mild respect, and take the pain as it came.

But Baxter wasn’t the sort of person to keep secrets, and by the time he finally managed to drift off to sleep he had already decided to tell her what was on his mind.

***

“So you’re actually the Duke’s daughter?” Gwenna asked, her voice a pitch higher than usual with disbelief. “And no one found out until now?”

Chesse nodded, hiding her discomfort in the act of scraping porridge out of her bowl. “Felix managed to keep it really well-hidden. I had already changed my name, I don’t look a lot like my father, and we stayed away from places where I might’ve been recognized.”

“But why would you have run away in the first place? Duke Peregrine loved you very much, didn’t he?”

A slightly guilty look crossed over the darker girl’s face briefly. “Yeah, he did... love me, I mean. But it was stifling there-- I wasn’t allowed to leave the manor at all, and I certainly wasn’t allowed to play music, which I’d always wanted to do. I’ve heard he was better before my mother died, but after, he didn’t trust anyone or anything.”

“Are you really sure running out on him was a good way to convince him otherwise?” Mooshi asked, her voice dry.

“Mooshi,” Baxter said, only a hint of a warning in his voice.

She snorted and tossed her head, but she backed down.

Waking up at around noon the next day, Baxter had awoken a still-sleeping Chesse and had thoroughly planned on going down to the main hall for breakfast, until Mooshi had returned from taking a precursory look around the inn and confirmed that the Duke and his Falcons were still at the inn. Thanks to Baxter’s unfortunate run-in with them earlier, they couldn’t risk being seen for the rest of the stay, so they had ordered food to be brought to their rooms. It was only a small inconvenience to them, as they would be leaving later that day and the chances of the guards remembering his face wasn’t extremely likely, but they were close to the end of their journey and it always paid to be careful.

“So, what kind of mood were the Falcons in this morning?” Gwenna asked, changing the subject before the silence could become even more uncomfortable. “After all, they must have shown up at the meeting point looking for the Duke’s daughter and walked away with nothing.”

Mooshi shrugged detachedly. “A little bit disappointed, maybe. Most of them thought it was a hoax in the first place, so they took it in their stride, but Duke Peregrine looks crushed. He probably thought that this might be the one, you know....”

Chesse frowned and shifted uncomfortably.

Baxter had been a bystander for much of the conversation, to wrapped up in his own thoughts to really pay attention to what was being said, but he thought it was about time that he intervened. Especially now that it seemed like Mooshi was actually trying to convince Chesse to go back to her father of all things.

Not to mention he had to get his feelings out somehow, and he was certainly not going to in front of Gwenna and Chesse. Chesse because she was like something of a little sister, and you didn’t make declarations of love in front of your sister unless you wanted to be evaluated and told exactly what you had done wrong later. Gwenna... it was more complicated. Despite all that Baxter had been forced to acknowledge, something about Gwenna still made him dizzy and he felt like he should still be openly seeking her affections. It was rather jarring to look now and realize that whatever bubbly feeling he’d had around Gwenna previously were probably a lingering crush from when he was younger, and had met the beautiful and young bard for the first time.

He stood, drawing the attention of his fellow diners. “Mooshi, let’s walk.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Why would you want to walk?” she complained. “There’s no sun out and it’s probably going to rain. I’ve heard of appreciating the outdoors, bard, but--”

“Just come with me,” Baxter said, his tone firm and leaving no room for argument.

Mooshi stood up with a sigh, as if very hard done by. “Fine, but if the Falcons swoop down and arrest you again, you can get yourself out of it. I’m through with this bodyguarding nonsense.”

Baxter breathed a mental sigh of relief that she was actually still listening to him, when there was really nothing to compel her to do so. He thought that maybe it boded well.

They left the room after Baxter quickly assured them that he would not be too long. When he got back, he planned to get packing and leave while there was still daylight, so he couldn’t afford too much time anyways.

They exited the room, Baxter stumbling to hold the door open for Mooshi because it was the gentlemanly thing to do, and he figured that he had a lot of not-so-gentlemanly behaviour to make up for. He figured that being dashing had to count for something.

Unfortunately, all his gesture did was make the object of his newfound affections look at him as if he had sprouted a second head and announced that it had always been his dream to live as a hermit in the mountains.

Well, at least she had looked at him.

***

Mooshi had been right--it did look as if it was about to rain, and it appeared that most citizens of Falcon’s Peak also shared this opinion, if the street stalls with their goods packed away and oiled cloth awnings raised above them to keep out rainwater were any indication. The air was humid and stale, giving an impression of anticipation that seemed to make the milling crowds move along a bit more briskly than they had on previous, sunnier days. Yet at the same time, everything seemed to have a dreary grey cast that made even Baxter, high-strung and nervous as he was at the moment, feel a little bit sluggish and sick.

They walked.

They weren’t really walking anywhere in particular, Baxter just turning whichever way his feet seemed most inclined to go and following them, while Mooshi grumbled about the weather and put in little jabs like, “You’re never going to be able to find your way back to the inn, idiot bard.”

Truthfully, Baxter was just wasting time, trying to find a suitably romantic setting to finally tell Mooshi how he felt (or thought he felt), but so far, the city had provided him with very few inspiring views that were somewhat private. He knew that love really should be spoken of in a cool grove or a meadow of flowers in the bright summer sun, but none of these were readily available and he would have to make do with whatever he could find. He had nearly just broken down and confessed in the middle of the street at one point, but he had been distracted at the last moment when a woman on the upper story of the house they were standing in front of had dumped a chamber pot out the window and nearly hit them both. So his mouth remained closed tight.

Even though he was beginning to suspect that the stories weren’t always dead-on like real life, he still wanted it to be nice. Because really, he was sincere, and he wanted to show that he meant everything he said.

After a length of time wandering, he chanced upon a tiny little commemorative fountain tucked away on an empty street. There was even a little patch of grass there, a bit overgrown but offering some color to the dull stone of the city. Admittedly, the fountain was a bit odd, and depicted either a highly stylized rendering of one of Duke Peregrine’s predecessors or a variety of fruit that Baxter hadn’t encountered before, but it was quiet and pleasant and the gentle splash of water soothed his nerves somewhat.

Mooshi’s patience had been sorely tried and she had done a commendable job of keeping her temper in check as Baxter had wordlessly led her on their ‘walk’, but she had about had enough when Baxter seated himself on he edge of the fountain and gestured to her to do the same.

She bristled. “What’s this all about, bard?” she asked suspiciously.

“Just sit down for a minute, and I’ll tell you.”

“I think I’ll stand,” she said impassively. “Now talk.”

Baxter swallowed, knowing that this was the moment he was waiting for. He briefly clung to the idea of maybe playing a song to express his feelings, but discarded it after remembering Mooshi’s claim that she could barely tell the difference between good and bad music. He didn’t know if she even found his music to be one of the tolerable types on most occasions, but judging by the fact that she still referred to his mandolin as ‘that darned banjo’, he knew he shouldn’t be too hopeful.

In the end, there was nothing to do but say it. “Look, Mooshi...” he said, trying to sum up the words he was looking for. “We haven’t always gotten along, have we?”

She gave a short burst of surprised laughter. “You want to talk about that? Want to duke it out?”

“No, nothing like that!” he emphasized his stance with wide arm motions. “I mean that I didn’t like you very much in the beginning, and I’m sure you didn’t like me either. I thought you were completely cold and cruel, and I probably didn’t even see you as a real person with real feelings. But a lot has happened lately, and I don’t really hate you anymore.”

Mooshi was frowning now, brows knitting together in confusion. “What are you getting at?”

Baxter inhaled once. “I like you. As in, I like you like I want you come back to Wheathold with me and Chesse. I want to be there for you for the rest of my life--yours too, except that I don’t know how old you can live to be, I suppose you could be immortal...” he babbled, wishing he could sink into the ground. “Anyways, I like you. As in, I like you more than a friend.”

Mooshi stared at him, dumbfounded. Baxter was sure that the last thing she had expected had been a declaration of affection from the person who had kept her prisoner until the previous day. He watched desperately for some sign of happiness or acceptance, but she simply looked shocked.

Gradually, her expression was schooled into a perfectly blank look. “You love me,” she stated, toneless.

Baxter nodded, his face red.

She mulled that over, and a grin soon split her face. Far from being elated, however, Baxter quickly realized that this was not a happy smile in the slightest. It was sardonic, and sharp and thin as a knife blade.

“I see where this is coming from,” she chuckled mirthlessly, shaking her head. “Which one is it?”

Baffled, the bard asked, “What do you mean?”

Suddenly, she was only an inch away from his face, livid with rage and--something else that he couldn’t read. “Which of my shapes do you like the looks of, solid? Was it this one--” she became the aging streetwalker she’d shown Benjamin Crane.

“Or,” she continued mercilessly, “was it this one?” Her features shifted smoothly into the blonde-haired girl, minus the bruises.

She flipped through every form Baxter had ever seen her in, and included many he had never laid eyes on in his life. There were old and young, ugly and beautiful, male and female with every possible shade of hair and eye colour...

But the shape she ended with was slender but strong, a girl only a few years older than Baxter with a pair of vivid green eyes and a tumbled mess of red hair.

Seeing his expression of shock, her grin widened. It was the most painful smile he’d ever seen. “That’s the one, isn’t it? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you looking--and it makes sense now. You know the real thing is out of your pathetic grasp, so you’ll go for the next best thing: someone who isn’t really her, but might be enough the same that it won’t matter.”

“But that’s not it,” Baxter protested, his voice quiet. “I like you.”

Mooshi snorted. “That’s impossible..remember our conversation? I am no one. The only identity I have is the one I steal. You just had the gall to fall in love with something I already stole from someone else.”

“But--”

“Just shut up, okay?” Mooshi snapped, shifting back into her silver haired form. “This is an illusion,” she said, gesturing at her body. “It isn’t real. Whatever you think you want isn’t real, either.”

“You are real, though. You’re Mooshi.”

She shook her head again, turning away. “This isn’t one of your gods-darned stories, solid. If you can’t have Gwenna Jay, there isn’t a second chance at happily ever after. Just take the stupid runaway you came here to get in the first place and go back to your stupid village and we’ll be done with it.”

She straightened, and without looking over her shoulder, said, “If we ever meet again, I’ll make sure you don’t recognize me.”

Then she left.

And on that happy note...

SPOILER: Click to show

CHAPTER 16

Baxter was in a daze as he wandered the streets once again, wondering how he could have misjudged the situation so badly. How could Mooshi have misjudged his intentions so completely, as well? Maybe he’d been too quick about it-- after all, they’d only known each other for a week-- but it wasn’t like he was proposing or something. He’d been simply announcing his intentions and saying exactly how he felt, so he couldn’t for the life of him tell what he had done wrong.

He didn’t think he had ever been as miserable as he was then.

And to make matters worse, Mooshi had been right about one thing--he couldn’t find his way to the inn again. It was kind of difficult to cultivate a properly silent and moping image while having to ask random people for directions every step of the way.

After an hour of aimless searching and questioning--the dull clouds having decided sometime within that time frame to finally release their heavy load of rain over the city--Baxter finally reached the inn. He hurried under the shelter of the covered verandah, finger-combing soaking wet and stringy hair out of his eyes as he did his best to wring out his clothes.

“There you are.”

Baxter turned, feeling pretty listless after his disappointment and the bad luck that had been his constant companion ever since. He was unsurprised to see Gwenna sitting silently on a rough-hewn bench not far away, her booted feet resting on the rail as she looked at him with some concern. It crossed his mind that she had probably been waiting for him for quite a while.

“Yeah,” Baxter said. “I guess me and Chesse will be leaving soon.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“What?”

“Your walk,” Gwenna clarified. “Well, apart from the pouring rain.”

At first, he just looked at her, as if not comprehending the meaning behind her words. Then he started to laugh. Baxter couldn’t help it-- he laughed, and soon found himself physically unable to stop. It was loud and cracked, hopeless and hysterical and nothing like his strong, full-hearted guffaws in the past. It wan’t long before he felt tears prick his eyes and run down his face as he choked on his howls.

Gwenna was downright alarmed. “What--are you okay? Did something happen?” she rose from her seat with a sort of panicked start and tripped over herself to get to him, completely detached from her usual catlike grace. “Where’s Mooshi?”

Baxter didn’t reply, just kept laughing--or crying, it was hard to tell.

“Shhh... it’s okay,” she soothed, wrapping her surprisingly sturdy arms around his shoulders in a comforting gesture that Baxter would have been thrilled about only a few days earlier. Now he just felt...empty. “You can talk about it when you’re ready.”

Grateful for her friendship even through the pain of his letdown, the heaving sobs eventually quieted down, tears buried in fire-coloured hair.

“Mooshi left,” he said when he was able to speak again, albeit with a cracking voice. “I said I liked her, and she thought I was lying. Then she just left.”

Gwenna’s grip tightened, in a mixture of protectiveness and surprise. “It’s okay, Baxter. It’s not your fault.”

“I wouldn’t lie about something like that! I meant what I said.”

“I know,” Gwenna said understandingly, patting his shoulder. “You’re one of the sweetest, most honest people I’ve ever met, y’know. I’m sure you meant everything you said, but to tell you the truth...I’m just a little bit surprised, is all.”

Baxter only managed a tiny, thin smile at that, but Gwenna still felt it against her hair. “I’m surprised too. It’s stupid and it doesn’t make any sense that I should feel that way, but I still do.”

Gwenna sighed. “You’re a nice kid, Baxter. Maybe too nice, but that’s the way you are, and it’s something special. Cheer up,” she said, straightening and smoothing the other bard’s bedraggled hair and clothing into some semblance of presentability. “What you should do is go inside, get yourself to the common area and order a hot spiced cider. Put it on my tab--oh, and wear your hood. I think the Falcons are still around.” She pulled the hood of his cloak up, covering his hair. “Keep the mandolin covered, too.”

She gave him a gentle push in the direction of the door. “Gwenna,” he protested, although he was lacking any real fight. “Why--”

“I’ll handle it. Just go in there and warm up,” she insisted. “You’ll feel better.”

Baxter opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. “Okay,” he said finally. “Thank-you, Gwenna.”

“Don’t mention it. Chesse is upstairs packing, so she could probably use your help when you’re feeling better.” Her lips quirked as he finally opened the inn door and entered the building. As soon as he was out of sight, however, Gwenna pulled her own cloak hood over her face and walked out into the rain, intending to go looking for a good pub.

***

Mooshi was indulging in a pastime of hers: drinking.

After she had left Baxter by the fountain, Mooshi had headed straight for the nearest establishment that served liquor and proceeded in attempts to drink herself silly. It was a less than successful venture, but it satisfied a certain vindictive streak of hers to have a solid excuse to snarl at the other guests of the tavern and send them scurrying into corners. Even the biggest, strongest men didn’t seem willing to defy the skinny little girl with silver hair, although they had been all bravado and bluff a few seconds ago.

Gods, she hated humans.

They were always lying, and if they weren’t boasting and making claims, they were spilling poisoned words and trying to undercut you.

Even Baxter. She’d even gotten to the point where she’d actually kind of liked the fool (because even if he was a fool, at least he was an honest one). He’d been really... actually kind of sweet at times, in his aimless and bumbling way.

But then he’d gone and shown his true colours, and he was just like every single other human she had ever hated. He was by no means a silver-tongued schemer, but evidently he was shiftier than he looked.

Really, he thought she would believe he loved her? What a joke that was.

The sound of someone pulling up a chair next to her startled Mooshi out of her sulking. She drew a protective arm around her drink in case the newcomer was out to steal it, but she soon gave a hard-done-by sigh and relaxed as she recognized Gwenna Jay.

“You,” Mooshi stated blandly. “How did you find me?”

Gwenna shook her hair out, droplets of rainwater spattering the smooth surface of the table. “I do most of my work in taverns,” she explained. “You make some very useful contacts in places like these.”

“How did you know I would be in a tavern?” Mooshi asked, an eyebrow raised quizzically.

“I didn’t know. I just thought that if you were anything even close to a decent person you’d be feeling quite bad right about now, and might be trying to drown your sorrows.” Gwenna’s voice was not accusatory in the slightest, but Mooshi glared, catching the implication.

Mooshi turned back to her drink. “You’ve been talking to the idiot.”

Instead of answering, Gwenna said, “Getting drunk isn’t helping, is it?”

“I don’t get drunk.”

“Right,” Gwenna said sarcastically. “So you’re telling me that you don’t feel at all ashamed of yourself for beating Baxter down like that? He was crying.”

“You shouldn’t barge in on other peoples’ business, especially if you don’t have a clue how much is going on,” Mooshi said with an edge to her voice. She was in a reckless mood. “If he didn’t want to be ‘beaten down’ he shouldn’t have tried to trick me. And for your information, it’s true that I don’t get drunk. Actually, I am physically incapable of getting drunk. So stop sounding so skeptical.”

Gwenna was silent, swigging a cider she had pulled off of a server’s tray. Finally, she put down the drink with a sigh. “You’re right, of course. I don’t know everything that’s going on... but really, I don’t see why I have to. I’m not talking to you about everything that’s going on, I’m talking to you about Baxter. If he told you he cares about you, he means it--end of story. He wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

“How do you know?”

“Because... because he thinks that life is like one of those songs he always sings, y’know? He believes in true love and the exchange of confessions and daring deeds all in the name of love. He’s very serious about it,” Gwenna said. “I don’t care what else is going on, but if he said he liked you, he meant it.”

Mooshi snorted. “He only likes me because I... because I remind him of someone else,” she said quickly. “Really, I’m... not distinctive. I-- ah, this is so stupid. I’ll just tell you. I’m not really human. I’m a being created by magic to serve a Master, I’m not really even a girl, and my real form looks like a puddle of silver slime. I’m a shapeshifter.”

If nothing else, it was worth spilling the beans to see that staggered look of half-horror, half disbelief on the normally impassive Gwenna Jay’s face.

“Well...uh, that’s... unexpected....” she admitted, looking at her cider as if suddenly wishing it were alcoholic. “But... what I told you before still stands. I know it might be...quite hard to believe, I’m certain he told the truth.”

Mooshi shook her head. “You have to understand: he couldn’t have. Because I’m not really real-- I’m created to have no identity. There’s nothing he could fall in love with about me except for a face I stole from somebody else.”

“I think you’ve got a distinct enough personality to qualify as an individual. You’ve certainly got one hell of an attitude on you, at any rate,” Gwenna said drily. It seemed she had adjusted easily enough to Mooshi’s declaration.

“Did you miss the part where I told you I had no identity--”

“Look,” Gwenna said, face serious. “So you were created without an identity--big deal. When human children are born, we’re hardly better off. All we have is a name... we all look almost the same...we don’t do much but sleep and cry and eat a little, and we’re satisfied. Then we grow up and we change.”

“Yeah?”

“So... people are technically born with an identity, but ultimately, an identity is something you create for yourself. You seem to have managed it, at any rate,” Gwenna said thoughtfully, “and congratulations, because you’ve just gained your first admirer. And managed to scare him off immediately after, but luckily for you he’s a forgiving type.”

Mooshi, amazingly, actually managed a smile. “Hey, that first part didn’t sound half bad. Do you practice in front of a mirror?”

Gwenna smirked. “Yeah--I’m a bard, you know. Are you going to go talk to Baxter?”

“I’m... not sure what I’d say.” Mooshi said through gritted teeth, clearly not comfortable with the concept of openness.

“Apologize for being rude, then do whatever you think you should. I can’t tell you whether to accept or not, but know that you’re still allowed to say ‘no’, if you’d like.” Her eyes sharpened. “But if you hurt him, I’ll kill you.”

Mooshi wasn’t afraid of much, but she still had to swallow before answering, “Okay.”

***

Baxter had followed Gwenna’s advice and taken a seat by the fireplace in the inn’s large common area, holding a large mug of cider in his cupped hands, warming them. He had to admit, Gwenna had probably known what she was talking about when she had insisted on him following her instructions, because after allowing his cold skin soak in heat from the fire as his clothes dried, he was feeling a little bit better. He certainly wasn’t back to his bouncy self, but it was certainly an improvement.

And it gave him a chance to think.

Maybe he had kind of tried to take it too fast with Mooshi... maybe it was at least partially his fault that she had reacted so badly. They had only known each other for a week, if that, and they hadn’t exactly been ‘friends’ during any of that time, either. Mooshi was cautious, as well, and would probably have felt uncomfortable with Baxter’s unabashed declarations of love even if she had believed him.

He sat in front of the fire until he was fairly confident that his sodden clothing had passably dried, and was only slightly damp. Doubtless it would have dried faster if he had removed the cloak, but he remembered Gwenna’s words and, looking out over the room, he could still see that a number of Falcons were frequenting the bar between shifts. Most seemed to be conversing quite unabashedly about how the supposed hostage trade with the Duke’s daughter had all amounted to only talk in the end--whoever had sent the message hadn’t even bothered showing up, although they had waited at the docks until dawn. A few other guards were actually telling small crowd of awed onlookers that they had had an unlicensed musician in custody the previous night, who had used his supernatural sorcerer strength to break the walls down and escape.

While being an interesting story and serving to make Baxter look rather more impressive than he actually was, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat and made sure that the cloak remained pulled up high over his head. The last thing he wanted was a one-way trip back to the lockhole.

Deciding that it might be a good time to leave, Baxter put aside his empty glass and stood an innocuously as possible, so as not to draw too much unwanted attention to himself. He was feeling better and really couldn’t put it off any longer. Chesse was busy packing upstairs and would probably appreciate his help, and it would certainly speed up the job so that they could load up Mask the packhorse and leave sooner.

Baxter had the uncomfortable feeling that one or more of the Falcons were watching him as he left, as if trying to figure out why he seemed familiar. He sped up minutely, but avoided looking back to confirm his suspicions.

It was definitely a good time to think about leaving.

He took the stairs two at a time, making his way down the hall at a speedy pace whilst mentally schooling his features into something almost-normal so that she wouldn’t worry. Poor kid, she’d been through a lot lately, and he didn’t want to put even more on her.

Baxter learned first hand that Chesse did have a lot on her the moment he opened the door to their shared room.

Chesse wasn’t alone in the room. She was tied up and struggling, a partially-packed saddlebag overturned on the floor next to her with clothes spilling out of it. There looked to have been a fight of some kind with he state of the room, with curtains and coverlets ripped to tatters and scorching on the walls. There was a scarlet burn across one of the girl’s cheekbones, and probably more that Baxter simply couldn’t see at the moment.

Whipping around, Baxter got a sudden eyeful of the intruder. It was a man, appearing to be in his mid-twenties with stark white skin and long raven hair that was bound tightly behind his head. He wore rich velvet robes of blue, the colour of the deep, deep ocean, and a silver circlet crowned his head.

The young man looked at him with a surprisingly familiar expression of bored disdain, and Baxter realized, with a growing horror, who this person must be.

It was a Blood Mage, he had known that much just from the tremendous aura of power the man emitted and the way he held himself--like a king. It was not, however, Lucianus.

It was Morgano, Mooshi’s creator.

[Trilly (18426 words)]

Here's the last of them.

SPOILER: Click to show

CHAPTER 17 Certain Peril

Morgano looked, at best, slightly annoyed that Baxter had come barging in on him in the middle of subduing his hostage. Any vague hopes that he might’ve harboured about at least surprising Morgano with his presence, or of being recognized evaporated when the mage spoke to him.

“Who in the Hells are you supposed to be?” he asked, his tone of voice bored, as if Baxter was only a minor hinderance that would soon disappear and allow him to continue on with his plans.

After all he had been through to put a stop to said plans, Baxter actually found himself a tad bit insulted. “I’m Baxter Crane,” he said. “And that’s my friend that you’re hurting, so I’d appreciate it if you would leave.”

The Blood Mage just stared at him, slightly startled, before bursting into merry laughter. “You’re a polite one, I’ll give you that, but I’m afraid I must decline your offer. It’s bad enough that my incompetent apprentices lost Dianne Peregrine in the first place, so I’m just fixing the mistake they made. I trust that you won’t get in my way.”

“You trust? Sorry to disappoint, but--”

“Baxter, don’t,” Chesse ordered from her position on the floor, her breathing ragged. “Run.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Chesse,” Baxter reassured her, his gaze still fixed on Morgano.

Something dangerous ignited in the mage’s eyes. “Then you presume to fight me? Do you actually think you have what it takes to beat Morgano the Blood Mage?”

Baxter though over it for a second, hoping that his fear didn’t show through the collected appearance he had cultivated. He knew very well that he should be scared--he should be terrified. Morgano had killed thousands of people, sometimes with the intention of killing, and sometimes not, but even an unintended death was a death just the same. Baxter knew that Morgano would have no qualms about killing a single bard who got in his way.

And Baxter fully intended to get in his way. He was kind of selfish in that sense--it was the same as when the bandits outside of Wheathold had tried to take his mandolin. He had decided that he would rather die than lose something important to him, first his father’s instrument and now a close friend of his, even if he was scared to the point that his knees were knocking together, as they were threatening to do then.

So he wasn’t much of a hero, but his heart was there.

“Yes to the first, no to the second,” Baxter said finally, licking his dry lips to wet them. “I do presume to fight you, but it’s true that I’m probably not going to beat you... I’m a bard, not a warrior. I don’t know the first thing about hurting people--my job has always been to make people happy.”

He took a deep breath before continuing. “But that’s not to say that I won’t try to protect the things that are important to me. I may not know a lot about fighting, but I do know enough about honour.”

Morgano smirked. “Pretty speech. You sound like that dog Lucianus, with all that inane talk of ‘honour’. There is no honour in fighting--there’s just different sides that are all trying to one-up each other by proving that they’re the ones to be feared. The way I see it, the one who believes in honour is the first to die, with a knife in his back.”

Baxter frowned. “Maybe. But it still can’t be such a bad thing, even if it does mean you’re the quickest to die. And if Lucianus believes in honour, then doesn’t your own reasoning state that he should be dead by now?”

The Blood Mage’s eyes narrowed, and the swirling tattoos on his arms glowed red. Baxter didn’t know much about this level of magic, but the patterns looked a lot like magic amplifiers, which were usually activated when the user experienced heightened emotions.

So Baxter had succeeded in angering the deadly sorcerer, although how exactly he had managed it the bard wasn’t sure. This was not, however, a good thing.

“I believe I’ve humoured you long enough, bard,” Morgano hissed. “Your ignorance shows in every word that rolls off your tongue. If you really want to fight me, we might as well get it over with now.”

The mage clenched his fist, and the windows shattered. Millions of glimmering shards of glass were drawn inward as if the room had imploded, flying point-first towards Baxter, who had next to no way to defend himself against such a sudden attack. The best he could do was dodge as far out of the way as he was able and wrap himself tightly in his cloak, his arms held up over his face. Despite the scant protection offered by the thick material of his cloak, the pieces of glass he was unable to entirely evade ripped through cloth, skin, and flesh, leaving searing trails of pain before they thudded into the wall behind him, quivering.

Breathing heavily from a mixture of adrenalin and fear, Baxter turned back to the Blood Mage, in anticipation of another attack. Even so, the situation looked grim-- Baxter was bleeding from numerous lacerations on his arms, legs, and torso, some of which were probably serious. From the stories, Baxter was also well-aware that blood loss was sometimes a defining factor in fights like these. If the fight went on for too long (meaning, if Baxter didn’t die in some other way before he reached that point), he knew that he’d be too slow and weak to continue. Although this kind of result was worrying, it wasn’t entirely unexpected and was just one more way to die piled on top of an infinite number of other methods his opponent might employ.

“Do you still think this is a game, child?” Morgano snarled, drawing runes in the air with angry slashes of his ring-covered hands. “Magic isn’t a party trick. It isn’t sparkling fairy dust or something that makes wishes come true. It’s power in its rawest form, the strength of an earthquake that moves mountains, all of the heat of the sun--and it’s all there, waiting to be tapped into. If you have the ability to see it, of course.”

The runes came to life in flames, and sheets of fire surrounded Morgano. A sudden, invisible force knocked Baxter backwards, like a moving patch of air made solid, and the bard hit the wall behind him with enough force to knock the wind out of his lungs. He barely noticed, however, around the crunch that he felt sure had come from the mandolin strapped to his back being damaged in some way. If it was broken...his heart clenched, unable to see the mandolin as insignificant, even now.

He quickly realized that the mandolin had been the only thing that had saved his life. If not for the sturdy wood of the instrument protecting his back, he would’ve been impaled on the shards of glass that were still stuck deeply into the wall.

He was one lucky fool.

“But...” Morgano continued, dropping his hands so that the ring of fired disappeared as if nothing had happened, “it takes real strength to find the magic in the first place, and a certain inborn proficiency to wield it. Even then, it is only those who push the boundaries of possibility who become legends. Those who have a swift enough mind and the imagination to create. This,” he gestured at the shattered windows and fire, “is nothing. Showy, but ultimately unnecessary, as there are easier ways to kill. The greatest creations are subtle and secret, something which dear Lucianus appears to be unable to comprehend.” He frowned, his mind elsewhere.

Baxter somehow felt sure that Morgano was talking about Mooshi, and he briefly wondered where she was. It probably didn’t matter anymore, but he still couldn’t help but wonder... it would’ve been nice to see her again. Well, it would probably have involved more arguing and put-downs than ‘niceness’, but Baxter thought that maybe he liked it that way. He looked over at Chesse, silent but watching him with wide eyes. He flicked her a quick thumbs-up and she glared at him, probably questioning his sanity.

Truthfully, Baxter was beginning to doubt his own sanity. The one-on-one duel with the ultimate evil was supposed to be difficult, but he was getting his behind kicked to a degree that even the tragic heroes who ended up dying would scoff at. He tried to stand, leaning heavily against the wall while carefully avoiding the sharp projectiles that were stuck in it and wincing every time the mandolin make a scraping noise.

Just then, the door opened. Or rather, it tried to open but was mostly obstructed by shredded clothing, broken glass and other debris that had been steadily piling up on the floor.

“What in the hells,” came a snappish voice from outside the door. Suddenly, the door slammed open, knocking the piles of refuse away easily and striking the wall with enough force that the brass knob went right through the solid timber.

A figure with silver hair stalked in. “Hey, bardic idiot, I was just talking to... what in the hells is going on here? What happened to you?”

Baxter gave her a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Umm....”

“Is that...number 9?”

Mooshi spun around, finally noticing the other person in the room, an expression crossing her face that was a mixture of shock, relief, and fear. “M-Master,” she stuttered, and Baxter didn’t think he’d ever seen her lose her composure to this extent before. “What are you doing...here, of all places?”

“I suppose I was up to the same thing as you, number 9,” Morgano said genially. “I managed to trace my missing captive to this city, and decided to come and liberate her from Lucianus’s filthy clutches. Only, it turns out I didn’t need to because someone had already gone and done it for me, isn’t that right?”

“Uh, yes.”

Morgano smiled. “You used the bard, didn’t you? Helped him, saying you were going to find his friend, only to turn on him at the last minute. It makes sense now... I’m actually surprised I didn’t see it before. Very, very clever of you, number 9, I thank you.” He walked over and patted her head as he walked past, as one would a pet they were particularly fond of.

Mooshi wasn’t smiling as she accepted the praise.

“I’m almost finished here,” he continued, unhurriedly. “I just have one last thing to...deal with...” he shot Baxter a look, “before we can leave.”

So that’s how it was going to go, Baxter realized. Mooshi would return home with her Master, back to the place she belonged. Chesse would go with them, as a prisoner, and Baxter would die. The end.

It was a terrible story. Nothing like the old songs, with hardship and triumph and a happily ever after at the end. Hells, the romance portion had been nothing short of a travesty.

This perhaps shouldn’t have been important at the moment, but Baxter felt that it kind of helped to be able to think about something other than the fact that he was about to die. So he filled his mind with images of Wheathold--his father, grumpily slouching in a chair with a rum bottle in his hand and a brooding look on his face. Felix, painting another splash of colour on his already lurid sitar one minute and tripping over his bootlaces the next. Chesse, chattering on about a song she was planning to learn. Gwenna, calling him a gentleman. Tabitha making breakfast.

And Mooshi--well....

He’d miss her, as well. It wouldn’t really be fair to blame her for his death--she had saved him many times before, so she didn’t owe him anything. And he had never wanted to put her in that sort of position, anyways, where she’d be forced to betray her Master and creator. Maybe Mooshi would actually be happy now, able to finally go home and be around others like her.

But maybe... maybe he had never understood Mooshi in the first place. Because Baxter was just a bard and he had accepted from the beginning that he was too much of a simple sort to ever be a really good judge of character, or to decipher the motivations behind the actions of people. Maybe he hadn’t ever noticed anything beyond what was written plain across someone’s face.

Because when Mooshi attacked with a feral snarl and a decisive movement, she did not attack Baxter.

Instead, her hands found purchase on the back of the Blood Mage’s luxurious robes and, in one movement, she bodily threw her Master into the wall. The walls shook on impact and dust and grit fell from the rafters, raining down on the four occupants of the room.

Baxter and Chesse stared at Mooshi with undisguised shock plastered across their faces, as if they’d never seen her before.

Mooshi just looked at her hands, in horrified disbelief with herself. This magnitude of defiance was absolutely unheard of. Mirrorling Number 10 had been killed just for trying to run away, while Mooshi had just attacked the person who was responsible for giving her life.

Morgano staggered to his feet slowly, in a fashion that Baxter fund almost odd. For all his apparent youth, even excusing the fact that he had just been introduced very decisively to a wall, Morgano moved a bit like an old man.



“You,” the mage snarled once he had found his balance, blood running profusely from his nose and from somewhere above his hairline. To say he was livid would be an understatement.

“You miserable traitor!” he shouted, finally regaining his ability to form sentences. “I should have killed the lot of you the day you were created, so you never would have had the chance to turn on me. You’re all pathetic failures, presumptuous and vain because of what you are!”

Mooshi flinched, looking pale but unashamed. “I think it’s about time we had a choice,” was all she said.

Morgano’s mouth twisted, and a small flame sprung to life on his outstretched palm. It quickly multiplied, and he flung the handful at his creation. The single fireball broke apart into many licks of white-hot flames, and they struck Mooshi head-on.

Baxter would have cried out in fear, but he stopped himself as he saw all of the burns that had been inflicted on Mooshi’s flesh disappear in a ripple of silver. He was never as thankful for Mooshi’s invulnerability as he was in that moment.

Mooshi’s silver eyes locked with Morgano’s. They didn’t speak, but there was enough challenge in that gaze to give Baxter a pretty good idea of what was going on. Morgano might be one of the most deadly sorcerers to ever exist, but Mooshi was extremely hard to kill. It would have to eventually come down to one of them.

The fight continued, and it seemed one-sided from a distance, with Morgano summoning the winds, fire, and water to aid him. He ripped up the floorboards and used them as projectiles. He materialized swarms of wasps.

Mooshi was trying her best to get closer to the mage so that she could get an attack in, and because of this, she got hit by pretty much everything Morgano threw at her. She would then simply fall back briefly, heal her accumulated injuries and try again.

Baxter was beginning to realize why Morgano had been so harsh in ensuring that every Mirrorling was fully under his control. He had made a chancy gamble in creating the shapeshifters in the first place, because they were powerful enough to be a threat to even the mage himself, if he wasn’t careful.

Morgano and Mooshi had reached something that was dangerously close to a stalemate.

But just as Baxter was beginning to wonder if maybe things would remain on even footing long enough for Morgano to get tired and make mistakes, the fight took an unthinkable turn.

Morgano managed to get a grip on Mooshi’s hair. She cried out and tried to hastily shapeshift it to a shorter style he could not hold onto, but she wasn’t fast enough, and Morgano was pressing one finger against the large black ‘9’ before she could make any move to free herself.

“How very disappointing,” the Blood Mage said softly, his tone almost sad. “Such a waste....”

Mooshi choked, her pale skin lightening and turning silver, starting where Morgano had touched and slowly spreading across her body. Water droplets rolled off her skin and hit the floor, pooling there. She fell to her knees, as her colours began to run together like too-watery paint.

“Mooshi!” Baxter cried out, stumbling towards her despite the fact that the mage who had been trying to kill him not long ago was right in front of her. “Mooshi!”

She was losing her defined shape, melting into nothing. Not like she did whenever she changed shape--that was controlled, graceful. This was falling apart. Dying.

But... Mooshi couldn’t die. She was invincible.

The magic required to stop me is far beyond you, little bard...

But not beyond one of the Blood Mages, it seemed.

Morgano sent one of the floorboards that was scattered across the floor flying at Baxter. It struck him across the skull and he nearly blacked out, but he continued on as if possessed. It had been a weak move, and if that was the best the mage could do, it was better for him.

He was within a meter of Morgano now, and by all rights he should’ve died then. But as luck would have it (or some stories would attest), the bard soon took second priority to the fact that the room had suddenly been overrun with Falcons, wearing rune armour in preparation for subduing a mage, headed by none other than Duke Peregrine himself.

The Duke strode into the room, tall as an avenging angel while barking out orders with the gruff experience of a field officer. He trailed off mid-shout when his eyes fell upon Chesse, lying on the floor in a daze, and he quickly went to her, the look on his face suggesting that he almost believed she would disappear into thin air before he got there. He picked her up in his arms like a tiny child and held her close, tears trickling down his craggy cheeks as he held his daughter again after so many years, while Chesse looked up in disbelief.

Baxter paid little attention as the Falcons subdued Morgano. The mage’s growls and insults could be heard over the din of everything else, but as a backdrop noise, unimportant. The spells that Morgano threw at them bounced off the guards’ spelled armour like pebbles off a rock wall, completely ineffective. Baxter didn’t even watch as the Falcons overpowered the mage and finally brought him down, although he heard Morgano’s howls. He couldn’t even bring himself to feel a vindictive pleasure at that.

Alone in the midst of the turmoil, Baxter crouched in front of a small puddle of plain water, tears running down his nose and falling into the pool in ripples. There was nothing left now, nothing.

***

The love interest sometimes died, in the stories. Not often, but it happened occasionally.

She would die beautifully, her hair perfect and lips red as the hero held her for one last time. They’d promise to love each other forever, even after death, and the maiden would breathe her last in the arms of her beloved. The hero would weep, but be stronger in the end because of her love.

There was nothing beautiful about the person he had fallen in love with melting away into nothing, while he sat by and watched.

Baxter had thought that his story had been an epic ballad, at first, full of daring deeds and mindless courage. He had been wrong about that.

Then he had thought it was more of a love story. He had been wrong about that, as well.

This... it was a tragedy, and the ugliest, most pointless one he had ever seen.

SPOILER: Click to show

CHAPTER 18 Blood Is Not Thicker Than Water

If anyone had been on the docks at sundown just as the sky was darkening to black and the first stars were peeking out, they would have met with the odd sight of a surprisingly powerfully-built elderly man with a rather extravagant fashion sense standing idly on the pier, looking out over the water.

Despite his age, he was straight-backed and unbowed with time, his long white hair and beard still streaked with black and held out of his eyes with a circlet of braided cord. His clothes were embroidered and ornate but still functional, and he was partially dressed in armour and chain-mail for what looked like no apparent reason. To any observer (not that there were any), he would appear to be waiting for something.

Soon, a hawk wheeled out of the sky and alighted on the railing next to the old man. The man did not appear surprised to have such a magnificent bird approach him so fearlessly, nor did he appear fazed when the bird disappeared to be replaced by a very normal-looking human male.

“What did you find out, Geeves?” the old man asked. “Did you find them?”

“Yes, Master Lucianus. I did find them,” Geeves replied, looking as uncomfortable as he was able to.

Lucianus raised an eyebrow. “Is that all? Tell me where they are now.”

The shapeshifter sighed, knowing that he’d do no good by delaying it. “They’re under the protection of the Duke and the best and brightest of the Falcons. Chances of us getting ahold of the girl again are very poor.”

“I see.”

“But on the bright side, Morgano has been captured by the Falcons and is being held solely responsible for the kidnapping of the Duke’s daughter and the physical assault of her and her friends,” Geeves mentioned. “So some good came out of all this.”

“Morgano won’t be in gaol for long,” Lucianus put in darkly. “He’s too old and too crafty to let stone walls hold him.”

“Assuredly, but it’ll hold him well enough for the time being. And if he is being charged with the girl’s kidnapping, it means that they haven’t connected you to the crime in any way. We can walk away from this, Master.”

Lucianus accepted that evaluation with a grunt. He was nowhere near as articulate as his pompous and pratty older brother, but he made up for it in something that Morgano certainly lacked. Something often known as common sense.

“Master... I do not wish to alarm you, but there is a human approaching the shipyard,” Geeves announced, eyes suddenly sharp, and Lucianus shook away his musings and turned to face the direction that Geeves was pointing in. There was indeed someone approaching, someone who was male and quite tall, who was slowly coming into view as they watched. He had lightish-brown hair, cropped before it hit shoulder length and wore a vibrant black-and-red diamond patterned vest. Some type of earrings gleamed on his left ear.

It took Geeves a second to recognize the person, but when he did, the result was immediate.

“That--that’s one of the people from last night!” the Mirrorling sputtered. “He’s the one who put that thrice-darned collar on me and then dashed off with the Duke’s daughter!”

“Really?” Lucianus said thoughtfully. “Well, we’d better hear what he has to say, then, if he’s even here looking for us.”

“But--”

“Of course, if our chat should go unfavourably, we can simply rid ourselves of a problem while he’s so conveniently located here. “Surely you approve of that, Geeves?”

The Mirrorling thought about it, then gave a nod. “It is a good plan, Master.”

“Of course.”

The remained wordless as the man approached, and continued approaching until he was within barely a foot of Lucianus and Geeves. Up close, Lucianus could see that the young man’s clothing had been practically torn to shreds, his hair was scraggly and unkempt, and there was a frantic gleam of desperation in his blue eyes. This, the mage thought, was a person on the edge.

“You’re Lucianus,” the newcomer said dully, but with an edge of panic in his tone.

Ignoring Geeves’ hiss at the lack of respect from the boy, Lucianus replied, “I am.”

“I’m here to cut a deal with you,” he said.

Lucianus’ eyes narrowed involuntarily. “Who are you, boy?”

“Baxter Crane, Solitary Bard.”

“And just what kind of deal are you wanting to cut with me, Baxter Crane?” Lucianus asked, an edge of mockery in his voice. “What could I possibly want from you, especially when you so calmly come looking for me, when I could easily end your life?”

“Because,” Baxter said slowly, explaining carefully and not appearing frightened in the slightest, “I’ve instructed my friend Chesse--who is also the Duke’s daughter, as you know--not to reveal the fact that Morgano was not the only one of you who tried to kidnap Chesse to use against him. However, if I don’t return within the next two hours, she’ll tell him about your involvement and you’ll be pursued by the Falcons wherever you go until you’re captured and thrown in gaol. Duke Peregrine is not in a good mood, incidentally.”

That...was actually a pretty good threat. Duke Peregrine and his Falcons had always been a force to be feared, and the Blood Mages had made a habit of stepping lightly around them. Now that his daughter was back with him, there was also a very real threat of Peregrine finding the backbone he’d lost with her disappearance and cracking down on anyone who put a toe out of line. And Lucianus quite liked his freedom, thank you very much.

Oddly, he found himself feeling faint stirrings of respect for the wild-eyed kid. “Very well... you have my attention, Baxter Crane. What do you want in exchange for withholding this information?”

Without hesitation, Baxter asked, “About the Mirrorling you saved... I heard at least part of it last night, but I need clarification. Do you know how to revive... dead Mirrorlings?”

“Possibly. I have only accomplished it once before, however, so there may be numerous factors involved which I am not aware of. For example, the method used to kill them, the shape they were in immediately before their death, the length of time they’ve been dead for, and even something as trivial as the temperature may have unexpected effects on the reanimation of a Mirrorling.”

“So....”

“So it is impossible to say with any amount of surety if I would be able to do it again,” Lucianus said stiffly.

“But... in exchange for withholding that information, would you be willing to try?” Baxter asked, unclipping a flask from his belt and holding it out.

The mage stared. “Is that...?”

“Yes, this is the Mirrorling that was with me last night,” the bard confirmed. There was a desperate gleam in his eyes, a look that was almost hopeful but too afraid of disappointment to show it too obviously. “Morgano killed her, and she turned to water.”

Geeves shifted uncomfortably and inched away from Baxter a minute amount, his emotional baggage from having once suffered the same fate as the other Mirrorling overcoming the immense dislike he had been working to convey towards Baxter.

Lucianus extended his hand for the flask. “Allow me to see that.”

Baxter clutched it protectively. “Not unless you promise, and really make me believe that I can trust you.” For all of his obvious pluck in seeking out Lucianus alone with a risky offer, the bard still sounded a bit like a petulant child.

Not that that was truly a bad thing, Lucianus mused. He was still not much more than a boy, and wisdom came with time. For the moment, he must have shown remarkable maturity and growth to have even survived as long as he had, after making the wrong sort of enemies and, as Lucianus had heard, trying to face down Morgano alone and unarmed. He might be brash and a fool, but... he had morals he stood by, and Lucianus supposed that he could respect that.


“You know that there’s nothing I can say that’ll make you trust me--it’s your actions, not your words that do that,” Lucianus said.

“Then how about... the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Baxter said finally, after thinking over Lucianus’ words for awhile. “Morgano is certainly my enemy--and Mooshi’s, too--so there isn’t any reason why you shouldn’t cooperate, and no reason why I should doubt your word.”

Lucianus gave a cool smile. “Interesting. I will accept that reasoning, as you probably know by now that there no love lost between me and my elder brother.”

“So... wait. Morgano is your older brother?” Baxter asked, confusion apparent in his voice as he recalled Morgano’s appearance. The other mage had certainly been no older than twenty-five.

“Yes,” Lucianus said briskly, with the air of someone who had been asked this question too many times before. “We’re twins, actually, but he is the elder. He’s just too vain to go around looking old, so he maintains illusion magic on his appearance so he appears young. It’s a petty vanity, one that is a waste of good magic and is by all means unworthy of a high mage,” Lucianus finished haughtily.

Although he was somewhat intrigued and would have asked more on the subject, Baxter quickly realized that he should probably leave it at that. The last thing he wanted to do was antagonize Lucianus to the point where he would no longer be willing to help him, and besides, he had come here for a different reason.

“Here,” the bard said, carefully placing the flask in Lucianus’ hands. “I made sure I got everything--everything that was left. I used a spell to siphon the water off the floor and into the container. You can work with that, can’t you?”

The Blood Mage’s hands closed around the offering, and he was in that moment carrying all of Baxter’s hopes and fears in those same hands. He probably knew it, as well.

“I will try,” he said, and Baxter knew that that was the best he could hope for.

***

Morgano disliked every human equally, with the exception of himself and his detestable brother.

As far as he was concerned, the only human that deserved to live was himself, and the only one he cared enough to darn forever was Lucianus. The other people of the world... they were annoying pests, not important enough to deliberately seek out to kill and not important enough to avoid killing, either.

It was the Mirrorlings he truly valued, as much as he was able to value something. Created from his own plans, blood, and magic, they were not like mere humans: they did not have useless squabbling amongst themselves, they were useful and intelligent, and they followed his command to the letter and without argument. Everything about them was created to be unlike humans, in fact. They were perfection, or as close to perfection as Morgano had the ability to make them.

And now two of his perfect creations had turned on him. Well, the circumstances had been different for each betrayal, and both of the Mirrorlings in question had since been terminated, so chances were they were isolated incidents and he no longer had anything to worry about. The downright human behavior demonstrated by Number 9 bothered him a bit, but he resolved not to worry about it.

The two Falcons assigned to guard the Blood Mage approached his cell, probably carrying his meagre excuse for dinner with them. Morgano was somewhat appalled that an old man like him would receive such poor sustenance (as his youthful disguise had long since fallen away to reveal white hair and a lined face), but perhaps they were simply going to attempt to keep him weak for the duration of his stay in the Falcon’s Peak gaol. It bore a certain logic.

One of the Falcons slid a plate of food through the small opening on the main cell door before closing it. Morgano shuffled over, careful not to move too fast lest he trip on the spelled shackles binding his ankles and his magic, and retrieved the plate.

Instead of gruel, he had received a fine cut of beef, soft white rolls, and cooked greens. A quick glance at the Falcon’s face as he peered through the barred window confirmed that the swarthy man did indeed have silver eyes.

“Thank-you,” Morgano said, smugly sitting down to his meal as the ‘guard’ left. He had nothing more to worry about when it came to the Mirrorlings, it appeared. The first two had been mistakes, but the other eight were all his in every sense of the word. His outlook was also considerably brightened by the fact that, with the timely arrival of his clever servants, his stay at the gaol would probably end up being drastically shorter than he had first guessed it would be.

Morgano leaned back against the stone wall with a confident languidness that one might normally display on a rich plush chair, taking a big bite of his dinner.

It was about time something went right.

***

Mirrorlings Number 4 and Number 7 were staking out the Falcon’s Peak gaol, obediently looking out for their Master’s interest with considerable danger to themselves.

Not that this mattered to them, of course. There was no reason why it should.

They were returning to their barracks after providing Morgano with a better dinner than he would have gotten otherwise, filling the silence with idle, harmless chatter as they walked down the darkened halls. Out of all the Mirrorlings, 4 and 7 had one of the best working relationships. This was quite odd in that, since they were all supposed to be exactly the same, every Mirrorling should foreseeably all be able to get along in exactly the same way. But they didn’t.

“So I hear Number 9 isn’t coming back,” Number 4 said.

“Really? Why not?”

He shrugged. “Not sure, exactly. Maybe they had a run-in with Lucianus or something. The Master certainly didn’t mention anything to me.”

“Ha. He’s probably fretting about it alone. You know how hard-working he is--never asking us for help when it’s something important. He should take it easier, relax a bit,” Number 7 said with a grin.

“He’s hard to live with, when he’s like that,” Number 4 chuckled. “He’s goes completely psychotic--breaking things, throwing his books into the fire, knocking us around and generally throwing a tantrum. Then when he snaps out of it, he wonders why all of his stuff is ruined and he gets us to clean it all up!”

“Yeah. Why are we working for him, anyways?” Mirrorling 7 asked the other, his expression only half joking. His eyes were serious, watching intently to gauge his companion’s reaction. There was far more than idle curiosity in his inquiry.

Mirrorling Number 4 could find no answer to that.

SPOILER: Click to show

EPILOGUE

Felix Featherfinger rather thought that a certain mandolin-playing bard deserved to be slapped silly.

Before Baxter had packed up and left Wheathold in the company of a deceptive and somewhat nasty shapeshifter (pausing only to wave a cheerful goodbye with a giddy smile on his face), the only thing that Felix had requested had been that Baxter keep in contact with him. The sitar player had expected one letter every week, which really wasn’t a lot to ask for. He had agreed to this asinine plan in the first place and had accepted all of Baxter’s demands, so he had somewhat suspected that Baxter would at least make a decent attempt to honour his.

It was going on three weeks since he’d left, and Felix had yet to receive one letter from the other bard. This could mean any one of several things.

One, that Baxter Crane had simply been his overly excitable self and had either forgotten or had never listened to his friend’s request in the first place.

Two, that the messengers Baxter had hired were terrible, or not even real messengers at all.

Or three, that Baxter had not even survived a week, and wasn’t alive enough to be sending letters. In which case Felix would be very disappointed in him.

Despite all he would do to deny it, Felix was extremely worried about his ridiculously jolly and notoriously scatterbrained friend, who had never been exposed to real danger or hardship before and might be lost or kidnapped or injured or dead....

He was worried that Baxter hadn’t sent any letters. He was also afraid for Chesse’s sake, and half wondering if he shouldn’t just pack up his own belongings and go after them. After all, Felix was from out of Wheathold originally, so he knew how things like cities worked and had a fairly good idea of how to keep oneself alive in the world outside the village. Truthfully, however, he was doing far more than simply ‘half wondering’, and the slim blonde musician had already packed and re-packed his bags several times over, trying to decide whether to leave or not.

At one point he had, in a fit of vindictive rage, actually left Wheathold with the intent of following his absent friend, but had turned off the main road on a whim upon reaching a turnoff and had instead made his way to the home of one Benjamin Crane, the father of Baxter Crane. If Baxter wasn’t willing to send letters to Felix, the sitar player reasoned, he might’ve at least had the decency to keep his own father updated.

Benjamin was not only a dead end, but he also appeared to have been fed a mess of disgustingly false information. The retired bard had calmly stated, in response to Felix’s panicked inquiries upon learning that Baxter had stopped there, that Baxter was simply on his honeymoon with a wonderful older lady that he loved very much and that he wouldn’t return for awhile. The older man’s voice had slurred as he spoke, and he had patted Felix’s head offhandedly while stating that there was no need to be so angry (Felix was practically hissing and spitting), since he hadn’t been invited to the wedding either, and he had eventually managed to move past it.

Felix had decided that he was certainly going after Baxter after that, but he still found a certain hesitance to do it when he was actually prepared to go. Baxter had (doubtlessly in all his infinite wisdom) requested that he be allowed to go alone, and it made Felix a little bit guilty to be following him without Baxter’s outright approval. Maybe Baxter needed a bit of space and freedom if he were to learn something and grow as an individual on his mission. Surely he’d send a letter if he really needed help, right?

So Felix had ended up staying at Benjamin Crane’s house.

He slept on the stuffed chair in the living room, quickly moving his feet out of the way when the older man wanted to sit down and occasionally pulling empty bottles out of the cushions when they became too uncomfortable to lie on. Benjamin didn’t seem to mind the fact that Felix had wordlessly moved in, even if he hadn’t been consulted beforehand and the sitar player was one of those ‘soulless young musicians.’ Baxter’s father was actually surprisingly tolerant, and was only slightly patronizing when in his drunker moods. Felix quickly became accustomed to feigning sleep whenever Benjamin attempted to lecture him, and became rather good at letting his words go in one ear and out the other.

The change was actually good for Felix. Now, if Baxter decided to contact his father, Felix would know and he wouldn’t have to worry so much about the mandolin player. Additionally, Benjamin’s house did not have stairs, so he was finally free of the threat of falling down them when he was tired and not necessarily paying attention to where he was going.

So he decided to wait there, and see what would happen.

He developed a habit of sitting on the doorstep outside the old house, playing his sitar while watching the dusty road for any sign of a messenger, Baxter, or Chesse. He did this every day for several hours at a time, just in case some news came. The soft strums of his sturdy instrument sounded strangely lonely as he played, so used he was to having a mandolin to accompany him, and a flute from even before he had met Baxter. Not even music could allow him to forget what he was missing now, which was something that was new for him. In the past, no matter how bad things were, music had always helped.

It was a day much like all the others when Felix noticed a number of figures approaching from off in the distance, and he had immediately stopped playing and stood, unsure of what to do. Whatever this was, Felix was willing to bet it was about Baxter, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, it might be Baxter himself returning home or a reassuring message from him, but on the other, it could be very bad news.

And when the group got closer, Felix felt his heart sink as he was forced to accept that whatever this was about, it probably wasn’t good. They were close enough that he could see the copper and brown of Falcon uniforms on most, if not all of the members of the party. The approach of so many of Peregrine’s men was usually not a good thing. He turned to mask his disappointment, despite the fact that they probably wouldn’t have seen it anyways, when a familiar paint gelding among the group caught his attention. He squinted--the horse did look look somewhat familiar....

But nowhere near as familiar as the goofily grinning and stupidly tall young man who was running up the dusty road ahead of the others, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Felix hardly had the right to criticize Baxter’s smile, however, as he felt sure that the one that spread across his own face was every bit as goofy as the other’s.

When Baxter reached the house, he enveloped Felix in a jubilant hug that, because of their height differences, was more like a headlock than anything else. After finally escaping from Baxter’s abuse, Felix found himself immediately accosted by a short, curly-haired girl with a beaming smile.

“Chesse!” he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her like he never thought he’d see her again. Because he had never been able to shake the doubt that maybe she was gone forever, no matter how many reassurances he had given himself.

She buried her face in his jacket, as she had all those years ago when she was only eight years old and had been in need of nothing more than a parent. “I haven’t practiced the dancing song in weeks-- I probably forgot the entire thing,” she confessed, as one would confess a grave sin.

Felix gave a short bark of relieved laughter. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll remember it after a quick glance at the notes.” He looked at Baxter from over his student’s shoulder and mouthed a quick ‘thank you’ at him rather than saying it out loud, because Chesse would only be embarrassed to hear it. Out loud, he said, “So everything turned out fine.”

Baxter grinned, bright as the gods-darned sun. “Haha, I guess it did. It sure didn’t seem like it was going to at the time, though. I’ll tell you about it all later, if you’d like--”

“You said you’d keep in contact, and do you know what I got the entire time you were away? Not. One. Letter.”

Baxter laughed and scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “I wrote one, but I forgot to send it... here, you can have it now if you’d like.” He handed Felix a crumpled and dirty scrap of paper from his pocket, which he wordlessly accepted, staring blankly at it. “I kind of forgot to write any more, but I was really busy! Even after we found Chesse and fought Morgano, we were kind of beaten up and then we had to talk to the Duke and answer all sorts of questions, and then Chesse had to convince her father to let her come back to Wheathold--”

“Wait a second!” Felix interrupted. “You fought Morgano the Blood Mage?”

“Yeah. We lost, though,” Baxter admitted sheepishly.

Felix shook his head in annoyance. “Well of course you lost, Baxter! That goes without saying. Why the hell aren’t you dead?”

“Because Duke Peregrine came in with a bunch of Falcons and saved us at the last minute,” Baxter replied. “They took Morgano to gaol and brought me and Chesse to some healers who fixed us up. After that we had to tell the Duke all about what had been happening--about how Chesse was my friend and how she went missing and how I found her again. He was really good about it too, and didn’t even get me in trouble for playing music without a license like he could have. He said he owed me for protecting his daughter. After that, Chesse said she wanted to come back to Wheathold.”

His head spinning with all the new information, Felix simply latched onto the last thing that had been said. “What did the Duke say about that?”

Baxter grimaced. “Well, he was really mad at first. He said that Chesse--although he called her Dianne--couldn’t possibly understand how much pain he went through when she ran away. Then he actually seemed kind of hurt because she had come home for the first time in seven years and she already wanted to leave, and then he was all worried that it was too dangerous for her to come back to Wheathold, especially after everything that had happened. Some servants led me out of the room when they started yelling, but apparently they eventually made a deal.”

“Which is...?”

“That she’s allowed to stay in Wheathold and continue training as a bard, so long as her identity stays mostly secret, and... she has to be accompanied by a full regiment of Falcons whenever she plays in public.”

Felix couldn’t believe he had heard right. “What?” he asked skeptically,

“Well... that’s what these guys are here for,” Baxter pointed out, gesturing at the Falcons who had accompanied him and Chesse. “It’ll be a bit of a pain at first, but I’m pretty sure the Duke’s just a bit overprotective at the moment. He’ll probably loosen up eventually, providing nothing else happens.”

Felix sighed, slapping his face with a heavily-ringed hand. Well, nobody said this would be easy, but maybe the presence of the soldiers was a small price to play for having Chesse back. It would be almost the same as before, just the three of them together, having a good time and playing good music for a dancing crowd. Whilst completely surrounded by gruff, imposing men with limbs like tree trunks and weapons that three average people couldn’t lift.

Oh, well. They’d just have to get used to it, at least for a little while. It could have been much worse.

“So... what eventually happened to the shapeshifter?” Felix asked, remembering the creature that should have been traveling with Baxter for most if not all of his journey. “Was it even any help, in the end”

Felix was shocked to see that Baxter’s normally open, guileless face had closed off a bit at the question. The other bard had always been almost ridiculously easy to read, but it was difficult to do so now. So Baxter had managed to learn a thing or two about keeping secrets, Felix realized.

“Yeah, it was a help,” Baxter said. “It saved me a bunch of times, and stuck with me even when it didn’t have to.”

“Then what happened?”

Baxter frowned, his eyes distant. He hesitated a long time before answering simply, “It died. Morgano killed it, in the end.”

“Oh,” Felix was a little bit taken aback by the obvious unhappiness Baxter was showing. Apparently the shapeshifter had grown to mean... something to him. Whatever that something happened to be. “I’m really sorry, Bax.”

The mandolin player sighed, as if letting go of something painful, then gave a small, rueful smile. “It’s alright now, I guess. I mean... I’ll probably miss it, but we fought a lot and maybe it’s better that it turned out this way.”

It was a very odd experience to see Baxter looking so serious while saying wise, well thought out things. The setting sun provided a rather impressive backdrop to the scene, and in the light of the fading sun, the tall bard’s profile could almost... well, almost have belonged to one of the heroes in the old stories. A proud, sure, almost defiant look was written across his face.

“But that all aside,” Baxter announced suddenly, shattering the image of hidden power he had unknowingly been conveying, “I have someone I want you to meet.” He gestured towards the cluster of guards still milling around in front of the house and called out a single word.

“Mooshi!”

A skinny girl with silver hair came into view from behind a particularly large and well-built Falcon and proceeded to glare daggers in their direction. “You don’t have to be so loud, stupid bard! It’s not like I’m that far away!” she shouted back at him, in a volume considerably higher than the one Baxter had used.

Felix blinked. He could’ve sworn there hadn’t been a girl among the group before.

Baxter was grinning ear-to-ear as the girl arrived at the step with the three bards, looking somewhat exasperated. He said, “This is my friend Mooshi. I met her not long ago, and she’s going to be staying around here for awhile.”

Introductions were made, and Felix could tell that Baxter and Chesse were hiding something, because they both had the exact same closed-face expression on and Felix for some reason could not get over the fact that the girl seemed oddly familiar. He was positive he had never seen her before in his life, but it was an impression he was unable to shake.

Unless....

A connection was made in Felix’s mind, and suddenly he understood.

“I believe we’ve met,” Felix said dryly as he shook Mooshi’s surprisingly cool hand. Baxter laughed a little at that, and Mooshi shot a glare at him before addressing Felix.

“I hope we can get along well,” she said, formally but oddly open. “I’ve not always been the kindest of people in the past.”

“We’re all probably guilty of that,” Felix said, and Mooshi flashed him what was almost a relieved grin. So the shapeshifter had ‘died’ after all, Felix realized, because Mooshi was probably going to try to live as a human for the time being. Who would’ve thought that she would end up being a friend and ally, after everything that had happened.

Baxter came up beside them, appearing so suddenly that they both jumped. “Hey, Felix. Where’s my dad?”

“Inside,” Felix replied. “He’s probably out cold, but if you knock him on the head hard enough you might be able to force a ‘welcome back’ out of him. Why did you decide to show up here first, anyways?”

“Well... I kind of busted up his old mandolin a little, and I’m hoping he can fix it,” Baxter said, embarrassment plain on his face. “He’ll probably kill me for it, though, and he’s going to think that I abandoned my ‘wife’ sometime during our ‘honeymoon,’ since I’m back here and she... isn’t.”

“You broke his mandolin?” Chesse exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“The crunching noise might’ve tipped you off,” Baxter said.

“Simpleton!”

“Evil child!”

Felix sighed, coming in between the two of them. “It’s too early to start this. Can’ t you two try to get along at least a little?

“Well, we got along fine at Falcon’s Peak. Maybe you’re the problem.”

Felix snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

It didn’t escape his notice when Baxter subtly took Mooshi’s hand in his, and although she looked startled and graced him with a withering stare, she didn’t try to shake him off. If anything, her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around his.

So it seemed that some things were changing in Wheathold, but Felix wasn’t afraid that anything important would be lost. If anything, maybe they had gained something. Chesse and Baxter were back, and it seemed like Baxter had grown up a bit on his adventure after all. There would be plenty of time for songs, eating pie, magic tricks, and eventually other, more serious things. But that would come later.

Even though he had never really managed to leave in the first place, Felix felt like he had finally come home.

***

It was hardly the stuff of legends.

The hero may have been charming, but he was all but useless in the grand scheme of things. He never found a magical sword, and never slew a demon. He was constantly being rescued, was not born from noble blood, and would never be crowned king.

The kidnapped princess was not actually a princess, and she didn’t ever fall in love. At least, she didn’t fall in love in the course of this particular story.

The character who had no purpose in the first place had been a villain who eventually evolved into a second hero. As a hero, this character was not charming in the slightest, but was able to perform the dashing deeds that the first hero consistently failed at.

The villain by all rights should have won. He was in every way more powerful than the original hero, but in the end had been defeated by a simple turn of luck.

There had been no prophesy of success when the story began. There were no gifts from a fairy to aid in times of dire need. The fights were not particularly exciting, and although there had been a tiny bit of romance in the end, there was no True Love’s Kiss.

At least, not yet. Because some things simply took more time than was necessary for performing Daring Deeds to save the world from Certain Peril.

Because the story isn’t over yet. And despite the fact that it isn’t the stuff of legends, maybe it couldn’t have happened any other way.

Besides, you can still make a pretty good song out of anything.

There it is. Hope you liked! ^^

[Amneiger]

I did like it. =D *saves the link to this*

[Rikku]

Or three, that Baxter had not even survived a week, and wasn’t alive enough to be sending letters. In which case Felix would be very disappointed in him.

... Which cracked me up, for some reason. xD All in all, I immensely enjoyed this. <3 Your characters are all bright and lively, and it has spark.

... And I think it's fairly safe to say that you can write fantasy well now. =D

[Trilly (18426 words)]

Thank-you to you both. ^^ Amnei, I am very flattered, and Rikku, the comments are always appreciated. Coming from someone whose writing contains squids and spaceships and dashing thieves, "spark" is very high praise indeed.