Shinko's Medieval Fics

[Shinko]

Here's part two! The reply letters from House Bay and House Tobiano were written by Celestial

A Rocky Start - Part 2

SPOILER: Click to show

“To the esteemed Lord Dun,
It is with deepest regret that we hear of your loss. Lord Cohen was a great man and he will be dearly missed. At the same time, we thank you for your warning against these pirates. However, rest assured I have several captains working for me on letters of marque and I will send them after these freebooters as soon as I can get word out to them. While your offer of help is appreciated, I am sure that you have your hands full with reconstruction in Jennet and I would not wish to strain House Dun’s resources during this difficult time. Rest assured that the men who did this will be brought to justice.
Kindest regards,
Lord Campbell Tobiano”

The blonde haired, brown eyed woman sitting in an armchair across from Aaron frowned as he read the letter aloud to her. “That’s… hm.”

“‘Hm’ is about what I thought reading it,” Aaron agreed, scratching the ear of an elderly beagle sitting on the couch next to him absently as he folded the missive and set it aside. On the other side of the Dun lord was a brown and white splotched spaniel, snoozing contentedly. Furs being the primary industry for House Dun, they had an extensive program for breeding hunting dogs. It was common practice for dogs that had been particularly successful hunters to be allowed to move into the private wing of the manor with the family when they reached old age. The place was generally swarming with hunting breeds of all sorts, from tiny terriers to massive deerhounds.

The woman sitting across from Aaron folded her arms pensively. She was Stephanie Dun, his wife of not more than four months. Shrewd and calm in demeanor, she’d been invaluable in helping Aaron to avoid panicking or overloading himself in the wake of the pirate attack. The young lord greatly valued her input, so it was a relief that she was as unsure how to feel about Campbell Tobiano’s letter as he was.

“If he’s outfitting privateers under letters of marque, that’s good at least,” she said finally. “But I do get an odd feeling from the tone of the thing. It comes off…”

“A bit casual?” Aaron offered dryly. “Like he’s cheerfully sweeping the whole thing under the rug?”

“...Yes, that sounds about right,” Stephanie agreed. “It’s frustrating, I suppose, but there isn’t a lot we can really do about it. He is helping.”

“He is,” Aaron agreed. “‘N sending his own pirate hunters out is more than we might’ve expected from him, even if he’s giving us a bit of a snub in the more general sense. His loss, I suppose, but at least it’s nae all bad.”

“Oh?” his wife inquired. “Lord Bay give you a little more considerate a reply then?”

“Significantly,” Aaron said, holding up a second, much longer sheaf of paper. Pushing up his glasses, he began to read from it.

“Lord Aaron Dun,
It grieves me to hear that your father is dead, and it infuriates me even more that he died in such a brutal and shocking manner. Rest assured we here in House Bay are just as disturbed by this attack as you are, given that much of our income depends on the merchants of this city. There have already been several attacks reported on shipping coming in and out of Kustanair over the past two years, but I never imagined that these rogues would dare attack a major coastal town, let alone kill a noble Lord. You have my sincerest condolences to you and your family. I will miss Lord Cohen greatly.

I wish I could offer you assistance in hunting down the pirates who have inflicted such a major loss upon Jennet and House Dun but unfortunately, House Bay has very little military strength, and in these times, I cannot spare the few privateers I have guarding the harbour to go on a pirate chase across the Bernian coastline. I have been informed by Lord Tobiano that he has several vessels equipped for the task so I have made the decision to leave the task to him. I hope you will be satisfied with that.

However, that does not mean I do not wish to help you. This attack concerns me greatly and even though I do not have the men and ships to spare, I would be interested in working out an alternative. Please write to me at your earliest convenience and we can discuss how to defend against these freebooters and prevent such a tragedy from occurring again.
Sincerely,
Lord Ian Bay”

Stephanie smiled slowly as he read down, nodding briskly when he got to the end of it. “That is much better. I imagine it makes sense that the lord of Bay would take the matter more seriously, being that, as he said, so much of his income depends on shipping and trade into Kustanair.”

Aaron nodded slowly, setting the letter down on the table between them. “He also sounds a lot more human. Like he’s sincerely horrified by what happened. I know that Fath… that Father always spoke very highly of Lord Ian.”

The woman stood immediately, walking around the table and shooing the beagle so she could sit next to her husband. “Aaron, it’s okay. I know you’re still grieving. It’s alright if you need to break down.”

The young lord shook his head. “I need tae write the Bays back, ‘n then finalize the arrangements for repairs for the docks that were damaged during the raid. ‘N then there are all the things father was working on before this happened that I need to sort out ‘n get back on track with.”

“Aaron-” Stephanie started to say, but the lord was already standing up.

“I have my responsibilities tae see tae, I can’t just prostrate myself, Steph,” he said briskly. She sighed.

“Fine. But would you at least take a break later to go see Seamus? He’s been asking after you for days.”

“Seamus?” Aaron replied with surprise. “I… I thought Eleanor ‘n Theodore were with him.”

“They are, but they aren’t you,” she retorted. “And your baby brother wants you, Aaron.”

The young lord winced. It was true- he’d seen very little of his eleven year old brother since the raid. He hadn’t seen much of any of his family except for Stephanie and Theodore, with Seamus mostly confined to the private wing of the castle to keep him away from the horrors in the city and Eleanor sticking close to the boy. Upon reflection, Aaron realized he did miss Seamus- the child was paralyzingly shy around strangers, but he was very sweet and exuberant with people he trusted. That childish innocence wouldn’t be so bad to spend some time with, given everything that had happened.

“I still need tae write the Bays,” he said finally. “But… I promise I’ll talk tae Seamus before the servants call us for supper.”

Stephanie smiled. “You’re a good man, Aaron, and you’ll be a fine lord. But don’t run yourself ragged or neglect your family. It’s okay to be a lord and still be human- isn’t that what you said your father liked about Lord Ian?”

He hadn’t said that, but… well he had implied it, if indirectly. The young lord gave his wife an exasperated smile before he turned to head for his office. He just hoped that Lord Ian was as amicable in person as his letter implied.

* * * * *

Aaron knocked gently on the door to Seamus’ room, met almost immediately by an excited cry of, “I’ll get it!” A few seconds later, the door creaked open, and Aaron found himself looking down into the surprised hazel eyes of his youngest brother.

“Aaron!” he squealed, pulling the door open the rest of the way and flinging his arms around Aaron’s torso. “Where’ve ye been, it’s been almost a week, ‘n I keep asking people where ye are but they say yer busy, ‘n I thought if I was good ‘n did my lessons ye’d come, but ye still didn’t come ‘n they said Father’s dead ‘n it was p-pirates ‘n I thought ye, ye might have tae go tae sea tae fight the pirates too and, and-”

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay Seamus,” Aaron said, kneeling down to return his brother’s hug. He felt his heart twist at his brother’s obvious distress. So Stephanie had been right. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, a lot has happened since… since the pirates. But I’m here now, ‘n I won’t stay away for that long again, I promise.”

A taller figure walked up to them, and Aaron looked up to see Theodore approaching from within Seamus’ room. “Took yer bloody time, didn’t ye?” he asked sardonically. Aaron gave a sheepish smiled.

“Sorry. I’ve been juggling a lot of things ‘n I wasn’t thinking. It won’t happen again.”

Theo snorted. “Better nae. Now c’mon little mathematician, don’t get Aaron’s nice lordly coat all over snot cryin’ on him.”

“I won’t do that!” Seamus objected irately, lifting his head from the jacket in question and glaring at Theodore.

“Are ye sure?” Theo asked teasingly. He gave his brother’s cheek a pinch. “We won’t judge ye sweetie, if ye need tae cry snotty tears you can cry snotty tears.”

“I’ll show ye snotty tears!” Seamus bellowed with a fierce grin, letting go of Aaron and flinging himself at Theodore. The two of them “wrestled” for a few minutes while Aaron walked further into the room and sat down on the edge of his brother’s bed, in the space not already being occupied by an old greyhound. The lord shook his head, bemused at their antics. It seemed some things never changed.

Finally Theo secured Seamus in a headlock, and as the younger Dun flailed his older brother said cheerfully, “Uncle?”

“Never!” Seamus cried, squirming harder. Aaron chuckled.

“Where’s Nory, I thought she’d be with ye two?” he asked. Theo shrugged, still not letting go of his grip on Seamus.

“Said she needed some air. I think her ‘n Steph went for a ride. They were- Euuugh!” He flailed as Seamus licked his arm, yanking it away and giving his brother enough space to wriggle free and scramble up on the bed behind Aaron.

“Snooze, ye lose!” the youngest Dun brother chirped with a broad grin, petting the greyhound when it licked his hand. Aaron smiled, putting an arm around Seamus’ shoulder. It seemed that between them, Eleanor and Theodore had been doing a good job of keeping the eleven year old distracted and in good spirits.

“Well if ye two are done being children,” he said with teasing admonishment. “I have some good news. We may be getting some help from House Bay in dealing with the pirates.”

“House Bay?” Seamus repeated, his eyes going round. “Aren’t they really important? Dad says… Dad s-said that only House Stallion was more important than them.”

“Well in Bern that’s right,” Aaron replied. “Though Sabino gives Bay a run for their money, ‘n outside Bern the king is even more important than the Stallions. But yes, they’re still a very important, influential house. Their help would be a very big deal, ‘n go a long way towards making sure this never happens again.”

“Good tae hear,” Theo replied, sitting on an armchair near the bed. “So what about Tobiano?”

“Cagey, but they say they’re sending out privateers so at least that’s something,” Aaron replied. “We’re not liable tae get anything else out of them, but I’ve sent a letter back to Lord Bay ‘n with any luck we’ll be able tae work out an in-person meeting to discuss things in more detail soon.”

“So ye’ll go tae Kustanair?” Seamus asked, wilting somewhat. “That’s… that’s far ‘n you’ll be away a long time, won’t ye? And if, if you go out tae sea the pirates might find you ‘n-”

“Seamus,” Aaron interrupted gently, “This is important. I have tae take the risk.”

Theo, however, was frowning. “If you go tae Kustanair, who’ll watch over Jennet? I’m nae trained in diplomacy or matters of state, ‘n Steph’s just been here a short while so she doesn’t know the region well yet…”

“Eleanor has been the acting Lady of Bay since she was fifteen,” Aaron pointed out. “She could cover for me.”

“Normally,” Theodore agreed. “But she’s still badly shaken up. She hides it well but I think Father’s death hit her hard.”

The lord of Dun bit his lip. “I’ll think of something. Nothing’s set in stone yet. But we can’t pass up this opportunity for House Bay’s help.”

Seamus started petting the greyhound on the bed again, his expression glum. “I wish Father was here. Then he could go tae Kustanair, or, or he could stay while ye went. ‘N then Nory wouldn’t be sad, and ye wouldn’t be busy all the time...”

A soft sob bubbled out of Seamus’ throat, and immediately both of his brothers wrapped their arms round him, Theo lurching out of his chair to do so.

“I miss him too, Seamus,” Aaron said hoarsely. “We all do. That’s why we need House Bay’s help- to make sure Father didn’t die in vain, ‘n to keep the pirates from killing anyone else.”

The young boy didn’t reply to that. He just sobbed brokenly into the embrace of his older brothers. Aaron wished he could take away the pain his little brother was feeling. The pain they were all feeling. But he knew that was well beyond his power. This was something they’d all have to work through for a long time to come- and it only made him more determined to make sure that things went well when finally he spoke to Ian Bay.

[Shinko]

Collabed with Celestial

A Rocky Start - Part 3

SPOILER: Click to show

The question of who to leave behind in Jennet ended up being a moot one, as did Seamus’ fears of the risk to his brother from sea travel. Perhaps guessing how difficult it would be for the Duns to send a representative to Kustanair, as would’ve been the usual practice considering they were appealing to Bay for help and Bay was much more influential than Dun, Ian instead offered to travel to Jennet. He had an heir, his eighteen year old son Corrin, who he was confident leaving in charge of the Bay lands for a time. With tremendous relief Aaron accepted this arrangement, and set the servants to having a guest room prepared for Ian’s arrival.

It was towards the end of April by the time all had been settled, but finally the day arrived when a signaler from the harbor spotted a distant ship bearing the House Bay standard, and Aaron rode down to the docks with Stephanie and Theodore to greet his visitors. The three of them left their mounts- ponies for Aaron and his wife, and a horse for Theo- tethered at the head of the pier, and waited on foot for the Bay’s ship to complete docking procedures and their guest to emerge from within.

It did not take long. As soon as the activity of the sailors on the ship had lessened from the frantic pace it had undertaken upon docking, a tall bearded man clothed in the blue, white and light green of House Bay stepped down the gangplank. He cast his eyes around the pier before they alighted on the Dun party, causing a small but warm smile to appear on his face. With a few easy steps, he walked over to them and stopped in front of Theodore, his blue eyes twinkling amicably.

“Lord Aaron, I presume?” he asked, giving a polite nod of the head to him. “I appreciate you coming out to meet me, thank you.”

Theo blinked, looking extremely startled. “I, uh…”

Aaron coughed, somewhat red in the face, while Stephanie tried valiantly not to look amused. “Actually, that would be me, Lord Bay,” he said, a slightly wan smile on his face. “This is my younger brother, Theodore. He takes a very great deal more after Father than I do, so I suppose the confusion is understandable.”

Ian gave a slightly startled laugh and turned towards Aaron, bowing to him. “My apologies then, Lord Dun. I would blame the voyage or your brother’s resemblance to Lord Cohen but I will gladly own my mistake. Thank you for correcting me,” he smiled and stretched out his hand to Aaron. “Lord Ian Bay, as you have probably guessed. It is good to meet you.”

Aaron accepted the handshake amiably, giving a somewhat rueful shrug. “Nae harm done, ‘n it is a pleasure tae make your acquaintance as well, my lord. ‘N now that you’ve been introduced tae myself ‘n my brother,” he released Ian’s hand and gestured to the blonde woman standing at his side. “This is my wife, Lady Stephanie.”

She stepped forwards, curtseying to the Bay nobleman. “It is an honor, Lord Ian.”

“Likewise, your ladyship,” Ian returned her curtsey with a polite bow. Once he has straightened out, however, a grim look passed over his face. “I am very sorry for your loss. Lord Cohen was a very good man and it still pains me to know that he died in such a terrible manner.”

The Bay Lord turned his head towards Aaron, and though it was subtle, there was an undeniable trace of sympathy in his eyes. “It must be difficult for you, Lord Aaron. This is not how anybody wishes to begin their tenure as Lord but given the circumstances, you are doing what exactly what needs to be done.”

Aaron swallowed, feeling suddenly like there was something caught in his throat. He glanced briefly at Theo, who was looking off to the side distantly. Forcing himself to meet Ian’s eyes he said. “Thank ye for yer sympathies, Lord Ian. It means a lot that ye should offer them, ‘n your commendations as well. Fath-” his breath hitched, and he had to throttle back the grief that was threatening to rise up in him again. “F-father always spoke very highly of ye. I am grateful for yer good opinion.”

If Ian noticed the cracking of Aaron’s facade, he did not acknowledge it. The smile on his face returned, but it was smaller than it had been before. “I am glad to know that Lord Cohen though this way of me, and I hope to make the same impression on you, Lord Aaron.”

He glanced around the pier, taking in the sight of the harbour with the full knowledge of what had happened here not too long ago. “I hope I do not come across as crass for switching the subject so harshly but I believe we had business to discuss? Kustanair is not far from Jennet so this attack has me greatly worried. The merchants are agitated too and if they refuse to sail, well...it’s bad for everyone.”

After taking another look around, Ian turned back to Aaron. “Since that sly dog Campbell Tobiano has decided he wants the glory and prizes of capturing these pirates for himself, we need to shift our focus.”

Aaron accepted the change of subject gladly, relieved to have a topic he could discuss without the threat of his emotions overwhelming him. “Yer right,” he said briskly. “The merchants who lost ships here in Jennet have promised tae apply tae the admiralty in Websteros for compensation, so if it’s nae all over the eastern trade routes already it will be shortly.”

He pushed up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “‘N certainly I am content tae leave the pirate chasing tae Lord Tobiano, since he was… eager enough tae get on that tae have apparently written ye about it before replying tae me. Unfortunately Jennet has never really had the reason nor the finances tae keep dedicated privateers on contract in our waters.” He shook his head, seeming to realize they were still standing on the dock. “But forgive me, these would be matters better discussed out of the sun ‘n away from the shrill cries of seabirds. Shall we head back tae the manor? If there are any considerations that need tae be made for your attending retinue, they may put them tae Lord Theodore; you will remain here, Theo?”

“Of course, Aaron,” the younger Dun replied, nodding his head.

“Thank you, Lord Theodore, and my bags should be unloaded shortly. There is not much but if you could have them brought up to the Manor, that would be wonderful,” Ian smiled at the Dun before turning back to Aaron. “Please, lead the way then. Woo knows how long these discussions could drag on for and standing in the middle of the dock haggling like fishwives won’t do us much good.”

He gave off a soft laugh before nodding to the Dun Lord, waiting for him to proceed first on the route through Jennet towards the Manor. They rode back to the manor, the Duns having brought a spare horse from their own stables for Ian to use, and soon enough Aaron, Stephanie, and Ian were seated at a circular table in one of the smaller conference rooms in Dun Manor.

“I suppose the first thing might be to fill ye in on the details of what transpired here a few weeks ago,” Aaron said. “So that we both have the full scope of what it is we’re dealing with.”

Ian nodded, folding his hands on the table. “I have gotten the gist from your letter, and of course rumours have circulated down to Kustanair about this already. But I would appreciate being given a firsthand account,” he sighed, “Assuming, of course, it is not too painful to dredge up so soon.”

Aaron folded his arms, leaning back in the chair with a pensive expression. Once he’d sorted his thoughts, he slowly began to recount the story.

“The launched their attack just a little bit before dawn- with the darkness, the guards at the coastwatch point couldn’t see the vessels clearly until they were too close for the warning to be much help. We heard their horn call- woke most of us from a sound sleep. Father immediately set tae work mobilizing the knights, ‘n I had my sister take the family and servants tae a secure inner area of the manor. While that we were doing that, the pirates were already on the offensive.”

He looked up at Ian, his mouth tight. “They were blasted clever demons. I mentioned in my letter that they sank an armed merchantman moored off the coast? Only one of the caravels engaged it, distracting it so the other two ships could sack the city. The crew on board the second caravel set about going for trade ships in the harbor, while those who’d been aboard the cog attacked the town. It was almost choreographed, like they’d studied the harbor defenses in Jennet ‘n knew exactly what they’d come up against. Very well organized, ‘n obviously not your average fleet of freebooters.”

He sighed. “Father lead the knights out to engage them. Managed to beat them back, at least partially, but around that point the first caravel had sunk the merchantman ‘n the pirates aboard it swept in to reinforce those from the cog. They hit hard, fast, ‘n drove back the knights- grabbed what they could of value, ‘n then fled like the ‘Pit cursed cowards they were.”

Aaron realized he’d been clenching his hands into fists, and forced himself to relax. “Sorry- anyway, Father was still alive when the knights got him back to the manor, but barely. He wasn’t conscious, and he was… white as a sheet.” The young lord sucked in a breath. “He bled out before an hour had passed. All told, we estimate about fifty or so dead on land between the knights ‘n civilians, plus another thirty between the merchantman ‘n those pitched overboard from the stolen trade vessels.”

Ian had listened to the story quietly, without shifting a muscle, but it was impossible to miss his blue eyes darkening and his face tensing up into a more thoughtful, worried expression. Finally, he sat back in his chair, turning to look directly up at Aaron, waiting for the younger lord to relax from having to relive that harrowing day. Only when he was satisfied that the Dun had taken enough time did he open his mouth

“I see. That level of organisation is very disturbing indeed. This sounds like the act of a pirate gang and the last thing we need is one of those setting up a nest in Bernian waters. However, that is not our concern,” the Bay Lord folded his fingers together, meditating on the action. “My own city, Kustanair, is well-defended against such attacks, I’m sure you can understand why. However, if there are enough of them, even we will be overwhelmed.”

He raised his index fingers, touching them together. “I noticed Jennet did not have a sea-wall around its harbour as I was coming in. Is there any particular reason why?

Aaron sighed. “Financial considerations, mostly. The fur trade upon which we rely is strictly regulated so as tae prevent overhunting our mountains. My ancestors, as such, have always been notorious penny pinchers. That, ‘n it was assumed Jennet was too well guarded a place in too remote a location tae be worth making a target out of. Obviously, this was short-sighted a view, looking at the immediate expenditures over the potential for long term damage by disrupted trade.”

Ian shook his head. “Those are all perfectly fair assumptions for your ancestors to make. Sadly, time is a notorious scoundrel in that it changes constantly,” he chuckled a little before he returned to a more serious expression. “Nevertheless, I would recommend you invest in a sea wall, Lord Dun. Even if this attack does not happen again, it is good protection against storms too.”

The young lord exchanged a thoughtful look with his wife, who had been silent for the duration of the interview, before turning back to Ian and nodding. “I shall certainly look into the matter; ‘n if you have any recommendations for engineers I should like to approach, I would be grateful tae you.”

“It would be my pleasure, Lord Dun,” Ian smiled, lowering his fingers and laying his hands back down on the table. “Another thing that caught my attention: your coastwatch. I assume from what you said, it is simply a high point on which guards are stationed to keep watch over the sea? Is it just one or a network of several?”

Aaron was beginning to feel as if he were a student again, and he hadn’t properly studied for an examination. “Just the one- it’s up on the cliff that overlooks the bay, ye might’ve noticed it coming in.”

Ian chuckled quietly. “I’m sorry, Lord Dun, please tell me if I’m quizzing you too much. You should not be ashamed of not knowing, I simply want to get a clear view of everything,” he said, smiling at Aaron before nodding. “Thank you for indulging my curiosity, by the way.”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “However, a multiple network of watch points may be a more efficient and wide-reaching system. If you stretch it far enough along the coast, perhaps even to connect with our watchtowers...” he waved his hand. “But I am getting ahead of myself. Would such a system be plausible along the coast of your territory, do you think?”

“Yer here so that we may collaborate on this matter, so it’s only right ye have the scope of the situation,” Aaron replied. “As for a system of watchtowers… Perhaps, assuming the constructs were simple in nature. Setting them up wouldn’t be much trouble, ‘n our coast is certainly nae lacking for high vantage points. The trick would be tae man the things. There are long, uninhabited stretches of coastline in our territory, ‘n traveling overland is time consuming.” Quirking an eyebrow he said, “It would be a bit of a tricky work commute. Though I suppose if need be the watchmen could be stationed near their particular lookout point in shifts of a few weeks at a time?”

“I’m afraid we have the luxury of plenty of fishing villages along the coast to man our towers in our territory. A less inhabited coastline is trickier,” Ian said and nodded. “You’re right, however, shifts are a good solution to this dilemma. Another thing you could do do, if you don’t already would be to set up signal fires in the watchpoints for a quick way to get word back to town.”

He smiled widely. “And once this threat is eliminated and none manifests, you can turn a few into lighthouses if you so wish. I recommend it.”

Aaron smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind, certainly- though for the time being we shall have tae wait and see how Lord Tobiano’s privateers fare on that front.” He looked thoughtful. “Though I can definitely see the benefit in having these structures- nae only as an advance warning system, but if they were positioned within line-of-sight from each other it would be possible tae very quickly alert the nearest garrison of knights. Obviously by the time they reached whatever city was under siege the attack would be long over, but it would be beneficial for getting relief tae the stricken locals as soon as possible. In theory the fire signals could travel faster than even a pigeon could fly, ‘n don’t need tae wait for someone to write ‘n read a letter.”

Glancing at Ian he added, “You mentioned before about linking a system here in the Dun lands with the one you already have in place in Bay territory. If such a thing were done, it might be worthwhile tae authorize knights on both sides within a short distance of the border tae cross over and give such aid.” Hurriedly he added, “if you are amenable tae an arrangement like that, of course.”

The Bay Lord nodded with clear approval, obviously liking how the young man thought. “I would certainly be glad to. We have very few knights of our own, enough for defence and nothing more, but if we are going to link our signal systems, it only makes sense to have connected forces too,” he grinned widely. “It seems like we are going to be cooperating extensively on this. I look forward to it, Lord Dun.”

Aaron smiled back. “As do I, Lord Bay.” He looked thoughtful again. “And it would also be a benefit tae both of us to keep each other abreast of places where the scoundrels have been reported tae hit, offshore ‘n on. If nothing else, it can give us an idea of where they’re at ‘n who should be on higher alert- and if there’s a pattern tae be gleaned from the attacks, though as canny as they’ve seemed to be I doubt they’d give us the benefit of being predictable. But it can’t hurt, you never know when the Woo will drop a blessing into your lap.”

The Dun’s brow knit with concern. “This is going to be difficult though. We’re still working on reconstruction of the town, ‘n relief for the people who lost food, money, and breadwinners in the assault. Building a sea wall ‘n an extensive system of signal towers on top of that is nae going tae be easy.” He looked up at Ian. “We will help in this matter as much as we can, and contribute tae the mutual defense of both of our territories. Strong knights we have in plenty, the mountains are unforgiving and have plenty of hiding holes for ne’er do wells. But unfortunately, as I implied earlier, financial resources are nae something we have in high supply. It may be that we will need assistance on that front.”

Ian raised a hand up to his chin, stroking his beard. “That is a difficult situation indeed. I would like to help you out of charity but every instinct in me is screaming at the thought of providing so much aid for free. I’m sorry but House Bay has married far too many merchants in its time,” he smiled and looked over at Aaron, his blue eyes glimmering. “But I’m sure we can work out a deal. You mentioned your House specialises in the fur trade, correct?”

“Yes,” Aaron replied. “Mostly fox, ermine, beaver, wolf, ‘n lynx, ‘n of course lesser things like rabbits ‘n mountain hares. Our most prized ‘n expensive furs are those of the house crest, the otter.” He leaned forwards on the table. “If you would like tae work something out, I am all ears, Lord Bay.”

Ian nodded and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “My wife is a daughter of the Acquae family, owners of the Lyellian merchant firm of the same name so we have connections there. If it suits you, in return for the investments to your defences, perhaps we can buy some of your furs and sell them through the company to Lyell?” he smiled. “If Fran is anything to go by, furs are quite a luxury to Lyellians. She is quite fond of her fur coat. Though that might just be the climate up here.”

Aaron chuckled, Stephanie also smiling knowingly beside him. He spread his arms in a gesture of acceptance. “Certainly such a thing can be arranged. If you like I can send you back tae Kustanair with samples, so that yer wife’s family may select the furs they find tae be best for their trade purposes.”

The young lord’s expression turned thoughtful. “Though this is starting to look as if it will be a very complicated, deeply intricate investment for both of us. It will require a certain level of commitment from both sides.”

“Are you proposing an alliance, Lord Dun?” Ian smiled widely. “If so, I would be glad to accept. We both stand to gain from this development,” he lifted up a hand to his beard. “Though, a thought occurs to me...such things are usually settled with a marriage.”

The Bay Lord glanced up at Aaron. “I’m afraid I only have my son, Corrin, to offer. He has turned eighteen this year. If there is anybody you could recommend for his wife...”

Aaron glanced at Stephanie again, who gave him a surprised quirk of her eyebrow. He turned to Ian with a bemused smile. “In a rather interesting stroke of provenance, I have only one unwed female relative: my younger sister Eleanor, who is seventeen. She turns eighteen in July. Our mother died eleven years ago, so Eleanor has been more or less the acting Lady of Dun since she was fifteen. I think she would be a good match for your heir- she is intelligent, steady, ‘n has all the training of a fine Lady of rank.”

“And frankly, I think she could stand to get out of Jennet,” Stephanie put in, speaking up for the first time. “She’s been hit rather hard by Lord Cohen’s passing, and a change of scenery would be good for her.”

“That is perfect then. Kustanair would be a fine place for her and she sounds like she would make a good match for Corrin. Although,” Ian chuckled. “I will have to tell my poor boy that he is getting a wife. It will be quite a shock for him, no doubt, but he’ll manage. He’s a good lad and I’m sure he’ll be good to her too.”

He placed his hands down on the table again, palms down. “We will need time to get everything sorted then. But it seems we’ve come to an agreement, Lord Dun,” the Bay Lord turned to him again. “I’ve said what I wanted to say but if anything else you want..?”

“I believe I’ve aired everything I needed tae as well,” Aaron agreed. “If you wish, I can have Stephanie show you to the guest rooms we’ve prepared for ye, so that ye may rest from your journey- ‘n at your convenience, ye may speak with Eleanor.” He chuckled. “I imagine you might want the opportunity tae meet her at least once before she’s delivered to your Corrin for the wedding.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Ian smiled at Stephanie before turning back to Aaron. “Whenever you have broken the news to her, I would like to speak to her, just to gain an impression. I’m sure she’s a lovely young woman but I like to make impressions for myself.”

His blue eyes gave off another cheerful glint and the Bay Lord leaned out of his chair, stretching a hand out to Aaron again, as he had done when they had met down at the docks. “I look forward to working with you, Lord Dun.”

Aaron smiled, reaching out to clasp Ian’s hand a good deal more enthusiastically than he had down at the harbor. “And I you, Lord Bay.”

[Shinko]

And now for the final installment! Collabed with Celestial

A Rocky Start - Part 4

SPOILER: Click to show

Aaron eventually found his younger sister out in the family’s private gardens, watching indulgently as Seamus played an enthusiastic game of fetch with the same spotty spaniel Aaron had been sitting with a few weeks prior. The young woman was sitting on a bench under a nearby tree, stroking a little fox terrier in her lap while a second spaniel was sprawled at her feet.

If Aaron’s appearance was secretarial enough that another lord might mistake his brother for him, Eleanor certainly did not share that trait. No one who looked at her would ever mistake her for anything but a Lady, with her soft hands, well groomed auburn hair that hung halfway down her back, and the serene, confident air that she projected. Like Aaron and Theodore her eyes were green, but they tended more towards a slightly blueish shade of sea green, not unlike the colors of House Bay’s standard- prophetic, in a way. She was certainly a beauty, and since coming of age and taking on the role of their father’s assistant, she’d melted the hearts of no few visiting traders. But as Cohen’s only daughter, she’d been held back from marriage proposals, with the hope of wedding her as advantageously as possible.

You don’t get much more advantageous than the second most powerful noble house in all of Bern, Aaron thought. I just hope father would approve of this.

The Dun lord approached her, stopping briefly to return an enthusiastic wave from Seamus before turning towards his sister.

“Eleanor, ye mind if I join ye?” he asked. She looked up at him with a quirk of her eyebrow.

“Not at all- since when do ye have tae ask me permission tae sit down?” she retorted. Aaron gave a somewhat rueful smile, sitting next to his sister on the stone bench and reaching down to stroke the spaniel at her feet.

“Since I have news ye might be inclined tae pitch me in the harbor for,” he replied. “I want tae make sure this conversation starts off on a light note.”

The young woman frowned. “Did it go poorly with Lord Bay, then?”

Aaron shook his head, sitting up to look his sister in the eye. “Nae at all- it went far better than I could’ve hoped. He’s given me several suggestions for ways tae improve security along our coastline, agreed tae collaborate on our defensive strategy, ‘n even tae help finance our end of the project in exchange for a choice trade deal from us. By the end of the discussion, we realized we were looking at a level of cooperation intricate enough that it would almost certainly necessitate a formal alliance.”

“An alliance?” Eleanor repeated. Then, her eyes widened. “Ye mean-”

The young lord nodded, smiling somewhat sheepishly. “Yer getting married, Nory- tae Lord Bay’s heir.”

His sister’s eyebrows snapped up, and she looked at Aaron in askance. “Tae… tae his heir? Nae just a cousin or a younger son, but, but tae Lord Bay’s heir? B-but that… that would mean-”

“Ye’ll eventually succeed Lord Ian’s wife as Lady of Bay,” Aaron said, nodding. He swallowed hard. “It is a very great honor, Eleanor.”

“I… but…” she looked dazed. “Aaron, it’s far tae grand, I can’t! I’ll just embarrass House Dun, I must be a savage compared tae the people in Kustanair!”

“Dinnae be ridiculous,” Aaron retorted. “Yer a fine lady, ‘n I’m sure the Bays will think so as well. And ye’ve been helping me ‘n Father, so ye know the basics of how ocean trade works; that’s the lion’s share of Bay’s income right there.”

“But Aaron!” she squeaked, her voice pitching loud enough to startle the terrier out of her lap and catch Seamus’ attention.

“Something wrong, Nory?” he asked, looking between her and Aaron with concern. This seemed to snap Eleanor out of her panic, because she closed her eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath, before turning to address Seamus.

“It’s alright, I was just surprised is all,” she called to him. “Ye can keep playing with Biscuit, Seamus, dinnae worry about it.”

The boy looked unconvinced, and abandoned his game to walk over to his older siblings. “What’s going on?” he demanded. “Aaron what’d ye say to Nory?”

The Dun Lord winced, unsure how to reply. As much as the child had panicked when he thought Aaron was just going away for a few weeks, how would he react to the realization that his sister was being sent away for good? Before Aaron had quite decided what to say, however, Eleanor reached towards him and put a gentle hand on his arm.

“Aaron was telling me that the Bays want my help with the arrangements we need tae make for fighting the pirates,” she explained gently, her expression soft and carrying no traces of the panic it had held just a few moments before. “They want tae form an alliance with us, so they need me to go with them tae Kustanair ‘n marry intae their House, so there is a more solid link between us.”

“Wait- yer leaving?” Seamus bleated. “Yer… ye can’t go away, Nory, ye can’t!”

“Seamus, it’s nae all bad,” Aaron said. “It won’t be for a while yet, there’s a lot of things still tae arrange. ‘N besides, Kustanair is nae that far. She can still come back tae visit sometimes.”

The little boy shook his head, looking as if he were about to cry. “But… no…”

Eleanor reached out to her brother, pulling him into a hug. “Seamus, please, dinnae be upset. This is how things are for nobles- sometimes we have tae do things we dinnae like, because we have responsibilities to the common people.”

“But it’s nae fair!” Seamus protested. Eleanor sighed.

“No. But we need the help, Seamus. And… how would you like tae be the uncle tae an important house’s heir? That’s what’ll happen eventually. If I marry intae House Bay, I’ll be the mother of the house’s next heir, ‘n ye’ll be his uncle. Wouldn’t that be something?”

Seamus considered this, still looking doubtful. “Can I come see ye sometimes?”

“If the Bays say it’s okay,” Aaron said.

“Can I ask?” Seamus said, already starting to pull away and looking around the garden as if to see Lord Bay walking towards them at that exact second. Eleanor frowned.

“Ye want tae talk to him? Yerself? Are ye sure about that?”

Seamus hesitated, his hazel eyes uncertain. He’d always been extremely skittish around visiting dignitaries, freezing like a rabbit when he was around them to the point that the Duns stopped even trying to include him in formal feasts and parties because he was completely miserable at them. They’d eventually spoken to their House physician about it, who’d diagnosed the boy with a mild form of paranoia, brought on by stressful social situations.

And it seemed his illness would be getting the better of him again, because after a moment of silence he leaned forwards and buried his face in Eleanor’s shoulder. “Please stay.”

“I’m sorry Seamus,” Eleanor said gently. “But I’m needed more in Kustanair. Dinnae worry, even if the Bays don’t want you tae visit them, I’ll still try tae come back here to visit ye. I promise.”

“‘N she’s nae going anywhere right away,” Aaron reminded his brother. “So ye’ve plenty of time yet tae enjoy her company before she has tae go.”

He looked like he still wanted to argue, but he’d been a noble child long enough by this point to know better. With a defeated slump of his shoulders, he nodded. Looking up at her with a fierce gleam in his eyes, he said, “Ye’ll be a great Lady Bay, Nory. Yer pretty, ‘n yer wise, ‘n I bet the Lord Bay’s heir will take one look at ye ‘n be in love instantly!”

This startled a laugh out of Eleanor, and she shook her head. “I seriously doubt there will be any Love At First Glance ballads coming out of this, but thank ye all the same, Seamus. It means a lot ye have faith in me.” She ruffled his hair. “Now go back ‘n play, Aaron ‘n I need tae finish our conversation.”

He gave her one last hug, before turning to the rather woebegone Biscuit and picking up their abandoned game of fetch. Once Aaron was sure Seamus was thoroughly distracted, he turned to his sister again. “He’s right ye know. I think ye will make an excellent Lady Bay, in due time.”

“Well I suppose only time will tell,” Eleanor replied, her expression pensive. “But I know my duty, Aaron, ‘n I know this is far tae good an opportunity tae pass up, regardless of my insecurities. I just hope tae Woo that I can live up tae this responsibility.”

* * * * *

Eleanor made her way to tone of the formal sitting rooms in the business wing of the manor. After some deliberation, she and Aaron had agreed that she would speak to the man alone- to give him a better impression of her competence. She didn’t want to come off as if she needed her brother around to feel confident speaking with another noble.

A servant was waiting in front of the door, and he politely opened it to allow her entry.

“My lord?” she said to the man waiting within, stepping over the threshold and immediately sinking into a curtsey. “Good afternoon. I am Lady Eleanor Dun- it is an honor tae meet ye.”

Ian blinked and tore himself away from staring out of the window, turning his head and looking over at Eleanor. A smile spread across his face and he gave her a polite bow.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Lady Eleanor,” he said, keeping his tone measured and looking over her, taking in his first impression. “I hope you weren’t too startled by the news. I know a marriage is a very sudden thing to spring on a person.”

She smiled, trying to mask the nervousness that was bubbling inside of her. “Certainly I had nae expected tae be extended such an honor, Lord Bay. But I know my duties, ‘n I will do my part tae help both our houses.” Feeling greatly daring, she offered, “Though I imagine it is nae quite the souvenir your heir was expecting ye tae bring home from yer business trip.”

Ian laughed heartily at this. “Certainly not. At most Corrin was expecting some furs or a few sketches of ships, certainly not a betrothal to a lovely young lady such as yourself. I cannot wait to see his face when I tell him.”

He grinned widely, already imagining it, before walking over to two plush chairs that stood in the room with them. “Would you like to see down, Lady Eleanor? I would hate for you to be a stranger in your own home and discussing business is always better when everyone is comfortable.”

Eleanor blushed a bit at the assessment of herself as a “lovely lady,” but stronger than the flattery was a heady sense of relief. So the man had a sense of humor- that was good, it would make this a lot easier.

She smiled in reply to his grin, coming over to the chairs and nodding, “Thank ye, my lord. Perhaps I shall smuggle myself in a crate with the next shipment of furs tae Kustanair, tae make the surprise even more potent.” She sat down, gesturing invitingly. “In all seriousness, I am at yer disposal, Lord Bay. What would ye like tae discuss?”

“If you do that, Lady Eleanor, I’m going to have to find a new heir because my last one would die of shock!” Ian grinned, sitting down in the chair opposite her and folding his hands together in his lap. “I would like to find out more about you, for starters. Your brother mentioned that you have been acting as Lady of Dun for a while now, haven’t you?”

“More or less, yes,” she replied, setting her hands on the arms of the chair. “My mother died of an infection shortly after the birth of our youngest brother Seamus, so Father had been ruling ‘n managing the estate alone for quite some time. This was when I was… six? Seven? At any rate, since I was being trained in the things a fine lady needs tae know how tae do anyway, once I was nearly of age I decided I may as well use what I know tae help where I could. Father ‘n Aaron had enough on their plates without having tae also manage the household. Father seemed tae appreciate the initiative, because he started bringing me along when he ‘n Aaron made trips tae the traders down at the docks… sometimes. When he was ah… certain of the repute of the folks we’d find down there.”

“Of course. I cannot speak highly enough of sailors but there are some which are...hardly as savoury as one would like. You learn that very quickly living in a large port like Kustanair. ” Ian shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “But please, don’t let me scare you away by talking like this. It’s a wonderful city, I don’t want to colour your view of it before you’ve even seen it.”

The Bay Lord smiled at Eleanor warmly. “In any case, you sound like you have experience of trade and running a household, and your manners have been impeccable so far. Not to mention it’s such a relief to meet somebody with a sense of humour. There are far too many sour-faced nobles in this world,” he gave off a small laugh. “I can tell you’ll make a good match for Corrin.”

The young woman flushed deeply, a shy smile on her face. “I hope so, my lord. Though I may have experience being a noble lady, I am obviously somewhat deficit in experience with being a wife. I’m willing tae learn though, so I hope that he can be patient with me.”

She looked nervous again, and after a moment’s deliberation, she said, “If ye dinnae mind my asking… Lord Corrin, what is he like?”

“Corrin?” Ian’s smile grew very warm. “He’s a wonderful boy, no doubt about it. Quite shy, especially around girls, but he’s intelligent, thoughtful and well-mannered. Though I will warn you now...”

The smile turned into a wry grin. “He is very fond of ships and different types of ship. But he does not like it if you call a ship a boat. Only do it if you want to annoy him,” the Bay Lord laughed, “Though he is very sweet when he is annoyed.”

“Oh, I, uh-” she smiled sheepishly. “I dinnae imagine I’d have quite the same teasing privileges as his father, so I’ll settle for nae trying his anger. Thank ye for the warning. And I’ll do my best to try ‘n help him feel at ease with me, even if I am a girl. My brother Seamus is rather shy as well, though for different reasons, so I at least have some experience with that sort of thing.”

If he was thoughtful and well-mannered, at least in all likelihood they would get on amicably. That was good- she knew in her heart the best she could hope for out of marriage was tolerable coexistence, since they were perfect strangers to one another. It was rare even for noble couples to achieve the sort of well-oiled partnership that Aaron had with Stephanie. But as long as he was polite and considerate, perhaps this arrangement wouldn’t be so bad.

She sighed, letting out some of her nerves in the gesture, and then drew herself up to meet Lord Ian’s eyes politely. “I shall look forward tae meeting Lord Corrin, then. ‘N I hope that I may prove a worthy match for yer successor.”

Ian continued to smile. “I’m sure you will do just fine, Lady Eleanor. I understand your nerves but you’ve created a perfectly decent impression on me during this conversation and I’m sure you’ll do just the same for Corrin when you come to Kustanair,” his blue eyes landed on hers, alight with sympathy. “It will take some time to get used to, especially because I realise the bigger city can be intimidating, but you strike me as somebody up to the task.”

The Bay Lord spread his hands invitingly. “Is there else anything you wish to ask me? I would be glad to answer your questions.”

“Well… just one thing,” she said. “I’ve mentioned my youngest brother, Seamus a few times- he’s eleven. Since our mother died shortly after his birth, for most of his life I’ve more or less been sister ‘n mother tae him. He overheard my conversation with Aaron about this ‘n he… he’s taking it hard.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “It wouldn’t be a bother if he was permitted tae visit Kustanair from time tae time, would it? Or if it would be, if I came to visit him here?”

An inquiring look appeared on Ian’s face. “Seamus...he isn’t by chance the young boy I’ve glimpsed a few times here and there? I tried to speak to him once, he bolted like a frightened rabbit. Regardless,” he leaned forward, giving her a kind smile. “Him or any of your family can come visit, or you can come visit them. It’s not my intention to separate you from your brothers, especially one you practically raised yourself. Just because you are the Lady of Bay doesn’t mean you should forget where you came from, or who your family is. I certainly don’t want that.”

Eleanor’s muscles went practically limp with relief, and she smiled- the first real, warm smile she’d given. “That was probably him yes. I apologize if he ran from ye, it wasn’t anything personal. He gets like that whenever diplomats or nobles visit the manor; says he’s terrified he’ll say or do the wrong thing ‘n mortally offend somebody. The physicians think he has a mild paranoia disorder.” She shrugged. “Given time he’ll warm up. But thank ye, Lord Bay. My brothers mean the world tae me, so I’m glad we will still be able tae see each other.” The young woman bowed her head. “Yer very kind.”

“Oh good, I thought I had scared the poor boy. Lord Aaron would not have been pleased with me going around spooking his relatives, even by accident, I bet,” Ian laughed and grinned, glad to see the young woman in front of him looking much less nervous. “But that is even less reason for me to separate you both, if he is so shy. You can make the trip as many times as you wish, or your brothers can come visit in Kustanair, though these days, the overland route is safer.”

At her remark about his kindness, Ian gave a bow of his head. “I try to be. Especially to a woman who is going to be my future daughter-in-law.”

Eleanor gave a grateful smile, her features almost seeming to glow with it so that she seemed even prettier. “I shall be happy tae have you as my father-in-law, Lord Ian. ‘N I look forward tae meeting Lord Corrin.”

“I’ll make sure to prepare him suitably for your arrival. Get him to wash behind his ears and put on his finest clothes so he makes a good impression,” Ian laughed. “You’re a wonderful lass, Lady Eleanor, you deserve Corrin at his best.”

The Bay Lord pushed himself off the chair, standing up before glancing down at Eleanor. “Now, if there is nothing further to discuss, I don’t want to keep you in my company longer than you want to be. I still have things to finalise with Lord Aaron and I’m sure you’d rather be spending time with your family, since we’ll see each other plenty in Kustanair.”

She stood as well, giving the lord another curtsey. “I’ll let ye get back tae yer work, then. Thank ye- I hope that this alliance between our houses proves fruitful.”

“I am convinced it will be,” Ian bowed back to her and headed to the door. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me, Lady Eleanor.”

Eleanor watched him leave, then turned and headed back towards the private wing of the manor where she knew that her brothers were waiting. The situation was still a horrible one, but with everyone pulling together, the future of House Dun was beginning to look just a little brighter.

[Shinko]

=D Here's a collab between myself and PFA

Melodies of Magic

SPOILER: Click to show

It was a crisp autumn day, with the sound of seagull calls filling the air. And in one of the gardens of the Brachyuran palace, a beautiful wedding reception was underway. The garden was specially decorated for the occasion, with flower wreaths and brightly colored streamers—but most notably, the hanging banners bearing the respective crests of House Brachyura and House Jade, to celebrate the holy matrimony of Lord Dilan Brachyura and Lady Jeniver Jade.

The Brachyurans had pulled out all the stops to ensure the wedding was a memorable occasion. There were jesters putting on acts of juggling and acrobatics, singers performing glorious songs, including some compositions that sounded as if they’d been written just for the occasion, and of course… musicians.

One musician in particular was all but vibrating with excitement when she was cued to take her turn in the middle of the space that had been cleared out for the performers. This was a high honor- she’d always wanted to see the Jades, nobles who ruled over the foremost magical region in Kyth, but to perform for them? That was something she’d never dared dream she might do.

When she’d been approached to perform at the wedding, she’d stayed up until the wee hours of the morning several nights in a row struggling to put together the perfect performance for her time in the spotlight. She knew full well that for the most part at the reception people would be mingling, and the musicians would be background noise. But she was determined to make an impression.

Finally, after weeks of planning and rehearsing it all came down to this. The woman stepped out into the performing space, earning a few curious glances from the crowd. She was at first nothing too noteworthy. Dark skin that was far more brown than the creamy tone of the nobles all around, a thick bush of curly black hair that was suppressed by a white sash. Her dress was also white, with only some small goldish yellow and silvery grey ornamentation to break it up. Hanging from her neck was a simple iron woocifix. In one hand she held a violin made of pale colored beech wood, and in the other she had the violin’s bow.

Taking a deep breath, she put the violin to her chin, and began to play. The first few notes would’ve been familiar to anyone in the audience who was a practicing Wooist- a very common hymn called “Let The Circle Be Unbroken.” However, as she began to play, her white clothing started to emit a very soft glow. It got gradually brighter, tendrils of white light playing off of the fabric and flowing through the air in tune to the music. The melody shifted to a different hymn, and the tendrils began to flow together until they had taken the shape of a pair of luminescent white wings flaring forth from the woman’s back.

The wings gave a swoop, and she paused in the song long enough to point her bow skywards as the last few notes she had played echoed ethereally in the air. Then, the wings detached from her back in the same moment she put her bow back to the violin. As she changed to yet a third hymn in the medley she’d put together, a beautiful white bird construct began dancing in the air above the reception, pulsing with light and swooping in tune to the music.

Finally she mentally called the construct back to herself, and the music began to slow. The bird settled onto her shoulders, seeming to melt into her white dress until the wings were sprouting from the woman’s back once more. The radiant feathers folded around her, cloaking the young woman in a feathery cocoon as the music came to a stop… And then, in a flurried explosion of song, the cocoon burst, revealing that the woman’s clothing had taken on a vibrant array of color. She was no longer playing hymns, but a fast-paced ballad of the sea that was well known and loved in Albion. As she played the light radiating off of her turned sea-green, and water began to pour from the tip of her bow. Soon she had a puddle at least two inches deep at her feet, and the water too began to “dance” to the music. It splashed upwards, shooting skywards in vertical jets and whirling in twisting patterns. The music coming from her violin echoed, projecting far more loudly than one might normally have expected from such a relatively small instrument.

Finally, in a triumphant crescendo, she spun around as the water spun with her, and pulled the bow from the violin to shoot a flurry of brilliantly colored fireworks into the air. With a final flick of the bow, the pool of water vanished, her clothes dried, and she gave a bow to the gathered nobles. The performance received a resounding round of applause, with even the notoriously stiff Jade nobles looking impressed. The violinist beamed, the excitement boiling in her chest at the positive response. That was the most work she had put into a choreography yet, and she was thrilled to see that it had paid off.

Bowing a final time, she turned and headed away from the performance area to allow the next show to take the spotlight. She was sweating just a little from the exertion, and decided to get herself something to drink from the buffet table that had been set up along the edge of the garden. Putting her violin away in it’s case and strapping the case to her back, she made for the food line and poured a generous goblet of wine.

“Hey, um, that was really neat!” came a voice from behind her. When she looked to see who was speaking, she was surprised to see that it was none other than the bride herself, Lady Jeniver. “I really like how you did magic with the music.”

The woman’s dark skin hid her flattered flush, but the beaming smile made it clear she appreciated the compliment. She gave a curtsey to the bride. “Thank ya, Lady Brachyura. I’m glad ya enjoyed the show. Most of me magic is improvised, so it means a lot that it holds up in the eyes of a family as wise to magic as the Jades.”

“Really? It was really good for being improvised! I mean, I really liked it,” Jeniver replied with a smile. She paused briefly, before asking, “So, um, what’s your name, by the way?”

“Sawyer, m’lady,” she replied cheerfully. “Sawyer Moss. Minstrel by trade, though I do a bit of magery on the side.” Sawyer gently tapped the wand holstered at her hip, a ten and a half inch branch of alder wood with musical notes carved into the handle. Gesturing to Jeniver’s own wand holster she added, “As do ya, I see.”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I’m a mage,” Jeniver replied, putting a hand to her wand and nodding. As an afterthought, she added, “…Um, which I guess isn’t that surprising, coming from House Jade, but… still.”

“But not so common for a Brachyura,” Sawyer pointed out. “Albion don’t have nearly so many mages as Corvus. I bet ya know quite a few spells that I’ve never seen.”

“Heh, yeah, maybe.” Jeniver shifted slightly, deciding to change the topic. “Speaking of which, how did you do all that magic without your wand?”

Sawyer blinked, surprised by the evasion, but accepted it with a grin and a shrug. “It’s a bit tricky, and takes some really good timing and a lot of practice to do right but…” she pulled the violin case off her back, opened it, and withdrew the violin’s bow. “This is also a wand. Beech wood, core of fallow deer antler.” She gave the bow a flick, and with a muttered incantation called a little mote of light.

“Oh!” Jeniver’s expression brightened with interest as she examined the bow. “That’s really neat!”

“Thank ya!” the minstrel chirped. “It’s not very good for just everyday use, since it’s so long and unwieldy. That’s why I also ‘ave the normal wand. And since I can’t really aim it and play at the same time it takes a lot of concentration to get the magic to go where and do what I want it to. But it makes for a pretty dramatic show with enough practice.”

“Yeah, I bet. You did a really good job with it, though!” Jeniver remarked, smiling. “I bet my cousin Joffery would have loved it. Say, I wonder if you could—”

“Jeniver?” came another voice, distracting the noblewoman out of her thoughts. Jeniver’s smile broadened as she turned in the direction of the voice. Approaching the two women, dressed in his wedding fineries, was Lord Dilan Brachyura, Jeniver’s groom. Smiling at Jeniver, he added, “So this is where you went off to.”

“Dilan!” Jeniver grinned, running up and giving him a hug—carefully, of course, so as not to hurt him. She then pulled back, gesturing to Sawyer. “She was just telling me about her magic. It’s really neat!”

“Haha. That’s nice,” Dilan replied, nodding to Sawyer. “I liked your performance, by the way.”

Sawyer curtsied again. “I’m glad to ‘ear it, Lord Brachyura,” she replied. Grinning broadly, she added, “Would be a right shame if the bride and groom were disappointed in the entertainment at their own wedding, so I’m happy to have pleased both of ya. Wouldn’t want to bring down the mood of such a cute couple.”

Dilan blushed bashfully at this. “Oh, um… of course.”

Jeniver giggled, giving Dilan another hug. “We loved it. It was perfect for such a special day, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Dilan agreed, smiling at Jeniver again. “I, uh, really liked it.”

Sawyer chuckled at the young groom’s tongue-tied demeanor. “I ‘ave me own little pavilion in the dockmarket where I do shows every other evening, so if either of ya want to see a longer performance feel free to swing by. I’ll give you a special discount.” She winked. “Not that I see that happening anytime soon. I imagine ya newlyweds will be keeping each other busy for a while.”

At this, Dilan’s blush deepened, his face now a deep red. “Uh…”

“We’d love to come visit,” Jeniver offered, amused. “When we have the time, of course.”

“Y-yeah, what she said,” Dilan added. “When we’re not busy— with, um. Noble stuff.”

“I’ll look forward to that, then,” Sawyer replied, clearly quite entertained by poor Dilan’s flustered reactions. Then, she brightened. “Say, since I’m ‘ere anyway, would either of ya like to request a song now? I can use my magic to keep the volume down so we’re not interrupting the performers on stage now.”

“A song?” Jeniver blinked, thinking on this for a moment. “Um… you probably don’t know too many Corvid songs, do you?”

The woman’s mouth quirked. “Websteros is the biggest trade city on the eastern coast of Kyth, m’lady. Try me.”

“Okay, um… how about On Wind and Wing?” Jeniver asked. “I like that one.”

Sawyer’s smile broadened, and she put her violin up to her chin, muttering a very soft, “Quietus.” Then, she began to play. True to her promise, there was a very soft flash of light at the tip of the bow, and when the song began it was scarcely audible more than a few feet away from the minstrel.

Jeniver grinned, pleased to hear the familiar song—and played quite well, even. She listened happily for a moment, before offering a hand to Dilan. “I think it’s tradition for couples to dance at their wedding, isn’t it?”

“Oh, um…” Dilan frowned, gesturing to the crutches he was using to prop himself up. “I-I’m not a very good dancer.”

“It’s okay! We can be careful,” Jeniver replied.

“It’s not about the skill, it’s about the fun,” Sawyer remarked softly, concentration mostly on her music, though she glanced at the newlyweds through half-lidded eyes. “It’s been my experience that ya’d be surprised what you’re capable of, when you don’t worry too much about limitations and just try taking chances and enjoying life. But of course, that’s just my opinion m’lord.”

“Yeah, what she said!” Jeniver agreed. “It’s our special day. We should have fun.”

“Well…” Dilan thought on this for a moment, then smiled. “I guess you’re right. Okay.”

Jeniver smiled, delicately placing one hand on Dilan’s shoulder, and the other on his hand. She slowly started moving to the music, urging him to do likewise. Dilan tentatively followed her lead, a smile crossing his face as he started getting the hang of it.

Sawyer watched the duo dancing with a smile on her face. She finished up the last few notes of the song, and with a flick of her violin bow and a whispered incantation, she sent a small orb of pink light towards them that shattered into a dozen miniscule hearts. “That was adorable,” she remarked with a broad smile. “You’ll make a great pair, m’Lord and Lady Brachyura.”

“Thank you,” Dilan replied, looking pleased. “That was… that fun.”

“It was!” Jeniver grinned, giving Dilan another hug. “You did a great job.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Dilan chuckled. “It wasn’t as hard as I thought.”

“See? I bet you’re glad you tried it.” Jeniver gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

Sawyer chuckled. “I won’t take up any more of your wedding time, but I’m glad ya both enjoyed me performance.” To Jeniver she added, “If you or any of your kin are curious about my magic, feel free to swing by the pavilion or send for me and I’m happy to explain in more detail. It’s not a big secret.”

“Sure! That would be fun,” Jeniver replied. Then, turning to Dilan, she added, “But yeah, we should go. I want to try some of those desserts.”

“Of course.” Dilan smiled at Jeniver, then nodded at Sawyer. “It was nice meeting you.”

"And you as well, young Lord." The minstrel curtseyed again.

And with that, the young couple went on their way, talking and laughing together as they went. Sawyer watched them go with a smile. She doubted she'd see them again- after all, nobles had plenty of other things to do with their time besides patron a random minstrel. But she was happy she'd managed to make their wedding just a little more memorable. After all, it was only thanks to the Brachyura family that she'd been able to learn how to use her magic in the first place.

Putting her violin away again, she returned to her abandoned wineglass.

* * * * *

It was six weeks after Jeniver and Dilan’s wedding. Sawyer was going through the final preparations necessary to set up for her evening show, setting her hair in order and making sure her violin was properly tuned. It was close to sunset, as it always was for her performances, so that she could make the most of the darkness for enhancing the visual effects of her magical light show. Once she was ready, she walked out into the covered pavilion that served her a stage, looking out over the magically weatherproofed, cushioned seats set under it for her audience.

To her surprise, she soon spotted a young couple, set apart from the rest of the crowd by their distinctly Brachyuran-colored clothing. They had been escorted to some seats on the front row, where the young woman was helping her husband into his seat. Sawyer did a double take upon catching sight of them, a small smile quirking at the corner of her mouth. So Lord Dilan and Lady Jeniver had decided to come and see a full length show after all. Still, she had a job to do, and that job wasn’t to gawk at nobles. Once the flurry of motion from people finding their seats had settled, she gave a bow- a man’s bow, not a the womanly curtsy she’d used at the wedding reception.

“Welcome everyone! Tonight ya will see a spectacle of magic and music, a harmonious joining of the two that will take ya away to a place of beauty and wonder! ‘Oo’s ready for some fun?”

A cheer erupted through the crowd, which seemed to surprise the young nobles at first, but after a moment they politely joined in. Grinning broadly, Sawyer waved her bow in a circle above her head, whispering an incantation that caused a fine veil of mist to flow from it. Once the mist had settled so that it formed a silvery carpet all along the ground of the pavilion, Sawyer brought the bow up to the violin. She clicked her heels on the stage in a rhythmic pattern, as if the bottom of her boots were themselves instruments, before launching into a lively jig on her violin.

As she’d promised, the full length show proved to be far more elaborate than the time-limited act she had presented at the wedding. She used not just light and water effects, but mist, bizarre distortions on the sounds coming from her instrument, occasional peals of thunder, and even a bit of fireplay. She played mostly fast-paced songs, but slowed down occasionally for a more mellow tune as if to let the audience catch its breath.

“Isn’t this amazing?” Jeniver whispered to Dilan, completely enraptured by the performance. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“She’s really good,” Dilan agreed. “I didn’t know you could do all that stuff with magic.”

“It must take a lot of practice,” Jeniver remarked. “But she does it really well.”

Sawyer hit the crescendo of a particularly lively sea shanty, a construct like a great glowing whale “swimming” out from behind her and over the heads of the audience. Under its illumination she caught sight of Jeniver and Dilan whispering to each other. Her gaze sharpened suddenly as she spotted something else. Pulling her bow from the violin and cutting off the song abruptly, she pointed at a space just slightly to Dilan’s right and snapped the incantation for a stinging hex. A jet of green light shot from the bow, making a man who’d been reaching for the young noble’s belt pouch recoil with a cry of pain. Dilan gave a small yelp as well, apparently not having noticed the man and being caught by surprise. Sawyer flicked the bow again, hissing, “Incarcerous” and a rope shot from the top to bind the man’s hands.

“Not in my pavilion, you don’t,” she said crisply, bringing the whale construct back around to hover behind her like a menacing sentinel. “I’ll not ‘ave people losing their purses during me show.”

A murmur of surprise went through the audience, with Dilan and Jeniver looking particularly stunned. A pair of guards, sitting on either side of the nobles, immediately leapt to their feet, apprehending the man and carrying him away. After a moment to regain her bearings, Jeniver scowled, clinging to Dilan protectively and putting a hand to her wand.

Sawyer snorted softly as the guards carried the pickpocket out of the show area, turning to face Dilan and Jeniver with an apologetic expression. “Sorry about that, m’lord, m’lady. I assure ya it’s not something that usually happens during me shows, and I’m glad I noticed in time.”

“Oh, um, it’s alright,” Dilan replied, smiling sheepishly.

Sawyer smiled. “Now since it seems ya’ve had a bit of a scare, I think it’s only fair I repay ya somehow. Would ya like to put in a request for the next song?”

“Um…” Dilan froze for a moment, surprised to be put on the spot. But after a moment’s consideration, he said, “Maybe A Stormy Wind Upon the Waves?”

“I know it,” she said cheerfully. “Now let’s see if I still improvise choreography as well as I used to.”

Putting her bow to the violin, she began to play.

* * * * *

About half an hour later, the show finally ended. Most of the audience filed out, but the two young nobles and their guards stayed behind. Sawyer, very weary but in good spirits all the same, pulled one of the chairs out so she could sit across from them.

“I really am sorry about that nastiness,” she said. “That’s the first time that’s happened. But I’m glad ya decided to come and see the show- I hope ya enjoyed it despite the pickpocket.”

As she spoke, she was flexing her fingers, occasionally rubbing her arm as if it ached. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Jeniver, who frowned in concern.

“It’s alright. The show was great,” she said briefly. “Are you alright? You used a lot of magic up there.”

The minstrel smiled wanly. “Ah, leave it to a Jade to notice. I’m a little pulled, yes, but that happens every show. It’s why I only do them every other day. I’ll probably go eat a nice, big wedge of cheesecake when I get home. I don’t suppose the Jades have a better method for treating the Pull than sugar and rest?”

“Um, no, that’s pretty much it,” Jeniver admitted. Deciding not to press the topic, she smiled. “It was really incredible, though! I liked how you were manipulating the sound.”

“Thank you!” Sawyer said, beaming. “I invented most of those spells for fiddling with the sound. Took a lot of trial and error to get them right. I have some sheets where I drew the runes if you want to see them sometime. I’m not going to jealously guard my trade secrets.” She chuckled. “I’d be curious to see ‘ow the spells hold up in the eyes of a professionally trained mage from Corvus. I learned most of what I know from a hedgewitch here in Websteros, and picked up this and that from mages travelling with visiting ships.”

“Yeah, sure!” Jeniver nodded cheerfully. “I’m not the best spellcrafter, but I’d be interested.”

“Am I going to be seeing you trying some new magic experiments in the near future, then?” Dilan teased.

Jeniver giggled. “I don’t know, maybe!”

Sawyer chuckled. “A lot of the sound amplifying spells work on voices too. I bet the lady would sound very alluring with her voice echoing and chiming like fairy bells.” The minstrel waggled her eyebrows.

Dilan blushed a little as he tried to imagine this. “Oh, um…”

“I’d have to do it just right, otherwise it would just sound silly,” Jeniver remarked with a laugh. “But I could work on it if you like, Dilan!”

“Well… I bet it could sound nice,” Dilan admitted. “If you did it right.”

“If you swing by sometime during the day, I’ll give you me notes,” Sawyer promised, flexing her arm again. “I doubt I’d ‘ave the energy to walk all the way home and back tonight, and your guards probably wouldn’t let you follow me home since I live in a bit of a rough part of town. But lemme know a good time and I’ll meet you somewhere.” She grinned at Dilan. “Just don’t let m’lady work herself into the Pull every other night like I do. She’ll end up fat from all the sweets she’ll have to eat.”

Dilan chuckled at that. “We wouldn’t want that, would we? I’ll have to see what I can do.”

“Speaking of dangerous parts of town,” one of the guards piped in, “perhaps you two should be more careful before you come out to a place like this again. Although,” he glanced at Sawyer, “we should thank you for apprehending that pickpocket.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dilan agreed. “I didn’t even notice he was there… so I’m glad you did.”

Sawyer shrugged ruefully. “I’m just sorry he got into the pavilion in the first place. Dockmarket is a bit rough around the edges, but it’s not a bad neighborhood usually. And like I said, that’s the first time I’ve ‘ad that happen. I guess probably ya being obviously noble made ya too tempting a target to pass up. I’m glad I stopped him, but I wish I hadn’t needed to.” She tilted her head. “Might help a bit if next time around you’re more low-key? I mean most people could guess who ya were if they thought about it but if you dressed in something besides House Brachyura livery it might help. Another thing, something everyone down here learns, is to keep your coin purse inside your clothes instead of on your belt. It’s harder to get at, but safer from thieves.”

“…I guess that would make sense,” Dilan admitted. “We’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“There’s a lot of fun to be had in the city, if ya know where to look for it,” Sawyer said. “Just need to not draw the wrong kind of attention. Whatever you decide though, I am glad ya came to see the show. It’s flattering that you enjoyed my performance at the wedding and wanted to see the real gig. Just let me know when and where to be with the notes for m’lady.”

“Sure thing!” Jeniver said with a smile. “I thought it was a lot of fun; I’d love to come again sometime.”

Sawyer smiled. “I’ll look forward to seeing ya again, then.”

[Shinko]

Flesh and Blood

A collaboration between myself and Tiger

This story takes place in the spring of 1317, a few months after Oh Come All Ye Medieval. Sieg is getting ready to welcome some guests to Nid'aigle: his good friend Leif Jade, as well as Leif's older brother, Markus Accipiter! Let the fun begin...

Part One

SPOILER: Click to show

Sieg slid the metal cuirass over his head and set it back on the dummy with a sigh. Patrols around the perimeter of Nid’aigle’s forest were some of the simplest jobs of the company, and consequently some of the most monotonous. At least now he could hang up his armor. The store room at the Nid’aigle company’s barracks was mostly empty, with an odd assortment of bare dummies and others decked in the armor of knights who were presently off-duty.

“All done for the day?” one of the other knights asked, making Sieg turn. Someone else had come into the barracks, and was headed for his own suit of armor. Unlike the black haired half-elf, this man had the long ears that marks him as a fullblood. Sieg smiled up at the blonde, golden eyed elf.

“Hello, Master. All done for the next few weeks, actually,” he corrected. “I’ve some friends coming in to visit and poke around the city, so Anri’s given me leave-time for the duration.”

The elf, Sieg’s former knight-master Gavin Monfort lifted his eyebrows as he began to pull on his gear. “Friends of yours? Where from? Is it that fellow you were up in Bern with two years ago? I think you said his name was Orrin?”

Sieg shook his head. “No, though I met one of them around the same time I met Orrin. Leif Jade is one of them, and the other person is Leif’s brother.”

“A Jade? You have friends in higher places than I realized, Sieg.”

The half-elf chuckled. “How he and I met is a long story, but he’s a good man and an excellent friend. I’ve not actually met his brother yet, but apparently the fellow has wanted to visit the elf capital for a long time, so Leif thought since he has an in through me and he’s been wanting to visit the Elvish falconers, why not kill two birds with one stone?”

“Why not indeed,” Gavin said with a smile. “Well, you enjoy your visit with your friends then. And by all means introduce me sometime; I relish the opportunity to meet a friend of a friend.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Sieg replied. “So where are you off to?”

“Nothing of much consequence- someone’s reported their sister lost in the woods, so I’m taking out Squad 6 to look for the girl. The rest should be arriving shortly, so if you want to escape before the crush, now’s a good time.”

“Thanks for the warning.” The half-elf pulled off his gambeson, shaking his hair with a sigh of relief. “I still need to get cleaned up before I head out to Kolanth to meet them- I doubt they’d thank me for stinking of sweat when they arrive!”

Gavin’s chuckle followed Sieg as he left the room. Already the excitement of the coming weeks was bubbling up in Sieg’s mind, making him giddy. This was going to be fun!

-------

The human town of Kolanth just a few hours out from Nid’aigle wasn’t much to see. It had a population of about a hundred, and was no different from a dozen other towns in the territory of the Accipiters- nor really from most of the rest of Corvus. Most wouldn’t have marked it as the stop-over point of anyone travelling to and from the legendary elf city.

And certainly not one for nobility, particularly not members of the very family that governed this territory. But there two of Lord Richard Accipiters’ sons were, making their way through the town and searching for the path leading to Nid’aigle. The elder of the two, wearing simple and light armor in the colors of House Curys, was leading the way. Despite the looks his brightly-colored attire was getting, Markus Accipiter looked quite at ease.

Leif Jade, whose green and gold half-cloak was drawing stares for similar reasons, was less comfortable with the attention. People staring always bothered him at least a little, but he was especially uneasy about being recognized here in his parents’ lands. Probably nobody would care enough to go to all the effort of telling Richard and Cateline Accipiter that their renegade son was in their territory, of course. But it wouldn’t be the first time rumors Leif hadn’t expected to reach Raylier had...well, reached Raylier.

Well, even if the green is drawing attention, at least it’s keeping anyone from mistaking me for Henry, he thought. And the cloak wasn’t the only thing that would keep that error from being made - Ayleth was perched on Leif’s shoulder, her sharp red eyes darting over everyone in the crowd, no doubt in search of potential threats, or treats, or both. “Stay, Ayleth,” Leif reminded her. The kite piped back at her falconer and went back to her vigil, but she settled a little more heavily on his shoulder - her mildly condescending way of saying “Don’t worry, I’ll stay right here, idiot.”

“Leif, keep up,” Markus called over his shoulder. “I don’t want to start things off on the wrong foot with your Nid’aigle friend by having to tell him I lost you barely a mile from the place we’re supposed to be meeting.”

Leif nudged his horse to a bit of a faster pace. “That would be very inept of you,” Leif agreed. “But I should be fine, I think - not a lot of lemons around here for you to get lost in, are there?” He gestured to Markus’ mostly-yellow attire. “So I should at least be able to find you again.”

“So says the master of camouflage in his jade-green and carrying an extremely loud bird.”

“I’m sorry, I know it was early - but better we get woken up early by her noise than later to find out that racoon had taken our food bag.”

“If she wanted to be helpful, she could’ve silently swooped down on it and then we would’ve had an extra bit to eat.”

“Ayleth’s not an owl, it’s owls that are silent. ...You would eat racoon?”

“Sure, why not? It tastes like any other dark meat. Your birds would eat it.”

“Yes, but my raptors also eat rats and voles and smaller birds. I love raptors, but I’m not deluded into thinking I am one.”

“Have it your way - more racoon for me. Or, there would’ve been. Are you as picky as your buddy, Ayleth?” Ayleth chittered in response to her name. “Ah, I see. You are a very fine lady, I suppose, aren’t you?”

“I’m just going to assume you were still talking to Ayleth with that last remark. Also, I think the path we need is over there.”

“Hmm...yes, I think you’re right. You’re better with directions than I thought!”

“I’m good at getting out of crowds,” Leif said wryly. “Come on, we don’t want to keep Sieg waiting - if he’s already there, then every minute we’re plodding through town square is a minute we’re not getting to see Nid’aigle.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re not going to kick us out of the city the second our two weeks are up,” Markus said, but obligingly he guided his horse in the direction Leif had pointed.

As the two came around the corner, they saw another horse- a slender blue roan mare- nudging her slightly woebegone looking master as he pried thick horse spittle from his hair. His back was to the two nobles, but Leif would no doubt recognize the thick black hair, slanted ears, and short stature of his half-elven friend. He wasn’t in armor, but a simple forest green and brown tunic.

He was talking sternly to the horse in a light, whispery language. The mare, for her part, was holding herself with a jaunty manor that suggested deep self-satisfaction.

“Hm - well, looks like Ayleth isn’t the only animal giving people trouble,” Leif said to Markus, before nudging his horse forward and calling out, “Sieg! How odd - your hair looks wet but it hasn’t rained yet!”

The half-elf started, glancing around to see that while he’d been preoccupied the selfsame nobleman he’d been waiting for had finally arrived. Turning with a sardonic expression, he retorted, “Yes well, elven horses are quite smart and can be troublemakers if they get bored from standing around for ages.” Dropping the snark, he grinned and strode towards his friend’s horse. “Good to see you, Leif, I hope the trip wasn’t too bad.”

“Good to see you as well,” Leif said, moving Ayleth to his glove and dismounting. “The trip was fine, although I guess we ought to have picked up the pace so you weren’t a victim of Freya’s sense of humor.”

“Though in our defence,” Markus said as his horse covered the last of the distance between himself and the two friends, “my company didn’t let me take my warhorse along, so this poor thing is stuck carrying a partially-armored knight practically to the opposite side of the province.”

“Ahh, pretending we didn’t get a little lost on our second day of travel, I see how it is.” Leif motioned for Markus to join them. “Sieg, this is my brother Markus; Markus, this is my friend Sieg. Yes, I know I’ve told you both about each other already, but I’m going to do an official introduction correctly for once.”

Sieg chuckled, then gave a polite salute to the Curys knight. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Markus. I look forward to meeting some of Leif’s relatives, since he’s had the advantage of knowing all of mine for some time. Well, say rather, meeting some of his relatives in a non-diplomatic setting. Your mother is a very charming woman, by the way.”

Leif’s mouth twisted in a grimace, but Markus just laughed, returning the salute and then holding out his hand, which Sieg shook. “Yeah, Mother’s all sunshine and rainbows, isn’t she?”

“The kind you’d find in a lemon orchard,” Leif grumbled.

“Leif, lemons are perfectly fine fruit, don’t insult them like that.” To Sieg, Markus added, “I’m glad to meet one of Leif’s friends, now that he’s not stashing them away from our dear eldest brother. Especially a friend with so many accomplishments to his name, if Leif’s letters are to be believed.”

The half-elf blushed, laughing. “Hopefully he has not embellished the stories too much. Certainly by the time we left the Bernians would’ve had you believe Orrin and I could waltz through all the mountains of Lange and come out the other side covered in glory, with the crumpled forms of our enemies strewn out behind us. The truth of what happened was far less flattering.”

He glanced at Leif, adding, “Oh, before I forget, take this.” He reached into Freya’s saddlebags, and came out a moment later with a simple navy blue ring of glass about an inch in diameter. It had a spring-loaded switch that allowed one end of it to open and snap shut. A close inspection would reveal a number of minute runes inscribed along the inside. Holding it out to the mage he explained, “All the tamed birds in Nid’aigle wear these, to mark each other as off-limits for hunting. I took the liberty of getting one for Ayleth so she can fly free in the city without having to worry about anybody’s sparrowhawk having a go at her.”

Leif took the ring with obvious interest. “Thank you! I was wondering about putting protective enchantments of some kind on her, but this looks…” He raised the ring close to his eye to inspect the runes. “Yes, this looks much better. Ooh, that’s a clever use of that rune! Good choice of material, too - I’ll bet the inscription was tricky but it’ll hold very well. ...And Ayleth’s not a bird-hunter, she’ll leave their birds alone so long as they don’t threaten her, so there shouldn’t be any trouble from our end, either.”

“Birds and magic - no wonder the two of you are friends,” Markus said with a smirk. “Maybe it’ll distract him long enough for the two of us to talk knightly things - if Leif’s embellished the stories, I’d like to hear the real thing.”

“I didn’t embellish,” Leif said distractedly, fiddling with the ring to open and close it. “There was no reason to. Only you would think that killing a water-horse and summoning ghost-dogs by song alone is somehow not impressive enough unless it’s added to, Sieg.”

“Half of Bern seemed to think so,” the half-elf retorted. “But regardless, I’d be happy to tell you the stories if you want to hear them, Markus. Though an elvish horse can make to trip the rest of the way to Nid’aigle in only an hour, it’ll take closer to three with your normal horses so we’ll have plenty of time to kill.”

He turned back to Freya, hefting himself into the saddle with a grunt. “That said, shall we be off? The sooner we get moving, the sooner you can both relish the wonders of the elf city and the sooner we can get under the trees and out of this sun.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Markus said jovially. “I certainly can’t wait to see the city for myself, and shade would definitely be nice.” Looking toward Leif as the Jade coaxed Ayleth to raise her leg and hooked the ring around it, Markus asked, “You coming sometime today?”

“Of course I am!” Leif returned Ayleth to his shoulder and mounted his horse. “I’ve been waiting months to see elven raptors, I’m not slowing down now!”

Sieg laughed. “And knowing your patience, every minute of that wait had you glowering more and more like a raptor yourself.” Holding out an arm dramatically as he nudged Freya forwards with his knees, the half-elf went on, “Be at ease, fair maiden, ye shall not languish much longer. The trial is nearly at its end.”

“It had better be - two knights now and neither of you in any rush to save the day.”

“Wow, high nobility has really spoiled him, hasn’t it?” Markus commented, urging his own horse on. “This is already starting to feel like an escort assignment - you do know, Leif, the two knights on duty always gossip about how annoying their assigned noble is?”

“Gossip all you want - just wait until we get to Nid’aigle to do it.”

--------

Eventually the three of them made it to Nid’aigle- a city sheltered in the depths of the forest, where there was hardly any sunlight that wasn’t dappled by the thick canopy of leaves overhead. The buildings were all covered in a fine layer of plant matter, which at the current height of spring saw the city coated in a riot of colorful blossoms. Unlike human cities, which cleared away all the undergrowth and plant life, wild plants grew along the sides of the streets in Nid’aigle in carefully cultivated patches. Through the middle of the city, with numerous high bridges over it and the occasional canoe floating along it’s length, was the glittering Silver River. As Sieg had indicated, raptors and songbirds flew freely in the sky overhead, squirrels and rabbits darted through the brush, and at one point the half-elf even pointed out a doe grazing contentedly just a short ways off the main path. Markus was clearly interested and intrigued by all the architecture and abundant foliage, and even Leif was able to occasionally look away from the birds flying overhead to appreciate the more terrestrial features of the elven city.

Sieg left his horse at the company stable, and rented space for Leif and Markus’ mounts. Once the nobles’ belongings had been dropped off at Sieg’s home, he noted with amusement that Leif’s excitement at the presence of all the birds had best be humored immediately before the archmage exploded. He led the brothers to a complex at the edge of the city, where raptors- mostly small falcons, but with a few owls and hawks- were mewed.

Sieg approached an extremely tall, red haired elf who seemed to work there. The two exchanged a brief conversation in Elvish, Sieg introducing the brothers to the man (and given the less than favorable attitude the elves held towards the Accipiters, using the maiden name of Markus’ wife rather than his real surname). Once that was done, Sieg turned towards Leif and Markus.

“This fellow is Master Delacroix. He’s the one who gave me the ring for Ayleth, so he knew we would be coming. He doesn’t speak Kythian, but I’ll translate for the both of you so that you can communicate properly.”

“I hope you let him know what he was getting into,” Leif said with a smirk, before turning to the red-haired elf with a much less snarky smile. “Master Delacroix, a pleasure to meet you. Sieg’s told me some things about your raptors, but he doesn’t know the details so - and I’m looking around and I think that’s just giving me more questions - uh, my apologies in advance, I might be talking your ear off today.”

Sieg translated this, earning a quirked eyebrow from the elf. As he began his reply in Elvish, Sieg addressed Leif in Kythian. “Well met to you as well, Lord Jade, Sir Stendahl. It is a healthy mind that thirsts for knowledge, and certainly I would not have spent five hundred and thirty-six years as a falconer if I weren’t interested in the birds. Feel free to ask whatever you like; I am at your disposal.”

Leif blinked at the number of years of falconry, but managed not to repeat it in surprise. There were more important things to consider, anyway - like which question to ask first. “So - uhm - hmm - well, I’ve been told your raptors have longer lifespans than non-elven birds, but, I’ve never been clear on how much longer. And, if you happen to know, does the magic they’re surrounded by play any part in it? I have a snowy owl who’s lived a while longer than I would have expected, and I have to wonder if it’s in part because he’s lived around a lot of magic much of his life. ...Sieg, you don’t have to translate the part where I was trying to figure out what to ask, exactly. ...He probably caught that well-enough on his own, anyway.”

The half-elf’s mouth quirked into a grin. “I’ll make you sound more eloquent, I promise.”

After a while more of back-and-forth questioning, eventually the falconer offered to let Leif meet some of the birds. The Jade accepted with no attempt to hide his eagerness or excitement.

“It’s like taking a dog to a butcher’s shop,” Markus remarked to Sieg. “If I didn’t know from his letters that he’s interested in other things, too, I’d be kind of worried about him.” The Curys knight shook his head, then added, “Oh - thanks for translating for us, by the way - I don’t think we’d have had much luck learning Elvish on the road, and I’m sure it sounds better to them coming from, y’know, someone who actually knows how to speak it than it would from us.”

Sieg waved a hand, smiling with amusement as Delacroix brought Leif a snow white gyrfalcon. “No problem. I do this sort of thing for the company all the time. Much though it would benefit them, most of the Nid’aigle knights don’t speak Kythian.” He glanced sideways at Markus with a grin. “In fact that’s how I had the dubious pleasure of meeting Lady Cateline- her Elvish was not very good, so I was assigned to her as a translator for the sake of expedience.”

“‘Dubious pleasure’, how diplomatically put!” Markus said with a chuckle - but it was a short-lived laugh, and he looked directly at Sieg with a more serious expression. “Leif told me what he’d heard from you about what exactly she - and Henry - did when they were here last. And I wanted to say I’m sorry about that. However much I joke about our family, I know they’ve neglected to give a lot of people the respect they deserve.”

Sieg gave a sad smile. “Prejudice is nothing I haven’t had to deal with before. From elves and humans. And it’s not your fault, so you’ve no need to apologize.” Rubbing the back of his neck he admitted, “Though if ever you meet my sister, I’m afraid she might be a little more defensive about it. I’m sorry, but she’s a bit of a grudge holder and the way Lord Henry was prying about our father’s death and its aftermath hit a lot of sore points.”

“Well, if I don’t apologize, I’m not sure who will - Henry and Mother’s response to someone pointing out they’ve made a mistake is…not something I’d call it an apology. As for your sister, that’s understandable.” Markus rolled his eyes. “There are times when I’d love to drag Henry into knighthood for just a week or so, just so he can get a bit of perspective. Because honestly, prying about the death of a knight...pretty high on the list of his stupid moments.”

Sieg’s mouth curled downwards, his eyes distant. “You become aware of things in your first year of doing this job that will never once occur to most people. A lot of nobles could certainly use that perspective- the humility and empathy would do them good.” He glanced towards Leif, quirking an eyebrow and smiling. “As for interrogating my sister about Papa’s death ranking high on your brother’s list of less than intelligent things to do, I daresay antagonizing an archmage probably ranks higher.”

Markus laughed dryly, rubbing at his temples. “Oh, that was not a pretty night. I‘m a little surprised nobody drew their wands on each other. You know how sometimes you watch a conversation and you kind of want to strangle everyone involved because they’re saying exactly the wrong things to each other? That was the entire dinner. ‘Pit, it was probably only my military discipline that kept me from staking my sword through the table. As you can imagine, I don’t go home for dinner all that often.”

“I can certainly understand,” the half-elf agreed. “Though for the record if you notice Leif and I seeming to bicker like a pair of fishwives at the market, that’s not us antagonizing each other- that’s just how we talk.” He grinned broadly. “We set the tone for our relationship at the coronation snarking at each other while surrounded by Courdonians in a narrow hallway. We’ve never gone back.”

As if to demonstrate, he called out to the archmage, “You going to play with the gyr all day, Leif? There’s a lot of other birds here and you’ll make your one true feathered love Ayleth jealous lavishing so much attention on just one.”

“I’m not playing with the gyrfalcon, I’m inspecting the differences between elven and human-raised breeds,” Leif shot back with exaggerated haughtiness. “Just because you don’t know about all the intricate features of a raptor doesn’t mean they’re not there!”

Markus said casually, “Yeah, I sort of picked up on that. You only waited three seconds to start bantering when we met you at Kolanth, and I know for a fact Leif doesn’t willingly go on vacation with people who annoy him. As for the Courdonians...well, I’d say that was odd timing for bantering, but I’ve met a couple and they really do bring out that urge to be as sarcastic as possible, don’t they?”

“It’s the elitism,” Sieg remarked. “That arrogance that oozes out of every step they take and every word from their mouths.” The half-elf shook his head. “Let’s not talk about Courdonians, this is a pleasant visit and that isn’t a pleasant topic, much though insulting them can be entertaining.”

Shifting so that his hands were resting on his hips as he leaned forwards slightly, Sieg asked, “So I know Leif wanted to see the city largely because he was curious about the falconry- what about you? He mentioned something about the architecture intriguing you, and that you were interested in how the company operates? I can answer any general questions you had while we let Leif have fun with the birdies.”

“Well, I can try - I had less of an idea what I was getting into when I came here, so I couldn’t exactly pinpoint too much ahead of time. But I’m definitely interested in seeing how the elven army works. Oh, and I was curious about your metalsmithing, too; it doesn’t look like you do much digging here, so I’m guessing you import the metal or at least the ore from elsewhere and then craft it?”

Sieg shook his head, “We’ve no more ore than does the rest of Corvus. Our metal comes from Rindfell and Bern mostly. From what I understand, prior to humans settling Kyth the elves used mostly earthenware, since they had no metal nor a means to mine or process it. Smithing is one skill that they picked up from humans, rather than the reverse.” He grinned, “It’s just that a single elven blacksmith has a much longer lifetime in which to learn from his mistakes and perfect his craft.”

Wordlessly, Sieg drew his own sword from the scabbard at his hip and offered it, hilt first, to Markus.

“Makes sense, a few hundred years would give you time to get a pretty good hang of something.” Markus carefully took the sword, inspecting the blade and the hilt quickly but carefully. “...Yeah, I can believe someone with several hundred years of experience made this. Elegant, but sturdy.” He passed the blade back to Sieg, who sheathed it. “Your armor is similarly impressive, I’ll guess?”

Sieg grinned sheepishly, “Well the plate is- our leather armor and gambesons aren’t terribly much different than anything you’d find elsewhere. Except in color, obviously.” He grinned impishly. “We don’t do the canary impression quite so accurately as House Curys. Our primary colors are navy and sky blue.”

“That’s right, nobody mimics canaries like us!” Markus said with a grin. “Though truth be told? The phoenixes pull it off better.” He tilted his head. “Navy and sky-blue? I’m surprised - they sound nice, don’t get me wrong; just, given all the plants around here, I’d have expected shades of green. Does it have to do with the river?”

“Honestly, I don’t really know,” Sieg admitted, sounding surprised himself. “I never questioned it. It would be interesting to ask. Though if I had to hazard a guess why greens aren’t in use, it’d be in your brother’s halfcloak- the association with green livery is pretty strong here in Corvus, and I think the ancient Jades would’ve been a little miffed if they thought the elves were impersonating them.”

His expression turned a bit thoughtful. “You know, I forget sometimes that Leif is a Jade. In my head I associate ‘House Jade’ with being this semi-omnipotent force perched high above the rest of Corvus. But Leif’s so… not that. When I mentioned his name to one of my coworkers they talked about my having friends in high places, but to me he’s not a Jade, he’s just Leif. Does that make sense?”

“I think I see where you’re coming from,” Markus agreed. “I don’t really know him as well as you do, of course - sad as that is to admit - but Jade or not, he’s still my younger brother, it’s hard to logically think ‘Oh, he’s a Jade so he technically outranks me.’ ...And it’s not like he has Lord Everett’s or even our father’s sort of...’I’m a lord’ kind of attitude or bearing. He might be scary if he turned a wand on you, but that’s not really the same thing - and contrast that with that - ” he hitched a thumb toward Leif, who was still grinning hugely as he examined the gryfalcon - “and yeah, it’s hard to picture him as a member of the high and mighty House Jade.”

“Hand him a raptor and he’s a like a dog in a butcher shop, as you pointed out earlier,” Sieg agreed. “Or perhaps a better comparison would be a phoenix chick? I’ve never been close to one but my sister tells me the can be rather a lot like puppies when they’re minded. Certainly he’d like that comparison better.” In a softer voice, the half-elf added, “And it’s not really your fault you didn’t get to know him much when you were both younger. I know that page and squire training is very unforgiving on one’s free time, especially when they have to go clear across the region to do it. And from what he’s told me about his childhood, he wasn’t exactly the easiest kid to reach out to. ‘Pit, it’s only after he came to Medieville that he started really making friends.”

Markus frowned, lowering his voice as well. “That’s what people tell me. Leif included. And I was young and stupid and didn’t know what to do, so who knows, I could’ve just made things worse. But I’m his older brother, and a knight - I can’t help feeling like I should’ve been able to protect him, beyond talking Henry out of bothering him a few times. ...Although he’s got a protective complex of his own, from what I gather, so maybe he would’ve been fine if someone had just figured out the archmage thing. It’s hard to say.” Markus shrugged, but gave Sieg a smile. “But thanks - I do appreciate the reassurance. And maybe it’s selfish, but I’m glad to hear you aren’t secretly thinking of me as the slack-off older brother.”

Sieg smiled as well, albeit a little sadly. “Remember, I’m an older brother as well- I know what it is to want desperately to protect your sibling, and being helpless to really do anything. And I know a thing or two about irrational guilt for circumstances outside your control, and the way it eats at you in defiance of all logic.”

He fingered the hilt of his sword absently. “Still, I think it means a lot to him that you’re trying. You said it yourself; he’d not make a trip like this with someone who he didn’t get along with. If he wanted to visit the raptors in Nid’aigle he could’ve asked me any time. But he approached me because this was something you and he both wanted to do. I think he really does want things to work out between the two of you.”

“Yeah, that makes sense - and we’ve been managing pretty well so far, so I guess there’s not some hidden resentment or anything. Like you said, though - guilt’s got a way of ignoring logic, until you get some kind of resolution or closure or whatever emotional thing you need.” He paused to consider his words a moment, and finally said, “I’m sorry you know about that first-hand. I hope you find your closure, if you’re still looking for it.”

Markus glanced over to check on Leif again, and added as he turned back to Sieg, “So, speaking of siblings - you obviously know Leif, but I don’t know much about your little sibling. From the sound of it Leif doesn’t know her very well, so there wasn’t much he could say. And I totally understand if you don’t really want to share things about her with one of Henry Accipiter’s brothers, but far be it from me to deny a fellow big brother an opening to brag about his kid sister.”

The half-elf laughed. “I don’t mind, I hardly think you’re going to rush over to Lord Henry with what I tell you so he can use it to a political advantage. My sister’s name is Ophelia. You won’t see her here, she lives in Solis. She’s married to one of House Jade’s fireknights, you see, which is of course easier to maintain there than here.”

He grinned wistfully. “She works as a linguist and translator- speaks Elvish, Kythian, and Low Courdonian fluently, and has conversational Lyellian and Dwarven. At the time your mother and brother were in the city she also worked as a diplomat and representative for Nid’aigle, which is why Henry was heckling her so insistently, but she’s mostly retired from that now. Said it was too much stress and she prefers to just translate for the diplomats instead of having to get involved in the drama directly.”

“Totally understandable,” Markus said. “Sometimes a stiff drink helps with that. Probably not the healthiest coping mechanism, though, so I’m glad for her sake she got out of that line of work before she strangled somebody. And wow - I guess translating must be her thing, that’s an impressive list of credentials. Especially dwarven, I hear that’s not exactly a language kind to nonnative speakers. ...And of course, Low Courdonian isn’t an easy language to even get a hold of an instructor or guidebook for. I don’t need to know how she found one, I’m sure that’s somebody else’s business - but I’ll wager a guess it involved a lot of tenacity on your sister’s part?”

He laughed, “It did, but stubbornness is one trait Ophelia has in plenty. And the diplomacy thing also gave her some good connections with a lot of people in a position to help. Dwarven was actually easier to get a hold of by comparison. That fellow who I travelled with in Bern is half dwarf, so she picked up the language from his mother. Both of them live in Medieville with the Stallions there, and Orrin’s mother is friends with mine and Ophelia’s.”

Pitching his voice to carry a little further he added, “My mother has a lot of weird friends. Picks them up like stray alley cats off the street. But of course the present company wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Leif glanced back, snorted, and called, “What, about having weird friends? No, definitely not something you’d be familiar with; I and Orrin and Xavier and Ilsa are completely, one-hundred percent normal people. Very boring and ordinary, really. I’d say you should make sure you get on Markus’ good side for some variety, but,” he went on in a stage whisper, “between you and me, he’s almost as boring, so I don’t know how much it would help.”

“He’s right,” Markus said regretfully. “I only hit things with swords and tell bad jokes. Not to mention how dull my outfits are. Ah, well - it was worth a try!”

Sieg put a hand to his forehead, swooning dramatically. “Ah, whatever shall I do, with all these ordinary friends? It would appear I am doomed to eternal boredom. Maybe I should be the one swooning over the sultry gaze of that gyrfalcon instead. Birds are way more fascinating than people, am I right?” Grinning broadly he added, “Or maybe not. I’ve enough scars on my beautiful face without adding a hard to explain wavy tattoo.”

“No, birds are more interesting than most people,” Leif said cheerfully. “Scars or not - and anyway, how many people can say they had their tattoo given to them by an eagle?”

“Leif, we’re supposed to be ordinary and boring, remember?”

“Oh, come on, for me a story involving birds and magic is ordinary - Sieg probably had this,” Leif tapped the mark under his eye, “pegged as being bird-related about two minutes after our first conversation that didn’t involve Courdonians and their gryphons.”

“Courdonians and gryphons. Not helping your case. I’m going to have to start pulling out my war stories soon, or I really am going to be the boring one, aren’t I?”

“I’d like to hear some of your stories,” Sieg said, his voice actually sincere. “You’ve apparently heard all of mine and I presume most of Leif’s. Fair’s fair.”

“Well, they don’t involve Bernian monsters or weird magic - but some of them are reasonably entertaining, and what’s a meeting of knights without exchanging heroics, eh?”

“Tell him the one about the disappearing cattle,” Leif called. “I want to see if Sieg can guess what was behind - Oh, ‘Woo, that’s a beautiful kestrel!”

Part Two

SPOILER: Click to show

Eventually hunger trumped Leif’s desire to keep inspecting the Elvish raptors, and the three men left the falconers to have a meal at one of the local eateries. Sieg took them around the city a bit more, but eventually the setting sun saw them heading back to his home. It had after all been a long several days of travel for the brothers, and then several hours of standing and walking, and even if Sieg and Markus were used to such exercise, Leif certainly was not.

Sieg still lived in the cottage by the Silver River where he’d grown up, with it’s outdoor oven and the short pier leading out into the water. The inside of the building was nothing terribly impressive. It only had three rooms: the main living space that served as kitchen, sitting room, and dining room all in one, one that had been his parents room with a large two-person bed, and the last with two single beds which had served him and Ophelia as a bedroom. Though for the most part the curios of his adult life had overtaken the house, there was still an occasional relic of days long gone by. A stuffed rabbit sitting on the shelf in the bedroom, half-finished locks his mother had left behind when she moved, on the wall a framed medal his father had received for his service in numerous conflicts, the most recent of which marked as having been earned in the Second Seraphim War…

Leif and Markus both looked around with interest at the house’s structure and contents; Leif noticed some of the evidence that Morgaine had once lived there, but chose not to comment on it. Similarly Markus didn’t express his surprise to find a medal for service in a far-northern war - he hadn’t been aware the elves had sent troops to Bern back during the war with Lange, but he certainly didn’t want to pull a Henry and pry into the subject of their host’s father by asking about it. Instead the Curys knight complimented the space - it might not have seemed big to a Jade or an Accipiter raised in the manor, but Markus had lived much of his life in knights’ barracks and so could appreciate a multi-roomed space with the luxury of personal touches - and asked about how the house stayed cool in the thick of summer. Sieg was quick to point out the pier to the river again, which Markus had to admit sounded like a much more reliable way to cool down than waiting on a breeze.

“And speaking of cooling down,” Markus said, “I’m going to change out of this and into something less traveled in and hot. You’ll thank me for it, I promise. Don’t mind if it takes me a while, I’m pretty sure everything I need is at the bottom of my bag. It always is.”

Leif sat down in a chair, loosening the strap of one of his boots. “Sure, Markus. But I might not wait for you to get back before talking Sieg into coming out to sit on the pier so we can stick our feet in the water. Sorry for having to be the lazy noble of the group.”

“Well bending over spellbooks all day would not make for a pair of legs adept at walking around for hours,” Sieg pointed out, amused. “But I have no objections. Markus you can help yourself to anything you need in the way of food or whatnot.”

As the older of the two nobles vanished into the bedroom he and Leif would be sharing- the one that had been Sieg and Ophelia’s in their childhood- Sieg led the archmage out to the dock. As the two of them sat down on the wooden planks at the end, Sieg looked up at the orange streaked, quickly blackening sky with a distant expression. “Y’know, it’s been… Woo, ten years since anyone but me used the beds in that house. Not since Ophelia moved into her own place closer to the middle of town. It was always so cramped when I was a kid, with both my parents and my sister and I all sharing it.”

“Four people is a lot in a three-room house,” Leif agreed as he removed a boot. “Ten years...that is a long time. ...I’ll bet it feels strange to have people in it again?”

“Yeah, a little,” he admitted. “Not in a bad way, but… I’d gotten pretty used to it being very empty and silent.” The half-elf sighed. “I almost never spend much time at the house, if I’m being honest. It’s too quiet. But I don’t want to move to another place, because that would be expensive and… well, it was our place. Papa lived in that house for two hundred years before he met Mama, and it was where they lived together and where I grew up. It feels wrong somehow to just leave it. Sorry, I’m not making sense.”

“No, that makes perfect sense. It’s a familiar place with a lot of good memories attached to it, of course you’d be reluctant to leave it.” With a brief, light smile, he added, “Scenic river views don’t hurt, either.”

Sieg laughed at that. “I love it out here, I won’t lie. We used to spend hours in the summer playing in the water. All four of us, not just me and Ophelia. Papa liked to tell us the story of the time he first told my mother he loved her- he was out on the pier brooding about something, and she was trying to think of a way to cheer him up. Her solution to the problem was to grab him and yank them both over the side and into the water.”

“Sounds like your mother,” Leif agreed with a chuckle. “I’ll be more careful around water when I’m with her, then, I have no desire to see what the bottom of Lake Plume looks like. I assume if that led to him telling her he loved her, he was more amused by the attempted drowning than anything else?”

“He was; that’s a large part of why he fell in love with her, or so he always told me. She made him laugh.” He sighed. “All that feels like part of another lifetime now. A much simpler lifetime. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it sometimes. But I know Mama is happy with the life she has in Medieville, and Ophelia in Solis. And I’m certainly not unhappy here, really. It just gets far too quiet at times.”

“I’m sorry,” Leif said quietly. “I’m sure it’s easy to miss those days. Especially when the difference between a room you’re alone in and one with even just one other person in it sounds and feels so starkly different - you can’t help but be reminded.” Setting his other boot aside, Leif set his bare feet against the top of the water. “That feels nice, thank ‘Woo for running water.” After a moment, he asked, “Markus and I being in the house - it isn’t going to be...I don’t know, discomforting for you? Voices in the house again, but different ones?”

The knight shook his head. “Nah. I’ve been looking forward to this, honestly. I always go out to Medieville to see my friends, so it’s nice to have them here in my home instead. I’m afraid it’s not luxury accommodations, though, so probably not what you’re used to at Marson’s. And I don’t have servants so breakfast may not already be waiting for you when you wake up.”

Leif shrugged. “That’s fine, I generally have to wake up early to take Ayleth - “

Suddenly a loud thundering of footsteps in the brush caught both men’s attention. They turned to see four deer- a stag, two does and a fawn- explode from the forest on the opposite shore of the river. Without a moment’s hesitation they plunged into the water, swimming for the other bank where Sieg and Leif were.

“That’s odd,” Sieg muttered. He caught a flicker of movement in the trees, and saw a flash of silver in the dying light of the setting sun. “Ah- wolves. Strange, they don’t usually get this close to the city.”

“Wolves?” Leif repeated, his hand going to his wand holster. “You sound awfully casual about this - what if they come across after the deer?”

“They won’t,” Sieg replied dismissively. “They’re downwind so no doubt they’ve already smelled us. Wolves are afraid of people- humans and elves both- so they don’t approach too closely unless they’re desperate. See look, they’re already turning around.”

Sure enough, the indistinct silvery grey forms were fading back into the thicket, lost amidst the trees and the gathering evening gloom. The deer, meanwhile, had reached the bank of the river. The stag was watching the wolves as they left, his nostrils flaring as water dripped from his fur, but none of them seemed interested in Sieg or Leif.

“Probably the wolves were going for the fawn,” Sieg explained. “That’s what they usually do- go after very young animals, very old ones, ones that are sick or injured. They’re not stupid, they’ll pick the easy prey over a stag that’ll get them gored or a healthy doe who’ll stomp their brains out any day. And humans are definitely not easy prey. As long as we don’t antagonize them, they should ignore us.”

“If you say so.” Leif watched the bits of silver disappear, his gaze occasionally darting to the deer just to be safe. “I suppose they’d learn eventually that swords and wands aren’t exactly fun to fight.” Sighing, the mage admitted with a grin, “I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised there are wolves here - I already know bears are out there, after all. Do you have pumas wandering around as well?”

Sieg rolled his eyes bemusedly at the mention of bears, but shook his head at the question about pumas. “No, they usually don’t travel much beyond the swamplands. It’s pretty rare to see them this far north. I fought one, once- it had drifted up this way and taken to raiding a shepherd’s flock during the famine out of desperation. But the rains have been good this spring so they shouldn’t be wandering out of their normal range.”

“...Oh. I uh. I don’t think you’ve told me that one. Glad to hear we shouldn’t be running into them - I fought enough cats for one lifetime with the gryphons at the Coronation, I think. ...Aaah, is that where you got your gryphon-fighting skills, taking down rogue carnivores in the course of your knightly duties?”

“The experience is occasionally of help,” the half-elf replied with a grin. “You run into a lot of interesting creatures here. The elves are more attuned with nature than humans, and prefer to live in harmony with it rather than razing the forests where they set up communities and driving all the wild things out. Pay close enough attention and you’ll notice that they tend to clear the streets a good hour before a big storm- somehow they just know. I don’t have whatever it is that gives them that intuition, but I’ve learned a lot of things about how the wild animals operate anyway.”

“Hmm. Interesting - I’ve heard that gulls will come to land when there’s a large sea-storm is coming, sometimes before they should be able to see it, even. ….And now that I think about it, my birds have gotten a bit fidgety before some of the bigger storms we’ve had in Medieville. I guess they have better senses than we do - a lot of animals can probably smell or hear weather coming much sooner than we can. And the birds might be able to feel it in the wind. What other tricks have they taught you?”

With a grin, Sieg pushed himself over the edge of the dock and into the river. Kicking out a bit, he took a deep breath and vanished below the surface. Leif waited, but Sieg didn’t come back up as soon as Leif thought he ought to have. He drew his wand and cast a small orb of light, which lit up the water enough for Leif to see that Sieg was still under the water and didn’t appear to be drowning just yet...but what felt like a minute went by and then another, and Leif started to really think he ought to intervene...

Then there was a splash, and a cascade of water exploded upwards towards the archmage as the half-elf resurfaced. He was grinning broadly, and only slightly out of breath. “That’s one my father taught me.”

Leif shook water from the arm he’d instinctively raised at the splash from Sieg resurfacing. “What’d he teach you, how to breath like a fish? ‘Woo, Sieg, you could’ve warned me, I was this close to hauling you out of the water with a hovering charm or something!”

Realizing he was getting a little loud, Leif forced himself to calm down. “I mean - it’s impressive and all, just, a little prelude to let me know you aren’t drowning yourself next time, please?”

“Sorry, sorry,” the half-elf said, grinning sheepishly. “I tried to stay close to the surface so you could see me, and that I was moving around, but I guess a warning probably would’ve been good. I can actually stay under even longer than that if I’m minded- five minutes is my record. Papa could do seven. About the only reason the kelpie succeeded in almost drowning me was because it was physically forcing water into my lungs.”

“Yes, I remember that - still sounds creepy as ‘Pit,” Leif said with a grimace. He flicked his wand and drew the orb of light into his hands before holstering the wand again. “So holding your breath is an elf thing - how does that work? I’d say bigger lungs, except I don’t know where they’d fit unless other organs were smaller…”

“It’s not an elf thing- humans could do it if they really wanted to, just that most don’t ever learn. It’s the same as any other skill really, it comes with practice,” he swam over to the dock, hauling himself up a ladder on the side. “If I want to go the full five minutes I usually have to spend a few minutes preparing by taking very, very slow breaths. Get my lungs used to waiting. Then it’s a matter of pushing myself to wait a little longer and a little longer each time I go underwater.”

He sat down on the pier again, wringing out his soaking clothes and hair. “It benefits the elves to learn this particular skill though, them living by the river like this. It’s more or less a road of it’s own through town, I’m sure you saw the canoes. If one tips, we need to be able to swim away from it and surface. I really am sorry I scared you, that wasn’t my intention. Between the wolves and my little joke giving you several successive heart attacks, I suppose I owe you now- anything in particular you can think of that’ll make it up?”

“That does make sense to teach everyone to hold their breath well,” Leif admitted, lightly tossing the orb of light between his hands. “‘Woo knows there’ve been accidents aplenty on the Kingfisher and the Ibis rivers. Presumably the Egret as well.”

He shook his head at Sieg’s offer to repay him for the scares. “It’s all right - the wolves weren’t your fault, I assume you didn’t ask them here as a welcoming committee. And technically no harm was done with the underwater trick. You’re already doing a lot for us - translating, playing tour guide, letting us stay in your house…I’m not going to ask for even more favors from you.”

Sieg grinned. “You say all that like it’s a bother. I told you it gets lonely here sometimes, with all my family moved on and my responsibilities to the company keeping me from visiting as often as I’d like. I’ve been looking forward to this for months, Leif. Even if I’m the tour guide, I fully intend to enjoy myself during your stay as well.”

“Good - I don’t want us to be a bother,” Leif said, returning the smile. “I’m glad you’ve been excited about it, too - I think everyone at Marson was ready to throw me out the door by the time I was supposed to leave, my conversation range just kept getting narrower and narrower. It’s still a lot of work having guests, whether you enjoy it or not, so I’m going to be nice and let your fake-drowning there slide. Only this once.”

“Your generosity truly knows no bounds,” Sieg said dryly. “I suppose we should probably head inside though, before Markus decides one of us did drown the other. I took the liberty of getting a pie from the bakery this morning; blackberry, your favorite.”

“Pie? You should’ve said so before - in that case, all is definitely forgiven. For blackberry especially.”

Sieg laughed, standing up and jerking a thumb at the house. “Let’s go then- but remember archmage, we’re sharing.”

-------

Despite the sugary evening snack, the visiting Accipiters got to sleep quickly, Leif in particular glad to have a proper bed again. The archmage still managed to get up early enough to take Ayleth out for a short flight, and arrived back in time to help Sieg and Markus with breakfast. Or to try and help, anyway - he’d learned to make some simple meals during his seminarian training, but not well and eventually Leif had to admit that his contribution should be limited to cleaning the dishes with some spellwork when they were through eating.

Markus was quick to suggest that they visit the barracks, seeing as someone else’s interests had somewhat dominated the previous day. Leif rolled his eyes, apologized, and managed to keep a recitation of just why he’d wanted to see the next bird, and the next, and the next, below five minutes.

“...That was a ‘yes, we can go to the barracks today’, right?” Markus asked.

“If that’s how you’d like to interpret it.”

“We can go,” Sieg put in, amused. “I need to get some exercise in even if I’m off the official duty rosters, and I suspect so do you, so while we’re there I can get dispensation from my superiors for you to use the practice grounds during your stay. I mean if you want to just swing your sword around in my yard that’s your prerogative, but I imagine having a real selection of weighted equipment, a real exercise yard with dummies and a tilting ring, and other trained soldiers to spar with would generally be preferable.”

“I would love to use the practice yard if you can get permission - it’d definitely be nice to have some proper equipment to work with. And some real opponents, so long as those other soldiers won’t laugh too much when their hundreds of years of extra experience mean they beat me in about four seconds,” he added with a grin.

Once they had finished with breakfast, as promised Sieg led them through the city and to the complex of buildings were the Nid’aigle knights were based. There were the stables, a huge training yard, an actual barracks building where some of the knights lived, a mess hall, and the command post where the officers worked. Like the rest of the city these buildings were slightly overgrown, but with all the space cleared out for the training area the tree cover was much more sparse.

“Sieg, good morning!”

The half-elf glanced around, spotting Gavin leaning against the fence of the practice yard. He smiled at the elf, waving jovially. “Master, it’s good to see you. How fared your mission yesterday?”

“Not well, I’m afraid. We found neither hide nor hair of the girl. Squad one is going out looking again this morning, though they’ll need to keep their guards up. Lots of wild predator tracks closer to the city than I like as of late.” Gesturing to the humans he added, “I take it these are your friends?”

“They are,” Sieg confirmed. Gesturing to them both he said, “The blonde fellow in green is Leif Jade. The other one is his brother, Markus Stendahl.” Switching to Kythian, he explained, “This is First Lieutenant Gavin Monfort, second in command of the Nid’aigle company. He was my knight-master back when I was a squire. And since everybody asks, he got that rather impressive scar over his eye fighting a gryphon.”

Leif bowed his head respectfully; Markus saluted and said, “Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant.”

Leif muttered to Sieg, “Cougar-fighting, a gryphon-fighting knight-master...you came to the Coronation knowing exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?”

In an equally low voice Sieg muttered, “Did I say he won that fight? He has another scar, you just can’t see it under his sleeve.”

“He didn’t win? But..” Leif blinked and glanced between the two elven knights. “...You know what, nevermind, it...sounds like it’s not a good time to ask. Or any of my business.”

Speaking more loudly, the half-elf translated the greetings. Gavin returned Markus’ salute, and with Sieg as translator replied, “Friends of Sieg’s are friends of mine. It is a pleasure to meet you both.” After a brief break in which Sieg asked him a question in Elvish, he looked towards Markus and said, “Sieg tells me you wish to use the practice yard- I’ll see to it that the word gets around I’ve given you permission. Wouldn’t want Lord Curys to lose the service of one of his knights from sloth, now would we?”

There was a grin on his face as he said this, making it clear he was kidding.

“Absolutely not, sir;” Markus replied with a smile of his own. “It should be a nice change to go back to Araydian and not be scolded for using improper training techniques.” Looking to Sieg as well, he asked, “Are there any particular rules I should know first? I want to make sure I respect your space.”

“It’s pretty straightforward,” Sieg replied. “No live steel except in practice bouts, and then only if both parties are properly armored and agree to it. If you borrow equipment, clean it once you’ve finished and put it back exactly as you found it. Oh, and if you decide to do anything with your horse, keep it well away from any of the other knights on theirs- the Elvish warhorses are very smart, but they have a nasty streak and can be aggressive with other horses, especially unaltered stallions.”

Sieg turned to Gavin and explained the question to see if the elf had any input. His only remark was, “Most of the knights here only have a smattering of Kythian at best, so if you’re looking for a practice partner and no one is around who understands you, just head to the ring where the grass has been cleared with two wooden practice blades and lean one against the fence. Someone should come along and try you if there’s anyone around.”

“Sounds fair enough. I’ll let my horse stay where she is, she’s not one I’d be using in battle, anyway. Practice swords shouldn’t be a problem; given the quality of everything else around here, I’ll assume the balance-mimicking is excellent. As for practice partners.” He raised an eyebrow in Sieg’s direction. “Were you planning on getting any practice in today? If you’re up for it, I’d like to see some of these monster-fighting moves for myself.”

Sieg smiled. “Sounds fair to me- I was actually rather hoping you might ask. It’s always interesting to test myself against someone who’s had a different training regimen than I have.” Glancing at Leif with a smirk he added, “Provided of course that the angry mother hawk doesn’t go into protective mode and separate us with a shield spell.”

Leif sighed with exaggerated sadness. “Well, I always knew someday you two fledglings would want to leave the nest and...beat each other senseless with wooden swords. I’ll try to hold back and just enjoy the show.” He grinned again.

Even though he couldn’t understand what was being said, when Gavin saw Sieg leading Markus towards the practice blades he chuckled. “I don’t suppose you’re going to try yourself against the mage next?”

“I have some instinct for self-preservation, Master,” he retorted. Tossing one of the wooden swords to the Curys knight, he picked up another one for himself. “You going to spectate too?”

“I might, if Sir Stendahl doesn’t mind.” Sieg smiled and conveyed the request in Kythian.

“It’s fine with me,” Markus assured him as he tested the weight of the wooden sword. “I take it you don’t get human knights here very often?”

“No, not unless a noble is visiting and they bring a retinue,” Sieg replied. He hopped the fence around the circular sparring ring, and set about stretching to limber up his muscles. Once he was properly ready, he set himself in a defensive stance. “Ready whenever you are.”

“Okay, so everyone of every heritage and talent gets a little novelty,” Markus said jovially, making his own way into the ring. “This should be interesting for all of us.”

“Once you stop talking, maybe,” Leif called.

Markus ignored him, securing his grip on the wooden weapon. The weight was excellent, but there was only so much one could do for a different texture at the hilt. It shouldn’t be a problem, but it was something Markus felt he ought to be at least aware of.

Nodding in affirmation that he was ready, too, Markus carefully started forward. The half-elf letting him attack first could just mean he was curious or even polite, but it might also mean he had a good defensive maneuver in mind. Well, no point holding the suspense. Might as well just go for it. He started forward, swinging the wooden sword.

Sieg caught the blow on his crossguard, slipping sideways as their swords tangled and barging his shoulder into Markus’ chest- something his short height allowed him to do relatively easily. The two of them managed to disentangle from one another, hesitating a fraction of a second before they were on each other in a flurry of blows yet again.

They were fairly evenly matched, each taking it in turn to gain advantage over the other only to lose it again. Before long sweat was streaming down both of their faces, blood roaring in their ears as they each sought an opening on the other. Leif watched carefully, his mouth twitching at the corner in a microsecond of a wince whenever the swords clattered together particularly violently. Gavin, for his part, watched the exchange with intense focus, occasionally nodding approvingly or giving a small smile when one of the knights did something particularly clever.

When it became clear neither was going to give way easily, however, the half-elf decided to get a little sneaky. It took careful, subtle doing, but Sieg managed to slowly maneuver the fight until the two knights were positioned so that the rising sun was directly in Markus’ eyes. As soon as the older knight squinted, Sieg feinted at him, aiming a blow at Markus’ legs. When the Curys knight moved to parry, Sieg grabbed his own blade in a half-sword grip, and jabbed the point directly towards Markus’ face. He stopped just short of the Curys’ knight’s eye, panting heavily with exertion.

Markus reached up and used two fingers to point the wooden sword tip away from his face. “No thanks, like my eye the way it is, no splinters.” He wiped some sweat off his forehead. “Alright, you win - you cheated a bit, but hey, all’s fair in war, right?” He grinned and held out his hand.

Sieg chuckled, accepting the offered hand in a firm shake. “There is no cheating in combat- only the winners and the dead. But thank you for that. You’ve a fair hand with a blade, I certainly would not be upset to have you at my back in a fight. I had better watch myself or you’ll replace me as Leif’s gryphon slaying partner.”

Leif, leaning over the fence, snorted. “Or he’ll replace me as yours, Sir ‘I wouldn’t be upset to have you at my back in a fight’. ...You both did really well, though - from what I can tell, anyway, my fighting method’s a little different.” He smirked.

“Hopefully in combat that includes making sun-shields for your allies,” Markus said with mock sternness. “Not so much as a tiny summoned cloud to block out the sun for a moment? Worst sideline cheater ever.”

“Sieg said not to go protective hawk on either of you, and you didn’t disagree or so much as slip me a few runestones. Worst planner of sideline cheating ever.”

“Children, children, if you don’t stop bickering Mother will have to send you both to bed without supper,” Sieg put in cheerfully. “Besides, I think we can agree you both suck at sideline cheating. So it’s nice and even.” Turning to Leif with a broad grin he added, “And for the record Mummy loves both of you so neither of you need worry about being replaced.”

Markus nodded slowly in agreement and said, “He’s right, we both did a poor job there.”

As the Curys knight was nodding, Leif’s expression darted from surprise to a genuine, slightly-relieved smile before the grin sharpened as he turned to Markus. “I still say you’re worse at it than I am. But I’m pretty sure supper includes pie, and I’m not missing dessert to argue exactly why. So - what’s next, Sir knights?”

Sieg smiled, turning to Gavin and calling, “Master, you mind if I show the boys around the command post?”

“Not at all, provided you don’t go into anyone’s office,” Gavin replied. “That was well fought, both of you. I wish I could stay, but I’ve duties elsewhere.” Bowing his head to the nobles he added, “Enjoy your tour.”

Sieg nodded, and turned his attention back to his guests. “Master has to leave, but he’s given me permission to show you both around the command post. Come on, there’s some formal Elvish armor in there from wars dating back almost to the founding of Corvus, and I think even Leif will enjoy looking at the protective runes etched into them…”

Part Three

SPOILER: Click to show

Once Sieg had shown the two men every public inch of the company barracks, they took the opportunity to rest for a bit in the high heat of the late afternoon. After a bit of discussion, they came to an agreement about the following day’s destinations. The morning they spent with the elvish healers, Sieg translating for them as Leif talked excitedly about various healing techniques he’d learned at Our Woo of Charity and how they compared to the ones practiced by the elves. They broke at midday for lunch, and then spend the afternoon visiting the various blacksmiths in the city. Markus enjoyed inspecting the elven metalwork, and even Leif found something to interest him in studying the runes etched into bespelled blades.

The fourth day of the trip, Sieg suggested a break from all the walking around- a lazy day to just enjoy each other’s company and talk without Sieg having to break the conversation every few minutes to translate something. Markus and Leif agreed with this idea heartily, and so that day saw them all visiting a flowery meadow about half an hour out from the city. The three men shared a picnic lunch, enjoying bread with some spiced peach jam made with fruits from the local orchards, as well as sliced meats that Leif kept magically cool. The archmage even brought Ayleth along, letting the black-shouldered kite get some exercise and enjoy the quiet of the elven forest.

The fifth day Sieg had been planning to take the brothers out to the orchards- in the full riotous bloom of spring. However, about midmorning the thunder of hoofbeats drew all three men out of the Braham house to find an elf woman with short-cropped blond hair and crimson eyes waiting outside.

“Sir Braham,” she said, glancing briefly at the two nobles before continuing in Kythian rather than Elvish. “As of this morning you are on recall. I expect you to report to the barracks in half an hour.”

“Wha- recall?” Sieg stammered, caught very much off guard. “Commander, why, what’s happened?”

Leif opened his mouth to say something, but Markus put a hand up as if to hold him back, his gray eyes on the elven commander and his earlier smile gone. The mage frowned, but stayed silent.

The woman’s expression was tight. “Much though I hate to tear you away from your vacation, we need the experience with the occult and supernatural that you gained while you were in Bern.”

“Th-the occult? I…” Sieg gaped for a moment, then seemed to remember himself and saluted. “Aye, commander. But with all due respect, I don’t understand. Everything seems fine.”

“Only because you’ve not been to the barracks in the last few days except to exercise,” she retorted. “We’ve had multiple reports of people disappearing in the forest, and yesterday afternoon we started getting word about wolves, bears, and wildcats attacking people in the forest in unison. Those creatures do not normally cooperate, which screams of magic. Lieutenant Monfort led the fourth and the sixth out to look into the matter, but his group was ambushed. Most of them were able to escape but…” Her crimson eyes darkened, and it was with sincere anger and grief in her voice that she went on, “Gavin is dead.”

The half-elf’s expression went completely blank. The pupils of his amber eyes, though still fixed on Anri’s face, were narrowed to unseeing pinpricks. In a very soft voice, absent of any trace of emotion, he murmured, “I… I see.”

Leif looked at Sieg in alarm, surprised and perturbed by the sudden lack of emotion in his friend’s voice. “I - Sieg, I’m so sorry…” He hesitated, then turned to the elven woman. “If it’s - “ Leif caught himself, and amended, “Commander, if it’s magic-related, I can help, too - I should, if it’s gotten so dangerous.” Motioning toward his wand holster, he elaborated, “I’m Lord Everett’s archmage, and I’ve had some experience with strange...and dangerous, magic.” He tried to maintain eye contact with the elven commander, but his gaze kept flicking uneasily to Sieg.

On the half-elf’s other side, Leif saw that Markus had tensed, but there was too much else to worry about to really focus on that. It felt like the sky had suddenly split open and started pouring snow on them - just thirty seconds ago, everything had been fine, and now - Sieg’s mentor was dead, there were marauding animals and some kind of magic in the forest and Sieg was being called back to active duty...what in the world had happened?

The elf commander nodded curtly. “Your help would be very much appreciated, Lord Archmage. Be advised, however, that if you agree to this, you are agreeing to follow my orders- I understand you are a nobleman, and as Lord Everett’s ward he alone has the authority to command you, but this is not your forest and I can’t be constantly fighting to have my orders obeyed.”

Leif nodded, internally cursing the fact that he looked so much like his father and brother, whom the woman was probably remembering. “I understand, Commander. I’ll do as you say.”

“I’d like to help, too,” Markus said suddenly. “I’m not a mage, I know that, but I am a knight - I can at least be an extra sword in a fight.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Very well. But the same rule applies to you- if you are volunteering to help, you are volunteering to help- not to play protective older-brother bodyguard to the archmage, Sir Accipiter.”

Markus’ shoulders stiffened, but after a second he gave a humorless half-smile. “I suppose it was too much to hope nobody would put the pieces together.” He glanced in Leif’s direction, but the knight drew himself tall and said, “I understand, Commander. A military unit can’t let its soldiers play favorites. And I know you need their expertise, so you also have motivation to keep my brother and his friend alive. If I can’t protect them directly, at least maybe I can free up another soldier to do that instead.”

“Markus, we don’t know what kind of magic this is,” Leif warned. “I can cast shields and Sieg’s fought supernatural things before, but -” The Curys knight held up a finger to tell Leif to wait a moment, his attention still on the elven commander. Leif fell silent, but his stomach was churning.

Anri cast only a momentary glance at Leif, before turning her attention to all three of them at the same time again. “Very well. All three of you at the command post in half an hour. Do not bother with your surcoat, Sir Accipiter, I will find something for you in colors that will stick out less garishly in the forest.”

She spared a quick glance at Sieg, who throughout this exchange had been standing at attention, silent and expressionless. “Sir Braham… I know. I’m sorry.”

Turning her horse, she nudged it into a trot and left without another word. As soon as she was gone from sight, Sieg’s shoulders started shaking, and his breathing began to hitch. A very soft curse emerged from his mouth, and his hands clenched into fists as he squeezed his eyes shut.

Leif bit his lip and took a step closer to his friend. “I’m sorry, Sieg,” he said again. He lifted his hand and with only a slight hesitation, put it on the half-elf’s shoulder.

“Are you going to be all right going to the post and fighting?” Markus asked with quiet concern. “I know you have your orders, but...it’s your knight-master, that’s not something you just shake off.”

“I have to be,” he said thickly, reaching up to touch the hand Leif had placed on his shoulder. “Commander Anri said it herself- I have experience no one else in Nid’aigle has. M-Master has been a knight for over four-hundred years. If whatever’s going on got the best of him, and I knew something that could help and didn’t at least try, I’d never be able to forgive myself.”

He covered his face for a moment, trying to collect himself. Finally, he sighed. “Right- animals acting bizarrely and people vanishing into the forest. That sounds a little like the strzyga. So then… Come on, might as well get started now.”

He turned towards the house, gesturing for Leif and Markus to follow him. As soon as he got inside, he went into the bedroom where he and Ophelia had once slept, and reached under his old bed for a heavy chest. Opening it, he pulled out several small, seemingly random curios he’d not touched in years.

“Leif, your feather pendant, it’s silver right?”

Leif, retrieving his satchel so he could empty it of everything except the few potions he’d brought along, answered, “Yes, it is...why?”

“Silver repels supernatural or demonic creatures,” Sieg answered simply. “Burns them- blisters and everything. Markus, here-” he gently tossed the knight an innocuous enough object- a wooden woocifix on a flaxen chord. “Symbols of the Woo do the same thing- don’t ask me how it works, it just does. I have some bags of salt in here too, I think...”

“Oh - I thought silver would only burn ‘Pit-spawn...” Leif fiddled with the pendant for a moment, before remembering what he was supposed to be doing and continuing to draw clothes and extraneous travel supplies out of the satchel.

Markus caught the woocifix - just barely, as his dominant hand was busy with his swordbelt. “Great, I’m all for things that can help us out/ What range do these things have? Do we actually need to touch them with it, or is it just being in sight good enough?”

“They have to be touching, they’re more a last line of defense than anything. That’s what the salt is for- you can throw it.” He pulled out two pouches- one mostly empty, but it’d have to do- and tossed the fuller of them onto the floor next to Markus. “Holy water works for the same purpose, but I don’t generally keep any on hand… Leif, you were training to be a priest, do you know how to bless water? In Bern we were told it was as simple as putting a Woocifix in the water and saying a certain prayer, but I don’t know if it’s different in Corvus?”

“I - uh...well, at its core it’s the same thing, there’s more ceremony to it - it’s Corvus, of course it is - but all that shouldn’t be totally necessary to make it work. I know the prayer, and obviously we have a woocifix, but I was never ordained... I don’t know if it works if you’re not a real priest. I’ll try, of course,” he added quickly. “I mean, we need it, so, I’d better. I just can’t promise it’ll work. Are there Wooist churches here that might have a front of holy water we can use?”

“There’s a church… I don’t know if it has a front, though,” Sieg admitted. “Near as I can remember, most of the baptisms here are conducted in the river, not in the church. Presumably we could ask, but obviously not until after we report to Commander Anri.”

He stood, gently pushing the chest back under the bed and going to get his gear. He knew he should've been prostrate with grief, but just at that moment all he could feel was dim sort of numbness. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it- and whatever had done this was going to pay.

-------

When the three men reported to the command post, Anri reiterated more or less what she’d already told them- that people had been vanishing in the woods for at least a week, possibly more. Since her arrival at Sieg’s house that morning, she’d sent knights out to scour the city and discovered several of the houses at the edge of the woods or in the woods, houses belonging to reclusive hermits among the elves- were vacant and appeared to have been for some time. None of them showed signs of a struggle, but all were unlocked. Leif’s first thought was unlocking spells - but then he remembered these were animal attacks. How would animals unlock a door without a struggle? He filed that question away for later and quickly returned to paying attention to the briefing.

The animal attacks were a recent development, something that had only started within the last day or so. Bears, pumas, wolves, and even an unusually aggressive flock of ravens had been reported. They were acting in concert, by all reports actively working together and defending each other. Anyone they managed to subdue they dragged into the woods, leaving a trail of blood so thick that it was clear whatever wounds the person had sustained were almost certainly fatal. None of the bodies had been recovered- the blood trails always cut off very abruptly, with no sign of where the stolen elf had gone.

There was only one clue that they really had to go on as to the nature of the animals- according to several of the reports, the fur and feathers on their faces was an ugly shade of dark red-brown.

Once she’d told them all she knew, Anri asked Markus to accompany her and a small group of elven knights and mages back to the site of Gavin’s attack, to search for more clues. Leif, meanwhile, she granted access to the Nid’aigle library, and assigned Sieg to go with him to translate from the books there.

It would have been exciting, Leif thought, if the reason they were here wasn’t so grim. He looked over the shelves with a frown, feeling lost already with all these books in a foreign language. It didn’t help that his stomach was in knots already, knowing Markus was out there in that very dangerous forest. Leif hadn’t made a fuss when the assignments were given, knowing he needed to show Commander Anri that he wasn’t going to be a typical Accipiter about the situation, but he didn’t like it, at all, and it had been hard to refrain from saying so. Markus had accepted the order with no sign of nervousness or hesitation or - well, any sign that it was a dangerous job he was accepting. Leif wasn’t sure if that was confidence or just military discipline. Hopefully the former, and hopefully well-founded. The hope didn’t do much to ease his nerves.

Trying to focus on what he and Sieg were supposed to be doing, Leif finally said, “Alright, well...I guess the best place to start would be...if there are any books on use of magic on animals? Or even just the effects, maybe it’s...something out there, not a spell or magical item someone used.” What that something might be, he wasn’t sure, but then, that was why they were here.

“Right,” Sieg said softly, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. He skimmed the book titles, eventually pulling down three in succession. He translated the titles to be “Supernatural Beasts of the Swamp,” “Cursed Creatures,” and “Magical Methods for Charming and Taming Nonhumans.”

He brought the books over to a table in the corner, setting them down for Leif. He vanished for a moment, and returned with paper, ink, and a quill. “So, where should we start?” he asked.

Leif leaned against the table, looking down at the books as if the covers might give him clues besides the unintelligible letters. “I guess the Charming and Taming one - if there’s a section on aggression, that could get us a starting point, especially if they go into some theory instead of just diagramming spells.”

He glanced over at Sieg, debating whether he ought to say anything, but finally asked, “Are you...well, I know you’re not okay, but…” He trailed off, not sure what he could offer that would be at all helpful. Should he even be bringing this up right now? “If there’s anything I can do...I know there’s probably not much, but, if there is - let me know, okay?”

Sieg initially gave no indication he’d heard, pulling the requested book closer to himself and flipping open to the back of it- presumably some sort of index. But when he tried to read the book, his eyes burned and the words blurred, and he had to look away.

“Leif I… I told you before he lost the fight with the gryphon. Did you know what I meant, about the scar on his arm?”

“No,” Leif admitted, confused by the specific topic but hoping it might help Sieg to talk about it. “I didn’t understand what you meant about him losing the fight, either - I got arm scars from one of the gryphons at the Coronation, but I wouldn’t say -” Remembering earning those particular scars as he spoke of it, seeing the glimpse of whirling gryphon and red-clothed rider as the huge animal turned to slash at the archmage, Leif finally made the connection. It hadn’t been just a lone gryphon that had attacked Sir Gavin. “...It wasn’t just a gryphon, it was Courdonians with gryphons?” he asked, unable to keep a thread of horror from his voice.

I should have realized that right away - I’m friends and Housemates with Xavier, why was a brand not the first thing I thought of when I heard about gryphons and scars on the arm?

Sieg nodded. “He wasn’t a knight at the time. He was actually a mage. The Courdonians captured him, but they couldn’t risk him having access to his powers and using them to escape or fight back. Nowadays they use those supression collars, but those hadn’t been invented yet. I don’t suppose I need to tell you what Magesbane is?”

Leif grimaced. “No, I know what that is...very rare, but...it’s supposed to be incredibly painful, and keep the person it’s used on from using casting any magic.”

“And that’s what it does- when it’s used on humans,” Sieg agreed. “But the Courdonians were complacent- it had never been tried on an elf before. Master had some sort of allergic reaction to it. He told me that was the worst pain he’d ever experienced in his entire life- his skin broke out in a painful, itchy rash, his eyes became so photosensitive that he was effectively blind, and he was constantly suffering from a crippling headache that made it impossible to think, let alone concentrate on doing magic.”

“Oh, ‘Woo... the way it’s supposed to hurt sounds awful enough...” He decided not to elaborate on that point, what he’d read about an icy pain that felt like it was crawling and crystallizing through a magesbane-dosed spellcaster’s veins. “All those symptoms, too, it must have been…” Leif shook his head, not able to think of a word that really described what sort of pain the elf had been in.

“Whatever caused it to react like that, the damage it did was permanent,” Sieg said softly. “The Courdonians stopped dosing him, but the symptoms still lingered. They eventually decided he was useless to them as a slave and abandoned him in the middle of a forest, naked, his wrists tied behind his back. Expected him to die of exposure. But he didn’t. Somehow or another he found the willpower to crawl through the forest, blind and aimless, but doggedly going on anyway. How long he was out there he doesn’t know- he had no real sense of the passing time. Eventually he found a family of shepherds who took him in, and got in contact with Nid’aigle. He was brought here, and after several months with the healers they managed to get his symptoms under control enough that he could function. He never got his magic back- all he can do now is call light- but he survived. Against Courdonians, poison, the elements, the despair of being a blind, immobile vegetable for months… he never let it beat him. Not even when he stopped being able to use magic. He still found the strength to survive, to keep going. So… so how? After everything he’s been through, after four-hundred years as a knight, how is this the thing that gets him? He’s… he’s stronger than this, he’s the s-strongest person I’ve ever kn-known...”

A sob choked the half-elf, the tears that had been threatening all that time finally spilling over. He had to shove the book away lest he damage the pages.

Leif pulled the book a little farther away and edged his chair closer to Sieg’s. “That’s...it sounds like - not sounds like, it is impressive that he was able to survive all that. And then hundreds of years more.” He put a hand on Sieg’s shoulder again, still a little hesitant but knowing the knight would probably want the gesture of support. “I’m sorry. It really doesn’t seem fair, him getting through all that and then...whatever’s going on here.” Which Markus is now in the middle of… Leif shook off the thought as best he could. One worry at a time.

“I… I’m sorry,” Sieg whimpered. “You came here to enjoy yourselves, to have fun, not to listen to me blubber, and now you’re caught up in whatever this is, I… I…”

“Sorry? Sieg - this isn’t your fault, and you were supposed to be having fun, too, and - this wasn’t supposed to be happening to anybody. And for ‘Woo’s sake,” Leif went on, his tone more desperate than angry, “it’s you who - who’s got the most to deal with emotionally right now. ...I asked you about it because it seemed weird that you weren’t crying or yelling or breaking down somehow; I thought maybe you were repressing it, and...that’s...not good.”

“I just… there’s work to do, so I…” he seemed to be strangling, his voice harsh and almost wet sounding. Then the half-elf moaned, putting his head down on the table and sobbing. His shoulder shook under Leif’s hand, and he clenched his arms to his stomach as if he were trying to curl into a ball somehow.

Leif moved his chair close enough to the table that he could put his other arm on the desk, and he struggled through his instinctive desire to keep some space around himself to let the back of his fingers on his other hand touch Sieg’s arm. For once, he didn’t stumble through trying to say anything. Much as Leif wished otherwise, there were no incantations to solve something like death.

Part Four

SPOILER: Click to show

“Help! Help!”

Sieg jolted up, distracted from what had up until that point been a rather listless attempt at breakfast. Neither he nor either of the Accipiter brothers were at Sieg’s home- he’d been in no state for cooking- instead they were at the Nid’aigle barracks. Sieg had eventually been able to collect himself enough the previous day to look through the books with Leif, but they’d had no luck finding anything relevant and eventually been forced to give up for the day. Sieg had slept only fitfully, his mind taunted by old nightmares.

In spite of his fatigue, however, at the sound of the cry for help he was on his feet instantly, a hand at his sword. He ran full tilt for the door of the mess hall to see what was going on.

Markus was on his feet almost as quickly, while Leif, only partway through his food as he scoured the notes he and Sieg had taken the previous day for anything useful they might have missed, needed a few seconds before he quite processed what was going on.

He was closer to the door than Markus, but the knight got there ahead of him and warned over his shoulder, “Stay back a little; if it’s something that needs fighting, you’ll want range.”

“...I know that,” Leif said, confused, but by now he was talking to an empty doorway. Lief drew his wand and hurried out after the knights, putting aside Markus’ unnecessary instructions and instead calling to mind the runes for shields and stunning spells and the sparks and bangs that were good for distractions, especially against keen-eared animals.

Outside, a small gaggle of civilian elves were practically throwing themselves at the barracks as knights spilled out. Sieg, at the front of the pack, saw what had scared them first- a massive, tawny furred puma, it’s face splotched with unnatural rust colored fur. It wasn’t charging, however, but ambling towards them at a lazy pace… no, not lazy. It was stumbling, it’s gait stiff, as if it were somehow drunk.

Gritting his teeth, he gripped the hilt of his sword and snarled, “I don’t know what manner of foul magic compels you, but if you come so much as an inch closer I will cut you in two! Not an inch closer, you hear me?”

To his astonishment, the puma looked directly at him- and stopped. In fact, it flopped sideways, lying down in the dirt of the path and panting hard.

“...Huh.” Markus said, catching up to the half-elf and frowning at the cat warily. He drew his sword, holding it in a defensive position. “Is it wounded? I don’t see blood, but…”

“Well, wounded or not, while it’s staying in one place…” Leif raised his wand and pointed it at the ground in front of the cat. “Protegwoo!” A green, semi-transparent dome starting to rise from the ground, curling to swoop over the cat. It watched the rising dome of energy, its eyes following the light as it curled up and over, but gave no indication of distress nor did it move otherwise.

When the shield had fallen to the ground on the puma’s other side, Leif lowered his wand and sidestepped between the two knights. “There. Now we can at least see what it is we’re dealing with a little more closely.”

“Leif - be careful,” Markus warned.

“It’s under a shield, it’s fine.”

“It’s also possibly got magic on it, you don’t know for sure that shield will hold it,” Markus argued. “And remember - they’ve been working in packs!”

Pausing to turn and hold up his necklace, Leif said, “I have silver, and -”

“And, the entire barracks is coming out behind us,” Sieg pointed out, gesturing to a dozen or so elves in various stages of armored, all of them at least wielding a dagger or wand. Turning to the amassed men- spotting a squad captain, he shouted a few words, and the man nodded, directing the knights. They spread out, and Sieg turned back to Markus, drawing his sword. “They’ll keep an eye out for more of these things coming- you and I can watch Leif’s back.”

Markus glanced back at the knights, and then back to Leif. “All right - but still be careful. I don’t think you’d take as well to being slashed across the face by a puma as you did a bird.”

“I’ll be fine,” Leif assured him again, turning and finally covering the remaining distance to the shield. He crouched warily beside it, looking the cat over from nose to tail. Markus had been right, there wasn’t any blood. Leif was hardly an expert in cats, but this one didn’t look injured. Tired, maybe, but if it was tired, why try its luck in a village full of soldiers?

The puma rolled slightly so that it was lying on it’s stomach instead of it’s side- awkwardly, stiffly, but it managed. It seemed to meet Leif’s eyes directly, and swiped a paw over the upper half of its face around it’s eyes and forehead- the part with the russet splotch.

Leif frowned at the cat’s gesture, glancing at where it had pawed its face - then he leaned forward, almost touching his nose to the shield and actually pressing his palms against it. “Ah! Okay, I found something, there’s runes on its face. ...What the ‘Pit are they written with, it’s - hrm, doesn’t matter.” He frowned as he tried to read the symbols through the green haze of his shield. The cat was watching him and for some reason that was nagging at Leif in a way usually reserved for people’s staring. “Okay...that’s for...and right, I see what’s...but wait, where’s...hmm.” He frowned, silent for a long moment.

“...Report for us on the sidelines?” Markus asked.

“I’m trying to figure it out...I think...I think these here,” he gestured with a finger to a short section of runes, though at this distance that would likely be of absolutely no clarification to the knights, “are for binding, just...it’s missing something. There should be more attached, but there isn’t…” He finally let his eyes travel to the next runes, fighting the urge to look away from the vague direction of the cat’s eyes.

But once he saw the runes, he was quite thoroughly distracted. “Oh...oh ’Pit,” he breathed. “That’s where it’s getting - the binding, it’s - usually binding runes have to have some kind of power supplied to them. But that chain wasn’t there - that’s what I was looking for earlier. And it’s not there because it’s being powered by this. It’s blood magic.”

“Blood magic?” Sieg repeated. “What does that mean? Wait- so the runes are painted in blood? That’s… macabre. Is that why whoever’s been doing this is killing people, for their blood?”

“Blood has to be involved somewhere, but that doesn’t mean…” Leif looked back at the puma, squinting. “...Actually, yes, these are painted in blood. How lovely. ...Right, blood magic - blood magic’s used for very strong spells. Bindings, especially. But it’s not just any blood, it has to come from a particular source, and taken under very specific conditions. Generally malevolent ones, that’s why it’s so...it’s anathema to how ‘Woo-given magic ought to be used.” He shook off some of the instinctive outrage, and answered Sieg’s other question. “I don’t think they would get much use from blood taken in random attacks like these, so I don’t think that’s what they’re killing for...and they leave an awful lot of it behind.”

Sieg frowned, glaring hard at the puma. “When I spoke before, you acted like you understood. Do you?”

The puma looked in Sieg’s direction, tilting it’s head, but gave no response. Frustrated, Sieg repeated the question in Elvish- and this time he got a nod.

After a moment, Markus managed, “Okay - elven puma, speaks Elvish. Reasonable enough. ….Any idea how it learned to understand speech in any language?”

Leif went back to studying the runes. “Not from the blood magic, I don’t think, or at least, I don’t see anything here for it. If it speaks Elvish…” He was silent a moment, and finally jabbed at a bit of runes, his finger striking the shield. “It’s because it was an elf at some point - these are runes for transfiguration, changing shape! They’re all tied up in the blood magic, and this is complex spellwork, but it’s definitely transfiguration.”

“It’s…” Sieg snapped his attention to the puma. “You’re an elf?”

It nodded emphatically, it’s entire body sagging with relief. It shifted somewhat, rolling awkwardly, and swatting at it’s right shoulder with the left paw.

“Uhm…” Leif squinted, but he couldn’t quite make out what the puma was gesturing at - too much green in the shield and too much fur in the way. He raised his wand. “If you bite me, I will be the most vengeful ghost,” the mage warned the puma, before jabbing his wand at the shield to make it disappear. Leif was pretty sure he heard Markus choking on something.

“What are you - “

“Getting this light out of my face.” Leif kept his wand pointed at the cat for a moment, but it made no move to strike. The mage still kept a careful watch on the cat’s teeth and claws as he stretched a slightly shaking hand toward the animal’s shoulder. “Sorry, I’m getting into your personal space, I know,” he muttered. It was fine, it was just an elf in the form of a very large wildcat, his heart didn’t need to be pounding so hard, it would probably help if he stopped thinking about the fact that the puma could probably hear that very clearly…

He carefully parted the fur enough with his fingers to see something...odd. “Uhm. Looks like a burn scar. I’m guessing you had this as an elf…” He used his other hand to pull a little more aside. “Sieg, could you ask around and see if anyone knows anyone else with - “ Leif blinked, freezing for a moment, then he used his whole hands to pull as much fur back as he could, in order to see the entirety of the scar. It wasn’t the same brand seared into Xavier’s arm, but there was definitely a sort of similarity between that shape and this one - Kirin would probably have known a word for exactly what Leif was recognizing, Leif thought.

“This is a Courdonian slave brand,” Leif announced. And...maybe...it seemed almost too perfectly-timed to be true, but Leif looked at the puma’s face again, ignoring the runes, glancing away from the gold eyes, and trying to picture the scar across its face on an elf instead of a cat. “... Lieutenant Monfort?”

Leif was treated to the rather astonishing sight of the puma giving what could only be described as an explosive sigh, and nodding. Sieg’s sword clattered to the ground, fallen from his hands as they went limp with shock.

“But… th-that’s… that’s impossible, they saw Master dragged off into the woods… the blood, he couldn’t have s-survived…” Sieg walked up to the puma, his hands clenching tight into fists even as his amber eyes glistened with tears. “You… you can’t be... They said you were d-dead…”

The puma looked taken aback, it’s head snapping backwards in surprise. Then, it lowered it’s head, looking up at Sieg and making a sound that might’ve been a whine, if not for the slight growling mrrrowl to it. It closed its eyes, holding a paw out pad up. It glared at the foot, and a moment later- a small orb of blue light winked to life in the air over it. Leif twitched in surprise, but reached a hand toward the light. It wouldn’t quite let his palm make contact, just like any other orb of light made by an incantational mage. “This is real magic. And you said he could call light.”

Sieg stared, his expression somewhere between confusion, strangled grief, and a dawning sort of realization. “How… how old was I when you first showed me that?”

The puma slapped it’s paw on the ground- to a count of sixteen. Sieg gave a strangled sob, and fell to his knees, drawing the cat towards him in a hug and loosing an incoherent stream of Elvish. The puma- Gavin- hesitantly put one of his paws around Sieg’s back, in an awkward attempt at as best the transfigured elf could come to hugging him back. Gavin put the top of his head against Sieg’s chest, making the whining noise again.

Leif sat back to give the two a moment, letting out his own sigh of relief. Eventually Markus came over to join them, carrying Sieg’s sword in his formerly free hand.

“So,” Markus said, “all the animals who’ve been attacking have this red muck on their faces, right? Sounds to me like they must all be transfigured elves, then. I guess that’s...sort of good news?”

“In that being turned into a puma is something I stand a chance at fixing, yes,” Leif agreed. “But...there’s still a lot that doesn’t make sense. Like why they’re attacking other elves, and why Lieutenant Monfort isn’t. Or who painted those runes and cast this spell in the first place. …And we’re going to have a lot of trouble getting answers to questions that don’t have ‘yes or no’ answers while he’s a cat.”

“Can you undo the transfiguration on him first? Maybe I’m just being a dumb knight here, but what if you scrubbed those runes off? They’ve gotta be there for a reason, right?”

“I don’t think it can be that simple. This is blood magic, not just scribbling things in an alternative ink. And shouldn’t they have washed off of the other animals in the rain by now? ...Unless they’re hiding out from water somewhere, but this is Corvus, it would make more sense to waterproof them than not.”

Gavin very gently pushed Sieg back from his chest, and looked towards the two Accipiter brothers. Sieg, sighing, translated the conversation they’d been having. To the half-elf’s surprise, Gavin put up a paw to stop him partway into the recitation. Looking at Leif, he again called the orb of light into his paw.

“Um…” Sieg frowned, pushing himself into a standing position and reaching out to take his sword back from Markus. “That’s in response to the question about why the other elves are attacking the city and he’s not. Contextually I’m not sure what it tells us, though. Leif?”

Leif tilted his head a little, looking from the light to the puma. “Hmm...well...I think it’s safe to guess the elves are being forced into these attacks, probably by whoever transfigured them. But what light might have to do with it...if calling light is the only magic he can cast, he couldn’t have physically fought them with spells. But I don’t know what else he could be signing except magic, so…” Leif tapped at his feather pendant, and that gave him a thought. “Hm. I did just say blood magic was anathema a couple minutes ago, and I know of at least one situation where magic was taken out of a person before blood magic was used on them...maybe something about pure incantational magic and blood magic just...doesn’t blend right? And so that part of the spell didn’t work on him?”

Sieg repeated the query in Elvish, and Gavin gave a nod and a shrug, as if to say, “Close enough.” The half-elf then asked him a few more questions, to which the puma either nodded, shook his head, or shrugged. Turning to Leif and Markus, Sieg explained, “He says he knows how this was done, at least vaguely, but he said no when I asked if he knew the precise details of it. He did see the face of the one who did it, and it wasn’t an elf, but when I asked if they were human he didn’t know for certain. He did confirm water won’t wash off the runes, I guess he already tried with the rain or in the river.” Sieg sighed. “I’ve been trying to get as much from him as I can with yes or no questions but the only way we’re really going to learn what we need to is if we can figure out how to communicate more precisely.”

To Gavin he asked, “You can’t, I don’t know, write in the dirt with a claw or something?”

For answer, the puma stood again, awkwardly, and took several faltering steps around. His limbs were stiff, his gait lumbering, not unlike the wild things Sieg had occasionally seen eat fermented berries and get drunk off them. Nodding in understanding, Sieg turned to the humans and explained, “I don’t think he can coordinate the puma body well enough to write anything for us either.”

“Makes sense, I’d have a hard time if I suddenly had four legs instead of two,” Markus said. “And I’m sure paws aren’t quite as flexible as fingers anyway. Leif, got some magic handy?”

“I can’t give an animal the physical ability to speak Kythian - or Elvish - even if they have the mental capacity, if that’s what you’re asking. But,” he went on, glancing between Gavin and Sieg, “I think for once I do have a spell that should be close enough it can work. I’ll need my spellbook, it’s a long one, but - Sieg, have you ever heard of the mindlink spell?”

Sieg frowned. “No, though I can guess what it is based on the name. I guess you’ll make it so I can read his mind, or vice versa?” He said a few words to Gavin in Elvish, and the puma gave a nod. “Master says that he knows it.”

“Yes, that’s it exactly - well - it’s not exactly reading minds so much as being able to direct thoughts to each other. But the basic idea’s the same, yes, and the point is that it will let Lieutenant Monfort communicate with words instead of gestures. Would the two of you be all right with me casting it on you, then? It won’t pick up any thoughts you don’t direct toward the other, and I really do think we need it so we can get some answers, and quickly, but I know it’s a sort of...invasive thing.”

“If it’s what we need to do, then it’s what we need to do,” Sieg replied with a shrug. “I’ve known Master Gavin all my life, he was friends with my father for centuries and he taught me everything I know about being a knight. If I’d trust anyone with my thoughts it’d be him.” He spoke to the puma, who looked directly at Leif and dipped his head in a gesture of acceptance.

“If you need to get your spellbook anyway, perhaps we should wait until Commander Anri can be fetched to start questioning him,” Sieg suggested. “I think she needs to be caught up on all of this- and present for the rest.”

“Agreed,” Leif said as he got to his feet. “If I spot her on the way I’ll let her know, but probably best to send someone to find her. I’ll be back - if it takes a few minutes, the cords tying that satchel shut got tangled again, but it won’t take me too long.”

Part Five

SPOILER: Click to show

Leif managed to return with his spellbook in a decent amount of time and without having to take a knife to the satchel to get it open. He held it on his arm almost like one of his birds, flipping through the pages as he went to try and find the spell as quickly as possible.

Commander Anri had arrived as well, and it looked like Sieg and Markus were explaining the situation. Though the elf commander on first glance looked composed as ever she was, there was a sort of slackness to her muscles, and there was no mistaking the glistening of moisture in her eyes as she addressed the puma that had once been Gavin. Spotting Leif, she nodded. “Sir Braham and Sir Accipiter have brought me up to speed- it seems while I was on patrol this morning we’ve had equal helpings of good and bad news- though I’m inclined for now to be more thankful for the good than dwelling on the bad. I hope you can provide us with more good news then, Lord Jade? Perhaps in my office and out of the heat? Woo only knows how far my Lieutenant has had to trek in a body he can scarcely coordinate properly.”

Leif nodded in agreement. “That sounds fair - casting this spell is going to take a few minutes, we might as well do it somewhere comfortable. ...Er, if they haven’t told you yet, I have a spell for mental communication between two people, so we should be able to get around the lack of speech in the Lieutenant’s case. From there, we’ll have to see what news the Lieutenant has before deciding if we’re in a better or worse position than before. But I’ll take a magical problem to deaths any day,” he added, a little more fervently than he’d intended.

“Agreed,” Sieg said, with equal earnesty, and Markus nodded. Anri made a beckoning motion, leading the three men and the transfigured elf into the command post, and then down the hallway into the room that served her as an office. It wasn’t a huge space, but there was room enough for all of them, and just enough chairs for all four of the bipedal occupants to sit on. Anri gestured at them, taking up her own place on the other side of the desk at the head of the room, under a large map of Corvus with various, brightly colored pins at different locations on it.

“Very well then, Lord Jade; is there anything in particular Sir Braham or Lieutenant Monfort need to do?” the elven commander asked.

Leif, who had remained on his feet, shook his head and said, “Not much - I just need them next to each other. Preferably to relax as well.” His eyes flicking through the instructions, he added, “I haven’t had this spell cast on me before, but the book says there’s something like a...knock, it’s calling it, after a certain point. It sounds like you need to just kind of...uh, answer the door, that’s the mental link itself. Probably worked into the spell so just any mage couldn’t use it to force a connection. Whenever you two are ready, I can start.” He drew his wand.

Sieg shrugged, and glanced at Gavin, relaying the instructions. Gavin moved so that he was sitting on the floor next to the half-elf’s chair, and both of them looked at Leif expectantly. “I think we’re ready. Go ahead, Leif.”

Leif glanced back at the spellbook and nodded, starting to write out runes in the air, where they hovered green and glowing. He did this for some time before finally flicking his wand and sending patches of the runes either toward Sieg or Gavin, or making them disappear completely. Finally, he gathered a whole chain of runes with the tip of his wand, where it trailed behind like a particularly large, vibrantly green strand of a spider’s web, and pointed the wand first to Sieg, then to Gavin. The runes shimmered and faded, and Leif repeated the process with another chain of runes, this time starting with Gavin and moving to Sieg.

“You should feel that knock know,” Leif told them. “I’ll know when you’ve accepted it, and then I can finish this off.”

Sieg did feel an odd sort of sensation, as if something was waiting just beyond some invisible barrier. The half-elf glanced at Gavin. He wasn’t sure how to “open the door” as Leif had put it, but he tried to think of being inviting or accepting. Then, something shifted, and the sensation went away.

A small cluster of runes near Leif’s spellbook vanished, and the mage nodded. He set up a final block of runes that he flicked at Sieg and Gavin both. “Okay. That should do it.”

Sieg frowned, looking towards his old mentor. “It doesn’t feel different-”

It’s not supposed to. Sieg jumped at the stray thought in his mind that was definitely not his own. Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.

“Okay. Looks like it’s working,” Sieg said to the others. “That is… a weird sensation. But he’s talking to me, so I guess you can ask your questions now.”

“All right.” Leif closed the spellbook. He wondered if he ought to let the others speak first, but this was a magical problem, and he knew which questions to ask...it wasn’t as if Commander Anri wouldn’t stop him if he was being impertinent, Leif supposed. “So...you said he knew what was done, at least the broad details of it, right? Could you ask him to tell us...I guess just what he remembers of the transfiguration spell? Figuring out exactly what this person did could help us figure out how to undo it.”

Sieg translated the question mentally for Gavin, and as he answered, Sieg translated it back into Kythian verbally.

“He says that the animals who caught him took him deep into the forest, past the boundaries of where the sentries normally patrol. They have some sort of leader there- the one Gavin isn’t sure if he’s human or not. He looks human, Gavin says, but his eyes were like an animal’s- you know, all color without the whites visible? And apparently he was naked except for a bear pelt draped over him, charming.” Sieg listened silently for a moment, though he grew visibly more and more disturbed as the silence stretched.

“Apparently… apparently the animal skins like what he was wearing are some sort of channel or key for the spell- the word he used probably translates best as ‘anchor?’ Anyway, Master says that the leader paints the blood runes on an empty animal skin, and when he drapes them over the elf, the pelt… the pelt adheres to the elf’s skin. And that’s what transforms them.”

Leif’s brow furrowed more and more as the explanation went on. “I’ve never heard of using pelts being used to hold spells like that before...but it’d contain the transformation, if you’re not going to direct it with a wand, I suppose, but why bother with.... er, sorry, go ahead.”

Sieg listened as Gavin explained further. “He says that the leader healed his wounds before he put the skin on him- how thoughtful of him. He also healed the transfigured elves who were hurt in the fight. But how- Oh, apparently he does have a wand. He used the same gash healing spell you use, Vulnera Sanwootur. Anyway I guess somehow the magic in the skins warps the minds of the ones wearing them. Master doesn’t know all the details, but he says while he was close to them he could feel all of their minds through the leader, and they were… blurry? He’s having a hard time describing it. Like they were at the same time elf minds and animal minds, and the line between the two was indistinct. But the animal part was stronger. He thinks it didn’t do that to him because his own magic is protecting him subconsciously.”

Anri frowned. “If they are thinking like animals, they should act like animals- why are they attacking the city and moving in groups with other species they’d normally never interact with?”

She asked the question first in Kythian, for the benefit of the humans, then repeated it in Elvish for Gavin. Through Sieg he answered, “The leader is a sort of hive-boss. He commands them, mentally, and they obey. Master Gavin isn’t sure how he does that either- the guy’s mental sendings sound like Kythian, but somehow he can understand him anyway. Master won’t tell me what he says, but I’m getting this… weird sensation from his thoughts like the guy really creeps him out.”

“No wonder,” Markus said. “Sounds like a creepy guy.”

Leif continued to mull all this over for a moment. “If he’s speaking Kythian, and isn’t an elf...I would guess he is human, eyes aside. ...Not that it matters much what species he is, I suppose.”

Markus asked, “What’s he grabbing all these elves and turning them into animals for, d’you know? I mean, it sounds like what he wants right now is to get more animals to grab more people, but once he’s got enough, what’s he planning to do?”

He doesn’t seem to have a master plan, or if he does he’s not told the transfigured elves, Gavin answered as Sieg relayed. When he transformed me he bid me ‘Welcome to the family’ and addresses the elves as ‘my children.’ I made my escape that night while they were asleep, but before I got away I saw the man make them all sleep together curled around him and he strokes the ones closest to him, murmuring to them almost affectionately.

As he conveyed this last, Sieg winced and hissed, “The ‘Pit?”

Leif’s lip curled a little. Markus made a face and said, “Yeah, I definitely seeing why the Lieutenant’s creeped out by him. Even Leif isn’t that weird with his birds.”

“It sounds kind of...cultish,” Leif said. “Just, he skipped the usual indoctrination by charming part and went right to magical mind control. ...Probably that’s more of the blood magic at work. Mostly I’ve read or seen it used for binding things, but there’s bits I’ve heard about it being good for connective spells, too - ways of tracking or finding people, mostly, but I guess a mental connection isn’t out of the realm of possibility.” He nodded toward Sieg and Gavin to suggest the mindlink spell he had, after all, just used to create mental connection even without the aid of blood magic.

Anri curled her lip. “Our enemies are also hostages, hostages that will attack us without question. I cannot like-”

She was cut off by a sharp, guttural growl from Gavin, and an almost simultaneous yelp of surprise from Sieg. Every muscle in the puma’s body went rigid, and Sieg clutched at his head, jaw tight and eyes squeezed shut. Leif drew his wand but didn’t seem sure what to do with it once he had it. After a moment, both master and squire relaxed again, though Gavin was panting a little.

“Woo… that was him, had to be. I… I heard him, through the mindlink. He was looking for Master, calling for him. He was asking him to ‘come home.’ If he didn’t know he’d escaped before he does now. But it’s gone, for the moment.” The half-elf shuddered. “That was… like someone groping around in his head, it was awful.”

Gavin looked up at his former squire as apologetically as he could with the inexpressive puma face. I had not thought you would hear that- I’m sorry Sieg.

Not your fault, Sieg thought back, and verbally added, “He says he didn’t mean for me to feel that, but somehow I did anyway…”

Leif muttered a word that was not a flattering description for the bear-pelt-wearing man. Markus, after giving his brother a stern look and pointedly flicking his eyes toward Anri, asked, “Is there any way you can block that somehow, Leif? From Lieutenant Monfort’s mind?”

“Probably not - I don’t know what I’m dealing with here. I mean, vaguely, yes, it’s blood magic, but that part of it isn’t written out in the runes on his face. I usually had more available to work with when I broke blood-magic spells in the past.”

“Okay. Well...Sieg, do you know if he knew you were there?” Markus asked, turning back to the half-elf and puma. “The fewer advantages we can give this guy, the better; like you said, Commander, we’ve already got the problem of the people we’ll need to be fighting being hostages.”

“I…” Sieg looked at Gavin, and after another silent exchange shook his head. “We don’t think he did. He didn’t act like it. Gavin thinks if I tried talking to him mentally during one of those episodes I might be ‘spotted’ but as long as I stay inside my own head I should be alright.”

“That much at least is fortunate,” Anri said. “I can’t like my second in command carrying the enemy in his thoughts. But perhaps, if we can’t block it, we can use it.”

“What do you mean, Commander?” Sieg asked.

“The enemy is calling out to Lieutenant Monfort, correct? Trying to draw him back. So let him. No doubt the foe will move his base of operations if he thinks he’s been discovered, but if we allow him to believe that Gavin has submitted, and is coming back, we can use the link to find him where he hides, and spring a trap.”

“That’s probably the best way to do it,” Leif agreed. “He’s a blood-mage and an incantational mage - I don’t know what all he can do in a fight, but I’m sure it’s dangerous. Better we give him as little opportunity to fight back as possible.”

Markus added, “And if we can get around the animals, hopefully that’s a fight with innocents we can avoid. We’ll need to hide our sound and scents - “

“That I can do,” Leif said.

“ - but evidently that’s manageable. Sieg, did the Lieutenant get an idea of what species there are and how many of each, by the way? Commander, you said you’d seen bears, wolves, and ravens already…”

“Mostly wolves, he says- timber wolves. A smattering of red wolves but mostly timber wolves. There were three other pumas besides just him. He couldn’t count the ravens, they were moving around too much. At least two owls.” Sieg frowned. “But he says he didn’t see any bears, except for the leader’s bear skin.”

“So has the bear reported amongst the bunch been this leader?” Anri asked. “If so, how does he freely shift between the human and animal shape?”

Sieg shrugged. “He never changed shape while Master was there, so he doesn’t know the answer to either of those questions.”

“It would make the most sense if it was him,” Leif said. “Egomaniacal cult leader, he would probably want the biggest form for himself - especially if there’s danger of resistance, as with Lieutenant Monfort. Maybe his pelt has different runes on it; in theory I don’t think it would be too hard to add a sort of magical version of a latch he can push in and out of the spell to enable or disable it. Could Lieutenant Monfort see if there were any runes on it at all? And maybe if they looked different from the others? I know it’s probably not easy to tell, but…”

A pause- then, “He says sorry, but he didn’t see. He never got that close. And he couldn’t see the face of the bear skin regardless, it was flopped backwards like a hood. He says… it wasn’t that he was waiting until night to escape, he had to. The others were very protective of the leader and I guess newcomers aren’t trusted to get near him right away, nor to leave the immediate area around him. Maybe that cult indoctrination you mentioned? He wants to spend time ‘getting to know them’ or something? I’m not sure.”

“For now, we’ll have to assume the worst case scenario,” Anri remarked. “A powerful mage, perhaps able to change shape into a bear, with over a dozen dangerous predators in his thrall. Predators we dare not kill lest we’ve no other choice.” She scowled. “At this point, we’re getting more uncertainties than answers. I think we’ve learned as much as we can.”

Leif frowned, but raised no objections. “Let me get the runes written down before we go - if I have time, maybe I can find a weakness or a better idea of how it works, or… something useful.”

In contrast to his brother, Markus nodded in agreement and added. “It’s not a great situation by any means, but it’ll only get worse if we sit around trying to find more answers, and he gets a chance to grab more elves.”

Anri folded her arms, “I must send only a small force, if we are to catch this man before he realizes what’s going on. Lieutenant Monfort is a given, and Sir Braham as well, since we need him for communication. Master Archmage, you have the most expertise in strange magics, so you must go as well- and though I should prefer to send one of my own, at this point it would take too long to catch someone else up to speed on all of this, so Sir Accipiter you will go as well.”

“What are we to do?” Sieg asked.

“Find this leader, and take him- alive or dead. Minimize casualties among the captured elves as much as you can practically manage. Stealth is the priority here over speed, but by no means should you dawdle either.” She looked towards Leif and Markus. “And I would like to have a private word with Lord Jade and Sir Accipiter.”

Sieg started, glancing towards the brothers in surprise. Leif looked up sharply from the runes he was scribbling in a back page of his spellbook, and though Markus was relatively quick to nod, it still took him a moment, in which his expression went neutral. “Yes, Commander,” the Curys knight said. After a second, Leif nodded as well.

Gavin stood, hobbling his way out of the office. After a few second’s hesitation, Sieg nodded, and with a quick salute he left as well. Once they were alone, Anri turned to the two noblemen.

“I’m going to be frank with you both,” she said. “Were it not for his experience with the occult and the fact that he is the only one who you both trust enough to work alongside while acting as translator, I would never assign Sir Braham to this mission.” To Markus, she added, “And given your reasons for jumping so quickly into the matter after Lord Jade volunteered, I think you know why.”

Markus nodded slightly. “He’s going to want to protect Lieutenant Monfort...and he’s probably already angry on his behalf. We’ll have to watch for that.”

“Exactly,” she agreed. “Especially if he’s going to be experiencing this man’s manipulations firsthand. Sir Braham is a fine knight, but he has a history of rashness, especially when he gets overwrought. He knows the area as neither of you do, so he will need to be in charge to some degree by necessity, but if he seems to be acting out of anger rather than reason, you will need to override him and force him to calm down. Do you both understand?”

“Yes, Commander,” Markus said, and Leif nodded. Looking to his brother, Markus added, “I’ll probably need your help there, if it happens - you being his friend and all, he’s probably more inclined to listen to you.”

“Hopefully,” Leif agreed. “But at least he’s not going in thinking his knight-master’s dead, I guarantee that would’ve been worse.”

“No doubt,” Anri said grimly. “Now if there’s further research you wanted to do, Lord Archmage, get it done quickly. We’ve not the time to linger. The more time we waste, the more elves he could kidnap and the higher the odds against us. I want all four of you back here by two hours past noon. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Commander,” Markus said, standing and saluting. “We’ll be here.”

-------

Leif hadn’t discovered anything new by the time they were due to report back, a small part of that due to having to transfer his notes out of the spellbook, and then repack the large book and loosen - slightly - some of the security on the bag. The talisman he had tied to it no longer had any power, but he hoped maybe it would still work as Wooist iconography against the blood-mage or any of his enthralled animals, the way Sieg had said Woocifixes would work against some monsters.

The four met at the command post to retrieve any updates and their official orders, but were quickly on their way toward the forest. Sieg took the lead and Markus covered their rear flank. Usually Leif was at the rear of any party like this, being the one in the least armor, but Markus - who had probably seen Leif’s glances over his shoulder, pointed out that in a forest, it was quite easy for an enemy to sneak around and turn the back of the group into the very bloody front.

“All right,” Leif said as they reached the edge of the trees. “I can cast a scent-nullifying spell now, but should we wait on the muff- “

He looked up suddenly, and furrowed his brow at the sight of a familiar black-and-white bird swooping toward them. “Ayleth?”

“She probably thinks it’s time for a hunt,” Markus said. “Can you send her off?”

Leif, raising his glove to meet the diving raptor, said, “I can try, but...usually she yells at me if she wants to come along for a hunting trip. And there’s a puma with us, I’d think she’d want to say away if anything.” Ayleth’s talons struck his glove and she tucked her wings in, leaning forward and flicking her tail in the direction of the forest. “...That’s what I thought, something’s not right with her...I wonder if she can tell the forest isn’t safe.”

Sieg had apparently been mentally relaying this exchange for Gavin, because a moment he said, “Master says that none of the normal animals in the forest would come anywhere near him- even birds in trees flew off. And remember those deer the first night you were here? I wonder if the animals can somehow sense something is off with the transfigured elves. But won’t she be in danger, from the owls and ravens if nothing else? And are black-shouldered kites even native to this area?”

“And she might be a danger to the ravens, at least, too - she’s not a bird-hunter, but if they attack her…” Leif shook his arm a little, but Ayleth just shifted her talons to improve her balance. “And no, they come from farther south. Ayleth - back home.” The raptor blinked at him, and didn’t move, except to flick her tail again. “Yes, I know, girl, blood-magic animals invading your borrowed territory - you’re going to have to get over it, you’re not coming along.”

Ayleth piped sharply, and, with a sideways glance at Gavin, she leaped from Leif’s glove - and into the nearest tree branch. “Ayleth - “ Leif started, but the kite was already making her way deeper into the trees. “Oh, come on - Ayleth, get back here!” Ayleth did not reappear.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Markus said. “The Lieutenant said the native animals are avoiding the transfigured ones - if she can tell there’s something off, too, I’m sure she’ll do the same thing and stay away from them. She was probably just checking in on you since...well.” Markus gestured to the elf-turned-puma.

“Which means she will go near them if she’s worried about me.” Leif ran a hand over his face. “‘Pit.”

Would you tie your brother at the wrists and say he may not come and watch your back because you worry for him?, Gavin asked, as Sieg translated. No, because he has a sword and his training and he can defend himself. Your kite’s talons and beak are her sword, and her instincts her training. If she is insistent upon this, there isn’t much to be done about it.

Leif scowled in the direction of the trees. “But she doesn’t have a person’s brain - she’s smart, but she’s still only a raptor; I don’t know if she understands what she’s getting into, that there’s four pumas and a bunch of wolves and owls and…” The mage bit his lip. “Hopefully if she realizes that’s what the odds are, she’ll back off so she doesn’t get hurt. Or - or maybe she’ll get bored and go home before it even gets that far. We’ll just be tromping through the forest and she’s smart enough that she should figure out Lieutenant Monfort’s not going to hurt us pretty quickly.”

He sighed and turned back to the others. “...Uhm, right. Like I was saying - should I cast a full muffling spell now, or later? I can do footsteps fine, but the full muffling spell will make it harder for us to hear each other, too.”

“Probably better to wait a bit,” Sieg said. “We still need to discuss our plan of action. We can’t just charge in blindly- though Master is pointing out that we don’t really know what sort of defenses he’ll mount when he realizes we’re on to him. He’s suggesting a scouting probe might be the best first move.” Folding his arms and glancing at the puma, who was instead looking directly towards Leif and Markus, Sieg added, “But he also says this is his advice, not his orders. Despite his rank he’s not going to command this mission, because the commander needs to react quickly and conveying orders through me in the heat of a fight will take too long.”

“Well, the man has more experience than all three of us put together, so I’m inclined to listen to his advice,” Markus said. “I’m all for trying to get an idea of what we’re dealing with before we actually have to go in after it. Leif, anything you can offer us there?”

“As a probe? Not anything practical in this case. I can make a bird construct and fly it ahead, and see through it - but it’s bright green, so it would be rather obvious. It also takes a good deal of energy on my part to keep the link over any long distance, and considering what we’re dealing with, we should probably try to save magic where we can.”

“Hmm. Mundane way it is, I guess. Oh - “ Markus reached for the Woocifix around his neck and held it up. “Any idea if this stuff will still work?”

Sieg folded his arms. “I don’t know for-”

You can try it on me. Gavin put in.

“What? Master are you serious?” Sieg asked, aghast. “I’ve seen these things work, and if it does hurt you it will really. Hurt! You’ve been through enough!”

Brief pain on my part is nothing to what we are trying to accomplish here. And you know full well I’ve experienced worse.

Sieg winced, hissing softly through his teeth. Looking back to Leif and Markus he explained, “Master says to try it on him and see if it works. I don’t like this, but he’s insisting if he’s here anyway he can take a bit of pain to better benefit us later.”

Reluctantly, Sieg held out his hand to Markus, who handed over the Woocifix with a discomforted but firm expression. He approached Gavin, and after a moment’s hesitation, pressed the wooden feathers against the puma’s back. The reaction was instantaneous- Gavin’s jaw parted in a feral snarl of pain, and he thrashed away from the contact, rolling completely over sideways in his haste to move away. There were deep furrows in the ground where his claws had gouged, and the puma’s entire body was quivering.

That… definitely hurt… he thought at Sieg grimly.

Sieg knelt down next to his master, apologizing softly in Elvish. The fur was singed off of Gavin’s back, leaving a red, blistering welt in the exact tri-feathered shape of the woocifix.

Leif sucked in a hiss of breath through his teeth at the sight of the burn, and tucked the silver pendant of his necklace under his cloak before crouching alongside the elves. “I’m not positive it’ll work on wounds from holy items,” he said, drawing his wand, “but since we know incantational spells don’t hurt them…Calidus Sanwootur!”

Markus let out a slow breath as a fine green mist poured from Leif’s wand. “Well...hitting them with Woocifixes will work, at least. Better than a sword strike, if nothing else. I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” he said, looking at the puma and bowing his head.

It needed to be done, Sir Accipiter. Gavin said through Sieg, his mental sending laced with pain. However as the mist landed on the burn on his back, it cleared away- the fur still missing, but the skin whole and healthy.

“Well that’s a relief,” Sieg said. “I guess the Woo decided to cut us a break.” Tilting his head a bit, he added, “Oh, and Master says you don’t need to call him by rank, since he’s ‘not much a lieutenant without opposable thumbs to hold a sword’- just his name is fine.”

“If he’s sure,” Leif said hesitantly, scrutinizing the freshly-healed skin. “Opposable thumbs or not, he’s still a senior knight to both of you, and any knight is senior to me in experience.”

Markus pointed out, “Sure, but ‘Lieutenant’ is kind of a mouthful when you’re running from or fighting bears and wolves and whatever else is in that man’s little petting zoo. So’s ‘Accipiter’, and to be honest I was trying not to go by that name, anyway, so feel free to just call me Markus. ...Is it any quicker to think shorter words? I’ve never really thought about that before.”

“It might’ve been before, but the longer we’re connected the faster and easier it gets,” Sieg answered. “I’m translating for him almost as fast as you’re talking. But he says if Markus is what you prefer, that’s entirely fine with him. ...And he says if it helps with the frustration with your family, when this is over he can tell you both a story- something about your grandfather, and a pig loose in the Raylier vineyards, but he won’t say more than that.”

“Leif and I are always ready to hear embarrassing stories about our family,” Markus assured him. “Just picturing the expression on Henry’s face if he were hearing them…”

“Don’t get distracted,” Leif warned, though with a brief if half-hearted smirk. “I think Sir Gavin would prefer telling the story through his own mouth, so we need to find this shape-changer and stop him so I can sit down and figure out how to break the binding on the pelts.”

“Always have to bring it back to magic, don’t you?” Markus rolled back his shoulders. “All right, fine - we’ve got everything settled except the foot-muffling thing, right?”

“I still have to cast the scent-dulling spell, but otherwise, yes, I think so,” Leif said, and pointed his wand at each member of the party in turn, muttering first the incantation to diminish any scent, and then the one for muffling footsteps. After a few paces each to ensure the spell had worked, the four men set off at an almost unnaturally low volume into the forest.

Part Six

SPOILER: Click to show

For a time after the three knights and the archmage entered the forest, not much of note happened, aside from the occasional rabbit darting for cover from Ayleth’s shadow overhead or a bird fleeing the trees in Gavin’s wake. It was starting to look as if they might have to track the creatures manually- an exhausting, time consuming procedure. However, about twenty minutes in, Gavin’s ears shot up and he froze. Sieg hissed softly at the same moment, hand flying to his forehead. Leif tensed, grip on his wand tightening, and Markus grabbed the hilt of his sword. A few minutes later, both elves relaxed.

“Alright, that’s it,” Sieg said. “Master’s pretending to be going back willingly. Playing up that he’s seen the error of his ways and decided to ‘be among his own kind’ after the elves chased him out of the city. The guy was… creepily happy about it.”

He’s drawing me to his location mentally Gavin explained, as Sieg translated. Not talking to me directly, more like it’s… a summons. A chord for me to follow almost. It’s eerie, but it’s what we were after, no?

“I suppose,” Leif muttered. “Any idea how close we are to it?”

...Close. An hour, perhaps? Closer than I’d have thought, given that it took me all night and well into the morning to get to the city from my start point. Granted, I was wandering in circles most of that time, but still, he shouldn’t be that close.

“Could he be out looking for you?” Sieg offered, saying it in Kythian verbally and relaying it mentally with Elvish.

I suppose so. Still, it worries me. If he’s this close, his prisoners are likely fanned out all around him for the gods only know how far.

“Well...I guess them being fanned out means we wouldn’t have to deal with all of them at once,” Markus said. “All the same - Leif, I think it might be time for us to go totally quiet.”

“Probably.” Turning a little to include everyone, Leif explained, “This spell’s going to seriously mute our voices and any movements against the trees and things - but we should leave a way to make noise in case we need to alert each other and can’t...I don’t know, tap each other on the shoulder, or, whatever. Last time I saw this used, we left hands free so everyone could snap their fingers for small things and clap for big ones. If that works for you, Sieg and Markus? Uhm...Sir Gavin...I think I’m going to leave your voice alone, actually, it’s the easiest way to get our attention - well, Markus’ and mine - in a hurry.”

When he’d gotten the others’ agreement, Leif set to spellcasting again - the process was a bit lengthier than the single incantation earlier, but only by a small amount, and within a minute or two they were ready to continue. Leif actually didn’t mind the silence so much; it made it easier to listen for anything in the forest around them. He did, however, spot Markus occasionally doing a double take at his arm as if it had done something wrong, before shaking his head and turning back to the route they were on.

A little ways further, Gavin looked up at the sky and commented, Rain’s coming. Sieg looked up, seeing no sign of any cloud cover, but snapped his fingers to get Leif and Markus’ attention all the same and mouthed, “rain” while pointing at the sky. Surely enough, over the next forty minutes or so the sky darkened and boiled with leaden grey clouds, before the storm finally broke. Sieg wasn’t unused to marching in bad weather, and though he gave a sigh- eerily silent- he dismissed it. Markus seemed resigned to it as well. Leif was not nearly so accustomed to this, but he only fiddled with the flap of his spellbook’s satchel to make sure it was firmly sealed against the elements before tromping after the others.

It wasn’t Gavin, however, who noticed the next thing to happen and alerted them- high overhead, a unnoticed at first by those on the ground, a flock of red-faced ravens circled in wide, searching motions. Instead, the group’s truly-animal companion dropped onto her falconer’s shoulder, squeezing tightly with her talons. Leif jumped in surprise, and was immensely grateful for the muting spell that kept him from making any noise against the brush.

Sorry, girl, no umbrella spell today, Leif thought, but Ayleth didn’t hunch down the way she usually did when she wanted Leif to put up an umbrella or let her sit under his raincloak - the kite’s eyes were fixed on something above, and she flicked her tail a few times in clear agitation.

Leif snapped his fingers and held up his other hand to motion the others to stop as he followed Ayleth’s gaze. It was difficult to see through the canopy and the rain, but Leif an adept birdwatcher - he found the ravens fairly quickly.

Looking back at the others, he mouthed,“Ravens,” and just to be safe, mimicked the shape of a bird flapping its wings with his hands.

Markus frowned, and looking at Sieg, pointed to the treetops, then layered his hands over one another, so there were no gaps from below between his slightly-spread fingers. “Where is thicker tree cover?” he mouthed.

Sieg looked grim, and shook his head. “Wrong season,” he mouthed. This early in spring most of the trees wouldn’t have much of a canopy.

We need to skirt the brush, Gavin said, jerking his head with a very soft growl and plunging into a nearby thicket. It won’t be fun, but it’s our best chance of staying unseen.

Markus eyed the bushes carefully, but with only a slight shake of his head followed the puma’s example, Sieg close behind him. Leif glanced up at the ravens, telling himself that their eyesight wasn’t as keen as that of raptors and hopefully they wouldn’t see the bushes moving.

Leif held out a fist for Ayleth, and after a moment she hopped onto it. Leif slipped her a small piece of meat, which for the first time ever the kite took half-heartedly, then urged the bird onto a branch so he could join the others in the bushes. Leif hunched his shoulders against the prodding and pricking of all the little twigs and leaves he was suddenly surrounded by. Better than being spotted by blood-magic-enchanted ravens and then eaten by wolves, he told himself, but all the same Leif pulled the collar of his half-cloak around his neck a little more tightly.

After a time, the ravens vanished from overhead, seeming to move on. Gavin, however, remained tense. A moment later, Sieg snapped a finger to the others and mouthed “Lost the trail- can’t sense where to go.”

Sieg was badly worried about that, and it was clear from the way the puma was holding himself that so was he. It indicated that either their foe had fallen asleep or become distracted… or that he’d gotten suspicious.

Leif cursed silently, having come to the same conclusion. Now what? Staying here didn’t seem like the greatest idea, but pressing forward into what could now be a trap or an empty space wasn’t good either…

Markus, hand on his sword, snapped the fingers of his other hand and pointed back the way they had come, then the direction they were going, and then used two fingers to mime walking. ”We should keep moving,” he mouthed. ”Harder to find us. Which way?” The Curys knight gestured forward and backward again.

Sieg looked at his knight-master, clenching his hands into a fist with frustration at how afraid the man-turned-cat clearly was. Looking back to Markus he mouthed “Forward- need to catch him.”

Markus held up his hand in a placating gesture. ”Sure, but careful - he could be gone, or it could be a trap.”

Sieg! Gavin “shouted” making the half-elf wince in pain. He snarled at the same second he called out to his squire, and at almost the same moment the angry shriek of a black-shouldered kite split the rainy air and made Leif and Markus join Sieg in flinching. Seconds later, the sounds of the rain were almost drowned out by a tremendous crashing in the brush, and a veritable wave of silver and black bodies streamed out of the trees towards their position.

The wolves! Gavin cried, before he was too caught up in defending himself to speak further. Sieg gave a muted yelp, drawing his sword instinctively but hesitating to swing it a fraction of a second too long and found himself pinned under a hundred pounds of muscle and teeth.

Leif turned as quickly as he could, a shield spilling from his wand. A wolf hit it with a solid wumph and staggered back, momentarily dazed - past it, Leif saw Sieg tackled and leaned around his shield to cast a blast of force at the animal. “Dwoopulso!” He’d shouted the incantation, but no sound came out with the the soundless rush of exhaled air and the flash of green light.

He didn’t have time to think about how bizarre that was - another wolf was already coming at him, no doubt to assist its compatriot. Leif hastily refocused his attention. He doubted it would work, it never did, but he pointed his wand and silently snapped “Stupefy!” The wolf might have grunted, but otherwise the light from the spell glossed off its flank with no more damage than light filtering through the trees. Leif cast another shield, but this wolf was able to stop in time to avoid a collision. Both wolves snarled, and each started for a different edge of the shield to come around to get him instead. Leif clenched his teeth - he couldn’t be too forceful…

Pointing at the ground in front of each wolf, Leif mouthed, “Expulso!” Bursts of vividly green light slammed into the mud and stones and foliage and threw chunks of rubble with violent speed into the wolves’ faces; one snarled and drew back, squeezing shut one of its eyes, and the other paused just long enough for Leif to cast a wordless incantation that made a small fire spring up in the pit he’d just created. He twisted his wand around and filled that one with fire, too - just in time, as the wolf was coming forward again, how did they move so blightedly silently? It drew back with a sharp bark, its nose having been caught briefly in the heat, and it darted off from the fight, at least for the moment. The fires were already dying down in the rain, however - this was not a defense Leif could maintain for long.

Markus yanked off his Woocifix and drew his sword, twisting it so the flat of the blade met the throat of the wolf lunging at him. He had to brace near the tip of the sword with a gloved hand to keep the wolf back as it strained to getting to Markus. Sharp fangs skimmed the knight’s face; his cheek was quickly wet with trickles of blood and hot dog breath. Markus abruptly brought the hilt of the blade down onto what he figured was the wolf’s equivalent of a knee, and in the moment where the animal yipped and stopped straining forward quite so hard, Markus twisted his arm to brace the blade with his forearm instead of the hand with the Woocifix, and pressed the wooden token against the wolf’s muzzle.

The wolf drew back with more and higher-pitched yelping, though not before striking Markus with a blunt-clawed but still large paw. It retreated, but there was another wolf already coming toward Markus, bigger than its burned companion. Great.

Sieg, meanwhile, had lunged upright immediately when Leif got the wolf off of him. As it rolled back and retreated, a second bore down on him. Not bothering with his sword this time, Sieg shoved his hand into the pouch at his belt and flung a fistful of the contents- salt. However, in the rain it didn’t get very far, and Sieg was forced to dive into a roll to get out of the way of the charging wolf. Too bad Leif can’t bless the bloody rain, or we’d have our victory in seconds, he thought grimly. As the wolf turned to meet him, Sieg ducked aside, swinging his sword hilt first to slam the wolf in the side. He heard a crunch, and when the wolf tried to stand again one leg was dangling uselessly off of a broken shoulder. He hated having to hurt an innocent like that, but he had no choice…

He was distracted from that brooding by a mental cry from Gavin, and turned to see the puma caught in the jaws of not one, but two wolves. Though bigger and stronger, Gavin still couldn’t coordinate his animal form well enough to fight efficiently with it. With a cry of anger, he darted towards them, drawing his dagger and swinging it at the face of the nearest canine. A line of crimson formed across its tender nose and it retreated, the other backing away almost as quickly. Gavin lurched to around onto his stomach with blood pouring out of the back of his neck and one leg. Sieg kneeling next to him and asking, Can you stand?

Don’t worry about me, Sieg, focus on the enemy! Gavin shot back, and with a wince, Sieg nodded and stood.

Suddenly, just a few feet away in the trees, there was a flash of white-green light, and barely audible over the din of the rain a cry of “Serpensortia” A few seconds later, Gavin gave a feline shriek, and Sieg thrashed in pain swinging his sword wildly to cleave in two the massive snake that was digging its fangs deep into his calf.

Leif, preoccupied with the wolf still prowling around for a gap in his defences, took a second too long to realize that the flash was a spell, and only looked over as the puma’s cry cut across the battle din.

The archmage’s stomach dropped with horror when he saw the huge snake, even as white-hot fury leaped into his chest, slamming against his ribcage like a rebounding force spell. Runes flew together in Leif’s mind and he pointed his wand skyward, summoning a large, green, almost entirely opaque eagle with long, featherless legs and short but powerful talons.

With a brief glance at the wolf still prowling around his shield, Leif focused on the raptor, let his eyes drift out of focus, and sent it swooping down on the snake. His fingers twitched in mimicry of the eagle’s talons as Leif dug them into the snake’s jaw to try and pry it free from Sieg’s leg. There turned out to be no need to wrench it loose, however; the snake turned on the eagle of its own accord. Of course, its venom couldn’t do anything to a creature without veins. Get it out of here! Kill it! Leif ordered, before pulling his full awareness away from the raptor.

Through a wave of dizziness, Leif turned back to the wolf and saw it crouched, preparing to jump the fire, which had fallen low in the rain without Leif’s attention. Leif raised his wand, preparing to aim a force spell at its leg - and then something struck the wolf in the side of the head right below its ear. The wolf staggered, and with a yip, bolted - Leif was baffled until his eyes focused and he saw the wooden woocifix Markus had borrowed from Sieg bounce onto the forest floor. “Aciwoo woocifix!” Leif snapped, looking around for Markus even as he caught the pendant in hand. His brother was fending off a last wolf; there was blood trailing from its hind leg, and when Markus took an aggressive step toward it, sword raised, the animal darted off, limping a little.

Leif yanked down his shields and pointed his wand upward again to create a new one around their whole company, a dome like the one he’d placed over Gavin earlier. Ayleth swooped out of a nearby tree and neatly flitted under the descending wall, landing on Leif’s shoulder.

The snake was thrashing against the bird construct still, but as the dome closed over them the construct finally managed to get its beak over the snake’s head, killing it. The raptor construct dropped the serpent and looked to Leif, who pointed his wand to dissipate it, and then removed the silencing spell with a sharp cut of a gesture. The air filled with the sound of panting. Gavin darted into the space the serpent had previously occupied, looking up at his former squire with obvious concern.

Sieg hissed softly, his skin pale and his breathing labored. He put a hand to his face, muttering something in Elvish. Gavin nudged him frantically, but the half-elf barely seemed to notice. He took a staggering step towards Leif and Markus, still addressing them in bleary, exhausted sounding Elvish that was as intelligible to them as Gavin’s snarls might’ve been. Then he lost his balance, stumbling forwards into Markus.

Part Seven

SPOILER: Click to show

Markus let his sword drop to catch Sieg under his arms. “Oh, ‘Pit - the blighted snake had venom, didn’t it?” He stooped and turned the half-elf around so he could keep him in a sitting position. Leif was already hurrying over, rather pale himself and with a horrified expression. Markus looked up at him and said, “Leif, you brought potions for snakebites with us - you have those now, right?”

“I - yes - “ Leif crouched next to them, yanking bottles out of one of his satchels. “Two of them - I couldn’t remember if it was you or Stefan who's allergic to - “ He suddenly froze. “’Pit - he’s half-elf, he might be allergic to something in these - Sieg, if I read you ingredients, can you tell me if they’re ones you can’t have?”

The half-elf, if he heard, gave no indication of it. He was leaning heavily against Markus’ chest, his eyelids drooping and a slight foam dribbling out of his mouth. He muttered softly, still in Elvish, but it seemed to be more to himself than in reply to Leif.

Leif cursed. Markus said urgently, “You need to just pick one, Leif - I don’t know kind of snake that was, but this venom could be killing him - we need to take the risk.”

“If Gavin could - “ Leif’s shoulder’s suddenly tensed. He hoisted his satchel up and dropped it near Markus’ free hand. “Get the potions out of there for me, and wash the wound out as much as you can - there’s cloth and water, in there. Don’t lie him down, keep his heart over the bite.” Even as he gave orders, Leif yanked open the flap of the other satchel and pulled his spellbook free.

“What are you doing?”

“Mindlink - won’t solve the language barrier but I can show him what the ingredients look like and that’s all I can think of that might work!” Leif heaved the spellbook open and looked right at Gavin, motioning with his wand from Sieg’s head to Gavin’s, then from his own head to the puma’s. Gavin nodded, slapping a paw on the ground urgently, as if to say “do it quickly.”

Leif did - he raced through the runes, a finger tracing his progress on the page and barely ever pausing - in half the time he’d managed in Commander Anri’s office, Leif was dragging the rune chains from the air to himself and Gavin.When the knock came, he imagined yanking the door fully off its hinges.

He cast and applied the last rune chain, and held out a hand to Markus for the first bottle. To his great relief, a glass potion bottom struck his palm almost at once. Praying Gavin didn’t need an explanation for what he was asking, Leif looked down at the first ingredient listed on the label tied to the stopper and pushed a mental image of the plant toward the mental open door.

Fortunately, Gavin’s intimate personal experience with what could go wrong if you dosed an elf with something meant for a human allowed him to immediately extrapolate what was going on. Each time Leif presented an image of a plant to him, he mentally replied Oui, with a strong sensation of assent behind it to clarify the meaning of the Elvish word. However, at about the fifth ingredient, he shook his head, his mental word changing to Non with a sensation of negation behind it.

“Not this one.” Leif held the bottle out to Markus, who mutely took it and passed Leif the second one. This time, Leif was able to get through the list without incident, and once he’d finished Gavin gestured at Sieg urgently with a paw. The half-elf had lost consciousness entirely, and under Markus’ fingers his pulse was slow.

Leif yanked open the bottle. “Markus, I need a cloth.” The Curys knight obliged, and Leif dipped a large section of its corner into the potion and drew it out soaked in a very pale-blue liquid. He pressed the cloth firmly against the puncture wounds in Sieg’s leg, setting the potion down do he could use both hands. “He’s still…?” There was a slight tremor in his voice.

“I still feel a heartbeat, but that better work quickly.”

Leif glared down at the wetted cloth, and as if in response to the archmage’s heated expression, yellow liquid suddenly flooded into the cloth, blending with the original blue potion to turn a rather unpleasant shade of green. “That’s the poison, the potion’s drawing it out,” Leif explained quietly, almost autonomously.

When all of the blue was gone, Leif plucked up the cloth, dipped another corner in, and pressed it back onto the snakebite. The yellow was sucked in almost at once this time, though its pace had slowed by the time Leif took the cloth away again. “That’s almost all of it out.” He repeated the soaking and pressing again. “Should just be one or two more and then it’ll all be gone.”

My wayward son, hissed a voice in Leif's head. He yelped aloud, fingers curling against the cloth. Why do you struggle against me so? Why do you reject your true brothers and sisters?

Gavin tensed, his lips drawing away from his teeth in a silent snarl. A moment later, the voice crooned again. Oh, but I am your father. You insist on clinging to this illusion of a Life Before, but it is not so. You are newly born, freshly sprung into the world only yesterday. These centuries old memories you think represent a life lived are but a fever dream. Come back into the fold, my son. Come back, and Papa will forgive you.

Leif’s skin crawled and the white-hot energy lashed in his chest, less angry than squirming. This was not a voice he wanted in his head, everything about it was wrong, even as it was trying to be enticing. And the shape-shifter talking about the elves he had nearly killed and then transfigured and enslaved and send them to nearly-kill more elves like they were...like they were his children? And this delusion about their old lives not being real...was he actually convincing the other transfigured elves of that? What kind of terrible power had this blood magic given him?

Gavin snapped at the air with his fangs, as if he wanted to sink them into the evil mage’s throat. A soft sensation very much like a sigh rippled through the mindlink. The man was tearing you away from your sisters. I sent the snake not out of hatred of him, but love for you. I hold no anger over his survival. Only regret that you did not take the distraction I afforded and use it to flee back to where you belong. There is still time you know; they clearly do not fear you, these men. You can kill them, while their guard is down and they are tending the sick one. It will be a mercy really- quick, and painless. It is your true nature after all. You are a predator. I know you can hear the blood thrumming in their veins, smell it just beneath the flesh of their necks. The mental voice almost purred. Leif was acutely aware of how hard and painfully fast his heart was racing. You want to bite them. To feel their hot blood flowing through your teeth and over your tongue.

Gavin snarled aloud, and the sigh came again. You are stubborn. But don’t worry, my little one. You will see reason, and when you do Papa will be waiting with open arms. He will hold you, and stroke your soft fur, and welcome you home, as it should be. If these others must die first, so be it. I only regret that this is what it takes to bring you back to where you belong.

The elf-turned-puma remained tense, but gradually he relaxed, though a shiver ran down his back and all of his fur as standing on end.

Leif realized he’d been holding his breath and finally released it. The exhale was accompanied by a shudder that racked its way down his spine.

“Leif,” Markus said, sounding like he’d been trying to get Leif’s attention for a while. “Leif, is he -”

“He stopped talking - but - he wants us dead, the three of us, he’s - the guy is insane, he’s talking like he’s literally their father and like the elves were always animals, and we’re a distraction or something so he wants Gavin to kill us, he was talking about predators and blood...”

Markus glanced at Gavin, but apparently assured that the puma was still acting like his elven self, turned back to Leif fairly quickly. “Okay - summarize that again later. Right now - shake it off, I need your help with Sieg.”

“I - Right, I know.” Leif shook his head and looked down at the cloth. Most of the potion had turned green, and only very slowly were any remaining blue patches taking on that color. Leif dipped a new patch of cloth and reapplied it, anyway, just to be safe. Only a few speckles of green appeared. “That’s about as much as was in there.”

“Well...his heartbeat’s picking up a bit, but…”

“We took too long getting this to him,” Leif said. “The other potion would’ve helped fix some of the damage the venom did, but we couldn’t use that one so...” Leif dug through the satchel of potions and retrieved a bottle of blue-green liquid. “This is just a general healing potion - it’ll speed up what his body would do on its own to fix the venom. Hopefully we can use it.” He glanced at Gavin to make sure the elf was ready, then started down the list of ingredients and sent mental images to the puma again. He reached the end of the list with a sigh of relief. “It’s safe. Get me the spoons from the front pocket so I can dose this right…”

Together Leif and Markus managed to get a spoonful and a half of the medicine down Sieg’s throat. The half-elf was still for another few minutes, then he flinched, his eyes opening. “What the ‘Pit…”

Snakebite Gavin told him. The mage summoned one to attack you. But you’re alright now, Master Jade has given you a potion.

Sieg put a hand to his forehead. “A snakebite… Woo, now I remember.” He realized he was leaning back against Markus’ chest and tried to sit up, but the potion was still working in his system and with a wince he slipped back down again. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine, I’ve had worse on me today. Wolves, for instance. After that little spat I’m really quite okay with anything that doesn’t try to bite me in the face.”

“We used a potion to draw out the venom,” Leif explained, “and another one to help you heal the damage it did before we could get it out - that one’s still working. I’m sorry it took so long - we had to figure out whether the potions were okay for you to have in the first place. And I’m sorry I didn’t see that ‘Pit-scum mage earlier.”

“Not your fault, Leif,” Sieg muttered. “None of us saw him, and the rain… did it stop raining?”

Look up, Sieg, your friend put a shield over us.

Sieg looked up in surprise and finally noticed the dome of green light. “Oh. So he did. But what happens now? Are we going to get mauled if we drop the shield?”

The wolves have retreated for the time being. As to what happens now, first, I think Master Jade should tell you and Markus what he heard from our adversary. Gavin remarked, and gave the impression of a nudge through the link between him and Leif, and a shade of that skin-crawling sensation they’d both been feeling when the blood mage had spoken.

Leif tensed automatically at the foreboding feeling, but managed to recognize that it wasn’t actually a new message, just a memory of the old. “Right...so - Sieg, I had to use the mindlink to make a connection between myself and Gavin so I could check the ingredients, and...the blood-mage tried convincing Gavin to come back again.”

“What all did he say, exactly?” Markus asked. “Your first explanation wasn’t...clear.”

Trying to go more slowly this time, Leif said, “He’s...he still wants Sir Gavin to come back. Kept calling him his son, which was creepy. And...I guess he’s telling the elves that they’ve always been animals, and their elven lives are just their imagination; he seems to think the three of us are getting in the way of Sir Gavin just accepting that. The attack was supposed to give Gavin a chance to run away from us and go back to the mage and his pack, and when he didn’t... that’s when he threw a snake at Sieg. To try and remove the competition, I guess.” Leif scowled. “He tried to get Gavin to do it - attack us, I mean. Pointed out we were distracted taking care of Sieg and tried telling Gavin he wanted to do it, that he wanted things predators would - blood and teeth and all those fun things.” Lief had to repress another shudder.

“Well,” Markus pointed out, “obviously that didn’t work, or we would be having a conversation more like ‘Get this puma off me’ - so Gavin’s resistance is still holding up. That’s good news at least.” Frowning, the human knight asked, “What if he realizes he won’t be able to talk Gavin into taking us out?”

“This is a blood-mage we’re dealing with, I doubt he’d get cold feet about killing us himself. Honestly when he wasn’t describing us as prey to try and appeal to the puma’s instincts, he kind of...barely considered us. We’re just in the way of Gavin going back to him, and I think he’d be perfectly capable of letting his pack tear us to shreds and then forgetting us completely. His real concern is getting Gavin back. That’s what he kept going on about, Gavin ’coming home’, all with the most skin-crawling phrasing possible, of course.”


“Sounds like the other times- but worse,” Sieg remarked grimly. Glancing at his master he remarked dryly, “I take it you threatened him with blood and teeth?”

As he was still mentally translating all of the conversations to his master in real-time, the puma bore its teeth in what might have been a smile. Naturally. If I “return” to him, it will only be to give him justice for what he’s done. Sieg relayed this, and as he did so Gavin remarked, Oh, you and Sir Markus look very cozy by the way.

Sieg turned beet red, and Gavin made a noise that might have been a laugh, but sounded more like a growl. The elf-turned-puma apparently decided this joke was worthy of being shared even if Sieg was unwilling, because he relayed an image into Leif’s mind of Markus and Sieg laying exactly as they were, but with a bit of a sensual undertone to the image.

Leif blinked. “...Uh. Oh. Well - his wife wouldn’t approve, so - ”

“Wife?” Markus repeated. “Uh-oh, I think I’m the only one here with one of those - what am I in trouble for?”

“Uh...just a joke Gavin...implied,” Leif cleared his throat. It would have been exactly the sort of thing Leif would probably have teased SIeg about himself, usually - but joke or not, the idea of his brother and best friend in that sort of interaction was…weird.

Unfortunately, Markus followed Leif’s gaze and noticed Sieg’s color, and seemed to get as much information from that as any explanation. “Ohhh, we’re in that territory, are we? Points to Sir Gavin for intuiting I have been in not-dissimilar positions with a handsome gentleman or two before - but, lucky for you, I find it awkward in this case, too. Sorry to disappoint, Sieg, I know I’d be a catch if I wasn’t married,” he said with a friendly clap on the half-elf’s shoulder. “And you can apologize to Sir Gavin, too, but for having to deprive him of the amusement of me fake-flirting with you. It’s just far too strange to do with my siblings’ friends.”

“Thank ‘Woo,” Leif muttered, rubbing his temples. “Count me as a third person that would be weird for.”

Sieg blushed even harder, but fortunately for his dignity by that point he had the strength to push himself upright. “Master says, ‘A pity, I’ll just have to make do,’” the half-elf muttered, not meeting Markus or Leif’s eyes. With a cough, he went on, “He also says that he commends Markus for how well he improvises, and that he has very good aim. That ‘I’ve never seen anyone such a deadly shot with a Woocifix before.’”

“I do try to impress,” Markus said with a grin. “And I couldn’t let that wolf eat my little brother - can you imagine how angry he’d be if an animal got him but it wasn’t a bird?”

Sieg sighed. “Alright, we need to decide what to do now- we can’t just sit under this barrier all day, sooner or later the blood mage will figure out how to break through it if nothing else. The element of surprise is gone now; the mage knows he’s been found out and we’re hunting him. We need to fall back somewhere defensible and rethink our strategy.”

Leif, handing the wooden woocifx back to Markus, interjected, “Well, before we do that, I ought to heal the rest of you - I see that snake wasn’t the only thing biting.” After glancing between Sieg, Markus, and Gavin, Leif motioned for Gavin to come over to him. “I’ll start with SIr Gavin, those wounds look deep.” The puma nodded, lurching to his feet and padding over to Leif while projecting a sense of gratitude. “Sieg, I’ll close the snakebite in a second.” He paused to mutter the incantation for the gash-healing spell, and as ribbons of green light tied a wound together, Leif asked, “Anything else that needs healing? Markus, same question.”

Sieg shook his head. “Mostly just bruising other than the snakebite. Y’know, where I fell on my back.” He winced. “Good thing my gambeson has extra padding around the spinal area.”

Markus shrugged. “I should wash the wolf spit off my face and make sure there’s no teeth in there I need to pry out, but nothing that needs magic right now. For the record, I agree we need to get somewhere a bit more sheltered and rethink our strategy. Sieg, Gavin, these are your woods; any place here that’ll work for that? Or do we need to head all the way back to the city proper?”

Too far to go back to the city. Gavin remarked. We’ll likely lose him if we do that. He wants me back but he’s not an ignoramus, if we go to Nid’aigle he’ll figure we’re getting reinforcements of some kind and change his strategy.

Sieg relayed this, then frowned. “I think this is pretty close to where I broke my leg when I was a squire. I managed to drag myself to a depression that I think is an ancient sinkhole- there’s a small, shallow cave there but I didn’t hide in it at the time because I didn’t want to be where no one would spot me. Would that work?”

“I won’t lie, I like the sound of solid stone on three sides,” Markus said. “Of course, the problem is getting stuck in there if someone finds us.”

“I’m not much of an archmage if I can’t make an emergency exit.”

“You’d be a much more alive one if you didn’t collapse the cave on us by doing that,” Markus retorted.

Leif scowled, but after casting another healing spell on Gavin, offered, “I can set up a ward a little ways away from the cave, then. I’ll be able to feel if something crosses it and that’ll give us time to get out the front and do whatever we need to do.”

Could your bird also be convinced to keep watch? Gavin asked through Sieg. Her screech earlier was quite loud and distinctive, and I am fairly certain the cramped quarters in the cave would not be to her taste anyway. But I do think the cave is likely our best bet- if it is the one I am thinking of, the sinkhole also has a spring at the bottom of it, which would be good for fresh water.

“Fresh water that’s not coming at us in buckets out of the sky anyway,” Sieg muttered.

“I can try to have Ayleth keep an eye out, she’s been helpful in that way so far. But, listen, we need to be careful about relying on her. Ayleth’s not a dog, or even a Harris hawk - she doesn’t have the same pack instincts they do. It’s about as likely she’d just stay quiet and try to avoid their notice as warn us something’s coming.”

Markus said, “I don’t know that you’re giving her enough credit - she warned us about the ravens and the ambush.”

“Because she was right there. I’m not saying she won’t do it...I’m just saying we need to be careful.” Leif took a deep breath. “I love Ayleth, but she’s a raptor, and...they’re just not the same as people.” Easing apart another patch of bloody fur on Gavin’s back, Leif said, “The spring would be good. I can create water if we really need it, but I think we’re better off saving my magic for fighting and healing as much as possible.”

“Agreed,” Sieg replied. “Especially if this shapeshifter is going to be getting in on the fun as a mage and not just a hivemind for the other transfigured elves or a bear. I can fight a mage one-to-one if I have to- I really don’t think I could take one on and his army of animal cronies.” With a wince he added, “And Master says he has no desire to see if this fellow would be willing to try his magic on a half-blood as a means of getting his renegade back.”

“If anyone’s fighting the mage one-on-one, it needs to be me,” Leif insisted. “Especially if he brings along his pack.”

“I think he was agreeing with you, Leif - hackles down,” Markus said. He got to his feet, extending a hand to Sieg to help him up as well. “Let’s get moving as soon as we can, this dome’s a big glowing target and I doubt the shape-shifter’ll ignore it for very long.”

The group moved out shortly after Leif finished the healing spells he had promised. Sieg led the way again, though the party as a whole stuck a bit closer together than they had before. It wasn’t long before they found the cave and the sinkhole. Leif handed off the partially-drained potion bottle of water and a flask to the knights for them to fill while he set up the wards; Markus was careful to keep Leif within sight, even though Ayleth was still flitting through the trees and keeping relatively close to her falconer.

Finally, Leif holstered his wand again, took Ayleth on his glove, and seemed to be speaking to her for a minute or two before giving her a bit of meat from the pouch on his belt and letting her take flight again. He rejoined the three knights, accepting his freshly-filled flask from Markus. “The wards are set,” he announced, “and Ayleth’s...around. I tried making some associations for her with words she does know, to get the idea across that she needs to be a lookout, and promised her some treats if she does. Food’s usually good motivation for her, so it’s a matter of seeing if she understood, I guess.” He took a long drink from the flask.

“Worst case scenario she just hides from the enemies and your wards tip us off,” Sieg replied. “Alright, lets get out of this rain and rethink our plan of attack.”

He led the way into the cave, which as he’d already mentioned wasn’t especially large- not a deep, extensive tunnel system like one might find in a cave in Bern or Medieville, but instead a shallow indentation in the wall. There was room for the three people and the puma, but it wasn’t exactly spacious. Though it was at least relatively dry, and there was room to stand up if need be in a fight.

“So,” Sieg said as he sat down on the rocky floor of the cavern. “He knows we’re on to him now, at least insofar as we know he’s out there. But based on the context of what Leif told us, I’m guessing he still doesn’t know that we’re able to talk to Master. I don’t know if the mindlink spell is really obscure or something? Regardless, that is one plus- he doesn’t know how much we know about what he’s done and capable of. So we-”

He was cut off as Gavin flopped down beside his former squire, panting, Sieg frowned. “Are you alright?”

I’ll live. Remember, I’ve been awake since yesterday, and travelling for most of that time. I’m a knight, I’m accustomed to it, but operating this body is a strain enough without trying to do so while exhausted.

“He might not know about the spell,” Leif said, scooting around a bit to try and find a spot where he didn’t feel quite so cramped. “It’s not exactly unheard of, but it’s not used all that often, either. It might just not have occurred to him that we could use it. Or maybe he really doesn’t know about it, we have no idea what his training in incantational magic might have been.”

“So I guess he thinks we’re blindly following Gavin through the forest?” Markus surmised. “Works for me, I don’t mind knowing more than he thinks we know. Sieg, what were you going to say?”

Sieg, who’d still been looking down at Gavin with concern, blinked and refocused his attention. “Oh- just that we’ll probably need to use what we know about him to our advantage if we want to capture or kill him, since we’ve lost the element of surprise. Thought that does bring up a bit of a thorny question- what do we do when we find him? On the one hand, he’s the most likely to know how to reverse what was done to the elves. On the other, if he can mentally compel them to attack, as long as he’s alive and conscious he’s a threat.”

Gavin rolled slightly, putting his head down on his forepaws and closing his eyes. It is a difficult question, isn’t it? he remarked. Normally it would be a matter of fighting him and seeing if he surrenders- we may not have that luxury.

“Even if we did take him alive, I don’t know that he’d be willing to give us any information,” Leif said. “We could try to force it out of him, but...this is not a sane man, and this is his little...family. He might be able to hold out. And like you said, Sieg, he’d still be able to control the elves he transfigured.”

“Killing him is a pretty final decision,” Markus warned. “If we take him out and realize later we need something from him…”

“I’d offer to stun him and just keep him on sleeping potions if I thought any sort of stunning spell would actually work on him - but it doesn’t even work on the wolves, so either he’s got the skill to cast protective enchantments, or the pelts have some natural protections on them - or both, probably safest to assume both.” Leif frowned, flexing his fingers absently. “I could try something less magical and more ‘heavy rock to the face’ to knock him out, but that has just as much chance of killing him, really.”

“If not more,” Markus said.

Sieg scratched a mosquito bite on his arm distantly, nibbling on his lip. “I think we’ll have to cross that bridge when we get to it. It doesn’t look like letting him live would really be a practical option, in all likelihood he’ll force our hands in the heat of battle, but… you never know.” His eyes were drawn to the motions of Leif’’s hand and he frowned a bit. “Are you alright?”

Leif blinked, and abruptly dropped his hands into his lap. “I’m fine.”

Markus cleared his throat pointedly, and Leif grumble, “It’s just a bit of tugging, not even in my hands yet, I’m fine. ...My reaction to a giant snake shouldn’t have been ‘summon and control a giant snake-eagle construct’, is all.”

“Maybe not,” Markus agreed wryly. “Especially just a few hours after you’d already told us it was draining to hold onto it.”.

“I only held it for a few seconds - I needed to make sure it got the snake off without hurting Sieg more, or tried to fight it while it was still biting him. I let it go right after. Really, I’m fine - this,” he flexed his fingers again, “should go away in...an hour or so? Something like that, so long as I don’t use any other spells. And I know, we probably don’t have an hour, but I’m not in danger of collapsing or anything.”

“If you’re sure,” Sieg remarked dubiously. “Would it help if you dropped one of the mindlink spells?”

Not likely, the spell is passive, not active Gavin put in, Sieg relaying it almost automatically by this point. Once it’s put in place it should linger without draining Master Jade’s resources. Still, I am not optimistic we will be able to overcome our adversary without that pull becoming a good deal worse- please be careful, my friend.

Sieg folded his arms. “So things we need to account for in our plan- Master is exhausted and Leif needs to be sparing with his magic so he’s not too pulled before we even manage to bring the shapeshifter to bay. Anything else I should make note of? Markus you’re not hiding a secret mortal wound you’ll reveal to us when it’s most dramatic to do so, are you?”

Markus snapped his fingers in mock-disappointment. “Oh, come on, you’re ruining the surprise!” But he shook his head and said, “Nah, nothing but these.” He pointed to the marks from the wolves’ teeth on his face. “Not exactly life-threatening or an impairment.”

“You should still clean them while we have a bit of breathing room,” Leif said, shrugging off his satchel of potions and digging out a clean cloth and the water. “As for your list, Sieg - we still have the issue of the animals we can’t seriously injure, but can’t let kill us, either, to worry about.”

Looking at the water before passing it to Markus, Leif remarked, “But the holy items worked well. Maybe now’s as good a time as any to see if I can bless water after all. If I can’t help as an archmage because I need to hold back, I can at least try to help as an almost-priest.”

“Good notion,” Sieg agreed. “Especially since the salt is useless in this weather. But I personally vote that we don’t test it’s holy-ness on our resident victim. Once was enough.”

Sieg, it’s fine, just a drop should be enough to tell, Gavin pointed out.

“Master, yesterday I thought you were dead! Now I find that you’ve been cursed, are carrying a deranged lunatic’s voice around in your head, and I have to use you as a test animal to determine if our holy weapons work on you! You almost got mauled to death back there!”

Calm down- I’m a knight, I’ve my duties just like you do-

“I am not losing you again, and I certainly don’t want to keep hurting you!”

Leif hesitantly interrupted, “If you’re arguing about it, it’s - I’ll find some other way to figure out if it worked.”

“Do you actually have a way on hand to do that, Leif?” Markus asked. “We don’t know how much time we have until they come back, especially after you’ve taken the time to do the ceremony.”

“Look, we already burned Sir Gavin and he’s exhausted, and you don’t want me doing magic, so maybe we shouldn’t go around burning our allies if you won’t even let me heal them afterward!” Leif reached for his spellbook satchel and unwound the dead talisman from the cords. “We’ve got a small horde of holy items in here, can we at least see if they react at all to the holy water?”

Markus raised an eyebrow. “...You don’t know if they do or not?”

Not meeting anyone’s eyes, Leif muttered, “They didn’t teach me any more about the holy water after I accidently turned it into steam. Well, when my magic went ahead and decided to do that. And Friar Francis isn’t exactly the kind of person who lets people play around with holy objects and blessed water to see what happens.”

Sieg smiled thinly. “Your post-eagle clawing, pre-Jade times must’ve been eventful. It’s fine Leif, no one blames you. I’m grateful you’re willing to try at all.” He sighed, pulling his knees closer to himself. “I just… don’t want us to hurt each other unnecessarily.”

Gavin allowed a small prickle of frustration to trickle down the link between himself and Leif, though it was also laced with sadness and concern. Leif looked over at the puma, not certain what each emotion was directed toward specifically, but after a moment returned as best he could a feeling of empathy for the cat’s frustration, assurance, and apology that they’d had to drive the knight so hard.

Shaking his head, Sieg went on, “Still, we keep missing the main point- we need to decide what our plan is. The animals were likely fanned out searching, but while we linger here the shapeshifter could be calling them together so we have even more to fight later. At least in this wet he should have a hard time hiding his or his hostage’s prints, but… what do we do when we find him? If we find him before he finds us?”

“Go for the mage,” Leif said. “Whether we knock him out or kill him, he’s the only one we don’t have to hold back on. With the elves it’s going to turn into a stalemate every time, at least on our side. ...Maybe I can get a shield over at least some of the pack, reduce the number of them you all have to fight.”

“If you’re fighting the mage, we should focus on the pack, Leif,” Sieg argued. “You can’t do everything yourself. The more practical scenario is that we attack him, you go for the mage, and we distract the pack to keep them off of you. On our approach obviously you do what you can, but can you hold shields from a distance without seriously draining your resources?”

“It won’t drain me if I finish the spell properly...it’s just on a time-limit at that point.”

Markus said, “I don’t know that you’ll have time to cast them at all - I’m sure he saw you conjure your snake-eagle, so he has to know you’re a mage. I bet he’ll go right for you for the same reason you’re targeting him. Besides, shield or not - as soon as he’s down, the pack loses their instructions and their leader.” He pointed a stern finger at the archmage. “If you get a chance to attack him first, take it. We’ll handle the hitting things physically, right, Sieg?”

Sieg nodded firmly. “If I can handle gryphons, I can handle wolves. The holy water will help, if it works properly. And… though I’d prefer not to, I can disable them more physically if I have to.” Glancing at the puma he added, “Master says once we find the mage, it’s probably better if he retreats. That the last fight just proved he’s a liability in combat in that body.”

The half-elf compressed his lips grimly. “So… I guess a frontal assault is the consensus?”

“Much as I’d love to try a sneak attack,” Markus said regretfully, “between the ravens and the animal senses, I don’t think we can make that work.So yes - we get as close as we can without alerting him, then we let Gavin retreat and the three of us go in and hit ‘em...not as hard as we can, but. Pretty hard.”

Leif nodded slightly in agreement, and though he still looked troubled, only said, “I guess I should get started trying to bless the water, then?”

“I imagine so,” Sieg agreed. He sighed. “The ‘Woo watch over us all.”

Part Eight

SPOILER: Click to show

Several empty bottles in hand - they had once belonged to potions for either very unlikely or very minor injuries and had been magically emptied of their contents - Leif headed out to the spring at the base of the sinkhole. He looked suspiciously at the treeline as he walked, but there was no sign of red-smudged animal faces, and he didn’t feel anything prodding at the wards, either. Ayleth, to his mild surprise, was in the tree he’d left her in. The kite glanced in Leif’s direction, but turned back to the other trees with a flick of her wings and tail.

Leif crouched beside the water and laid out all the things he’d brought - the empty bottles, the wooden woocifix, and the talisman from his spellbook satchel. He took off his gloves as well, and set them alongside the talisman. One did not wear gloves around holy water; what sort of priest would want to block their hands from water blessed by the ‘Woo, after all?

He had to resist an urge to fiddle with everything to get it into some imaginary perfect alignment. It might have been nice to put off this attempt a few minutes longer, but there wasn’t time for Leif to indulge his nervousness. Closing his eyes, he made the sign of the ‘Woo - curled fingertips from shoulder to shoulder to chest.

Lord ‘Woo, I know this isn’t really how this is supposed to work, that it’s supposed to be an ordained priest doing this. But - well, you already know, right? The elves Markus and Sieg are going to have to fight are just victims of this ‘Pit-spawn blood-mage, and if they can use holy water to drive them off, then they don’t have to risk killing them. And you know I’m the closest we’ve got to a priest, sad as that is. ...I’d say I was sorry I couldn’t be ordained, but I don’t think you’d believe that for a second. And - not to be presumptuous or anything, but - I think I’ve done more of your work as an archmage than I could’ve as a priest.

...This was getting a little long for a prayer. If you could just lend us a wing here - please let this work, just this one time. Or - well - just in emergency situations, maybe. You keep putting me on paths with a lot of really weird magic. Leif sighed. I’m actually going to start now. So. Thanks for listening. He opened his eyes and scooted up to the water’s edge.

There was a soft squelching of mud behind him, and a moment later the tawny shape of a puma appeared by Leif’s side at the water’s edge. Gavin looked at Leif, as usual the thoughts passing behind his animal face and eyes unreadable. However, a moment later he sent an image into the archmage’s mind- a simple one. An image of himself, in his elf form, putting a comforting hand on Leif’s shoulder, accompanied by a sensation of reassurance.

Leif was surprised to see the cat, but realized when he received the mental image from Gavin that he must have been more obvious about his nervousness than he’d quite realized. The archmage mustered up a thin smile, and sent back a feeling of gratitude through the link. He wondered if he should try asking why Gavin wasn’t getting some rest while he still could...but Gavin was several-hundred years old, Leif reasoned - he would know his own strengths and limitations quite well.

Leif turned back to the water, picking up the woocifix. “All right,” he muttered, though he knew Gavin wouldn’t understand him. “Let’s give this a try.” He shifted the pendant so he was holding each end of the woocifix atop three fingers, and lowered it into the water until it was just barely submerged. The cord floated lazily atop the water beside it.

“Lord Woo who brought this water to his children, I place this symbol of my faith in the water, as I put my trust in your talons,” Leif started quietly. “I ask as a…” Not a Brother, that certainly wasn’t right… After a moment, Leif decided, “I ask as a child of your faith for divine protection from all things that would cower in your light…”

By the prayer’s end...Leif didn’t think the water seemed any different. Of course, even in church fronts holy water looked no different from regular water, and Leif had never felt a difference, either. He carefully drew the woocifix out of the water and after letting it drip for a moment, looped the cord over his neck. The wooden token and his silver feather pendant collided gently with a not-unpleasant sound.

Through this Gavin had watched, motionless and quiet. He sent a feeling akin to asking a question, and showed a picture of Leif dripping a little of the water on his tail.

Leif frowned, sending back a feeling of reluctance, and picked up the talisman. He held it up a moment for the puma to see before setting it on his lap and picking up a bottle instead, to scoop up some of the water. Carefully, Leif poured a few drops on the talisman. Aside from his rapid heartbeat, Leif didn’t notice anything unusual as he scrutinized the construct. Maybe the talisman was too old. Maybe holy water on talismans didn’t do anything even when it was working.

Come on, there’s got to be something else, I don’t want to burn Gavin… Leif twisted around to look, his pendant and the woocifix knocking against each other again. Not even thinking about it, Leif grabbed the pendants to keep them from swinging so wildly, and his thumb brushed against the damp fabric of his halfcloak.

...Hmm. Leif unhooked the clasp of his half-cloak, removed it from his shoulder, and dipped a small corner into the water. After wringing it out, he held it in Gavin’s direction, and sent a questioning feeling through the mental link - and followed it up with a mental image of Gavin sniffing at the fabric, hopefully in time to stop the puma from actually touching it. The water might be less painful if it was partially soaked into fabric, Leif thought, but he wasn’t eager to test that if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.

Gavin tilted his head, but leaned forwards regardless to smell the wet fabric- already soaked from the rain, but the particular section that had been dipped in the spring now saturated and dripping. His nostrils flared, and with a sneeze he whipped his head back, squeezing his eyes shut and sending the sensation of his nostrils burning through the mindlink.

Leif quickly drew back the cloak. “Sorry - er - “ He sent a feeling of apology over the mindlink.

But it had worked, Leif realized, looking down at the water from the freshly drenched corner of his halfcloak dripping back into the water. They had holy water - one more nonlethal defence for Sieg and Markus to use against the elves-turned-predators. “Thank ’Woo!” Leif snatched up one of the bottles and dipped it into the water to fill it.

Gavin sent a feeling of congratulations down the link. He was rubbing the end of his nose with a paw, as if to clear it of the stinging. A trickle of amusement flowed down the link, and the image of Leif in full formal priestly array making a dramatic flourish in front of a crowded cathedral.

Leif snorted, corking the bottle and sending back a more accurate mental image - the same attire, but a jerkier gesture and a lot of stammering. He made sure to push some of his own amusement across the link as well; his earlier discomfort about accidently evaporating several gallons of holy water and nervousness over not being enough of a priest to make holy water aside, Leif was far too content with his unordained life to really be bothered by how terrible a priest he’d have been.

Gavin grinned as best he could with a puma’s face, which came across looking rather more like a snarl than anything, but he sent the image of his elf face smiling across the link to clarify. He watched as Leif filled a second bottle with the water, curiosity apparent in his stance.

My little one, where are you?

Gavin’s entire body went stiff, and his fur stood on end. Leif’s hands jerked and half the water in the bottle splashed back out again. He looked at Gavin in alarm - not again, not so soon…

Soon it will be dark, my son. Your feline eyes see perfectly in the gloom, but your captors see only while the light shines. You can be away!

The puma clenched it’s eyes shut, claws digging into the dirt. After a moment, the voice crooned, Free them? Your brothers and sisters are free, my dear, sweet child. Freed from the chains of dreaming that bound them. Trapped in an endless nightmare for so long- won’t you awake as well? Wake, and come into your true self? A pause. Why am I doing this? Doing what? I only wake my children from slumber and give them life. I only seek to birth my own family, as anyone might chose to do. I’ve been lonely, my son- aren’t you lonely? Trapped in your own mind, unable to speak or be understood? These are not your kind. Come home, and be with your true people, where the voice of your heart will ring loud and clear!

Leif thought, He’s - he’s doing this because he’s lonely? What...what part of being lonely led him to ‘turn people into animals?! Turning to animals for company was one thing, Leif understood that well enough, but elves forced into animal shapes was not the same thing!

There was another pause, presumably while Gavin made his reply. Then, the mage’s “voice” almost cooing, he said, Oh, you’ll come around, my son. Just imagine it-

Through the link, suddenly there came a sort of mental wrench, and Gavin lurched as if he’d been struck- then, images. Seeing the world with washed out colors, scents a thousand times more potent, every tiny murmur of noise in the environment crisp and loud. Muscles, powerful and lean, rippled. There was a snarl, a spring- then a coppery flavor flooding his mouth.

Gavin shoved his face towards the spring, taking a deep breath of the water, and blessedly the pain of its vapors in his nostrils made the torrent of images in his head abate.

Leif, however, had no such relief. The rush of sensations, hundreds of sounds and thousands of smells all pouring into and flooding his head felt like an attack - his ability to handle sensation was already crippled and weak, and it was quickly giving way under the assault. An old and terrifyingly familiar pressure was quickly building up in Leif’s skull - not a real pressure, exactly, but definitely there. He couldn’t sort through all the sensations, could barely even start. The feel of blood on his tongue, the thick, dripping of it more than the taste, made him choke.

He’d dropped the bottle to put his hands to the sides of his head, but covering his ears didn’t stop the sounds or even mute them - Leif’s heart was racing so fast he was afraid it was going to explode. The white-hot anger or magic or whatever it was struck against the inside of his chest like the clapper of a bell, over and over again.

As Gavin panted, trying to ground himself in reality, he noticed Leif clapping his hands over his ears. The puma thought of calling to Sieg for help, but that would potentially alert the mage to Sieg’s presence- not to mention the fact that Sieg was no doubt seeing exactly what the archmage was seeing. Lurching to his feet, Gavin darted around Leif and did the only thing he could think to do; he grabbed Leif’s shirt collar in his teeth and with a tremendous yank, plunged him into the spring.

Being tossed into the water was definitely a distraction - and to Leif’s surprise, it made the mental images and sounds and smells abruptly fainter. And he suddenly had to concentrate on not breathing in and drowning himself in holy water, which turned out to be much more of a priority than focusing on the memory - or projection or whatever the horrid, ‘Pittish attack of sensations was - being forced into his brain.

The archmage got his head above water, sputtering and coughing. The white-hot striking was still going on in his chest and he tried to concentrate on that instead. He lifted a hand to his pendant; he’d forgotten the woocifix was there and his hand knocked it and the silver feather together, making the distinctive sound again. It echoed in Leif’s ears for a moment, and inexplicably he felt the pressure that had started building in his head begin to fade.

Gavin stood by the edge of the water, panting, his legs shaking a bit where the water had splashed him some as he tossed Leif in. Not much, just a few droplets, but they’d scalded upon contact. Fortunately, the evil mage seemed to have realized that something external was thoroughly distracting his victim, because he withdrew his mental presence, leaving the elf-turned-puma alone in his head again.

Est-ce que tu vas bien? came a much gentler voice in Leif’s head, followed a moment later by a sensation of abashed apology and a threading of questioning concern.

Leif’s shoulders went slack when the vision finally stopped. At the Elvish question, Leif looked up at the puma - and finally fully-processed what had happened. Realizing there must have been a splash, he looked for wet patches of fur - he saw small dots of fresh burns instead.

Moving carefully so he didn’t splash the water, Leif sat up and reached for his wand. “I’m sorry, I - I wasn’t expecting that, and... “ Leif had no idea how to even try explaining his oversensitivity without words - Gavin would have to ask Sieg for that later. Leif concentrated - he still felt frazzled and so it it took a moment - and sent back a rush of thankfulness, and an apology of his own.

“Here - “ he pointed his wand at the puma’s legs. “Calidus Sa-”

Movement from the corner of Leif’s eye distracted him - but it was only Markus, coming out of the cave with a worried expression. Sieg must have seen all that, too, Leif realized belatedly. The Curys knight stopped for a second, presumably not expecting to find Leif sitting in the spring of holy water, but he quickly started over.

Leif returned his attention to the spell. “Calidus Sanwootur.” He brought his wand in a wide circle around all the burns he could see; they were small enough that the spell ought to spread its energy between them all and fully heal each one.

The burns closed over, and Gavin sent a feeling of gratitude over the link. He tentatively reached for Sieg’s mind.

Sieg? Are you alright?

There was no response in words, just a sense of nausea and wrenching disorientation.

“That was the mage again, right?” Markus asked as he reached Gavin and Leif. Leif nodded, and Markus went on, “Sieg heard it, too - he’s...it looked like it was bad.” Judging from the frown on Markus’ face, looking at Leif was not making him feel any better.

“It was,” Leif said, motioning for Gavin to back up from the spring so that he could stand up without dripping any more holy water onto the cat. Leif grimaced a little at the motion of his hand. The pull had stretched a little higher-up. “He...I think he put a memory into Gavin’s head. Of being an animal. It...I think it killed something, I’m not sure. I tasted blood.”

“Oh ’Woo...”

Leif nodded, his gaze flicking away. He saw the dropped potion bottle floating nearby and reached out for it. Embarrassment gnawing at his stomach, Leif said, “It came with all the sounds and smells, too. You know how animals hear and smell better than people? A lot better?”

He saw Markus’s hand move slightly, but whatever movement he was going to make, the knight stopped. “It…the overload?”

“Almost. Gavin threw me in here, and I guess since it was only in my head it was enough of a distraction to stop it. Then he left. ...The blood mage.” Leif swooped the bottle out of the water, snatched the floating cork, and stood up. “I’ll be fine. Good news is,” he forced some life into his voice, “the blessing worked. We’ve got holy water.”

“G-good to hear,” Sieg said, coming out of the cave behind Markus. He was leaning heavily against the rock wall of the entrance, one hand on his forehead and the other at his stomach. “Woo, that was… I think I’m going to be sick…”

“I don’t blame you,” Leif muttered, sloshing out of the spring. “And that was supposed to convince Gavin to join him, was it?”

“So there was more than just that memory?” Markus asked.

“Yes, of course - there was the usual disturbing prattle first. The coming home thing, the nonsense about life as a person just being imaginary, ‘you can escape as soon as it’s dark’... Gavin asked him why he was doing all this, and he said it’s because he’s lonely and wants a family.” Leif made a noise of disgust in his throat. “Egomaniacal, sociopathic, ‘Pit-spawned madman!”

Gavin snorted, his derision plain. Sieg sighed, “Given everything we’ve seen of him so far, it’s no bloody wonder the monster is ‘lonely’- no one would want anything to do with him willingly.”

The half-elf stumbled out of the cave, sitting down next to the spring. “It’s not, I don’t know, heretical to splash some of this on my face, is it? I mean it’s raining hard enough but I imagine the springwater is cooler.”

“Well, I just took a bath in it, I’m sure splashing a little on your face is fine,” Leif said, crouching back in his original spot and filling another bottle.

“Well, it’ll be easier for us to keep the wolves and wildcats off your back if you smell like holy water, Leif,” Markus said. “And Sieg’s taking care to keep his good looks intact, too. Wonderful.”

The half-elf flushed, his shoulders jerking slightly. “Ah, th-thank you, I guess?”

“Markus!” Leif’s head snapped around toward his older brother. “You said - “

“Come on, it was all but handed to me, how could I resist?” The human knight smiled innocently.

Sieg winced, splashing the water on his face now half to cool the heat of his blushing. Gavin sniggered.

Leif, corking another bottle of holy water, said, “You really - “

A loud, angry shriek cut Leif off and he looked toward the trees in alarm. “Ayleth?” The kite was still at her perch, leaning forward and staring at something back the way they had come, wings partially spread and beak agape. She shrieked again and bobbed her tail.

“There’s something in the trees!” Leif said, before hurrying toward the kite. He drew his wand - either a bird, in which case he might need to protect it from Ayleth, or one of the blood-mage’s pumas had gotten up, in which case he needed to protect Ayleth. It must not have crossed the wards yet, or Leif would have felt it, but it had to be just on the edge if Ayleth had seen it.

He came to a stop at the base of the kite’s tree and followed the raptor’s glare. A barn owl looked back at him impassively - though Leif could only tell what species it was by the shape of its face. Where there should have been striking, pure white feathers was instead the same russet mess that covered Gavin’s face, and the wolves’. Now that Leif knew to look for them, he could make out the shape of the runes painted over its eyes.

“You’re still an elf you know!” he told the owl. “You don’t have to do this!”

The owl gave no sign it had heard him, just continued to watch. Ayleth gave a rising, warning cry.

Leif held out his glove. “Ayleth, here.” Kite on his arm, Leif backed away, watching the barn owl in case it decided - or was ordered - to attack. Over his shoulder he called, carefully in the hopes of not giving away too much of what they knew from Gavin, “There’s an owl with the runes on its face watching us - we should go. Now.”

Sieg swore under his breath, and Gavin tensed. “Right,” the half-elf said. “We’ve dawdled too long already. The sooner we get moving, the sooner we can finish this. And the sooner we can be away from where the owl will no doubt have its master call in the cavalry.”

Part Nine

SPOILER: Click to show

The owl continued to follow them, flitting from tree to tree along their path. However, no further ambushes were launched. The rain passed them by, leaving the landscape dark with the near-dusk, and still there was nothing. Occasionally they saw a print of a wolf or puma, but none of the real creatures. Sieg was twitchy, every instinct in him waiting for the attack he was certain had to be coming. Gavin was silent, keeping his thoughts to himself. Leif walked with Ayleth on his shoulder, one hand on his wand holster, and the other hand clenching tightly to the strap of his spellbook satchel - he had given the one with the potions and holy water to Markus, who, like Gavin, was keeping quiet. Any illusion of the Curys knight being uncaring of the potential danger they were in, however, was put to rest by the fact that he walked with his sword drawn. Held low, but drawn.

Every so often the mage spoke again in Gavin’s mind, making those mindlinked to the transfigured elf want desperately to take another bath in the holy water. However, Gavin seemed to have decided that ignoring these communications was the best way to handle them, because there were no more of the awkward, one-sided conversations. Just a steady stream of mental caresses and honeyed words.

Finally, after another bout of the blood-mage’s attempts to urge Gavin away had ended, Leif grumbled, “What’s he waiting for? The owl’s still on our tail. Are we going the wrong way and that’s why nothing’s attacked us?”

“This is the way we were going before,” Markus told him.

“Yes, but - “

Ayleth made a short, soft cry and hunched forward on Leif’s shoulder, her crimson eyes fixated on a bush. Leif snapped, “Sieg, Markus -” and drew his wand - here it came -

A rabbit scurried out of the bushes, caught sight of Gavin, and darted off in another direction. Leif blinked. “I - Ayleth, did you really just - ” He glared at the kite, only to find that the raptor wasn’t looking in the direction of the rabbit. She was still staring at the bushes. Gavin too, was looking in that direction, his ears pricked and the hair on his hackles raised. ”Wait, maybe there’s something else…”

He heard the bushes rustling gently, and then not one but two pumas with red-smeared faces emerged from the foliage. Markus and Sieg raised their swords, Leif called to mind the runes for a shield, and Gavin tensed so that he could spring away. But almost at once, the cats laid down, resting their heads on or between their forepaws.

...Maybe they escaped the blood-mage, too? Leif wondered in bewilderment. He didn’t see how it was possible for any of the transfigured elves to suddenly resist, but if that was what had happened, well, two additional pumas on their side were far better than two pumas against them…

“My daughters won’t attack you,” remarked a high male voice from somewhere above. “You needn’t worry- I’ve instructed them to simply watch. No more of my children’s blood will be spilled today.”

Sieg jerked, his head snapping up. Gavin snarled, Leif pointed his wand toward the trees, and Markus, though he remained facing the cats, glanced up as well. High above, in the boughs of a tree, sat a man dressed only in the ebony furred, brown nosed skin of a black bear. The man was young looking and as slender as a scribe, with matted, greasy black hair hanging just past his shoulderblades. His eyes, as Gavin had mentioned, were pure brown, with no traces of the normal sclera found in human eyes. He was resting his chin on the back of his hand, elbow on his knee, and smirking down at the gathered warriors. In his free hand he was idly flicking a short, thin wand.

“Leif,” Markus said insistently.

Leif wordlessly cast and fired an incarcerating spell, and a thick band of green energy shot out of his wand. It darted around the shape-shifter’s ankles and wrists and twice around his chest to pin his arms to his side. The man managed to tilt his wrist so that his wand fell into his lap rather than onto the ground, however, and Leif scowled. But at least he wasn’t going to be able to use the weapon. ...Okay, now what? He’s still up there, there’re still pumas down here he can order to attack us…

“My, my, trigger-happy aren’t we?” the man remarked, his expression in no way indicating he was at all inconvenienced by the bonds. “Not even a friendly ‘hello.’ And here I was trying to be a good, accommodating host.”

Sieg sneered. “Save it. We’re not here to play games.”

“Games?” the man repeated. “Who said anything about games? I’m being serious. I thought you elves liked manners. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot- let’s start over. Hello, friends; name’s Conri. Whom do I have the pleasure of welcoming into my forest?”

“Three knights and a mage,” Leif snapped. “And this isn’t your forest!” Jerking his head toward the pumas, he went on, “You turned a bunch of elves into animals, against their will, after mauling them, using blood-magic - we’re not here to talk!”

Conri sighed. “You’re just like the folks back home- you see everything in pure black and white. Blood magic is anathema, a perversion of the Woo’s holy gifts. No- it is a tool, like any other form of magic. Power is not evil; just how you use it. And my gifts, I use to save.”

As I will save you, my son, he whispered silently to Gavin, who flinched. Save you from yourself, and the burden of your false memories.

Sieg clenched his jaw, longing to call the mage out for his mental attacks on Gavin. But they were supposed to be keeping it a secret that they could hear these conversations, that they knew more than he realized they did about his abilities and his schemes.

Leif’s glare sharpened. “Saving people, were you? Whose blood did you take to cast this spell, did you save them? Actually, a spell this big - I’ll bet the murder you committed was very much a rescue to your victim,” he spat sarcastically.

“I will not pretend to pride for that much,” he said, shaking his head. “The Forbidden Art calls for a high sacrifice in its casting, as does anything that grants near limitless power. Blood binds, as I’m sure you know, but shared blood creates a tie that cannot be severed even by death.”

And now that blood burns through your veins as well- you feel it don’t you? We are of one flesh, one soul. You are mine and I am yours.

Gavin hissed, his claws digging furrows into the ground and his pupils contracting.

Shhhh, it’s alright. Be at peace; this will not take long. You’ve been on the run for such a long time- you’re tired. You should… sleep.

The puma recoiled from the word that had almost the force of a mental punch, looking a bit dazed. Conri never once looked at Gavin through this silent exchange, instead focusing on the humans and half-elf. “I needed the strength of one to whom I was already tied by blood, to make the blood tie of my magic strong enough to bind that which should never be bound- flesh to flesh, blood to blood, two dislikes made into one like.”

“You killed a member of your family - so you could turn yourself into a bear.” Leif sneered. “Oh, what a noble sacrifice. I’m sure he’d be so proud of you!”

“Leif,” Markus said through clenched teeth and as under-his-breath as he could manage while remaining audible. “Get him down!”

Leif glanced toward his brother, but he still needed a way to keep the blood-mage from calling his animal army to his defence. Maybe he could get a shield between Markus and the pumas first, but then Conri would know something was up... Hoping to keep the blood mage distracted while he tried to come up something, Leif demanded, “Why come here? Why create more… shape-shifters?” He already knew the answer, or at least the one Conri had given Gavin, so maybe he could still think instead of just being filled with appalled anger this time…

“Skinwalkers,” Conri corrected, sounding amused. “My children and I are skinwalkers. Shapeshifters born by the shedding of kin blood, and the use of an animal hide to facilitate the change. As to the why, well- I’m not an evil person. I crave company, the same as anyone else. In fact I invoked the Forbidden Art in order to save my people, who used blood magic by the shedding of only their own blood, to strengthen perfectly innocuous spells. But the church did not see it this way, and for decades they sought to find some legal technicality by which they might bring about my people’s undoing. The finally found one- and so I destroyed them, and the evidence along with it. And if the deaths are investigated, well, who is going to implicate my village when all signs point to mauling by a rabid bear?”

Addressing Gavin silently again, he added, I protected them, as I shall protect you. You’ve been fighting for such a long time- let go. Let it all drift away, the memories of your past life. They are false as dreaming. Only in my voice is there truth. I am you. My thoughts your reality. Sleep, and let the animal you truly are finally wake.

“Shut up,” Sieg hissed, both to cut off the tirade and to stop that grating voice in his head, though Gavin himself seemed to give no reaction to it save a soft, almost inaudible growl. “We didn’t ask for your sob story!”

“No, I don’t suppose you did,” he mused. “But context is everything, after all.”

“Context? You mean, ‘trying to justify murder and forced transfiguration’?” Leif snorted. “It’s not working; none of us is sorry for someone who decided a legitimate means of retaliation was using a Forbidden Art in order to turn into a bear and murder people! I wonder why they were so concerned about blood magic!”

“Ah, but my village didn’t approve either, you see,” he replied mournfully. “They tried to arrest me for my father’s murder. After I saved them too! So I had to flee as far and as fast as I could. Fortunately a bear is a lot harder to track in the woods than a man. But I knew I could never be accepted into human society again- not with these eyes. So I decided if I must live as an animal, at least I shouldn’t be a lonely one. That is the answer to your question- why I have turned these elves into skinwalkers like myself using leftover blood. They are my family now. A family that will never reject me as my human one did. Isn’t that right, my son?”

Slightly behind Leif, Sieg cried out sharply in agony. Leif whirled around; Gavin, his face twisted into a snarl and his eyes showing nothing of the human intelligence they’d carried before, had rounded on his former squire. Four deep, bloody furrows had formed across Sieg’s face, and he was stumbling backwards.

Conri laughed. “You see? I knew he would see reason. Now, to put an end to this charade.”

The ropes binding him snapped audibly as he suddenly swelled in size, the bear skin he was wearing seeming to fuse with his human skin until a fully grown, male black bear was perched in the tree.

Ayleth took off from Leif’s shoulder with a shriek, but Leif barely had time to notice - he heard something snapping behind him and doubted there was anything good going on there, mind-controlled Gavin was in front of him - Markus started to turn but he faltered, eyes snapping back to the two pumas still nearby.

Leif pointed his wand at Gavin. “Dwoopulso!” The banishing charm ought to knock the cat back and buy Sieg a moment. Leif didn’t even have time to pray that he was right and that Gavin wouldn’t just turn on him as he spun back around to deal with the skinwalker. Who was now a bear, very quickly coming down the tree. Leif cast the banishing spell again, gathering more power and drawing his arm back before thrusting it forward. There was an audible crack like a thunderclap as the spell left his wand. The bear, wand clenched between his teeth, let go of the tree and free-fell the rest of the way to the ground to evade the spell. He shifted back into the form of a man almost as soon as he hit the ground, snatched his wand out of his mouth and sent a bolt of lightning arcing towards the archmage.

Leif hadn’t expected him to able to turn back so quickly - he threw up a shield that wasn’t quite severed from Leif’s magic when the lightning struck it. Leif clenched his teeth but shook the rattle off - better than actually getting hit with the bolt. He raised his wand and slashed sharply downward - a tall sickle of green light flew forward, slicing through several tree branches above Conri, and a few more ahead of and behind him before the spell faded.

Meanwhile, Gavin had been sent momentarily flying by the banishing spell. Sieg had just enough time to collect himself before the puma was up again, and charging. There was blood in Sieg’s eyes, and he barely saw Gavin in time to bring up his sword and catch the paw that was aiming for his neck.

“Master, stop! Please, don’t listen to him, I know you can fight this off!” Sieg cried. If Gavin registered these words he gave no indication, instead backing enough to coil his legs and spring again, forcing Sieg to throw himself into a sideways roll to avoid being knocked to the ground.

Markus gritted his teeth - the two pumas Conri had arrived with still hadn’t moved; they watched the fight as docilely as housecats. The knight hated to turn his back on them, but there were two active threats he also couldn’t justify keeping his back to.

He plunged a hand into the satchel at his waist, yanked out one of the bottles as he turned, and when Gavin was still just long enough, Markus hurled the flask of holy water at him. Leif had removed the charms of unbreakability from the glass earlier for this very purpose. The force of the knight’s throw saw that it shattered on contact, splashing the holy water across a broad stretch of Gavin’s back. The puma yowled with pain, rolling and writhing as red welts and blisters materialized on his back and side.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Sieg darted towards his former knight-master, calling out to him in Elvish. But still Gavin paid his old squire no heed, instead rounding on Markus with a roar of outrage. The puma leapt, raking his claws towards the Curys knight. Markus raised his sword and caught one paw on the flat of the blade, but the other was too low and raked through a few layers of the the knight’s surcoat.

“‘Scuse me,” Markus growled through clenched teeth as he fought to hold the puma back, “but I’m only borrowing this ‘coat!”

Leif’s adversary saw the looming threat from above, and threw himself forwards, rolling away from the falling debris just in time. As he came out of the roll, he pointed his wand at Leif and bellowed, “Sectwoosempra!”

Mentally cursing, Leif dodged out of the spell’s path - a shield wouldn’t help, if he didn’t get it fully formed before the spell hit, it might just slice through it and hit him anyway. He wasn’t quite fast enough to get entirely out of its way; the spell skimmed the underside of his left arm, a bit of his back, and the strap of his satchel. He stifled something between a curse and a grunt of pain as his skin split apart in small but numerous cuts where the violent slicing spell had hit.

He whirled on Conri with another spell already flying from his wand - a jet of viciously hissing, searingly-hot sparks and trailing green flames. Hot blood was already starting to drip from the slashes in his arm and back. The damaged strap of Leif’s satchel snapped and the weight of the spellbook inside dragged it to the ground at the mage’s feet, flap-side up so he could see the talisman.

He pointed his wand downward, quickly slicing away the cords away and summoning the talisman into his free hand. If nothing else maybe he could pull a Markus and hurl it at Conri’s head. Even as blood trickled down his arm, the pull started to crawl upward, toward Leif’s wrists. Ignore it.

Conri couldn’t quite get a shield up in time, and he cried out in pain as the sparks burned his skin- though not as badly as they might’ve, and the bear skin scarcely seemed singed. He snapped the same spell he’d used earlier, and a great black snake exploded from his wand tip, fangs bared as it lunged for Leif.

Sieg, barely managing to jump out of the way of the stray slashes from Conri’s Sectwoosempra, forced himself to focus on the fight with Gavin instead of being distracted by Leif’s plight, despite his desire to jump to his friend’s rescue.

“Markus!” he shouted, drawing on his previous experience with fighting the huge swamp cats, “The nose, punch him in the nose or the throat!”

Knowing that the Curys knight would need an opening to pull this off, Sieg darted forwards, swinging his sword so that the hilt and crossguard slammed into Gavin’s burned back. The puma screeched, backing off his attack on Markus briefly.

Markus, never one to refuse a simple solution, hauled back his fist and punched the puma square in the face. Gavin snarled in pain, backing away and rubbing his nose with a paw.

Leif, meanwhile, had to take a different tack with the animal trying to take a bite out of his face. He gathered a generous amount of power and poured it into a spell he fired at the snake. The reptile started going limp in midair, but rather than take any chances Leif seized the snake with a hovering charm, and lightly flung it toward a bush instead. It could rest there until the sleeping spell wore off.

Hoping to beat Conri to the next spell and that this trick he’d used before would work again, Leif aimed for the skinwalker’s wand and snapped “Carpe Wootractum!” A coil of green light darted out from Leif’s wand, stretching out to wrap around Conri’s spellcasting instrument and attempt to wrench it from his hand. Conri yelped in surprise as the coil caught his wand, but managed to hang on to it. Eyes darting around, he suddenly gave a vicious smirk.

“My son, the bird!”

Gavin’s head snapped up, and he abruptly turned away from the knights. Fangs bared, he lunged up a nearby tree, and once high enough, made a flying leap for a certain black and white raptor.

“Master, stop!” Sieg bellowed.

Spotting the movement, Leif glanced over to see Gavin ascending the tree. Going for - oh ‘Woo! “Ayleth!”

Leif released the Carpe Wootractum spell and thrust his wand upward, with both hands, hissing through his teeth at the pain of his near-dozen cuts stretching from the motion, and hurled a furious amount of power into his wand and toward the kite, who was already flying away as fast as her wingbeats could take her. “Protegwoo!”

A vivid green shield appeared behind Ayleth, a wide dome with its point in the puma’s direction. Gavin impacted the shield, claws struggling for purchase before he was forced to jump down again, hissing.

Ayleth was safe- but her momentary distress had done its work. With Leif’s back turned he didn’t even see the massive black bear looming up behind him, but he certainly felt the thick taloned paw impact his back. The archmage hit the ground hard, winded from the blow and the hard collision with the ground and the pain from the gashes the bear had just ripped opened in his back. He forced himself to roll over, raising his wand and gasping the incantation for a shield as he tried to scramble backwards.

A shield sprang up, but the bear just lifted its forepaws, dropped them onto the glowing green surface, and flexed its claws. The shield, with a sound like broken glass shards ground under a boot, fractured, cracked, and shattered into a scattering of particles. Leif would have cursed if he’d had the breath for it, and if there had been time between the shield breaking and the bear’s upper body falling toward him. Its fangs were bared - Leif hastily pointed his wand at the animal’s nose and fired a small volley of sparks and bangs.

It might not have been the smartest idea; the bear pulled its head and teeth back with a bellow of anger, but its dark eyes never left their target and in a motion both quick and deliberate, dropped its paw onto the shoulder of Leif’s wand arm. The weight was enough to make Leif’s arm drop downward - a bolt of force flew harmlessly into the trees.

Then the bear actually pressed down, and Leif lost his breath even as he tried to shout in pain at the feeling of his bones being pressed together, like someone was trying to slowly - very, very slowly - compress them into one another - except that would never work, bone was too hard and strong - they would just shatter.

His wand was still in hand - he tried to move his wrist to point it but even that joint was locked into place by the bones being shoved around it - oh ‘Woo, what was he going to do if he couldn’t use his wand?

Leif couldn’t even sit up straight anymore, the force of the paw like an anchor on his right side; he started to fall, and when he instinctively tried grabbing for something with his other hand to pull himself straight up he realized he was still clutching the talisman in his bloodied left hand. Leif threw his arm up and pressed the talisman into the thick fur around the bear’s neck - but with the power removed from it all the trinket did was make the bear snarl in pain and press down harder. Leif shouted, dropping the talisman in favor of trying - uselessly - to shove the bear’s paw off of his shoulder.

It didn’t budge, not at all, and with rising horror and panic that threatened to eclipse even the pain in his arm, Leif realized that Conri had him completely helpless - the bear could kill him at any moment he wanted. Sieg shouted, moving as if to help the archmage, but he hadn’t gone two feet when Gavin charged him, Ayleth apparently forgotten. The puma slammed into Sieg while he was off balance and running for Leif, bowling the half-elf over. Sieg cried out as his ankle wrenched hard, and he could feel something inside the joint snapping even as his shoulder slammed into the damp earth of the forest floor. Gavin spared not a second before bounding off of Sieg and heading towards Markus to cut him off as well. The Curys knight had to halt as well, raising his sword to block the big cat.

Conri bared his teeth, breathing hot bear breath on Leif’s face, and there was no one to come to his rescue.

Part Ten

SPOILER: Click to show

With Sieg struggling to pick himself up off the ground, Gavin charged straight for Markus. The elf-turned-puma brought up a paw, claws raking out, and in the same instant his mouth opened to reveal fangs as thick around as a human thumb. Markus decided the teeth aimed at his throat were more important to block, and though he managed that, he had no chance of blocking the claws that raked along his head, skimming just over his ear and continuing all the way to his temple.

“Master, stop!” Sieg shouted, struggling to get back to his feet. “Leif, I’m com- argh!” His left leg seared with pain when he tried to put weight on it, and he slipped back down to his knees with a curse.

Markus whacked the cougar in the nose with the hilt of his sword. “Come on, snap out of it!” he shouted, voice tight with sudden desperation. The puma squealed with pain, backing away a bit, but from the way he was snarling he clearly wasn’t done.

There wasn’t time, Markus needed to get to Leif before Conri… He glanced past the cat and saw his brother, still trapped, reaching for his wand with his free hand - for all the good that would do, his left arm was already bloody from another injury from the elbow down. But he couldn’t even reach the wand, despite his straining fingers. Markus’ blood felt like it had turned to ice.

Markus leveled his sword at the puma, his heartbeat loud and crashing in his ears. He needed to get to Leif, now, Conri was going to murder him, he didn’t have time to fight the elf - “Gavin, move! He’s going to kill Leif!”

The puma’s snarl went slack, and his entire body shivered. There was a blink, then a headshake, as if he had suddenly become so dizzy he couldn’t see.

Where… What... came a dazed voice in Sieg’s head, and he could’ve wept with relief.

“Master! It’s the mage, he was controlling you, he’s going to kill Leif!”

The puma’s head snapped up, swiveling around. Sure enough, the bear had planted a paw on the shoulder of Leif’s wand arm, applying a sizable amount of its weight into the limb.

Markus charged forward but Gavin overtook him with a snarl, spinning around with the coordination newfound from his brief period of being consumed by the puma mind. He flung himself at Conri, latching on to the bear’s head and raking a claw across his eye. The skinwalker roared in pain, flailing backwards on its hind legs and stumbling away from the archmage.

Leif pulled himself upright, clenching his arm tight to his body as if it were broken. Markus made it to him, crouching and grabbing his other arm. “Leif - “

“I‘m fine - help Gavin and Sieg!” Leif insisted in a still-winded and shaky voice - Leif’s whole body was trembling. Markus looked back at the fight, which Sieg had indeed joined as the bear managed to fling Gavin off his head and into a nearby tree. The half-elf was limping badly, his right leg shaking hard as he forced it to hold his weight, but he wasn’t paying this any mind, all his attention on the fight at hand.

Markus gritted his teeth, but got back to his feet. He paused to drop the satchel of potions and holy water next to Leif before charging to join the fight. “Hey, don’t forget me, Skinwalker!” he shouted. “I’m barely bleeding!”

Leif released his wand arm, still throbbing violently with pain, and reached into the satchel with his bloody left hand - much as part of him hoped he would miraculously pull out a pain-relieving potion, he clumsily drew out out what he had actually been going for - one of the bottles of holy water. The liquid rippled; he was still shaking.

He set the bottle on the ground in front of him and took his wand in his left hand. A few deep breaths, a reminder that his heart was still beating, the bear hadn’t quite gotten him yet - and he needed to be steady, to make sure Conri didn’t get the others, either. Leif forced his arm upward; his hand had gone steady. “Wooguardium Leviosa!” The bottle rose into the air, and although it swayed a little, a natural consequence of the wand controlling it being in Leif’s nondominant hand, the bottle made a roughly steady course toward the bear and the knights fighting it.

Sieg reached the bear first, just barely ducking under a swinging paw in time. He plunged his sword into the creature’s hide, and it gave a shriek of pain before wrenching itself away and pulling Sieg off his feet. He struggled to get back up while hanging tight to the sword still stuck in the bear’s side, gritting his teeth against the agony in his damaged ankle.

Gavin, stumbling to his feet after being flung away, found himself nose to nose with the two pumas that had arrived with Conri when he first showed up- apparently he’d called them into the fight at last. The other animals are coming! Gavin bellowed at Sieg, showing Leif an image through his own eyes of the two pumas charging him. The knight leapt aside just in time to avoid a pounce, raking his claws across the attacker’s hide.

Markus, on the opposite side of the bear from Sieg, took advantage of its distraction to dart forward, duck low, and shove his sword into the muscle connecting the bear’s arm to its body. Its head snapped around toward him and it clamped its jaws around Markus’ surcoat and yanked the knight the ground; if he survived to get a bruise from it, Markus was positive it would map perfectly to every one of the spinal vertebrae he’d just felt rebound from the impact. The bear opened its mouth and Markus gave the hilt-punching tactic another try. One of the teeth cracked before Markus’ eyes and the bear drew its head away from Markus, roaring furiously.

Suddenly, there was a crash of breaking glass as Leif finally saw an opening and shot his bottle of holy water forward. It hit Conri full in the face, and he gave an astonishing human sounding shriek of pain. As his skin burned and blistered, the russet runes on his face almost seemed to melt, smearing as the holy water seeped into his fur. His form deflated, until he was a human in a bear skin once more- a human in a bear skin with a sword burrowed in his side, and no small amount of blood pouring from where his shoulder met his torso.

Conri staggered, his skin going ashen almost instantly. Sieg, finally lurching to his feet in spite of the pain, yanked his sword free of the man’s side as his legs buckled under him. All around were the sounds of animals crashing through the brush- the transfigured elves would be upon them in seconds, and the half-elf was fairly certain it would take their adversary at least another several to bleed out. Clenching his hands around the hilt of his sword, he brought it back for momentum, and then swung hard, slicing through the skinwalker’s exposed neck. Conri gave a strangled gasp, and then fell sideways, his eyes dull and unseeing.

Wolves were flooding into the clearing, snarling, as a flock of ravens swooped overhead in a shrieking mass of black feathers, broken only by the brown and white shapes of two angry barn owls. A third puma appeared ready to join the two already locked in battle with Gavin. But when Conri gasped his final breath, as one the animals froze. Some, in motion, staggered a bit. All of them were blinking dazedly, as if they’d just woken from a very deep sleep.

Leif had forced himself to his feet after hurling the bottle at Conri, and tried to prepare for the animals Gavin had warned were coming. He pointed his wand - holding it in both hands now to try and compensate for both his left arm’s lack of coordination and the strength-robbing pain in his right - at the wolves who had just burst through the foliage - and then everything...stopped. He looked up at the ravens and owls, struck in mid-flight by Conri’s death. Most of the birds were able to ride out the rest of their swoop and land heavily but safely on a branch, but some had just gone completely stiff and started to fall.

Leif forced his arms up and, grateful that he didn’t have to try and find the breath for the incantation, cast a hovering charm over the birds still in the air, and slowly if shakily lowered them safely to the ground.

Markus’ gaze flicked over the battlefield, first checking that his brother and fellow knight were all still alive and poised to stay that way, then that the animals had indeed stopped their attack. Obviously they’d succeeded in removing Conri’s influence - but everyone was still dazed…“Sieg, can you talk to them - tell them to stand down, or give us some kind of sign they can hear us and aren’t going to attack us as soon as they process this?” He gestured with his sword toward the dead blood-mage.

Sieg nodded, though as he turned his bad leg was shaking violently. He moved to take a step towards them and gasped in pain, losing his balance. Markus reached out and grabbed Sieg’s arm from below to help hold him upright, and hastily drove his sword into the ground so he could use both hands. “What’s hurt?” he asked.

“My ankle,” Sieg grunted, his teeth clenched. “Turned it when Master knocked me down. Not sure what’s wrong- I’ve been able to walk on it, painfully, so I don’t think it’s broken or dislocated, but I can’t say for sure.”

The half-elf focused his attention on the transfigured animals, and with a quick glance in Gavin’s direction to see how he was holding up with the mage dead- he met his former squire’s eyes with no indication of disorientation or discomfort- turned his attention to the others.

“All of you- can you hear me? Can you understand?”

Initially most of them didn’t seem to be paying him any mind. They were still looking around blearily. Sieg tried again, approaching them a little more closely, and this time some of them seemed to become aware of themselves again. They looked at him, ears pricked forwards as if to better catch what he was saying. Finally, when he asked a third time if they understood, some of the animals, very hesitantly, began to nod.

“I’m guessing by the nodding the elves are still in there?” Markus asked, relieved by the sight of such a human - well, elven, too, he supposed - gesture.

“Seems like,” Sieg replied, sounding equally relieved. “Though they still seem confused- like they’re waiting for directions or something.” He cocked his head, then added, “Master thinks they might still be caught between the elven and animal minds, and without Conri’s direction they don’t know how to cope with it.”

“Hrm. I was hoping we could give them a few minutes and they’d be all right.”

“Washing off the runes on Conri turned him human again,” Leif reminded them, his voice still a little breathless. “We’ve still got a few bottles of holy water, we can wash the runes off them and that should do the same thing. I know it’ll hurt, but I can heal the burns once they turn back. Looks like I’ll have a lot of healing to do anyway, so. You want to bring Sieg over so I can check his ankle?”

“You do realize you’re covered in blood, right, Leif?” Markus asked, even as he adjusted his support of Sieg to help the half-elf walk instead of just stand.

“I’ll take care of it in a minute,” Leif said. “While you two get started with the elves. Trust me, I’m not keeping these.” He motioned vaguely toward his back.

“I can sit down to clean the blood runes off of the elves, Leif,” Sieg pointed out. “I think the danger of you bleeding out takes priority over my having some discomfort standing, especially when you’ve only so much magic to spare.”

“...Right, I guess - yes, that makes sense.” Leif shook his head slightly as if to clear it. “I can at least heal my back, that should leave enough for healing the elves’ burns.”

Sieg nodded, sitting down with a hiss of pain and reaching into one of his belt pouches for a few handkerchiefs. He handed one to Markus, and started using the other to clean the blood from his sword. “I agree- Markus and I can clean the blood runes off, you sit down a bit and fix yourself up- if they pull isn’t at least up to your shoulders I’d be very much shocked, and you’re the worst hurt.” He gestured at the animals around them. “The elves know these woods. If we can get at least a few of them back to normal, they can go back to the city and call for the company to give us a rescue so you don’t have to pin yourself to a bed with a platter of honeycakes for days after this.”

“Well, the pull’s not so bad yet.” Leif tapped the side of his hand at a point a little under his elbow. “But...that’s probably a better plan.”

“It’s definitely a better plan,” Markus insisted, taking the cloth from Sieg but not yet using it. “Let’s use it, shall we? You’re up first.”

“All right, all right.” Leif twisted his arm around so he could point the wand at his back. “Vulnera Sanwootur.” He traced as best he could over the first gash, and a bit of the tension in his shoulders slacked. “And before you scold me when I look like I’m done, I can’t do much about my arm right now. He hit me with Sectwoosempra, the cuts are resistant to magical healing. There’s a topical remedy that...helps, but I didn’t bring any along. I’m sure the healers back in the city have it, so I’ll be fine. You can back away from that heart attack.” Sarcasm aside, there was noticeable relief in Leif’s voice as the pain from the at least the slash he was currently healing presumably vanished.

“Good, you pushed me pretty close to it,” the Curys knight retorted, finally raising his blade to clean it. “...Although I assume you were at least as scared as I was when I saw a bear coming after you. I’m sorry I didn’t have your back.”

Leif briefly met Markus’ eyes with a surprised expression. “It’s - it’s okay - I was supposed to be handling him myself, that was the plan.”

“And he could have killed you because of it. I should’ve been there, I wasn’t, and you got hurt.”

“I’ll be alright. It all happened really fast, and you were busy. Protecting Sieg, which’s just as important. It’s...I mean...I’m just…” Leif shook his head, and after a moment managed, “It’s enough to know you wanted to be there. I’m sorry I scared you.”

I should be the one apologizing, Gavin put in, Sieg conveying it out loud. I’m not sure what happened really- everything after the mage told me to “sleep” is a blur. He glanced at Sieg’s face and Markus’ ear, his tone becoming even more remorseful. I did that, didn’t I? I’m so sorry, both of you.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Sieg insisted.

“Magical mind-control,” Leif said in agreement. “And you were already tired and had taken some injuries. We should’ve had you get out of there as soon as we realized the blood-mage was there; him being so close must have made it easier for him to grab you.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t have a sword to fight me with - if I can’t win a fight with an elven knight my age, what chance do I have against one with a couple hundred years of experience?” Markus motioned toward the slashes on his head and added, “And you kept Conri from doing this to Leif with a bigger paw, so, all forgiven”

“Thank you for that,” Leif added fervently, mustering up the strength to send his gratitude over the mindlink.

Markus asked, “What snapped you out out of it, by the way?”

Sieg looked surprised. “He says it was hearing his name- something about that jogged his memory, brought his elf mind back to the surface from out of the animal one. Ack, of course, I kept calling you ‘Master’ didn’t I? That makes sense.”

Leif, tracing his wand over the last slash on his back, said wryly, “So much for those being ‘false memories’.”

Perhaps this discussion can be continued while we begin the process of undoing Conri’s damage. He jerked his head in the direction of the other transfigured elves, who were starting to shift with what might’ve been confusion, or might’ve been agitation.

“Right,” Markus said, sheathing his clean sword before stooping to pick up the potion satchel. “They’ve been stuck long enough, let’s get them back to normal. Leif, I see a nice tree here you can sit by. Sit. Sieg - should we start with Gavin? Spat earlier aside, I think he’s least likely to instinctively try mauling us when we put holy water on his head.”

“I agree,” Sieg said. “And if the others see him change back to normal it might help their elf minds surface a little more, so they won’t fight us.”

Be warned- if we’re only undoing this curse on a few to spare Master Jade’s magic, I may not be a wise candidate- I doubt I’ve the strength to make it back to the city.

“I think after you’ve exhausted yourself as much as you have in the last few days, you deserve it, Master,” Sieg retorted. “Besides, you’re already burned across most of your back anyway.”

“That’s a good point,” Leif agreed, settling against the tree Markus had pointed out to him. “I’ll need to heal that anyway, so I might as well take care of another burn so you can get out of that body.”

Gavin dipped his head in assent. Once his knight master had settled across from him, Sieg held out his hand to receive one of the leftover bottles of holy water and a rag from Markus. Carefully wetting the rag- he didn’t want to waste any of the precious water- he set the bottle down beside him and began to scrub Gavin’s face. The elf-turned-puma clenched his teeth hard, a snarl ripping it’s way out of him and his muscles spasming, but he didn’t pull away. The animals all around them started, some tensing as if to bolt. But then, as the last of the russet runes on the puma’s face was smeared by the holy water, his body seemed to go limp. A moment later, he lifted his head- his elf head, the puma head nothing but an empty skin resting atop his hair. He pushed it back, throwing the empty skin aside with a snort of derision.

“Ugh… my arms are so sore from being walked on for hours…” he remarked with amusement. Sieg beamed, throwing his arms around his knight-master’s neck. With a laugh Gavin returned the gesture.

“You’re back, you’re back to normal!” Sieg whispered, “Oh, Woo I’m so glad to see your face again!”

“My not-burned face,” he added, gently pushing his squire away and waving a hand up to his eyes. Sieg blinked in surprise, and upon request Gavin turned and pulled up his shirt, revealing his back was also unblemished.

“The burns are gone…” Sieg said in Kythian.

Markus blinked in surprise. “Huh. Well, that’s convenient.”

Leif started to lean forward, though he had to draw back with a wince as the movement stretched the stray, lingering Sectwoosempra slashes along his side. “Interesting - I thought the burns would stay, the way Conri’s wounds did...but maybe that’s an exception. ...It could be part of the price of the original spell, a skinwalker binds themselves so strongly to the animal form that they can’t leave their wounds behind. Or maybe the holy water can heal burns when it senses a dark presence has gone away.”

“Or maybe you just made weak holy water.”

“Shut up, Markus.”

Sieg glanced up at the Curys knight with a jaunty grin, his mood clearly much improved by the return of his knight-master to his normal form, though he winced a bit as the expression pulled at the lacerations on his face. “Alright Markus, if you’ve so much energy to make wisecracks, how about lending me a hand? I know you want to apply an incredibly acidic rag to some dangerous predator faces, wouldn’t want to keep all this fun to myself.”

Gavin shook his head, chuckling- he and Sieg were still mindlinked, so he was still getting translations from his old squire. “The fact that my arms are still sore and I can still feel a few bruises and scrapes from the fight earlier suggests that the mage’s sword wounds remained because they were inflicted conventionally. The holy implements react to the presence of evil, no? I’m not evil, just the magic in the skin.” He touched a finger to the wet rag in demonstration. “So the holy water has no reason to burn me.”

“Ahh,” Leif said with interest, leaning forward a little. “And there would have been a separation from the pelt and your own skin...is the pelt still burned?”

Markus sighed exaggeratedly and took the rag and potion bottle from Sieg. “Now he’s done it. Hope you like long discussions of magical and religious theory, Gavin, he’ll get on a roll any second now. Just don’t bring birds into it, or you’ll be here all night. Come on, Sieg, let’s go find someone really sharp and toothy to put this on!”

[Shinko]

Flesh and Blood

A collaboration between myself and Tiger

This story takes place in the spring of 1317, a few months after Oh Come All Ye Medieval. Sieg is getting ready to welcome some guests to Nid'aigle: his good friend Leif Jade, as well as Leif's older brother, Markus Accipiter! Let the fun begin...

_{Ran out of room in the previous post. XD}

Epilogue

SPOILER: Click to show

With Sieg and Gavin coaxing them to come forward in Elvish, they managed to undo the magic on six of the elves who seemed in the best physical condition- three ravens, one of the pumas who’d appeared with Conri initially, and two wolves. Once the elves had gotten over the disorientation of having their full normal minds restored, Gavin and Sieg explained to them as concisely as they could what had happened. The first six agreed to head back to the city for help, while Leif, Sieg, Markus, and Gavin set about undoing the curse on the others. Some of them were injured, either from the ambush earlier or some unknown dangers of the forest. Lacerations, bruises, burns, even a broken bone or two. Almost all of them were skinny- a consequence of far too many predators all gathered in one place. Leif healed the very worst of the wounds, mostly broken bones, and despite Ayleth’s indignant squawk from the trees when she saw it, offered to let the owls take the meat strips he kept in his pouch before Sieg or Markus turned them back to normal. Probably not a meal they were entirely thrilled with, now that they had elven minds again, but Leif knew birds burned through energy quickly.

It took another few hours, but eventually three squads from the elf city found them, and with several mages in their ranks they repaired all the injuries save a few minor abrasions and bruises. Those, and Leif’s Sectwoosempra cuts, which being caused by dark magic would have to be healed in stages, though they did apply something to clean the cuts and gave them an initial treatment.

They had also brought some food with them- not much, to avoid weighing themselves down or being too slow to get to the elves in need of rescue, but it was food the ravenous hostages devoured quickly.

Once they’d gotten everyone back to Nid’aigle, they were turned over to the dedicated healers there. Leif’s cuts were properly bandaged, and he was given some sugary snacks for his pull. Gavin, suffering from exhaustion, was given a potion that had him out cold in just under a minute. Markus and Sieg were released after a quick examination, their worst wounds having been healed in the forest and their remaining injuries superficial.

Anri, as well as a representative from the Elvish Council, gave Leif and Markus each a personal thanks for their help in the rescue of the captured elves and defeat of the skinwalker. Markus, who by now knew Leif well enough to predict that he would spend a few minutes stumbling over a response in which he tried to pass off the credit, answered for them both that they were glad they had been able to assist and that the elves were all safe and returned home. Leif did insist on adding that Sieg and Gavin deserved at least as much of the credit, and even managed a well-phrased and surprisingly decorously-put comment that the elven army was very fortunate to have such good soldiers. Markus decided not to point out to Leif that the Commander would probably take that praise with a grain of salt, considering Leif and Sieg’s preexisting friendship. That would have been a very Henry-ish thing to do.

Once the excitement had finally died down, Sieg, Leif, and Markus spent the next two days just resting and recuperating. None of them was in much a mood for guided tours or walking around and gawking at things, nor did they have the energy. But at length Sieg convinced his friends that he didn’t want them to leave the elf city on a negative note, so they agreed to take that promised trip to the orchards they’d missed out on before. Then Sieg took Leif to the Nid’aigle library for a proper look around, without the urgency of a looming threat or the grief of a presumed death.

And so it went. The vacation hadn’t turned out quite as they’d wanted it to, but late in the afternoon, the day before Leif and Markus were set to depart for Kolanth again - a little more tired than they’d expected to be but otherwise in about as good spirits as they’d been upon arriving, and perhaps a little more comfortable in each others’ company - Sieg convinced them to spend the heat of the day on the dock behind his house, just as he had done with his family so many times in the past. Eventually the half-elf caved to temptation and jumped into the river.

“Oh thank ‘Woo,” Markus said, plunging in after him almost at once. “I wasn’t sure if it was rude to ask or not, but it is boiling out here. Leif, you coming?”

“I’m good,” Leif said, nodding toward his legs, submerged up to the knees. “And before you start conspiring, if either of you pull me in, I will drown you - five-minute breathing time or not, Sieg,” he added with exaggerated severity.

“Poor guy’s afraid of getting his feathers wet, I’ll bet,” Markus said. “But I’m sure if we did get him in here, he’d float like a duck.”

Sieg laughed, plunging his head below the surface just long enough to get his hair wet before bobbing back up. “Come on Leif, ospreys and fishing eagles swim, it’s not below your raptor dignity.” Glancing up to the white and black shape in the trees overhead he added, “I bet Ayleth won’t even judge.”

Following Sieg’s gaze, Leif said, “That’s because it’s beneath her raptor dignity to care what her silly falconer is doing.”

“So what’re you worried about?” Markus challenged. “The local ospreys judging you?”

Leif motioned to his wand holster. “There’re some things on me I’d rather not get wet.”

“Really? Well, y’know, Leif, I’ve heard - and I’m surprised you don’t know this, what with your House “Charge Toward Tomorrow” Stallion boyfriend - but there’s these new inventions called a strap and a buckle. They allow you to do amazing things, like take off your wand holster and leave it on the dock.”

“I know I can. I also need to take off my cloak and gloves and find a safe place for everything and - “

“You really don’t need to list everything you’re taking off, Leif - save that for some otherwise-boring night with Kirin.” He grinned toothily. “See, you’re turning red right now! C’mon, you’ve got to be on the verge of melting and I swear the dock wood is going to get hot enough to burn somebody.”

“Besides, finding a safe place is a non-issue,” Sieg pointed out. “Just put a shield over your stuff if you’re worried about it, it’ll be fine.”

Leif, who was indeed going very crimson and feeling only hotter because of it, huffed, “All right, all right, if you’re going to play that way…I guess a shield would protect everything well-enough.” He started working his wand holster free from his belt. “I make no promises my drowning threat doesn't still stand.”

“Okay, Leif. If it makes you feel better to tell yourself you could push knights used to wearing your weight in armor underwater. Let alone hold them there.” Smirking at Sieg, Markus asked, “That make up for my comment the other day?”

Sieg blushed a bit. “It’s a start. Just don’t go making passes at me again, that’s all I ask. You’re Leif’s brother, it’s kind of weird.” Shifting so that he was floating on his back, he added, “I’m sorry about how crazy things got though- and that you both got dragged into it. I assure you that is not normally how Nid’aigle treats it’s guests.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t - and sorry about making you feel weird. I regretted it as soon as I said it, to be honest.” Markus chuckled a bit. “So far Leif’s my only sibling with friends who know how to take a joke, so I’m not all that experienced in that subcategory of appropriate humor.”

Leif took up replying to Sieg’s apology as he unhooked the clasp of his halfcloak. “It’s nothing you have to apologize for - I mean, Markus and I asked to help, so you can’t take credit for dragging us into the situation. Nice try, though.”

The half-elf chuckled. “Alright, point. I still feel bad, but that’s me and my guilt complex.” He rolled back over and kicked a little further from the dock to make room for Leif to jump down. “I just wish I could’ve made a better impression, that’s all. This is the first time one of my friends has come to visit me here in my home instead of the reverse, and Mr. Egomaniac-McSkinwalker had to screw it all up. I wouldn’t blame either of you if you weren’t keen to ever come back.”

Leif snorted as he folded his halfcloak, draped his necklace and gloves on top of it, and set the pile near his boots. “Sieg, the first time you came to Medieville a horde of Courdonian gryphons showed up, and you still come back to visit everyone there. Aside from the skinwalker excursion, I’ve had a good time. The three of us have had quality time, I finally got to see the elven raptors... Markus?”

“It’s been fun,” the knight agreed. “You’ve got a nice setup here, I see why the elves didn’t want House Jade tromping in to bother them. No offense, Leif.”

There was a flicker of green light, but only from Leif placing a shield over his things. “None taken.”

“And if you do include Conri in the trip - you know how many other people in my company back home are going to be able to top that story? None of ‘em. And as a bonus bonus, my commander can’t possibly say I didn’t keep in shape.”

Sieg smirked, aiming a splash at Markus’ head. “Will your company believe you, I think is probably a question to entertain. I do wonder why Conri came to Nid’aigle of all places for this. It’s kind of a notable location. It’s on all the maps of Corvus.” Looking up he said, “Are you getting in the water before or after you get thoroughly baked, Leif?”

“For ‘Woo’s sake, I’m coming!” Leif returned to the edge of the dock, sat down, and dropped all the way into the water. “...That does feel better,” he admitted, letting himself sink up to the base of his neck and leaning his head back.

“We told you,” Markus said, before turning back to Sieg. “I don’t know, that was a weird decision on his part. ...It’s kind of a stupid choice, really, he couldn’t have gone on with that for much longer without being figured out, and you have a direct alliance with House Jade and are under House Accipiter protection. Not that the latter’s exactly built itself a stellar reputation here, but I doubt he knew that.”

Leif frowned. “Well...Sieg, you were telling me about how elves try to live more closely with nature - not taking down the trees as much and learning from animals and all. Maybe Conri thought that would make them more accepting of being turned into animals, or better at being them somehow. His reasoning wasn’t exactly…aware.”

“I suppose,” Sieg relented. “He did seem weirdly pleased when Master Gavin talked like he was going back of his own free will. Maybe he didn’t want to brainwash them- maybe he wanted them to just stay with him willingly. Stupid thing of him to expect, but he was an egomaniac so I’d not be surprised.”

The half-elf dove under again- his head was getting hot- and popped back up. “Oh Markus, before I forget, the story isn’t all you’ll be taking home. Master wanted to thank you both for your help personally. I think he should be along soon to do that. I’d tell you more but, well, that’d spoil the surprise.” The half-elf winked. “And I think he wanted to bid you both a personal goodbye before you left as well.”

“Oh, really?” Markus grinned. “Well, I’m glad we’ll get to see him before we go. Next time we come, I should try learning some Elvish ahead of time - my accent’ll probably be atrocious, but Sieg, you wouldn’t have to translate quite so much.”

“It’ll be nice to say goodbye in person,” Leif agreed. “...He knows he didn’t need to get us anything, though, right? I mean...he stopped me from going into overload and murdered by a bear, I should be thanking him.”

“Leif, if he wants to give us something, let the man. It might not even be a physical thing. And even if it is - what if it’s one of the elf birds?”

“It’s not one of their raptors.” Leif said, rolling his eyes. “...I don’t think I’d be able to even pretend at not needing a gift if it were, but - it’s not one of their birds.”

Sieg, craning his neck, lifted a hand out of the water. “Ah, there he is now. We’re over here, Master, in the river!”

Sure enough, Gavin was walking down the path towards them. He was looking much less exhausted than he had in the immediate aftermath of the skinwalker affair, and when he saw the three men in the river he smiled. He walked to the end of the dock and sat down, setting an object wrapped in cloth down beside himself. As Sieg translated he said, “A good place to be in this heat. I suppose Sieg’s told you that I came to give you both my thanks?”

“He just finished, actually,” Markus said, giving a lazy salute. “Good timing - or did you secretly keep the puma ears and were waiting nearby to make a perfectly-timed entrance?” he asked with a wide grin.

Gavin laughed. “A good mage doesn’t reveal their secrets- a mage I may no longer be, but old habits die hard, hm? I won’t keep you three long, but for this you may want to get out of the water, at least for a few minutes. I promise it’s worth braving the heat.”

Markus and Leif did as Gavin suggested, Leif pausing near the river’s edge to wring water out of the tail of his shirt. Sieg dragged himself far enough up on shore so that he was sitting in the shallows, but knowing he wasn’t getting any presents he opted to hang back and watch.

“First, for Sir Markus,” the old knight said. Reaching for the cloth-wrapped bundle, he pulled off the string holding the cloth. As it fell away, he held out the object to Markus- a matching sword and scabbard, trimmed in Curys colors. “Sieg told me that you were admiring the Elvish smithing techniques- I figured you more than anyone could put this to good use.”

Markus’ eyes widened. “You went and got me a sword? Sir - this’s incredible!” He took the sword and scabbard, turning them slightly to admire them from all different angles. “Someone must’ve done this trimming custom, and in record-time, too - but if they were rushed I can hardly tell!” The metalwork was as fine as what Markus had seen in Sieg’s and the other elven swords, that blend of durability and artistry all over Nid’aigle. “This is an amazing gift, and I’m honored to have it. Thank you so much, Lieutenant.”

Gavin smiled. “I’m glad you like it, Sir Markus. But please, what I said in the forest, I meant- you don’t have to call me Lieutenant. After all, it was that informality that saved all of our lives, no?”

“True - and if I can call a puma by its first name to it’s face, an elf shouldn’t be that intimidating. So - thank you, Gavin.”

Turning to the archmage, Gavin chuckled. “Procuring your gift was a bit trickier, but I got there in the end. It pays to be a ranking officer of long-standing with a great many connections.” His smile widening, he said. “You might want to look up.”

Leif blinked, his expression rapidly flicking from surprise to astonishment to disbelieving but excited anticipation even as he trained his gaze on the sky. Gavin gave a sharp whistle. There was a shrieking cry from overhead, but not from Ayleth. A brown-black and orange shape streaked through the trees, landing on a branch not far above the small gathering. Sitting there, regarding the group quizzically, was a falcon- the feathers on her back and head brown-black, white barring on her wings and tail, and her face, chest, and underside a vibrant shade of golden-orange. Tear-track markings traced down from her eyes.

Sieg grinned broadly, translating Gavin’s words. “Master says her name is Ambre- it means ‘Amber’ in Elvish. She’s an aplomado falcon. And she’s yours, if you’ll have her.”

Leif’s jaw dropped. “She’s - I can have her? But elven raptors - they’re so expensive, and - and ‘Woo, even the Jade mews didn’t have elven raptors! Are - are they sure, she’s full-grown and obviously trained, they must have put a lot of time and care into her…” Even as he questioned it, Leif was edging toward the shielded pile of his gear, though his eyes were fixed on the falcon. “She’s beautiful - the coloring is exquisite, and I’ve never seen an aplomado with such sharp markings before…” He stooped to retrieve his wand from holster he’d left beside the pile. “Granted, I haven’t seen many in person, mostly drawings and sketches, but even then, they usually look blended...and they did not do the color justice!”

“You’re going to scare the poor thing, Leif,” Markus teased. “Maybe try a simple introduction before telling the pretty bird you’re head over heels for her?”

Leif dispelled his shield and snatched up his gloves, practically yanking them onto his hands. He’d taken the small meat pouch off his belt as well, so he retrieved that, too, and fished several strips free.

He paused before quite holding out the strips to the falcon, looking up at Ayleth. The kite was switching between keeping an eye on the humans and watching the falcon warily, but she focused on Leif when he called her name. Leif tapped his shoulder, and the kite swooped down to perch on it. “Good girl,” Leif told her, giving Ayleth one of the strips of meat, and securing her jesses so she couldn’t abruptly fly off his shoulder in order to, say, attack new bird-friends.

Leif held his arm out to the aplomado. “You’re Ambre, hm? That’s a lovely name. You want to come here and have some treats? And see how you and Ayleth would get along?”

Ambre cocked her head for a few seconds, then spread her wings and swooped down towards Leif’s arm, gently alighting on it and folding her wings again. She glanced at Ayleth warily, but made no move to attack or intimidate her.

Gavin seemed inordinately pleased with himself, and Sieg was grinning hugely as well. The half-elf remarked, “Apparently part of the reason she was so hard for Master Gavin to procure was because he had to find one of the falconers in the city- the two out of a dozen falconers in the city- who trains birds for the Kythian nobility. Ergo, trains them to understand commands in Kythian and not Elvish. And, not his words, but I think you should say ‘thank you’ Leif.”

“Absolutely,” Leif said, turning - carefully - so he could properly address Gavin. “Thank you - thank you so much - she’s - she’s amazing, and if the training’s so rare, I can’t imagine what sort of lengths you had to go to to get permission to give her to me, especially when I’m sure a Kythian noble would’ve paid a fortune for her, and - ‘Woo, I thought just getting to see the raptors was an amazing opportunity - thank you, Gavin.” Suddenly remembering his own comment earlier, Leif added in a slightly calmer tone, “And...I wanted to thank you for helping me earlier. With the bear, especially, but at the spring, too. I would’ve...I would’ve been in a lot of pain if you hadn’t thrown me into the spring, and it - it means a lot that I didn’t have to go through that. Not to mention how badly it would’ve slowed everyone else down.”

The elf bowed his head. “It was my pleasure. I’m only sorry that being linked to me put you in a position to be in such pain in the first place. Sieg gave me a bit of an idea of why it hit you so hard, and you have my condolences for how much you’ve endured.” He straightened, smiling. “As to the falcon, when you’re a knight for over four-hundred and fifty years, you accumulate a lot of favors. I called some in. It’s really the least I can do after you saved Sieg’s life time and again out there, and after the scare I gave Ayleth.” Bowing to the bird he added, “I hope there are no hard feelings.”

Ayleth tilted her head at the elf, drawn by his use of her name - but she quickly turned her attention back to Ambre. “I think you’re forgiven,” Leif said. “At the very least, she doesn’t find you nearly as threatening as the possibility of missing an opportunity for treats, and in her case that comes down to about the same thing.”

Leif held out a strip of meat to Ambre, who scrutinized it for a moment before taking it with a quick, precise snap from between his fingers. “There you go, lovely. And I’m generous with the food, you can ask Ayleth. ...Or maybe don’t, she’d always be happy with more.”

Turning to look at Ayleth, Leif asked, “What do you think, girl? She’s nice, huh? Calm and quiet - she’ll be nicer than Hadrian, right?”

Ayleth glanced at Leif’s face, looked back at Ambre and shifted from talon to talon...then brushed her beak against Leif’s shoulder and chittered in the direction of the meat strips Leif was holding. With a quiet sigh of relief, Leif said, “Okay, good - the girls should get along.”

Markus said, “Wonderful, we’re one big happy flock!”

Sieg laughed. “I get the impression both of you are going to surprise a good many people when you get home. They expect that you’ve gone on vacation and will be returning with at most a jar of jam from the orchard fruits. Instead you’ll be getting home with a fantastical story and an expensive souvenir to show off. And while I don’t know about you Markus, I get the impression everyone in Medieville will meet Ambre before too long.”

“Oh, is it a challenge to see who can show off the most shamelessly, then?” Markus asked. “...I have no idea how we’d officiate a competition between Araydian and Medieville, but you send me a letter when you’ve shown everyone the pretty bird, and I’ll send you one once I’ve shown off my new sword to the all the Curys knights.”

“I won’t drag her around town immediately,” Leif said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. “She’ll need time to settle in, especially to a human city - I imagine it’ll take her some getting used to if she’s lived here her whole life. ...Of course, by the time she’s ready to come with me around town, I’m sure everyone in the city will be quite through with me talking about her,” Leif added with a grin.

Sieg laughed, and once he’d translated this exchange for Gavin the elf laughed too. “I’m happy to have made the both of you so happy. It is my philosophy that a gift of gratitude should be something that has genuine meaning for the recipient, because this is the best way to make it known to them how genuinely you appreciate what they’ve done. Truly it is a great service you have done for Nid’aigle, and I can assure you that you will both always be welcome as friends in this city.” Impishly he added, “An accomplishment that cannot be understated, considering the family you both come from.”

“Be nice, Master,” Sieg admonished with amusement before translating the elf’s words.

Markus laughed. “Very true - and we’ll keep that bit of information subdued around them so they don’t come to your door to bother you about it.” His expression growing more serious, Markus added, “Joking aside, I know they’ve been...difficult, at best.” His eyes flicked toward Sieg, but quickly returned to Gavin. “I’m glad Leif and I could do something right by your city. If you have an opportunity, Gavin or Sieg, I’d be much obliged if you could pass along my thanks to Commander Anri for being willing to look past my not-so-illustrious family history.”

“Mine as well,” Leif said, though most of his attention was on giving Ambre another strip of meat.

“If he likes,” Markus said with a shrug. The knight guessed that if Leif wasn’t so bird-entranced at the moment, he would have considered on his own that Anri had two very good reasons to give Leif’s ancestry a pass that Markus did not - he was a friend to one of her soldiers, and an archmage when a clearly-magical catastrophe was going on. Prolonging discussion of the Accipiters, however, was generally not a good conversation tactic...well, unless…

“Speaking of our dear relatives - I recall you mentioned a story about our grandfather and...a pig in a vineyard, right?”

Gavin laughed as Sieg relayed this. “I did indeed. Very well then- it started around the time of the Emberwing Championship, during the autumn harvest season…”

[Shinko]

To Challenge the Mountain

_{Warning for hunting, if that sort of thing bothers you.}

SPOILER: Click to show

The tree branches slapped Theodore’s face as his horse plunged at breakneck speed through the forest. Though not as sure-footed in the rocky terrain as the ponies favored by most of his company, Theo’s courser made up for it in speed and strength, easily keeping pace with the massive stag as it fled through the forest. The howling of the pack of hounds that kept the hart on the run was music in the ears of the hunters- soon, now. Soon.

Theodore heard his younger brother Seamus’ horn call and felt a surge of excitement. It was the call for “brought to bay.” The stag had become too exhausted to keep running, and turned to fight instead. The young nobleman grinned in savage glee- the climax was upon them. A few minutes later, the party burst from the trees into a clearing, to find the hounds having backed up the hart against a sheer cliff. They were barking and howling, showing teeth to the huge animal, but they didn’t spring. They’d been trained against attacking their quarry without explicit orders, and Seamus was reinforcing that training by whistling sharply every few seconds, signaling them to stay.

Theodore, Seamus, and the senior ranking knights that were among the hunters turned their gaze towards Aaron. Aaron was Theo and Seamus’ eldest brother, and the lord of of the eastern edge of the Bernian mountains. Strictly speaking, as the highest ranking man among their company, he would have normally had the honor of taking down the magnificent twelve-pointer. Aaron, however, smiled and made an inviting gesture towards Theodore.

With a savage grin, Theo shifted his grip on the spear he’d been holding through the entire chase. It’s wooden handle was slick with sweat from his palms, but there was no way he’d drop it. Not now. This was his moment.

He guided his horse through the dogs, who parted to let him pass. The stag shook it’s horns at him, trying to scare the young man into backing away, but Theo only tightened his grip on the spear. With a cry of triumph, he slashed, slitting the hart’s neck in a single clean stroke. It gave a gurgling cry, staggering a few steps before slumping over, limp as death settled over it. All around the hounds lifted their noses in a triumphant howl. Theodore backed his horse away as one of the knights in the assembly dismounted, moving towards the deer for the ritual of the Unmaking. A second knight sounded the horn call that would let any other hunters with the dog relays scattered in the woods know they’d made their kill.

“Well done, brother,” Aaron remarked with a smile. He dismounted from his exhausted pony, and with a cheeky smirk Theo did the same. The courser’s hide was streaked in sweat, and there was foam at the corners of his mouth. Theo gave the fatigued animal a congratulatory pat on the neck, reaching into his belt pouch to procure a carrot for the stallion. As it delicately plucked the treat from Theodore’s fingers, the nobleman turned to his older brother.

“Could nae have asked for a more fantastic hunt,” he said cheerfully. Looking at Seamus he added, “Yer turning intae an excellent hound courser, Seamus. Ye’ve a fine, firm hand with the dogs, this would’ve been a lot harder without ya.”

The fifteen year old nobleman flushed, a sheepish grin on his face. “Thank ye, Theo, I’m glad ye think so.”

He swung out of the pony’s saddle, coming up to his brothers with his mount’s reins in hand- though he carefully left a generous amount of space between himself and Theo’s horse. “So ye’ve finally done it. Yer the Master of the Hunt for the house and all our estate. How’s it feel?”

“Grand!” Theo replied cheerfully. “Nae more sitting around on my bum whilst Aaron does all the meaningful work! I was starting to wonder if Sir Bree would ever retire!”

“Well as of five minutes ago I am retired,” the knight in question called from his place by the deer carcass. “So I hope ye boys enjoy having me on hand today tae do the umaking because it’s the last time I’ll be responsible for it!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Theo waved a hand dismissively. “Seamus you probably better keep the old buzzard company, since you need to be there for the curée.”

“Dogs’ll be sad if they don’t get their share of the meat!” Aaron put in helpfully, and Seamus rolled his eyes. Handing his mount’s reins to Aaron, he waded through the gaggle of eager hounds to join Sir Bree.

“Well we’ve another few days at liberty before we’re due back tae Jennet,” Aaron said, turning his attention back to his brother. “This is yer party- how do ye want to spend it?”

Theo winked. “You’ll see later. For now, let’s clean up here before the blood smell draws predators. For the immediate future I just want tae get back tae the lodge for a drink!”

* * * * *

Theodore got his wish. Once the party had finished cutting up the deer and made it back to the Dun’s hunting lodge for the night, they set about celebrating the success in true Bernian style. Even Seamus, who’d only in the last year, started really partaking of alcohol, was hammered enough by moonrise to take part in a bit of drunken singing with the rest of the party.

“...Here then gone, clansmen cry,
‘The hunt is on!’

Sound the horn loudly, call the hounds!
We will ride proudly through hunting grounds
Who shall win?
Blessed stag, or mortal kin?

Though we draw a bow and we wield a blade
We respect the code that nature made
For we know not when the shadows fall
And the huntsmen comes to take us all

We are born then gone, clansmen cry,
‘The hunt is on!
The hunt is on!
The hunt is on!’”

As this last tune came to a close, with much laughter and slapping of backs, Theodore leaned companionably against Aaron’s shoulder.

“Woo, I wish we could do this all the time,” he slurred. “Just ride wild in the woods, hunting ‘n celebrating long intae the night. Would be so much nicer than all the bloody politics.”

Aaron chuckled. “But then ye’d have nae pretty girls to flirt with when we got back tae town. ‘S always just us boys on the hunt since Nory moved to Kustanair.”

“Meh, she only ever went with us when we were hunting with falcons anyway,” Theodore replied dismissively. “But I see yer point. Gotta go be responsible sometimes, even if it’s a chore.”

Theo took a generous swig from his mug, and Seamus interjected into the silence of the conversation. “Ah personally dinnae mind so much if th’ company’s all lads. Dinnae git me wrong, lassies are great ‘n everything, but ye both underestimate how attractive a good, handsome lad can be.”

“Ye can have the corner on the market there, Seamus,” Theodore remarked with a smirk. They’d discovered recently that when his brother got drunk, he tended to talk more like one of the local peasantry, his accent becoming amusingly thick.

“Dinnae laugh at me!” The boy slurred, glaring at his older brother.

“Nobody’s laughing,” Theo replied with a grin, lurching off of Aaron’s shoulder so he could pull his little brother into a hug. “Yer just adorable when yer sloshed Seamus, all yer filters go off.”

“Ye… yer… somethin’.”

Theo ruffled his brother’s hair, earning a weak squawk of protest and a slap on the back of the head from Aaron.

“Stop harassing the poor boy, he’s not sober enough to deal with you,” the Dun lord admonished, and Theodore laughed.

“Fine, fine. Yer off the hook, for now,” he said, gently pushing Seamus back upright. The boy swayed a bit, laughing.

“Ah coulda… Ah coulda handled it, Aaron,” seeming to decide that sitting up was too much effort, he flopped right back down against Theo’s chest again. “So what’re we doin’ tomorrow? Aaron said ye were bein’ all secret-y.”

Theodore brightened, but instead of answering he turned to the knight who had skinned the deer earlier.

“Sir Bree!” Theo called, his gesturing at the man enthusiastically with his mug. “Let’s hear the tale of Lord Aramis ‘n the wolf hunt, eh? For old time's sake!”

The old knight looked around in surprise, but with an amused shrug, he set down his mug and began to recite the old tale, as it had been passed down in Jennet for generations.

“Long ago, when there were no lords in the Bernian mountains and each clan claimed alliegence only to itself, there was a small but resilient band of hunters known as the Duns. They were not strong militarily, nor did they have fertile ground to till, but their hearts were one with the mountains. They hunted as did other predators, and knew themselves not as masters of the land but as just one more group of creatures living off of it.”

“Then, one day, the old ones heard rumors. Rumors of a man who called himself Stallion like a horse, a man who was travelling among the clans and decreeing that he, by order of the king, had been given the lands of Bern as his rightful territory. One by one he either forced the clansmen to bend their backs to him, or slaughtered them as squatters on his rightful claim.”

“But the old ones frowned, turning to each other and saying, ‘We don’t know of any king. The king may squat in his castle and pretend he is lord over these lands, but what has he ever done for us that we should obey him? He is a coward, making claims he has no right to make and hiding behind stone walls and miles of distance. This horse-man is no different. Without his armies, what strength does he have? He knows nothing of these mountains, and yet he tries to claim lordship over them? You cannot tame the mountains with an army. The long winter will crush any weak, southern army. You need strength in your own right, cunning, and you need to be willing to fight the mountains in their terms, not yours.’”

“So when finally the interloper from the south came to the Dun lands, planting his flag in the soil of their camp and declaring himself their master, the Duns neither bowed, nor fought back. Instead, they spoke to the horse-man, saying ‘If you would be the true master of these mountains, prove it! Challenge them on their own terms, without your horses or your armies! For centuries we of Dun have had a means for determining who among us is truly Master Hunter, and by right of being Master Hunter the strongest thing in the mountains. If you are willing to take this test, we will recognize you as the greatest of all men, as these others have, and give you our allegiance.’”

“The old ones fully expected the horse-man to refuse, for him to attack them like the southern savage he was and crush them under his boot like a vengeful demon. However, to their surprise, he asked them what their challenge was. They explained it to him- it was their way to send a man into the woods, alone, with neither hound nor horse to aid him. Armed with naught but a knife whose blade was as long as a man’s hand, the challenger would find and kill an adult wolf. If he passed the test, he would wear the wolf’s fang forevermore, as a sign to all who saw him that he had gained true mastery over the mountains, instead of being one hunter among many.”

“The horse-man agreed to their terms, leaving his horse and armor with his second, taking off his sword, and going into the woods with only a single knife. The Duns were greatly impressed by his boldness, and set about to wait and see how his trial would proceed. Three days and three knights passed, with the horse-man’s soldiers growing restless, thinking perhaps the Duns had deceived them and killed their leader while he was vulnerable. The Duns insisted on patience, however, scornfully saying they would not dare interfere with the sacred rite. On the morn of the fourth day, the horse-man returned, a great wolf draped over his shoulders. With a scowl upon his face he flung it at the feet of the Duns, again asserting his claim as their rightful lord and master. This time, it was with smiles and respect that the Duns met the horse-man. One and all they inclined their heads, and swore they would follow him and his successors unto the end of time.”

The end of the story was met with a round of applause, and Theo lifted his mug, downing the rest of the beer before lurching to his feet.

“I’m gonna do it!” He announced. “Starting tomorrow afternoon, I’ll go out intae the forest, just a knife on me, ‘n I’ll take the rite!”

“Ye… ye’ll what,” Aaron squawked indignantly. “Theo ye’ll get yerself killed! No one’s done that in nearly fifty years, ‘n for good reason; it’s dangerous!”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about this for a long time, Aaron,” Theo retorted. “I’m gonna do it. Ye can’t sto me.”

“For Woo’s sake, I just hired ye, Theo,” Aaron said. “Are ye gonna out me a Hunt Master before ye even do a day’s work?”

“He’s right, Theo ‘s nae safe,” Seamus put in, looking concerned. The middle brother shook his head, spreading out his arms.

“Have ye so little faith in me? If I’m tae be House Dun’s hunt master, I should really be a Master Hunter, in the old ways. If the founder of House Stallion could do it, why not a son of House Dun?”

“Yer an idiot Theo,” Seamus retorted. The knights around were murmuring in agreement, but Theodore shook his head.

“Ye’ll nae stop me,” he said firmly. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m doing the trial- and I’ll pass it!”

* * * * *

Theodore did have one advantage over the ancient Stallion- that man had been hampered by the fact that the mountains surrounding Dun Clan’s territory were unknown to him. He didn’t know the game trails, the rivers and springs, the clearings where deer would graze… But for Theo, these mountains were his. He’d grown up in them for his entire life, and been hunting in them with his family since he was thirteen.

As he departed the following afternoon, over the protests of his brothers, those memories of his earliest times hunting in these forests were at the forefront of his mind. It was strange sometimes, remembering them. That was back when his father Cohen had still been alive. Four years on since Cohen’s death Theodore’s memories of his father were still crystal clear, and painfully happy to boot. His father seldom laughed or smiled, preferring to approach the world with a serious expression and an endless torrent of deadpan snark. Theodore had never really been smart enough to keep up with his father’s wit, nor did he have much a head for politics. Theo often worried that between Aaron the heir, Nory the fine lady, and Seamus the math genius, the poor, thick skulled middle son would just be a disappointment.

But the first time Theo had successfully shot and killed a hare the look of pride on Cohen’s face had been unmistakeable. Theodore had been warmed by it, and he’d vowed then and there that even if he wasn’t smart or a good leader like Aaron, he would make his father proud by his own merits- as a master hunter and woodsman.

I hope you’re watching now, Father, he thought, kneeling close to the ground to inspect it for tracks. I hope you’ll be proud- and that you’re not as convinced I’m a daft idjit as Seamus and Aaron are.

He spent most of the rest of the afternoon looking for signs- and he did occasionally find them, a set of prints here, some droppings there, but nothing recent enough to bother following. He eventually had to stop for the night- it was far too dark to continue, and he’d be a sitting duck for any night predators wandering around blindly. He eventually found a tree that was suitable to spend the night it, and climbed it.

As he settled against the rough wood, a thought occurred to him. Grinning, the young nobleman cupped his hands around his mouth, and gave his best impression of a howl. He paused, and a moment later made the sound again.

Then, to his delight, he heard an unmistakable return call. Then a second, a third, and soon a chorus of voices were sounding into the night.

“I know yer out there, hunt brothers,” he said softly. “‘N tomorrow we’ll find out which of us can truly claim mastery over these mountains.”

* * * * *

“Why’s Theo so set on doing this?” Seamus asked crossly, shifting uneasily at the distant sound of the wolf song and glancing nervously out the window of the Dun hunting lodge. “It’s just an old barbarian tradition from the clan days. Bern is supposed tae be about innovation ‘n charging forwards intae the future.”

Aaron sighed, looking up from the sword he’d been cleaning. “Innovation is for the houses like Sabino ‘n Brindle, who’ve the resources tae finance it, or Stallion, with vast stretches of land they can use tae build up their industries. Our ancestors from the story of Aramis Stallion where right about one thing- ye can nae dominate the Dun mountains by brute force. Ye can’t tame them. The only way to survive here is tae live like the wild creatures who thrive in these forests without the luxuries of the civilized world.”

He leaned a chin on his elbow. “We remember the old ways because it’s kept our house alive, when most of the original Bernian clans have long since died off.”

“But this wolf thing is silly,” Seamus insisted. “If we want to hunt wolves, we can set traps for them, or have dogs to help track them. Go armed with bows, spears, swords-”

“We can, yes,” Aaron agreed. “And normally we would. But if this is what Theo wants tae do, we need tae let him.” With a gentle smirk, the Dun lorded added, “Maybe the vain show off just wants an excuse to wear a wolf fang around his neck.”

Seamus snorted softly. “Of course, I shouldn’t be surprised. Bloody peacock always has tae be the center of attention.”

“Whereas you always want tae hide behind the curtain,” Aaron pointed out with amusement. “If it wasn’t for Theo encouraging ye tae come out of your shell, ye’d never make any friends.”

The youngest Dun winced. “Yeah… He’s good at dragging me intae his shenanigans or tricking me intae things I’d never do normally. But that’s why I hate this. What if he goes ‘n gets himself killed? Then who’ll I have tae force me tae be brave or social?”

“He won’t,” Aaron said firmly. “Theo’s strong, brave, ‘n tenacious, even if he’s a bloody idjit. He’ll be back.”

* * * * *

There was a mist hanging over everything when Theodore woke the next morning, soaking his hair and skin. If it hadn’t been for the thick woolen clothing he was wearing, he’d probably have been cold. As it was, he wasn’t too bothered- the moisture hanging in the air would help to hide his scent, giving him an advantage in catching his quarry by surprise.

After eating some trail rations to get his energy up and drinking some water from a stream, he continued where he’d left off the previous day.

It was midmorning by the time he finally found an encouraging sign- droppings, still relatively fresh. With a bit more searching, Theo was able to find some fresh pawprints. Several sets, in face. The pack must’ve been close.

A pack. That posed a potential problem. The fact that wolves hunted and travelled in packs was part of what made this trial such a challenge. Taking down one wolf was hard, but not impossible. But very seldom did wolves travel alone, and fighting an entire pack with only a knife was suicide. So just tracking the wolf wasn’t enough; you had to get it separated from its comrades, isolate it to make it easier to take down.

Wolves stick together. Theo thought, a trace of bemusement in his expression Not unlike us Duns, eh?

It hadn’t been quite as pronounced when they were all younger. Aaron was frequently busy training to be the house heir, and Seamus was so much younger than the others that while they’d all gotten along well, but they hadn’t been especially tight-knit. The closest relationship between the siblings had been between Seamus and their sister Eleanor. Eleanor was two years younger than Aaron, and three years older than Theo, and had often helped to bridge the age gap between the brothers. But her relationship with Seamus was more like that of a mother than an older sister. Since Lady Dun’s death not long after Seamus was born, Eleanor had more or less raised Seamus herself.

But everything had changed four years prior, when their father Lord Cohen was killed by pirates. The loss of their father had completely shifted everything about the dynamic between the siblings. Suddenly Aaron was the head of the family, and Eleanor was married off to the heir of a powerful family in the south in order to secure an alliance. These radical changes had left Seamus with no idea how to cope, and he’d been severely depressed when Eleanor first left Jennet.

But Theo had stepped in then, taking over as Seamus’ primary caretaker as best he could. He knew that they would never have the same sort of relationship as Seamus and Eleanor had possessed, but that was alright- Theo wasn’t interested in being his brother’s parent. He was much happier being Seamus’ best friend.

Of course, like a pair of wolves who’d bite each other and wrestle in play, Theo wasn’t above giving his little brother a hard time. The vast differences in personality between Theodore and Seamus mean that the cocky, outgoing Theo was often at odds with his more shy, sweet natured Seamus.

As Theo nibbled his lip, trying to think of how to get one of the wolves isolated from the rest of the pack, he found his thoughts instead drifting to an incident the year before. Seamus’ best friend was a peasant boy in Jennet named Quinton, and the two of them had spend a good deal of time playing together as kids when Seamus was given leave to visit the city. But it seemed that once he hit puberty, Seamus had started to look at Quinton’s blue-grey eyes and white-blonde hair in a different light. After a great deal of soul-searching Seamus finally admitted his attraction towards Quinton, something that had caught his friend off guard- but fortunately, despite being uninterested in romance with another male, Quinton wasn’t put off and let his friend down gently.

Theo hadn’t found out about any of this until a day or so later, when Seamus admitted to the whole incident. He’d not even known that Seamus was attracted to boys as well as girls- an omission that was apparently deliberate on Seamus’ part, because he had been worried how Theodore would take it.

“I just… did nae want ye tae think less of me,” Seamus had admitted. “I did nae know how Quin was going tae react. Yer so strong, ‘n confident, ‘n a perfect noble… I’m the weird, mentally unstable one who likes men.”

“Seamus, there’s nothing wrong with liking men,” Theo had insisted, trying to mask the fact that he was honestly a little hurt. “I’d nae think less of ye for it. Lots of people are attracted tae folks of the same gender- it’s nothing tae be ashamed of.”

“Yeah, that’s what Eleanor said,” the younger Dun admitted. “I asked her about it two months ago, when I visited her in Kustanair. But still, I’ve never run intae it before nor since…”

“Ye talked tae ‘Nory?” Theo asked.

“Wuh… well yes,” Seamus admitted, looking a little taken aback. “Why?”

“I just… I’m confused. Why trust ‘Nory, but nae me? Seamus, I’m nae going tae judge you for something like this.”

Seamus had shifted uncomfortably. “Well I… I just wish I was more like you, is all. Strong, confident, a lady’s man, the sort of person people look at and immediately say ‘yeah, thats’ a noble all right-’”

“Listen Seamus,” Theo had said, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Yer my baby brother. I dinnae want ye ever putting me up on a pedestal, alright? Maybe we’re different in a lot of ways, but that should never mean ye can nae trust me. Sometimes I may give ye a hard time in jest, but I’ll never hurt you, or do anything tae make ye really upset. I promise.”

The younger boy hadn’t answered at first, but when Theo wrestled him into submission and held him in an armlock, he finally managed to pry a laugh out of Seamus, as well as a promise that he would trust his older brother more from then on.

Maybe this whole wolf hunt thing is a mistake, Theo thought, looking up into the trees overhead. This kind of bravado is exactly what gives Seamus such an inferiority complex where I’m concerned…

He shook these doubts off. Seamus was who he was, and Theo would never judge him for that. But by the same token, Theodore could only be who he was, and do what made him happy. Surely Seamus could understand and accept that.

Theodore shook his head, and forced himself to focus- he had a wolf to catch.

* * * * *

Gradually, Theo became aware of something odd. He did find the pack, in relatively short order, but kept his distance from them. They were six members strong, and he knew if he tried to wade into their midst now it would be suicide.

But there was a seventh wolf he caught sight of on occasion. It hung back from the others, seeming distant and antsy. Watching it more closely, Theo could see the telltale signs that marked it as being relatively young- it’s face didn’t bear the scars of fights for food and territory. It’s teeth were brilliant white and sharp, not yellowed with age like an older animal’s might be.

To his astonishment, towards the later part of the evening, this young wolf seemed to make up it’s mind about something, and it bolted. Moving far faster than he could’ve hoped to keep up, it ran from the rest of the group, out into the forest.

Leaving to go off on it’s own? he thought. To find a mate and start a pack of its own?

Whatever the case, he wasn’t going to get a better opportunity. Leaving the pack in peace, he turned and started to follow the tracks of the deserter. Eventually it was late enough he had to stop for the night and rest again. He was low on trail rations- if he didn’t catch the wolf the next day, he’d have to start wasting time hunting smaller game or digging for edible roots and fungi.

When he woke, Theo found himself heavily debating his next move. In theory he could use the knife he was carrying to cut some tree branches and set up a snare for the wolf… not to kill it, but at least to slow it down. But he wasn’t really certain if that was true to the spirit of the test. He hadn’t gone into the woods with a snare, no, but constructing a crude one would still mean defeating the animal with something other than his knife. The entire point of this exercise was to prove that the person doing the test had the strength to defeat the mountains on their own terms. No one would know the difference either way if he did, and maybe it was permitted, but… well he had to be sure.

So it was that when Theodore finally caught sight of the wolf, chasing down a rabbit as the thing raced towards it’s warren, he knew he had to confront the thing directly. He watched from downwind as the wolf snapped its jaws, just missing the leporid as it darted into a hole in the ground and leaving the predator panting. Only then did he emerged from his hiding spot and slowly started to circle closer.

The wolf spotted him almost instantly, and watched his movements with wary apprehension. No doubt it had been aware of this strange man-beast stalking the pack yesterday. Now it was alone, and the human’s motivations were unclear.

Theo drew the knife from his belt, six inches of steel glittering in his hand as he tightened his circle around the wolf. The canid growed, its hackles rising and it’s tail stiff behind it. The Dun’s lip curled in response, as if to snarl back. The wolf watched Theo for a full minute more… then it bolted.

The hunter cursed softly. He hadn’t thought a direct approach would work, but he’d been hoping maybe the young wolf would get cocky- he instead set about his backup plan. He didn’t run after the wolf. Such an endeavor would’ve been pointless, he had no hope of catching it on foot. Instead, he followed at a slower pace, continuing his circling motions to drive the wolf through the forest in the direction he wanted it to go. It was slow going. The creature didn’t cooperate as well as he might have liked, and it was very hard to herd it when he was working entirely alone.

At length, however, he was finally able to corner the creature against a fast-moving mountain stream. It tried to run up and down along the river, but Theo had a much easier time keeping pace and the wolf was both tired and hungry. It turned on him, growling a warning.

“Nae gonna work,” he informed it. “I’ve come too far and worked too long to cop out now.”

In that moment, the wolf moved far faster than Theo would ever have anticipated. Cornered, angry, and desperate, it whirled, charging towards the startled nobleman in a blur of silver and black fur. Theo had just enough presence of mind to bring up his arm in defense, preventing those slavering jaws from closing over his throat. Instead, almost four-hundred pounds per square inch of pressure slammed together over his right arm. He cried out in pain as the fangs clamped down, and the creature thrashed it’s head to further tear the wounds. He almost dropped his dagger from the pain of it, but managed to cling to the weapon long enough to draw back his free arm and punch the wolf square on the nose. It yelped, releasing his arm and backing away just long enough for Theo to switch his dagger to the other hand. His damaged arm was in absolute agony, and it was everything in him not to scream.

The wolf darted around him, trying again to flee into the forest. “No ye don’t!” Theo snapped, pitching himself sideways to land on top of the creature. It flailed, kicking hard against him with blunt claws. His bad arm proved his undoing, lancing with so much pain when he tried holding the wolf with it that the creature was able to wriggle out of his grasp. Knowing that the wolf was going to try to run again, Theo reached out with a hand and yanked at one of its hind legs, making it stumble. It whirled, teeth scoring across his previously uninjured arm, though this time at least it couldn’t get the leverage to deliver another crushing bite.

Theo yanked on the leg again, managing to pull it out from under the wolf and drag the animal onto its side. He kicked forwards, throwing his full weight atop the wolf again. It tried to wriggle free again, but with two hundred pounds of adult man as dead weight on top of eighty pounds of wolf, it couldn’t quite manage.

In spite of the blood flowing down his left wrist, and the relative weakness of that arm compared to his right, Theo clenched his hand tightly on his hunting knife. Grabbing the loose skin at the back of it’s neck with his other hand, and trying to ignore the pain shooting up his arm as he did so, he wretched it’s head back just enough to slit the creature’s throat. The wolf thrashed for several seconds more, gagging, before finally its body stilled and death glazed its yellow eyes.

At first, Theo kept his weight pressed down on the body, not quite daring to believe he’d actually done it. Then, a very soft giggle emerged from his mouth, and he rolled off the animal to lie flat on his back, laughing with hysterical fear, elation, and the lingering adrenaline high. Woo above, he’d done it! He still had to get back to the cabin with the body, both of his arms were bloody and the right one felt broken, but he’d done it!

Theodore Dun was a Master Hunter. The first in generations.

* * * * *

After washing his wounds in the river and binding them with strips cut from his shirt, Theo turned his mind to the problem of the wolf. There was no way he’d be able to drag it all the way back to the cabin, especially not with one arm likely fractured. At length he decided his best bet was to skin it, and just bring the pelt and head back. He needed some food for the return trip anyway, and the forest would quickly make use of anything he didn’t.

It took another day and a half of travel, but finally the exhausted nobleman caught sight of a familiar mop of messy auburn hair framing a pair of worried hazel eyes. Seamus darted through the trees towards his brother, shouting gleefully.

“Theo! Theo, ye arse, I can’t believe ye! It’s been five days! I was worried tae death!”

He threw his arms around his older brother in a hug, but drew back immediately when Theodore shouted in pain. The older Dun forestalled any panic by putting up the hand of his less injured left arm. “I’m alright, Seamus, just dinnae grab me like that, I think my arm’s broken.”

“Yer arm is broken?” he bleated. “Woo, how-” then he caught sight of the silver and black pelt draped over his brother’s shoulder, and his eyes went wide. “Ye… ye actually did it? Ye fought ‘n killed a wolf?”

“What, ye doubted me?” Theo retorted, his eyes sparkling with amusement in spite of his fatigue. “I promise I’ll tell ye the whole story, but I want some food ‘n a place tae sit down first. Ye got any grub left in the cabin?”

“Of course, of course,” the younger nobleman said. “C’mon then, hero, let’s get ye situated, have someone look at yer arm, ‘n get some food in ye. I can nae wait tae her this story- ‘n I know ye can’t wait tae brag about it!”

[Shinko]

Collab with Celestial

Windfall

SPOILER: Click to show

The dockmarket of Websteros was a bustling place at any time of the day, but late afternoon was one of the busier times. The worst of the heat of midday had faded, the fishermen were coming in with their catches, and the visiting sailors were sauntering about looking for a bit of entertainment to pass the evening.

The air was full of noise- the shrieking of gulls, the clatter of horse hooves and wagon wheels, and the yammer of people as they spoke to each other and the merchants. However, above all of that rose a different noise. This one was low, melodic, and almost mournful; someone was playing a musical instrument. If one followed the noise to it’s source, they would’ve found a bizarre sight, even for such a cosmopolitan city as Websteros. A young girl, no more than ten, with dark skin and a thick mop of curly hair so dark brown it was almost black, sitting cross legged on the cobbles at the edge of the street. She had a violin tucked under her chin, her eyes were closed, and she was playing a soft, slow tune on it with skill more befitting a person much older.

The instrument was good quality, but it was clearly the most expensive thing she owned. Her clothing was old and worn, ill-fitting to the point that she had to roll the sleeves up several times to fit them properly. Even the old violin case next to her, lying open so that passersby could occasionally toss a coin or gem into it, was battered and in dire need of replacing.

But the violin was excellently maintained. Every string was perfectly tuned, and the wood was polished until it almost glowed. As she progressed through the song, the tune increased in tempo, until it was less mournful and more hopeful, and even up to the point where it would’ve made a decent dance piece. Then, gradually it slowed again. This time the slower tune wasn’t sad, but more… content. The slowness that one would associate with being at peace with oneself. Then, the song ended, and she opened her eyes and pulled the bow away from the strings.

She was greeted by the sight of a man standing above her. The faint lines on his face and the silvery locks permeating the other sandy blond locks that hung down from his head in a rough mop betrayed him as somewhere in his mid-forties. His skin was tanned and his cheeks ruddy and roughened by the sea but his grey eyes still glimmered merrily like those of a man half his age. A thin scar graced his cheek, looking like that created by a blade. The clothes on him, a long, heavy coat and a teal tunic beneath it as well as long, leather boots, were those suited to a man of the sea but they were too finely tailored to belong to an ordinary sailor.

As soon as the girl had stopped played, he grinned and lifted up his calloused hands, giving her a small, slow round of applause

“Not bad,” the man said with a grin. “Especially for someone as young as you. Where did you learn to play like that?

The girl started, looking up at the man in surprise. At his question, she grinned and shrugged.

“Thank you, sirrah. Was an old retired sailor who taught me. ‘E’s a regular where me mum works, and ‘e took a shine to me. Said music was fine company on the high sea, but this old gal,” she gestured at the violin with the bow in her opposite hand, “had seen too much adventure to just muster out with an old blowhard too arthritic to play proper. ‘Is words, not mine. Turned out I had a knack, so ‘ere we are.”

“Sounds like something an old sailor would say. Not that he’s wrong, good music is sometimes all you have on a long voyage. It’s why you caught my ear. He’ll be glad to know that violin isn’t going to waste,” the grin on his face grew a little wider. “Bet the extra coin helps you and your mother too, doesn’t it?”

“It does, though ‘s not much,” the girl admitted. “But it puts customers off if I’m around when Mum’s seein’ to ‘em. ‘S awkward, ya know? So way I see it I may as well use the free time bein’ of some use. If I spend four days out playin’ and one person each day throws a runestone into me lap, well that’s four more runestones than we had before, eh?”

“Yeah, I bet. It’s a good thing you’re doing for your mum though. A little money never hurt anybody,” the smile on his face acquired a hint of sympathy. “Kids like you already have enough trouble to deal with without lacking money.”

The girl’s face reflected surprise. “Never heard an adult say that before. Most of ‘em say kids got no problems, or they don’t understand how bad the world can really be. I’ve had folks tell me if I’m really so hard up, I should just pawn me violin and be done with it.” She looked down at the instrument affectionately. “But it’s never been so hard Mum’s said anything about it, and I think she likes the music too. So maybe sometimes we miss a meal; could always be worse.”

“Your mum’s a good, wise woman then. You shouldn’t give up on what you’re good at just because some idiots say you should. And this dock would be a lot more miserable without some music to cheer it up,” he smiled and put a hand on his hip. “You’re doing a public service, err...what’s your name, girl?”

“Sawyer, sirrah,” she replied. “Sawyer Moss. I know, it’s a boy’s name, but Mum says it’s not about the name, but how ya use it. She’s weird like that.” The girl tilted her head. “And what’s your name then? I don’t think I’ve seen you before, but we get so many people through the dockmarket I lose track sometimes.”

He snorted. “I’m rarely in town for more than a few days every year but I’ve been through this place many times. But we’ve not met before otherwise I’d remember. But as for names, I can definitely say your mum is right,” the man gave her a small bow, putting his hand on his heart in the process. “I’m Captain Llyr Brachyura.”

Sawyer blinked, her expression one of total bafflement. “Brachyura? Like… like Lord Webster? But… but you’re out ‘ere, in the dirt ‘n the grime of the dockmarket! Everyone says nobles never come out of their castle, ‘cept to visit with other nobles! They’re too important to talk to normal people, much less a working girl’s chit busking the sidewalk!”

Llyr laughed heartily. “Yeah, that’s what most people think. But castles and such are places for people like Webster and Nereus, not me. Being noble don’t really mean anything to me,” he smirked. “I’m just a ship’s captain who happens to share a name and blood with Lord Webster and his ilk, nothing more. So you don’t have to bother with ceremony with me.”

The young girl tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve seen a lot of sailors ‘oo got a touch too much sun in their work, but you’re one of the stranger. But ‘s okay, I like strange, it’s more fun than ordinary.”

As she spoke, she noticed that the sun was starting to sink lower in the late afternoon sky, painting the clouds orange and purple. The building she was sitting next to was casting a long shadow. Frowning at the darkness, she absently set down her violin in its case and held out one hand. After several seconds of frowning at it, a tiny globe of pale green light appeared above her palm.

“Sorry, chose me spot somewhere I’d ‘ave shade, but this late in the day shade becomes shadow pretty quick.”

The Brachyuran blinked and tilted his head as he watched the globe of light rise out of her palm. “You’re one to talk about strange, Sawyer,” Llyr remarked and folded his arms. “Not only are you apparently a musician but a mage too. Care to explain that?”

Sawyer shrugged. “‘Dunno. Mum says it don’t come from her family, that’s for certain. But me dad was just a passing sailor whose name she didn’t even know. Didn’t speak Kythian even, though his coin was translation enough so she said. So she’s no clue what ‘e mighta been able to do. I figured out how to make these baubles when I was four or five.”

“Sounds like the ship’s cat,” Llyr chuckled before giving the girl a smile. “That’s the nickname my crew have for the mage on our ship. You’d know why if you met him,” he waved his hand dismissively “But the point is, he could make lights just like you could back when he discovered his magic. So wherever your daddy is from, fact is, you’re a mage, Sawyer.”

The girl’s brown eyes widened. “I… r-really? N... nah, I’m not a mage. This is all I can do- real mages can start fires, ‘n call winds, ‘n heal people when they’re sick or hurt. Even if I got this little magic, I’m no mage. I’d need schoolin’, ‘n it’s more important to get money for food for Mum ‘n me.”

Llyr put a hand to his chin, pondering, before turning his grey eyes down directly to meet Sawyer’s. “But say if you did have magical talent...would you want to learn more? Or would you be content just playing your violin out here?”

She ran a finger down the strings of her violin, looking pensive. She didn’t answer immediately, but after a while she sighed. “If by some weird stroke of luck we could afford it… maybe? Does it have to be one or the other? I mean… yes, if I could learn to do magic, that’d be amazing. But I don’t want to give up the violin for that. It makes me happy.”

“Who says you have to? I certainly didn’t mean to imply that. You shouldn’t give up your violin if it makes you happy and you’re good at it. Just if you have a talent, you should use it, not waste your life away somewhere you don’t want to be. Trust an old man with that,” Llyr smiled and brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. “Tell you what, since you’re so good with it...how about you come by my ship and perform for us? A lot of my crew have gone off on shore leave but a few have been left behind and neither they nor I would mind the entertainment.”

He put his hands in his pockets. “I’ll make it worth your while, Sawyer. Maybe enough that you could afford those magic lessons.”

The girl seemed momentarily thunderstruck. “Per… perform for your crew? Me? I… I ain’t never had nobody ask me to perform somewhere, like I was a real musician!”

Llyr clapped his hands, his smile growing even wider. “No time like the present to begin,” he tilted his head slightly. “Assuming your mum won’t mind, of course.”

“I’ll have to ask her,” Sawyer agreed. Looking a little downcast she added, “But she’ll prolly say ‘no.’ I mean it’d look really sketchy- a gentleman ‘oo says ‘e’s from Brachyura askin’ me to play for him just like that? She won’t believe it’s not a trap or con.”

“Yeah, seems too good to be true, doesn’t it? I wouldn’t blame her if she has as savvy as she seems to be. But this isn’t a trick or a con,” Llyr reached into his coat, searching for the hidden pocket sewn into it. From it, he pulled out a silver ring emblazoned with the Brachyura crab upon it, as well as two runestones and two precious stones, all of which he put into Sawyer’s hand.

“There. Now if something were to happen to you, she could go to Lord High Admiral Nereus, show him that ring and complain,” the man grinned, wiping another lock of hair away from his eyes and stepping back. “I guarantee you that he’d probably rip into me harder than he already does if she did that.”

Sawyer was stunned, looking down at the ring in her hands. No one would normally ever trust her with such a thing- what if she tried to steal it? But this man handed it to her as casually as if she were a trusted friend. She looked up at him with a crooked smile and a raised eyebrow.

“Ya really are weird, Captain Brachyura. But I like ya- I’ll talk to Mum about playing for your crew tomorrow, I promise. If you come back ‘ere anytime between when the morning guard shift changes at the docks ‘n two hours past sunset, I can give you ‘er answer.”

Llyr grinned. “I’ve been called worse than just weird. But I look forward to it. I’m sure the crew will love you. They’re a great bunch; I’d trust them with my life, as I’d obviously have to.”

She carefully deposited the money and the ring into a boot, where it was safer from pickpockets. Looking up at him with a smile she said, “Do ya want at least one request right now? Mum works late, so I’ll be ‘ere awhile yet.”

He rubbed his chin again, thinking for a moment about his before looking back up at Sawyer. “Do you know ‘Winds of the Stormwatch’? I’ve always had a liking for that song, I wouldn’t mind hearing it now.”

“I’ve ‘eard it, but I’ve never tried to play it before,” Sawyer admitted. “Let’s see how well I can play it by ear…”

Taking the violin back out of it’s case, she put it to her chin and placed the bow against the strings. After taking a deep breath, she began to play.

***

The next day, as was arranged, Llyr arrived back at the docks just in time to watch the morning guard leave their posts and let the afternoon guard take over. Seeing no trace of Sawyer, he leaned back against the corner of a nearby building, his hands in his pockets, and watched the both seagulls wheeling above and the people passing by. Thanks to days on the sea with no wind and no land nearby, old sailors like him knew how to pass the time without being too bored better than most.

He wasn’t kept waiting for too long though. Sawyer appeared around the corner of one of the streets about ten minutes later, with the most amusingly aggrieved expression on her face. As she drew closer, it became apparent that whatever conversation she’d had with her mother about the proceedings had convinced Mama Moss of the legitimacy of her daughter’s benefactor. And, knowing her child was going to meet with a noble, Sawyer’s mother had taken great pains with her daughter’s appearance. The young girl was wearing a dress of nicer quality than the one she’d born the day before (though it was still rather worn and clearly too big). Even more noticeably, she had some cosmetics applied to her face that were wildly unsuited to her complexion- no doubt belonging to her mother.

When she spotted Llyr, she approached him with a slightly awkward smile. “Mum said I couldn’t perform for a noble lookin’ like some street tramp. So uh…” She waved a hand to take in the face paint, looking thoroughly embarrassed.

The Brachyuran captain straightened out as he saw her, placing one hand on his hip. At the sight of the cosmetics, a wide grin came across his face.

“Your mum shouldn’t have bothered. Most of the men you’ll be playing for today are about as noble as you or her. I’m the only one who is weird, as you put it,” he yawned and stretched before turning back to Sawyer and starting to head down the docks. “If you follow me then, my ship is this way. I told my crew about you last night and they’re all pretty curious to meet you.”

Sawyer scurried after him, holding her violin case tight to her chest. “I hope I don’t disappoint ‘em. Thank you again for lettin’ me play for them, Captain Brachyura! I’m… sorry about the face paint, Mum was insistent.”

“Ah, she could have done worse than made you up a bit, don’t you worry,” Llyr patted the girl on the back. “As long as you play well, that’s all that matters.”

He turned a corner down the pier, keeping his pace slow so that Sawyer could keep up, and headed down a tall wooden jetty, at the end of which stood a ship, her silhouette slender and still as a heron. Her hull was dark, wet and weathered from the waves, but clearly kept in good repair. Three masts stuck up into the sky, white sails drooping from them that had been furled up now that they were not being used. Even though they were not spread open, the back sail was clearly different from the others; namely, it was triangular. She bobbed up and down in the water, tugging at her moorings and the anchor weighing her down as though testing them.

Llyr’s eyes seemed to light up as he saw her. He turned to Saywer with a smile. “That’s her, that’s my Mistral,” he pointed with his thumb to the name painted on to the port bow of the ship and strode over to where the gangplank was tied to the jetty. “You have my permission to come onboard, Sawyer Moss.”

Sawyer hesitated a few seconds, wondering if there was something particular she should do before coming on board. She thought she remembered it being bad luck to step onto the gangplank with a certain leg first, but she couldn’t remember which one that was. Furthermore, the formal way that Llyr had given his permission for her to board the ship made her nervous- was there some sort of special manners she had to obey?

Forcing herself to shake off the hesitation, she followed Llyr- giving a little hop onto the gangplank to land with both feet as a compromise- before coming up onto the deck behind him.

Llyr smiled a little as he watched Sawyer ascend, tilting his head slightly. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as somebody prone to stage fright,” he gestured at her to hurry up. “Don’t be nervous. If any of my crew decides to hurt you for whatever reason, I’ll make sure to give them a good thrashing.”

“Captain, you so rarely raise the lash on us that the majority of the men don’t even know what it feels like,” a rough, tanned man with a thick Elacsite accent approached them, smiling widely.

“That’s because most of them don’t give me any reason to bring out the lash, Niles,” the Brachyuran said in a light voice and turned around, shaking his head at the newcomer. “I like to think it’s because they respect me too much.”

“Whatever makes you sleep easy, Captain,” Niles glanced at Sawyer. “That the girl?”

Llyr nodded, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Yep,” he told him before looking down at Sawyer. “This is Niles, my first mate. He’s from Elacs but don’t worry, he doesn’t bite.”

Sawyer couldn’t curtsey around an armful of violin case, so instead she bowed. “‘S good to meet ya, Master Niles. I’m Sawyer Moss- yes, it’s a boy’s name.” She shook her head. “Wasn’t nerves so much as I couldn’t remember which foot I was supposed to use to climb up the ship first. I remembered it’s bad luck to step on with a certain foot, but I couldn’t remember which one. Didn’t want to bring bad luck onto your Mistral.”

“That’s not a sailing tradition I’m familiar with,” Niles quirked an eyebrow and glanced up at his captain, a smirk playing on his face. “Some Albion thing that neither you nor the others ever told me about because you’re embarrassed about it?”

Llyr laughed loudly before shaking his head at them both. “Don’t worry, Sawyer, she’s a good, sturdy ship. She’s weathered storms, whales and every kind of boat under the sun chasing her. She can handle a little bad luck. But, if you’re worried,” he snapped his fingers. “When in doubt, always go for the right. That’s what most people believe is the lucky side.”

Taking a few steps away from the girl, he looked around. “Who hasn’t wandered off to enjoy the pleasures of land then?”

“Most of them have but a couple wandered back and I told them. Most are up by the steering, a few, including the ship’s cat, are below. So all in all, there’s nine of us,” Niles replied and shrugged. “Nobody is doing much at the moment either.”

“In other words,” Llyr gave Sawyer a small bow. “We’re all yours and we’re all ears.”

Sawyer chuckled. “Okay, I’ll do my best.”

She set her violin case down at her feet, and pulled out the instrument. After a few minutes to make sure that the strings were in proper tune, she pulled her bow out and put it to the strings. She played a short riff to warm up, then once she was ready, she leaned back against the railing and began to play in earnest. The song she chose to begin was a common one- a shanty, or work song for sailors on the high sea. Though the exact lyrics of it varied from crew to crew, the common name for it was “Off Into the Sunset Flame.” It had a middling tempo, fast enough to work to the beat without being a distraction. Though she played with her eyes closed, as was her habit, when she was done she opened them, looking up to see if any of the crew’s interest had been caught.

She was not to be disappointed. Niles was leaning against the mast while Llyr had hopped on to the railing nearby, their eyes and ears turned towards Sawyer. On the upper deck, four men had raised up their heads to listen to her, intrigued by the sudden source of music, though they still held their cards in their hands. A man had also appeared by the cabin door who notable for two things: being almost as tall and wide as said door was and for having skin as dark as Sawyer’s. Oddly enough, he seemed to be hiding behind a barrel, even though it might as well have been a mountain hiding behind a tree. Meanwhile, a hatch had opened in the deck and out of it poked a head of roughly cut blond hair belonging to a skinny man who was now watching the girl with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

Niles poked Llyr in the ribs with his elbow. “Ship’s cat is here.”

The Brachyuran grinned widely as his eyes spanned across to the head poking out of the hatch. Just the person he wanted Sawyer to meet.

From the upper deck, there came a smatter of applause, which was then added too by the large man by the cabin deck. Sawyer beamed at the applause, bowing again. Niles and Llyr also raised their hands up to clap before the Brachyuran smiled at Sawyer.

“Good choice, though our version is different,” he turned his head, glancing around at the other men. “Either way, you seem to have attracted their attention. That isn’t everyone but...let’s see what I can do.”

He hopped off the railing. “Sawyer, do you know anything that can be danced to?”

She looked thoughtful. “I know a couple of songs that ya can dance to, sure. How about…”

She put the bow to the violin again, and this time she played a much faster paced song. This one was not a sea shanty, but instead a cheerful little ditty called “Raucous, Rude, and Rowdy.” It wasn’t a particularly refined song, but it was definitely a fun one, and absolutely the sort of thing you could dance to.

Llyr grinned, listening for a few beats before his feet caught the rhythm of the song. A childhood of noble etiquette training and an adulthood spent swinging from rigging had made his movements lithe and nible. Mostly, he concentrated on keeping in time with the melody but occasionally he cast his eyes around at the other men, smiling at them, without a trace of shame he was dancing alone.

The music by itself was hard to ignore but their captain’s display made it even more so. The men on the upper deck had stopped their game and were now leaning over the railings, watching Llyr with amusement.

“With all due respect, ya look ridiculous, captain!” one of them shouted.

“I wouldn’t if you joined me!” Llyr cried back, barely missing a beat. The man who had yelled at him snorted but continued to watch, nodding along with the rhythm of the song. Beside him, one of his companions began to clap to it as well. The action spread to his neighbours like a disease and was picked up upon by Niles on the lower deck. Pretty soon, all of the crew, save for the man hiding in the hatch, were clapping along to their captain’s dance and Sawyer’s music.

Sawyer blushed, grinning broadly at these shenanigans. Though her hands were full of violin, she did tap her foot against the deck along with the rest of the crew’s clapping. Once the song was over, the little girl was overcome by a fit of laughter, half at Llyr’s display and half just plain giddiness at the general upbeat mood.

“I’ve never had nobody enjoy me music so much before,” she remarked, her eyes sparkling. “Most folks just keep walking past me, or if they do stop and listen it’s just for a minute or two. I’m glad you all like it.”

Llyr gave her a deep bow and grinned widely, meeting her eyes. “Most folks aren’t old grizzled sailors, not even in Websteros. I told you, when you’re out at sea, music is a blessing. It keeps the boredom at bay when you’re becalmed out in the open waters.”

“Or sitting in port while the ship is repaired and the captain gets his business in order,” Niles shrugged, folding his arms.

A few of the sailors grinned to themselves, causing Llyr to raise an eyebrow.

“Whatever you rogues might be thinking, keep it to yourselves,” he gestured to Sawyer with his thumb. “There are children present.”

“Aye, captain,” they gave him a salute. “We’ll behave.”

Meanwhile, the big sailor had peeled himself away from where he had been hugging the walls of the cabin and gingerly approached Sawyer, keeping his head bowed. He tapped her on the shoulder once and immediately drew his hand away.

“Sorry to be bother,” he said in a squeaky voice which seemed to come from a man that was half his size. A throaty Courdonian accent clung thickly to each word. “Do you know songs from Courdon? Any?”

Sawyer glanced up at him, surprised. Then she smiled. “It’s okay, it’s not a bother, Mister. I might know some, but off the top of me head I can’t think of any. Sorry, I don’t usually ask where a song is from. But I’m pretty good at playing by ear! Maybe if you hummed a little bit of one, I could pick up the melody?”

“I’ll try. But I’m..not good singer, sorry,” he replied and closed his eyes, remaining silent for a few moments as he racked his brains for a song. The entire crew held their breaths and watched the small girl and the large man who stood next to her.

Eventually, a soft smile spread across his face and he began to hum a soft, lilting tune. Being wordless, it had no trace of the harsh, Courdonian language but instead was slow, almost like a lullaby.

All the men on deck, including Llyr, turned their eyes to Sawyer, waiting for her to pick it up and amplify the music with her violin. She didn’t keep them waiting long- after about forty seconds into the melody, she put her bow to the instrument and began to play. Her violin was much louder than any human voice, and turned the simple, soothing tune into an echoic Her eyes slid closed as she focused her attention on the song. Being unfamiliar with the song, she didn’t always hit the notes exactly as it was intended to be heard, but her natural talent with the instrument made these mistakes sound like intentional improvisation.

If the mistakes were noticed, it certainly did not register with the crew as they watched the performance. Unlike before, when they had been clapping along to the merry tune, there were now a lot more subdued, letting the melody wash over them. Llyr was leaning against the railing, smiling slightly to himself as he seemed lost in his own thoughts. And on deck, the skinny man finally crawled out of the hatch where he had been lurking and now sat on the wooden deck with crossed legs, watching the player and the singer intently. However, Sawyer’s accompaniment barely faltered in his song, not noticing the attention they were both getting.

Finally, she pulled the bow away from the violin and opened her eyes. “Was that good, Mister?”

The man stopped humming and smiled widely at her, his brown eyes twinkling. “It was. Thank you. It was song from childhood,” he bowed his head to her and held out his hand. “Name is Leo. Leo Morgan.”

The small girl tucked her bow under her armpit and accepted the hand shaking it. She smiled brightly. “You’re very welcome, was me pleasure. I’m Sawyer Moss.” She indicated the instrument in her other hand. “That’s my favorite thing about music. Makes ya feel. Some of the things ya feel are happy, ‘n some of ‘em are sad, but even when the music is sad it’s soothing too. And I have songs that make me remember things that are nice.” She beamed. “I’m glad me music could help ya with that.”

Leo nodded, his smile still wide across his face. “Yes. Even when music sad, it still beautiful. And now you know Courdonian song too. Courdon has many songs like that.”

“No kidding,” Llyr stepped up behind them, approaching the two. “I remember working with some Courdonian privateers once to catch illegal slavers. During the downtime, one of the captains was a great singer, could send shivers down anybody’s spine. Taught me a few songs but I don’t recall that one,” he patted Leo on the shoulder. “You’ll have to teach it to me sometime when we get out at sea and have some time.”

“Of course, Captain. But right now, I don’t want to take away attention from this girl. She’s very sweet and talented, she deserves it,” Leo replied, glancing fondly over at Sawyer.

Llyr grinned and nodded in agreement before also looking at her. “You seem to be winning hearts and minds all over today. Normally Leo’s not that great with strangers, even young ones. And to say nothing of the ship’s cat. It’s rare for him to crawl out of his hidey hole,” he gestured over at the skinny man who had come up on deck. Realising he was being talked about, the latter blinked and frowned.

“I only come up for a reason, Captain, you know that well,” he grumbled, his tone better suited to mumbling under his breath but loud enough for everyone to hear. “And if you’re going to talk about me, at least use my name, not that stupid nickname.”

“Then stop lurking and introduce yourself instead of sitting there and staring,” Llyr remarked jovially, beckoning him to walk on over.

“Don’t forget, Captain, you and all of your crew owe me your life,” rolling his eyes, the thin man leapt up and ambled over, looking down at Sawyer with curious hazel eyes. “Spencer Grean. I’m the resident mage.”

Sawyer’s eyes widened, and she bowed again politely. “‘S nice to meet ya, Master Grean. Captain Brachyura mentioned ya yesterday when I talked to ‘im. It’s good to meet ya in person.”

The child wanted to ask Spencer a question, but he seemed so… cross. She wasn’t sure if he’d just get annoyed or actually answer her. She could certainly see why the others called him a cat, with the way he had hung back away from everyone else half-hidden and watched wordlessly. And cats had nasty scratches.

Opting to take a leap of faith she said softly, “The Captain told me that when ye were just a tyke, ya could make glowing baubles? ‘N that’s how ya knew that ya were a mage?”

“Yes. Most people with magical talent can either change colour or make lights,” Spencer replied, “But that’s all anybody can do without proper training and a wand.”

“The reason she’s asking, and why I mentioned you, is that she can also make lights appear in her hand,” Llyr remarked, leaning in over Sawyer. “I figured that would be of interest to you, Spence.”

“That why you invited her out of the blue on to the ship?” the mage asked, raising an eyebrow.

“One of the reasons,” Llyr grinned and put his hands on his hips. “That and I wasn’t the only one getting bored of sitting in port while repairs are being made and Nerry hums and haws over paperwork.”

Spencer snorted and looked back at Sawyer but his gaze had become even more curious. He tilted his head slightly at her and stood back, expectant. “You want to show me what you can do then?”

The girl set her violin and bow down in the case, and then held up a hand. After squinting at it for a few seconds, she was able to call a small glowing green orb into existence. “Never thought much of this,” she admitted. “I mean ya hear about mages in stories, ‘n they can do all these fantastical things. This is all I could ever do, so I didn’t think it was nothin’ amazing.” Sawyer glanced around at the rest of the watching crew before her gaze settled on Spencer again, to see how he’d react.

The orb’s light reflected in Spencer’s pupils, giving them an eerie glow as he watched it. Extending a finger, he prodded the orb carefully only for his hand to go right through it. Pulling away, he continued to look at the light, seeming fascinated by the simple thing. After a few moments, however, he remembered to blink, breaking the trance he seemed to have gone into.

“Mages are like any other job; the stuff in stories is exaggerated and romanticised. Good luck finding anybody outside Corvus who can do anything like that,” he said in a flat voice.

“Most people don’t need a storybook mage though. I mean, we’ve got you, Spence, and as you pointed out, most of us owe you our lives,” Llyr remarked with a shrug and smiled. “I’d rather take a good healing mage like you over some ponce with robes and a hat who can cast fireballs.”

A little wry smile appeared on Spencer’s face and he turned back to Sawyer. “You got potential; that’s pretty much what I did when I was younger. But I’m guessing you have no training?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Lessons are expensive, ‘n it’s just me ‘n Mum making money. I might could afford a wand if I pawned me violin, but not the training.” She glanced aside, her mouth twitching downward. “And I don’t want to sell it. Music makes me happy.”

“That’s always the problem,” Spencer’s shoulders drooped. “My dad had to work hard to get me my wand and any kind of magic lessons. But if you don’t have the money, you’re stuck. I’m sorry,” he glanced downwards. “I’d teach you, if I was any kind of teacher, or didn’t have to sail with this lot.”

“Ah, we’re not so bad, are we, Spence?” Llyr laughed and patted him on the shoulder. Spencer regarded with the same distaste as though the Brachyuran had put fish guts on his shoulder, but he did not move away from the touch. Still grinning, Llyr glanced between him and Sawyer. “Don’t feel too bad though. Just like you, she’ll find a way.”

“Not everyone can be as lucky as me. And crews usually want male mages for their ships. Not to mention-”

Spencer broke off as he caught Llyr’s eye, followed shortly by a wink from the captain. The mage crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, trying to read the captain, but Llyr’s expression had already shifted to his usual smirk.

“Enjoy the music while we still have her, ship’s cat,” the Brachyuran remarked. “Ask for a request, anything. Since you’ve already been lured up by the music.”

The mage snorted at the nickname but shrugged and smiled a little at Sawyer. “I don’t have any particular favourites. So surprise me.”

She thought about it for a moment, closing her hand around the orb of light and looking down at her violin. The mage had seemed to most enjoy the slower song she’d played with Leo- it had drawn him out of the hatch when the faster songs had not. Seeming to reach a decision, she picked up her instrument and started to play.

It was a very slow, almost nostalgic sounding tune. A sad one that seemed to hearken back to a long lost time of simple innocence, and a longing to find it again. The minstrels called it “Dearly Beloved.” It wasn’t a complex melody, but a very evocative one.

Spencer stood back and let Sawyer play, sitting down on the edge of the hatch from which he had emerged and listened to the song. The music rang out across the ship, sweeping up the sailors with it. They were still as they listened to the song, some gazing out into space while others kept their eyes directly on Sawyer. And as it continued, the sound of the violin was joined by a few stray sobs, some of them coming from Leo. Even Llyr’s usual smile was replaced by downcast eyes as damp as Corvid autumn.

Finally, she reached the end of the song, and let her bow fall. Looking up at the mage she asked, “How was that, Master Grean?”

The mage blinked and looked up at her. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed a tear and smiled at her.

“It was nice. Really beautiful,” he glanced around at the misty-eyed crew. “You’ve certainly managed to touch this bunch too.”

“Except we could do with a mood boost after that. It never pays to remain melancholy for long,” Llyr said, wiping his eyes and grinning widely, trying to hide his earlier mood. “Sawyer, play us something fun,” he looked around the men, adopting a look of mock sternness. “And if I start dancing, Captain’s order is to join in.”

They all saluted in unison, though their smiles betrayed how seriously they were going to take that order. Sawyer giggled, her face warming.

“Something happier, coming right up,” she replied with a broad grin. “Though if you all start dancing I might too, so don’t knock the violin out of me hands! This one’s one I learned from the fella that gave me the instrument and taught me how to use it- he wrote it hisself. It’s called ‘Child of Light.’”

The men who had been on the upper deck wandered downstairs and stood by, waiting in anticipation. She seemed to take a moment just playing with the strings with her fingers, as if to build up suspense. Then she began to play a tune that started off slow, but about thirty seconds in abruptly picked up its tempo and became a lively, energetic melody.

Everyone waited eagerly as she plucked the strings. As the song began, they raised an eyebrow skeptically at how slow it was. A few glanced at Llyr but he simply shrugged and turned back to Sawyer, continuing to watch and to listen. They waited and their patience was rewarded as soon as the melody picked up. Llyr’s smile grew wide and as before, he launched into a dance as he had done before. Despite their earlier irreverence at their Captain’s order, it was not long before most of the rest of the crew had joined in. Even Niles, who had been watching from the sidelines, was soon found dancing a merry jig. The deck of the ship was soon ringing with with the sound of feet against the wood and the Mistral seemed to bob up and down quicker in the water as though she too was joining the dance.

The only ones who stayed out were Leo and Spencer. Leo kept standing by the cabin door, watching the other sailors with a delighted expression. Spencer had leapt aside from the chaos as soon as it had started, perching instead on the railing of the deck. But even he was not immune to the effects of the song.

He opened up his holster and from it drew out a wand made out of pale wood. Holding it by the grip, the mage pointed it up into the air above the dancing crew. Normally this spell was used for signalling, but he did not feel pulled and it was unlikely they would need extensive healing while in port. He could afford to this.

“Woormillius,” he murmured as soon as the song reached its crescendo. Red sparks shot out over the group, giving the crew below a red glow. They began to fade as they reached the top of their arc and fall to the ground, disappearing as quickly as they had been cast.

Sawyer watched with wide, gleaming eyes all as the crew started to dance to the music, and when Spencer’s spell shot into the air her face seemed to glow with her excitement from within. Though she couldn’t dance as enthusiastically as the rest of the group and still play such a complicated song properly, she did start to prance around the deck, swaying in tune with the energetic sawing of her bow.

Llyr could not help but grin as he noticed that even Sawyer had joined the dance, albeit with understandably less energy than the others. He continued to weave in between the crew, sometimes taking one of them by the hand and spinning them around, much to their amusement. Though they stuck to the tune, most of them had their own way of dancing, from Llyr’s more refined movements which betrayed his noble upbringing to the rough jigs of the common crewmen. They had one thing in common though: everyone was careful to give Sawyer plenty of space, not wanting the joyful melody to be interrupted by somebody accidentally knocking the bow out of her hand with a stray elbow, or worse.

When the song finished, the crew all broke away from the dancing group, grinning widely and patting each other on the back. Llyr laughed, looking around at them.

“Good job following orders,” he exclaimed. “And thank you to you too, Sawyer.”

The young girl bowed. “Thank ya! Was me pleasure. I’ve not had so much fun in ages, nor an audience that actually enjoyed me music instead of walkin’ on by! That you Captain Brachyura!” Turning to the rest of the crew and bouncing cheerfully on the balls of her feet she added. “And the rest of ya as well!”

“It’s been awhile since we had good entertainment, especially with our own musician running off on shore leave,” Niles smirked at her. “So I have to echo the Captain here: thank you.”

A cheer came up from the crew for her as they drifted away to catch their breath. Only Llyr remained close by. He wiped his hair out of his eyes before shooting Sawyer another smile.

“Not tired are you, Sawyer? Because I have an idea for a request…”

And on it went. Sawyer played requests for the various crewmen, as well as songs of her choice. Some were fast paced jigs, some were slower, but all of them made it abundantly clear the young girl was a real prodigy with music. Sawyer was over the moon to be able to play for such an enthusiastic audience, instead of busking the street and hoping a passerby might give her a scant minute or two of their time.

But eventually her arms began to grow weary of holding the violin up, and in spite of how much fun she was having she knew that if she kept trying to play like that the quality of her music would suffer for it. So with great reluctance she put the violin back in it’s case.

“Thank ya again for letting me play for all of ya,” she said fervently to the Mistral’s crew. “I’ve had a lot of fun!”

As time had worn on, most of the crew had sat down to catch their breath and listen to the music. But seeing her packing away, a lot of them got up, their eyes fixated on the young girl. Their downturned smiles and frowns betrayed their disappointment at the end of the concert.

“You leaving?” Leo called up from where he had found a spot by the cabin door.

“It’s late. Young girls shouldn’t be going around Websteros late,” Niles remarked and looked around the men sternly. “And all of you have work you need to do if we’re to be leaving on time.”

A murmur spread out amongst the crew like a ripple from a cast stone but implicitly, they all seemed to understand: as fun as it had been, all things ended.

Llyr, however, shrugged and leapt off his perch on the railings, ambling over to Sawyer and smiling widely at her. “Thank you, Sawyer. I think we’ve all had fun too,” he threw his head back and cast his gaze out over the men. “Haven’t we?!”

A hearty cheer arose from all around the ship, making Sawyer blush and the Brachyuran laugh loudly as he turned back to the girl. “You going to be needing an escort back? As my first mate said, it probably isn’t safe,” he winked. “And I need to retrieve my ring back from your ma.”

Sawyer had been sad to see everyone so disappointed, but at the cheer she brightened again. When Llyr spoke to her, she smiled apologetically as she picked up her violin case. “So ya do- though fair warning, I live in kinda a rough part of town. I wouldn’t mind the company, but it’s a bit dirty over there.”

The Brachyuran snorted, his grey eyes acquiring an amused twinkle. “Do I look like the sort of man who minds dirt? If I did, I’d never have taken this job,” he patted Sawyer’s shoulder. “I’ll come then. Just give me a few moments, there’s a few things I need.”

He turned on his heel and walked a few steps back towards the cabin before flashing the crew a grin. “You going to stand there and make the girl feel awkward or will you actually say your goodbyes before she heads off?” he called before resuming going on his way, deeper into the ship itself.

The crew stirred, getting up from their spots. Some groaned as they stretched out their limbs while others simply shrugged off the stiffness, depending on how long they had been sitting. The first to approach Sawyer though was Leo. He walked over to her slowly and timidly before throwing his arms around her in a great bear hug.

“Take care,” he said quietly. “Keep playing.”

Sawyer was startled by this unexpected display of affection, but she laughed and hugged the big man back. “Thank you, I will,” she replied. “Next time you come to Websteros, I’ll know lots more Courdonian music for you.”

“I look forward to it,” Leo smiled and moved aside, letting the rest of the crew have their turn. After a mixture of handshakes and pats on the back as well as compliments on her playing, the four men left her alone, giving Niles a chance. The first mate responded by giving her a small bow.

“I was initially skeptical when I heard about you, but I can see why the Captain took a shine to you,” he said and patted her head. “Good luck, young miss.”

Niles blinked and glanced behind him, noticing Spencer hanging back. He stepped aside, leaving nothing but empty space between Sawyer and the thin mage. Reluctantly, he approached her and held out his hand.

“I hope you get to learn magic eventually,” he told her, looking down at the deck by his feet. “It’s a gift and it shouldn’t be wasted.”

Sawyer smiled up at Spencer. “Th-thank you. I hope so too- I never thought a little kid from the dockmarket could do something as grand as magic, but stranger things have happened, huh? Maybe I can’t pay for lessons now, but I got my violin. I’ll keep at it, and maybe someday I’ll get there. Only thing to do is keep tryin’.”

“Magic appears in anyone. Nobles, kids from the dockmarket, slaves, fishermen…” he nodded slightly to her and gave a shrug. “Life takes you strange places. Who knows, maybe you’ll learn magic somehow without paying or you’ll get enough money from your violin. Still...I wish you luck. Whatever happens to you.”

“Are you all done?” came Llyr’s voice from behind them. The Brachyuran was still in his coat, the only difference now was a the point of a straight, basket-hilted sword sticking out from beneath its hem. He grinned and held out his hand to her. “Your escort is here. Ready, Sawyer?”

“I’m ready,” she replied, taking the captain’s hand. Casting one last look over the deck she called out, “Goodbye everybody! Thanks for letting me play for you! Have lots of fun adventures, okay!”

A chorus of waves and goodbyes rose up from the crew, some more subdued and others far more enthusiastic. Llyr almost did not want to take her away from all that but at the same time, he did make an implicit promise to Sawyer’s mother to get her back home safely. So with the cheers of the men behind him, he lead her down the gangplank and across the jetty, away from the ship, stopping only at a crossroads.

“You’re going to have to lead me, Sawyer. I know Websteros like the back of my hand but I don’t know where you specifically live,” he told her.

“Okay,” she replied with a nod. “It’s this way, through the dockmarket and down into the edge of the slums.”

As she began to walk through the darkening streets of the Albion capital, Sawyer remarked, “Thank you again for letting me play for your crew. They were really nice, especially Mister Leo.” With a crooked grin she added, “the old man who gave me the violin said that a good crew is like a big family- I think I see what he meant.”

“Spoken like a true sailor,” Llyr grinned, putting his hands in his pockets. “You got to be, out at sea. Your life depends on them and their lives depend on you, doubly so if you’re captain. And you spend a lot of time together, just all of you, which if you don’t have good relationships would probably result in you all murdering each other.”

The Brachyuran laughed despite the morbidity of the statement before he turned back to Sawyer. “But I’m glad you had fun too. I know I certainly did. We haven’t had a good musician like you on board for a while.”

She grinned broadly. “I’m just a kid, I’m sure a grown-up musician would be even better. But if everybody had fun, that’s all that matters, right?” She turned down a side street, to a much grubbier part of the city. Occasionally people looked at the well-dressed Brachyuran curiously, but most looked away again when they saw his sword.

“You’re right, that’s all that matters. If you don’t have some fun in this world, what’s the point of living?” Llyr glanced around briefly, his eyes in particular landing on a man who was eyeing his pockets. After a few seconds of fixed gaze, the would-be thief backed away to find an easier target, letting the captain devote his full attention to Sawyer again. “You could say I went out to sea in search of fun and I’ve never looked back. It beats sitting in some stuffy castle any day.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Sawyer admitted. “Never been in no castles. But I don’t much care for all this muck,” she indicated the cosmetics on her face, “So I can see how it’d be cumbersome.”

“Sawyer?”

The girl looked around, smiling as she caught sight of a woman standing in the doorway of a small building that was fairly evidently not her house, nor a place where she lived alone. The shape of her face bore a resemblance to Sawyer when one looked closely, but that was where any similarity between the two ended. Where Sawyer was dark skinned, with dark brown hair and brown eyes, this woman was much fairer, with reddish-gold hair and grey eyes. When Sawyer saw her, the young girl’s eyes lit and she waved enthusiastically.

“That’s me mum,” she explained to Llyr, leading him towards the woman. Sawyer’s mother looked up at Llyr with a visible gulp.

“Ah, good day m’lord,” she said, curtsying. “Anita Moss, if it please your lordship.”

“Please, just captain. I’ve not been a lord for over twenty years,” Llyr let go of Sawyer’s hand and with one smooth motion, took Anita’s, bringing it up to his lips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Grinning, he straightened out his back and glanced between mother and daughter. “Thank you for letting Sawyer come play on my ship. She was a hit with my crew, I can tell you that.”

Anita accepted the kiss on her hand with a wan smile, an air of patience about her suggesting Llyr was not the first to do that to her. “Of course, Captain. I was certainly surprised to ‘ear her tell me she’d been asked to play for the crew of a ship, but far be it for me to deny her a little fun now ‘n again- she’s very young still ‘n I can’t always give her the sort of childhood I would wish.”

“We do okay, Mum,” Sawyer insisted. Anita ruffled the child’s hair.

“We do,” she agreed. Fishing in her sleeve, the woman pulled out a familiar ring embossed with the Brachyuran emblem. “You’ll be wanting this back then?”

“Yes please,” Llyr stretched out his hand, palm upward. “Doubt my siblings will be too pleased I gave my signet ring away, and they will never believe me if I told them to who and why,” he chuckled softly. “Meaning you no disrespect, Ms. Moss, but I’m sure you understand.”

“Yes of course,” she replied, hurriedly dropping the ring into Llyr’s outstretched palm. “I’m just glad to ‘ave me daughter back in one piece. And from ‘aving had a good time, I wager, if that cheeky grin she’s wearing is anything to go by.”

“It was fun,” Sawyer confirmed, nodding enthusiastically. “Captain Brachyura’s crew were really nice.”

“And if they weren’t, I guarantee you I would have knocked some sense into them. But there was no need for that; they all seemed to like you well enough,” Llyr slipped the ring back into his inner coat pocket, though he did not take out his hand. Instead, he turned back to Sawyer. “I bet the men who went on shore leave wouldn’t mind seeing you too, after all the stories they’ll probably be told.”

He sighed deeply and a frown appeared on his face, although it was not reflected at all in his eyes. “But it occurs to me, Sawyer, that I was very rude: me and my men lionised all your time when you could have made a few coins playing by the dockmarket.”

“Oh, well you did give me some money last night,” Sawyer said, looking up at him earnestly. “I had fun, honest!”

“I’m glad, but fun won’t put food on the table or pay for your magic lessons now, will it? Besides, I did say I would pay you,” he asked and withdrew his hand from his pocket, clutching a large pouch bulging with coins. Llyr grinned widely and deposited it into Sawyer’s hand. “It’s not much. But I think that’s enough to make up for me stealing you away to play for me and mine, wouldn’t you say?”

Sawyer’s eyes bulged, and Anita gaped. The older woman stammered, “C-captain, we… we can’t possibly… I’ve never even seen so much money in one place!”

“Never too late in life for new sights,” Llyr laughed, placing a hand on his hip. “Mistral’s repairs are paid for and as soon as Nerry hurries up and reaches a decision in regards to my prize, I’ll have made that money back tenfold. So why shouldn’t I give some to those who need it more?”

“Th… thank you, Captain Brachyura,” Sawyer breathed. She looked up at her mother. “D’ya think maybe… maybe I could learn magic with some of this? At least a little bit?”

“I’d ‘ave to look into it,” Anita replied, hugging her daughter. “I don’t know exactly how much magic lessons are, and ya’d need a wand ‘n all that too. But well see.” She bowed deeply to Llyr. “Thank ya- we’ve never known such kindness.”

“You are welcome,” Llyr bowed back and looked down at Sawyer, still smiling. “This way you don’t have to give up your music either. And I think people should have the freedom to do whatever they want in life. It’s far too short as it is.”

He stretched out his hand. “Next time I come back to Websteros, I’ll make sure to find you and see how you’re getting on. And you’re always welcome on the Mistral too.”

Sawyer smiled, putting out her hand and shaking Llyr’s. “I’ll look forward to it, Captain. I gotta keep my promise to Mister Leo to play some Courdonian songs for him, and I’ll show Mister Spencer my new magic.” She brightened. “Maybe next time I can hear some tales of the adventures ya’ve been in.”

“That’s a fair exchange,” the Brachyuran stepped backward and waved farewell to both Sawyer and her mother. “Then until we meet again, Sawyer Moss. May the wind be at your back and your seas placid!”

“Goodbye Captain!” Sawyer said, waving enthusiastically back to him while her mother echoed the gesture more calmly. “Thanks again, thank ya so much! Have fun on your adventures!”

[Shinko]

Collaboration with Celestial

Tea for Two

SPOILER: Click to show

As stressful as the months leading up to it had been, Seamus Dun might have expected his reaction to the wedding of Isabelle Stallion and Hector Guinne to be profound relief. The money that had been pouring out of the Stallion coffers to finance this grand affair had kept the house bookkeeper awake until the wee hours of the morning more than once, after all.

But such expectations would have come when both bride and groom were nothing more than names in Seamus’ head and fleeting glimpses in the hallways. Before Hector decided to insinuate himself into Seamus’ life and offer him a distraction from the stress of the wedding preparations. Now, however, as he looked towards the Duchess’ husband not with the indifference of a stranger but the warmth of a friend, he found himself sincerely happy to see the wedding take off so well. Hector was a good man- he deserved it.

If not for his friendship with Hector, Seamus probably wouldn’t have actually been present at the wedding reception at all. Since childhood he’d suffered near-crippling social anxiety which manifest most prominently around important officials or large crowds. This being the wedding of a major noble’s heir, the room was jam packed with not only representatives of all the minor houses of Bern, but also many of the minor houses from Rindfell and Kine as well as most of the major Kythian lords. A crowd made up almost entirely of important officials; just the idea of being in that ballroom made a cold sweat break out on the bookkeeper’s face.

But Seamus was Hector’s friend, and it would’ve been selfish of him not to show his support. So the young bookkeeper had settled on a compromise that allowed him to be visible, easy to find, and bask in Hector’s happiness without making himself a conversation target for any of the lords or representatives milling about the room. Once the formal feast ended and everyone was free to mill about, Seamus asked one of the servants for a cup of tea- the wine that was flowing in copious amounts didn’t interest Seamus when there was so much opening for him to drunkenly humiliate himself- and drifted to the edge of the room. There he settled comfortably in a chair in one corner, sipping contentedly from his cup and taking care to meet no one’s eyes as they happened past.

However, despite his careful attempts to avoid other people, he had forgotten to check the corner he was sitting in. If he had, Seamus would have noticed that he was not the only one who had been struck by the idea to avoid the wedding with a cup of tea.

Ambrose had glanced up at the newcomer when he had heard him sitting down in the chair nearby but soon realised that he did not recognise him at all. However, he did wear the colours of House Dun and the Stallion had glimpsed him before in the corridors back when he visited in March, plus Alain had mentioned a few new employees. Perhaps this man was one of them?

Regardless, he had not expected anybody to join him in the corner. Most people, up to and including Alain, were busy enjoying themselves with the wine and food further up the Great Hall, not hanging back in corners like stray woodlice. Ambrose had come here not wanting to disturb anybody with his visions in case he got them; memories of the last Stallion heir’s wedding still haunted him to this day. No doubt this newcomer also had reasons to not want to be disturbed and Ambrose was content to let him be.

And yet, the scent of the tea that was in his cup drifted up to him, giving him pause. Black, with hints of oranges and honey. But the servants had said that there was none of that blend left…

Ambrose turned around to face Seamus, wondering if he should really ask. The Stallion did not want to bother him if he wanted to be left alone...but it was a simple question. He was not going to be snapped at just for that. Besides, working for the king for a year now had given him plenty of practice in asking far more intrusive ones. It would not hurt.

“Excuse me,” he said in a quiet tone, placing his own cup on the table beside him. “I hope I am not disturbing you...but your tea, where did you get it?”

Seamus started a bit, looking around to see who was addressing him. He vaguely recognized the elderly gentleman, having seen glimpses of him around the castle from time to time, but he wasn’t certain who exactly he might be. However, his eyes flicked to the silver and red horse pin on the stranger’s cloak, and Seamus’ heart leapt into his throat. One of the Stallions.

The young nobleman his head politely, trying to keep his voice level in spite of nervousness that was now starting to roil in his gut. “I… I just asked the s-servants for some, my lord. Tea helps tae keep me awake when I’m working, ‘n it c-calms my nerves.” Usually anyway.

Ambrose winced and shrunk back slightly, immediately noticing the young man’s eyes land on his silver pin and the skittishness that had come over him. He averted his eyes, letting them fall on the ground. “I was just curious. When I asked for that blend, apparently they had run out.”

He swallowed. “...I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the Stallion said in a small voice, trying to figure out exactly what he did. Most people weren’t scared until they saw the visions. “Was it...something I said?”

Seamus was surprised when the Stallion almost seemed to recoil a bit, and spoke as if trying to convince a frightened deer not to take flight. He gave a small, shy smile and shook his head. “It’s… it’s nae yer fault, my lord. It’s something I was born with- the physicians call it a paranoia disorder. I tend tae… overreact tae stressful social situations.” Hurriedly he added, “I’m better now than I was as a kid, ‘n his Grace didn’t seem tae think it was going tae be a problem when he hired me, but I… I just worry. About sayin’ or doin’ the wrong thing and mortally offending somebody.” His eyes flicked down to the pin again and he went on timidly, “Especially with high ranking nobles. But I… I do like talking tae people, I just dinnae usually make the… best first impressions.”

“I...I see,” Ambrose swallowed, his shoulders drooping and sympathy rising up in his chest. He definitely understood that feeling. “It’s...it’s alright. I don’t usually make good first impressions on people either. So if it helps...you don’t have to worry about that. You’re not making a bad impression on me, and I won’t judge you even if you do something. It’s...not in my nature..”

He shook his head, deciding to change the subject. “You said you were hired here. What do you work as?” the Stallion asked quietly. “And I realise I don’t even know your name..?”

Seamus was a little surprised at the Stallion professing that he didn’t really make the best first impressions either. What did he mean by that?

Pushing aside the confusion, the younger man smiled. “I’m Seamus, my lord- Seamus Dun, but ye can just call me Seamus. I hired on last July as the bookkeeper, since I guess the last one stayed in Medieville after King Starmey’s funeral? Sorry, I dinnae really know the details.”

He tilted his head. “‘N who do I have the honor of speaking tae? I can tell yer a Stallion, but I don’t think I’ve seen ye around the castle but once or twice.”

Ambrose averted his eyes from Seamus at the question. A Dun...that meant a Bernian, one who might know about him through the rumours that had circulated, about his condition. He felt his heart speed up a little. He barely knew this person and yet, Seamus seemed nice. Too nice for Ambrose to want to scare him by introducing himself as the Grand Duke’s mad brother.

He did his best to smile back, despite his fears. “You were hired to replace Kirin then? That’s good. But it explains why I don’t recognise you, and you don’t recognise me,” the Stallion gestured at the purple and grey Ascension livery beneath his cloak. “I’ve been working in Medieville since King Starmey’s funeral too. I only came back only, in March, to settle some business here.”

The Dun’s smile faltered slightly. Had the Stallion deliberately not mentioned his name upon request? Had Seamus done something wrong? He couldn’t think of what he might’ve said, but that nigging, omnipresent voice in his head that was always convinced he was going to make some sort of horrible social faux pas was rearing up again.

“I see,” he said. “Must be interesting, working in the capital. When I first came here from Jennet it was a pretty big adjustment, very different from what I was used to. I did nae know anybody, ‘n there’s my paranoia issues that make it hard tae make new friends…” He swallowed hard, smoothing his sleeve reflexively out of nervousness. “Am… am I bothering you, my lord? If so I can g-go somewhere else. I would nae want to be an imposition…”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Ambrose shook his head, trying to make his smile more friendly for Seamus. “On the contrary, I hope I’m not bothering you, Seamus.”

He picked up his cup and took a sip, focusing on the taste of the liquid to steady himself. Even if the worst came to the worst, he had an explanation. And he was advisor to the king, not some man who slunk about the corridors of the castle anymore. There was no need to be afraid. And yet, that irrational fear still persisted, niggling at the back of his mind: that he was going to be judged and rejected for being mad.

“I...actually do understand, how you feel. I confess, I do fear meeting new people, of giving them the wrong idea. So please, don’t mistake that for rejection,” Ambrose said quietly before shaking his head. “I hope you have settled into Destrier, however. Or made at least a few friends. Otherwise, it must be quite lonely.” He hoped that was not the case, that Seamus wasn’t lonely. Loneliness, to Ambrose, was one of the worst emotions.

Seamus shook his head, thought part of him wondered why this Stallion would be afraid of people. Pushing the confusion aside, he gestured in the direction of the bride and groom. “I did nae have many friends for a while- the servants looked out for me ‘n seemed tae take a shine tae me, but that was more like they were indulgent babysitters than friends. But Hector kinda took me in.” He gave a sheepish smile. “I tend tae overwork ‘n overstress, ‘n with all the preparations for the wedding I was rather well drowning. But he did nae like that, so he started taking me out with him and his friend.”

He took a sip of his tea, then gave a bemused smile. “Hector’s impossible tae be afraid of. Like a puppy, he is- all honest friendliness ‘n enthusiasm. ‘N it was good he took me on when he did. I was stressed tae the point of breakdown, nae really helped by the fact that the only people I interacted with regularly before were my supervisors. The stewards and the quartermaster are easy enough tae get along with but…”

Seamus looked out towards the Grand Duke, a very deep unease passing over his face and a shiver running down his spine.

A tiny frown crossed Ambrose’s face as he saw the shudder that came over Seamus. He followed his line of sight until he found what the bookkeeper was looking at. Despite himself, he could not help but smile. Things might change but Alain never did.

That did not stop him feeling bad for Seamus, however. “I’m...glad you have friends then. I don’t know the groom but from what I’ve heard, he sounds like a good man, and he did a good deed by befriending you. Nobody deserves to be lonely,” he tilted his head slightly. “But...you shouldn’t be afraid either. As long as you do your work, and do it well, I can’t see why Alain would have any issue with you.”

The Stallion clamped a hand over his mouth, biting his tongue as he realised what he had said. Not everyone could call the Grand Duke of Bern by his first name.

Seamus looked over at his companion, surprise flitting across his face. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard someone call the Grand Duke “Alain” but it was the first time he’d heard it without being prefaced by any sort of title. Granted, this was a member of House Stallion so he was presumably family, but…

It occurred to Seamus that the man sitting next to him looked to be about the same age as Alain, if not older. A brother? As far as Seamus had heard, the Grand Duke only had one living brother, but Seamus didn’t know much about him. He remembered hearing that he’d been made an advisor to King Galateo the year before, so if this man worked in Medieville… he must’ve been that brother. But why have such a strong reaction to letting Alain’s first name slip? If they really were brothers, what reason would Seamus have to call him to task for disrespect?

“Something the matter, Lord Stallion?” he asked, tilting his head. “If yer worried I’ll be upset with ye, ye’ve nae call tae be. I just call the lord of Dun ‘Aaron’ as well- on account of he’s my older brother. Nothing wrong with being close with yer family.” He shrugged. “Aaron ‘n my other brother Theo practically raised me after my father was killed ‘n my sister went tae the Bays during that nasty business with the Tobianos. I could never call either of them ‘lord.’”

Ambrose blinked and stared at Seamus, confusion apparent on his face. Did he really not know? Oh Woo. It was one thing for people in Medieville to not know but he had not expected that some noble Bernians would also be in the dark, given the close association of their Houses with Stallion. But it made sense. His visions were a life-shattering, debilitating condition, but as far as House Dun, why would they matter? It was self-centered of him to assume it did.

His shoulders sagged and a wide, relieved smile spread across his face, which he immediately tried to restrain. “You’re...you’re right, nevermind. You guess correctly, however, Seamus: Alain is my older brother. My name is Ambrose,” he bowed his head slightly. “Just Ambrose. There’s no need for formality with me.”

Seamus wasn’t sure what he’d said, but it was obvious whatever it was had come as a profound relief to the Stallion. And he finally had a name to address the older nobleman by too. “Pleased tae make yer acquaintance, Ambrose. Oh, ah, ‘n I’m sorry for taking the last of this kind of tea,” he lifted his cup with an apologetic smile. “Come tae think, when I first started asking for it the servants mentioned it being ‘left behind’- was it yers? Didn’t know I was raiding anybody’s stash, I apologize.”

Ambrose continued to smile as he shook his head. “Most likely it was mine but there is no need to apologise. I found another tea supplier in Medieville so I’m glad it is being enjoyed by somebody else. Not many people can appreciate tea,” he cast his eyes around. “A lot prefer wine, especially at things like this.”

Seamus chuckled softly. “I’d be lying if I claimed tae completely abstain, especially given the bachelor party I was at with Hector a week ago. But that’s just for fun with friends- at events like this I prefer tae keep my wits about me. Last my nerves need is the embarrassment of public drunkenness.” He swirled the tea around in his cup with a crooked smile. “Besides, tea has a nicer flavor than wine, if ye get the right stuff in it. My favorite is chamomile with cinnamon- it’s delicious.”

“Keeping your wits about you is best. My one and only experience with wine ended...well, exactly like the sort of thing you want to avoid now,” Ambrose’s voice was grim and stroked the edge of his cup, pushing the memories of Alain’s wedding back. He took a sip of tea before looking back at Seamus, wanting to change the subject. “I do agree though, cinnamon is very pleasant, but I have never had it with chamomile. I prefer teas which keep me awake. Honey and ginger are also nice additions, if you can spare them.”

“The kind I drink depends on what I want from it,” Seamus explained. “Black teas for keeping awake are good when I’m working late. But a lot of times I drink it tae calm me down, so that’s where the chamomile comes in.” He smiled. “But I’ll try it with honey ‘n ginger, sure. Sorry to hear that yer not much one for wine, but it hardly hurts anything nae tae partake.”

The bookkeeper looked suddenly quite curious. “So ye work in Medieville now, right? What’s it like? I hear all sorts of bizzare stories, like the king having talking statues under his command? Or a man living there who can call dragons to do his bidding? Sounds like a way more exciting place than Bern. Although-” he chuckled suddenly. “This summer has been abuzz with exciting stories as well. About two heroes blazing through the mountains smiting monsters. Apparently his Grace had a banquet in their honor a month ago, although I didn’t go.”

Ambrose laughed softly. “Some parts are true, others are not. The king does command living statues but they are more nuisances than wonders. As for Master Leif, he is more likely to be calling hawks than dragons on any given day. Nevertheless, the capital is never boring. There’s always something going on,” he glanced down into his cup. “But it seems like everywhere has been getting more exciting since the Coronation. I’ve heard the stories of the monster-slayers too, from Alain. One of the knights is also stationed in Medieville normally so he has been keeping me updated. Though I’ve been waiting until my visit here to ask him about some of the details.”

Seamus looked impressed. “The fact that yer on first-name terms with all of these folks is impressive though. Ye may nae think ye make the best first impressions, but it sounds tae me like ye’ve certainly a lot of interesting friends.” He grinned cheerfully. “I’m a little jealous.”

“J-jealous? Of me?” Ambrose shook his head slightly. “You shouldn’t be jealous of me, Seamus. A year ago, I had none of these things. I had...well, nothing compared to what I have now.”

He sighed deeply and stroked his cup with his thumb. “Jealousy is not a pleasant feeling to have in your heart, not in any capacity. Besides,” he turned his eyes back to the bookkeeper. “It sounds like you have good friends here already. So you have nothing to be jealous of.”

Seamus shook his head. “Nah, my life is nae the most exciting or interesting but it’s still a good life. I’ve good friends, a job that I enjoy, a family that cares about me… I could nae ask for more. Besides ‘may you lie in interesting times’ is as much a curse as a blessing- after all, excitement generally comes of conflict, ‘n I’d as soon have a quiet life.”

His hazel eyes took on a light of sympathy as he added, “But I’m… I’m sorry ye had it rough before. I did nae mean tae bring up bad memories. I only meant that things seem tae look a lot better for ye, that’s all.” He lifted his teacup, holding it out as if to perform a toast. “‘N hey, if ye like I could be yer friend as well. Ye seem like a nice sort, ‘n we have a lot of similarities.” He chuckled, adding, “Though I dinnae suppose ye’d have much the passion I do for mathematics and engineering. I can go off on a tangent ‘n bore people tae death if nae stopped, so be warned for that.”

Ambrose’s jaw had tightened at the mention of excitement and conflict going hand in hand and involuntarily, he had found himself nodding. Even without considering all he had seen over the years in his visions, he had lived through that personally with the events surrounding the Bloody Coronation. Nevertheless, at Seamus’s suggestion, his eyes lit up a little and he smiled. Lifting up his own teacup, he clinked it together against the bookkeeper’s. “I....I would certainly never say no to a friend. Especially a kind and intelligent young man like you seem to be.”

Taking a sip of tea, as was custom after a toast, the Stallion put his cup down. “I will not mind if you go off on tangents. Woo knows, I can be prone to rambling,” here, his smile grew wider. “I would not mind hearing you talk about engineering, however. I happen to have an interest in that too. I...I invent things, as a hobby, I guess you could call it.”

He glanced down at the floor. “Though I have very little formal training. So if you say specific engineering terms to me, I might not know them unless you describe them.”

Seamus brightened at this, smiling widely. “I’ve nae formal training either, which ye could probably guess seeing as I work as a bookkeeper ‘n nae an engineer. I’m more interested in the theoretical aspect of it- blueprints ‘n schematics ‘n the like. All the little planny bits where ye have tae make careful measures and calculations tae get what yer tryin’ tae build tae actually work like ye want it tae. Lot of people dinnae realize just how much careful calculation goes intae something as simple as, say… the sails on a ship. Ye need a certain amount, a certain size ‘n shape, set so high above the ship itself and apart from each other, tae catch the wind just so ‘n move the vessel. ‘N even once it’s built the helmsman needs tae understand it tae a certain degree himself so he can call for full or partial sail depending on the speed he needs- Ahaha, and there I went, off on a ramble.”

Ambrose’s smile had grown wider as he listened to Seamus. When the bookkeeper cut himself off, he shook his head, still beaming. “No, it’s alright. You’re absolutely right, the amount of calculations and planning that goes into any invention is incredible. Building might look like the most complex step but it’s in fact all in the blueprints. I learned very quickly that trial and error at that stage would get me nowhere, especially with complex inventions. Measuring is absolutely vital, not just in making sure everything work but in getting the parts to fit together and make sure they do not interfere with one another. Sails on a ship, as you mentioned, still have to be furled up and fit on to the mast. And if one thing does not fit, you have to start all over again to get it to fit, and that’s on top of making an invention function as it should. But sometimes, the simplest ways are the best, and finding them is one of the most satisfying things.”

He laughed softly, realising he was getting carried away. The Stallion took a sip of tea again to steady himself but his smile did not disappear. “If I’d known, I would have brought some of my blueprints with me to show you. They are messy, since I change my mind so frequently, but you might have found them interesting.”

“I would like that. Maybe next time yer in town,” Seamus suggested cheerfully, before taking a sip of his own tea. “But yeah, I can see how trial ‘n error would nae serve ye. Tae many variables, tae much margin for error. Nae tae mention the waste of money and materials on failed attempts. Granted, there’s always some degree of guesswork tae attempting something new. Ye can have all the theories ye want, but there’s nae easy way tae know how well an idea will work until ye try it in the field. But at least the pre-planning gets ye closer than just throwing ideas at at the wall ‘n hoping one sticks.”

He took another sip of his tea, then asked, “So what’ve ye got cooking now, if ye don’t mind me being nosey?”

Ambrose seemed to deflate slightly. “To be honest, I’ve not had much time this year to work on many inventions. Between the aftermath of the Coronation, getting used to my new job, the king and Shadow council also being new to everything and then the wedding of Princess Hope and Lord Joffery, I barely had time to do as much as I wanted. Especially given how much effort and time it requires to figure out,” he glanced back up, brightening. “But since I came here, I’ve had some free moments to myself. There’s a particular type of boat that I’ve...seen, I suppose, that instead of oars or sails, is propelled by paddles. I’m not quite sure what makes the paddles work, and I still need to work out the ideal measurements for said paddles, but I know what it is supposed to look like…”

He trailed off, looking away from Seamus. Even if he did not consider him mad, it was probably best not to let the bookkeeper know the inspiration behind his inventions. “In any case, I hope to get some time to work on it even when I return to the capital. I love my new job but...I do admit, I never thought I would miss inventing as much as I do.”

“Yeah, I can relate,” Seamus admitted. “I love my new job, but I do miss my family back home in Jennet. I was hoping tae pay them a visit back in spring but then the Duchess’ wedding was announced ‘n I became tae busy.”

He looked thoughtful. “But a boat that’s propelled by paddles? But… ye said nae with oars, isn’t an oar a paddle? What do ye mean?”

“Oh, um, well…” Ambrose put his cup down on to the table and clasped his hands together. Closing his eyes, he could see the vision again as though he was having it again; the turning wheels attached to the boat, each with evenly spaced boards that drove the water along. Much like…

He grinned widely. “Seamus, have you ever seen a watermill?” he asked, suddenly animated. “Well, imagine the wheel from one of those, except attached to a boat. Except instead of being turned by water, the wheels would turn by...some other means and instead propel the boat along the water. That’s the sort of thing I meant.”

“Oh!” Seamus nodded. “I can see that, yeah. Though it’d need tae be a lot wider and move more water tae propel the boat forward, ‘n if it’s moving the water instead of the other way around ye’d need something tae make the wheel turn. Only thing I can think is some kind of hand crank, but that seems a lot more effort than is logistically feasible… Or perhaps not, if ye had multiple smaller ones, then ye could make it a similar setup tae having a bunch of guys lined up with oars, but fewer of them. Ye’d have quite a lot of wake from a vessel like that, though so ye’d need to account for it too when shaping the hull.”

Ambrose’s head bobbed up and down as he kept nodding, his smile growing more and more. “Manpower is the only way I can think of just yet, but if I go with that, it would be important to keep the weight down to make it more efficient. Yet at the same time, it would have to be a large boat in order to remain steady despite the wake. But these are the challenges of inventing and solving them is one of the most sati-”

The sensation of one of his visions tearing him away from the scene at hand suddenly came over him, blotting out everything in his mind except the tug on his consciousness. The Stallion tried to unclasp his hands from where he had folded them in his lap but only got them up to his chest before he was frozen in place, his unseeing eyes wide and an expression of horror all over his face.

Seamus, who had been grinning excitedly just a moment before, was now staring at Ambrose in confusion and concern. “A-Ambrose?” he called. There was no response. The way the Stallion’s eyes were at once fixed and unfocused was eerie, and his entire body had gone rigid. Timidly Seamus reached towards the man, putting a hand on his shoulder to get his attention and calling his name again. No response. Growing slightly frantic now, Seamus gently shook the Stallion, but still there was no indication that Ambrose was anything but a very lifelike statue.

The young nobleman looked around frantically, torn between the impulse to call for help and the feeling that he should stay where he was in case Ambrose needed help. He finally managed to catch the eye of one of the servants that he knew, an older man who occasionally brought him dinner when he worked late into the night, and flagged the man over.

“Ah, Lord Seamus, what’s wrong, ye look awfully pale- oh,” the servant caught sight of Ambrose and sighed.

“We were just talking and he froze and now he’s not answering-” Seamus explained, his voice high and frantic, but the servant put a hand on his shoulder and smiled sympathetically.

“Nah, it’s alright my lord. ‘Tis Lord Ambrose, he gets like this. Been having these fits since he was just a child, they say. It’ll pass, and no harm to him.”

“Fits?” Seamus repeated, looking confused and concerned.

The servant nodded, and in an undertone he said. “Aye, people used to think-”

There was a gasp from Ambrose and he fell forward in his chair, only stopping himself from toppling off it by reaching out and grabbing the table for balance. With his free hand, he rubbed his eyes, drawing in several sharp breaths as though he had just run a mile.

“Woo, why? Why did they have to follow her? What reason could there have poss-” he removed his hand from his eyes and looked around him. A moment of dawning realisation came upon him as he remembered where he was. His head spun around and he found himself staring directly at Seamus and the servant.

“Seamus, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to see that but-” the Stallion gasped and glanced at the servant nervously. “I’m...I’m not mad. I swear, I’m not. Please don’t think that,” he blinked, fighting back the sting in his eyes. “Please?”

The servant averted his gaze, looking acutely embarrassed. Seamus, however, went limp with relief and gave the Stallion a wobbly smile.

“Oh thank Woo,” the bookkeeper said fervently. “Ye had me worried there for a minute, Ambrose.” His eyes took on a light of concern and he said, “But what do ye mean mad? ‘N what was that about following? Ambrose… what’s the matter?”

The servant coughed, looking away pointedly. “I’ll just ah. Get some tea to top you both up, shall I, Lord Ambrose, Lord Seamus?”

Ambrose’s shoulders drooped. He recognised the tone of the servant far too well; he had heard it many times before. No doubt he had explained to Seamus what exactly had happened, or something close to it anyway, just like others before him had done many times.

Without looking in the man’s direction, the Stallion nodded in response to the offer for tea. Then, only when the servant had left, did he turn back to the bookkeeper. However, he refused to look Seamus in the eye, not wanting to see the expression in them.

“It’s...something that happens to me, and has been happening since I was very young. Sometimes, without warning, I have these...visions. I see things that happen in the future, like I did just now. Sometimes they are good things, sometimes...” he shuddered as the fresh memory of his latest vision flared up in his mind. He closed his eyes, pushing it aside. “For a long, long time, people thought I was merely having hallucinations. That I was insane.”

Ambrose rubbed his eyes again, shaking his head slightly. “I’m not mad. I know I am not mad,” he bit his tongue, wondering how to continue. In Medieville, where magic was more common, his normal explanation was fine, but up here in Bern, he was not so sure. “But the explanation for this will sound like I am. I can assure you, however, it is the truth.”

He took a deep breath. “I have a...type of magic that lets me see the future, but I cannot control it, so when it manifests, it does so like you saw there,” the Stallion let the words pour out of his mouth and turned away, waiting for the judgement from the bookkeeper that he knew inevitably would come.

Seamus listened to this, his eyes going wide and round as Ambrose went on. Visions of the future? Magic? “I’d always heard… that House Stallion hates ‘n rejects magic,” he said, his voice sounding slightly awed. “Since I was little I’ve been curious about it, ye see all sorts in coastal towns like Jennet with foreigners ‘n folks from other regions in ‘n out all the time. But… but I always thought in Destrier it’d be anathema tae bring up. I’ve only ever done that with people I really trusted.”

He seemed to remember himself suddenly, and winced. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling again. I, ah… I’m sorry that ye’ve had this thing ye couldn’t control running amok with yer life since ye were little.” An edge of bitterness entered his tone as he added, “I can relate, a little. Though not nearly tae the same degree, obviously, ‘n I’d never think tae say having a mental disorder is the same as bein’ assumed mad.”

The bookkeeper did not seem to be pushing him away, and there was no false sympathy in his words, far from it. Ambrose closed his eyes briefly, a small, sad smile appearing on his face. “Didn’t you say that you’re always afraid of saying or doing something wrong, Seamus? Then you can probably guess what it is like. This...thing is why I was so hesitant with you earlier. But there’s no point hiding it now.”

He picked up his cup of tea with shaky hands and took a sip to steady himself. “House Stallion, in general, rejects magical ways. My father especially was strongly against it. Alain is more tolerant and I strongly suspect it’s because of this,” the Stallion removed a hand from his cup and waved it in front of his eyes. “But that’s why everyone thought I was insane: for the longest time, everyone- or almost everyone- never even suspected that my visions had a magical component to them.”

Ambrose blinked back the stinging sensation in his eyes. “Why would they? It’s the most obvious answer, isn’t it?” he seemed to curl in on himself slightly. “I’m sorry. You probably think I’m crazy just talking about this. But it’s true.”

Silently, he glanced over in the direction where Alain sat. What he wouldn’t give in return for his brother’s support right now. “Ask Alain if you don’t believe me. He’ll tell you. And nobody would ever dare call the Grand Duke of Bern mad.”

Seamus looked towards the Grand Duke and gave a violent shudder. He certainly did not want to go asking the man sensitive personal questions. But he only shook his head, giving the younger Stallion a look of sympathy. “Ambrose, I dinnae think yer crazy. Ye don’t sound crazy tae me- just tired and sad.” He shook his head. “We were having a good talk; tis nae every day I get tae have such a good conversation with someone who knows a lot about the things I’m interested in. Ye sound like an intelligent man tae me- not a madman. Please… Ye keep flinching from me; I dinnae want ye afraid of me.”

Seamus’ voice took on almost as pleading a tone as Ambrose’s and he repeated, “Please?”

Ambrose blinked, turning back to Seamus as he listened the tone in his voice and what he called him sunk in. Intelligent? Xavier called him wise, so did Laurie, and Aldrich appreciated his counsel too. Seamus was hardly the first person to call him that...and yet the compliment still felt strange. But not unwelcome.

“Thank you, Seamus, and I’m sorry. I’ve gotten so used to being called mad, especially in Bern, that this reaction is...reflexive, I suppose. But if you’re willing to give me a chance...I cannot tell you how grateful I am,” the Stallion said quietly.

Slowly, a smile returned to his face. Not as wide or enthusiastic as he had worn before but gentle and warm nonetheless. “The visions are actually how I get ideas for my inventions. I see things in the future, and I try to recreate them when I am conscious,” he closed his eyes briefly. “And the things I can make are only a fraction of what I’ve seen too.”

Seamus gaped, his eyes widening. “Ye mean that ye build this stuff just by seein’ a glimpse of it one time? Ye figure out how it works without seeing all the bits and bobs that go inside or the scale and dimensions of the parts or… or anything?”

“Not always. Some visions are more helpful than others. I’ve only ever had one where I’ve seen the parts and how they fit together,” he paused, shivering involuntarily at the memory. That same vision had led to a creation he would much rather be rid of. “But other times, I only get a glimpse of how something works and I have to figure out how to make that carry out that function.”

He sighed. “As I said, it takes a lot of figuring out. I don’t always manage to, and I suspect a lot of my inventions are very different internally to what they really are. But I learn from experience. And in the end, what’s most valuable is not the finished product for me. It’s more about having a distraction. A goal to work towards,” Ambrose brought a hand up to rub his eyes. “Even if something doesn’t work and I can’t make it work, at least I tried. That’s better than rotting while these visions eat away at me.”

Seamus wilted again, his enthusiasm somewhat tempered by Ambrose’s lingering dismal mood. It was clear whatever cheerful easiness there had been between them before the “vision” was not going to be restored so easily.

“I’m… I’m sorry Ambrose,” he said, unsure how else to respond. He felt excruciatingly bad for the Stallion, but didn’t know how to properly express it or how to lift him up from the melancholy he’d fallen into. His mind was scrambling for something to say or do to fix this, but as ever when he panicked in a social situation he was drawing a complete blank. He sighed, muttering dismally, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Ambrose replied gently, shaking his head. “This happens and there was nothing you could have done. I’m just thankful that you’re still here, talking to me. That you still think I’m sane and...intelligent.”

He smiled and stretched his hand out towards the bookkeeper. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me. Despite my visions, I’m not doing badly. I have a good job, and I have good friends. So it’s alright. You’ve certainly done nothing wrong. If anything, you’ve been a pleasure to talk to. You’re a good person who is smart in your own right, and Woo knows, I rarely get to discuss my inventing with anybody, let alone with a person who understands it like you do.”

The Stallion finally looked Seamus in the eye, fixing his warm blue eyes on the bookkeeper’s hazel ones. “I would still like to be your friend, if you would have to me.”

Seamus was startled, but then he smiled warmly in return. He reached back towards the Stallion’s hand and clasped it with his own. “Thank ye, Ambrose. I’d like that too.”

Ambrose gave Seamus’s hand a squeeze. He had always enjoyed touch, as long as it was pleasant, and especially if somebody reached out to him willingly. There was no need to say anything and he felt no need to say anything. Instead, the Stallion bowed his head and smiled, glad for the reassurance that he was not going to be left alone.

After a moment, Seamus released the older nobleman’s hand, and asked earnestly, “So if ye dinnae mind my asking… what’s the most interesting machine ye’ve seen in the future?”

At this, Ambrose gave a laugh. “Oh Woo, I’ve seen so many things, even in passing, it’s difficult to pick just one,” he shook his head, “I suppose...the device which captures images inside it exactly as they are in front of it has to be the most fascinating to me. I cannot for the life of me work out how it can do that, and every speculation I have draws up nothing. But imagine if you had something like that, how useful it could be, especially to engineers and even artists.”

Seamus blinked, trying to wrap his mind around such a concept. “So… so it’s like if ye could paint a portrait, but without the paints, ‘n stored in a little machine? I can nae even begin tae imagine how something like that would work. I would wager ye’d need some kind of paper in it? Paints ‘n inks? But that’d still take ages tae work… but I do see how it’d be useful, if ye wanted tae do a painting of somebody ‘n ye could capture an image of them frozen in time, then they would nae have tae try ‘n hold still in the same pose for hours ‘n hours.”

“Yes. And not only would it be instantaneous, it would be a perfect image, or at least it seemed like it,” Ambrose nodded eagerly, a wide grin on his face. “The way I saw it, it only took the press of a switch for it to work, and I cannot even begin to fathom what goes on inside. If I did not know better, I would say it was magic, but it looked like technology, pure and simple” he paused for a moment, pricking his ears up to the sound of footsteps and a soft tap against the stones approaching them. “If I had to hazard a guess as to how it works, it would either have to be something inside creates the picture in an instant, either by drawing it on somehow or by transferring the image on to paper inside. But then I don’t know how the picture could possibly be small enough to fit inside. It’s a mystery, even to me.”

“Forgive me for interrupting,” a deep voice called out above them, followed by the sound of a cane striking the stones beneath them. “But it’s rare to see you this animated, brother.”

Ambrose turned his head, meeting the eyes of the man who stood beside them. “Hello, Alain,” he remarked. “I was just telling Master Dun here about...well, my work, I suppose.”

“Is that so?” the Grand Duke’s gaze swept over the bookkeeper before returning to his brother. “Since you’re so comfortable with it, I take it he knows?”

“Yes, though it...did have to happen the hard way,” Ambrose sighed, picking up his tea before his face brightened again. “But it was fine. Seamus proved to be understanding, more than that even. So I’m telling him some more about the inventing.”

“I’m glad, Ambrose. It’s good to see you happy,” for a moment, an expression of warm fondness appeared on Alain’s face before he turned back to the Dun. “And I must thank you, Seamus, for being such good company to my brother. Especially in light of what you’ve found out.”

At the sound of the Grand Duke’s voice, Seamus had jumped a bit; now he felt rather as if there were something lodged in his throat, making it impossible to breathe or swallow. Seamus spoke to his employer only very sparsely, and never at much length aside from immediately after his original hire. If most important dignitaries made Seamus nervous, the the cool, hawk-eyed Alain Stallion made him want to crawl into a corner and hide.

But Alain seemed pleased, and somewhat to Seamus’ surprise regarded his younger brother with far more warmth and emotion than Seamus had ever seen from him. When the Grand Duke extended his thanks to Seamus, the bookkeeper involuntarily started again, but forced a shaky smile onto his face.

“It’s my p-pleasure, your Grace,” he stammered, his voice unusually high, and his focus on suppressing his mountain accent far more noticeable than usual. “Engineering has always b-been an interest of m-mine. I don’t usually find someone who I can talk to about it, so. So it’s been nice. And Ambr- Lord Ambrose, he’s been excellent company.”

“Good,” a slight smirk emerged on the Grand Duke’s face. “Though he has told you that he does not like formal titles, hasn’t he?”

“Yes I have,” Ambrose sighed and gave him a wry look. “You don’t have to tease the poor man, he’s only being polite.”

“Oh I know,” Alain laughed softly, turning back to face his brother. The smirk on his face slowly turned into a grin.

The younger Stallion shook his head. “You don’t have to scare him either.”

Here, the Grand Duke burst out laughing. “That’s not something I can help now, is it?”

“No, I suppose not,” Ambrose took a sip of tea. “Did you want me for something?”

“No, I simply came to check on you. But since I see you have perfectly good company already...” the older Stallion turned on his heel, his brilliant red cloak swirling behind him. “We can talk later?”

“Of course, Alain,” his brother nodded, smiling at him. Alain smiled back before heading back into the thick of the crowd, his cane striking against the stone floor to announce his presence.

Giving off another, weary sigh, Ambrose looked back at Seamus. “I’m sorry. My brother has always had his odd sense of humour, ever since we were children. I hope you’re alright.”

Seamus had been stunned to watch Ambrose chastising the Grand Duke. When finally the younger Stallion addressed Seamus again, the Dun brought his hands up to his face, and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I… I’ll be alright,” he said, thought he’d started trembling slightly from reaction. “I’ve never seen his Grace that… that cheerful, I have tae admit. Usually I can nae tell what he’s thinking at all, ever. So he kind of… unnerves me. Nae knowing if he’s bored, or angry or what. ‘N I already told ye I’ve got paranoia tae begin with, which of course does nae help.” Hurriedly the bookkeeper added, “Nae that it’s anything against yer brother, it’s just my head being stupid for the most part.”

“It’s alright. I know what effect my brother has on people,” Ambrose smiled sadly and reached out to put his hand on Seamus’s shoulder to stop him shaking. “Usually he keeps his emotions hidden so it’s almost impossible to read him. But it’s his daughter’s wedding; she’s happy, and he saw that I’m happy too, so he’s allowing himself to let go of some of his coldness for a change,” he grinned slightly. “And I suspect he’s also had a drop of wine to help with that.”

The Stallion squeezed his shoulder. “I assure you though, he doesn’t think badly of you, Seamus. You shouldn’t be so scared of him. I know my brother can be a terrifying man, but he’s fair at least. If you’re not done anything, he won’t hurt you.”

Seamus gave Ambrose a wan smile, reaching up to the hand on his shoulder and giving it a quick squeeze in thanks. “I know that. On a conscious level I know that. It’s just… ever since I was a kid, there’s been this maddening little voice in my head. It’s there constantly, all the time. ‘N it tells me how I’m always going to mess up somehow. I’ll say or do the wrong thing, ‘n mortally offend somebody. Politics is so cutthroat, offense given tae the wrong person can get yer entire family in disgrace for decades.”

Seamus shuddered again. “It’s just unnerving, the way I can nae tell if I’ve annoyed him or nae.”

The Stallion continued to hold him, his eyes and face full of sympathy for the bookkeeper’s plight. “I’m sorry. I wish I could help you overcome it, but something irrational like that is not easy to conquer,” Ambrose glanced for a second in the direction that his brother had gone. “But I’ve known Alain all my life and I can tell you, for all his coldness and apparent emotionlessness, if he is angry or annoyed about something, there are ways to tell.”

A smile curled at the corners of his mouth. “If you want, Seamus, I can tell you what to look out for? It won’t help your anxiety but at least it will let you understand my brother.”

The bookkeeper looked surprised at this. “Really? Ye’d be alright with that? I mean I would nae want tae get ye in trouble or have his Grace annoyed with ye, but… it’d help. At least if I knew when he was angry or nae I could calm myself down better.”

Ambrose shook his head. “Don’t worry about me. Alain likes having the advantage of being hard to read but you are no threat to him so he won’t mind you knowing,” he removed his hand from Seamus’s shoulder and picked up his cup again.

“Usually, when he’s angry, you can’t tell by his face; he either has no emotion, his eyes get colder or he keeps smiling, except that smile is more hollow. You can hear it too: his voice becomes very calm and he also begins to speak slower. Also if you watch his hands on his cane, he will grip it more tightly,” the Stallion ran a thumb across the edge of his cup again. “I know they are hard to detect. But that’s as much as Alain is ever willing to show anybody.”

Seamus digested this, thinking, his eyes drifting towards Alain. “Yeah, makes sense it would be subtle like that. In a moment of panic I might nae always think tae look for it but I’ll do my best. Thank ye.” He folded his arms, looking thoughtful. “Aaron told me once in a letter that our father, Lord Cohen, was the same way- he never let his emotion show except with very close family. Apparently his Grace enjoyed teasing Papa, tae try ‘n get him tae crack.”

Ambrose could not help but laugh softly at that. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Your father sounds like a challenge who would have amused Alain no end. As I said, my brother has an...odd sense of humour,” a fond smile crept across his face. “It’s been like that since we were little children. Growing up, we used to get into all sorts of trouble because of him. Though mind you, I was usually complicit in all of his pranks and practical jokes.”

He shook his head, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t subject you to an old man’s nostalgia. Or ruin the image you have of your employer, at least not completely,” he took a sip of his tea. “I doubt Alain would like that much either.”

“It’s fine,” Seamus said, looking intrigued. “I’d nae have imagined that, but I guess everyone was a kid once.” He rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “I’m just glad that nae all nobles or even all heirs are like that. It’d be a very hard standard tae live up tae. Sometimes I think I should’ve been born a peasant, I fit in so poorly. But then I remember my brother-in-law Corrin, who absolutely glows around a pretty ship, or his father Lord Ian, who’s always been nice tae me when he had no reason tae be, or my own siblings… ‘n I remember that nobles are people too.”

Ambrose gave a slow nod at this. “Most people either see the nobles as monsters, as some of the Shadows did and still do, or idolise them. I used to compare myself to my brother all the time, and in my mind, he was the noble and I was not. I still cannot think of myself as a noble easily. But you’re very right: the nobility are just as human as anybody else. They have flaws and they make mistakes. Even Alain, for all he tries to hide it, is as prone to that as anybody else.”

Holding up his cup of tea, the Stallion eyed it meditatively. “Status comes with expectations and some people do better at achieving those than others. It doesn’t make you broken, it just means your ability lies elsewhere. I realise that now. I might not be anything like my brother but it just means I can do things that he might not be able to,” he smiled at the bookkeeper. “And you have your own talents too, Seamus, talents which you seem to be using well, from what I’ve gathered. You’re kind, intelligent and patient, and my brother would only hire the very best he could find to be his bookkeeper. So don’t lament what you are not. Trust me, it never leads anywhere pleasant.”

Seamus blushed, quickly taking a sip of his tea to cover the reaction. “I… Sometimes I still can nae believe I got the job. There were people interviewing from Palfrey, who I’m sure had advanced classes in mathematics. I had what private tutors my brother could afford. Then when I panicked during the interview ‘n starting making jokes tae calm myself down, I thought for sure I’d look totally unprofessional ‘n be shipped back tae Jennet.”

Ambrose smiled. He had noticed the blush but decided to save the bookkeeper any further embarrassment. “Nevertheless, you’re here. It isn’t just about what you know, Seamus. You can be an excellent mathematician but that means nothing if you don’t have the right personality. If you were chosen out of all those people, that means you’re the best for the job, no question,” he nodded before his expression soured slightly. “Were you told the story about the bookkeeper before Kirin? The corrupt one?”

“His grace gave me a vague outline when I was first brought on, yeah,” Seamus replied, frowning. “I just did nae get it. I may nae approve, but I understand thieves who steal because they’re poor, starving, ‘n desperate. But in a position like this? It’s greed, pure and simple. Greed ‘n bottomless stupidity, tae think ye could rob the Stallions from under their noses ‘n get away with it.”

“Yes, it is. And as you know, he did not and paid the price,” Ambrose closed his eyes briefly, sighing, before his smile returned. “But see what I mean? You’re intelligent, yes, but you’re also a good, honest man, and in your position, that’s as valuable as skill with numbers. I think I understand why my brother hired you, despite your doubts about yourself. Have a little faith. It might seem misplaced sometimes but in your case, it isn’t.”

Seamus smiled bashfully. “Thank ye, Ambrose.”

Ambrose drained the last of his drink and reached for the teapot. But tipping it out into his cup only rendered a few dregs of lukewarm tea. The Stallion sighed. “I guess that refill was just an excuse to get away. Oh well.”

“Ye can have some of mine?” Seamus offered, indicating the pot next to him. “Ye wanted some of this brew anyway, right? It’ll tide ye over until a servant drifts over this way again and we can flag them down.” He grinned sheepishly. “Y’know my siblings tell me similar all the time. That I need tae have more faith in myself. I’ve never felt like I quite measured up tae them, they’re every one of ‘em the definition of good nobles, but they insist I should nae worry over such things.”

“I know how that feels,” the Stallion smiled fondly and reached for the pot of tea, pouring some into his own cup. “I realise I’ve talked so much about my own brother but I hardly know anything about your siblings, Seamus. Yet you seem very close to them. You mentioned the names Aaron and Theo earlier, as well as a sister who married into House Bay, correct?”

“Eleanor,” Seamus replied with a nod. “Truth is, my siblings practically raised me. Eleanor since I was just a toddler, since our mother died not long after birthing me, ‘n my brothers after Papa died. Aaron’s the lord of Dun. Theodore, he’s the Master of the Hunt, which is a much more important and prestigious position in House Dun than in a lot of other places because of how big our fur-trapping industry is. As for Eleanor, she married Lord Ian’s heir, Corrin, ‘n is set tae be the next Lady Bay. That was part of the alliance Bay ‘n Dun forged for mutual defense against Lord Tobiano’s freebooting ‘privateers.’” He took a sip of his tea, muttering darkly, “Of course we didn’t know they were Tobiano’s at the time. Aaron ‘n Theo were… livid when they found out.”

Ambrose bowed his head, peering into his cup. “I heard about the Jennet attack and then the uprising two years later; Alain told me about the latter. It sounded...awful, beyond awful. I cannot blame them or you for being angry, after what Lord Tobiano’s men did to your family especially,” he murmured, his voice sympathetic. “But all of your siblings sound like good, kind people, and you seem very close to them, though it’s no wonder if they were the ones raising you.”

The Stallion turned back to Seamus. “Though if you’re that close, you must miss them, even a little. You said you couldn’t go visit your brothers in the spring like you wanted because of the wedding preparations. I’m sorry.”

“It was a disappointment,” Seamus admitted with a glum expression, swirling his teacup in his hands without drinking from it. “Spring is really the only time I have free tae visit, since summer I’m busy ‘n autumn runs tae much risk of getting stuck by winter coming early, as it sometimes likes tae do in the mountains. But I got tae see Aaron when he came for the Feast of Saint Absolon, ‘n he’s here for the wedding as well. Theo stayed behind to babysit Jennet, ‘n same with Eleanor and Corrin in Kustanair, but… well there’s always next year, I suppose.”

Ambrose sighed. “You have my sympathies. I’ve had my brother around my whole life so when I moved to Medieville, being apart from him was something I just had to get used to,” he gave Seamus a smile. “But it just makes it all the better when you do get to see your siblings. You can see Aaron now, and there will be time to visit Theo and Eleanor. You shouldn’t despair. Just because you’re apart doesn’t mean that your bond is any less strong for it. In fact, it’s just the opposite.”

Seamus thought this over, taking a sip of his tea. Then he smiled in reply. “I guess you’ve a point. I miss them a lot, but that’s just proof I care about them, I suppose. ‘N I can still write them.” He chuckled. “Theo especially, he writes me all the time. We were practically best friends growing up, with Aaron busy lording a lot and Eleanor living with the Bays. He always has a knack for helping me tae feel better when I’m down, even if it’s just by teasing me.”

“He sounds like an excellent big brother then. Not everyone has the fortune of having such a good relationship with their siblings as you, Seamus, or having such good people in their family,” the Stallion took a sip of his tea, “And given that, it’s natural to miss them, especially your best friend. But at the same time, going away from them, you get to meet other people and befriend them.”

Ambrose’s eyes developed a fond look. “Being in a new place, you find other people who care about you, one way or another. That’s my experience anyway, but you said you befriended the groom, right? So it can’t be all bad for you either. If you’re so close with your siblings, distance won’t wear your friendships down, and you’ll have others to enrich your life with in the meantime.”

He laughed softly. “That said, I do hope that Alain gives you some time off to go visit them soon. Or they come visit you. No matter how many friends you have here, missing your old ones is inevitable.”

Seamus grinned. “Well see. All our jobs keep us pretty busy. Though mine probably more so than it really should since I’m given tae… working way past the dinner hour ‘n falling asleep at my desk.” He blushed here, grinning sheepishly. “Need tae work on that. Regardless, I hope so tae. New friends are always wonderful tae have, but they can’t replace old ones- they just carve in their own niche.”

“They do, you’re quite right about that. No person can really replace anybody else, nor should they. You can never have too many friends,” Ambrose took a sip of his tea, hiding the amusement that had snuck into his smile behind his cup. “Perhaps you can enlist one of them can help you with your habit of overworking? If it means seeing more of you, they might be glad to do it?”

Seamus laughed. “They do that already. It’s how I met Hector, actually. He found out I was overstressing myself dealing with the wedding preparation budget ‘n all but dragged me out of the book room ‘n down tae a pub with him ‘n his best friend.”

The bookkeeper noticed another servant making the rounds nearby, and flagged the man down for a refill of Ambrose’s tea, for which the latter gave a grateful nod. That done, he turned back to the Stallion and went on, “Of course they both have their own lives ‘n responsibilities, but Hector ‘n Lindsey- that’s the other man- they’re good guys. Great company. They drag me out when I’ve been working tae hard, ‘n tease me because when I’m drunk my mountain accent becomes nigh impossible to understand.”

Ambrose laughed softly, holding his newly refilled cup in his hands. “Fortunately, it’s unlikely I will be talking to you drunk then, Seamus,” he said with a smile. “I must confess, I don’t know well what either of them is like; I haven’t spoken to them in person. But if they are friends with you then I have no doubt they are good people. And even if you miss your siblings, you have them. Between a good job and great friends, it can’t be too bad here for you. I hope so anyway.”

“Nah,” Seamus said. “I’m happy here. Never would’ve figured it, but the Woo works in strange ways.” He glanced at the Stallion. “I hope you’re happy tae- in Medieville I mean.”

“I am very happy!” Ambrose nodded enthusiastically. “I have friends, and a job, and I’m making a difference. People don’t think I’m mad either, like they did here. It’s…”

He paused. As far as the Stallion was concerned, him being happy in Medieville was a fundamental truth. But it had never occurred to him to compare his old life and his life there.

Bowing his head, Ambrose sighed. “I’m ashamed to admit it but...I am happier there than I was here, in Destrier.”

Seamus was caught by surprise at the sudden shift in Ambrose’s mood. But then he gave a sad smile, and put a hand on the Stallion’s shoulder. “Makes sense, with all the bad memories ‘n associations. Sometimes ye just need a chance tae start over fresh. But it can nae all be bad, or ye’d have nae reason tae come back at all.” The bookkeeper glanced across the room, to where Alain was speaking with the lord of House Bay, Ian.

The younger Stallion followed his gaze and nodded. “No, you’re right. Both places have something for me which means that I can be happy in both. Even if Destrier has more bad than good memories, that doesn’t make the good ones any less meaningful,” he smiled at Seamus. “After all, happiness does not have to be limited. It’s precious but not limited.”

The bookkeeper gently squeezed the shoulder he’d placed his hand on before withdrawing it. “There’s enough sad ‘n horrible ‘n angry out there for any ten worlds. When I can be happy, I like tae focus on that. Does nae make all the hurts go away, but it does make life worth living despite them.” With a sheepish quirk of his mouth Seamus added, “‘N if we’re friends now, I hope I can be something nice ye remember about Destrier tae.”

“Yes, of course,” Ambrose sighed. “I’ve seen enough of that pain and misery and it almost broke me. And I’ve learned that it’s far better to focus on the good instead of the bad. To do so otherwise is to feed the misery.”

He smiled widely. “So that’s why I’m grateful for any friend I can make. And if you accept me, that will be one more thing to fondly remember Destrier by. There can be too much of that,” he took a sip of his tea. “But for all it is worth, I did not think I would enjoy this wedding as much as I am thanks to you.”

Seamus rubbed his nose bashfully. “I’d probably have tae agree with that. My only plans for today where to sit back here ‘n try nae tae draw attention tae myself. Afterwards my friend Lindsey ‘n I are going out for a drink, but this’ll last a good few hours yet I’ve nae doubt.” Gesturing towards Hector, he added impishly, “‘N Hector would be a very sad puppy if anyone was bored or lonely at his wedding.” He held up his teacup. “Cheers?”

“I shall try to keep you company in the meantime. At least, until Alain wishes to steal me away,” Ambrose picked up his own teacup and clinked it softly against Seamus’s. “Here’s to good people well met.”

[Shinko]

Knight Adventures Summaries

Alright everybody- unfortunately, the Knight Adventures project has been cancelled. It may or may not be picked up again at some point in the future, but for now Celes and I have decided to post up summaries of the plotlines that we’d developed with Omni so that we can stop dancing around spoilers in stories that happen after Knight Adventures. This summary will be posted in three parts over the next few days. We’re really sorry that we weren’t able to finish the story properly but hopefully you can enjoy these storylines regardless. There are even a few small snippets that we’d pre-written that you may enjoy!

Part One

SPOILER: Click to show

As was left off in Night Terror of Tarpan, Sieg had just spent some time bonding with Zoya as she convinced him to spill his heart to her and advised him to be cautious about how much of his own weakness to trust Orrin with.

The scene to follow involved Sieg going outside to exercise, and Orrin meeting him out there. The half-dwarf would ask to talk to Sieg, and tell him that he’d noticed something very odd- almost all, if not all, of Zoya’s servants have horrific bite scars on their necks under the coverings. He points out that this is incredibly suspicious, something Sieg is a bit unnerved by, but he doesn’t really get where Orrin is going with it. At this point Zoya appears, and Orrin confronts her, accusing her of being the vampire. Hurt, Zoya shows the boys her own neck, also scarred, and explains that she is not a vampire but a victim. She hires those attacked to work for her out of empathy, to offer them shelter from the monster in her manor.

Orrin is skeptical, which prompts Sieg to become aggravated with him. He calls Orrin out for being rude and curt to Zoya the entire time they’ve been in town. Orrin is caught off guard, and points out that she’s been fawning over Sieg the entire time and ignoring Orrin. The two get into a nasty argument, culminating in them angrily deciding to continue investigating separately. As per her usual form Zoya sticks to Sieg’s side, smoothing his ruffled feathers after the fight. Later that evening she asks Sieg to come with her somewhere, saying she has to tell him something but doesn’t feel safe talking to him in her manor with Orrin around.

Sieg agrees, and the following can be read in full story format here.

The summary version is that Zoya speaks to Sieg about his insecurities, reminding him of how alone he feels but reassuring him that she’s there for him. The half-elf feels more and more dismal and lonely, but relaxes into Zoya’s reassurances. The Langean woman hugs him, putting a hand to the sword at his side, but suddenly recoils, crying out in pain. Sieg is startled, and his mind suddenly feels very much as if he is recovering from being drunk. He sees that Zoya has a burned imprint on her hand in the exact shape of a key- the key Rosalie had given him before the coronation, clipped to his sword belt. The key that is made of silver. It turns out that Orrin was right; Zoya is the vampire. She latched on to Sieg because his half-elven blood smelled appetizing, but unlike her other victims she didn’t want to just drain or kill Sieg. Instead she wanted to turn him into a vampire as well, a vampire she would be able to control. Since she knew now that Alain was aware of her presence, she wanted a strong knight to protect her from his attempts to be rid of her. She was able to get Sieg to trust her by using glamours to twist his mind, making him suggestable and bending him to her will.

Zoya taunts Sieg, using her glamours and what she knows about him to her advantage. Sieg tries to fight back, but eventually her magic overcomes him and she’s able to bite him. The bite puts Sieg into a trance, and Zoya gleefully begins to suck his blood. However before she can fully drain Sieg, thereby turning him, Orrin breaks into the place where they are hiding, with the little stable boy Andrei whom Sieg had befriended earlier. It turned out that the mute child was the only person in Tarpan who knew the truth of Zoya’s identity, and when he saw her luring Sieg off Andrei feared the worst. (Fun fact! The translation of what Zoya said to him in the stables that Celes wrote was bull. What she actually said was a lot more menacing. The real translation is “Remember happens to little boys who poke their noses where they don’t belong. Now go.”)

Zoya tries to use her glamours to force the weakened Sieg, woozy from lack of blood, to attack Orrin. However his mind fights back, and he balks, refusing to hurt his friend. He collapses not long later, forcing Zoya to fight Orrin herself. The two have a very violent confrontation, but eventually Orrin is able to behead Zoya, killing her.

Orrin then carries Sieg to the village doctor, and manages to communicate what happened via mime. The doctor treats Sieg’s wounds, but seeing as he’s lost a lot of blood the half-elf remains out of it for several days. In the meantime word gets around about what happened, and Sieg and Orrin go from being the reviled outsiders to local heroes for killing the vampire. They inundate the knights with gifts, old ladies of the village in particular fretting over the weak and injured Sieg and leaving lots of food to help him recover.

As Sieg becomes more lucid, he’s racked with guilt for how he acted towards Orrin under Zoya’s influence. He apologizes for not trusting the half-dwarf more, for hiding his past for so long, and for letting the vampire’s machinations get to him. Orrin forgives Sieg, asking him if he’ll now finally tell his whole story. Sieg agrees, on one condition- he first wants to make a trip north to the town of Konik, where his father Belial fought during the Second Langian War.

Part Two

SPOILER: Click to show

On the road north, Sieg and Orrin are rather subdued. Sieg still has stitches in his neck from where Zoya bit him, and is noticeably unconfident and deferring to Orrin’s judgement for most decisions. Orrin is worried about him but not sure what to do.

Along the road they start to hear rumors of a bandit who attacks travelers and steals their valuables. This being far from the first time they’ve stopped along the path to a new location to deal with a bandit, thief, or hillman, they decide to investigate. Eventually their search leads them to a cave where they determine the bandit to be hiding out. However, the entrance is very narrow. Sieg can just fit through, but it’s way too small for Orrin. The two of them aren’t sure if Sieg should go in alone, especially when he’s still a little shaky from blood loss and his bite wounds haven’t completely healed. Eventually, however, they agree that Sieg will investigate the cave alone while Orrin waits on the surface. Sieg leaves most of his weapons save for his dagger, since they’ll be too long to use in the cave, and takes out a lantern. As a precaution he also hooks the chemical lantern he got from Stephan in Destrier to his belt.

Sieg make his way into the bowels of the cave. He finds a stash of the loot that the bandit has stolen, but before he can decide what to do about it he is slammed into and his lantern is smashed, casting the cave into darkness. A voice addresses him tauntingly out of the darkness, threatening to kill him. He activates the chemical lantern, revealing his adversary- not a human bandit, but a troll.

Sieg fights the troll, who despite being fairly small is deceptively strong for his size. However Sieg is faster and smarter, and the fight is a reasonably even match. Attempting to turn the tides, the troll tries to smash Sieg’s chemical lantern. It does break the glass, however as Stephan warned the chemicals in the lantern are corrosive and they burn the troll’s hand. More of it spills around the floor of the cavern, and as the troll tries to get away from Sieg it steps in more of the acid and burns its foot. Sieg takes advantage of the distraction that the troll’s pain provides to kill it, ending the bandit threat along the road and helping to restore some much needed self-confidence to the half-elf after the vampire episode. Sieg returns to the surface, and Orrin writes a report on the issue to Alain since neither of them is sure what they should do with the troll’s stash. (Alain would ultimately send a company of Tersk knights to reclaim the stolen goods for government funds.)

The boys continue on the road to Konik, and eventually arrive in the old fortress. The physicians there remove the stitches in Sieg’s neck from Zoya’s bite, but unfortunately he is left with a permanent scar there, much like the vampire’s victims in Tarpan. Afterwards they poke around a bit, eventually running into an older gentlemen who was a physician in the city during the war. He recognizes Sieg as being part elf, and also notes Sieg’s resemblance to a specific elf that he met during the war. Shocked, Sieg asks a few questions that confirm that the man had indeed met Belial, and talks to the former doctor a bit about his father. Then, once they’re alone, Sieg keeps his promise to tell Orrin everything. The half-elf breaks down, revealing all of the details about the dragon fight, his entrapment in the burning barn, and Belial’s sacrifice. Orrin comforts his friend, reassuring Sieg once again that what happened wasn’t his fault.

Later that night, Sieg finally remembers the letter that his mother gave him before he left for Bern. Sieg reads the letter, and it’s contents move him to tears. Reassured by both his father’s words and Orrin’s comfort, Sieg is finally able to let go.

On the road between Konik and Destrier, Sieg and Orrin meet a traveling group of dwarven traders. They have heard rumors about Sieg and Orrin’s exploits, the first indication that the boys are acquiring something of a reputation. However, the dwarves are noticeably scornful towards Orrin for his half-blood status. What would have happened from the rest of this meeting is a mystery, as it was Omni’s plot baby and she wanted to leave a lot of it as a surprise for us as well as the audience. But eventually the group would come to terms enough to be able to travel together the rest of the way to Destrier.

Part Three

SPOILER: Click to show

Sieg and Orrin eventually arrive back in Destrier, meaning to rest for a day or two in the city and fish around for rumors to decide their next destination. Unlike their previous two visits, however, when people turn to look at the boys it is not with nervousness or confusion but excitement. They bump into a man in the city who introduces himself as Alban Macallan, and who informs them that they are the talk of Bern- heroes going about slaying monsters and stopping criminals. Alban eventually reveals himself as Alain Stallion, and invites the boys to stay at his castle instead of at an inn.

Orrin and Sieg meet Hector and Isabelle outside the castle practicing swordplay. They speak to the two, where Hector reveals to Sieg that he was born in Konik and met Anri and Gavin during the Langean War as a child. The befriend each other. Eventually Alain reveals that he is having a feast in Sieg and Orrin’s honor, to their amusement and embarrassment. Alain convinces Sieg to sing for the gathering, which is well met, and Alain might have sung as well in exchange, though it would have depended on how well that would have fit into the scene. After the feast is over, Alain pulls the boys aside and asks for a word with Orrin. He reveals that there was a bit of a mix-up in the mail, and that Orrin had accidentally sent Alain one of the letters he wrote in Dwarven for his mother, while sending his mother Alain’s military dispatch. Orrin is acutely embarrassed, to Alain and Sieg’s amusement.

The boys then hear rumors about a strange wolflike monster in Brindle territory that is at war with a human village. They decide to investigate, and begin their journey afresh.

On the way through the mountains, somewhere in the territory of House Sabino, the boys get sidetracked from their mission. They come across a village being attacked by not one or two, but a group of twenty armed bandits, with the leaders mounted on ponies. Orrin and Sieg are badly outnumbered and can’t defeat the bandits, but they’re able to put up a good enough fight to make it not worth the bandit’s while to keep going after the village. However, to keep the knights from following them the bandits shoot fire arrows at the thatched roofs of the village. Only once the fire is out of control do the bandits retreat, leaving Sieg and Orrin behind to deal with the situation.

Orrin immediately sees what has happened and bolts for the houses to help people escape. Sieg, however, freezes on the spot, horrified and caught by traumatic flashbacks of the fire during the dragon fight. He remains rooted in the spot for a full minute before Freya bites him, snapping him out of it and making him realize that, afraid or not, he has to help. Remembering what happened before, he strips off all of his armor before he runs into the burning buildings to help evacuate them.

Eventually he finds Orrin again, but the half-dwarf is woozy and barely conscious. Sieg realizes that the much heavier knight is still in his armor, and after both of them already dehydrated themselves fighting the bandits Orrin is getting dangerously overheated. He collapses from heat exhaustion, and Sieg realizes the only choice is to carry him out of the building. Orrin is bigger than Sieg, in armor, and Sieg is just as exhausted. As he makes the laboriously slow escape from the burning building, which is collapsing all around him, Sieg has to fight off numerous PTSD flashbacks. However, he eventually does manage to escape the building, collapsing with Orrin out on the street.

The villagers are able to cool Sieg enough that he gets a second wind and helps to start a bucket brigade that saves the rest of the village by wetting the buildings too much for them to catch fire. But Orrin is too sick to wake, and burned besides, so he has to be giving treatment. Once the village is in stable condition, Sieg takes Freya and rides the elven horse as hard and fast as he can to the nearest city with a pigeon post. From there he sends a letter to Alain explaining the situation with the bandits and asking him to send help to deal with them.

Once he’s rested a little Sieg returns to the burnt village to keep an eye on Orrin. As the half-dwarf recovers, he and Sieg get to talking. Orrin notes that Sieg’s been having a lot fewer nightmares recently. Surprised, Sieg realizes Orrin is right, and expresses gratitude to the half-dwarf for helping him to finally overcome the traumas of his father’s death. Orrin admits that over the course of their journey he’s come to think of Sieg as something of a little brother, which catches Sieg even more by surprise. However, Sieg jokes that he’s always wanted a brother. Once Orrin has recovered, the two move on.

The boys move on, arriving in the village where the war is said to be going on. Sadly this plotline was so far in the future we never developed it much beyond a vague plot blip. The idea was that the monster in question was a wulver- a sort of werewolf with a human body and a wolf’s head. It just wanted to live in peace in the forest, but the villagers were terrified of the wulver at attacked it, prompting it to attack them back, eventually attacking preemptively. And things just spiraled out of control. The boys were going to work something out to establish a peace between the wulver and the villagers.

Once the village is appeased, the boys realize that it’s getting into September. Unless the want to overwinter in Bern, they know they need to head home. So they travel south, but word gets out that the heroes are leaving and when they reach the city of Percheron close to the Bernian border they are met with a surprise. The people of the city throw a massive goodbye party in their honor. Sie is embarrassed but flattered, and the boys reflect on all that they’ve accomplished since arriving in Bern. They agree that they’ve both come a long way, and are happy to have been able to touch so many lives and overcome their own personal demons.

And that’s it folks! We are tremendously grateful to everyone who followed Knight Adventures while it was active, and even though it won’t be continuing in prose, we hope you’ve enjoyed this summary of the rest of the plotline. Long live Medieval!

[Shinko]

Collab fic with PFA

Growing Up

SPOILER: Click to show

The dockmarket of Websteros was as noisy as ever, with merchants shouting at passersby to attract them to their wares, seabirds shrieking overhead, and the dull, steady thrum of conversation and foot traffic. All a normal part of life in the shadow of the Brachyuran palace, seat of House Brachyura and base of operations for the admiralty of Kyth.

But it wasn’t just peasants and sailors out shopping today. A pair of Brachyuran nobles, Lord Dilan and his wife Jeniver, were browsing through the assorted stalls of the marketplace, accompanied by a pair of guards for safety. They were hoping to find a gift to commemorate the coming of their soon-to-be-born niece or nephew, though it was a bit harder to find than they’d anticipated.

“A blanket!” Jeniver remarked, pointing out a nearby stall. “That’s a good baby gift, right? Babies like blankets.”

“You look like you’re the one who needs a blanket,” Dilan replied, frowning at her. Having come from a warmer, southern climate, Jeniver wasn’t used to the frigid winter weather of Websteros, which was quickly incoming. “Are you sure you don’t want to come back later?”

“But we still haven’t gotten anything,” Jeniver insisted, adjusting her thick winter cloak. “I still think we should get a blanket. We could always use more blankets. For the baby.”

Dilan sighed, shaking his head. “Alright, we can look at the blankets. But we should go home afterwards; I don’t want you to freeze.”

“I’m fine, really! Besides.” She smiled, giving her husband a hug. “I can always huddle with you for warmth.”

Dilan blushed, smiling and returning the hug. “We can do that when we get home, too, you know.”

“I know.” Jeniver giggled, as the two of them started on their way to the stall with the thick winter quilts. On their way there, Jeniver noticed something from the corner of her eye, and turned to see what it was. “Hey, isn’t that Sawyer?”

And so it was. She was standing a ways away, looking over a stall that was carrying lots of thick, knitted woolen scarves and hats, but the woman was impossible to mistake. Dark of skin, with thick dark brown hair- for some reason today she’d dyed it in streaks of bright pink- and a wand holster visible on her hip, Sawyer was just handing over a handful of precious gems to the merchant when Jeniver pointed her out. The man accepted them with a smile, and Sawyer took one of the hats from the counter. Turning to kneel, she pulled the hat down over the head of a small boy standing beside her, his skin nearly as dark as hers was, though his hair was a much lighter shade of brown with a slightly reddish tint to it.

“I think it is,” Dilan agreed. “But who’s that boy with her?”

“I’m not sure. We should go say hi, though!” Jeniver suggested. “While we’re here.”

“I thought we were going to buy blankets?” Dilan asked.

“Just real quick. We don’t want to be rude, right?” Jeniver insisted, changing course and heading for where Sawyer was. “Sawyer! Hi!”

The violinist looked up in surprise at the sound of her name, but upon catching sight of Jeniver she smiled and waved cheerfully. “Lady Jeniver! Isn’t this a surprise! ‘N Lord Dilan too, ‘s good to see ya!”

The little boy, following the direction of Sawyer’s gaze, stared at the approaching Brachyurans with wide, round hazel eyes. He grabbed on to Sawyer’s skirt, ducking behind it but still poking his head around to watch the proceedings.

“It’s good to see you, too! How have you been?” Jeniver asked. “How’s your magic coming?”

“‘S doin’ alright,” Sawyer replied with good humor. “When it gets cold like this I have a harder time getting customers for me shows, since the pavilion's not heated. Wintertime I generally only do one show a week, ‘n make me living on freelance magery. I ‘ave a job later this evening in fact, fireproofin’ a privateer’s vessel. How about ya two?”

“We’re doing good!” Jeniver replied with a nod. “Jonah and Cloudey are having a baby soon, so we were just looking for a gift for them.”

“That’s, uh, my brother and his wife, if you don’t know,” Dilan clarified. Gesturing to the boy at Sawyer’s hip, he added, “Who’s this with you, by the way?”

“Oh, well congratulations on your new niece or nephew then!” Sawyer said with a grin. Reaching around to put a hand on the young boy’s head, she smiled fondly. “This fella doin’ his best impersonation of a rabbit is my son. C’mon, Lady Jeniver ‘n Lord Dilan are perfectly nice, say hello.”

The boy emerged slightly, offering a timid smile. “Hullo,” he said with a slight wave.

“Hello! Nice to meet you!” Jeniver smiled, waving back at the boy. To Sawyer, she added, “I didn’t know you had a son. What’s his name?”

“It’s Llyr,” she replied. Winking at Dilan she added, “Might be a bit before your time, but he’s actually named for a relative of yours.”

“Mommy said Captain Llyr was really funny, but really nice,” the boy put in, worrying his mother’s skirts. “‘E gaved her the money to learn magic.”

“Captain Llyr?” Dilan thought on this for a moment. “It sounds familiar… I don’t think I really knew him, though. But that’s neat.”

“Yeah, and that’s really nice of him,” Jeniver agreed, before smiling down at the boy again. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, little Llyr!”

Llyr emerged a little more from behind his mother, his smile widening. “You’re pretty,” he informed Jeniver. Looking at her wand he asked, “You’re a mage like Mommy?”

“Thank you! And yes, I am.” Jeniver pulled out her wand, allowing him to get a better look—it was unusually long as far as wands went, but definitely a wand, made of silver lime wood and tipped with a jade crystal. “Maybe I could show you some magic sometime. Probably not right now, though.”

“Not unless you have a spell for staying warm,” Dilan put in.

“I told you, I’m fine,” Jeniver insisted.

“But if ya get too cold, ya’ll get sick,” Llyr said earnestly. “Mama says so. ‘S why I gotta hat today.” He put his gloved hands up to the little knit cap that was now hiding his frizzy auburn hair.

“There are spells,” Sawyer put in. “They’re just tricky. It’s easy to accidentally burn yourself if ya don’t put proper limiting runes on ‘em. Temperature just keeps going up.”

“Grandma’s house is warm,” Llyr said. “I stay with Grandma when Mommy’s working. You can come with me to Grandma’s house!”

“Um… I don’t know, would that be okay?” Jeniver asked, looking up at Sawyer.

Sawyer laughed. “I dunno if it’d be up to your usual standards for accommodations, m’lady,” she said. “Probably ya’d be a lot warmer in your own palace. ‘Sides, you know your Grandma is scared of nobles, Llyr.”

The small boy’s lip pursed and he sulked for a moment, before he brightened again. “Maybe next time.”

“Maybe,” Sawyer agreed.

“It’s okay, I’m not really that cold, anyway,” Jeniver said with a chuckle. “Thanks for thinking of me, though.”

“He’s a sweet kid,” Sawyer remarked fondly. She winked at the two nobles and added, “So you two got any plans for little scamps of your own? Admittedly, Llyr wasn’t planned, but I understand with nobles this sort of thing has a lot more forethought.”

“Um, well…” Dilan blushed, shifting his weight awkwardly at the question. “I-I mean, it would be nice, but… I guess we’ll have to see what happens.”

Jeniver smiled reassuringly at Dilan, before returning her attention to Sawyer. “Yeah, so, um…” She frowned, glancing at Llyr momentarily as she pondered what to say. “…Would it be rude if I asked?”

“Asked?” Sawyer repeated, quirking an eyebrow. “Asked what?”

“Well, I mean… you haven’t really said anything about Llyr’s dad,” Jeniver said slowly.

“Oh,” The woman rolled her eyes, though at this question her son’s face fell. “There’s not much to say. Fella was a friend of mine, a sellsword that hired out to guard merchant stalls at the market. We were dating a while. ‘E skipped town when I told ‘im he’d got me knocked up. That was seven years ago- I’ve not seen ‘im since.”

“Oh.” Jeniver blinked, apparently surprised by the answer. “I’m, um… I’m sorry to hear that?”

“Happens,” Sawyer replied with a shrug. “It’s not fun but I refuse to let the cowardly louse’s bull ruin me sleep. ‘Sides, he gave me little Llyr here.” she ruffled the little boy’s cap so it was pushed over his eyes, earning a squawk of indignation and a weak smile from him. “Maybe the priests look down their noses and people gossip, but he’s my boy and I love him whatever other people say.”

“It’s good that you can be positive about it,” Dilan remarked. “I mean, whatever life gives you, it’s best to make the most out of it.” He glanced down at his crutches, a sad smile on his face. “That’s what they always told me, anyway.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Jeniver shifted positions, feeling a little uncomfortable at the topic. As she did so, she felt a shiver go up her spine, and she gave a small cough. “You know, it is pretty cold. Is there somewhere warm we could talk, maybe?”

Sawyer looked a little surprised at the normally cheerful young woman’s unease, but after a moment she shrugged. “There’s a tea shop a little ways up the street. Ye alright, Lady Jeniver? Not coming down with something, are ye?”

“N-no, I don’t think so. I’ve probably just been out in the cold too long,” Jeniver replied, smiling weakly.

“I warned you to be careful,” Dilan said, putting an arm around his wife to warm her up. “You’re not used to this kind of weather.”

“It never gets this cold in C-Corvus,” Jeniver admitted, leaning into Dilan. “Tea sounds good. We can go get some tea.”

Llyr, however, pursed his lips a little, shrinking behind his mother’s skirts again. “Everyone gets mad when Mommy tells them about my Dad.” He shoved his face into the cloth, clinging to it with both hands. “I wish I wasn’t ill… illeg-”

“Shhh,” Sawyer responded, putting a comforting hand on the boy’s back. “Lady Jeniver didn’t say nothing about that, Llyr, she’s just cold sweetie.”

“N-no, it’s not like that. I’m not mad,” Jeniver assured him. Turning to Sawyer again, she added, “Can you lead the way to the tea shop, please?”

The minstrel gave Jeniver a somewhat sad look, but nodded all the same. “Sure, o’ course. Just this way, m’lady.”

The tea shop wasn’t far and, thanks to the braziers heating the tea, inside it was blessedly warm. Jeniver herself seemed especially grateful to get out of the cold, huddling with Dilan and blowing into her hands to warm up. As the group sat down, Sawyer looked down at her son. “Would ya like a scone, Llyr?”

“No,” the boy muttered, looking dismal still.

Jeniver frowned, realizing that her bringing up his father was what upset the boy, but not knowing what to say to reassure him. Maybe it was best just to drop it for now and distract him, she thought. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a scone before.”

“R-really?” he asked, tilting his head. “I thought nobles got to eat cakes and stuff all the time.”

Sawyer laughed softly. “If they did that, they’d get fat,” she remarked. “They ‘ave to eat their fruits ‘n veggies to grow up big ‘n strong, just like you do Llyr. Do you want to get a scone ‘n split it with Lady Jeniver? If we get a really big one you can maybe share it with Lord Dilan too if he wants.”

“That would be nice,” Jeniver agreed, smiling at Dilan and then at Llyr. “Would you like that?”

The child looked thoughtful. “Okay. Do you like blueberries? Blueberry scones are my favorite.”

Jeniver’s smile widened, and she nodded. “Sure, that sounds delicious.”

The boy smiled shyly in response, and Sawyer, clearly relieved, put in the order. Turning back to the two nobles, the minstrel asked, “So Lady Jeniver, ya gotten the chance to practice those spell notes I gave you? I hope me experiments hold up well compared to professional ones.”

Llyr looked surprised. “Ya taught the Lady your magic, Mommy?”

“Some of it, yeah,” Jeniver replied. “I’ve been looking at them when I have free time. I thought it was really neat how you put the runes together—some of those spells are pretty tricky, too!”

“She tried casting a few of them,” Dilan added. “Some of them went, um… better than others.”

Jeniver giggled at this. “I just hope your dad isn’t too mad at me.”

Llyr blinked. “Why would his dad be mad at you?”

Sawyer smirked slightly. “Didja break a window? I did that by accident, first time messing around with the sound amplifiers. For some reason certain fiddlings make the noise shatter anything fragile nearby.”

“I might have accidentally broken something,” Jeniver admitted slowly. “And I might have accidentally made it really loud.”

Sawyer guffawed. “Thought so. Well at least now I feel marginally better about meself, if a Jade trained mage has similar problems with those spells.”

“I can’t do magic at all,” Llyr put in glumly. “I tried, but nothin’ worked. I’m just boring.”

“Aw, it’s okay, not having magic doesn’t make you boring,” Jeniver told him. “I know plenty of people who don’t have magic, and they’re not boring! Like Dilan, he’s not boring.” She smiled, hugging her husband. There were also several other key members of her family who had no magic, but she chose not to mention that.

“You can’t?” Llyr asked, looking at Dilan curiously. As one of the shop’s employees set a large scone in front of them, the child asked, “So what do you do, Lord Dilan?”

“Oh, um… well, I usually work as a scribe,” Dilan replied. “So I write things down for people. It is kind of boring, actually…”

“Aw, there’s nothing wrong with being a scribe. My uncle is a scribe!” Jeniver insisted. “Besides, you’re also nice and cute and a lot of things besides just that.”

Dilan blushed at this. “Th-thanks.”

Llyr giggled. “Are ya two gonna snog now?”

“Llyr!” Sawyer admonished, though her expression was clearly amused.

Dilan turned an even deeper shade of red at this. Even Jeniver seemed surprised, blushing as she laughed. “Well, right now I think we should try out this scone,” she said instead, gesturing to the food in front of them. “It smells delicious.”

“Okay!” The little boy chirped. Sawyer chuckled and cut it into thirds, handing one of the slices to Llyr and pushing the rest towards Dilan and Jeniver.

“Keep this in mind if ya two ever have kids of your own,” she said with a wink. “They find all the most awkward things to say ‘n ask.”

“I’m just trying to be nice,” Llyr objected. “I wanna make some friends.” He looked down at the scone in his hand with a downtrodden expression. “Lot’s of people don’t like me. ‘Cause I don’t got a dad. But if they’re your friends, maybe they can be my friends too?”

Dilan took a bite of his scone, a sad smile crossing his face at the boy’s words. He finished chewing and swallowed before speaking. “We’d be happy to be your friends, Llyr.”

Jeniver thought on this for a moment. It was clear that Sawyer and Llyr had gotten a lot of flak for their circumstances—and growing up in Corvus, Jeniver knew plenty of people who would be on the giving end of that flak. But it was hardly Llyr’s fault for what happened, and Sawyer couldn’t have known the man would run away. Besides, didn’t Lord Woo teach his followers to be forgiving?

“Yeah, of course,” she said with a smile. “We’ll be your friends.”

The child brightened, giving the two nobles a wide, beaming smile. “Thank ya! Thank ya so much!” He hesitated, then said, “Ya were lookin’ for a blanket before, right? For your new niece or nephew? Mama did something to one of my blankets when I was little with her sound magic, maybe Lady Jeniver could do it to?”

“Oh, really?” Jeniver asked, looking up at Sawyer. “What did you do?”

“It was simple, really,” Sawyer said with a smile. “I put a little spell on it to make it mimic the sound o’ a human heartbeat. So the baby would feel safe ‘n cozy, like he was still inside of me, ‘n help ‘im sleep sounder.”

“Ooh, that’s neat! I could try that.” Jeniver smiled. “How do you do that?”

“I can write down the runes if ya like.” The minstrel offered. “It’s not too complicated, ya just need to set a low double-beat thrum on a regular, looping rhythm ‘n you’re all set.”

“Sure, I’d like that,” Jeniver said with a nod.

“I bet the baby will really like it!” Llyr put in. “”N maybe someday your baby will like it too!”

Jeniver chuckled, smiling down at Llyr. “Maybe someday.”

[Shinko]

The Apple Tree

SPOILER: Click to show

"The knight leapt backwards, just evading a tremendous blast of power from the blood mage's staff. Sir Galleth knew that he couldn't afford to let his adversary hit him; not even once! Or he'd be cursed forever, just as the villagers were. But the evil one was wily, and his sorcery more than a match for Galleth's battle skills. He held his sword tightly, staring down the fell magician, and cried, 'You may take my life this day, but by the grace of the Woo I will bring you down with me!'"

The village elder made a grandiose gesture, his face set in an expression of defiance. All around him, the children of the city sat with rapt attention, drinking in the story that the old man was telling them. Towards the back of the crowd, one child in particular listened with wide eyes that shone with fascination and excitement. Though he understood only a fraction of the words from the old man's mouth, his imagination was more than equal to filling in the blanks. As the story went on, excitement gradually gave way to a smothered sense of longing. A life of heroism, adventure, serving the greater good...

What better life could there be?

*** Five Years Later ***

It was a chilly day in late January, and the harsh wind and thick grey clouds in the sky would have sent even a human scurrying for cover. For the elves of Nid'aigle, who could instinctively sense when the weather was about to change in a dramatic way, these signs were merely the confirmation of what they'd known was coming for over an hour. The streets of the elf city- one of only three left in Kyth- were all but deserted.

However there was one person who hadn't been chased off by the impending storm; an elf who was young even by human standards, with the short stature and gangly build that marked a young teenager. He was in the training yard of the Nid'aigle company, his amber eyes flashing with enthusiasm as he whaled at a wooden dummy with his practice spear. The wind of the oncoming storm and his own movement whipped his pale blond hair wildly about and his movements were swift and smooth despite the lead weights jangling from various points on his clothing.

With one last, well practiced motion, the teenaged elf jabbed his spear forwards, landing the weighted wooded "blade" directly in the center of the of the bullseye that marked the dummy's "heart." He stood still for a moment, panting hard, before letting his arms drop to his sides. He reached up to wipe off the sweat beading on his brow, a small smile of pride on his face.

"Well done," a cool female voice remarked, and the young elf turned in surprise. An Elvish woman was leaning on the fence that enclosed the training yard, her brown hair confined in a braid at the base of her skull. Somewhat bizarrely for an elf, her eyes were a rich chocolate brown, though the shimmered as much as any other elf's did; a human ancestor in her blood somewhere?

Whatever her ancestry, the badge at her chest could only mean one thing; she was a knight. The young elf snapped to attention, giving the newcomer a salute. She promptly returned it.

"I am Sir Cosette Lefleur of the seventh squad," she said crisply. "And unless I miss my guess, you would be Page Braham? Belial Braham?"

"Aye, Sir Lefleur," Belial affirmed. "What can I do for you, ma'am?"

"You turn fifteen in a month, and according to all of your instructors you have mastered as much as one can be taught be theory and practice," she said, coming around to the gate of the fence and letting herself in. "I have come to ask you if you would like to be my squire."

Belial's jaw dropped. It was customary for young elf pages to be evaluated for promotion without being told they were, in order to see the skill and dedication they employed on a regular basis, rather than when they were trying to impress. But being only fourteen, Belial hadn't at all been expecting his evaluation to happen now. Fourteen was the minimum age for becoming a squire. Most didn't achieve the rank until the were sixteen.

"I'm... I'm being promoted?" He stammered. "And you... Want to be my knight-master?" He swallowed back the giddy excitement bubbling up in his throat and forced himself to speak normally. "I'm honored, Sir Lefleur. But if I may ask, why? I don't believe we've ever met."

"Simple reason," she answered. "Your instructors identified a particular list of... ideal candidates given your disposition. My name was on that list, and I volunteered."

"My disposition?" Belial repeated. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing of consequence to your decision on the matter," Cosette replied. "The question still stands, however. Would you like to be my squire?"

He could have thought about it. Asked for time to see if there would be other offers. Carefully considered the issue to make the best possible selection. But the young elf had been reared on hero tales of human knights and their exploits for years, every time he visited the human village close to Nid'aigle. Impatience to join those illustrious ranks, and to make hero tales of his own, made Belial blurt, "Yes! Oh, Woo, yes!"

***

Belial quickly learned that if being a page had been a lot of work, it was nothing to being a squire.

He started right away, going with Cosette to get his own weapons, armor, and horse- pages used wooden practice weapons weighted with lead and borrowed old retired horses to train with. He put the new equipment in with the seventh squad's belongings, and- given that the rain now lashing outside precluded any demonstration of his physical skills- went with Cosette to be quizzed on the breadth of his intellectual knowledge.

Over the course of the next week his new knight-master drilled him until she had a clear grasp of everything the newly minted squire could and could not do. Then, the training began in earnest. Belial studied, trained, accompanied Cosette's company into the field, and as was customary acted as a general assistant and lackey to his knight mistress. He cleaned her armor and weapons, tended her horse, and ran errands on request.

It was a lot of work, but certainly Belial didn't begrudge it. Knighthood was all he'd wanted since he was small, and being a squire was a necessary intermediate step. Pages learned the basics of combat, survival, and chivalry. Squires got field experience actually using these lessons, and honed their skills under the direct supervision and tutelage of a senior knight.

At least that was the theory. But five months passed, Belial's fifteenth birthday came and went, and still he hadn't seen any real combat. It wasn't as if things were completely quiet either. Cosette and her squad saw plenty of action. But without fail, his knight-mistress always gave Belial tasks well clear of the fighting.

"Mistress Lefleur," he finally asked one morning after a rigorous practice bout, "when am I going to start getting experience in real combat?"

Cosette, who had been toweling sweat from her hair, paused with a frown. "When you don't want to anymore."

"What?" Belial replied, his amber eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. "What does that mean?"

"Exactly what I said. Squire Braham, war is not a game. In real combat people get hurt. They die. And you're not mature enough yet to cope with that."

"But... But that's what squires are supposed to do!" Belial objected. "If I wasn't ready why did my instructors promote me?"

"Having the skill and being able to use it efficiently are very different issues." Cosette retorted. "You will get your chance, Braham. When I decide you are ready."

The young elf knew better than to argue, but to say he was disappointed would have been an understatement. He was devastated, and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do to rectify the situation. Cosette wanted him to not be happy to do the job he’d been training for since age nine? To be miserable all the time doing his life’s work?

Belial deliberated on the question a great deal, trying to work out exactly what to do to solve the puzzle that Cosette had handed him. Taking the job seriously he understood, and not taking joy in hurting or killing people was obvious. But not being proud of being a hero, of saving lives and righting wrongs? It made no sense.

Finally, he came to a solution. He faked it. Instead of going into his duties with unabashed enthusiasm and listening to the stories the other knights told of their exploits with wide, shining eyes, he undertook everything about his work with utmost seriousness. It was hard, acting like he wasn’t happy about his work, and he didn’t see any sense in it, but if that was what his knight-mistress expected of him, well who was he to argue?

It didn’t work right away. But with enough persistence, by the ninth month of Belial’s squire training, Cosette finally seemed ready to relent.

“Belial,” she told him one morning, after their usual training bout. “Lord Lazuli has been having problems with bandits in the north of his territory. Since we’re closer than Scorzen, he’s asked us to help round them up. And I think that this time, you’ll be in with the hounds on the hunt.”

The young elf had been surprised, but when he realized what Cosette was getting at it was everything he could do not to burst for joy and blow his cover. He was going to fight bandits! He was going to be a real knight, at long last!

***

“So do we have any idea the force we’re dealing with?” Belial asked his knight-mistress. The woman shook her head.

“Nothing concrete. At least ten, no more than thirty, but that’s a wide range. None should be mounted at least, so there’s that.”

The younger elf nodded, a look of fierce determination on his face. He was going to do well at this assignment, and show Cosette what he was capable of. She might have assumed his eagerness meant he was immature, but it was only his dedication to the job. Surely she’d understand that when she saw him in action. He’d put a stop to the foul villains beleaguering Lord Lazuli’s territory in no time!

“Is there anything else I should keep in mind?” he asked. Cosette shrugged.

“Keep your wits about you. Stay with the squad- this is your first action, no heroics. And above all else, remember that whatever stories you’ve heard this is about survival. Your enemy isn’t going to fight fair, so you can’t either.”

Belial had to fight back the urge to frown at this, but he nodded. He wasn’t going to mess up now by appearing to disagree, whatever his personal feelings about unfair fighting.

When the knights arrived at the town where they were due to convene with a representative of Lazuli, Belial was struck by how eerily quiet the place was. There was no conversation, no sound of chickens or goats in the distance, even the wild birds were subdued. Buildings were blackened and charred, obvious evidence to a recent fire. People poked their heads out of the buildings still in tact at the rumble of the squad's horses trotting through town. There was no hope or relief in their eyes. Only a dull sort of resignation. At first that baffled Belial; were they not happy to be rescued?

Then it hit him. Of course they weren't. This attack had already concluded, and the damage was done. For them the rescue had come too late. Belial met the eyes of one boy in particular, who couldn't have been more than thirteen. The look in the boy's eyes was a hollow one, as if he were too shell-shocked for proper emotion. It made Belial shudder.

"Welcome, representatives of Nid'aigle," said a man in Lazuli colors who could only be the town reeve. He spoke in Kythian, and at a nudge on the arm from Cosette Belial rode forward a bit to translate.

"It is good to have arrived," the elf squad leader replied in Elvish, Belial giving translations. "I am Captain Cloche of the seventh squad of Nid'aigle. I take it you have our briefing?"

"I do," he reeve replied. "The brigands are all locals to the area; apparently they decided the best way to protest tax rates was to set fire to their own homes."

"So rebels," the squad leader remarked. "I'm surprised Lord Lazuli called us for this. Would it not send a stronger message if he attended the manner himself?"

"It is not my place to question his lordship," the reeve replied gruffly, looking rather insulted. "He asked for your help because of proximity. Are you going to deny him now?"

Belial was taken hugely off guard by this exchange. The adult elf, however, only quirked an eyebrow. "Certainly not. We are here, and we will find your rebels before they do more damage to innocents. You have our word."

Over the next week and a half, Belial came to realize something; chasing bandits was boring. It involved a lot of traipsing through the woods, following the tiniest hint of a trail as best they could despite rivers, rocks and daily rains washing out the traces of the bandit's passing. In the past he'd always stayed behind at camp, or ridden ahead to reserve a place at the next town for the company to sleep. He'd wondered what his compatriots were doing all day while gone- now he knew.

Aside from being boring, it was also uncomfortable. They rode miles each day in the Corvid heat with heavy armor. Insects ate them alive. They were dirty, exhausted, and in a universally foul temper.

And it seemed that their foes had been anticipating just that. Because it was just as the group was setting up camp for the night that the bandits decided to do away with their pursuers.

It was not what Belial had anticipated. He’d expected them to find the bandits, to engage them and capture them, to bring them to justice. Not for the bandits to ambush the knights in the dead of night. One minute he’d been grooming Cosette’s horse, the next one of the squad’s members was crying out, stumbling as a fist sized rock smacked him on the helm. Then, rocks rained down on their assigned sentries, as the other knights scrambled for weapons and armor that had been partially set aside while they set up camp.

The young squire whirled, looking around frantically for his spear, but before he had the chance to get it the enemy was upon them. The only weapon he had onhand was a small dagger- it would have to suffice.

He drew it just in time to block a blow that came down on him from what appeared to be some sort of sickle. The man wielding it was clearly no hardened soldier; he had no armor, he was gaunt, dirty, and the light in his eyes was not one of malice, but of desperation. Over his shoulder, Belial could see that the rocks were being pelted by men with slings, and others among the brigands had pitchforks and meat cleavers. Peasants tools, not weapons for combat.

At that point he became far too distracted by his adversary to notice anything else. The man drew back his sickle, attempting to bring it down on Belial’s head. The squire jerked back and, seeing an opening in the downward arc, immediately lunged forwards. The motion was automatic, ground in by long habit in his training. What happened next was not.

The man cried out in agony as blood splurted from chest, where Belial’s dagger had embedded itself. Hot, crimson fluid hit the squire full on the face, making him flinch. The rough wool of the bandit’s tunic was stained crimson, and he staggered, almost yanking the elf’s weapon out of his hand. Belial just barely managed to pull his dagger free, and the next instant the man dropped to the ground. The squire stood completely still, staring down at the limp form of the man at his feet, watching as he gasped for air for a few more seconds before he stilled.

I… I killed him.

***

Before all was said and done, two more men fell at Belial’s hands that night. Their faces were acid-etched in the young elf’s mind, their eyes going from pained to panicked, then glassy and unseeing. By the time the fighting had ended, and the knights were victorious, Belial was in shock. Like an automaton he helped the others to bind the men who surrendered and dig pits for the dead. Only when that was done did he permit himself to throw up.

Later, around dawn, Cosette finally found him, sitting in a near fetal curl in their tent. His entire body was shaking, his eyes dull and confused as if he had not fully processed the events of the night before yet.

“Belial?” the knight said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. The young squire flinched, seeming to come back to himself.

“Three people, Mistress. I… I killed three people last night. I killed three people!”

“It’s never easy,” she replied softly. “Especially not the first time.”

He clenched his teeth. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Being a knight, I wanted… I wanted to save people! These weren’t evil men, th-they were just farmers, bakers, butchers, th-this isn’t what I wanted!”

Cosette gave no response at first. Her gaze was sad, her brown eyes full of empathy. Finally, she stood.

“...Belial, when I first asked you to be my squire, you wanted to know what about your demeanour made me one of the knights they’d chose.” Cosette said softly. “This is it- you’re gentle, sweet, and idealistic. Not suited to the life of a warrior, whatever your skill with a spear. They wanted me to be your trainer to try and instill a sense of realism into you. And if necessary, to discourage you from this path before it was too late.” She sighed, looking away. “I failed at both of those things. I’m so, so sorry.”

Belial said nothing. He only pulled his knees up to his face, sobbing for the deaths at his hands, and for the loss of the innocence he hadn’t realized was there until it was gone.

[Shinko]

Another collab with Avery! This one begins in April 1326, and follows errybody's favorite Meltaiman emperor and said emperor's heir. Enjoy!

Echoes of the Past: Prologue

SPOILER: Click to show

“I d-don’t know how to tell you this, your imperial majesty,” the shaking man said, “but… he’s not a mage. I’ve run the tests f-five times, and there’s no other explanation: Prince Macaius is s-simply not a mage.”

Sitting in a high-backed chair in a small, orderly study that overlooked the sea, Emperor Sebellius of Meltaim rather looked like a snake about to swallow its meal whole. His dark eyes were smoldering, his pale face drawn taut. In his lap his hands were curled into fists, clenched so tightly that they’d begun to tremble—though not anywhere near as violently as did the man who knelt before him on the floor, his chin bowed and gaze cast firmly downward.

“I wish th-there was another possibility, your excellence,” the man continued, stricken. “But there’s not. Th-there’s just… not.”

“I see.” The emperor’s voice was cool as frost. “And… tell me, Chancellor Rusnak. Am I the first one you’ve told of these results?”

Gulping, the man nodded quickly. “Of course, your imperial majesty. I’ve taken all the instructions you gave me back at the Shadowed Palace to heart. I’ve spoken to no one since our arrival. Not about what I came to do—not about anything.”

“Do you swear that on your life?” Sebellius pressed.

“Yes. Of course. I am but your faithful subject and servant.”

“Excellent.” A stark contrast to the rest of his body language, Sebellius smiled broadly, his white teeth glinting against the pale spring sunlight that snaked in through the cantilevered window at Rusnak’s back. In his lap, his right hand unfurled, creeping slowly toward the wand holster at his hip. “You’ve been a Silver Eye for, what is it now, fifteen years?” the emperor prattled on blandly; Rusnak’s eyes were still trained on the ground. “Or even more, is it?”

“Seventeen years, your imperial majesty,” Rusnak murmured. “It is my duty and honour to serve your excellence. E-even when I must bring you such devastating news.”

“Alas, someone always must be the messenger,” Sebellius agreed. His fingers reached his wand, and he drew it, quietly. “And,” the dark-haired imperial added, his smile slowly fading as he raised the rod, “may the gods have mercy on your soul, Chancellor Rusnak.”

“… Your excellence?” Rusnak’s eyes snapped up.

“Weiczny dospać,” the emperor hissed.

Chancellor Rusnak crumpled to the floor, twitching only once before he went as still and silent as his waiting grave.

Echoes of the Past: Part One

SPOILER: Click to show

Unlike the Shadowed Palace in Taika, the imperial family’s summer cottage in the quaint seaside village of Morze-Stok was not labyrinthine. Its decor was warm, almost airy, with gleaming wood floors throughout and walls painted in a variety of beachy hues: butter yellow, cerulean green, a pale blue that called to mind a perfect summer sky. The master bedroom suite, which took up the house’s entire third storey, had gabled ceilings and a plethora of broad windows, the curtains usually left open so as best to provide a view of the sea. There were balconies too, a pair of them, located on either side of the massive sleeping chamber like bookends on a shelf.

It was on one of these balconies that Sebellius found his wife, Julissa, after he’d murdered Chancellor Rusnak down in the study.

“Lis.” The emperor shut the glass-paneled door behind him as he stepped outside. “Enjoying the ocean breeze, I see?” He reached into his tunic pocket for a small leather cord, using it to pull his obsidian hair back into a ponytail so that the wind would not dishevel it. “I always seem to find you out here,” Sebellius continued, sitting beside Julissa-- without invitation-- on a padded wooden bench, its cushions bleached from the salt and sun. “I got here what… four days ago? And you must have spent hours out here since.”

The woman gave her husband a wan smile, tucking back stray strands of pale brown hair that the seabreeze had yanked free of the elaborate bun atop her head.

“I like it out here,” she replied vaguely. “The quiet helps me clear my thoughts.”

“Well, sorry to be a disturbance then, my dear.” Sebellius pursed his lips, for a moment watching the waves lap at the shore below before he turned his gaze back toward Julissa. “Chancellor Rusnak ran the last tests today,” the emperor said then. “On Macaius.”

Julissa’s hazel eyes darkened. “The news… wasn’t good?”

He shook his head. “I think we both knew it wouldn’t be,” the emperor said softly. “He’s five. Almost five and a half. And he hasn’t shown… anything. Not even a spark.” Sebellius pressed a hand against his forehead. “Just like Tam.”

The emperor’s wife leaned heavily against the back of the bench, despair written all over her face. “The gods have abandoned us. That’s what they’ll say. Over thirty years of trying and all we have to show for it are a dozen stillborn babes and two…” she choked.

“Lis.” His throat trembling, Sebellius draped an arm around his wife’s shoulders, pulling her close. It was clear the emperor wanted to reassure her, but for once in his life he seemed to find himself unable to croon sweet nothings into her ear. “It’ll be the end,” he said instead. “If it’s found out.” He clenched his jaw. “I started the Gods’ Campaigns in response to Macaius’s birth. To thank the gods for their gift to us. If we were to reveal that he was a blank all along? His soul misplaced? It would… it would…”

It would destroy them. Sebellius had no doubt. He would be an emperor reviled, the citizens of his kingdom plunged into a panic as they realised what this all meant. Julissa was too old to bear any more children, after all. And Valzaim, Lange, and Macarinth had all begun posturing over the Campaigns. So if the people of Sebellius’s kingdom learned that his one and only heir was a blank? They would think the imperial bloodline polluted, perverted, dirty. And if he merely staged an accident instead? Dealt with Macaius as he had Tamsin? Still the people would titter. One healthy imperial heir suddenly dying was horrific and unlucky enough. But two? Even if his subjects believed whatever tale the court spun to explain it away-- a virulent sickness; a terrible fall-- that wouldn’t stop them from panicking. From thinking the gods had, just as Julissa feared, abandoned them like a litter of unwanted puppies left in a box along the side of the road, vulnerable and useless.

“They can’t know, Julissa,” the emperor said, swallowing back bile as it crawled up in his throat. “Do you understand? They can’t know. Nobody can know. Nobody!”

She bit her lip. “What do you mean to do? Give a play-wand to Macaius and try to hide his state from the empire?”

“Of course not,” her husband huffed. He let go of her, his hand dropping away from her shoulder as though he’d been burned. “That would never hold. And I won’t raise up a blank as my child, Julissa.”

Her teeth clenched, and she looked away. “That’s why you sent him here with me, isn’t it? You thought it might happen again. So you didn’t… you d-didn’t want it to hurt. Like it did with Tamsin. But what about me, Sebellius? Do… do you know how hard it’s been, with him smiling up at me and tugging my skirts to get my attention the same way she used to do?”

“Don’t you dare,” Sebellius growled. “That’s not why I sent you away with him. It’s not.”

It had been for Macaius’s health. That was the story that the emperor had insisted on nearly two years ago, when he’d had Julissa and their son move away from the Shadowed Palace and into the seaside cottage full-time. Sea air was beneficial for little children, after all. And the stresses of court life deleterious. Sebellius couldn’t come with himself, of course, not with his imperial duties back in Taika, but he visited when he could. And Julissa had enough help here without him: maids, knights, blank servants. It was like an extended holiday, really. A peaceful haven for Julissa and Macaius both.

And it’d had nothing to do with the fact that Macaius had been approaching the age when imperial children often showed their first signs of magic. The age when Tamsin hadn’t shown her first signs.

Of course it had nothing to do with that.

Of course!

“I won’t let this kingdom fall to ruination, Julissa,” the emperor told his wife. He almost seemed to mean this as a threat. “I won’t let myself fall to ruination. Not over this. Not over this.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, her voice thick as she whimpered, “Of course not, my emperor. What are we to do then?”

“We need a strong heir,” Sebellius replied. “A powerful heir. A living manifestation of the gods’ favour. Proof that the Campaigns are worth it, that the gods smile down on us, that the imperial bloodline is chosen and holy and…” He laughed. A bitter, strangled laugh. “No one at court has seen Macaius since he was three and a half. He’s grown quite a lot, hasn’t he? He’s lankier than he was. His hair’s gotten darker, too.”

The woman nodded warily. “He has freckles now. From the sun, playing on the beach. I doubt anyone would recognize him as the same child.”

“Kerena,” Sebellius said. This was a port city about three days north of Morze-Stok, beyond Taika the largest city in the province. “I’ll go to Kerena. By myself, in plainclothes, no escort.” He bit down so hard on his lip that it drew blood. “Their church nursery is well-stocked, almost overburdened-- as of the last quarterly report I received from Count Wronski, there were over forty children there. Waiting to be matched into their new homes. Healing from their sorry lives with their blank birth parents.”

Julissa looked back towards her husband with a frown. While it wasn’t uncommon for a young mage born to blank parents to be adopted into nobility if they were powerful enough, she didn’t see how doing so would solve the problem of the rest of the kingdom learning about Macaius being a blank. If anything taking on a ward would only confirm that something had gone wrong with-

Then it hit her, the comments about their son’s appearance and how long it had been since anyone had last seen him. Julissa’s hands clenched. “You… you can’t mean… you’re going to replace him? Find some child in Kerena and tell the kingdom that boy is Macaius?”

“It’s for the greater good, Julissa.” Hardly a denial. “Or do you wish to plunge this kingdom into calamity?”

There was a world of anguish in Julissa’s hazel eyes, and for a long moment she said nothing in reply. Then, finally, she bowed her head. “As you will, imperial majesty. And what about the real Macaius?”

“We’ll tell all the staff that he’s sick. In quarantine,” Sebellius said. He glanced behind his shoulder, toward the door that led back inside to the master suite. “In there. And we’ll forbid anyone from coming to this level at all.” The emperor’s tone had gone… steely. Almost detached, as if he were discussing something very boring and distant from him. “Actually,” he went on, “we’ll say that I’m ill, too. Quarantined with him. And then… once the moment is right…” Sebellius made himself meet Julissa’s eyes. “I’ll take him with me, Lis. When I slip off to Kerena.”

“Take him with you? And…?” his wife pressed.

“There’s a lot of coastline between here and Kerena,” Sebellius said simply, his gaze turning back out toward the frothing ocean. “The gods have saddled us with this mistake. So it is to the gods that we will leave its resolution.”

***

“Master… Janda, it was?” the priest said, a brow raised as he studied the plainly dressed stranger in front of him. “I thank you for coming to visit today. It is not often that we get visitors from as far-flung as Aurelia. It was nearly a weeklong ride, you said?”

“Six days,” agreed the man who was presently passing himself off as one Metody Janda, a barber from the small countryside town of Aurelia, which was located in the far northwestern corner of Marjan province. Sebellius had never been to Aurelia; few had. Then, of course, this was the point. “It’s a shame one can only seek a child within his own province,” Sebellius added. “After all, the larger cities of Abital province are much closer to Aurelia than Kerena is… and I was so surprised, too, when I discovered that wards from all across Marjan are taken only to here or Taika. It makes sense, of course, so that priests who are experienced in dealing with children who’ve faced the trauma being raised by blanks can rehabilitate the poor things, but… harder for us rural folks, I suppose.” He smiled sadly at the priest, hand steady as he reached into the pocket of his thin cloak and pulled out from it a small, sealed scroll bearing the imperial stamp. “Here. My writ of priority. Still sealed, as required.”

The priest reached out, accepting the scroll and inspecting the stamp before he reached for his wand and muttered a spell to break the seal. Once he’d read through the contents, he gave a polite smile. “Everything here appears to be in order, Master Janda. The misplaced child was five, according to the paperwork? Before the Silver Eyes confiscated him.”

“My wife thought he was just a late bloomer,” Sebellius replied, his voice laden with what might have been genuine regret. “But in my family, few children reach their fifth birthday without at least some sign of their magic.” The truth. “So I paid for testing, even though my dear Iga thought I should just be patient. Sadly, the tests confirmed my fears. But it is better to have learned early than to have suffered another few years of anguished anticipation, I suppose.” He sighed. “I wish Iga could have come with me here. But travel is so expensive, especially all the way from Aurelia.”

“Understandable,” the priest replied with sympathy. “I’m sorry for your misfortune, but rest assured that we will right this misalignment of the cosmos.” He tapped the writ. “Your true child is no doubt here somewhere. The soul that should have gone to your son merely waiting for you to find it. Since your boy was five, I’ll bring all the children five and six years old- within the range that a soul might become lost. There is a holding room just this way where you may wait while I gather them.”

“Of course. Thank you.” Sebellius beamed, his voice as thick and sweet as honey. “Thank you so very much for this godly service. This blessing that you’re bestowing upon dear Iga and me.”

“Only doing my duty as a servant of the gods,” the priest replied with a smile. He led Sebellius down the hallway to a large room that contained a rug, several chairs, and very little else- a room that was apparently set aside for just this purpose. The priest left again, and about fifteen minutes later returned with a veritable horde of five and six year old children in tow. It seemed there had not been an exaggeration about how overburdened the church was.

Immediately, the undercover emperor’s eyes went dancing, flicking amongst the children as if he were a buyer of fine art at an auction-house. He dismissed all of the girls immediately, of course, barely sparing them a first glance, let alone a second. And of the boys… Well, that one was much too slight of frame, the one beside him with hair far too pale. Another had blue eyes, piercing as ice, which were a stark contrast to the mottled hazel Sebellius required. Hell, strike all of the blue-eyed children. And the blonds. And the raven-haired.

“These are the lot of them,” the priest said, oblivious to the calculations already passing through his guest’s head. “Please, feel free to walk amongst them and speak with whomever catches your eye- though we’ve been working with them as best we can to shake the habits of their blank-raised days, sadly we can’t give them all as much individual attention as we’d like. However, it does mean they are quiet and obedient, and most will cooperate with whatever you ask of them to determine their suitability to join your family.” As if in demonstration, the priest clapped his hands once and called, “Sit, children, so that Master Janda may see you all properly.”

The children obediently fanned out into the room, sitting with their legs folded and their eyes downcast submissively. This made it easier to see their hair, at least, but their eyes not so much, and Sebellius had to fight back a frown as he slowly started forward, threading through the tangle of children like a bumblebee between flowers. He hoped the priest could not hear how hard his heart was pounding, thundering like an avalanche against his ribcage. His stomach churned, much as it had in the room with Chancellor Rusnak back in Morze-Stok when the poor, doomed man had delivered the news about Macaius. What if he didn’t find a proper boy?

Though Sebellius shoved this thought away just as soon as it had bloomed in his mind, the more children he examined and dismissed, the more frequently it attempted to needle back into his head. There were a lot of possibilities here, yes, but the number was hardly infinite, the forty children he’d boasted of to Julissa back on the balcony suddenly seeming a very small amount, indeed. And if the emperor didn’t discover a suitable Macaius here, then…

Then nothing.

Then, it was over.

He was too recognizable in Taika to go searching through its church nursery. And he didn’t want to set about forging the seal of Margrave Sierzant of Abital province to go combing through its stock of children. Nor did he have time for such a goose chase anyway, not when the quarantine excuse would only hold out for so long before the cottage staff began to whisper. And whispers led to rumours, rumours to ruin.

Sebellius was not going to let himself-- or his kingdom-- be ruined.

“Something amiss, Master Janda?” the priest inquired after the silence in the room had stretched uncomfortably long. “If there is anything I can help you with, you need only name it.”

“No, nothing’s wrong.” This was a very big lie. “Nothing’s wrong at all.” He swallowed hard as he floated toward the corner of the room, where a trio of children had retreated together and now sat in a silent, quivering clump. Two of them were girls, their locks black and glossy as ebony, but sandwiched between them was a small boy, his pale skin freckled and a mop of curly dark brown hair atop his head. “What’s this one’s name?” Sebellius murmured, his heart leaping into his throat.

“That would be Bodhan,” the priest replied, coming up to Sebellius’ side with an encouraging smile. “He came to us about two months ago. A very bright young lad, for being wholly uneducated up until this point- and despite both parents and both sets of grandparents apparently having not a jot of magic, he’s got tremendous potential in him. We honestly thought he might go to a count or baron, but none of the ones in this province currently suffer a misplaced child and he has not been here long enough to merely give over. Generally we wait at least three months on new arrivals before we give up on their true parents coming for them with a writ and put them up for general adoption.”

“I see,” Sebellius breathed. Hoping-- praying-- that this was not all about to fall apart, he said to the boy, “Look at me, Bodhan.” And let your eyes be hazel. Please, gods, let them be hazel.

Bodhan obediently lifted his face to Sebellius, biting down hard on his lip. The eyes that gazed upwards, bright with distress, were a murky shade of yellow-green-- not the patchwork of green and brown that had been Macaius’s eyes.

For a moment, the breath evaporated from Sebellius’s lungs. He could nearly feel his future shattering in front of him, bursting into countless shards that spiked into his gut like tiny needles. Quickly, almost frantically, he spun on his heel, eyes quick as striking snakes as he once more scanned the room. Desperate to have missed someone: his perfect solution, there before him like a beacon of light at the end of a black horizon.

But there was no one new; Sebellius found himself gazing at the same hopeless throng. Girls, blue eyes, blond hair… too scrappy, too dark, nose too pert, brow too strong...

He turned back toward Bodhan. “How old are you, boy?” the emperor demanded.

Bodhan flinched at the emperor’s tone. “F-f-five, Master. Just… J-just turned ‘fore they took me here.”

“Stand up,” Sebellius commanded. Gods, those eyes. Curse those eyes! … But then again, green was closer to hazel than blue, wasn’t it? And it had been so very long since anyone at court had seen Macaius. “I… I want to see you better,” the emperor rambled on, his voice pitching. He realized he was tongue-tied. Could he ever before recall being tongue-tied? “And... and-- I want to know about your magic. What you did. How it came to light that you were a mage.”

The boy looked almost in tears at this interrogation, scrambling to his feet and shaking like a leaf. “I… I-I made lights. ‘Cause we couldn’t afford candles. Mama was cryin’ ‘cause she got m-mugged coming home and her money got took and she couldn’t buy candles and… b-but then when I did it, when I made the lights for her, she just cried more.” He looked down, his voice strangling. “I’m s-s-sorry.”

“It’s… it’s okay,” Sebellius forced out. “You’re okay, Bodhan,” he added. “You haven’t done anything wrong.” Gingerly, as if he were attempting to stroke a stray and possibly feral dog, he reached out and set his hand on the child’s shoulder. “How would you like to live away from here? With a new mama and papa?”

Bodhan choked back a sob, looking conflicted. But then, reluctantly, he nodded. “O-okay, M-master.”

“No,” Sebellius said, softly but very firmly. “You don’t need to call anybody ‘master’ anymore, Bodhan.” Not when green was so very nearly hazel; the emperor turned back toward the priest. “I think,” he announced, a lilt creeping back into his tone, “that I’ve found my son.”

***

“He’s a sweet-looking child, isn’t he?” Sebellius murmured about a week later, back south in the imperial cottage in Morze-Stok. He was sitting at the very edge of the master suite’s large canopy bed, watching fondly as the little boy once known as Bodhan tossed and turned from deep within the throes of a dream. “I wish we didn’t have to sedate him so heavily, of course,” the emperor continued. “It’s necessary, but… I do hope he’s not having nightmares.”

Julissa looked down at the freckled child lying on the bed- so like Macaius, and yet not him. The emperor’s wife pursed her lips. “What now? We can’t keep him under forever, and once he wakes it will be obvious from his behavior this boy was not raised a prince. Assuming we can get him to keep up the ruse; five year olds are not the best secret keepers.”

“Unless he doesn’t think it’s a ruse at all,” Sebellius countered, his cheeks warming as he stroked a tender hand through the child’s sweat-matted curls. “Children are quite… flexible, Julissa. Especially at this age. Their memories are nebulous. They’re very suggestible. When we begin to bring him out of his stupor, he’ll be confused. His perception of time warped. His recollection of recent events… hazy. We can use this to our advantage.”

“Make him think he really is Macaius?” Julissa sounded incredulous. “How?”

“As far as the staff in this cottage is concerned, he’s been deliriously ill for weeks. Feverish. Bedridden.” The emperor shrugged. “So we wean him off the potions slowly. Deliberately. Keep him… tired. Suggestible. Begin to reaffirm that story. That he’s been sick. Hallucinating. Having horrible nightmares while suffering from a devastating fever. We treat him as our son. Cuddle with him. Reassure him. Convince him that we are the true parents-- not the fever dream blanks. None of that was real. It was only a product of the sickness.”

“And if those blanks were ever to see him, or he them, the jig would be up immediately,” Julissa pointed out.

“The blanks will not be an issue, Julissa,” Sebellius said tartly. “Gods, I’ve been the emperor of Meltaim for nearly thirty years. Do you think I would have left loose ends like that?” He glowered, caught himself, then smoothly continued , “I’m hoping it won’t take more than two or three weeks, maybe a month. And once he starts improving somewhat in his retention of the story, we can take him back to Taika. Fold him into the court as Macaius. Our Macaius. The only Macaius there ever was and ever will be.”

Julissa closed her eyes, clasping her hands together. “Of course, imperial majesty. I submit to your wisdom in this.”

But this wasn’t her child. In Julissa’s heart she knew that. She’d had two children, and they’d been born soulless and consigned to death. The Meltaiman empress couldn’t bring herself to open her heart to another, let alone one who hadn’t been born to her and would be masquerading as Macaius.

This boy would know her as mother, but in her heart she would never think him her son.

“Julissa.” As he watched the battle of emotions that was waging in his wife’s eyes, Sebellius squared his jaw. “I’m not going to have a problem from you, am I, my dear? Because you know what would happen if anyone ever found out about this. This isn’t just like rectifying Tamsin. This is… this is…” He waved a hand, frustrated. “It would be so very unfortunate, if in the end it were my sweet, kind-hearted wife who led to our kingdom’s damnation.”

“I said,” she retorted, her voice cracking, “that I submit to your wisdom. I will help you to convince this child he is Macaius, and I will keep your secret. But don’t ask what I can’t make myself give.”

“Our secret,” Sebellius corrected. “Not mine. But ours.” He stood, straightening himself so that for a moment he towered over Julissa like a mountain above the earth. Then, a saccharine smile ticking at the corners of his lips, he reached his arms forward and drew her into a hug that scarcely even masqueraded as comforting. “We tell nobody, Lis,” the emperor of Meltaim whispered into his wife’s ear. “Not your siblings. Not your courtiers. I’m not even telling Henryk. Do you understand me?”

“Perfectly,” she whispered, resigned. “The secret will die when we do. You have my word.”

“That’s my girl,” Sebellius crooned, kissing Julissa’s cheek. “And can I be the first to say that I’m so very excited to have you back in the capital with me, my dear? It will be nice after all this time you’ve spent away from me in Morze-Stok, won’t it?”

“Of course,” she agreed. The words tasting bitter on her tongue she added, “Macaius and I will be glad to finally return home.”

***

Bodhan finally woke from his confusing, bleary, drug-induced delirium dreams several hours later. The child still had copious amounts of sedatives coursing through his system so that his mind was fogged with confusion, and the room seemed to be spinning when he tried to open his eyes, and he closed them again with a pained moan. His voice heavily slurred, he whimpered, “P-Papa, it hurts!”

Having dragged a plush armchair up to the bedside, and settled into it with a book in his lap, Sebellius startled at the sound of the child’s voice. “Macaius,” he said, his voice soft as cotton. He closed the book and set it aside. “It’s okay, honey. You’re okay. Papa’s here.” He didn’t know whether to be grateful or annoyed that Julissa had slunk off about an hour ago, claiming she was going to go mad if she had to spend much longer shut up in the master suite. “Do you need water, honey?” Sebellius went on. “Papa can get you a glass.”

The little boy opened his eyes again, looking up at Sebellius. Though he couldn’t quite get the man’s face to come into focus, he flinched at the unfamiliar voice. “P-P-Papa,” he whined. “Where’s my Papa?”

“I’m right here, Macaius,” Sebellius said, reaching out a hand and wiping the child’s long curls away from his clammy forehead. “I know you’re a little confused right now, but you’re okay. You’ve just been sick, sweetie. For a while now.”

The child shook his head, shrinking away from Sebellius’ hand with a shrill wail. “Mama, Papa! Where are they? Wh-who are y-y-you?” He scrunched up into a fetal curl, trying in vain to stop the horrible vertigo that was rocking his small body. “Wh-why’s it all spinning?”

“Oh, honey.” Delicately, Sebellius eased himself off the chair and up onto the bed, his motions tender as he reached out toward the newly minted Macaius and drew the boy close. “Just close your eyes, okay? Papa’s right here for you. And he’s not going anywhere-- promise.”

“N-not Papa,” the child objected woozily, though he obeyed the directive to close his eyes and instinctively curled into the comforting grasp. “Papa’s a blank, got a b-b-brand, you’re not Papa, you’re not!”

“A blank brand?” Sebellius feigned massive befuddlement. “No, honey, of course Papa doesn’t have a blank brand. You must be confused right now. Because of your fever.” He sighed, glancing toward a jar of minty green liquid that sat on the night table. “Here, why don’t you have a bit more fever potion, Macaius?” he suggested. “It’ll help you sleep for a little more.”

Bodhan blinked his eyes open again to look up at Sebellius, though he immediately regretted it as his world lurched violently and shut his eyes again. “Wh-who’s Macaius?”

“You are, my silly boy,” Sebellius said, reaching with his free hand toward the potion that most certainly was not designed for fevers. “Now why don’t you take a sip, okay? It’ll help you feel better. And Papa won’t leave you-- he promises.” He smiled at the boy. “Maybe Mama will come see you next time you’re awake, too. She’s been so worried about you, honey.”

“Mama?” the boy repeated, his voice hopeful. In his half-drugged state he had been too distracted by the rest of what Sebellius said to think to object that he was not in fact Macaius. “She’s at work?”

“Work?” Sebellius shook his head, using the arm that was wrapped around the child to gently ease him up into a sitting position. “No, sweetie. Mama’s just in the parlour, I think. Taking her tea.” He eased the jar of liquid toward the little boy’s lips. “One sip for me, okay? I’ll get you some water or juice for next time you wake up. And some bread, too, if you’re feeling up to it.”

The child looked even more confused, but he was long conditioned to doing as he was told by mages and obediently opened his lips for the potion. After a few minutes his muscles went limp, and the child formerly known as Bodhan drifted back to sleep. As the little boy’s breathing leveled off, Sebellius sighed and gazed down at him, drinking in the face that from now on would be his son’s. One day, this clammy wretch in his arms would be emperor of Meltaim; it was at once incredible and nauseating to think about. But not nearly so nauseating as the idea of what would have happened had Bodhan not been at the church nursery that day. By gods, what a stroke of fortune: only two months prior and Sebellius would have missed him; another month and he’d have likely been adopted out to some lowly count or baron.

But instead, the fates had aligned. For once in Sebellius’s reign, everything had come so tidily together.

And green really wasn’t so different than hazel. Of this, Sebellius was suddenly entirely sure.

Perhaps, Sebellius thought, he truly does have the soul that was meant for my son. He was never designed to be Bodhan. He was supposed to be my Macaius all along.

Echoes of the Past: Part Two

SPOILER: Click to show

Julissa reclined on the large master bed, the green-eyed child who by this point had started answering to “Macaius”- albeit with befuddlement- cuddled against her chest. It had been two and a half weeks since his arrival in the cottage. His doses of the sedative were gradually being weaned, replaced instead by a powerful concoction to keep him relaxed, but not sleepy. In a semi-trancelike state, awake and aware but not really thinking or rationalizing much. Julissa stroked the child’s hair habitually, as he clung tight to her torso and stared across the room with eyes unfocused.

There was the sound of a click, and the empress looked up just in time to see her husband walk into the room. Sebellius was dressed plainly by his standards, in gray silk robes over a pale silver tunic and matching breeches; the colour combination made his white complexion look especially washed out, though warmth flooded to his cheeks when he noticed little Macaius awake, the emperor smiling as his dark eyes hooked on the boy’s filmy green ones.

“Hello, my dears,” he greeted, striding up to Macaius and Julissa and perching himself at the edge of the bed. “Are you feeling any better today, honey?” The emperor reached out and placed a hand on Macaius’s forehead. “A little cooler, thank the gods. Perhaps your fever’s finally breaking, Mac.”

The child bit his lip, confusion and anxiety flitting across his young face, but after a moment he seemed to give up the battle to reclaim whatever stray thought he’d been chasing and sighed softly. “My head’s all funny,” he muttered, sniffling. “It hurts.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Sebellius crooned. “But Mama and Papa are here for you, okay?” He patted the little boy’s shoulder. “Would you like Papa to send for some food for you, Macaius? I can have the cook whip up some nice soup. Or bake a fresh loaf of bread for you.”

The child’s brow furrowed. “But… need to save the food…”

“Save the food?” Sebellius asked. “Why would we need to save the food, my love? We’ve more than enough-- you know that.” Extending his arms toward Macaius, he eased the boy away from Julissa and settled him against his own chest. “We can have a nice supper in bed. You, me, and Mama. You just tell me what you want, alright? And I’ll make it happen.” Then, after a very deliberate pause, he added: “Anything my little prince desires.”

Macaius tensed. “P… Prince? What d’you mean?”

“He means what he says, little one,” Julissa remarked with a tired smile. “You’re our dear little prince. The crown prince of all Meltaim.”

“Wh-what’s a crown prince?” the child asked.

“Papa’s heir, of course,” Sebellius told him brightly, as if this were a perfectly ordinary fact of the boy’s life that he ought to have known all along. “Because Papa’s emperor, right, Macaius? And you’re his and Mama’s only child.”

“Y-you’re the… the…” Macaius’ eyes widened with something akin to terror, and he looked up sharply. “N-n-no, that’s… Papa’s a s-s-sla-”

“Macaius.” The emperor’s voice had grown sharp. “Why would say such a thing, sweetheart? Of course Papa’s not a slave.” He clucked his tongue regretfully, patting the little boy’s back. “This fever’s certainly done a number on you, hasn’t it? My poor little Mac.”

The child wilted, his eyes swimming with tears. “Wh-why?” he whimpered. “Why don’t I ‘member? Y-you or M-m-mama or, or bein’ prince or… or anything?” A strangled sob broke free of him, and he began to weep in earnest as he buried his face in Sebellius’ chest. “Why don’t I remember?”

“Oh, Macaius.” Sebellius caressed the child’s dark, tousled locked. “I’m so sorry, honey. I’m sure you’ll remember soon. Once you’re not quite so sick.” He hugged the boy closer. “Remember how you and Mama used to go down to the beach, Mac? And make sandcastles together?” He looked toward Julissa. “Wasn’t that always so much fun, my dear?”

She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “It was lots of fun. And you would put leaves on top of the castles to be the banners. Remember?”

“I…” Macaius was silent, seeming to be wracking his brains desperately. Julissa had carried him out onto the balcony a few times to see the ocean and let him get some fresh air, so he knew what the beach looked like. In his mind he tried to picture it- himself with this woman who said she was his Mama, pushing the sand up into a building shape. Putting a leaf on top. It sounded like fun- he could sort of imagine it, though it was fuzzy through the drugs addling his mind. “C-castles… castles got water, right? Around ‘em.”

“Moats,” Julissa supplied. “Sometimes, yes.”

“Could… could dig a moat in the sand,” Macaius suggested. “Put the ocean water in it.”

“What a nice idea,” Sebellius purred. “You’re such a creative boy, Macaius. Always have been.” He kissed the crown of the boy’s head. “Now. Tell me, love-- what would you like to eat? Stew? Cheese? Fruit? Anything you want, just tell me and I’ll make it happen.”

Macaius seemed to relax a bit, his tear-streaked face cracking a tiny smile. “Can I have the chicken? With the red-purple stuff on it?”

“That’s cranberry sauce, Mac,” Julissa supplied.

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Sebellius agreed cheerily. “And how about some strawberries, too? I can have the cook whip up some sweet cream to eat with them. Would you like that, Mac?”

“Okay,” the boy agreed, nodding. He hesitated, then hugged Sebellius around the neck. “I… I l-love you, Papa. I’m sorry I can’t ‘m-member things.”

“I love you, too, honey,” Sebellius murmured in return. “And it’s okay-- it’s not your fault the fever’s made things all confusing. I’m just glad you’re finally getting better.” He smiled softly at the boy. “You had me worried for a while, Mac.”

“When I get better, we can make sand castles?” he asked. “All of us?”

“Of course,” Sebellius said. “And once we go back to Taika, you can play in the gardens, love. And swim in the imperial baths. It should be summer by then-- nice and warm. Maybe some of your cousins can come down for a visit, too. You can all play together.”

“What… what if they’re mad?” Macaius asked, faltering. “Mad that I don’t ‘member?”

“Well, you haven’t seen them in a long while, so it’s perfectly natural you’ve forgotten.” Sebellius waved a borderline dismissive hand. “And-- if they were upset anyway, well… they have no right to be, Macaius. You’re their crown prince. And it’s not your fault you’ve been so sick. No one ever has any right to be mad at you, okay? Not when one day this entire kingdom will be yours.”

The little boy blinked, looking confused and surprised. “Nobody… nobody can hit me?”

“Hit you?” Sebellius seemed horrified. “Of course not, Macaius. And if anyone ever tried…” The emperor clenched his jaw. “Well, then you tell Mama and Papa. And we’ll take care of it right away, alright?”

“O-okay,” the boy agreed, nodding. “The dreams were scary, Papa. I got hitted a lot.”

“They were just dreams, sweetie,” Julissa said softly. “They can’t hurt you. You don’t ever have to worry about people hitting you. Nobody would hit the emperor’s son.”

The child turned around, looking confused. “Mama, are you sad?”

“N-no, honey,” Julissa replied, forcing a smile. “I’m just tired, that’s all. I’ve been so worried about you, you know. Since you’ve been sick.”

“We’ve both been worried,” Sebellius agreed. “Because we love you so much, Macaius. You’re such an important little boy. Mama and Papa’s sweet little prince.”

The child formerly known as Bodhan, now Prince Macaius, gave a wobbly smile. “Y-yeah. I… I love you too, Mama ‘n Papa.” Nestling his head against Sebellius’ collarbone, he murmured, “I love you too.”

***

It took another three weeks to wholly wean Macaius off the relaxants, by which time Sebellius and Julissa had repeated the story of the little boy’s alleged fever so many times that he’d stopped suggesting altogether that his ideas of a miserable other life-- with blank parents, in a blank ghetto-- were anything more than a horrible, sickness-induced dream. Keeping to his promise, Sebellius brought the boy down to the beach, so that the two of them and Julissa could play in the surf, and as he watched young Bodhan-turned-Macaius splash about in the frothing waves, the emperor beamed as brightly as did the late spring sun overhead. His son. This was his son. And gods help anyone who ever dared conjecture otherwise.

The next day, the imperial party left back for Taika. Sebellius, Julissa, and Macaius sat in the safety of a well-appointed carriage as a large contingent of knights escorted them, and although usually Sebellius loathed the tedium of travel, for once he found himself enjoying it. He was heading back to the Shadowed Palace with his heir. His precious heir. A mage, so powerful and sweet and bright.

“We’ll need to get you your wand, Mac,” he told the boy cheerfully on the third afternoon of their journey, when they were only about four or five hours out from Taika. “Mama tells me you’ve been calling light for a few months now. But I want you in proper lessons starting soon.” The emperor grinned down at the child, who was seated beside him. “The Silver Eyes need to examine you first, just to gauge the full depth of your power. But after that? You’ll be ready for your own wand, just like Mama and Papa have.”

The little boy looked at Julissa’s wand with a shy smile. It was older, the woman having had it since she lived with her birth family, and it was still decked with gems in her old house colors of orange and red. “Can… can my wand have some of those in blue? Like the sky.”

“Of course,” Sebellius said. “All the gems you want, honey. A wand is any mage’s most important tool, after all.” The emperor grinned and ruffled the boy’s hair. “And you’ll have so much fun in your lessons-- learning all the magic a prince could ever need to know!”

And so it was. Though initially the child was overawed at the sight of the palace, and somewhat intimidated by the sheer volume of people, he gradually settled into his new life. To Sebellius’ profound relief, no one seemed to notice the child was a changeling, his odd eye color entirely unremarked upon. The servants and slaves in the palace treated him with as much deference as they would have any crown prince, and gradually the child seemed to respond to this treatment by acting the part. He walked with more confidence and held his head high. His former shy, skittish behavior seemed to evaporate like dew in the summer sun.

Macaius was tested by the palace Silver Eyes, who confirmed what the priest back in Kerena had said- he was possessed of extraordinary untapped potential, quite nearly as strong as Sebellius himself. This pleased the emperor to no end, Sebellius blithely announcing the news to anyone who would hear it, waxing animatedly about how this so clearly showed the gods’ favour and embrace. “Our reward for our devotion!” he prattled. “We are the gods’ faithful servants, and they’ve not let that go unnoticed!”

Macaius practically glowed under this praise. Within a month at Taika he was entirely unrecognizable as the little boy from the church. Within two no one would have ever guessed he hadn’t been brought up a prince his entire life.

At two and a half months in Taika, however, there was a snag.

It had started out like any other day. Macaius had his breakfast, played in his nursery for a bit, and then went out for etiquette lessons. From there he proceeded to reading lessons- his personal favorite- and then the all-important magic lessons.

It was half an hour into the boy’s magic lessons that Sebellius received a frantic pounding on his office door. “Imperial majesty! Imperial majesty!”

The emperor, presenting wading through a pile of tax documents, stiffened in his desk chair. “Enter,” he said, his hand immediately closing over his wand, Sebellius fully prepared to draw it if need be.

The man who came into the room was one of the assistant healers who worked in the palace. “Your excellency, the tutor just brought Macaius from his magic lessons- he’s clawing at his head and sobbing for you and Empress Julissa, and babbling something that we can’t make any sense of. The chief healer bid me to fetch you at once.”

The emperor’s blood ran cold. “Bring me to him,” he ordered, lurching to his feet. “Now.”

The healer obeyed, threading through the labyrinthine halls of the Shadowed Palace until they arrived at the corridor where the palace healers were headquartered. Macaius’ magic tutor, a woman in her late twenties with long blonde hair, looked up sharply as the emperor approached the door where Macaius was being kept, then bowed low. “Y-your imperial majesty, I don’t know what happened! He was having some difficulty with a spell and I, I just ruffled his hair a bit to comfort him and then he just, he looked up at me like I was a demon and shrieked, babbling something about his mother and his head hurting and, and…”

“Be silent,” Sebellius snarled, shouldering around the hysterical woman to gaze down at Macaius. The boy was curled up atop a sick cot, knees drawn up to his chest and his green eyes gone bloodshot. Sweat matted his forehead, and his usually carefully combed curls had turned frizzy, wild. “Macaius.” The emperor’s voice was light as a feather as he crouched at the child’s side. “Macaius, honey, what’s wrong?”

“Sh-she had hair like honey. Dark gold,” he muttered, his voice shaking. “I remember. And sh-she would muss my hair like that. All the time. And smile and call me a good boy.”

“Who on earth are you talking about, Macaius?” Sebellius murmured. “One of your nurses back in Morze-Stok?”

He shook his head emphatically. “M… my… my Mama. Sh-she was my mama, sh-she-”

“Mama has brown hair, honey,” Sebellius interrupted, gently but insistently. “This is just one of your dreams, remember? From when you were sick and hallucinating.” He spared a thin smile toward the boy’s tutor, who was still cowering at his flank. “Mac was quite ill up in Morze-Stok for a while, as you may have heard,” the emperor clarified for her. “He had… fever dreams, I suppose. Quite confusing ones.”

“I… I see,” the woman said, relaxing a little. “I’m terribly sorry, your excellency, I hadn’t meant to remind him of such a traumatic time.”

Macaius whimpered, clutching his forehead and covering his eyes with his hands. “My head huuuurts.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” He flicked his gaze toward the healers. “You’ve given him something for his pain, I do hope?”

The chief healer, standing nearby wearing a look of great unease, nodded hurriedly. “Y-yes, of course, your imperial majesty,” she squeaked. “As soon as he got here. It should k-kick in within the next five or ten minutes.”

“I see.” Frowning, Sebellius deliberated with himself for a long, silent moment. Then, decisively, he stood and immediately reached down toward Macaius, pulling the small boy up into his arms. “Let’s go up to Papa’s room, okay?” he said. “You can be done with lessons for today. Rest off your headache, and I’ll… I’ll stay with you as long as you need.”

The child flinched a bit, but didn’t resist. “O-okay.”

As Sebellius carried Macaius up to the imperial chambers, the medicine that the healer had given the child seemed to kick in. His eyelids drooped, and the pained tension went out of his body. By the time the emperor sat his heir down on the bed, he’d stopped hyperventilating entirely, and the bloodshot state of his eyes was fading.

“Feeling better, Mac?” Sebellius prompted, pulling back the blankets so that Macaius could nestle beneath them.

“A little,” he murmured, his voice as low and uncertain as it had been back in the cottage by the beach. “P-papa I do remember, I do! It… it doesn’t feel like a dream, I ‘member her holding me and s-singing and I remember all the words and-”

“Macaius,” the emperor cut in. “It’s not real. You know it’s not real. It was just your fever playing with your mind. Making you unable to tell apart fantasy from reality.” He kissed the boy’s forehead. “There’s no blonde woman, Macaius. There was never a blonde woman. Only Mama.”

The boy said nothing in reply. Instead his breath hitched, and he covered his face with the blanket. The child’s shoulders shook hard as he started to cry, and with a jaded sigh, Sebellius sat on the bed beside the child and pulled him up into his lap. “Now, now, don’t cry, Mac,” the emperor said, prying the blanket away from Macaius’s face. “There’s nothing to cry over. Look at me, son.”

Macaius looked up at the emperor obediently, his green eyes swimming, and Sebellius smiled at him. “The fever hurt your thoughts, honey,” he told the boy. “And after how bad it was… well, it’s not surprising that you still sometimes have moments of confusion. But that’s all it is, okay? Just confusion. Nothing more. You understand that, right?”

The child sniffled, but after a moment seemed to give up the struggle to find an objection through the painkillers fogging his thoughts, and nodded. “P-papa? I’m… I’m s-scared.”

“Scared?” Sebellius touched the child’s cheek. “Why are you scared, Macaius?”

“I dunno,” the little boy said. “I just… am. Like… like I’m…” he moaned with frustration. “Princes are supposed to be brave a-and I’m not. I was b’fore but I’m not, everyth-thing’s scary.”

“You’ve gone through a hard time, honey,” Sebellius said. “It’s okay to be a little scared. But… you’re okay now. You’re healthy. And safe.” He squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “I think you’ve been very brave. Getting through your sickness like you did. Never giving up, even when you felt so horrible.”

Macaius smiled; it was a very small smile, one as fragile as glass, but a smile all the same. “P-Papa, can… can you tell me a story?”

“Of course,” the emperor agreed, arms still wrapped around the child. “A real story or a made-up one, Mac?”

The child gnawed on his lip a bit, then said, “A… a real one. From… from b’fore I got sick.”

“Sure.” Sebellius stroked his hair. “Let’s see. How about… the story of your fourth birthday, Macaius? Do you remember your fourth birthday at all?”

The boy’s eyes flickered with confusion- no doubt he was remembering his fourth birthday with his blank parents. But after a moment, he shook his head. “Nuh-uh. I… I don’t.”

“Well,” Sebellius said softly, “you were up in Morze-Stok with Mama, of course. It was very, very warm for late autumn-- you remember that, right? How the sea was still warm enough to swim in?”

The boy clenched at his father’s shirt, his eyes clouded with drugs and confusion. “I… I went s-swimming? With Mama?”

“Mmhm. And Papa, too. Because I came up to visit you just for your birthday. We went swimming, and then we had cake. Apple cake. With honey. You ate so many slices you got sick.”

“Apple cake,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “With… with cim-no-min? And… and pecans. It’s yummy.”

“Yes, lots of pecans.” In truth, Sebellius couldn’t remember if there had been pecans on the cake. But that didn’t matter. Why would it? “See, I knew you’d remember, love. It’s all there, in your head. The fever just made it… cloudy. Muddled.”

“Uh-huh.” The little boy tried to imagine it. A warm beach. Swimming with Julissa and Sebellius. Apple cake, so much he’d thrown up. In his mind’s eye he could picture the scene, and after a moment he gave a small smile. “Will we ever go back? To Morze-Stok. It’s fun.”

“Maybe some day,” Sebellius said vaguely. “But not any time soon. We’re too busy here in Taika, honey. Papa has so much business, and you have your lessons, and well…” The emperor shrugged. “But you can have fun here, too. There are lots of places to play around the palace, aren’t there?”

The little boy nodded, but bit his lip. “It’s big though. And Mama’s busy a lot here. I have to play by myself. At the beach Mama played with me, right?”

“Right,” he agreed, the gears churning in his head. Saying nothing for a moment, the emperor smoothed the boy’s dark hair again. Then, he murmured, “What if Papa got you a friend to play with, Macaius? Someone who can go to lessons with you, and… and swimming in the baths, and-- everything else? So that you’re not lonely when Mama and Papa are busy.”

Macaius brightened. “Really? That’s okay?”

“Of course,” Sebellius assured him. “Papa’s brother is coming down to visit next month, you know. Bringing some of his kids with. Perhaps one can stay here after Uncle Eligiusz goes home.” That was how he’d ended up with Henryk all those years ago-- the boy had come along with his parents for a visit to Taika, and after taking a liking to the child, Sebellius had decided to keep him on as a permanent patch of the palace fabric. “Just let me know if any one of your cousins is especially fun to play with, Mac,” the emperor added. “And Papa will make it happen, okay? After all, my little prince doesn’t deserve to be lonely.”

“Okay, Papa,” the child agreed. He hugged Sebellius, sighing softly. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” Sebellius returned. “So much, Macaius. So very, very much.”

***

Sebellius’s younger brother Eligiusz arrived to the Shadowed Palace the next month with his five children in tow-- the eldest of them sixteen, the youngest only three. Macaius found himself spending most of his time with the middle trio: nine-year-old twin boys, as rambunctious as puppies, and their six-year-old sister, Emilie. The littler girl followed her brothers like a duckling, quietly agreeing to whatever games they wanted to play, even when it was clear that she wasn’t wholly interested. Which was how the child found herself a great many number of places she didn’t wish to be-- including in one of the imperial baths’ larger pools about a week into the visit, clinging to the edge as the twins splashed each other a few yards away, giggling like maniacs. Macaius, paddling lazily back and forth nearby, glanced her way with a small frown.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, drawing closer to his cousin. “Are you okay, Emilie?”

The girl shrugged, her long, flaxen braids swirling in the water below. “I didn’t wanna swim,” she said demurely. “We’ve already swum every day.” Quickly, the girl added, “B-but it’s okay. If… you wanted to swim, Prince Macaius. Th-then it’s alright, I…”

Macaius shrugged, pulling up so that he was holding the side of the pool as well. “I swam all the time for a while, ‘cause I was living at the beach with Mama. So I didn’t mind when they asked, but I don’t really want to either.” He tilted his head. “What do you wanna do?”

“I dunno,” Emilie said. “I-it’d be fun to go out into the city. If someone would take us. Or… or we could play in the gardens. Or with your toys in the nursery.” The child gnawed on her lip, her dark eyes thoughtful. “I like the animal figurines you have. The bespelled ones that move in your hand.”

Macaius brightened, nodding. “I like ‘em too. The doggie is my favorite. ‘Cause he wags his tail. I named him Blackie. Maybe someday if I’m really good and do well at my lessons Papa will let me have a real doggie.”

Emilie grinned. “We’ve got kitties. Back at home. White ones, like snow. I like to cuddle with them when everyone else is…” The girl hesitated. “Distracted, I guess. ‘Cos they like me even when Mama and Papa are busy, and the twins are playin’ with just each other, and everybody else is… is doin’ other things.”

Macaius smiled wanly. “That’s why I want a doggie. ‘Cause… ‘Cause I don’t got any brothers or sisters to play with. And Papa and Mama are busy, usually.” He looked down at the water, adding, “And I’m not supposed to play with the staff’s kids. ‘Cause they’re not noble an’ they’re below my station, Mama says.”

“There’s so many rules,” Emilie agreed, rolling her eyes as the twins began wrestling (much to the chagrin of the nursemaid who was watching the children, and immediately yelled out for them to stop). “But at least your mama and papa are nice, right? My mama’s…” The little girl sighed. “She’s mean sometimes. ‘Cos… ‘cos I’m not good in some of my lessons, and… she says I’m sullen. And stubborn.”

“Mama’s… Mama’s nice,” Macaius replied, but he still didn’t look up from the water. “...I think she’s sad, though. That I got sick before at the beach and… now I don’t remember stuff so well. She doesn’t like to play with me much.”

“That sounds lousy,” Emilie said grimly. “It’s not your fault you got sick. Just… just like it’s not my fault I can’t focus in lessons. I try my best, I just… can’t.” The girl bit the inside of her cheek. “Mama says I’m wastin’ my talent. She sends me to bed without supper every time my tutors tell her an’ Papa I’m bad.”

Macaius winced. “Being hungry… it’s horrible.” Something odd flashed in the young boy’s eyes, but he seemed to push it away, ducking his head under the water and bobbing back up a second later. “Hey, how ‘bout we leave the twins here to play and go in the gardens? Do you like flowers? We got some that are spelled so they glow or glitter or do patterns.”

“Really?” Emilie’s cheeks flushed. “That’d… that’d be fun.” The girl’s eyes glinted mischievously, her voice falling to a whisper as she added, “Maybe if we slip off while the nurse is distracted and busy yellin’ at the twins, we can go on our own. Without any grown-ups.”

Macaius grinned, nodding emphatically. “Good idea. Papa’s crazy sometimes ‘bout not letting me do stuff. He never lets me leave the palace when he goes into the city or play by myself even in my room or nothin’.”

Emilie giggled. “It’ll be fun then. We can pretend we’re spies.” As the nurse once again stalked up the perimeter of the pool to snarl at the twins-- this time threatening to haul them out and tell their father about their behaviour if they didn’t knock it off now-- their younger sister waded toward the steps. “C’mon,” she whispered to Macaius. “While she’s facin’ them!”

The prince nodded, wading after Emilie and trying his hardest not to giggle as the two children yanked towels from the racks near the door and darted out. Drying off as best they could while darting through the bath complex, they changed into their dry clothes and then Macaius led the way through the halls. The only people they passed were blanks, who said nothing to the lone children and only bowed deeply to Macaius.

“They gotta do that,” Macaius explained. “‘Cause one day I’ll be the emperor. Only my family and my tutors don’t gotta bow.”

“Mama says if I only paid attention more I could be margrave of Lyse,” Emilie said solemnly. “But ‘stead first my older sister was her heir, then after one of the twins got all good at magic, Mama made him heir.” As she and Macaius continued twisting down the halls, the girl’s eyes lingered on a bowing blank who might have been only two or three years her senior. “I wonder if it hurts,” she mused. “To get your forehead all stamped like that.”

“I dunno,” Macaius remarked. “But I think maybe it does. I… I dreamed about blanks while I was sick. And I think they said it burns. But those were just dreams,” he added with determined dismissiveness. “So I dunno for real.”

“Whenever I ask stuff like that to Mama and Papa, they tell me it doesn’t matter any.” Emilie shrugged. “‘Cos blanks are just blanks. And it’s like when they bleed at church, it doesn’t look fun but it’s what the gods want. And it’s their proper place.” The girl quickly brightened as they rounded a corner, and the gardens came into view beyond a sliding glass door up ahead. “Oooh! Almost there.” She glanced behind her briefly. “And no nurses chasin’ us!”

Macaius grinned. “Nobody knows which way we went, so it’ll be ages ‘fore they find us. C’mon, hurry!”

He darted towards the door, sliding it open and letting in a waft of warm air from beyond. The royal gardens of the Shadowed Palace were exquisite, hosting plants from all over the empire and carefully tended by a small army of gardeners. The prince led his cousin past the tiled patio area just outside the door where palace denizens sometimes took their tea, and out into the greenery of the gardens proper.

“Over here, look!” he called, stopping next to an angel’s trumpet. “Watch this, it’s neat.”

The prince reached up to the flower, which was presently shut tight, and touched it gently with one hand. The flower uncurled in an instant, emitting a waft of heavy perfume and glimmering like a faceted gem in the sunlight. Emilie inhaled sharply in mixed surprise and delight, the little girl clapping her hands together once as the flower glimmered in Macaius’s hand.

“That’s so cool.” She stroked a tentative finger over its blossomed petals. “We don’t got gardens up in Asra. ‘Cos it’s too cold for any good flowers, and Mama says it’s a waste of magic to try maintainin’ stuff that’ll all die if anyone makes a single mistake.” Emilie wrinkled her nose. “She doesn’t like anything fun. Only studyin’ and goin’ to church, and-- and… stupid adult stuff.”

“I like my reading lessons,” Macaius offered. “But yeah, it would be no fun to just do lessons all the time and not get to play. Especially if I wasn’t so good at the lessons.”

“It’s not that I’m not good at them, I just can’t pay attention real good,” Emilie said, drifting from the tangle of angel’s trumpet toward a cluster of rainbow-hued roses that were growing nearby. Plucking a neon green one, the little girl added, “It’s like my head just goes wanderin’, I guess. Especially in borin’ topics. Like… like numbers. And history. And then the tutors yell… and I know I’m gonna be in trouble with Mama, and I just…” She turned down her palm and let the rose flutter to the ground. “It’s been fun here. Away from Mama and my tutors and-- and everything else.”

Macaius followed her, smiling brightly. “You could stay here, if you wanted. If we asked Papa. Like I said, I don’t got any brothers or sisters, and I… I get bored by myself. And I could help you in lessons if your head wanders.”

“Really?” Emilie raised a dubious blond brow. “But… my papa wouldn’t let me stay. We’re s’posed to go back to Asra next week. Before it starts gettin’ cold.”

“That’s why I said talk to my Papa,” Macaius replied, his grin turning impish. “He’s the emperor and if he says it’s okay people gotta listen.” Hurriedly he added, “Only, only if you wanna, but you’re… you’re fun, and nice, and the twins just play with each other and the others don’t care about me ‘cause they’re all the wrong age but you’re fun and…” He bit his lip hard.

“I’d… I’d stay here?” The child cocked her head. “But-- what ‘bout my papa? And everyone else? They’d still go back to Asra?”

“Probably,” Macaius admitted, his murky green eyes full of anxiety. “Since they got stuff to do there, your brother and Papa especially. If… if you wanna go back with ‘em it’s okay, I mi…” He broke off what he was about to say, looking confused, then shook his head and went on cheerfully, “But Papa’s really nice. He gives me whatever I want, and he hugs me when I’m sad and stuff.”

“My papa’s scared of him, I think,” Emilie murmured, swallowing hard. “But I don’t get it. ‘Cos… ‘cos your papa’s his brother, right? And y-you shouldn’t be scared of your brother.” She plucked another rose, this one a pale, creamy lavender. “If… if I stayed, would we get to play in the gardens a lot? A-and would I get to eat supper even if I’m bad in lessons?”

Macaius nodded emphatically, “Uh-huh. Papa never tells me I can’t have supper. And, and we can play out in the gardens lots. We could even bring my enchanted animals out here to play.”

Emilie smiled. “That’d be fun. ‘Specially in winter. Once it snows. And it’s all cold and pretty, and you get to make snowmen and stuff.” The girl gnawed on her lip, deliberating. “Would… would I be like your sister ‘stead of your cousin? If we were livin’ in the palace together, and your papa was takin’ care of me ‘stead of mine?”

“Probably,” Macaius agreed. Tentatively he added, “I’d like a sister. There was one ‘fore I was born, people say, but she died in an accident. So I never met her.”

“Th-that does sound pretty lonely, then.” Rose still cupped in one hand, Emilie reached her other out toward Macaius, gingerly threading her fingers through his. “But if I stayed here… both of us wouldn’t be lonely no more, right?”

The prince smiled, squeezing Emilie’s hand. “Nuh-uh. Not ever. ‘Cause we could be together. And I promise I wouldn’t just do stuff I wanna do all the time. I’d play your games too. I bet you know games I don’t that’re really fun.”

She nodded. “Uh-huh. I know lots of games. That the twins never wanna play. But they’re fun, I swear.”

“I believe you,” Macaius said. “So we can ask Papa.” Ruefully he added, “Though maybe not until tomorrow- after he’s done bein’ mad that we snuck off.”

Echoes of the Past: Part Three

SPOILER: Click to show

While it was apparent that Eligiusz was none too pleased by the idea of leaving his young daughter behind in Taika while the rest of the family returned to Asra, it was just as clear that the emperor’s younger brother had no control of it. His entire body was rigid as he kissed Emilie goodbye the following week, his brown eyes flickering with equal parts anguish and fury as he shot Sebellius one final glance before stepping into the waiting carriage. The emperor, however, only smiled, his own expression bemused as he set a gentle hand on his niece’s shoulder.

“Well, that was all very fun,” he crooned, watching Eligiusz slam the coach door shut behind him. “But it’s terribly hot out here, isn’t it, little one? Perhaps we should head back inside.”

And then the emperor’s fingers trailed down Emilie’s arm, and he clasped his hand over hers. And as the little girl could only gape back over her shoulder, the emperor turned and pulled her back toward the palace, humming under his breath as they walked. It was a jaunty tune. A festival song.

“I kn-know the words to that, your im-imperial majesty,” the little girl dared whisper. “To the s-song.”

“Do you?” Sebellius beamed down at her, squeezing her hand affectionately. “Well, perhaps you should sing along, Emmy!” With his free hand he ruffled her long, straw blond hair. “And no need to call me ‘your imperial majesty’, my dear,” he added. “Just ‘Uncle’ is fine.”

“A-are you sure?” Emilie gulped. How many times had her father cautioned her to never dare dispense with the emperor’s title?

“Perfectly,” Sebellius assured her. “After all, you’re my niece, aren’t you? And you live here now. With me and Macaius, and Auntie Julissa.” His lips glowed with a dazzling smile. “Why, you’re practically a princess now!”

Indeed, as time passed and Emilie settled into her new life as Macaius’s companion and playmate, the little girl was a princess in nearly every respect but for her official title: she lived in the imperial family’s private apartment, she attended lessons with the crown prince, and at court feasts she sat up at the high table, clad in the vivid pure silver clothing that was reserved only for members of the emperor’s immediate family. In record time she felt closer to Macaius than she ever had any of her blood siblings, and in turn Macaius latched to his new playmate like a parched desert wanderer who’d just come upon an oasis. He confided in her all the things he didn’t dare say to his parents- Sebellius because he would have dismissed them, and Julissa because of her general emotional inaccessibility.

And it wasn’t very long- not more than a few months- before Emilie discovered the imperial family’s rather awkward “issue” with Macaius. It happened, as it always did, without any warning, after during their runework lesson their tutor-- a humourless older man with wrinkly skin and hair the colour of ash-- flipped open his book to a page displaying etchings of several different basic runes.

“Pick one,” he told his charges. “Draw it. I need to step out for a few minutes. I want something complete by the time I get back.”

And with that he left them, the door thumping shut behind him. Macaius, diligent as always, immediately set about copying one of the runes onto the sheaf of parchment in front of him, his hand as steady as a six-year-old’s could be. Emilie, however, made it precisely three quill strokes into replicating her rune before her mind drifted, and the next thing she knew she was drawing a flower, thorns spiking its spindly stem and its petals in full blossom.

When the tutor stepped back inside about five minutes later, he needed only one glance at the young girl’s etching before a scowl manifested on his face. “My lady!” He yanked the quill out of her hand. “For all the gods’ sakes, can’t I leave you for a couple minutes without you getting off track? You’re wasting perfectly good ink and parchment!” His voice increasing in volume and pitch, he added sharply, “If you’re going to fool around during lessons, why even come? You’re wasting your time and my time both!”

“I… I…” Emilie swallowed hard. “I-I didn’t mean to--”

“Enough!” the man cut in. “I’ve had it with your excuses! Your uncle will be hearing about this, I assure you, he’ll--”

The tutor’s voice abruptly fell away-- not because of anything Emilie had done, but rather, because of Macaius. Seated beside his cousin, the boy was hyperventilating, his pupils gone so wide that his eyes appeared black but for a thin rim of green.

“P-p-please,” he whimpered, clenching himself so that his head was low and his shoulders stooped submissively. “Please, d-d-don’t beat her, p-p-please.” He clenched his curly chocolate locks, pulling on them hard. “The b-b-bruises, so m-many bruises…”

“Beat her?” The tutor shook his head, almost frantically. “I--I would never, your imperial highness, I…” As he studied the boy’s suddenly pale complexion, the man took a lurching step toward the door. “Let me get your father, Prince Macaius. I… I-- should go get your father…”

Sebellius arrived to whisk his hysterical son away not long afterward, and it was only much later that night that Emilie was permitted to remake her company with him, the little girl given permission to enter her cousin’s bedchamber shortly before it was time for both of them to go to sleep. He was sitting on his bed when she entered, and silently she climbed up next to him, the little girl’s lips pursed as she watched her cousin fidget with his bed-pillows.

For nearly a minute she simply observed him, a strained silence hanging between them, before finally Emilie dared whisper, “W-what happened today, Mac? In runework class?”

He flinched, not meeting her gaze, his face turned downwards and his eyes glazed. When he spoke, his voice was somewhat sluggish, as if he were recovering from some sort of sedative.

“I had a fit,” he murmured. “Remember how I told you I got sick and my memories got all messed up? I had… d-dreams I guess. Of living somewhere else. With blanks.” He clenched his hands on the comforter of his bed, sniffing. “Sometimes… sometimes, those dreams will come back. And they feel real. And I… I’m not sure who I am.”

Emilie looked positively horrified. “That’s awful.” The little girl edged closer to Macaius, so that she could reach out a hand and set it on his wrist. “I’m sorry, Mac. Th-that sounds scary. Really scary. D-does it happen lots? I’ve never seen it before.”

Macaius shook his head. “Not a lot. Usually some weeks’ll go by between when it happens. If I’m lucky, months.” He hesitated, then leaned against his cousin, taking comfort from her presence. “It comes really fast, when something reminds me of the dreams. Then it takes a while ‘fore it goes away. And while I’m waiting, I… I don’t act right. I dunno why, but it’s like I’m not me. Everything is scary and I just wanna hide and do what I’m told. L-like… like a blank.”

Emilie shuddered. “A-all ‘cos you got sick? I… I hope I never get sick.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “But ‘least you’re okay now, Mac. R-right? And… and if it happens again when I’m there, I’ll know what’s goin’ on. And I-I can tell you it’s okay. That n-nothing bad’s gonna happen.”

“Uh-huh,” he replied. “Papa gives me medicine. That makes the dreams fuzzy, and helps me remember.” He gave Emilie a wobbly smile. “Th-thank you, Emmy. When my tutors see it, they just get scared. And th-that makes me more scared.” He hugged her. “I’m sorry I made you scared.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t mean it,” she assured him. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” She sighed. “Your p-papa was all mad. Askin’ me if… if the tutor really did hurt me. He didn’t calm down at all ‘til I promised him he hadn’t. Th-that he’d only yelled at me. And even then Uncle Sebellius was still mad a little.” Emilie looked away. “I-I’m sorry I made him yell, Mac. If I hadn’t been bad, he wouldn’t have gotten all shouty, and th-then you wouldn’t have had your fit.”

Macaius shook his head emphatically. “It’s not your fault, you didn’t know. I don’t even always know what’s gonna make it happen.” He hesitated, then asked softly, “I… I am Prince Macaius, right? N-nobody else?”

“Of course,” Emilie said quickly. “Who else would you be, Mac?” She leaned against his shoulder, her blonde hair tickling against his arm. “You’re Imperial Prince Macaius. Heir of Meltaim. And one day you’ll be Emperor Macaius. In charge just like your papa is.”

The young boy nodded slowly. “Y-yeah. I am.” He smiled. “And you’re the best cousin-sister ever. Cousis?” he gave a small giggle.

Emilie grinned. “That works. You’re definitely a better brother than any of my real brothers ever were.” She fell silent for a moment, still nested against him, before very quietly she asked, “D-do you want me to sleep in here tonight, Mac? J-just in case you have any bad dreams? I could ask your papa if it’s okay.”

“Th-that would be great,” he said fervently. “I have the dreams sometimes. A-after I’ve had a fit. It’s scary, ‘cause it feels so r-real.” He inhaled jaggedly, tears pooling in his murky green eyes. “I… I have a different Mama and Papa in the dreams. I m-miss them, and it h-hurts, even though I know it’s n-not real.”

“I’m sorry, Mac,” Emilie whispered. “B-but from now on, I’ll do my b-best to help you whenever it happens, okay? Promise.”

“Thank you, Emmy,” he said. “It helps, not to be alone anymore. I’m glad you’re here with me.” He rubbed his face with his hand, trying to wipe away the tears, and then he smiled. “C’mon, let’s go see if Papa will let you stay with me.”

***

In the several years that followed, Macaius’s fits remained steadily intermittent, and Emilie did her best to fulfill her promise, rushing to her cousin's side whenever she saw him slipping into the abyss and doing anything she could to help comfort him through the impending panic. Their bond remained thick as iron as both children crept closer to their teenage years, so that by the time Emilie was turning twelve and Macaius was eleven, the two were each other’s best friend and utter confidante. They shared with each other their hopes, their dreams, their worries, nothing a secret between them as Emilie perfectly adapted to the role that Sebellius had hoped she would when he’d decided to take her in.

Little else in Meltaim, however, was going the way that Sebellius wanted it to. By Emilie’s twelfth birthday the emperor was nearly a year into an increasingly bloody war with all of his kingdom’s bordering neighbours, and the emperor was… stressed, to say the least. Each day brought with it new reports of chaos and calamity, and while Taika itself had not been compromised, Sebellius worried. By gods, how he worried. What would he do if he woke up one morning to joint Langean, Macarinthian, and Valzick forces beating at the city gates? Where would he go? Where would his family go? The idea made him very nearly want to scream.

… And Emilie wasn’t helping.

“I don’t see why I can’t just go to the market,” the girl complained as she stabbed disinterestedly at a slice of birthday cake. It was strawberry, her favourite, but one would have never known it from the scowl she wore. “It’s not like I’m asking to go alone, Uncle Sebellius! You could come. And knights.”

“Emilie,” he warned, his jaw clenched. “I’ve told you why you can’t go into the city. There’s a war going on. Things are dangerous, my dear.”

“Which is why we could bring the knights!” she retorted, as if he hadn’t heard this nugget five seconds ago. “They’ll protect us, they--”

“I said no,” Sebellius cut in. “For all the gods’ sakes, drop it, Emmy. I will not change my mind, and I think I’ve raised you better than to speak to me like that, yes?”

The girl slumped in her chair, her dark eyes smoldering with indignation. “We haven’t been outside the palace gates in forever,” she murmured. “It gets boring here. And-- and it’s not just me who’s bored. Mac is, too.”

Macaius glanced up from his slice of cake, his lips pursed. “I almost never go outside at all,” he noted. “Only when I have to appear for religious festivals and stuff. And that’s boring.”

“By gods, are you two tag-teaming me?” Sebellius groused. “What part of ‘there is a war going on’ do you not understand?” The emperor glanced to Julissa, who was seated beside him. “Do support me, dear,” he needled. “I hardly think you would much like them gallivanting about the city, either, yes?”

“Mind Sebellius, children,” Julissa said crisply, levelling a stern glare at both Emilie and Macaius. “Emmy, you are two years from majority- you need to act like it.”

“And will you let me out into the city then?” Emilie huffed.

Sebellius gritted his teeth, reaching across the dining table to sharply yank the girl’s cake plate away. “I believe you’re done with your treat, Emilie,” the emperor declared. “Get up. Go to your bedchamber. You can spend the rest of your birthday reconsidering your decision to talk back to Aunt Julissa and me.”

Emilie faltered. “But… we’re having a feast tonight.”

“It’s a shame you’ll miss it,” Sebellius said crisply. “Now get up. I won’t tell you again, my dear.”

“B-but Father,” Macaius objected, looking horrified. “That’s… that’s not fair, it’s for Emmy’s birthday, she-”

“Macaius!” The emperor glowered. “Dear gods above, have I raised two back-talking brats?” He pointed sternly toward the door. “Both of you to your bedchambers. Right now. Another word out of either of you and you’re both getting your mouths scrubbed.”

Macaius’ jaw snapped shut, and with his green eyes smoldering he stood and stalked out into the hallway. As his cousin came up behind him, he glanced towards her with an exasperated huff. “It’s not like the war is here, why is Father always so paranoid?”

“Because he wants us to be trapped here like prisoners,” Emilie grumbled, her arms crossed at her chest. “I don’t think I’ve even seen someone who isn’t a member of this family, or a staff member, or a blank servant of ours in-- in, I don’t even know, that’s how long.” She barely even noticed as a young blank boy skittered out of the way of the stalking imperials. “What’s he think? That the moment we step out into Taika, we’ll get abducted by foreign soldiers?”

“I don’t know what he thinks,” Macaius admitted, raking a hand through his hair. “He never tells me anything. I’m supposed to be emperor one day, y’know? You’d think he would tell me stuff. I have to know these things, so I can be a good ruler. But he just always tells me stuff I can’t do.”

“When you’re emperor, we’ll be able to go out into the city whenever we want,” Emilie declared. “No one to stop us.”

“That’ll be-”

Before Macaius had the chance to say anything else, the two preteens were interrupted by a harsh voice snarling, “You clumsy wretch!” The crown prince’s head snapped around, and the imperials rounded the corner just in time to witness one of the palace overseers punch a blank servant in the jaw- the blonde woman crumpling to the ground amidst a puddle of wine that had apparently been the source of her disciplining.

“Wasted an entire pitcher of good vintage, I ought to have you turned out you clumsy oaf!” the overseer snarled, wrenching the woman up by one arm. “See how long you last on the streets of the ghetto!”

Emilie froze for a moment, eyes flicking between the overseer and slave; as the former spotted her and Macaius, he dipped into a hasty bow, pushing the blank woman back to her knees. “Your imperial highnesses,” he sputtered. “Forgive me for disturbing you.”

“It’s… fine.” Emilie shrugged, hesitating for only another second before she took a step forward, clearly expecting Macaius to follow after her. When he didn’t, and she realised her footsteps were suddenly the only ones clacking against the floor, she paused again, glancing back behind her shoulder. “Mac?” she prompted. “Are you coming, or…” Her voice trailed away as she recognized the look on his face, all too familiar after all these years. “Oh, gods. Mac.”

Whirling on her heel, the girl was back at her cousin’s side in an instant, setting a comforting hand on his shoulder just as he brought his hand up to his head, clawing at his scalp and emitting a low whine.

“No, nonononononooooo, Mama, Mama-”

“Macaius.” Emilie reached for his arms, pinning them before he could hurt himself. “You’re okay, Mac. You’re alright. It’s just a dream, remember? It’s just a dream.” She leveled a nearly murderous look at the overseer and slave. “Leave,” she snarled. “Now!”

The overseer, his eyes wide with panic, hurried to obey, dragging the hapless blank behind him. As they vanished, Macaius went suddenly deadweight, collapsing against his cousin’s shoulder, and emitted a wracking sob.

“Who am I?” he bellowed. “Why do I have these memories, why do they feel so real? That woman existed, I know she did, she had to-”

“No, Macaius,” Emilie insisted. “It’s not real. None of it’s real. You know that.” She swallowed hard, gently pushing him back and tilting his chin toward her. “Look at me, Mac. Take a deep breath. And repeat after me: It’s not real.”

Macaius flinched, instinctively averting his gaze from Emilie’s- just as a slave would. “It’s… n-not real, it’s not real, it’s not real, it… i-it…”

“Look at me,” Emilie said again. “Please, Mac?”

“B-but I… it’s insolent, it-”

“Macaius.” She forced a deep breath. “There’s nothing insolent about looking at me. You’re my cousin. One day you’ll be my emperor. You’re allowed to look at anybody you want to, remember?”

Macaius squeezed his eyes shut and took a jagged breath, then forced himself to meet Emilie’s gaze. “I… I know you’re right. I know. But it feels so real, all my other dreams are fuzzy or I don’t remember them at all, but this is so clear.”

“It’s from the fever you had, Mac,” Emilie said gently. “It made your memories and dreams get all tangled together. That doesn’t make it real, though.” She smiled sadly at him. “Say it again, Macaius: It’s not real.”

“It’s… it’s not real,” he murmured. “It’s not real. It’s not real.” He gave a short raspy laugh, tears welling up in his eyes. “It’s… probably good Father barred me from the feast. I’m n-not going to be fit company at a court banquet tonight.”

“And since everyone else will be at the feast, no one would know if I crept from my room into yours,” Emilie said, reaching out to wipe a hand against his damp cheek. “Maybe you can read me more from that book Uncle Sebellius got you for your birthday. The one with fairytales in it.” She smiled. “You make stories so much better, Mac. Whenever I read to myself, I can’t focus. But when you read, you make it interesting enough for me to pay attention.”

He grinned. “Maybe it’s my impressions,” he suggested. “Making up voices for the characters. Alright, sure. I could use the distraction. Meet me once the feast starts, I’ll be sure to pick a really good story.”

Emilie nodded. “Sounds good, Mac. But for now…” She sighed. “We should probably head to our respective prison chambers, I suppose.”

Sebellius came to visit his niece just before he and Julissa left for the feast, telling her that he expected her to be asleep by the time he returned. She smiled thinly at him, and promised that she would be-- and then, the moment she was sure he and Julissa were gone, the girl slunk from her room into her cousin’s.

“I seem to have escaped my cell,” she told him wryly as she shut the door behind herself. “You won’t tell on me, my prince?”

The young prince looked up at his cousin, however it was not with an amused expression at her joke, but a look of stark astonishment. “Emmy. Emmy.”

“What?” Emilie froze. “What’s wrong? Are you-- are you okay?”

He gestured at a large book that he had open on his bed in front of him. “I… come over here, I found something and I… Gods, I think I finally have an answer for why I’m so messed up since I got sick.”

“I don’t understand.” Nevertheless, the girl paced obediently to her cousin’s side, sitting down next to him on the bed. “Is this-- your fairytale book? What does your fairytale book have to do with being sick?”

“Y-yes, but look at this.” He pointed to one page in particular, artfully illustrated with a man asleep on a bed, and vividly colored images in the air above him. “It’s an old fable about a man who had a gift for prophecy- a gift that was given to him after the gods visited him in a dream while he was ill and delirious one day.” Macaius swallowed hard. “What if… what if that’s why my dreams feel so real? Why they keep coming back to me? What if it wasn’t just delerium messing up my memories, but some sort of message from the gods?”

“A message from the gods?” Emilie echoed back, her dark brown eyes narrowing into scrutinizing slits. “Macaius, I… know you want an explanation for it, something that feels better than the truth, but that’s… that’s…” She shook her head. “Why would the gods want to give you memories like those? They’re awful. They make you scared. The gods wouldn’t do that to you, would they?”

“Maybe they would if… if it was meant to be some sort of warning,” he said, looking down at the illustration again. “If they were unhappy for some reason. I’m the heir to the imperial throne of Meltaim- if the empire has offended the gods, who stands the best chance of changing things?”

“I don’t understand, Macaius,” Emilie said softly. “What… what would the gods be unhappy about?”

The prince gnawed on his lip. “Well let’s think- in the dreams, I see a blank woman with blonde hair, and a blank man with black hair. I’m convinced they’re my parents. I live in a ghetto, and sometimes go with them through the city… Oh!”

“So, what-- you think the gods are telling you that… that you’re supposed to be a blank?” A great level of concern was slowly rising on Emilie’s face. “Because that’s madness, Macaius. You’re an imperial prince. Not a blank.”

“No, not that,” he said. “But… the city, Emmy. Remember? We were just arguing with my father earlier about how he never lets us go into the city. And… and he doesn’t go out either, does he? Unless he has to. He just talks to his margraves and sometimes to the counts and barons of Marjan. What if… what if the gods are angry because we’ve become too distant? We’re making decisions based on what we think is best for us and not for the people of Meltaim as a whole. Like the war, the Gods’ Campaigns, Papa was always griping about people complaining it was a bad idea and how we were gonna regret it, and look what’s happened!”

“Macaius,” Emilie pleaded. “Slow down. Please. You’re sounding… frantic, you’re…” She pressed a hand to her temple. “Maybe we should talk to your father about this. B-before you get any… deeper into this line of thought.”

The prince seemed to come back to himself, and for a moment he just stared at his cousin. Then, his voice thick with hurt, he said, “You don’t believe me. You think I’m just… crazy.”

“No,” Emilie said quickly. “Of course not, Mac. I could never think you’re crazy. I just…” She raked an agitated hand through her long hair. “I don’t want you to g-get ahead of yourself. A-and even if it were true, I-- I don’t know what what you could do about it. I-it’s not like Uncle Sebellius is suddenly going to let you… go out into the city and connect with the people, Mac.”

Macaius sighed, burying his face in his hands. “No. He never listens to me. Why should he? I’m just his messed up eleven year old heir. Who freaks out at random and thinks he’s a blank.”

“Don’t say those things about yourself, Macaius,” Emilie chided. “I-it has nothing to do with your fits. He won’t let me out, either. He’s just… paranoid. Because of the war. He d-doesn’t want us to get hurt.”

“I just…” The boy gave a frustrated grunt. “This is the first time I’ve found an explanation that feels like it makes sense. For why my dreams feel so… so solid, so clear. For why they won’t stop coming back to me.”

For almost a minute, Emilie said nothing. Only sat and studied her cousin, a lump knotting in her throat at the anguished expression on his face. Then, finally, she murmured, “If it is a sign from the gods… d-do… do you think they’d… let you know somehow? If, say, y-you started trying to follow their message. Maybe they’d… give you a sign. A signal. T-to confirm it, and tell you you’re on the right path.”

“M… maybe,” he said hopefully. “Something to… to let me know that I’m finally doing right. Like I’m supposed to be.” He bit his lip. “But Father will never let me try.”

“... Unless we didn’t tell him,” Emilie replied, her voice little more than a fragile wisp. “If we… sn-snuck out, say. Into the city. Without telling him, or Aunt Julissa.” She swallowed the boulder in her throat. “W-we could take servant clothes. Get out of the palace that way. No guard would blink twice at two servants leaving.”

Macaius felt sick. He knew that if his father caught on to what they were planning, they would both very dearly regret it. He didn’t even want to think about what Sebellius would do. But by the same token, he was desperate by this point for answers to the mystery of his dream memories and fits.

“We… we should go on a day when he’s out doing inspections,” Macaius said slowly. “Of the battlefront. That’ll be our best chance. And if we don’t get any signs while we’re out I… I’ll…” He choked, his eyes clenching. “I’ll make peace with it. That I’m just… crazy.”

“You’re not crazy, Mac,” Emilie said gently. “But… th-that works. Next time he’s away, we’ll do it, okay? We’ll get to this bottom of this.” She cupped her hands over his. “I promise, Macaius. I promise.”

Echoes of the Past: Part Four

SPOILER: Click to show

Over the next few weeks, as they waited for Sebellius’ duties in the war to take him away from Taika, Macaius continued to stew on his new theory. All his life he’d felt like there was more going on than what Sebellius theorized. After all, if it was just fever dreams, why did he remember them so clearly? Why were the memories so down to earth and simple, instead of being horrific and terrifying and nonsensical? Why did they keep coming back to him, even years after the fact?

But if the dreams and fits were in fact messages from the gods… well. That would explain a very great deal. For example, the weird convictions he felt when the fits hit him, the sense of a different personality swamping his own; a blank’s personality. What if the blanks in his dreams, and his own personality change, were a warning? Blanks were soulless, evil, selfish creatures that would if permitted lead good mages to ruination. It was all in the holy writings. So… so maybe, the gods were trying to warn Macaius that the nobility of Meltaim had become as cruel, selfish, and soulless as blanks.

A terrifying thought. And one that only solidified Macaius’ conviction that if he turned out to be right about his dreams, things had to change.

He knew that Emilie was still just humoring him. That she believed Sebellius’ narrative about the fever damaging Macaius’ mind and that being why he kept having the fits. But the fact that she was willing to put herself in the firing line of getting in such immense trouble for his sake anyway was gratifying. It felt good to have someone who was on his side, who wasn’t just content like his parents were to shrug their shoulders and let their son suffer for the rest of his life without trying to get to the bottom of it.

As the days ticked by, Macaius grew more and more restless, exasperated as his father lingered in Taika. He prayed fervidly every night, begging the gods to show him some sort of sign that he was on the right path.

Then, finally, at dinner one night a little over three weeks after Emilie’s birthday, Sebellius announced to his family that he would be leaving for a while to tour the frontlines and get a firsthand view of how the war efforts were proceeding. Macaius had to stifle back an explosive sigh of relief, the anticipation and anxiety that had been growing inside him near fever pitch. As soon as he and Emilie were alone that night, he turned to her with a meaningful look in his eye, his expression somewhere between desperation and determination.

“Two days after he leaves. That’s when we’ll do it.”

Emilie nodded reluctantly. “Right. If you’re sure, Mac. That… that it’ll help you figure out if it’s really a sign or not.”

“I… I know you think this is mad, Emmy, but I have to know,” he said insistently. He bit his lip. “If… if you really don’t want to, you don’t have to come, you know. Let me be the only one who gets in trouble.”

“No, I’ll come,” Emilie said. She gave her cousin a wavering smile. “I wouldn’t want you out there alone, Mac.” She gulped. “Two days after he leaves, then. I’ll filch us servant’s clothes from the laundry. And then we’ll wait until our lessons are over, and y-your mum’s distracted, and… we’ll go out through the staff gate. And pray to the gods that none of the guards examine us too closely.”

Macaius nodded, relieved that his cousin still wanted to come along with him. Soon enough the morning of Sebellius’ departure dawned, and two days later the imperial children were scurrying out of their lessons and changing into servant’s clothes that Emilie had filched the previous evening. After a nail-biting trip through the halls of the palace, the both of them trying hard not to tense up every time the passed a knight, or another servant, or a blank, the finally made their way through the courtyard and to the unassuming side gate the palace staff utilized to enter and exit the grounds.

“We’ll wait until another group of older servants comes out at the end of their shift,” Macaius said in an undertone. “Then we… blend. As best we can.”

Emilie nodded. “Right. And keep our heads down. Pretend we’re… with them, j-just heading home.” The girl fidgeted, twining a strand of pale hair between her fingers. “Gods, I hope this works, Mac. Because if it doesn’t… and we get hauled to your mum…”

“Don’t think like that,” he insisted. “It will work. It has to.”

It took about twenty minutes for a decently sized clump of servants to pass the children, but once they did Emilie and Macaius casually fell in with the group. Trying their hardest to appear natural, the imperial children talked to each other about inanities as they passed the gate guards, desperately avoiding glancing the knight’s way…

And nothing happened. To the children’s immense relief, they made it through the gates without a moment’s scrutiny, and soon they were rounding the bend in the road that led away from the Shadowed Palace. As they fell back a bit from the group of servants, Macaius looked at the piked heads on either side of the road with distaste and not a little revulsion.

“Once I’m emperor,” he hissed, “those will be the first thing to go.”

Emilie bit the corner of her lip, head held low and arms crossed at her chest as she and Macaius began down the series of switchbacks that led from the hilltop palace to the city that sprawled beneath. “Maybe,” she suggested with a knot in her throat, “w-we shouldn’t talk about-- that. Not right now. Not ‘til we’re back safe. If someone overheard us, Macaius…”

Macaius frowned, but fell silent all the same. He sincerely hoped that his cousin wasn’t going to be jittery and nervous the entire time. Not that he wasn’t nervous, but his unease was currently being overridden by his conviction that if he could just do this, if he could show the gods he’d received their message, maybe the dreams would finally let him go. Maybe the fits would stop coming. Maybe he could finally be Imperial Prince Macaius, and stop having to sink into the fragile, terror-stricken mind of a blank.

Once the two children made it to the bottom of the hill, Macaius couldn’t help but suck in a sharp breath. The city- he could count on one hand the number of times he’d been in it since returning from Morze-Stok when he was five. At least the number of times he’d been out and not sequestered inside a carriage. But now, here he was- no guards, only his cousin for escort, and no real plan aside from talking to people and trying to find a sign from the gods that he really was doing the right thing.

“So,” Emilie said as they began into the thrumming, chaotic cityscape, “you have any plan on where we should… go, Mac?” She glanced warily around them, well-kept shopfronts rising on either side of a wide, cobblestone boulevard. “This is the Palace District, right? So we’re… we’re in the northern part of the city. Should we go… south or… west… or…?”

Macaius bit his lip. “I, uh… We should… we should maybe… go to one of the lesser marketplaces? B-because we want to talk to the common people. Not the folks in the Palace District. They’re all… rich and whatnot.”

“Right. But… nowhere too--” Emilie struggled for the right word. “Well, too common, I guess? We don’t want to go anywhere dangerous, Mac.” She edged closer to her cousin as a member of the city guard waltzed by, the man’s eyes critical as he surveyed those around him. “Let’s walk,” the girl murmured, taking Macaius’s hand. “C’mon.”

Macaius bit his lip, wishing he could do something to ease his cousin’s nervousness. He let her pull him into a walk, keeping a firm grasp on her hand. Contrary to her unease, Macaius felt oddly… comfortable amidst the bustle and noise. There was something almost nostalgic about it, like he’d been here or someplace similar before.

“How about that way?” he suggested, pointing down a road that was slightly less well-to-do than the Palace District, but certainly not what one would’ve called derelict. “We can head in that direction until we find some shops. And then just… make conversation I suppose.”

“Alright,” Emilie agreed, her heart humming in her ears. “We… don’t have any money, though. I d-didn’t want to risk skimming any from your mum. So… we can’t buy anything.”

“That’s fine, we don’t need to buy anything,” Macaius soothed. “We just… want to talk to people. A pair of kids out on a casual walk.”

As they continued down the street, Macaius kept his eyes open for anything that might have been called a sign. A bird perched in a meaningful place, a beam of light shining on something in particular, anywhere the holy colors of silver and black lay together in a meaningful way…

“Here,” he said finally, as the street widened into a small square. “This is a good place to start, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” Emilie said, but she sounded unconvinced. Still skeptical. “Just… lead the way, I guess.”

“Emilie…” Macaius whimpered, his green eyes pleading. “Please. I… I don’t want to do this by myself. I don’t want you to just… s-stare at the back of my head like I’m a crazy person the whole time we’re out here. We… we can go back. We can s-s-still go b-back.”

“No,” Emilie said quickly. “I don’t want to go back. And I don’t think you’re crazy.” She forced a wobbly smile. “I’m just… nervous, Mac. And-- it’s your message, right? So… you should lead the way. Not me. I’m just here for… for…” She laughed softly. “Moral support.”

Macaius swallowed hard, squeezing his cousin’s hand. “Maybe. But I think I’d have been lost a long time ago without your support. It’s so hard, being like this. That’s… that’s why I have to know. If there’s some higher purpose. Some reason I’m cursed with this.”

“I know, Macaius,” Emilie replied. “And I d-don’t blame you. And my being anxious, it… it has nothing to do with you, okay? Or thinking you’re-- crazy.” She sighed as they reached the center of the bustling square, where several canvas stalls were thronged in a half-circle, their vendors hawking a variety of wares. “I’m honestly mostly just scared of getting caught,” the girl whispered. “Or… getting lost. Or-- both.”

“I… I know, Emmy. I am too.” He sighed. “I am too.”

They approached a man whose stall was hawking fresh fruit, Macaius striking up a conversation with him about how different apples tasted and how to keep them fresh. They eventually moved on to a woman selling wand cases, and spoke to her about how the metal ore she needed for her more expensive cases was delayed because of the war.

And on it went. They moved gradually down the streets, talking to various people they came across, all the while Macaius was keeping his eyes open for anything that might have been a sign from the gods. And yet as time ticked on, he saw nothing. He was getting tired, thirsty, and his legs burned from walking so much, and there was nothing.

Eventually the duo stopped for a moment on a stone bench to rest, and Macaius was near to tears as he tried to catch his breath.

“It’s not fair,” he hissed. “I… I was sure. I was so sure…”

“I know, Mac,” Emilie said, her voice laden with sympathy. “I’m so sorry.” She set a hand on his shoulder. “B-but… it’s better to know, right? Even if it’s… not the answer you wanted.” The prince’s cousin fiddled with her hair, brown eyes flickering with hurt for Macaius. “D-do you want to get something to drink, maybe? If… if we find a church, we should be able to get water there. Even w-without money. And then we can head back home.”

“Okay,” he murmured, nodding.

The two of them wandered for a few minutes, eventually getting directions to a small church on a quiet side street. The duo slipped inside, realizing only belatedly that it was time for the afternoon mass. They froze at the doors that led into the chapel, Emilie’s blood running cold as several of the congregants flicked their gazes back toward her and Macaius. Turning and fleeing right back outside would look… Gods, Emilie didn’t know. Lecturing at the pulpit, the priest’s eyes caught the imperials’. The woman smiled wanly at them, a hint of reproach to her expression, as if she were silently chiding them for being late.

“We should probably sit,” Emilie hissed into Macaius’s ear. “R-right?”

“Y-yeah,” he agreed in a whisper. “We don’t want to draw more attention than we already have. And we,” his eyes flicked upwards. “Don’t want to be rude.”

The duo slipped into the back row of pews, sharing the space with a woman who was trying valiantly to keep an infant that couldn’t have been more than a few months old quiet, and a fat man who was, to all appearances, sound asleep. Emilie fidgeted with her skirts as the priest continued her sermon, the girl’s eyes planted firmly on her own lap, the woman’s words at first skipping in one ear and back out the other.

“And so it is to the gods that we pay devotion,” the priest intoned. “For we are ordained to be their faithful servants. But”-- Emilie’s gaze danced up as the woman’s voice grew suddenly sharp-- “we are servants, not slaves. We do not follow blindly. Rather, we follow with knowledge, with understanding, with gratitude and critical thought. And in turn, the gods reward us.” The woman smiled, almost beamed, passion dripping from her tone. “It is often so easy to feel distant from the gods. To lament and fear that they have abandoned us, especially in times of great uncertainty, like these ones. But we always must remember: The gods are never so distant as it can sometimes seem. They are bound to us just as we are bound to them. And they share a duty to us just as we share a duty to them, our holy relationship with them an integral part of them just as much as it is a part of us. We must fight to remember this-- to never let ourselves feel abandoned, for the gods will not abandon us; they will never lead us astray…”

Macaius, who had been sitting with his hands folded, like Emilie barely paying attention, had looked up sharply when his cousin did. As the woman at the pulpit spoke on, he felt a lump growing in his throat. Words that felt like a comfort, like the gods themselves reassuring the young boy that he was not alone or abandoned. But a sharp reprimand too, almost feeling like a direct analogy to the duty that a lord had to his vassals, and vice versa. The crown prince swallowed hard, looking sideways at his cousin with an expression of reverence on his freckled face.

“This is your message, isn’t it?” she murmured, her voice catching. “I mean, of all the sermons…”

“It… it has to be,” he whispered, his hands trembling. “It’s too much of a coincidence, in a city as big as Taika for us to happen to land in this little place when this particular sermon was being given.” He clenched his eyes shut, trying to fight back the sting in them as tears welled up again. “Gods…”

As the chubby man startled awake and promptly leveled the cousins a withering glare at their murmuring, Emilie gave him a shaky smile, then glanced back to Macaius. “A-aren’t you happy, Mac?” she asked him softly. “I mean… this is what you were looking for, right?”

He opened his eyes again, giving Emilie a beaming smile even as tears began to trail down his face. “Of c-course, Emmy. I’m… I’m not crazy, I’m not just… a damaged kid. I finally know what’s wrong with me. And… and how to fix it.”

Emilie had to blink back tears of her own. Gods, had she ever seen Macaius so happy? “I l-love you, Mac,” she whispered. It was all she could think to say.

Macaius hugged his cousin. “I love you too, Emmy. Th-thank you. Thank you for… everything.”

***

“Pass,” the knight standing guard at the palace gates said in a bored tone of voice, holding out one hand. Macaius frowned, glancing sideways at Emilie in confusion.

“Pass?” he asked. “What pass?”

It was some two hours at least since they’d left the little church. The duo had intended originally to head straight home after the sermon ended, but their lack of familiarity with Taika meant that in the process of their aimless wandering they’d gotten hopelessly lost. It had taken them some time and not a little bit of frustration to finally get back to the road that led up to the castle. And now, it seemed, they’d hit another snag.

“Your assignment pass,” the knight said, a wary look suddenly unfurling on his face. When still this meted nothing from the children, he added pointedly, “The chit? Your chit.”

“Our chit,” Emilie echoed, her entire body suddenly going cold. “Our… our chit.”

The knight cocked his head. “What are your names? And your assignments?” A beat. “And your steward’s name, for that matter.”

Oh gods. Macaius realized that he and Emilie had only considered how they were going to get out of the palace. They’d given next to no thought about the task of getting back in. Hadn’t considered that they might need something in addition to their servant’s livery to regain entry. But thinking about it now, of course they would-- after all, what use was having guards if anyone could waltz right in so long as they feigned at being staff?

This was very, very bad.

“We… w-we…” he stammered, struggling for some sort of lie that could hold any amount of water and failing utterly to find it. The knight’s eyes narrowed, and he frowned.

“I think you two would do well not to resist,” he said cooly, one hand on his wand as he put the fingers of the opposite hand up to his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. Macaius went ash pale under his freckles as a second knight trotted out of the nearby guard house- one the prince immediately recognized from occasionally standing watch when he and Emilie played in the palace gardens.

“We-- we-- we forgot our chit,” Emilie forced out. “But we’ll go back home and get it, sir. We’ll… we’ll just leave now and go g-get it--”

“Don’t move,” the knight at the gate hissed. As his companion came up closer, he said, “These two kids are trying to sneak into the palace- in servant’s uniforms I don’t doubt they’ve filched from somewh-”

Initially nodding along to his comrade’s scathing assessment, the second knight went suddenly, abruptly pale as he began to truly study the two renegade ‘servants’. “Oh gods.” His words cut into the other knight’s. “Oh, oh-- gods.”

“What is it?” the first knight asked, quirking a confused eyebrow. Macaius couldn’t breathe; his brain scrambled frantically for an escape but found nothing. They were caught, gods they were caught...

“I-- I could be wrong, I could be wrong, but…” The second knight gulped. “Hold them here,” he told his colleague. “I n-need to go… go fetch the empress, I think. I need to fetch the empress.”

And then, before the first guard could even respond, the second had spun on his heel and stalked away, his pace too quick to be anything but absolutely frantic. Emilie felt as if she was about to puke, her hands clenched into such tight fists that they were shaking. Tears pricked in her eyes, but she blinked them back, her gut churning as violently as a storm-battered sea. Macaius covered his face with his hands, his entire body quivering hard. The gate guard looked between the terrified children and his vanished companion, an expression of utter confusion on his face.

Ten minutes that felt like an eternity later, Empress Julissa strode out of the palace, her eyes smoldering as she caught sight of Macaius and Emilie.

“You two,” she hissed, “are about to seriously regret that you even got out of bed this morning.”

“M-mother-” Macaius bleated, but the empress was having none of it. She closed the distance between herself and her son, grabbing the eleven year old boy’s ear and yanking him over the threshold of the gate by it.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she snarled, as the gate guard fumbled into a salute beside her. Casting a livid glare at Emilie she added, “Come with me. I think we have very, very much to discuss.”

“I-it’s not what i-it looks like,” Emilie squeaked, still loitering just barely on the other side of the gate, as if by not officially entering palace grounds she could somehow avoid her aunt’s impending wrath. “W-we didn’t do anything, we… we didn’t, I know it looks bad but--”

Julissa’s hand snaked out, and she grabbed Emilie by the upper arm. “Oh really? Innocent as newborn babes are you? I suppose it’s perfectly natural for imperial children to be outside the palace gates, dressed in servant’s garb and trying to con their way back inside.”

“Mother, p-please, we just-” Macaius bleated, but his mother only yanked his ear again, making him yelp.

“Not another word out of either of you,” she hissed. “I think the emperor is going to be very displeased to hear about this when he gets home.”

Tears sprung to Emilie’s eyes again, and this time they forced their way out before she could blink them back. “Y-you’re going to t-tell the emperor?” she whimpered. “Please, Aunt Julissa, p-please don’t.”

Julissa gave no reply, only mutely dragging both of the children back into the Shadowed Palace. Macaius wanted to cry, throw up, or both. He knew beyond a shadow of doubt that whatever punishment his mother had in store for them, it was going to be the worst he’d ever had in his life. And that it was going to be a cakewalk compared to whatever Sebellius concocted when he got home.

But as his mother dragged them through the halls of the palace, something occurred to him- normally, being manhandled like this, or seeing someone manhandled like this, would have triggered one of his fits. Yet, despite the fact that he was terrified, he still felt like himself. Still felt like Prince Macaius.

Another sign?

Julissa deposited the children in one of the emperor’s studies, palmed both of their wands, and… left. Locking the door behind her.

“Wh-what’s she going to get?” Macaius stammered, before he realized that pondering it would only make their situation worse. He shook his head, biting his lip hard. “I’m so, so sorry, Emmy. This is all my fault.”

“It’s both our faults,” his cousin whispered. She pressed a hand against her head. “Why do you think she left? Is she just going to… lock us in here forever? Like prisoners?”

“I don't know,” Macaius admitted. “I guess she’s probably gone to get something. Or someone.” He bit his lip. “Emmy, I… I didn't have one. One of my fits. Even th-though she grabbed us both and pulled my ear.”

“You’re right,” she agreed softly. “You… you didn’t. That’s-- good Macaius. So good. I-I’m glad for you.” Emilie slumped down in her chair. “But I can’t believe we didn’t think about how to get back in. Gods, we’re stupid, aren’t we?”

Macaius only sighed miserably. Several minutes later, there was a rattle as the door opened again, revealing Julissa returned- and with her was one of the stewards.

“Since you both decided to impersonate servants so you could have a lark in town,” the empress hissed, “you can play the part. You will take no lessons- instead for the next month you will live in the servants’ quarters, work, and eat only prisoners rations of bread and water. Take your orders from Master Ilanwey here. You will be kept strictly separate, and neither of you will be allowed your wands.”

“A month?” Emilie gawped, her dark eyes alight with disbelief. “But that’s… that’s…” The girl shook her head. “You can’t.”

“I can make it longer if you’re going to be lippy,” Julissa retorted coldly. “You two have no idea how much danger you put yourselves in!”

“B-but Mother,” Macaius objected, “We found the cure for-”

“Do not ‘but’ me!” Julissa snapped. “You could've been killed! You will do as I say and that is final!”

In the six years Emilie had lived with the imperial family, she didn’t think she’d ever seen Julissa remotely so furious. The empress rarely raised her voice at all, let alone like this, the woman now quite literally quivering with rage. A knot tangled in the young girl’s throat, and no matter how many times she tried, she could not wholly swallow it away. She wanted to argue more, knew she shouldn’t, and clenched her jaw instead.

“Th-this is our only punishment, right?” she whispered, half-dreading the answer. “Th-the emperor… he won’t… he won’t punish us again once he gets home, will he?”

Julissa folded her arms, an eyebrow raised. “You know your uncle better than that, I think. He directly denied you permission to go out into the city, and you deliberately disobeyed him.” Her eyes narrowed. “I think between the two of us, you won’t dare set another toe out of line.”

Macaius was shaking hard, his breath hitching. He didn’t mind being punished- not when he’d finally gotten an answer and a cure for his fits. But it killed him that Emilie had been dragged into it. That now she was going to suffer for him.

“J-just me,” he whimpered. “Please, y-you can give me… two months, but d-don’t tell on Emilie to Father. Tell him it was j-just me.”

“Mac.” Emilie turned sharply toward her cousin, her eyes going wide as dinner plates. “No. Y-you don’t have to do that, no.”

Julissa quirked an eyebrow. “This isn’t a subject for haggling or debate, Macaius. I can’t have you out of lessons for that long, for one thing, and for another Emilie is not getting off the hook for this.”

Macaius’ face fell and he looked down at his legs, clenching his fingers on his pants. “I… I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Emmy.”

“It’s not your fault, Macaius,” she murmured, gulping. “D-don’t blame yourself, okay? It’s not like you dragged me out kicking and screaming.”

Julissa rapped her hand on the desk behind her. “Enough with the histrionics, both of you. I don’t want to hear another word out of either of your mouths.” She turned to the steward, gesturing at the children. “They’re all yours. Make sure they work hard.”

And work hard Macaius and Emilie did. Most of their punishment work involved cleaning, but as huge as the Shadowed Palace was that cleaning never quite seemed to stop. When after two weeks Sebellius returned from his trip, he was every bit as furious as Emilie and Macaius had feared he might be; he ordered them both to his office-- the first the two had seen of each other since the commencement of Julissa’s punishment-- and lectured them for so long and so scathingly that Emilie’s head began to pound, and Macaius wanted to do nothing more than sink into the floor and vanish entirely. And things hardly improved once the emperor was done with his vitriolic reprimand: Sebellius announced that if the imperial children wished to masquerade as lowly servants, then he’d discipline them as he might have disciplined servants who’d baldly disobeyed a direct order of his.

Macaius and Emilie thus sported bruised and sore backsides for the remainder of Julissa’s punishment; it was the first time Macaius could remember having gotten any sort of corporal punishment from his father, and it definitely reinforced one point for him- Sebellius would not be at all sympathetic if Macaius tried to explain his reasoning or his convictions.

Finally, finally, the children’s punishment duties ended. They were permitted their first real night’s sleep in their own beds, a toothsome breakfast of real food, and returned to their lessons after a month’s hiatus. Macaius had never thought he’d be so glad to hear the dull, droning voice of his history tutor.

Once their lessons were done for the day and the children had eaten lunch, they convened in Macaius’ room for their first private conversation since the ill-fated expedition into town. Emilie could have cried from relief as she sat atop Macaius’s plush bed, the girl pulling a feathery pillow into her lap and resting her elbows upon it.

“Gods, I never realized how much you can ache just from sleeping on a crummy pallet,” she said. “My back’s still killing me.”

“I know,” Macaius said miserably. “And it’s awful, never ever not being hungry. Bread and water just seems to vanish before it gets to my stomach!”

“Not to mention your father,” Emilie said. “Gods, I thought he was going to kill us, Mac.” The girl laughed grimly. “I guess I can finally see why everyone else in this palace is terrified of him.”

“Y-yeah,” the prince said softly, his eyes downcast. “He’s… he’s terrifying when he’s crossed, isn’t he? I don’t even want to know what he’d be capable of with people that weren’t family.”

“We’re never doing that again,” Emilie said simply. “Going out into the city. I don’t even want to think about what your parents would do if they caught us again.”

Macaius nodded grimly. “No. It would be unthinkably stupid to try that again.” He looked up suddenly, his green eyes flashing. “At least, to try it again while my father is still the emperor. But… but once I’m the emperor, no one will stop us. And I’ll actually have the power to do something with the stuff I learn in the city.”

Here, Emilie faltered, the girl’s face darkening. “You… you still believe it, then?” she asked softly. “About the gods sending you a message?”

Macaius nodded. “I’ve only had one fit since we went out and… and it wasn’t nearly as bad as usual. I was able to duck into a side room and pull myself together on my own. I’ve… I’ve never been able to do that before, I’ve always needed someone else to help me remember myself.”

“W-we got caught, though, Mac,” Emilie reminded, as if her cousin could have forgotten. “You don’t see that as… as another sign? That it’s-- not what you think it is?”

“The gods aren’t going to just hand us everything on a silver platter, Emmy,” Macaius pointed out. “That’s not how the world works. If I’m going to make a difference, I have to work for it. I have to be willing to go against my father.” Macaius bit his lip. “I love him. I do. But we saw just how ruthless he can be. All the heads on the road, and the way he beat us… he wouldn’t listen even if the gods came down and scolded him directly. That’s why it’s gotta be me.”

Emilie clenched her jaw, and it quivered. “I-I just… I don’t want you to get hurt, Macaius. Pr-promise me you’ll be careful?” The girl averted her gaze, blinking hard. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

The crown prince reached for his cousin, enfolding her into a hug. “I promise, Emmy, I’ll be careful. I won’t do anything stupid or rash like this again, and I’ll wait until I’m the emperor to try to make any changes.” He bit his lip. “But the same goes for you, you know. I know that… that you still don’t really believe me. But I can’t do this by myself. I’m not asking you to believe me, or to get yourself in trouble for my sake. I just… need someone to be on my side.” Swallowing hard, he added, “Please?”

“Of course, Mac,” she replied without skipping a beat. “You’re my best friend. M-my… only friend. I’ll always be on your side. No matter what.” She sighed deeply, resting her cheek against his shoulder. “I love you, Macaius.”

Macaius put his chin on Emilie’s opposite shoulder. “I love you too. No matter what happens, I want you and me to face it together. Always.”

[Shinko]

So this is a fun little metazone side-project that Tiger and I partook in for a large part of the spring and summer of 2015. It started out small, then evolved into a fullblown AU story, at which point we started joking that at some point we should convert the meta chats into prose format and actually post them, as much work as had gone into the thing. Now, finally, we're doing so! Behold ladies and gentlemen, the first of quiiite a few stories in a new-old AU by Tiger and I. It is legitimately adorable and will give you diabeetus. Enjoy!

Owl Pellets

SPOILER: Click to show

The Silver River had long been a favored fishing spot for the citizens of Raylier. In fact, fish were one of the primary exports for the area aside from wine, and fishermen were the backbone of the Raylish economy.

Unfortunately, that didn’t stop some people from having fun at the expense of those lowly fishermen.

“Your deadbeat dad left you alone while he’s out on his boat again?” Trilled a brown haired boy of about eight as he and two of his friends tromped towards the short of the river. The young girl they were speaking to stood from where she’d been sifting through the mud, her face settling into glower.

“Don’t you got nothin’ better to do, Damien?” she demanded of the boy. “Woo, one day, just one day I wanna be able to dig for worms for Papa in peace.”

“What’s better than to teach a chit who don’t know how to act manners?” Damien replied with a smirk. “Is it true? Didja really leave a pile of fish eggs in the priest’s shoes?”

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” Morgaine trilled in a sing-song voice, pointedly looking away. There was a sharp squelching noise as Damien stomped through the muck towards the younger child, he and his cronies surrounding her.

“Liar. You know exactly what we’re talkin’ about,” he said through gritted teeth. “Just ‘cause you got a dead mom doesn’t mean you can act like a ‘Pit demon, always ‘causin’ trouble.”

“You’re just mad ‘cause I beat you at a race in Sunday School,” Morgaine said cooly. Damien made an incoherent noise of rage.

“That is not true, you little-” he snarled, reaching out to grab her, only to get something soft and hairy smacking into his upper lip as Morgaine impulsively pelted it at him. He broke off in surprise, looking down at the thing. It was an oblong clump of some kind of animal hair.

With mouse skulls visibly packed into it.

“Eeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!” Damien shrieked, turning on his heel and bolting. “That’s gross, you really are a ‘Pit monster! Ewewewewew!”

Morgaine snorted softly as her assailants vanished over the crest of the hill, moving to turn back around and continue her digging. However, out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of something that made her pause- at the top of the rise that lead down to the river was a small boy dressed all in black and white, hunched over with his hands covering his ears. His face was scrunched up as if he were in pain, and concern flitted across Morgaine’s face.

“Hey!” she called up to him. “Are you okay?”

The child recoiled as if he’d be slapped, hissing “Shhhhhhh!” Morgaine was startled, but obediently fell silent, frowning as she climbed up the slope towards the boy. Closer inspection revealed him to have dark blonde hair, slightly tanned skin, and even though it was the middle of summer, he wore gloves on both hands. He was hyperventilating slightly, but gradually this tapered off as he seemed to calm down and collect himself. He opened his eyes, revealing them to be a bright, clear shade of blue.

“Are you okay?” Morgaine asked him. “You looked like you were hurt.”

The child didn’t meet her eyes or even look towards her, his gaze fixed firmly on his shoes as he muttered a vague, “They were too loud.”

“They?” Morgaine echoed. Then it hit her, and she snorted, “Oh, you mean those boys. Damien and his jerk friends. Sorry, I didn’t think anyone else was over here- or that they’d shriek like cats whose tail ya step on just ‘cause I threw some owl throw up at ‘em. They deserved that though, and I’ll do it again if they come bother me, I’m tired of them bein’ stupid!” Realizing she’d gone off on a ramble, the girl winced. “Ah, sorry, I got carried away. I talk too much, everyone says.”

The boy blinked slowly, glancing towards her with his brow furrowed. Then he murmured, “...I think you and my sister Regina would get along real well. And they’re pellets, not throw up.”

Morgaine blinked. “Oh. Uh. Sorry. Pellets then.” Shaking this off she said, “Soooo… what’s your name?”

The boy was already looking away again, though he seemed surprised by the question. “Oh. Um. I’m Leif. Accipiter.”

“Accipiter? Like the Lord?” Morgaine asked wonderingly, though she jumped back a bit when the boy, as if realizing he’d forgotten something, abruptly bowed. Woo, he was weird.

Leif nodded. "Yeah. 'Cept I don't like being called that. Lord. 'Lord Leif', it sounds weird."

Morgaine blinked. "Sounds 'weird'? How's it sound weird?"

"The first parts sound the same!” Leif insisted. “Lord's got an 'L', and Leif's got an 'L'. And if you say it fast it gets mixed up!"

"An 'L'?” The illiterate young peasant couldn’t quite wrap her brain around this concept. However, she went on, “...But yeah, I guess you're right, it does sound the same, huh? I guess your mama and papa didn't think about that too hard when they picked your name, huh?" The girl tilted her head. "Say, where are your mama and papa? Are you by yourself?"

"Mother's at home. Father's...I'unno. Somewhere." Leif made a vague motion with one hand in the direction of the marketplace further up the slope. "Henry was s'posed to take us to a shop but it's too loud there, and I thought maybe some birds would be at the river. Like herons or cranes or kingfishers. Or ducks. Or ospreys!"

Morgaine brightened. "Ooh, the river has lots of ducks! And herons and cranes too! I've never heard of kingfishers b'fore though, or ospreys. I didn't know the owl things were called pellets either- you know lots about birds, huh?"

The boy brightened, nodding, "Mm-hm! Owl stomachs can't eat up the bones 'n' fur 'n' stuff, so they gotta spit it back out. That's what's in a pellet!"

“Ooh, so that’s why they’re all hairy and got bones in ‘em,” Morgaine mused. “Instead of being yucky and gooey like when people throw up.” She suddenly grinned hugely. “Hey, if you wanted to see birds, you wanna see the owl in the tree? He’s got a nest up there! He’s kind of red-brown so if he’s sleeping you can see him through the leaves. And, and he’s got these horn looking feathers on it's head- and it makes a sort of whistling noise, it doesn't whoot like most people say owls do. He’s really cool!”

“Horn feathers,” Leif murmured, his brow furrowed in thought. “'S gotta be a horned owl. But Great Horned Owls are big. Really big.” He squinted towards the tree branches, clearly trying to see the owl in question. “...Where's it perch?”

“Over here!” Morgaine chirped, skipping back down the slope towards the tree. Leif scrambled after her, hands and arms held tight to his chest as he ducked around a stand of water weeds. Once he’d caught up, she pointed up towards the branches. “See! He’s up there.”

Leif followed the direction of her pointed finger. After a moment he brightened. “...Oh! I see it! It's pretty…” Understanding dawned across his face as he examined the bird. “Ohhh, it's not a horned owl. 'S a screech owl. 'Cause it looks angry, 'cause of the eyebrows.”

Morgaine grinned. “A screech owl? Cool! How’d you learn so much about birds, Leif? Does your dad do falconry?”

The little boy shook his head, lips drawn thin. “Uh-uh. Not Mother, either. They do a lot of writing and having meetings. It's boring. Not like birds.”

“That does sound boring,” Morgaine agreed with a frown. “My dad is a fisherman, that's pretty boring too.”

“Being a noble is boring. And sometimes loud and crowded,” Leif grumbled. Tilting his head and glancing briefly away from the owl and towards Morgaine he said, “...Fishing means you could see herons. Or cranes. ...Are you gonna be a fisherwoman?”

Morgaine sighed gustily. “I dunno yet. Probably, but I don't really wanna. It'd be cool to learn something more interesting.”

The boy tilted his head, seeming genuinely surprised. “You don't know? Your Father and Mother didn't tell you? ...But...how're you gonna learn how to do it?”

“I don't got a mom,” Morgaine replied simply, with no more affect than she might have put into describing the weather. “She died when I was born, and 'cause of that I got no one to show me how to be a ‘proper lady.’ So I'll do whatever I want. If no one can show me, I'll figure it out.”

“...Oh.” Leif looked back up at the owl, seeming uncomfortable. “...I dunno much about proper ladies, not like I know 'bout owls. I got sisters, but Regina gets in trouble sometimes for not doing it right, and I dunno what Mother tells Ingrid. ...But how're you gonna know what to do when you grow up?” A thought seemed to occur to the young noble, and he looked back to Morgaine with wide, round eyes. “...Do you get to pick whatever you want?”

“Well there's some stuff I can't do,” the girl admitted. “Like I can't be a knight 'cause girls aren't allowed, and I can't be a noble because I don't got the right family.” An irritated look flitted across her face. “I can't do a lot of stuff 'cause girls aren't allowed. I don't know why it matters. But yeah, I can pick what I want to do. I'd like to be an apprentice maybe. Like, to a silversmith or craftsman or somethin'.” She smiled again. “Maybe they'd teach me stuff Daddy can't, like how to read and write.”

“...Oh.” Leif was quite for a time, seeming to digest this. Then he frowned. “...That seems kinda silly. Boys and girls can be priests. I know that.” He turned back towards Morgaine again. “...You don't know your letters, though? But...how d'you find out about stuff? Like, stuff that's far away? Or has big names, like birds?”

“I don’t,” Morgaine said simply. “I didn’t know what the pellets were, ‘member? I just know stuff you can find out by watchin’ ‘em. Like how owls can fly and stuff.” She looked up at the slumbering bird, a grin flitting across her face. “It'd be cool to fly like the owl, wouldn't it? And see in the dark, that would be awesome.”

Leif followed her gaze, nodding. “I'd like flying. And owls - owls can fly so quiet, you can't even hear them, even if you're a - a mouse, or a cat! It's 'cause their wings are shaped like…” The boy made an odd gesture with his hands, trying to mime a serrated edge, but he was still holding his arms so close to the rest of his body that he only succeeded in making Morgaine furrow her brows with concern.

“Are you okay, Leif?” she asked. “Do your shoulders hurt?”

Leif immediately dropped his hands again, looking down. “N-no, I was just...trying to show owl wings. It's hard without a book with a picture.”

“Oh!” Morgaine grinned. “Wouldn't it be easier if you spread your arms out more?” Making good on her suggestion, Morgaine began to run circles around the tree, whistling and flapping her arms like they were wings. Leif winced a little at the sound of the whistling, hitching up his shoulders, and seeing this Morgaine quickly fell silent again. “Oh, sorry.”

“‘S okay,” he murmured, slowly relaxing.

“If I’m bothering you, just let me know,” she said softly, letting her arms fall to her side. “Lots of people don’t like me. They say I’m annoying. Even priest doesn't like me. He says I got the spirit of the 'Pit in me, just 'cause I don't let him bully my daddy.”

Leif looked very much taken aback by this revelation. “But...you're nice. And 'Pit demons aren't nice. 'Pit demons wouldn't show me an owl.”

“You think I'm nice? I…” Morgaine hesitated, seeming very unsure of herself. “Nobody thinks I'm nice. They all hate me. ‘Cept Daddy.”

“You showed me an owl. That's nice,” Leif pointed out, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. “Nobody else shows me owls. Or regular birds. And I'm not allowed to go to the aviary by myself, but nobody ever wants to come with.” He gave an aggrieved huff, then seemed to realize he was ranting and winced. “...Uhm. I'm sorry they're mean. It's not nice to hate somebody 'cause…”

A thought seemed to occur to Leif, and he frowned. “...Is it 'cause you don't wanna be a proper lady? That's not fair. Regina's not a proper lady all the time, I guess, an' Mother and Father still like her.”

Morgaine sighed softly, hugging herself. “Yeah, it's 'cause I don't wanna be a lady. And 'cause I do stuff when they're mean to me. Nothing mean or hurtful, but things to make 'em mad because they're mean to me.”

Leif’s eyes went wide. “...What kinda stuff? Sometimes Regina pushes Stefan, but Mother says that's mean.”

Morgaine shrugged, her expression going muleish. “Stuff like splashing 'em with water or putting slimey things in where they're reaching. Nothin' that hurts, just stuff that's annoying for a little while. After they yell at me it's funny to trick 'em.”

Leif winced openly, frowning down at his hands. “I wouldn't like touching a slimey thing I wasn't expecting... But it doesn't hurt other people?”

Morgaine shook her head. “Nah, of course it doesn't hurt. I make sure I take anything that might hurt out. But I only do that to people who're mean. You're not mean, so I won't do that stuff to you.” She gave the noble boy a shy grin. “You're nice, Leif.”

Leif looked taken aback. “I am?”

Morgaine nodded emphatically. “Yeah! You called me nice- no one ever calls me nice. Motherless chit and 'pit spawn but not nice” She grinned suddenly. “Wanna be friends, Leif? We can look at birds and you can tell me stuff from books and stuff.”

Leif actually met Morgaine’s eyes for a fraction of a second at this request. “...Friends? O-okay. I - I dunno much about how to do it. Mother and Father and my brother have friends, but. They don't look at birds and books, they have parties. ...I don't wanna have parties.”

Morgaine gave the boy a bright, excited smile, skipping a little in place. “ I never had no friends before either, but I know we don't have to have parties. We do stuff we think is fun.”

“Okay... no parties.” Leif gave a slightly overdramatic sigh of relief, then smiled tentatively. “Parties are not fun.”

She giggled, then bent down on her knees, scooping up something small and off-white and offering it to Leif in the flat of her palm. “Here! You can keep this, it's a present.”

Leif examined the object carefully- it was a down feather, probably shed at some point by the owl in the tree. He smiled, reaching out to touch it with a tentative fingertip. “I bet it's soft...it's pretty.” He carefully plucked the feather up, sets it in his hand, and took off one of his gloves to stroke it. His grin widened. “Mmhmm. It's soft. This is a good present. Nobody's got me a feather before!”

Morgaine beamed. “I'm glad you like it. My daddy says the little feathers like that are for keeping birds warm.”

“Mm-hmm,” Leif agreed, still petting the feather. “ It's the down feathers. It's all little baby chicks have, so baby birds are really soft! ...But their mothers and fathers would get mad if you tried to pet them.”

“I see little baby birds on the ground sometimes,” Morgaine mused. “But they're not soft, they're kinda weird... Daddy says that's 'cause they're growing grown up feathers and it’s their 'awkward teenage stage' but I dunno what that means.”

Leif giggled. “Yeah - they look a little silly when they're fledgelings. But they're still cute, just messy. That's when they're learning to fly!”

“Ooooh, that makes sense,” Morgaine nodded sagely. “My favorite hymn talks about the Woo keeping the little children safe and warm in his down feathers. Do you know it?” Morgaine closed her eyes and started to sing the hymn in question softly, and after a minute or so Leif’s eyes lit with recognition.

“Mmhm! I know that one! ...Not all the words yet. I'm s'pposed to be a priest, so I gotta know all the songs, but there's so many, I haven't learned them all yet!”

Morgaine’s eyes went wide. “You're gonna be a priest? Does that mean you'll wear all white and talk about the Woo to people on Sundays? I didn't know nobles became priests, I thought they were just nobles.”

Leif nodded. “Mmhm, if I do good in my lessons. I don't like the talking to people part, but. I like Lord Woo, so, I guess I gotta. And I dunno, Henry's gonna be just a noble, but I'm uhm…” He set the feather in his pocket and carefully counted on his fingers. “I'm the sixth, so I'm gonna be a priest”

“You're the sixth what?” Morgaine asked, plopping down in the grass. “And who's Henry?”

Leif gingerly sat down beside her. “I'm the sixth in my family. I got four older brothers, and two older sisters *slightly clumsily holds up the corresponding number of fingers on his free hand as he says them* ...Henry's my biggest brother. He's…” the boy hesitated, mulling. “He likes going to parties, but I don't, but he makes me go to parties. He's a good noble. That's what Mother and Father say.”

Morgaine digested this, leaning forwards and bracing her elbows on her knees. “Sounds like the ladies in the village who try to make me sew and stuff 'cause it's "proper" for a lady even though I don't wanna. And when I tell them I don't wanna they try to make me do it anyway 'cause that's what you're supposed to do if you're a girl.” She scowled. “It makes me mad. Does Henry make you mad?

Leif looked down. “...Yeah. I'm not s'pposed to get mad at him. 'Cause it's - uhm, it's like - what'd you say...uh, you gotta...if you're a noble, you gotta do noble stuff. ...But he makes me really mad.” Leif glanced up at his new friend. “How d'you make them stop making you mad?” Hastily he added, “But not with slimey things!”

The girl giggled. “Well I can do pranks that aren't just with slimey stuff, but I guess you don't wanna do pranks so…”

She seememd to mull it over, her dark eyes thoughtful. “It helps sometimes if I talk to Daddy,” she said finally. “He'll hug me and tell me it's okay. And I tell 'em to leave me alone and run off sometimes. It also helps sometimes if I imagine something silly.” She suddenly gave Leif a mischievous smirk. “Like you could pretend there's a bird on Henry's head and it poops on his nose!”

Leif’s eyes went as wide and round as saucers, and he covered his mouth. Glee lit his face. “Poops...on his nose? He would hate that!” The boy giggled. “I guess I gotta do that, I can't do the other stuff. ...What if the bird...did its droppings in Henry's hair!” Leif sniggered hard.

Morgaine looked highly amused. “That would be awesome 'cause then he might not notice right away. Then he walks around the party with bird poop in his hair and everyone is giggling at him, and he doesn't know why. And if he starts saying mean things to you, you can just imagine there's a really pretty bird song going and it's too loud and you can't hear Henry.”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Bird song would be way nicer to hear than Henry…” He sighed, frowning. “But if I don't listen, he talks louder. I hate when he talks loud. ...If I imagine he's got bird poop in his hair, I can still act like I'm listening, too.” Wistfully Leif added, “I wish I was a falconer - then I could make a real bird land on his head!”

The young girl gave a sly smile. “I could be your falcon. I can't poop on him, but I could still put something gross in his shoes.” She made flapping motions with her hands again, then gestured meaningfully at the algae clinging to the rocks on the edge of the river.

Leif looked confused at first, his brow furrowed. Then understanding dawned on his face, followed quickly by horror. “Ohhhh - but - but you'd get in so much trouble! And - if Mother and Father found out - you'd get in trouble, and they wouldn't let you be my friend! Or - or show me birds, prob'ly.” He scowled slightly, looking away. “You don't wanna have them mad at you.”

“I don't care if they're mad at me, if they're mean and say Henry's good for being mean to you.” Morgaine retorted, but then she sighed. “But alright, I don't want them to punish you for something I did. It's not fair, mommies and daddies are supposed to be nice to their kids. They're supposed to hug you and make the mean people stop.”

Leif only shrugged. “I don't think they like me. 'Sokay. I don't like hugs.” Under his breath he added, “I just want Henry to shut up.”

Morgaine looked crestfallen. “You don’t like hugs? I… I love hugs. And cuddles” Hurriedly she tacked on, “But that's okay, you don't have to if you don't want.”

The noble boy shifted a little uncomfortably, guilt flitting across his face. “I'm sorry... I think...sometimes it makes my head feel funny. Bad-funny. ...D-d'you ever have a bad feeling in your head?”

Morgaine pursed her lips, her expression concerned. “Well when I'm sick and I got a stuffy nose my face hurts. But I've never heard of hugs making your head feel bad. What kinda bad do you mean?”

“It's... it's... it's like…” Leif scowled, making a noise of frustration. “I dunno, I can't point to where it hurts. But it makes everything else feel funny. All the stuff from outside. Not outside a house, though, outside me.” He sighed. “Mother and Father say it's headaches. But it's not headaches.”

The girl winced in sympathy. “That sounds awful. Have you tried going to a healer? I heared noble magic healers can fix stuff like woosh.” She mimed waving a wand. “I’ve never seen it, but it’s supposed to be amazing.”

“They can't fix head-stuff with magic wands,” Leif explained. “You gotta use potions. And I tried. But the healer always says it's a headache and makes me take a potion. But it's not a headache! And the potion smells funny and it makes it worse! So I don't go to the healer anymore.”

He scowled, but then a thought seemed to occur to him, and he offered a shy smile. “...Oh, but, uhm. I could show you some magic! I'm not allowed to take my wand out of class yet, but - but look.” He pulled the down feather out of his pocket again, squinting hard at it. After almost a full minute, the feather turned a deep shade of blue. Morgaine gasped appreciatively, her eyes alight with excitement.

“Wow! That's so cool. I wish I could do that!” She laughed softly. “But I'm just normal. Hey, maybe instead I could be a falconer when I get big, if they let girls do it. Then you can come and meet my birds, and no one can tell you no!”

Leif grinned. “I bet they let girls be falconers! Birds are like Lord Woo, and Lord Woo doesn't care if you're a girl or a boy - so they gotta, right? And, and if you had birds, you could make them keep people from being mean to you! Nobody's mean to somebody with a hawk or an eagle on their shoulder! “

“Nope!” Morgaine chirped. “Though I would need to learn lots of stuff first. Like I didn’t know the screech owl, and a falconer should probably know that. And I dunno what those other birds you said earlier were either.”

“Yeah, you gotta learn more birds,” Leif said. “Hmmm...if we’re friends, does that mean I could teach you ‘bout birds?”

The young girl nodded enthusiastically, “Yeah, I bet you could! If… if you wanted to, you don’t gotta I don’t want to be annoyin’.”

“Why would it be annoying? I like talkin’ about birds! ...Or, or is talking about birds annoying?” Leif’s brow furrowed in uncertainty.

“Nuh-uh, they’re not annoying,” Morgaine said quickly. “I just got lots of people who tell me I’m annoying when I ask questions or talk to ‘em. I don’t got an… an… ed-you-ca-shin like you do. So I don’t know stuff, and I ask lots. Papa calls me a curious Kitten, but everyone else calls me a pest.”

“That’s not nice! If you don’t got education, then how are you gonna know stuff if you don’t ask? Even if you got education, the tutors say, they say ‘ask questions if you don’t understand’. Asking stuff isn’t being a pest.”

“They do?” Morgaine quierried. “So… so is that how you know so much ‘bout birds? You had tutors and you asked ‘em?”

“Oh - nuh-uh. Most of ‘em don’t know a lot about birds. But there’s books in the library, and they got pictures, too!”

“Oh, so you read stuff?” Morgaine nodded sagely. “Papa says all the wisdom of the world’s in books, but books is only for important people to have. If you got a whole library you must be super smart, Leif!”

Leif blushed and looks down. “'M just smart with birds... You prob'ly know a lot more about…” he paused, looking around and making a vague gesture “All the stuff out here than I do. And, and - you know how to laugh at Henry, 'cause you can pretend he has a bird in his hair.”

The boy grinned at this, and Morgaine had to grin back. “Well we can both be smart about different things and teach each other. I bet you know more about the Lord Woo than I do too, since you're gonna be a priest and stuff.”

Leif nodded slowly. “It'd be real hard to be smart at everything. But I like learning stuff. And I'unno… I can read the Books of 'Woo - sorta, they're long and sometimes I get confused. But, you know church songs! And you know better than that dumb priest who said you had 'Pit demons inside you.” The young nobleman scowled.

Morgaine’s smile softened. “Thanks. And yeah, I sing in the choir at church sometimes. It's fun, though Daddy is a better singer than me.” She giggled. “I like learning things too. I get bored all the time 'cause there's never anything interesting to do. I bet reading and learning stuff would be fun! And seeing cool birds!”

Leif glanced down at his hands, looking sheepish. “Maybe...you could teach me to sing better? I know the words, but I don't sing them right. I'll teach you about birds - and the letters, so you can read and you don't have to be bored anymore!”

Morgaine nodded enthusiastically. “Alright! That sounds like fun. I'm glad we're friends, Leif.”

The little boy met Morgaine’s eyes with a shy smile. “Me too.”

---

Red Handed, Silver Tongued - Part One

SPOILER: Click to show

Morgaine waved good-bye to her father, slipping out of their cottage near the river and heading into Raylier proper. She and Leif had arranged to meet today near the owl tree, as they did at least two or three times a month and had for the past three years. Leif couldn’t slip away all the time, or his absences would be noticed and he’d be watched more closely, but that just made the two children enjoy their time together all the more.

The little girl couldn’t really deny that Leif was odd. Not only his aversion to touch and his dislike of noise. He just… acted strange. In ways that Morgaine couldn’t quite put her finger on, but she noticed them just the same. But ultimately that didn’t really matter to her. The young Accipiter was her friend, and as long as she did as he asked- not touching him and keeping their games quiet- his problems didn’t seem to hinder him much.

She eventually arrived to the spot where the two of them had first met, grinning from ear to ear. Leif was already there, scattering the last of a small dinner roll in the grass around the tree. “Hi!” he said, voice low in volume but still excited in tone. “There were sparrows when I got here! They flew away, but I left ‘em some bread so maybe they can come back and eat it. Or maybe some mice will come and try to get it, and the owl can get the mice! ...Oh!” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a second, slightly squished, roll. “I brought this for you - it’s got honey on it!”

Morgaine’s eyes brightened. “Ooooh, thank you!” She accepted the roll from Leif’s gloved hand. “I almost never get sweets ‘cept at Woomas. They’re expensive.”

The young girl bit into the roll, glancing down at the bread Leif had scattered on the ground. “Was that one s’pposed to be yours though?”

“Yeah, but I wanted the birds to have it,” Leif said with a jaunty shrug. “And I had one last night, anyways; these were leftovers. Stefan and Regina got sent to their rooms for arguing. Again.”

The young girl rolled her eyes. “Aren’t they gettin’ too old to get sent to their rooms? They’re so dumb sometimes. Stefan ‘specially.”

Leif nodded in agreement. “It’s really annoying. Father said he was gonna take their wands, too; Stefan’s gonna be grumpy for days.” He paused, then amended, “Grumpier than usual, I mean. I wish I could just come here every day, and then I wouldn’t have to hear him stomping around the whole day.”

Morgaine stuck out her tongue in distaste. “Sometimes I’m glad I don’t got brothers or sisters. They don’t sound like any fun. ‘Cept for Markus, he seems nice.” She suddenly grinned. “Oh, but! I got something fun the other day and I saved it. Here!”

She fished around in the pouch at her side, and after a moment she pulled free what appeared to be half of a minute brown eggshell, speckled with darker brown.

Leif gasped appreciatively and leaned closer. “Oooh! And it’s so little!” After a moment’s study, he proclaimed, “I think it’s gotta be a wren egg. Cardinal eggs look kinda like that sometimes, but they’re bigger. Where’d you find it?” he asked excitedly, glancing up at Morgaine and briefly meeting her eyes in his enthusiasm.

Morgaine beamed. “It was near Papa’s boathouse. I think the nest musta been under the eaves somewhere. You know, that part of the roof that hangs over the wall?”

“Yeah, you’re probably right! Wrens like making nests inside hollows and things like that - kinda like our owl.” He pointed up the tree trunk toward the hollow of the little screech owl who lived there. “D’you think you’d be able to see it if you got right up next to the house?”

“Hmm,” Morgaine murmured around another mouthful of honey bread. After giving a jerky swallow, she replied, “I didn’t see it before, but you’re better at finding ‘em than me. We could go check if you want?”

Leif grinned. “Yeah! That’d be fun! ...Your papa won’t be mad I’m at his boathouse, will he?”

“We just gotta be careful not to touch anything,” Morgaine assured the young noble as she turned off in the direction of the boat house to lead the way. “Papa would be really angry if we messed up his nets or knocked over his bait jars or stuff like that, but if we’re just walking around the outside he won’t mind.”

“I won’t mess anything up or knock anything over,” Leif promised solemnly. “But just outside’d be fun - I’ve never seen a boathouse before, what’s it - “

The boy halted midsentence at the sound of someone approaching. This was odd - their tree wasn’t exactly in the middle of the forest, but it wasn’t visible from the main path, either; there should have been no reason for anyone to investigate. Whoever was coming was coming quickly, and when the man - tall, blond-haired, with a nose like a beak and stern gray eyes - came into view, Leif sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and drew back in alarm.

“So this is where you’ve been disappearing to?” The man lowered a wand and thrust it back into the holster at his hip, glaring at Leif. “What do you think you’re doing, running off into the middle of the woods?! And who is this?” His eyes fell on Morgaine briefly before snapping back to Leif.

The young Accipiter’s shoulders had risen about to his ears. He stammered, “I - I’m just - we…”

Morgaine took a firm step forwards, interposing herself between the man and Leif. “I’m Morgaine Folet. And we’re not in the middle of the woods, the fishing docks is right around that bend in the river.” She pointed towards the bend in question. “Who’re you? Why are you being rude?”

Leif stared at Morgaine, his eyes wide. The man’s jaw dropped briefly before he recollected himself. “I,” he said sternly, “am Lord Accipiter, young lady. I’m not being rude - I’m asking where my son has been disappearing to!” At this, his glower resettled over Morgaine’s shoulder and onto Leif, who winced - but even as he edged a little closer to Morgaine to stand behind her, the younger Accipiter finally seemed to realize he ought to speak.

Staring at his boots, he muttered, “I’m not disappearing - I just come out here to play. ...And it’s like Morgaine said, the docks are right there.” He used his head and shoulders to gesture in the same direction Morgaine had indicated.

“And?” Lord Accipiter snapped. “It doesn’t matter that you know where you are - you’re nine, we need to know where you are! Not to mention you’re not supposed to be out of the Manor, let alone off the grounds, let alone in the woods and playing with a complete stranger!”

“She’s not a stranger, though!” Leif protested thinly. “She’s my friend!”

Richard pressed his thumb and forefinger to his temple. “You’re out here making friends with strangers when you won’t even play nicely with your siblings?”

“He told you I’m not a stranger!” Morgaine bleated. “I knowed Leif for a long time! I met him once when he came out to the market with Henry and them a few years ago.”

“This has been going on for years?”

Leif’s jaw clenched and his eyes clamped shut, but he managed, “See? She’s not a stranger.”

“For ‘Woo’s sake, Leif! I don’t know her, your mother doesn’t know her - is she the reason you’ve been so stubborn lately?” Before giving Leif a chance to answer, he turned his attention toward Morgaine. “Do your parents know you’re here?” His tone suggested he assumed they did not.

“Papa knows where I am,” she retorted mulishly. “I told him. He says it’s good I got a friend, ‘cause it gives me something to do and keeps me out of trouble.”

“Oh? Does he know your friend is a runaway minor lord’s son?” Lord Accipiter asked with a bite to his tone.

Morgaine bristled, her brown eyes flashing, though she kept her voice low. “You’re not gonna yell at my daddy! He knows Leif’s a noble, but not that he came here without permission. ‘Cause I didn’t tell him nothing he’d get in trouble for. If I do something, I take ‘sponsibility for it. So leave my daddy out of this.”

The lines of Richard’s scowl deepened, but he said, “I have more important things to do than find and lecture your father. Besides.” He glared over her shoulder at Leif. “Leif - you should have known better. How many times have we told you - we need to know where you are! You can’t sneak off and disappear into the aviary, you can’t sneak off and disappear out here - if you want company, try your siblings, not strangers you know nothing about!” Richard’s voice grew louder as he went on, and Leif’s cringe grew obligingly tighter, prompting his father to snap, “And stop hiding behind her - I’m your father, not any of the miscreants you could have run into out here!”

“Stop yelling!” Morgiane hissed, putting her arms out behind her as if to shield Leif from his father’s voice. “Please! You’re hurting him!”

“‘Woo’s feathers - he has you playing his game, too?”

“It’s not a game!” Leif protested, though his low volume robbed some of the force from it.

His father either didn’t hear or simply ignored this objection, continuing to lecture Morgaine. “He needs some scolding, and if he doesn’t like yelling, then fine - maybe he’ll think before he runs off! You’re an Accipiter, Leif - you can’t flee into the woods every time you get upset; it’s dangerous and it’s unbecoming for someone of our House to behave like a spoiled child!”

“He’s not running off ‘cause he gets upset!” Morgaine objected. “He’s coming to see me ‘cause we’re friends! And, and he’s going to be a priest anyway, priests aren’t supposed to care about what’s ‘becoming!’”

“Well he’s not a priest yet - and if he keeps up this overreaction business, he’s going to have a hard time of it,” Richard said, crossing his arms. “And even priests have responsibilities and rules, and aren’t allowed to go gallivanting around as they please!”

“He’s not overreacting, it really hurts!” Morgaine objected, her frustration quickly giving way to a yawning terror that this was the end. That Lord Accipiter would see to it that she never saw Leif again. “And he does his lessons and everything, we only play when he has f-free time!”

Leif nodded fervently, managing, “I’ve been going to all my lessons! And - and I stopped sneaking into the aviary all the time!”

“Yes, because now you’re sneaking out into the city, where you could be kidnapped, or robbed, or worse!”

“We’re really careful,” Leif promised. Richard’s entire face twitched in exasperation. This time, it was Leif who either ignored or refused to acknowledge a response, and he added frantically, “And Morgie’s teaching me better singing! That’s - that’s good for a priest, right?”

Richard looked between the children, momentarily dumbfounded. “...What?”

“I’m in the choir at church,” the girl explained. “I know lotsa songs about the Woo. I’ve been teachin’ ‘em to Leif, and, and helping him sing the keys and stuff better. Daddy says I got my singing voice from my mommy.”

After a moment under Richard’s scrutinizing gaze, Leif offered, “She’s real good. And her teaching’s way better’n the priest I got lessons from at the church.”

“Don’t insult Brother Mayhew, Leif.” The scolding, however, sounded almost automatic as Richard rubbed his temple with a thumb again. His expression was still unhappy, but there was something scrutinizing in his eyes when he opened them again and finally asked Morgaine, “Why are you doing this?”

Morgaine looked genuinely baffled, her brows squashed and her jaw jutting sideways. “I told you. ‘Cause Leif is my friend.”

Richard breathed out a sigh through his nose. “So you said. Which is strange - Leif, you don’t even get along with your siblings. Or the other lords’ children your age.”

Leif mumbled something; at a sharp demand from Richard to speak up, he glowered and said in a minutely louder voice, shoulders hunching again, “I said it’s ‘cause they’re loud.”

“I don’t like fishing, but I go with Papa sometimes,” Morgaine put in. “And you have to be real quiet when you’re fishing. Or you’ll scare the fish away. So I’m good at it. Not being loud with Leif so it hurts him.” She shrugged. “Not touching him is harder but I can do that too. ‘Cause I wouldn’t want nobody doing things to hurt me.”

“Right - this sound and touch business. Is that why you sneak out to see her, Leif?”

Leif faltered, apparently struggling to find words. “It’s… She’s nice to me. She’s my friend. And you wouldn’t let me invite her to our house, would you?” The awkward silence seemed to be answer enough to Leif’s question. “See? So - I gotta come out here or I don’t get to see her.”

“Leif - “

The younger Accipiter, however, barreled on, “But why can’t she come to the manor? She wouldn’t break anything or be loud or go in your office while you’re working - and then I wouldn’t have to run away, or sneak into the aviary!”

“Leif - ”

“And - and I could practice teaching the Book of ‘Woo! ‘Cause priests are supposed to do that - and the ‘Woo wants people to know the Books, right?”

Richard was visibly startled, his brows high, as if Leif had proposed some lunatic idea that made just enough sense to give his father pause.

Morgaine nodded, “I’d be okay with that. If it helps. I wanna help, so Leif can be a good priest, not like the priests at the church I go who’re mean to everybody. Friends help each other, and I like helping Leif same as I like to play with him. And he’s a good teacher- he’s been teaching me birds! Like egret, and barn owl, and starling, and turkey vulture and-”

“Yes, all right - I believe you that he’s been teaching you about birds,” Richard said, raising his hands - it looked slightly less like a gesture to stop than it did a gesture of surrender. He contemplated Morgaine a moment. “...You have problems with the priests at your church?”

“He doesn’t like me ‘cause I’m not ladylike enough, he says,” Morgaine explained with a dismissive shrug. “Nobody does. The women where I live say my mom died when I was small so nobody ever taught me my place. It’s not my fault sewing and stuff is boring. But the priest says I got ‘Pit demons in me just ‘cause he can’t think up a good reason why I can’t just be a merchant or a crafter when I ask.”

“...’Pit demons’?” Richard repeated, his brow furrowing.

“That’s not true, though!” Leif insisted. “‘Pit demons don’t make people act unladylike, they just make them mean! And - and - Regina gets in trouble for not bein’ a proper lady all the time, and she doesn’t have ‘Pit demons!”

Richard sighed heavily. “I’m sure Miss...Folet doesn’t have ‘Pit demons.”

“...So she come visit us, right?”

“It’s not that simple, Leif. You don’t even know if her father would approve of it.”

“Our house is really nice, though!” Leif told Morgaine, as if she might not have guessed this herself. “Your papa would let you come visit, right?”

“I’d have to ask ‘im, but I don’t think he’d mind,” she mused, grinning excitedly. “It’s probably safer than playing out on the street and he lets me do that.”

“He would still need to be asked,” Richard said sternly. “And we haven’t even begun to discuss this with your mother. Don’t make that face, Leif,” Richard added with a scowl in his son’s direction. “Need I remind you that you’re not supposed to be out here at all, and that by all rights I should be marching you out of here and back to the manor, where you can stay in your room under guards’ watch?”

Leif’s eyes went wide and he edged back behind Morgaine a little more, shaking his head.

“If - if we let Miss Folet come to the manor, it is not as a reward for you running off. I expect absolute perfect behavior from now on, do you understand? No sneaking into places you aren’t supposed to go, or out of buildings you’re supposed to be inside. No wandering off when you’re supposed to be playing with your siblings. No starting fights with them when they don’t do what you want.” Leif glanced up, something flickering in his eyes, but he didn’t have a chance to make an argument. “And of course, you’ll still be attending your lessons, and I expect high marks. I also expect,” he added with a sideways glance at Morgaine, “to hear from Brother Mayhew that your singing has improved, and that your friend here is getting the education you promised her.”

Leif didn’t reply immediately, hesitancy in his expression, until Richard prompted with a slightly-impatient, “Well?”

Leif nodded hastily, meeting his father’s eyes for a brief second. “Okay. I’ll do all of that stuff, promise - just - don’t make me never see Morgie again.”

Morgaine looked towards Leif, frustration flickering in her eyes- but not directed towards her friend. “If… if Leif does all that, and I do good too, can he… can he be allowed to be his own self too, sometimes? It’s not fair. That he always has to do what other people tell ‘im. Be what other people tell ‘im. I like Leif because he’s Leif.”

Richard’s raised an eyebrow again. “He can do what he likes on his own time, so long as he isn’t breaking rules. But nobility comes with obligations; there are always going to be things other people tell him to do that he has to do.” His gaze flicked between the two children. “...You’ll understand someday.”

“It’s okay, Morgie,” Leif said in an undertone, so only the young girl could hear. “He says that stuff all the time. It’ll be okay if we still get to talk and play together.”

Morgaine breathed in jaggedly. Leif had told her numerous times how much his siblings frustrated and belittled him, and how much he loved the aviary. She hated being used against him to force him into situations that made him unhappy. But despite the fact that her jaw was trembling, she turned towards him and smiled, pulling her arms tight to her chest in a crude mime of a hug.

“Okay, Leify. I’ll talk to my papa. Promise. And, and soon we’ll get to play together lots.”

Leif smiled back, his grin a little wobbly, and made the same gesture. “Yeah! And that’s the important thing! I hope your papa says yes!”

Richard added, “I’ll send someone to speak to your father as well, Miss Folet, so that he knows you’re telling the truth.” His words were a little distracted as he frowned at Leif - but for once, the lord’s brows were pinched with confusion rather than disapproval.

“Okay,” Morgaine agreed. “Th-thank you, Lord Accipiter.”

Richard nodded curtly, hos expression clearing. “In the meantime, however - Leif, you’re coming back to the manor. And we had best escort Miss Folet to her home as well.”

“But I know the way-” Morgaine started to object.

“You still shouldn’t be walking alone,” Richard interrupted. “There are dangers besides getting lost.”

The girl frowned, but shrugged. “O-okay. If you say so, Lord Accipiter.”

The two children tagged alongside Richard as he took directions to Morgaine’s house. He seemed a little lost in thought, largely ignoring the quiet talk between Leif and Morgaine that piped up from time to time.

Soon, the three reached the Folet home; Richard didn’t seem especially pleased when he learned that Morgaine’s father wasn’t there, but seeing as there wasn’t much he could do short of hauling a fisherman out of the river, the lord seemed to settle for having Morgaine in a house.

Leif waved goodbye as they left; he smiled, but his eyes were sad and worried. “Bye, Morgie - I’ll - I’ll see you soon. Real soon!”

“Bye, Leif!” Morgaine called after him, swallowing hard as she watched her friend trudging away. “I promise I’ll be real good, so I know Papa will say yes!”

The look Leif gave Lord Accipiter was clear - he hoped his father would say yes, too.

Red Handed, Silver Tongued - Part Two

SPOILER: Click to show

A week had passed since Richard Accipiter had uncovered Morgaine and Leif playing by the river, and so far the young girl had heard nothing from her friend. She was desperately worried, but also knew that there really wasn’t anything for it but to behave as best she could and hope things worked out.

“Kitten, I’ve got your breakfast,” her father called to her startling the child out of her thoughts. She was sitting in the grass in front of the small cottage she shared with Bryce Folet, the later of whom had come into the doorway with a pair of rolls in his hands.

“Coming, Papa!” she chirped, springing to her feet so that stray blades of grass sprinkled from the folds of her skirts. She reached out her hand to accept one of the rolls from her father, but just as Bryce was about to hand it to her, he froze, his eyes hooking on something over the child’s shoulder.

Two approaching strangers had caught his attention, both in Accipiter colors. One was a knight, helm down so his face couldn’t be seen; the other looked like Lord Richard, but about twenty years younger and in a much better mood. He was actually smiling.

“Good morning Mister Folet, young miss,” the younger man said with a small bow. “I’m Henry Accipiter - my father said he told you to expect someone from the House, correct?”

Morgaine’s father immediately went dead white, bowing jerkily at the waist and pushing a very startled Morgaine down as well. “M-my lord, I’m s-s-sorry for any offense my daughter may have caused.”

“That’s quite all right, Mister Folet,” the young lord said, waving a hand as if to visibly brush away the issue and soothe the terrified fisherman. “Kids will be kids. I’m here with good news, actually - your daughter did tell you she mysteriously became friends with one of my younger brothers, right?”

“Ah, y-yes. Lord Leif, wasn’t it?” Bryce asked, slowly straightening his back. Morgaine, meanwhile, was giving Henry a scrutinizing look, as if weighing him with her eyes.

“That’s the one!” Henry confirmed. “I take it if she told you that much, she also told you our father was considering having Miss Folet come visit us, rather than letting them have their clandestine forest meetings?” He tilted his head a little at Morgaine’s speculative gaze, but continued without commenting on it. “He’s decided it would be a good idea after all. And - if it's all right with you,” he said with a nod toward Bryce, “I can bring her back to the Manor for a visit right now.”

“O-oh, certainly my lord,” Bryce stammered. He swallowed hard. “I… should I have her change into something, I don’t really have much in the way of nice clothing, b-but…” he glanced down at his daughter, who was presently dressed in a patched wool dress in an intermediate shade of brown that was impossible to describe as particularly nice looking.

“Well, she’s not being trotted out in front of guests,” Henry said with a light chuckle. “I don’t think it matters much. ...If worse comes to worse, we can loan her one of Regina or Ingrid’s old dresses to change into. ...Not that there should be any reason for that,” he added.

“A-ah, of course.” Morgaine’s father put a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll be good, love?”

“Mm-hm,” she agreed, her expression still hard to read. “I’ll be real good. So I can play with Leif, and maybe play more often now.” She curtseyed, albeit awkwardly. “Whenever you’re ready, Lord Henry.”

“Excellent!” Henry clapped his hands together as if to emphasize his enthusiasm. “I'll have her back before dark, Master Folet, if that’s agreeable.” When the fisherman agreed hurriedly, Henry nodded and turned his attention to Morgaine. “Let’s be off, then! Oh - “ He turned so he could gesture to the knight. “This is Sir Warner; he’ll be keeping an eye out for any danger.” The knight nodded once in acknowledgement.

“Hiya,” Morgaine replied, a bit more warmth seeping into her voice as she greeted the knight. “Nice to meet you. This part of town’s kinda rough sometimes, so it’s prolly good Lord Henry brought you along.”

“We had no trouble on the way in,” the knight assured her, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword, “and I don't expect we’ll see any on the way out, either, Miss.”

She giggled as Henry started to lead the way out of the neighborhood. “It would be dumb if anybody tried to cause trouble. Although lotsa the people ‘round here aren’t very smart.”

“They can be as foolish as they like - I have a few decades of training on any of them,” Sir Warner said, sounding more amused than anything.

Henry asked, “What do you mean by that? ‘People around here aren’t very smart’?”

Morgaine shrugged. “They’re just not. They’re all… Papa says the word’s ‘super-spicious? They get all freaked out ‘bout dumb stuff and don’t like me wanting to do stuff that’s new. Everybody’s gotta do the same things their gramma and great gramma have done for yeeeears, and it’s lame.”

“‘Superstitious’, you mean? Hmm. Well...wanting to do things the old way is more traditionalist than superstitious. Traditions are important,” Henry went on. “They remind us of our ancestors, and we can be reasonably sure they’re safe, after all.” Tilting his head again, however, Henry conceded, “Though there are situations, I suppose, that call for new tactics.”

Sir Warner asked in a much less prying tone of voice, “What sort of new things have they not liked you trying - if you don’t mind my asking, Miss, Lord Henry.”

Henry shook his head and waved toward Morgaine, clearly indicating she was free to answer the question if she wanted. She scowled a bit. “Well I din’ mean the tradition stuff was superstitious, it was just another reason they’re not smart. ‘Cause they say I’m not supposed to learn how to do crafts or be a merchant or nothin’ like that ‘cause it’s not a woman’s place.”

Henry chuckled a little. “You sound like Regina when she was younger. Are you sure healing doesn’t sound like a good occupation? It can be a woman’s job, but it certainly has its...harrowing moments.”

Morgaine blinked. “What does that have to do with anything? I said I wanted to be a crafter. Or a merchant. Not a war mage or nothin’. I got no magic.”

Henry nodded, not seeming surprised to hear Morgaine wasn’t a mage. “Fair enough. I was only suggesting another option for you to consider. ...It’s curious they say you can’t be a crafter - I was under the impression ladies had plenty of crafts.”

The Accipiter knight delicately suggested, “Perhaps it’s a different sort of crafting than you’re thinking of, Lord Henry? I know embroidery is popular among noble ladies, but I’ve never seen anyone try selling their embroidery to make a living.”

“Sewing is boring,” Morgaine declared by way of agreement. “But it’d be cool to be a metalsmith maybe. Or a fletcher.” She grinned hugely. “Leif told me once that it’d be cool if I could be a falconer, but I’m pretty sure I’d have to work for nobles since commoners can’t hunt ‘em without um… um… permits I think?”

“That sounds about right,” Henry said, and in a dryly humorous tone, he added, “I suppose Leif would know; if he’s the one who told you about permits, I imagine he’s right. Is that how the two of you bonded, then? Talking about falconry and birds?”

“Some,” Morgaine replied. “He also plays games with me. Hide ‘n seek and I Spy and making pictures in the clouds and stuff. And sometimes we talk about the Woo, and I sing for him.”

“Really?” Henry’s brow furrowed with confusion. “You know, we - our brothers and sisters and I - have always had such a hard time getting Leif to play any games with us. Even when he did, it was only until he found a chance to sneak off, or some excuse to leave. We’ve played some of those same games, even. I wonder why it’s so different,” he mused, idly observing the street and clearly not expecting an answer.

Morgaine bit her lip. She knew the answer because Leif had told her about this, but she didn’t want to say that and get him in trouble for gossiping. After a moment’s hesitation, she brooked, “Maybe it’s cause you’re all too loud. I have to be real quiet so I don’t hurt him.”

“It’s not as if we were screaming,” Henry argued. “...Well, aside from a few arguments between Regina and Stefan. But otherwise, it wasn’t anything that should have hurt his ears or given him a headache. Just normal play noise.”

“Yeah but Leif’s really sensitive,” Morgaine objected. “He’s got something wrong with him. Something that makes sounds and touch hurt him really bad. So you gotta be more careful than usual.”

The young girl knew that Leif had told Henry this- as well as his parents- but she couldn’t help bringing it up as well. Hoping that maybe two voices would be stronger together than one alone.

“Yes, that’s what he says,” Henry agreed. “Father mentioned he’d told you that, too. But did he tell you he’s been to see healers for it? And that none of them can find anything wrong with him?”

“Yeah- his aunt, right?” Morgaine asked, her lips pursed. “Wouldn’t your papa’s sister listen to Lord Accipiter first ‘stead of Leif? Grown-ups tell me all the time I don’t know nothin’ cause I’m just a kid, but I’m smarter than people think. So’s Leif.”

“Sure, he’s plenty smart, about the things he wants to be - but I don’t see what that has to do with disagreeing with the healer. As for our aunt - yes, she’s the healer, and she’ll listen to Father’s orders; but why would he order her to lie and do nothing to help if she did find something wrong with Leif? Besides,” he added with a small laugh, “I don’t think she’d have trouble arguing with him about it. They bicker. Quietly, but I’ve heard them snip at each other.”

Morgaine sighed. “I din’ say he’d order her to lie. Just… if he decided there’s nothin’ wrong with Leif, he’s just gonna keep sendin’ Leif to the healer so the healer can say ‘yes, you’re right, nothin’s wrong.’ To make Leif be quiet because he doesn’t believe him, just like you don’t and that’s why you won’t take what I’m sayin’ serious.”

Henry’s head twitched back a fraction and it was a moment before he replied. “I...I don’t think that’s what’s happening. If something was really wrong, it would be much easier to just fix it for him. Right? But the healers never find anything. It’s not as if Father flies off the handle at anyone who gives him bad news, they’d have nothing to fear if they told him they found something. But nobody has.”

“Maybe if you took him to somebody else,” Morgaine suggested. “Papa says the best healers is in Medieville or Solis. They learn stuff that nobody else ever does just apprenticing with someone local.” She fidgeted with her sleeve, looking towards the knight. “Leif told me that knights go far away from where they were born to learn to fight ‘cause then they get pushed harder. That’s what his brother’s doin.”

Henry sighed, long and heavy. “Well, it’s also to avoid any accusations of favoritism, but I suppose that’s true enough. And yes - there are exceptional healers in Solis, and other cities larger than ours. ...Mother and Father must have a reason for not thinking they would be any help. I’m not privy to all of their conversations about Leif.”

Morgaine huffed softly. “Sure. Okay. But I know he’s not making stuff up, and I’m gonna keep being quiet for him even if nobody else believes him.”

“As you like,” Henry said. “I suppose I have to admit it seems to have worked well-enough; you’re the only person he’s ever seemed close to. ...Although given he’d been sneaking off to see you for three years, who knows, maybe there are more secret friends he has out there.” Henry’s bemused tone suggested he was at least joking about that possibility, rather than seriously accusing Leif of having run off to connect with an entire network of secret friends.

“If there’s anybody else, I don’t know ‘em,” Morgaine replied. “But Leif’s my best friend. So I’m glad I can keep spending time with him, even if it’s somewhere else. I don’t want him to be alone.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you,” Henry said. “I admit, I didn’t think I’d ever see the day he didn’t seem to want to be alone. Maybe he can learn to warm up to some of us, eventually.” Henry’s tone was a little difficult to name - wistful without much actual hope behind it, and sharpened with a touch of bitterness.

Morgaine bit her lip. "Maybe it'd help if everybody just kinda stepped back for a bit and gave each other some space. I know Lord Accipiter said he has to play with his siblings, but… maybe don't try to force each other into anything? Just let it be. Then after the bad feelings have time to let up, you can try again."

“Hmm. Well, we’ll see what Father says. It’s been a while since the little ones have been told to play together. I suppose there’s some merit in letting the bad air clear.”

The young girl sighted slightly with relief. “Yeah. That might work. A scab might itch and make you crazy, but if you keep picking at it you’ll just start bleeding all over again.”

“Very true,” Henry said, nodding.

Sir Warner remarked, “And with deep wounds, it’s even worse - you can’t pick at the stitches, either.” His tone was almost casual, as if they were really only discussing wound care.

Morgaine smiled in the knight’s direction, grateful for his subtle backup. She lapsed into silence for a time, though Henry soon took to chattering with Warner about the knights’ allotment for an upcoming trip. Eventually, the gates of Accipiter Manor came into view ahead, and Morgaine gulped a bit.

“It’s really okay to… just go in?”

“Well, we hardly invited you here to stand outside the fence,” Henry teased, motioning for the girl to keep following as he approached the gate and the guards alongside it. “Nothing to be nervous about, Miss Folet; I’ll take you right to Father and Leif, and the two of you can get to your fun.” He added as they passed through the gate and started up the path to the Manor proper, “And if you need assistance, the servants know you’re here and how they’re to treat you - all you need to do is ask them.”

“R-right. S-servants.” Morgaine’s eyes flitted about the gardens around the manor as they approached the entrance. “I won’t be a bother, I promise. I just want to play.”

“That’s all you’re expected to do,” Henry said. Someone was standing at the front door to open it for them, but before they went inside, the Accipiter heir turned to the knight who had escorted them. “Thank you for your company, Sir Warner.”

The knight saluted. “It was my pleasure, Lord Henry. Miss Folet - it was nice to meet you.” Though his face was still hidden by his visor, there was a smile in the man’s voice. “You seem to be a clever and noble young lady - I’m sure you’ll find your way here.”

Morgaine smiled, perking up a little. “Thank you, Sir. I’ll see you again later.” Turning back to Henry, she said, “Okay- I’m ready.”

“Excellent!” Henry beamed and motioned grandly toward the door. “Shall we, then?”

The inside of the Manor seemed surprisingly dark - there were a number of windows to let in the light, but most of the wood on the walls was such a deep brown it was almost black, and the few decorations that weren’t also in some shade of ebony were such a stark white they made their opposites look even darker by comparison.

But it was still elaborate; a huge rug bearing the Accipiter sigil sprawled at their feet, a wide staircase led to two wings of a second floor, a tapestry depicting a field of grape-pickers, wine-making, and fishing hung between the two branching staircases - and that was what Morgaine could see in this room alone.

Henry instructed her to wipe her feet on a rougher, plainer little rug near the front door, though her soft leather shoes were unlikely to track in much dirt. The Accipiter did, at least, wipe his feet as well, before motioning for Morgaine to follow him to an archway beside the stairs. The arch led to a narrow hallway, which they only proceeded a few feet down before Henry said, “And here we are!” as he stepped aside and gestured for Morgaine to go ahead and enter the room first.

It was smaller than the front room, with a single window on the back wall and a magelight on the each of the other three. They lit a room furnished with a few soft chairs, a treasure chest and a small bookshelf against one wall, and a little table with feet shaped like soft, friendly phoenix heads. Richard stood beside one of the chairs, and in that chair was…

“Leif!” Morgaine chirped, though she kept her voice low as she started towards the young nobleman. “I’m here, I’m finally here! Papa said yes!”

Leif was out of his seat already, ignoring a pointed use of his name by his father. He didn’t touch Morgaine as they closed the distance, but he had his arms squeezed tight in front of him in the air-hugging gesture. “I knew he’d say yes!” Like Morgaine, his voice was quiet but enthusiastic. “I missed you, Morgie! Father said - he said we can play today! ‘Til it starts getting close to dark!”

“Yes, I was about to tell her that,” Richard said. “Likely that will be at seven, Miss Folet - there will be dinner at six. You should be able to hear the bells from from here to tell the time. The two of you can play in here today - if this goes well, we can consider other areas of the manor. Someone will be just outside the door at all times.”

“To help if you need anything,” Henry said.

“And to keep an eye and ear out for trouble,” Richard said.

Morgaine blinked, tilting her head. “What kinda trouble? There’s nobody gonna hurt us in here is there?” She bit her lip. “And dinner? Like… like a fancy dinner? I don’t got nothin’ to wear.”

“Oh, no, not trouble like that,” Henry said with a chuckle. “Trouble like ‘playing games that would cause a mess’, or ‘trying to sneak out to get to the aviary.’”

“I said I’ll be good!” Leif insisted.

“Still,” Richard informed him, “the guard stays.” The lord’s sharp eyes turned back to Morgaine. “As for your dress - in light of the...circumstances, your and Leif’s lunch and dinner will be brought here. If this goes well, we’ll have more formal attire tailored for you, so the two of you can join us for dinner.”

“It won’t be ballgown-ornate, don’t worry,” Henry said with a chuckle. “Just something a little nicer for the table.”

Morgaine didn’t seem especially enthusiastic about this prospect, but she nodded warily. “Okay.” She glanced at Leif with a rueful smirk. “Though you might gotta teach me the noble table manners ‘stead of about the Woo that day. So I don’t get us in trouble.”

“I’ll teach you,” Leif promised. “It’s kinda dumb but you gotta know what forks to use. And don’t slurp your soup!”

“Maybe save that for later, eh, Leif?” Henry said. Leif scowled in his brother’s general direction, but mercifully didn’t comment and start an argument.

“It can wait,” Morgaine agreed hurriedly. “For now, didja have any ideas for stuff we could do? I kinda got took by surprise so I didn’t have time to think of anything… and this room’s a bit small for hide and seek, isn’t it?” She grinned to make it clear this was a joke.

“Kinda, yeah,” Leif agreed, looking around the room. “If we get allowed to go outside, there’s more places there - but right now I guess we gotta play something else. There’s a bunch of toys in there.” He pointed to the treasure chest. “We just can’t throw anything ‘cause we’re inside. Or, some of the books have pictures in ‘em, and I can read the words - what d’you wanna do?”

Richard and Henry traded a glance, and seemed to decide now was a good time to take their leave. “Be on your best behavior, Leif,” Richard admonished before stepping out; Leif nodded distractedly, his attention on Morgaine.

Morgaine seemed to waffle for a moment, then tentatively asked, “Can we look at the toys? I don’t got many at home, ‘cept for a doll that Papa said my mama sewed before she died.”

Leif nodded and went to open the toy chest. “I’m sorry you only got one toy,” he said, scooting aside to let Morgaine see inside. “...He’s in my room now, but, I can bring my stuffed Woo next time, and - if you wanna, you can borrow him - so you and your doll have another toy to play with.”

Morgaine smiled, following behind Leif and peering around him at the toys in the chest. “I’d like to meet your Woo. I bet he’s really cute.” She inhaled sharply, her brown eyes glistening. “Is that a kitty?”

“Yeah!” Leif reached in and pulled out the wooden cat. He set it on the rim of the chest for Morgaine to take or at least observe; little rosette designs were carved into its body and tiny stones, painted bright green, sat in its eyes. “There’s a horse and a dog and a rabbit that go with it,” Leif said, finding the blue-eyed dog and the amber-eyed rabbit among the nearby toys and setting them in line behind the cat. “The cat’s the prettiest, though. Is it your favorite?” he asked with a grin that said he already had an idea.

“Mm-hm,” Morgaine agreed, reaching delicately for the figure and tracing the designs in the wood with a finger. “Could we play with these? I bet we could think up some fun stories for ‘em. Like the parables in the Books or the old fairy tales.”

“Yeah! That’d be fun!” Leif said. “Just, we need one more thing. ...Two more things,” he amended as he started picking through the toys in the chest. “Here’s the horse...and…” He pulled out a little white owl. “There’s no white owl that’s got ear tufts,” Leif said, poking the carved ‘horns’ sticking up from the toy owl’s head. “But if we do stories from the Books, we gotta have a ‘Woo.” He gathered some of the toys in his arms, presumably to take them to the center of the room where the light was better, but he paused a moment. “...Morgaine? I’m - I’m really glad you’re here.”

The young girl smiled warmly, taking the remainder of the toys and following her friend. “Me too. I was really scared when your father caught us, but now we can have even more fun without being worried about getting in trouble.” She smirked. “And we can both complain ‘bout having to do fancy dinners.”

---

Turnabout

SPOILER: Click to show

At eleven years old, the little girl who was presently skipping her way through the fisherman’s wharves of Raylier stood out starkly amidst the mostly empty streets. It was January, and though in spring and summer this part of town was a teeming hub of activity, fishermen going hither and yon as they purchased bait and rods and sold their day’s catches, in the colder months it all but shriveled up and died. Most of the fish would swim to the very bottom of the rivers and streams to keep warm, their metabolisms dropping as they settled in to wait out the winter months.

Likewise, for those who lived off of the river and its fish this was the lean season, when they had to hope against hope that the money they’d saved up from their labors all summer would tide them through until the following spring. Most of them were either tending to various odd jobs that they had taken up to get them through the winter, or were holed up in their homes against the chill.

Not the girl though- one Morgaine Folet, she was prancing her way down the lane that would eventually take her out of the wharves and into the heart of Raylier proper. She seemed to little notice the cold, dressed as she was in a surprisingly well-tailored dress for the area- a dress she had received as a gift just this past Woomas, to give her something ‘decent’ to wear for when she went out to play with her friend, the young noble Leif Accipiter.

It was an odd friendship, to be certain, one that even now Leif’s older siblings were a bit in askance of- after all, the boy was nothing but standoffish with them. But since they’d first met at six years old, Morgaine and Leif had been stuck together like glue, inseparable friends despite the vast difference in social class. Motivated by the improvement in his son’s behavior the friendship had the potential to bring about, Leif’s father Lord Richard had given Morgaine permission to visit Leif at their manor two years prior, and by now Morgaine was such a familiar sight about the place that nobody looked askance when she turned up at the gates.

She passed from the wharf district into Raylier’s somewhat more occupied low market. This was a dingy area at the fringes of the city, bordering the industrious heart of the city that was the central market and its adjoining dockmarket. Those were places for the well-to-do citizenry to conduct their business and purchase goods and services. The low market, however, catered to the city’s more impoverished masses, offering a more affordable alternative to the pricey goods in the central market.

It was mid morning, and the streets were decently crowded with people going about their day, but long accustomed to such, Morgaine threaded her way through the throngs like a fish flits through water. She knew how to move with the ebb and flow of the foot traffic to get to her destination quickly- she’d made this same walk many, many times before after all. She was in her element.

That was, until she felt someone roughly grab onto the back of her dress, pulling the neck tight against her throat so that the only noise she was able to make was a startled squeak before she was yanked into the darkness of a nearby alleyway. Before she had time to even process what was happening, both her arms were yanked behind her back and pinned there.

“Well, well,” a male voice purred. Morgaine looked up, her heart leaping into her throat. “You’re awfully small to be about in the market by yourself, aren’t you, girly?”

The speaker was a teenage boy- fourteen, maybe fifteen- with a bright yellow cloth tied around his neck and over the lower half of his face. Dirty brown hair fell in a veil over his eyes, but there was a smirk in his voice despite the concealment. “Kid so small shouldn’t be without her parents. No, something awful might happen to her otherwise.”

As he spoke, several other boys were emerging from the shadows of the alley. All of them had the same yellow scarf-mask, none looked to be older than fifteen. Morgaine felt her stomach drop- she’d heard about these boys in the scarves before. They called themselves the River Rats, and they’d been causing all kinds of ruckus in the past few months. City gangs were nothing new, of course. They were all over Raylier’s underbelly, stealing from merchants, mugging passersby, and getting into tussles with rival gangs. But the River Rats were notorious for having rather a flare for the melodramatic that was absent in most of their contemporaries. For, more and more frequently, openly strutting about the market instead of skirting its peripheries.

“Best not to scream,” remarked the one standing behind her. “We might have to carry you somewhere else, and you won’t like how we repay you for it.”

“Wh-what do you want?” Morgaine demanded, trying to sound undaunted, though her voice was far too shrill to carry it off. “If you’re tryin’ to mug me you’re wasting your time. I got no money.”

“Yeah, like we’d set a mark on a fleaspeck of a moppet like you,” One of the boys remarked. “You’re not worth the time.”

“We’ve got something much more grand planned for you, girlie,” remarked the one who was holding her. “You’re gonna be our messenger.”

“Messenger?” Morgaine echoed, incredulous. “Why would I do that? I’m no gangster, and I don’t wanna be!”

“You’re not?” a new voice said, sounding aghast. Morgaine’s eyes whipped towards the source of the sound, and she felt the breath sucked out of her lungs. A dreadfully familiar face smiled at her. “Why not? You’re enough of a troublemaking little louse that it wouldn’t be that large a leap.”

“Damien?” Morgaine said, thunderstruck. She hadn’t seen the older boy in months, not since the last time he tried to jeer at her for being a motherless whelp and gotten lead into a tripping in a gutter for his pains. “What are you doing here?”

“None of your business, little wretch,” he spat, fists clenching. “You’re not here to talk, and you’re not going to be saying our message. You’re here to be the parchment of our message, and your own blood will be the ink.”

Morgaine tensed inhaling sharply, but before she could say anything- be it a retort or a scream for help- the gangster standing behind her shoved a rag in her mouth. “None of that,” he said sternly, his grip tightening painfully as she struggled. Several of the gangsters were advancing on her, unstrapping objects from their belts that she recognized as the clubs carried by the city guard. “We’re claiming all the low market as our territory from now on- and you’re gonna show these people what happens the them that crosses the River Rats. So they know better than to try and stop us.”

* * * *

It was nearly twenty minutes after the boys had finally left before Morgaine managed to collect herself enough to try and stand. Everything hurt. Her head hurt, her arms and legs her, her entire gut was in agony, and when she opened her eyes she felt so dizzy she wanted to throw up.

Part of her wanted to lay back down on the cobbles of the alley. To stay there and just… not move. It hurt less to not move.

But Leif was waiting. He’d be upset if she didn’t come when she was supposed to.

Morgaine clung to that thought as she dragged herself upright, leaning heavily on a nearby wall. She clung to it as she started to stagger forwards, trying to ignore the way her stomach felt like a solid bar of pain around her middle. She still had a ways to go through the city, but as the tattered, shredded remnants of her dressed flapped in the chill breeze of winter, Morgaine set her mouth mulishly, and began to move forwards.

The people on either side parted around her. They didn’t know what had happened, but it was as if they sensed an invisible aura of misfortune around the little girl. A few tried to stop her, but Morgaine was barely coherent, stammering only that she had to get to her friend, he was waiting, she couldn’t keep him waiting.The urgency in her voice must have convinced them, that or they presumed the friend in question would see to her injuries. Either way, the good samaritans who stopped her soon pulled again again, letting the young girl move on.

At long last, through the cold grey of the winter morning’s meager light, Morgaine caught sight of the entrance gate to Accipiter Manor. A knight stood on either side of the black iron gate. The one on the right tilted his head, lips pursed as Morgaine stumbled up to the entrance.

“That’s quite a lot of dirt on you, young miss,” he remarked dubiously. “You should’ve cleaned up before coming in, Lord and Lady Accipiter won’t take kindly if you get their carpets muddy.”

Morgaine bit her lip, shrugging limply. There was dirt on her- being slammed into the leaf litter and cobbles had seen to that- but most of the darkness on her arms was bruises from where Damien and the others had grabbed her. But with her dress in ragged tatters, it was probably easy to assume at a glance that all of it was dirt.

“M’sorry,” she muttered softly. “I’ll be real careful though- can I still come in and see Leify? Please?”

The two knights exchanged glances, then sighed, the one who had spoken nodding. “Alright- just stay out of the Lord and Lady’s way, little one.”

“I will,” Morgaine promised, scooting forwards as fast as she could as soon as the gate yawned inwards. Her legs seared terribly with every step, her skull was pounding, and her stomach didn’t even bear thinking about, but she forced herself to at least appear to be walking steadily. All of her attention was focused on getting to Leif. She just wanted to get to Leif.

Fortunately, the servants were long accustomed to Morgaine’s visits, and none of them tried to stop her. Her head was swimming, her eyes blurred, and the little girl was navigating the manor mostly by touch. But finally, finally she caught sight of the familiar door.

Leif was sitting on his bed with an open book resting on his knees. When his door opened, he looked up with a wary expression. The cautious look quickly vanished quickly when he realized who it was at his door, however - he smiled and set the book aside, leaving it open to a page painted with a hawk. “Morgaine!”

“H-hey, Leif,” she called, back, pasting a smile on her face- though her voice was high and thin with pain, sounding more than half whine even to her own ears. Usually her friend wasn’t the best at catching on to tone, though, so hopefully he wouldn’t notice.

Indeed, Leif didn’t seem to pick up on the unusual pitch or the forced smile, but as he dropped off the bed, his eyes flicked over her bruised arms. “What happened? Is that mud?”

She brushed the marks, starkly visible through the tatters of her sleeve. The girl gave a soft whimper. “No, it’s… it’s…” she sucked in a breath sharply, trying to stifle a sob and not quite succeeding. “C-can I sit? Please?”

Leif’s eyes widened in alarm. “Yeah - yeah, you can sit! Here - “ He turned back to the bed and yanked off one of the pillows, setting it on the floor for his friend. “Your dress is all torn up - what happened?”

Morgaine settled gingerly on the pillow, her arms braced around her middle, as the long suppressed tears of pain started to film at the sides of her eyes. “Y-you remember that boy I talk about somet-times? Damien? The one that was yelling about the owl pellets, the d-day we first met?”


“Yeah, I remember,” Leif said, confusion evident in his voice. He bent his legs to sit as well, hands on his knees and clearly ready to get back to his feet again quickly.

“A-and, d’you know about… about the gangs of t-teenagers in the city? I dunno how much nobles think about stuff like that, b-but…”

“I...I think maybe I heard Father saying something about it - ‘cause they were - oh - oh, no, did one of them get you?!”

Morgaine hiccuped, squeezing her eyes shut and lowering her head so that her face fell behind a veil of black hair. “Uh-huh. D-Damien was w-w-with them. I think he, he goaded ‘em on. Got them to b-beat me up.”

“What?!” Leif’s hands balled up into fists.

“D-Damien said… he said it was payback,” Morgaine explained. “For all the times I humiliated him.”

Leif stared for a second. “But - that’s - he’s the one who started it! And it was just some pranks, you shouldn’a gotten beat up for it!” He looked Morgaine up and down again. “You gotta see Aunt Avila and get healing - I’ll come with you, okay?”

“B-but…” Morgaine shook her head, hiccuping again. “I’m tired. I just w-wanna sit. And, a-and my dress. The one Henry gave me for W-woomas so I’d be presentable when I came, it’s all over blood and it’s tore up, everyone’s gonna be mad-”

Leif got to his feet. “That’d be dumb, though! It was the gang that did that, not you - besides, you’re hurt! Look at how bad they hit your arms, and that’s just your arms!”

“M-my stomach hurts worse,” Morgaine admitted, nibbling her lip. “A-and… and my head…”

“They hit you in the head, too? That’s really bad, Morgie! C’mon - “ He beckoned with his hand. “You gotta come see Aunt Avila - she’ll fix you up, and she’s got magic so it’ll be fixed like that!”

“They… they had those clubs the guards carry,” Morgaine whispered. “They hit me with those. But, but I’ll probably be okay. If I just sit for a while.” Pleadingly she added, “Walking hurts, Leify. I just want to sit for a while.”

“But - but if you’re so hurt you don’t wanna walk - Morgie, that’s exactly why we gotta go! Now, not later!” His hands opened and shut anxiously.

For a minute, the girl said nothing, her breathing coming in sharp, ragged gasps. Then, finally, she struggled to her feet, involuntary yelps and whimpers of pain escaping her every time she moved. At one point she lost her balance and half-fell again; Leif gasped and reached out a little with one hand. However, the girl managed to steady herself, and after several more seconds of standing in place, trembling like a leaf, she nodded.

“I’ll… I’ll follow you,” she whispered hoarsely. “Just. Go slow. Please? It hurts to move.”

“Yeah,” Leif said, stepping a little closer to her. “We’ll go slow. ...If - if you need help, just - just say so, okay?”

Morgaine offered a feeble smile, starting her way towards the door. “If I touch you, it’ll hurt, Leif. ‘Sides your mom would kill us both if I got blood on your good clothes.” She tilted her head to one side, tugging on a sleeve to reveal a gash across her shoulder and along her back.

Leif sucked in a breath through his teeth at the sight of the wound, but squared his narrow shoulders and said, “I don’t care if Mother gets mad at me; there’s a cleaning spell for blood anyways. And the touching - it’s - “ He flexed his fingers, but pressed on, “Sometimes, you gotta do stuff that’s uncomfortable to help somebody else. And - I got my gloves. It’ll be okay.”

Morgaine hesitated, taking another experimental step forwards, but the pain it seemed to cause her apparently made her mind up for her, because with a hiss she nodded. “O-okay. But. But maybe on the way we can find somebody else. A servant or, or one of your brothers or sisters, or something. So y-you don’t gotta h-hurt.” She pressed the side of one arm against Leif’s shoulder, leaning some of her weight against him. Her trembling was even more apparent now. Leif’s lips pressed into a thin line and his body tensed, but he set a hand on her back to help support her as they started, slowly, down the hall.

“I’m sorry,” Morgaine moaned softly. “I’m so sorry.” She blinked hard, squinting down the hallway. “I just. I was scared. I shoulda gone home. After. But I promised we’d play today, and I was scared, and, and here is s-safe.”

“Don’t be sorry!” Leif insisted. “It’s - coming here was probably actually the best choice, ‘cause like I said, Aunt Avila’s trained as a healer, and she’s got magic and pain potions. I think...I think it’d be harder for your father to get that for you, if you’d gone home.”

“Magic healers is expensive,” Morgaine agreed blearily. “Papa can’t af-ford them.”

She blinked again, shaking her head a little. They had rounded a corner, and she could see something moving at the end of the hallway, but it wouldn’t come into focus. “Everything’s… weird.” She squinted. “There’s something down there.”

“Everything’s weird?” Leif repeated, but he looked down the hall. “Oh! Markus! It’s Markus!”

“It’s me,” came a voice from down the hall, sounding momentarily amused. “I...ah, Morgaine? Are you okay?”

Morgaine looked up, finally recognizing the face of the older Accipiter. “M-Markus?” she whimpered. “Th-the hallway’s spinning…”

She slid a little, losing her grip on Leif’s shoulder.

“Ah -” Markus said a word that suggested knights weren’t always perfectly courtly. Leif managed to cling to enough of the back of Morgaine’s dress to keep her from quite falling, before bigger hands gently grabbed her shoulders.

Leif blurted, “She’s not okay, some boys beat her up and she says her stomach hurts and her head hurts and - she needs to go to Aunt Avila!“

“I agree,” Markus said. “Those packs roaming around the streets did all this? Makes me rethink not putting my squire training to use on them. ...Okay, Morgaine? Can I pick you up? It looks like you’re having a hard time walking.”

“And her vision’s getting bad!” Leif chimed in.

“P-please?” Morgaine warbled, squinting as she tried to bring the brother’s faces into focus. “My stomach hurts whenever I move, I th-think I’m gonna p-pass out.”

Markus made a sympathetic noise and said, “Okay - don’t worry, we’re gonna get you help. You ready? I’ll be careful but this might hurt a bit.”

The little girl nodded. Sure enough, as Markus hefted her, she gave an involuntary gasp of pain whimpering miserably and burying her face in the squire’s chest. “Th-they hit me with clubs. R-really hard. I th-think it’s probably bruised.”

“We’ll get it checked, and fixed,” Markus promised, his voice terse. He started down the hall at a quick pace. “Let me know if I’m going too fast. Leif, you’re sticking with us?”

“Yeah!” Leif insisted from somewhere on Markus’ right side. Morgaine gave no verbal reply, only shivering in Markus’ arms as she seemed to fade in and out of consciousness with the waxing and waning of her internal hurts. She was pale as a sheet, and when she opened her eyes it was clear her pupils were different sizes.

The infirmary was a softly-lit, richly-colored room full of beds and glass-paneled cabinets. Markus interrupted any quiet atmosphere there might have been by calling out, “Hey, Aunt Avila!”

A blond woman in Accipiter black and white stepped out from a back room. She was already frowning; the expression grew more severe when she spotted the trio who had just entered her infirmary. “What happened?”

Leif edged back slightly as Avila stepped toward them, but said, “She got attacked on the way here, and now she’s all bruised and bleeding and she got hit on the head and her vision’s not working right - “

Avila glanced at Markus, who said in a low voice, “It’s that gang of kids running around - she says they had clubs, and they hit her in the stomach pretty hard, too.”

“Set her down.” Avila motioned to the nearest bed. “I’ll check her over.

Morgaine bit her lip, swallowing thickly as Markus set her down. “I g-got no… no money,” she whined vaguely, her brow becoming slick with sweat. “I c-can’t pay for a healer, L-Lady Accipiter.”

Markus shook his head. “Aw, no, don’t worry about that - we’re not gonna make you pay for healing here. Right, Aunt Avila?”

“Especially when you got hurt coming here to see me,” Leif said as he pulled himself onto a stool on the opposite side of the bed.

“You’re a regular family guest,” Avila said simply. “There’s not going to be a charge for this.”

The little girl sniffed, worrying at the hem of her dress. “A-are you sure?” she murmured. “It hurts a l-lot. And, Lord and Lady A-Accipiter might be upset with m-me-”

“If they’re mad with anybody,” Avila said as she approached the bed, “it should be the brats stealing guards’ clubs and using them on other children. If they want payment, they can take it out of their pockets.”

Morgaine managed a weak laugh at that, her mouth ticking ever so slightly upwards, though her expression really couldn’t have been called a smile.

Avila drew her wand and muttered a spell. She trailed her wand through the air over Morgaine’s body, occasionally pausing for a moment, her eyes narrowing or tongue clicking. “All right,” she said when she’d finished, her tone somehow even more clipped than before. “I have some work to do here. Miss…”

“Folet,” Markus supplied.

“Right. Miss Folet - I’m going to give you a potion for the pain in just a minute, which will make this easier, but I’m telling you now - I need you to stay awake. Understand? You have a bit of a concussion, which is why you’re having vision problems.”

Morgaine blinked owlishly. “I’ll try,” she murmured. “But um… what’s a concussion?”

As the healer did something with potion bottles, if the sound of glass against other objects was anything to go by, Avila explained, “It’s what happens if you get hit too hard in the head. It can mess up things like your vision and your balance and memory - usually just temporarily. But it can also make you pass out. I need to know if that happens, but I can’t exactly tell if it does if you’re asleep.”

“Oh, okay,” Morgaine agreed. “That makes sense. I-is That why you f-freaked out before, Leif? When I said my head was hurting?”

“Yeah,” Leif said, sounding only a little calmer now. “Concussions can get really bad if you don’t get them looked at.”

“But if you do get them seen, they’re usually all right,” Markus interjected. “You’ll be okay - I’ve gotten hit on the head myself a couple times during training, and I know it’s not comfortable. But it’ll clear up, don’t worry.”

The little girl gave a fragile smile. “Reggie says your head is hard as a brick wall, though.”

“That is true,” Markus admitted with a smile back. “How about this - I’ve seen the really headstrong knights come out of them fine, too. You know - the ones who would argue with Lord Accipiter at age nine?”

“Well Leif’s a noble, and nobles gotta have bodyguards,” Morgaine quipped, casting a pained grin in her friend’s direction. “And Leif hasn’t got the hang of summoning raptors to do it yet.”

“I will, though,” Leif insisted with an equally feeble smile. “Then we can both have bodyguards and they’ll be able to fly, too!!”

Morgaine laughed softly, then looked up as Avila approached her again. “Is… is that all, just the concussion and, and some bruises? ‘Cause my stomach hurts, they hit me hard there a-and it’s, it’s probably bruised.”

“There’s definitely internal damage,” Avila said grimly. “Your liver, specifically, but it doesn’t make that much difference in terms of pain.” She held out a cup of orange liquid. “Take this; it’ll help the pain. Once you’ve gotten it down, you lie back and I’ll get to work on repairing the damage.”

Morgaine obediently parted her lips, accepting the potion that Avila poured down her throat. It was thick, like syrup or honey, and she coughed a bit as it lingered, sticky in her throat. Very shortly, however, her labored wheezing eased significantly.

“That’s lots better,” she said, sounding greatly relieved. “It still hurts, b-but not so bad now.”

“Good,” Avila said, drawing her wand again. “Lie back now; I’m going to get started on healing things. You’ll feel a lot better pain-wise in just a few minutes, all right?”

“Okay,” Morgaine agreed, lying back obediently. She glanced towards Markus and Leif, querying, “Wh-what’s a liver?”

“A body part healers get mad at you for hurting,” Markus quipped.

Leif said, “It’s an organ - kinda like your stomach! Except it doesn’t take care of food, it makes...some kinda gooey stuff. And I read somewhere that a lotta blood goes through it, maybe?”

“O-oh,” Morgaine swallowed hard, her jaw trembling. “B-but, I’m gonna be okay right? Even th-though I messed it up?”

“Oh!” Leif said, his eyes going wide. “Yeah - yeah, of course, Aunt Avila’s fixin’ it now, and if any blood got out, there’s potions for fixing that!”

Morgaine’s lower jaw clenched, and she blinked hard, tears pooling at her eyes. She breathed in sharply, reaching up a hand to stuff her knuckles in her mouth so she wouldn’t make any noise to aggravate Leif’s sound sensitivity, though a muffled sob emerged regardless.

“Morgie?” Leif looked up at Avila, then back to Morgaine in alarm.

Markus clicked his tongue and put a hand on Morgaine’s shoulder. He looked at Avila, too, but spoke calmly when he turned back to Morgaine. “It’s okay, Morgaine, you can let it out.”

“Th-they came outta nowhere,” she moaned. “I w-wasn’t doing nothin’ I was j-just minding my, my own business! I h-had no money to s-steal neither! They just… just ‘cause D-Damien doesn’t l-like me!”

“It’s not fair!” Leif agreed. “Damien’s a creep!”

“Wh-what if-” she warbled. “What if they come and get me again? Th-they said they was takin’ over the low market. That they were gonna make it their territory. F-from now on.”

Avila snorted. “They’re upstart children - I’m not joking when I say I’d like to see my brother send the knights to teach them a lesson about territory. And he actually might finally do it - if they’re going to beat up little girls to the point where I’m repairing internal damage...”

“It’s not gonna happen again,” Markus promised. “I’ll walk you home myself if we need to, although I’m sure Father will have some guards go with you after he hears about this.”

“I’ll come, too!” Leif said. “I can bring my wand - they don’t know I don’t know fighting spells yet!”

“R-really?” Morgaine whispered, blinking hard. “You’d g-go with me and… and you think Lord Accipiter would stop the boys?”

“Of course we’ll come with you!” Leif said.

Lowering her wand, Avila added, “And yes, my brother will stop the boys. He’s going to be furious when he finds out they did this, and even if he weren’t - the minute word of this got out, he wouldn’t be able to ignore everyone telling him to do something about it.”

“They crossed a line,” Markus simplified.

“Th-they said I was supposed to be a message,” Morgaine said softly. “About… about what people’d get. If they messed with ‘em.”

Avila scoffed, “Little boys playing with fire - they’re going to get burned.”

She didn’t reply to this at first, seeming to be lost in thought as Avila worked her magic. Almost without thinking about it, Morgaine started to hum to herself. It was a church song- a common one. Leif perked his head up at the sound of it, and after a few moments’ hesitation, joined in humming it. His voice wasn’t quite as on-pitch as Morgaine’s, and from the twinkle of amusement in her brown eyes it was clear the little girl noticed, but she commented nothing of it. Instead, waiting for Avila to lift her wand away briefly, Morgaine made a gesture in the air like she was drawing someone close for a hug. Leif smiled and returned the gesture. Markus stifled a small laugh across the bed.

“Thanks for helping,” Morgaine murmured again. “My head still hurts, but I feel lots better now.”

“You’re welcome, and I’m glad to hear it,” Avila said. “Although unfortunately, your head’s something I can’t do much about - concussions have to heal on their own. But it should be manageable once everything else is patched up. You’ll be all right, kiddo.”

* * * *

It was about an hour later when the trouble started.

Morgaine well on the mend, Avila had given Markus a rundown of the young girl’s injuries in a report to be presented to her brother, Lord Richard. She had absolutely meant it when she said that she suspected the gangsters had crossed a line, and that the Lord of Raylier would likely deem the problem in need of his intervention.

However, either Markus had been unable to locate his father, or Richard had not been alone for the recitation, because he was not the one who arrived to the healer’s office a short while after Markus’ departure.

Morgaine was still lying on the bed, listening absently as Leif read to her from a book he’d no doubt squirreled out of the library- a book, unsurprisingly, about birds- when sharp footsteps sounded on the stone floors beyond Avila’s door.

Leif looked up with a frown, and then his expression became a poorly-stifled grimace as the footsteps’ owner entered the infirmary. An older woman in Accipiter black and white marched into the room; her disapproving eyes gave the room a quick sweep before settling on the two children.

“What, exactly, is going on here, Leif?” she demanded.

Leif slowly shut his book, shoulders already hiking. “Morgaine got hurt. Markus’ going to Father with a message.”

“She got hurt?” Cateline crossed her arms. “I suppose it was doing something outside your room, where you were supposed to be?”

Morgaine, who had also flinched when Leif’s mother entered the room, puffed out her cheeks. “Nuh-uh. I got hurt on the way, Lady Accipiter. I wasn’t doin’ nothing wrong, I swear. I g-got jumped.”

“‘Jumped’?” Cateline repeated, as if doubting the very existence of the word.

“Yeah - some kids attacked her,” Leif clarified. “It’s the ones in that gang Father’s been talking about, - “

“What in the world were you doing that close to them?”

Leif blinked. “To - to the gang? ...She wasn’t, though, she didn’t know they were there!”

“Like I said- they jumped me,” Morgaine confirmed, huddling in on herself. “I was walkin’ through the low market on my way here, and they pulled me into an alley off the sidewalk.”

Cateline’s scowl somehow grew deeper. “They were just loitering around the market?”

“...They were in an alley,” Leif emphasized.

Expression unchanging, Cateline said, “And she got into the Manor in such a state - “ She glowered at the tears in Morgaine’s dress, “Without anyone noticing?”

Morgaine looked away, starting to tremble once more. “The knight at the gate thought I was covered in dirt. ‘Stead of bruises.” She whimpered. “And I didn’t say nothing. I just wanted to find Leif. A-and lie down.”

“He thought it was dirt? That seems rather far-fetched.”

“Well - well, ask the knight!” Leif insisted. “Why’s it gotta be Morgaine’s fault?”

Cateline snapped, “That’s enough, Leif. I’m just trying to find out why and how this girl ended up in our infirmary, without any notice to me or your father! If something happens to a guest in the house because you’re causing trouble - “

Leif shook his head. “But we weren’t! Honest!”

“I couldn’t walk or see right,” Morgaine added miserably. “There wasn’t time to go find nobody. B-but Markus is ‘pposed to be finding Lord Accipiter now.” Leif nodded in agreement.

“Yes, yes, I ran into him in the hallway. Still! It is ridiculous that it took this long for word to get to me!”

Fortunately - as it was likely neither child would have a good answer to that - another set of footsteps sounded, and a less-than-pleased-looking Avila stepped back into the room behind Cateline.

“Cateline. Can I help you with something? Or were you hoping I’d take longer than a few minutes to find nettleweed so you could come into the infirmary and make a ruckus uninterrupted?”

Cateline rolled back her shoulders and her chin rose an inch or two. “This girl was injured? By a gang?”

“I didn’t see it happen, but unless you think she had lacerations, a concussion, bruises on her arms and legs, and internal damage from falling down the stairs unnoticed, I don’t see an alternative explanation.”

“Internal damage?!”

“...Yes. I sent Markus with a report for Richard. Maybe you should go find them.”

Cateline didn’t take the hint. “Why is this the first we’re hearing about it?”

Raising an eyebrow as she glanced up from stuffing a bundle of plants into a glass jar, Avila said, “Because I was focused on fixing the girl’s liver, not filing paperwork?” She twisted the lid back on. “If you want to discuss this, fine, but let’s go into my office instead of causing this fuss out here.“

“And what if we need the girl’s word on something?”

“...Something like what? I think I’m qualified to talk about her injuries.”

“Not that - but how did she get pulled into a gang fight in the first place? In the marketplace? There has to be more to it!”

Avila crossed her arms. “Are you seriously looking for a conspiracy here, Cateline? These gangs started causing trouble a while back, and it’s not as if they haven’t started fights before!”

“Always with their rivals, though,” Cateline said pointedly, looking over her shoulder back at Morgaine.

“Th-they said they were usin’ me as an example,” Morgaine piped up shrilly, forcing herself to meet Cateline’s eyes as best she could when her vision still would not come into focus. “Of what’d happen if anybody messed with ‘em. That the low market was their territory now. A-and… and D-Damien…” she gave a choked sob.

“Damien? Who’s Damien?”

Leif, staring hard at his mother’s face but not meeting her eyes, said, “Damien’s this dumb kid who always teases Morgaine - she did some tricks on him to get him to leave her alone and that’s why he wanted to beat her up!”

“That’s ridiculous, what sort of person would hold onto a grudge for so long?”

“Cateline, the kid’s probably Markus’ age at most,” Avila cut in. “What are you looking for here? Go find Richard and tell him to send the knights after the boys!”

Cateline made no move to leave. “I’m not leaving until - “

Leif shot suddenly to his feet - he was full-body cringing, but said through clenched teeth, “Please, just - just leave Morgaine alone! She didn’t do anything and she’s hurt, and you’re gonna make her cry!”

“L-Leif, it’s okay,” Morgaine yelped hoarsely. “Please, you’re g-gonna get in trouble!”

The little girl tried to lurch upright, but her head abruptly started pounding again and she whimpered, burying her face in her hands and squeezing her knees up on either side.

“Thank you, Cateline,” Avila said, her voice drawing closer. “I love when my patients get disrupted. Deep breaths, Morgaine, take your time.”

“I - hold on a moment!” Cateline snapped. “Leif - you are not to speak to me that way! You know that!”

“You’re - you’re being mean, though!”

“I’m just trying to find out what happened here!”

Avila said, “She told you, Leif told you, I told you - if you’d go find Markus and Richard, they would tell you a fourth time!”

Morgaine forced herself to sit up, though she was leaning heavily on one hand as she tried to keep the room from lurching around her. “I’ll l-leave. If Lady Accipiter doesn’t want me here, I’ll, I’ll just leave so nobody has to be in trouble, I-”

Leif’s eyes snapped open. “What? No - no no no!”

“Absolutely not,” Avila agreed, latching a hand onto Morgaine’s shoulder.

“You can’t go, you still have a concussion!” Leif barreled on. “You still can’t see right, can you? And - and we gotta get you guards to walk you home, like Markus said!”

“I wasn’t suggesting you leave,” Cateline said crossly. “Only - “

“Oh, you weren’t suggesting she leave?” Avila said, glowering at the woman. “You’re doing a marvellous impression of it!”

“It’s Morgaine’s day, she’s supposed to be here anyway!” Leif interrupted, as if this had any bearing on the conversation currently. “You gotta let her stay!”

Morgaine’s teeth were chattering, and she sniffed hard. “I… I… I can’t… I c-can’t…”

“Yes you can!” Leif insisted.

“Hold on, Leif. You can’t what?” Avila asked Morgaine. “You can stay - I’m going to insist on it, in fact, until your concussions gone.”

“I dunno,” Morgaine sniffled. “Th-there was the boys, a-and walking all this way, and I’m t-tired and I feel like I’m g-g-gonna throw up and…” she whimpered, burying her face in her hands again. “I just can’t. I can’t anything.”

Cateline started to speak; “Now, this is - “

“Cateline - out.” Avila snapped.

“I beg your pardon?!”

“Out,” Avila repeated with exaggerated slowness. “Out of my infirmary right now. If you can’t be in here without distressing patients, you need to be somewhere else.”

“Avila, you can’t just - “

“If she throws up, or you drive Leif into one of his episodes with all this yelling, I’m making you take care of it,” Avila threatened. “Please - go find Richard, or get a bucket for Morgaine to throw up in. Make your choice. Now.”

There was a moment of harsh, crackling silence, before Cateline said, “Leif - “

“I’m not going with you!” Leif blurted.

“You - “

“Cateline, think for two seconds - do you want to deal with one of his panics right now?”

“...We’ll be discussing this later,” Cateline said curtly. “We’ll be having a discussion as well, Avila.”

“Looking forward to it. Goodbye.”

And finally, there was the sound of someone opening and shutting the door, and then of footsteps fading away. Morgaine, her whole body shaking, her breathing labored, whimpered, “I’m s-s-s-sorry, I’m s-sorry. I-” she broke off, shuddering and giving a pained swallow.

“You’re all right, honey,” Avila said, giving her shoulder a little squeeze. “From what I understand, you know how she is.”

“Yeah,” Leif said, sounding a little out of breath. “Yeah, it’s - it wasn’t your fault.”

Morgaine took several more moments to get herself under control. Slowly her breathing levelled off, and her nausea subsided. She finally lifted her head out of her hands, casting a glance in Leif’s direction. “A-are you okay? You’re not… she was being really loud….”

“Yeah, she was. ...But uhm, I’m - I’m okay.” He took a deep breath, then glanced up at Morgaine, briefly making eye contact. “I’m sorry she scared you like that. I wish she wasn’t so mean to you all the time!”

Morgaine shrugged limply, leaning backwards on the cot again. “She’s like that to everybody. ‘Cept maybe Henry. Normally I don’t care, just… just… I’m tired today. So tired.”

“She’s never been the best at timing,” Avila remarked. “Or, she’s the best at picking the worst timing, however you’d like to look at it. ....How’s the nausea doing? If you’re tired, it might be time for something sugary to help keep you awake.”

Morgaine swallowed again experimentally. “I feel a little better, though my stomach’s still in knots.” She bit her lip. “H-how long do I need to stay awake for? Until the concussion goes away? How long will it take?”

“It might take a few days for you to feel completely back to normal - but in a few hours, if you’re not getting worse, I’ll let you go ahead and sleep. ...We might need to have you stay the night, someone should be waking you up every two hours or so to check on your symptoms.”

Morgaine sighed. “Okay. My head hurts too much to argue.” She smiled thinly. “Thank you. For helping me, and letting me stay. B-both of you. I’m sorry for causing so much trouble.”

“You didn’t do anything you gotta be sorry for,” Leif insisted. “And I’m glad you came here so you could get healed properly!”

Avila patted Morgaine’s shoulder. “We’ll get a messenger sent to your house so your family knows where you are. I’d say I’d set Markus on it once he gets back, but with how long he’s taking to do that, maybe we shouldn’t wait on him, hm?”

Morgaine nodded slowly. “Papa will worry if I’m not back by sunset. And the sun sets really early in winter.”

She started to reach out a hand towards Leif, then paused, thought better of it, and let her arm drop again.

Leif followed the movement with his eyes, ignoring Avila leaving the bedside. His brow furrowed in confusion, but a moment later, his eyes widened with realization and his expression went on a complete journey - realization, uncertainty, a glance between Morgaine’s face and her hand, nervous determination…

Slowly, like he suspected Morgaine might pull away, Leif stretched out his arm until he lightly touched the back of his hand to Morgaine’s. The little girl watched, surprised, but gave a small, wobbly smile at the contact.

“Th-thank you Leif,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. For bein’ so touchy.”

“It’s okay,” Leif said quietly back. Giving Morgaine an abashed smile, he added, “I’m sorry for bein’ so not-touchy.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said. “You didn’t ask for the… the pressure that makes you hurt inside. Or the… bad times. When it gets too much. I don’t wanna hurt you, Leify.”

“I know,” Leif said. “But I’m...I’m okay right now, and you’re not feelin’ good, so - it’ll be okay.”

She laughed softly. “When we’re grown up, and you’re a priest, I think you’ll do a great job, Leif. You’re real nice. When people are nice to you. I hope Lady Accipiter isn’t too mean l-later.”

Leif made a face of annoyance, but just said, “I’m used to it. It’ll be okay. And I don’t think Father’s gonna let her do anything dumb like say you can’t come over anymore. ...Thanks, though - I hope I’ll do a good job as a priest.”

She grinned impishly. “Then you can tell people like Damien how stealing and beating people up is sinful.”

“Exactly!” Leif agreed with a grin. “And if he doesn’t listen, I bet by then I can summon some birds to go after him!”

She laughed, eyes glimmering. “I bet you will!” In an undertone she added, “Maybe then you can have a real bird poop in Henry’s hair, instead of just pretending.”

Leif snickered. “Maybe! If he’s going against being nice like the ‘Woo says! Then if I gotta pretend again after that, it’d be even easier ‘cause I’d already have seen it!” He paused, considering. “I’m gonna have to get a really big bird to poop on Damien’s head, too. Just to add insult to injury.”

Morgaine cackled, grinning hugely. Then she sobered, her expression softening. “Thank you. For everything. I’m glad I got people who like me, or I might think Damien and all the wharf ladies were right about me.”

“They’re definitely wrong about you!” Leif insisted. “I’m glad I got you as a friend, too, Morgie.”

“We’ll have to think up a really fun game for next time,” she mused. “Since today wasn’t very fun. You got any ideas?”

“Hmm…” Leif looked up toward the ceiling, thinking. “Maybe...maybe we could go find a quiet spot to play outside? ‘Cause you like to run around and maybe we’d see some animals. And we could get some knights to come with us so we’d be safe, just in case.”

“Okay!” the little girl agreed. “It’s too cold to practice bird names, but we might see a cute squirrel or cat or something. And no mean boys.”

“No mean boys,” Leif agreed. “And if we see any, we’ll throw owl pellets at ‘em.”

[Shinko]

Collab with Avery. Rabbithole Ascensions are a go!

Ice Scream

SPOILER: Click to show

“All I’m saying is that we’re plenty old enough to have some warm mead after we get back inside,” the bronze skinned young man chirped cheerily, his mint green eyes glimmering. “We’re fourteen now, Father. Practically grown!”

As he spoke, the young man was strapping on a pair of thick leather boots, each of which had a steel blade affixed to the bottom. He sat on the rear porch of a small but well appointed stone cottage that was nestled between a thick pine forest and a wide, frozen lake. Fresh powder lingering on the wood of the porch gave evidence to a fresh snowfall the night before that the servants had yet to sweep away, but today the sky was bright and clear.

It was still frigid though. Not much was visible of the teenager aside from his face, so thoroughly was he bundled up against the chill. He even had a purple scarf over the lower half of his face, causing his words to emerge slightly muffled when he spoke-- and making the middle-aged man who stood in front of him, arms crossed at his chest, quirk a chestnut brow.

“You know, quite technically, you’re not fourteen until tomorrow, Squall,” he said. Adjusting the heavy wool cloak he wore over his shoulders, the fabric a crosshatching of purple and steel gray, the man smiled wryly. “And last I checked, thirteen-year-olds were far too young for ale.” A beat. “Where’s your brother? Still primping inside? Woo, it’s going to get dark before you two even get out on the ice.”

“Kes isn’t primping, he’s bundling,” Squall replied cheerily. “You know him, inherited our mum’s thin southern blood and all. And I have it on the best authority from Lord Brachyura that moonlight skating is almost as fun as daylight skating, as long as the moon is full so you can actually see.”

“Alas, no full moon tonight,” replied his father. He sighed. “Do be careful on the ice, Squall. Please? You haven’t gone skating in years, I want you to take it slow.”

“I will, your majesty, don’t worry,” the teenager replied breezily. “I want to be able to sit without my rear hurting at mine and Kestrel’s birthday feast tomorrow, trust me.” Smiling thinly towards his father, Squall added, “You don’t have to be so paranoid all the time, Father. You know that, right? Kyth’s at peace with Courdon, everybody’s safe, and we’d just like the chance to live a little.”

“Don’t make me put a helmet on you,” his father teased-- before stiffening as a gray-and-purple clad knight ambled up to the pair, the man immediately dipping into a deep bow.

“King Eagle, my liege,” he said. “Permission to speak?”

Eagle nodded, dark blue eyes narrowed, the warm expression he’d worn but moments ago eclipsed by one of cool formality. “You may.”

“We’ve cleared the ice of all others,” the knight replied, head still bowed, not daring to so much as glance toward the king’s face-- or Squall’s, for that matter. “It’s ready for the princes whenever they are.”

“Anybody that was willing to skate all the way over here from the public bank deserves a medal of some kind for their tenacity,” Squall remarked absently as he reached up to brush a lock of his ebony hair out of his face. It promptly fell right back down in his eye again- he could never quite get that chunk to follow the lay of the rest of his hair.

“Ooh, medals?” called a new voice, as the door that led from the house to the porch swung open and a scrappy weed of a chocolate-haired teenager shambled out. Grinning crookedly toward Squall, he added cheerily, “We should race. Winner gets extra cake at our birthday feast.”

“Alas, dear Papa has decried we must start slow,” Squall replied over his shoulder at the newcomer. He made a beckoning gesture as he headed out into the snow. “What kept you so long, Kes? Waiting to poke your dainty nose out into the cold until the knights got back, is that it?”

“Oh, I had secret things to do,” Kestrel replied, plunking down onto the top porch step so that he could tug on and begin to lace up his own skates. “You know, heir things, little brother.”

“I see the twelve and a half extra minutes you’ve had in this world over Squall have done nothing to help your maturity, Kes,” Eagle said with a dry chuckle. “You two be good sports out there on the ice, all right? No fooling around. It only takes one moment of distraction to end up head over heels. And a concussion will seriously damper your feast, don’t you think?”

“C’mon, Father, you always like to talk about how we were born during the biggest blizzard Medieville had seen in generations. That’s how you named us,” the younger twin chirped. Kestrel, though he went by his middle name, was more properly named ‘Snow’ to his brother’s ‘Squall’- “I bet we’re absolute naturals.”

“Sometimes you boys worry your old man,” the king said. He nodded firmly. “Careful, okay? I’ve got to head inside and start on my mountain of paperwork so I can get it done by tonight-- I don’t want to be still wrapped up in it come your big day-- but the knights will be watching. And…” Eagle turned toward the armour-clad man who’d informed him the ice was ready. “If they start acting like idiots, you’ve my full permission to haul their hides off the rink and to my office, Sir Wallen.”

The knight just barely refrained a smirk, his voice the perfect measure of obedience as he replied, “Yes, your majesty. Of course.”

“We’ll be good, Papa,” Kestrel promised, wobbling to his feet as he finished lacing his skates. “No foolishness whatsoever. Right, Squall?”

“Certainly not,” Squall agreed. “We’ll be the perfect image of refined, boring royalty. Seriously, don’t worry so much.” Tugging on his brother’s sleeve with a huge grin as he started to shuffle out to the frozen lake Squall added, “Let’s go have some fun!”

“Aw, but you need to be careful, buddy,” Kestrel crooned once the twins had made it out of their father’s earshot, his pale green eyes gleaming mischievously. “Skate with your posture straight! Hands behind your back! Chin up!”

“Honestly, do you think he’ll ever stop fussing?” Squall asked, just barely refraining an eyeroll. “Mark my words, Kes, even when we’re thirty he’s still going to insist on cautioning us to be careful and bundle up and keep an eye out for suspicious characters.”

“At least he let us come at all,” Kestrel pointed out, arms held out to steady himself as he toed his way onto the thick glaze of ice. “The girls begged to come, too, didn’t they? He told them they couldn’t because this was our birthday treat, not theirs, but-- I bet he was just paranoid.”

“Oh of course,” Squall agreed, following his brother. His foot slid a little, prompting the teenager to instinctively throw his arms out to catch his balance. After a little bit of coasting, he managed to remember how to break himself by putting one foot perpendicular to the other, and laughed. “Maybe if he let us out of Raven’s Keep more often we’d remember how to do this.”

“I wonder if we could make a mock rink up at the palace,” Kestrel mused, wobbling for a moment before he found his balance. “Set up boundaries and pour a layer of water onto the stone in one of the courtyards… let it freeze…” He laughed. “Though Papa would probably freak out, wouldn’t he? What if someone slipped?”

“If you think Papa would flip, imagine how Aines would react,” Squall pointed out with a broad grin, pumping his feet a little to get the feel for how to properly move on the ice again. “I swear, that bird is always hovering right on the edge of a stress breakdown of some kind. Poor guy needs out of the palace more than we do.”

“Nah, I think he’d enjoy it,” Kestrel retorted. “He could perch on some rafter and take bets about who’s going to fall next. It could become the Keep’s next sport.”

“Ah, see, we’d be doing public service then,” the younger prince said sagely. “Starting a new trend and helping ol’ Aines de-stress all in one.”

He turned a little, indicating places on the ice roped off by fluttering red banners on wooden pikes. “Papa said those were places the local ice wardens deemed not thick enough to support skaters, and to avoid them. Because you know, silly geese we are, we’re going to skate right over to our inevitable death by drowning or hypothermia.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Kestrel agreed, rolling his eyes. “Whenever I see red banners and roped off areas, my obvious instinct is that I should ignore them.” He picked up his pace, the blades of his skates cutting a thin, curving line into the ice below. “Hmm, shall we try to do jumps, Squall? Or would that be considered, um-- what was the word Papa used? Idiotic?”

“Probably anything more than sedate glide qualifies,” Squall replied ruefully. “Though maybe we can get it past Sir Buzzkill’s over there’s watch if we just… work up to it.” The younger twin suddenly smirked. “After all Papa said ‘start slow’ but he didn’t say ‘stay slow.’ You still up for that race?”

“Oh, you demon.” Kestrel cackled. “Of course I’m still up for it.” He waggled his dark brow. “I mean, so long as you are. I wouldn’t want your pride wounded, after all, when I crush you.”

“Ha,” Squall crouched, readying himself to skate at speed. “You may be named for a faster bird, but remember I’m a storm- get ready to be blown away.”

“Ooh, now you’re talking trash,” Kestrel sang, gliding up beside his brother and reaching down to tug at the earflaps of his deerskin hat. “You’re talking to your future king, little boy. Don’t get too cocky, all right?”

“Aw, don’t have your favorite brother executed when he beats you, kingy,” Squall retorted. “That’s very poor sportsmanship.” His eyes narrowed, “On your mark… get set… go!”

Kestrel needed no further prompting, the dark-haired boy bursting forward like a racing horse out of the gate. Pumping his legs, and kicking up ice as he scrambled, he remained even with Squall for a few moments before pulling ahead of his twin-- at which point a massive smile burst across his face.

“C’mon, you’re eating my ice flakes!” he called back blithely. “It’s like you’re not even trying, little brother!”

“You just love flaunting that twelve and a half minutes, don’t you?” the younger twin called back, picking up his pace. There was a sharp cautionary call from the bank, and he gave an exasperated hiss. “Really, buying off our babysitter, that’s low, Kes.”

Kestrel laughed, not breaking his pace. “You wound me!” he chirped. “I’d never cheat! Not like you at chess!”

“You call it cheating, I prefer to think of it as innovating!” he retorted, slowly gaining on his brother again. “Chess is boring unless you get creative with the rules!”

“Where are racing to, anyway?” Kestrel asked, his cheeks flushed and heart beating in his ears. He turned his green eyes toward the vast lake that stretched before them, finally settling them on one of the cordoned off areas. “Up to there?” he suggested, nudging his chin toward the flapping banners. “Winner can practice his stylish quick stop.”

“Alright, works for me,” Squall replied, kicking his legs even harder. As their trajectory became apparent there was an even louder, somewhat angry sounding bellow from the bank, but neither prince paid it any heed. They were neck and neck now, and just as they were drawing up uncomfortably close to the thin ice Squall surged ahead, kicking his heel out to spin himself 180 degrees- and yelping as his skates slid right out from under him.

As the black-haired boy reached out in a desperate attempt to steady himself, Kestrel’s hands shot out toward his brother, the elder twin frantically trying to stop the younger’s fall. But the heir to Kyth only succeeded in throwing his own balance, and in another moment he was plummeting toward the ice, too, the two boys tangled up in each other’s limbs like gnarled tree branches with no purchase left to arrest their falls.

Impulsively, Squall used what precious few seconds he had before impact to wrench himself slightly, so that his elder twin was shielded in the curve of the younger’s arms. The brunt of both boy’s falls landed squarely on Squall’s forearm, and he screeched in pain even as he rolled with the impact as he’d been taught to do while falling during swordsmanship lessons. The two boys came to a stop with Squall lying on his back, Kestrel on top of him, and the younger boy’s left arm splayed out at an angle that was clearly not natural.

“Help, help, Kes it hurts!” Squall moaned, his eyes starting glimmer with tears that felt like ice in the cold.

The wind knocked out of him, Kestrel allowed himself only a moment’s bewilderment before he rolled sideways off of his brother, landing on his back on the cold ice below. From the shore he could hear the sudden, frantic calls of the knights, and as he forced himself into a sitting position, Kestrel could see a pair of them rushing forward. Suddenly he didn’t resent his father for appointing cleat-wearing babysitters. Overprotective or not, sometimes Eagle did have a point.

“Are… are you all right?” the heir managed, his green eyes falling toward Squall. His knee throbbed-- had he jostled it in the fall?-- and he set a ginger hand on top of it, then placed his other on his brother’s bronze cheek. “You didn’t hit your head, did you?”

“I… I don’t th-think so,” he whimpered. He moved to try and sit up, but howled with pain again as he jostled his damaged arm.

“D-don’t move,” Kestrel stammered, swallowing hard. “It looks broken, and… and I don’t want you to mess it up even more.” The prince shut his eyes for a moment, teeth gritted. “’Pit. I wonder if I can stand. My knee, it’s-- it’s… weird.”

“W-w-weird?” Squall echoed, gasping for breath. “Weird how?”

Kestrel didn’t get the chance to answer, however, as the knights finally caught up to their charges. They immediately knelt beside the princes, Sir Wallen’s hand falling on Kestrel’s shoulder as his partner, Sir Montgomery, studied Squall’s misshapen arm.

“We need to get you back to the cottage,” Wallen said gravely, eyes trailing up and down Kestrel’s shaking form. “Are you hurt, your highness?”

“My knee,” the boy murmured. “It-- it… I don’t know. Popped or something. And Squall’s arm…”

“It’s broken,” Montgomery said grimly, confirming Kestrel’s earlier guess. “Don’t think it’s a compound fracture, but through all these clothes it’s impossible to tell for certain.” He looked towards Wallen. “Check his knee? If he felt it pop, could just be a torn ligament if we’re lucky, but if we’re not it might be dislocated.”

Wallen nodded. “Is it all right if I roll up your pant leg, your highness?”

“I guess,” Kestrel murmured. Now that his adrenaline was further ebbing, the pain was growing harder and harder to ignore; a cold sweat had broken over the prince’s brow, and he was fighting very hard to keep tears from pricking in his eyes. As Wallen gingerly pulled up the material, the boy added, “It’s… it’s probably just a sprain, right?”

The hiss of distaste that escaped through Wallen’s teeth, however, as the knight laid sight on Kestrel’s bare leg quickly served to dispel such a motion. “That… is a dislocation,” he said softly, staring at the joint.

“How are you sure?” Kestrel managed-- but then as his own gaze followed the knight’s, he suddenly realised Woo-cursed well how Wallen knew it: his entire kneecap looked as though it had been forcibly yanked out of place, protruding out now in a misshapen lump, with a massive bruising already beginning to bloom around it. “Oh, ’Pit.”

“K-Kes I’m sorry, I’m sorry, if I hadn’t fallen-” Squall whimpered, but Montgomery cut him off.

“You were both being ‘Pittishly reckless. There’s a reason your father wanted you to be careful on the ice.” The man stood, wincing. “We’ll have to carry them back. Take it slowly so we don’t injure them further or lose our balance trying to hold them on the ice.”

“Right.” Wallen sighed, rising to his feet and reaching down to heft up Kestrel. “Stay as still as possible, all right? We’ll have you inside in no time, my princes.”

“Father’s going to kill us,” Kestrel murmured, glancing dourly toward his brother. “I bet he cancels our feast.”

Squall whimpered as Montgomery picked him up and his arm jostled. “We’ll be lucky if he ever lets us leave our rooms again. Why does this always happen? What did we do to deserve this?”

“We must have done something to rile some deity,” Kestrel agreed, pressing a hand to his sweaty forehead. Bile rose in his throat, and he stubbornly swallowed it back down. “We… we weren’t trying to be reckless,” he stammered to the knights. “We were just having fun. Please-- don’t tell Father we were acting foolishly? Pl-please?”

“And how, pray, are we to explain your injuries?” Montgomery demanded. “Even if you fell, just skating sedately wouldn’t get you wounds as bad as that. You have to have momentum to break an arm as badly as Prince Squall has done.”

“I’m just so tired of this,” Squall murmured, still panting. “Of being protected from… from living. It’s been like this since the war.”

Neither knight commented, clearly knowing this was not their place, and Kestrel couldn’t bring himself to force a reply, either, the older twin merely heaving a gusty sigh and shutting his eyes. Soon the party reached the edge of the ice, whereupon Montgomery and Wallen handed the princes off to another pair of knights, careful not to jostle the boys’ injuries in the process. From there it was a swift walk back to the cottage, and Kestrel bit his lip as the knights stepped inside and the warm air whooshed over them, cradling him like a down blanket.

“Are y-you going to get Father?” he murmured as he and Squall were set down in the nearest sitting room, Squall placed on an armchair as Kestrel was gingerly laid out on the couch adjacent. “Because… I mean, maybe a healer should look at us first, that way it’s not so bad when he sees it--”

“I’m sorry, your highness,” the knight cut in gently. “I need to fetch him before doing anything else.”

As the knights headed upstairs, Squall covered his face with his undamaged arm. “So much for our birthday. What were we even out there for, ten minutes?”

“Try five,” Kestrel muttered. “We’re lucky we didn’t plow through the barrier and go falling through thin ice. ‘Pit, what was I thinking? I’m sorry, Squall.”

“I didn’t have to go along with it,” Squall pointed out. “I just… got so high on doing something fun for once, instead of sitting around the castle playing chess or-”

Whatever else the boys might have said was cut off by the rapid sounds of thumping footfalls from upstairs, followed by the telltale thump of heavy boots against the curving staircase. Kestrel rather felt like a prisoner awaiting his execution as the footsteps-- as he knew they would-- then banked sharply toward the sitting room; moments later the king of Kyth strode through the wide doorway, his face written with what could have only been called panic.

“What were you boys thinking?” he demanded, his eyes leaping frantically between both of his injured sons. “I thought you were joking when you suggested a race, Kes! That you actually did it…?”

Kestrel shrunk down where he lay, his gut clenching. “I… I’m sorry, Father,” he stammered. “We were just trying to have fun.”

“You could have been killed!” Eagle snapped, voice rife with equal parts disbelief and fury. “I’ve already sent a knight to the palace to fetch some healers-- but ’Pit are you lucky that you only banged yourselves up in ways that can be healed! What if you’d cracked your heads!?”

Squall winced inwards on himself, giving an involuntary yip of pain as his bad arm was jostled, and at the sound of it, the king flinched, too, as though he could physically feel his son’s pain. Squall said, “I’m s-sorry, Father, we w-were careless. We just… just wanted to do something more fun than s-skating in circles, and we weren’t thinking.”

“You were reckless,” Eagle returned, though his voice was much softer now, more pained than angry. Tentatively, he lowered himself on the arm of the chair, and reached out to stroke a gentle hand through Squall’s obsidian hair. “Not a very fun birthday gift, huh? I’m sorry, boys.”

The younger boy relaxed a little, though his body was still quivering with agony. “It was our fault, Papa, not yours.” He inhaled jaggedly. “It h-hurts. Worse than when I sprained my wrist in fencing practice that time. S-so much worse.”

“Just try to take deep breaths, all right?” Eagle soothed. He glanced toward Kestrel. “How are you doing?”

“I dunno,” Kestrel murmured, his teeth chattering even though the room was far from cold. “Like I’m gonna be sick, kind of.”

“Don’ be sick, Kes,” Squall warbled, giving his twin a wobbly smile. “Y-you’ll ruin the nice sofa.”

“I’m already laying on it while wearing ice skates,” Kestrel retorted shakily. “Pretty sure I’m gouging up the fabric.” He let out a frail, pathetic moan. “How long ‘til the healers get here, Papa?”

“It’ll be some time,” Eagle said, sighing. “I’m sorry.” The king mulled for a moment, fingers still running through Squall’s mussed locks, before he added, “Say… know what might be nice while you boys wait?”

“What’s that, Papa?” the younger prince murmured, leaning into his father’s touch.

“I do believe,” Eagle said, “that earlier we had a bit of a disagreement over whether or not you two were old enough for a cup of warm mead. Fortunately…” The king smiled gently. “I’m pleased to announce that I’ve had a change of heart.”

Squall blinked owlishly, looking confused. Then, he gave a crooked smile. “G-going for the Bernian method of curing ails, hm? That sounds… good.” He closed his eyes, trying to rub the moisture from them with his good hand. “S’long as Kes can drink it without getting sick.”

“I’m certainly going to try my best,” Kestrel said.

His father chuckled. “I’ll go fetch a servant to get you boys a cup, okay? Back in a few minutes.”

And with that, the king stood, quickly strolling out the door and disappearing around a bend in the hall. Once he was out of sight, Kestrel sighed as deeply as he could manage, trying to will away the bubble of nausea that hung in his throat, and Squall remained sitting with his eyes closed, trying not to jar his mangled arm.

“We really screwed up this time,” the younger prince said softly.

“Mmph,” Kestrel grunted in agreement. “‘Pit, I just hope the mead takes the edge off until the healers get here.”

“Y-yeah. I tried to keep you from hitting the ice when we went down, b-but…” Squall broke off as his father’s footsteps sounded again, and Eagle strode briskly back into the room.

Apparently having decided against roping in a servant, the king had a tumbler each of mead in either hand, already poured. Setting one on the coffee table in front of Kestrel, Eagle then eased the other into Squall’s good hand, instructing, “Slow sips, okay? It’s not juice-- don’t chug it.”

Squall nodded, carefully tilting the tumbler back to his lips. Though he choked initially on the bitter alcohol flavor, he quickly let the sweeter taste of the honey in the mead overtake it. Swallowing, he slowly lowered the cup again. “Thanks, Papa. Love you. And I really am sorry.”

“I love you, too,” Eagle replied, glancing for a moment toward Kestrel as the older twin, too, took his first burning sip of the mead. “And I know you’re sorry, Squall. I do. But you understand that what you boys did today was incredibly foolish, right? That you’re lucky you’ve only got broken limbs to speak for it?”

“I know, Papa,” Kestrel murmured, taking another small mouthful of liquor. “Are… are we going t-to be punished?”

Eagle sighed. “Don’t think I didn’t consider it,” the king replied. “But… I think a broken arm and dislocated knee are punishment enough. If that doesn’t make you learn your lesson, I don’t think anything else I could do would.”

Squall looked up at his father in surprise. “R-really?” He blinked hard, “So… so you’re not going to cancel our feast tomorrow?”

“There are dozens of people coming,” Eagle said by way of response. “Canceling it would punish them as well as you.” He raised a brow, bemused. “Unless, of course, you think you haven’t learned your lesson, boys?”

“W-we won’t do that again,” Squall said earnestly. “N-never. I don’t ever want to break my arm again. Kes?”

“If we ever skate again, we’ll be more careful,” Kestrel promised. “No racing, no tricks-- nothing.”

“All right. Good.” Eagle chuckled beneath his breath. “Hey, at least it’s a good story, right? Got to have fodder for small talk at the feast.” The king winked. “And you got mead out of it.”

Squall gave a shaky laugh, taking another sip of his drink. “It’s good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, son,” Eagle said. “And happy birthday to you both. Even if sometimes you boys scare the ‘Pit out of me… I couldn’t ask for better sons.”