“…you can’t do this, Nyx. It isn’t fair,” she grimaced only after silenty listening to all of what he had said; “Don’t you dare do this to me!”

Again, she seemed to have misunderstood his intent… taken the things he had offered as a way out… taken his acknowledgement of his promises to her as having thrown them in her face… become irritated and uncertain where he had only intended to soothe and reassure…

Do what? Nyx’s brow knit in confusion for an instant but the smile that had graced his lips before he kissed her didn’t fade, straight away… The mith’ganni had come, recently, to almost expect these unexpected reactions from the Wharf Witch, after all, and, while his first instinct, now, was to interject he imagined it would be best to let her continue uninterrupted. I have learned more about you by simply letting you talk than I ever have from asking, yes, melamin, he mused, staying his tongue and allowing Cay her say as she had allowed him his.

“I have no answers for you Nyx.” She spoke with her whole body, her hands flying to her sides with the palms up to emphasize that she had nothing to offer him. “I’m not even sure I understand what your questions are in order to give you an answer. Seek your stars, they are constant and bright. I am anything but…”

The assassin’s eyes flashed and his smile warmed; the change in the expression hinting at his disagreement as those words evoked images from his recent dream and the translation of that dream he’d received from Taellyn afterwards… You are my answer, Cayrimsa, he might have retorted had he allowed himself to speak just then, You are my star. A star far brighter and far more constant in my eyes than any others I have seen…
“…stop looking to me for answers,” she demanded, her voice risng still higher, “and stop giving me bulls#!t for yours!

Don’t tell me that Olsta is just the beginning,” Cay added, then, “We both know better. You pressing your back against mine and telling Dmitrova that he’d have to fight us both if he laid a hand on me might be a more poignant beginning, or perhaps it goes back further…”

A faint nod from Nyx acknowledged that truth… Quite a bit further… but, still, he held his tongue and kept his gaze even with hers.


“…to Gracchus, or even further, to the first time I felt a pair of unseen eyes watch me from the shadows…”

Perhaps further, even, than that, elen en cormamin.
“… Olsta is simply another step. Which is why, you know, I cannot just walk away…”

Again, there was an injection of warmth into the mith’ganni’s smile at her admission that they had come too far, already, for her to simply be able to walk away from it all, now. It was bittersweet warmth, though, because, beneath the surface of it he thought he could sense the beginnings of regret in the decisions she had made to get them here… and the bitter began to outway the sweet, finally causing the smile on Nyx’s lips to diminish as he considered the words she spoke next…. Barbs of truth regarding promises and crossed paths, and the allusions to forces at work which, if not fully beyond their comprehension, were, at least, at the farthest reaches.

“… take another look at your back, Nyx, and try to deny it. There are powers, much greater than Senators or Syndicate overlords, at work here that I don’t fully understand…”

As soon as she hand mentioned it, Nyx felt the tree etched on his back react, as if it were coaxed into further growth by her voice… She was right, of course. He couldn’t have denied anything she said even if he had wanted to.

And to be honest Nyx, that scares me. Don’t give me an out…” the amber fires to her soul dropped then, and his own eyes followed as she made her next confession, “I’m terrified enough right now that I might take it. But maybe you are right. Maybe I’m not sure about… about…”

Somewhere on the darkened fringes of his subconscious an ancient, ethereal voice spat out a gale of derisive laughter in hopes of invoking further doubt… but that gale was torn apart amidst the crimson branches that wove into Nyx’s mind and rendered it into little more than a whispered breeze that scarcely registered in his mind’s ear. Had it not, Nyx very well may not have been able to steel himself against what he feared she might say next… he wasn’t sure he even truly wanted to hear what it might be. It was far too late for him to second guess any of this and, for the flickering of a moment, he found himself ready to do just that… found himself trying to fathom how he could undo all that which had already been done and trying to find the words he would reply with when she had finished this most recent divulgence…

To his surprise, though, Cay never did finish the statement aloud… not with words, at any rate… Instead, as both sets of their downturned eyes contemplated the narrow span of nothingness between them, a somewhat sickened moan churned in Cay’s throat and, at the same time, the dagger he had given her hissed from its scabbard and, in her hand, interposed itself between them.

“Just… just take this back please… I wasn’t thinking last night; you’re the killer, Nyx, not me…”

Beneath the slender, black brows which had, once again, knitted together in a momentary confusion, the mith’ganni’s moon-colored eyes considered the dagger and, more, the hand which offered it back to him. The fingers that curled around the weapon’s ebon blade looked deceptively delicate given the power that they could command with little more than the sketching of an arcane symbol in the air (or, for that matter, a simple touch against his skin). There was fresh blood (evoked from the flesh by a grip more accustomed to the pain inflicted by a blade than with its handling) that seeped from somewhere beneath those fingers, he noted, and oozed along the razor’s edge to its point. There, it hesitated a moment, gathering into droplet that, when of sufficient size, fell silently to the floor painted a tiny rose petal on the stone. That first petal was as scarlet as the cloak she typically wore… the same red hue, he noticed, that Cay had professed to hate when they had last visited the Dreamweaver together… The red of the Arigainar… The second petal had not yet stroked across the cold stone of the floor when Nyx blinked and lifted his gaze in search of hers, once again.

“…It’s not mine… but please… please Nyx… you are…” she asked, the same plea in her tone as in her eyes when they lifted to meet his, “or you said you were… don’t tell me I can leave… tell me to go with you. I’m more afraid of losing you than anything…”

There was nothing sharp or cold in the smile that returned to Nyx’s lips, then… it was as soft as the touch of his fingers when they found hers and gently loosed them from around the blade… and as warm as her blood on his skin when he secured the dagger with one hand and entwined the fingers of the other with hers. “I am afraid, too,” he whispered past that smile as, lifting her bleeding hand to his lips, he drew her closer. “I fear that you are cursed,” he continued, touching his lips to a thin rivulet of blood that snaked over her knuckles, “for you can never lose me, elen en cormamin…”

His tongue flickered over his lips, sweeping the blood from them before they brushed over her’s. “You cannot leave,” he breathed during a pause in that elegant kiss, “Come with me, Cay…” The ruby-pommeled dagger whispered back into the sheathe at her hip, then, and, freed of it’s handling, Nyx’s other hand snaked around to the small of the witch’s back and pulled her into a tender embrace, “…but you keep the blade, yes? If you are to be cursed with me, you’ll likely need it… sometimes a blade is quicker than even a spell, hm?”

He wanted to linger in that moment, of course… wanted to let it take them back to the place and time where nothing in the worlds around them mattered but the fact that they were there together. As much as he wanted it, though, he didn’t let himself succumb to those wants. Not now. He couldn’t; for, if he hoped to have any of those moments in the future, his attentions had to be on the now…

There is work to be done and preparations to be made.
A purr (or was it a growl?) rumbled in his chest at that and his arms tightened subtly around her for an instant before he reluctantly released her from the embrace. His lips brushed the scarred tip of an ear and the warmth of a flushed cheek as they parted and, at last, his eyes lingering on hers, he took hold of her injured hand and let her gaze go only long enough to inspect the wound. “We tend to this,” he said, inclining his head towards her upturned palm, “properly, this time, yes? And then, we must go…”

A short while later…
The angst and tension had seeped from Cay’s demeanor it seemed… There had been a brief flash of annoyance in her eyes when, in the process of tending to the cut on her palm, Nyx had softly chastised her for not having taken better care of it to begin with but, aside from that, if there was anything left of that earlier upwelling of anxiety, it had vanished behind a veil of quiet pensiveness… He was sure that there were things she wasn’t telling him. Things, too, that he was unable to read, with any great clarity, in either her eyes or her body-language. And, though the mith’ganni wished he might somehow draw those things out so that he might help to alleviate them, he also knew that, right now, those things were a pot left unstirred. Any attempts to do so, Nyx imagined, would only serve to return her to that frenetic state from which she had recently escaped… and that sort of chaos would not be conducive travelling Drasnia’s waking streets unnoticed…. Cay was calm for the time being and that was the important thing.

The Witch remained calm, too, as she and Nyx finally abandoned the crypt and made their way from the cemetery towards where the Dreamweaver’s shoppe nestled near the eastern walls of the city. With Cay lost in the silent contemplation of her own thoughts and Nyx with his mind on necessary preparations and attentions keenly on their surroundings as they moved, few words passed between them as they whispered through the streets. Despite their silence, though, there was communication between the pair… a gentle stream of tacit contact that flowed across the scant space between them… unvoiced questions and concerns borne to the surface by a meaningful glance or a momentary hesitation in a step… those queries and fears answered or assuaged by a subtle touch or a faint smile. And so it went… the things unspoken remaining so for the entirety of the trip between the cemetery and the seamstress’ shop and not more than a word crossing the lips of sorceress or assassin until they finally swept into Taellyn’s store where, as was his habit, Nyx reached up to silence the bells that were set to tinkling by the opening of the door.

“Late again, Steppe Son,” Taellyn’s lyrical voice called from behind the curtain that separated her storefront from the storage and workspaces at the building’s rear, “I had expected you sooner.”

Nyx chuffed softly and cast a glance at Cay, rolling his yellow eyes in mock irritation, before letting them drift in the direction from whence the woman’s voice had come. “There will be a fee associated with that, I would imagine,” he smirked, releasing his muffling grip on the string of bells and locking the door before ushering Cay deeper into the store.

“You have a good imagination, boy.” The curtain rustled as if stirred by the breeze of the Dreamweaver’s light laughter.

“I have no need of imagination, crone,” Nyx replied as the matronly elf emerged, smiling, from behind the curtain, “I have a painful familiarity with your pricing that serves me just fine.”

“Now, Steppe Son,” Taellyn grinned, feigning indignance, “surely an extra copper or two…”

“Three.”

“…isn’t anywhere near your threshold of pain is… Oh…” Taellyn’s playfully mocking smile morphed into one that expressed a more genuine warmth when her silver eyes fell on Cay.

“Oh,” she repeated, her eyes dancing between the two, “and you’ve brought your lovely lady with you, again… Delightful…”

Cormamin lindua ele lle, Cayrimsa,” she said, her warm smile taking on a faint tinge of distaste when she took notice of Cay’s attire, “even dressed in that,” she added, casting a scornful look in the mith’ganni’s direction.

Nyx chuckled softly as he drew back the cowl of his cloak; “I thought that that might have been a bit more acceptable than making her walk across the city naked, yes? Although, knowing you as I do, I suppose there will be yet an additional fee for my having forced her to wear the thing, at all…”

“Hmph, you should be made to pay her for having to suffer its weight,” Taellyn shot back, reaching out a hand to gingerly lay cay’s cloak back over her shoulders and examine the now ruined coat, “What have you done to this poor girl? This is atrocious.”

“Perhaps,” Nyx smirked, wandering toward a long counter where he doffed his own cloak and relieved himself of the duffel he had packed earlier, “but the craftsmanship was passable while it lasted… You have another ready for me, yes?”

“In the back,” Taellyn answered with the wave of a hand, not bothering to glance at the assassin when she did, “you know the place…”

“And you can find something suitable for arwenamin, in short order, I would guess,” Nyx called back, having already disappeard behind the curtain, “without testing the ‘threshold of my pain’ too severely?”

“Aiya, amin nowa ikotane,” the Dreamweaver’s smile veritably sparkled with something more than mirth as she, at last, flicked a glance over her shoulder in the direction Nyx had gone and then returned her (elated?) gaze back to Cay. Her brows lifted and she mouthed the word ‘arwenho’ past the smile she presented to Cay, then…

“Melaho, nowa amin, uma?” she whispered with a wink, stepping back a pace from the woman Nyx had brought to her shop for a second time.

The Wharf Witch’s cheeks flushed pink, then, and, though it was released into the air on less than a whisper, the old Dreamweaver heard Cay utter; “Melamin…”

“I had hoped as much,” Taellyn smiled knowingly. She gestured towards the fabric-draped doorway; “Come, dear, let’s see what we can find for you, hm?” Her slender fingers reached out to touch the fabric of the coat draped over the half-elf’s frame as they glided towards the rear of the shop; “And, perhaps, we shall burn this rag when we are finished…”

She drew the curtain aside, holding it out of the way as she motioned for Cay move through ahead of her and, as she did so, revealed Nyx, stripped to the waist and turned to face away from them, in the midst of donning the new coat she had made him. Her brows rose curiously when she caught a glimpse of the twisting, crimson tree that climbed the mith’ganni’s spine and had begun to spread its branches over the pale skin of his back. Taellyn’s expressive silver eyes flitted to Cay for an instant and, noting the mix of surprise and sheepishness that comingled on theWitch’s features at the sight of that tree, offered a smile that bespoke an arcane understanding…

Arwenho… Melaho… More than just your lady and your love, then, isn’t she, Steppe Son? Re naa coialle, n’uma? Ar’ lle sii’ naa he.
…When, after gently urging Cay the next few steps past the curtain, Taellyn’s eyes found their way back to Nyx, the mith’ganni had slipped his arms into the new coat, covering the mark again, and had turned to face them. “It’s as passable as the last, I hope,” the seamstress grinned as Nyx’s golden eyes lifted to, first, find Cay’s and then hers after.

“It will do,” Nyx smirked in reply as he fastened himself into the garment and tested (unnecessarily) it to ensure it would allow him the freedom of movement that his profession and preferences required. “It fits well,” he added, snugging up a strap that held the front of the thing closed before his fingers drifted to where a constellation of stars had been embroidered on the breast, “and the sigil is far more appropriate, now, I think…”

Taellyn couldn’t help but notice the warmth in the assassin’s gaze as it lifted from those threadworked stars and lingered on Cay for a moment. It was a warmth which she hadn’t seen in any expression that had played on Nyx’s features in so many years that she had stopped counting and, while she had to admit that it wasn’t completely unexcpected, it had taken her aback enough to coax a joyful tear from her…

Nyx made quick work of the rest of his preparations – strapping his belt over the new coat and relegating an assortment of blades to their proper places – and, then, with that doting smile still gracing his lips, moved forward to gather Cay in his arms and kissed her tenderly, firt on the mouth and, then, on the tip of one maimed ear before releasing the half-elf. “There are arrangments yet to be made, elen en cormamin,” he said to Cay, “I shall tend to those while the Dreamweaver tends to you, yes? And when I return, we shall need to be on our way. Time grows short.”

“Alright,” Cay murmured, her fingers and eyes lingering as long as they could on his as Nyx backed away, “Tira ten’ rashwe, ithilamin.”

…As surprising as the mith’ganni’s affectionate smile had been, though, Taellyn imagined she could have been knocked over with a feather when Nyx turned his eyes on her and said; “Diola lle, Taellyn; seler’ en ataramin.”

“Seasamin, Steppe Son,” Taellyn smiled as Nyx slipped silenty away from where she stood with Cay and, then out of the shop all together.

When he was gone, the Dreamweaver turned her eyes on Drasnia’s Witch of the Wharf again and, smiling sweetly as she gave the younger woman another once over, took her by the hand and guided her towards another room where she kept a selection of things that she imagined might just be perfect. “Come, Cay,” she cooed, “If I know Nyx, he won’t be long in making those arrangements and you and I, I think, have much to do and much to discuss in that short while, don’t we?”

((OOC: And there we go, faithful readers... keep an eye on the "Fates of Fortune Art" thread in the next day or so... I should have a rendition of Cay's new garb ready to post there before too much longer... Meri will be moving us forward with her next update, I imagine.))

“Come, Cay,” she cooed, “If I know Nyx, he won’t be long in making those arrangements and you and I, I think, have much to do and much to discuss in that short while, don’t we?” 

Cay let the other woman take her hand and guide her into the other room.  Her head was spinning.  The stars embroidered on his jacket, elen en cormamin, the tree etching its way up his spine, the old elven woman so familiar and at once comfortable around Cay, then the shop itself.  For a moment she closed her eyes and took a long deep breath, the shocking scent of mothballs in corners, of fabric and textiles piled high, a small bit of feces from the mice dwelling in the piles, the dust and the dyes all mingling together to bring back an overwhelming shock of memories.  The scent of her childhood, and everything she had run from, only to find herself here with a woman Nyx was calling his aunt.  

Taellyn gave her hand a slight squeeze, and she popped her eyes back open and tried to push all of her unease into the back of her mind.  They had things to do.  Instead of getting directly to them, however, the crone settled onto a small couch that was nestled between the racks of clothing and indicated to Cay that she should sit next to her.  

“So nwalma, my Wharf Witch…” Taellyn tsked shaking her head.  “Just like Nyx… I would have thought some of that would have quelled.  No?”  

Cay glanced at the doorway they had walked through, making sure that they were alone now, then shook her head.  “No.  It’s all… I don’t know how to feel, it’s all happened so quickly.” she said softly, a little surprised at her candor.  

“Ehh… winya tie sina naa ten’lle.”  Taellyn nodded in agreement and settled her bones back into the cushions, dust puffing up around her as she did.  “I suppose some hesitation is warranted.  But… this is more than that.”  

Licking her lips Cay nodded.  “I’m not hesitating; I’m terrified.”  

“Why?”  

Her hands went to her heart, “It’s too much!”  

“N’uma!”  Taellyn cried out with a laugh.  “The Wharf Witch, Morier en Arwenho?  Terrified, of this being too much?”  

Cayrimsa frowned deeply and felt a familiar tug of anger as the woman began to laugh at her.  Instead of lashing out she turned her burning eyes toward the woman and simply glared.  

“Tell me… is it Nyx?  Does he scare you?  Do you not trust everything he has promised you?”  

The anger was immediately stopped at the mention of Nyx and his promises.  The answer fell from her lips before she could even think about it.  “No.  No.  After everything… I have no reservations about Nyx.”  Then she smiled just a tiny bit, “And I certainly am not afraid of him…”  

Seemingly pleased with the answer Taellyn nodded and continued.  “Then it is you.  You doubt your own ability to live up to the promises you have made him, n’uma?”  

This time Cay hesitated a second, but only one, before answering.  “N’uma.  No.  I meant it all, I am his, with all of my soul I meant it.”  She whispered softly, her voice trembling a little as she said it.  

Again Taellyn nodded, content with this answer.  “Then it is, what?  Outside forces you fear?”  

The witch took a breath and nodded.  “The world is going to tear us apart… there are Gods -” but before she could finish the sentence it was cut short as Taellyn leaned over and slapped the girl across the face.  She squeaked and jumped at the sensation, it wasn’t painful, the intent had been simply to stun, not cause injury.  Cay raised her hand to the slightly pink cheek and stared at Taellyn. 

“Amada edainme!”  Taellyn spat out.  “Seldarine hera um’il vanwa atta’llie!  Atta’llie tengwe elen!”  

Beside her the witch’s eyes grew wide, she swallowed hard and shrank back a little from the soothsayer.  Atta’llie tengwe elen… The words burned across her brain.  The stars.  Then the woman was reaching over and grabbing at Cay’s skirts, trying to reveal her upper right thigh.  

“What!?”  Shocked Cay tried to wriggle free of the woman but she was surprisingly strong and after a moment the pale skin of her thigh was revealed and there, raised in a dark bluish ink ran the silhouette of a small horse, it’s mane and tail caught in the wind behind it.  It ran on her hip right where Nyx had been resting his delicate hand so much recently.  “Pach!”  

With another gravely laugh the woman sat back down, satisfied.  “Atta’llie tengwe elen.  He is yours, you are his… there is a hera here, that is stronger than anything I have come across.  Do not fear it, istalindar, use it.”  

Cay had not looked up from the dark blue horse running across her hip, but every word that the seamstress spoke sunk into her.  She traced the horse with the tip of her finger.  “Hera…” she whispered to herself, then “use it… use it…” The horse disappeared as she pressed her scarred hand over it and closed her eyes, her mouth opened as if she were about to speak, but nothing came out at first.  The witch sat there a few minutes, allowing herself to actually feel what had been going on between her and Nyx for the past few hours, days, weeks, months… years.  “Hera…” she finally growled the word deeply as a smile crept over her face and slowly opened her eyes to look at the woman across the couch.  

Her hand rose up slowly from her thigh and she held it in front of her face.  The gash on her palm was still there, although it appeared to be healing after Nyx’s recent attention, but now it had a bluish gleam in the deepest recesses.  She gently blew her breath across it and a blue flame rose up from her palm, it flickered and then shifted until it took the form of a horse galloping in place.  A dark gleam filled her amber eyes and the grin that stretched across her face would have caused Tselika to reconsider crossing her.  

She closed her hand and the flame extinguished itself.  Glancing over her closed fist at the soothsayer she smiled a bit more warmly.  “So… what did you have in mind for me to wear?”  

Taellyn nodded and returned the smile, without another word needing to be said.  She rose and began to rummage through the racks.  

 

-----

When Nyx finally returned a figure was leaning comfortably against the front wall of Taellyn’s shop.  Her head was down, her back against the faded wood, one foot on the ground, the other propped up against the wall with her knee bent at a severe angle.  In her hand she lazily twirled a small flat stone between her fingers.  The sunlight had finally broken free of the clouds and she stood like a dark pillar in its rays.  

The old hat had been replaced by a black felt hat with a smaller brim.  The boots had likewise been switched out for a practical low heeled black pair that rose to mid calf and were fit to her legs with buckles.  Otherwise, the ensemble was a new look for the witch.  She donned a pair of tight black pants, and a loose fit dark grey blouse with a high collar.  The blouse was cinched into her curves by a black leather bodice and a thick black belt at her waist.  Flowing out from under the bodice a ‘skirt’ had been fashioned out of strips of dark grey silk in various lengths and widths, the skirt was open in the front and grew longer toward the back, but not long enough to drag in the mud.  From her shoulders a heavy wool cloak hung, blood red so deep it was nearly black.  Wrapped around her thigh a holster held his dagger.  Of course likely, the first thing he might have noticed, especially with the sun hitting her as it was just then, was the silver embroidery running down the front of the bodice.  Starting at the midpoint between her two breasts a single dot had been stitched, representing the new moon, from there the waxing of the moon moved in progression down her chest until a full moon appeared on the middle of her stomach, the waning then dripped down to a single dot that sat just above the buckle of her belt.  

As he approached she raised her head, her eyes again peeking out at him from under the shadow of her hat.  She smiled warmly at him, a playfulness dancing in those eyes as she watched him try to gather some words. 

“Let’s go do this Morieramin…” she said in a sultry voice. 

Nyx skulked from the Dreamweaver’s shop with, perhaps, a longer glance back than he would have normally afforded and, had anyone seen it, there was, also, a somewhat comforted smile gracing his lips as he did so. There was a certain reassurance that he felt leaving her in Taellyn’s care…

That old crone has been a constant burr in my saddle, he thought, swinging his head to secure the strange looseness of his hair into his cowl as he drew it over his head, but, if I trust anyone near as much- if there is another cursed soul in this world that I would call family - as I have come to trust Cay, it is Taellyn.

...In the negligible span of time it took him to blink, Nyx considered returning to the shop’s door and engaging the lock, just to ensure the safety of both women while he was out about his planned business. He shook the thought away, though. Between the two of them, they would certainly manage any trespasses that might occur in his absence. “Besides,” he murmured into the shadows cast by the hood that now covered his head, “I shan’t be long.” He shrugged himself deeper into the drape of his cloak, hitching the weight of his duffel to a more comfortable position as his gaze turned from the door and to the streets before him, striding with determined purpose toward Drasnia’s eastern gate and the swath of liveries and stables that sprawled along the city’s inner walls there.

Even with the efforts he had taken to avoid the gazes that probed the interior of his cowl, it took him less time to reach his destination than it would to complete the transactions he had planned. The twists and turns of Drasnia’s thoroughfares spit him out, soon enough, into the broad plaza of horse peddlers and tack and harness dealers that he sought. He paused for a moment, watching the early morning throng that milled about the cobbles, mud, and muck, taking in the scent of hay and leather and freshly mucked stalls. The sights and sounds took hold of him and, lingering at the mouth of the alley from which he had emerged, the mith’ganni took a moment to, first, ponder the massive arch of the Governor’s Gate at the far edge and, then, turned his gaze west to where the rest of Drasnia sprawled its way toward the harbor.

Namaarie, you festering s#!thole, the mith’ganni smirked darkly, I cannot say that I am sad to leave you behind. Besides, I take the best you have to offer with me, he added, tearing his moon-colored eyes from the vista and redirecting them to the market before him, a razor-edged smile forming on his lips as he began to work his way through the thickening throng. 

We will be back, though, he promised, picking his way through the crowd to a particular livery, and the screams in the night will begin anew, yes?

-----

 The sun had crept considerably higher in the sky by the time Nyx began making his way back to the Dreamweaver’s, and his business in the markets had left his purse considerably lighter, as well. 

The horses had been easy enough to pick out from the stock he’d found available - a piebald filly and a velvet-black colt, both young and spry and both very obviously descended from Shanurdirian ponies - and the merchant from whom he had purchased them seemed to know better than to haggle overmuch with a Twilighter so Nyx had gotten them at a reasonable price. 

The tack and harness for the mounts, however, had taken far longer to select. There had been no saddles that came close to being of mith’ganni-made quality, of course, and very few elven-wrought saddles of any sort which were not ridiculously overpriced. Even though he had deigned to look at a few, Nyx couldn’t even bring himself to consider human wrought saddles; they gave no consideration to the comfort of the horses that would have to bear them, only to the fattened arses of the riders they were designed to carry. In the end, he had selected a matching pair of dur’manni manufacture and the remaining tack to go along with them. Negotiations for those trapping had resulted in more than a few not so veiled threats, as well, so he’d managed to purchase them below their asking price but, still, Nyx felt he had overpaid.

Now, with the saddlebags of the horses laden with the other supplies he had purchased - rations, waterskins, bedrolls, blankets, and a small tent - Nyx cantered up to the seamstress’ shop astride the colt, leading the filly beside him, her reins looped to his saddle horn. An almost apprehensive scowl worked onto his pale features, though, when he spied the dark-garbed figure leaning expectantly against the shop’s facade… I knew I should have locked that door behind me… and, his itching fingers fell to the hilt of the blade at his hip as he reined the horses to a stop. As he slid from the saddle, the figure lifted its head and, from beneath the brim of the black felt hat, Cayrimsa smiled up at him with a playful affection gleaming in her amber eyes…

Cay?! His mouth fell open and moon-yellow eyes slowly devoured her as they took her in from head to toe and back again. This was far from what the Witch of the Wharf’s ensembles - even the finest he’d ever seen her wear - looked like but, pach, did it suit her!

“Let’s go do this Morieramin…” she said in a sultry voice when his eyes met hers, again. 

“Lle ma vanima, melamin,” he breathed, his smile appreciative and hungry all at once. His ravenous gaze travelled over her, again, and he could scarcely tear it away long enough to loosen the filly’s reins from his saddlehorn, “Nesamil Taellyn has truly outdone herself this time… Damn!”

Clucking his tongue and with a gentle tug on the reins, he beckoned the piebald filly to follow as he closed the distance between himself and the vision that was Cayrimsa Ettelenya. His free hand slithered around her waist, pulled her to him, and he kissed her eagerly before slipping the horse's reins into Cay’s scarred palm. “For you, elen en cormamin,” he smiled wickedly, “And, yes, let’s go do this before I take it to mind to see how easily all of that comes off, yes?”

“Lle ma vanima, melamin,” he breathed, his smile appreciative and hungry all at once.  His ravenous gae travelled over her, again, and he could scarcely tear it away long enough to loosen the filly’s reins from his saddlehorn, “Nesamil Taellyn has truly outdone herself this time… Damn!” 

Cay simply tipped her fingers to the brim of her hat at the compliment.  “I think she knew I was coming back… and had exactly what I would need ready to go.  I’m afraid I’ve run up your tab a bit…”  

“Worth every coin…” 

Clucking his tongue and with a gentle tug on the reins, he beckoned the piebald filly to follow as he closed the distance between himself and the vision that was Cayrimsa Ettelenya.  His free hand slithered around her waist, pulled her to him.  Her own fingers hooked into his belt as he moved in and she made sure to close any little distance left between them.  He kissed her eagerly before slipping the horse’s reins into Cay’s scarred palm.  “For you, elen en cormamin,” he smiled wickedly, “And yes, let’s go do this before I take it to mind to see how easily all of that comes off, yes?”  

When he broke the kiss she gave him a light push back with her hands on his stomach and stood up fully herself, taking the reins in hand.  

“Ohh… it won’t be easy.  It’s quite the assemblage.”  She ran her hands down the front of the bodice.  “You won’t be disappointed after the effort, however.  I’ve even got a surprise for you underneath off of this, but… yes, let’s go, that can all wait until later.  It’s time to get out of this city... for now.”  

She didn’t wait for his response.  Taking the reins she went straight for the filly and considered the saddle.  Frowning at the height she turned as if to ask Nyx for help.  Before she could ask though, another thought came to her mind, hera, and she lightly touched her hip. Leaning into the horse she took her hand off her hip and put it on the mane of the horse.  Airily she whispered into its ear.  It neighed and then obediently lowered it’s front half to the ground, lowering the saddle in the process to a much better height.  Gently she patted it’s mane, “Diola lle…” With ease she then mounted the horse, clicked her tongue and the horse rose back up.  

“I’m going to leave you behind if you don’t get on that horse Nyx…”  She quipped as he gaped at her, and used the reins to turn the horse out into the main thoroughfare.  

It did not take the horse elf long to catch up with her as she wove her horse through town heading toward the nearest gate.  She didn’t speak while they rode, but her thoughts wandered as the streets passed by her.  

Cayrimisa remembered how much she had longed to come here, and how hard she had fought not only to arrive, but to carve out some kind of existence in this place.  Now she was leaving and without a single thing to her name.  The tapestries she had spent so many hours on were still hanging in her flat down by the wharfs.  The Bedine coin still sitting on the lantern where she had last tried to heat it, to press into Nyx’s flesh she recalled.  Even her title, the ‘Wharf Witch’ no longer seemed to fit, nor did her own ‘name;’ Ettelenya carried so little meaning now.  

No… you aren’t leaving with nothing…  Cay turned and glanced over at her partner, his dark figure astride the horse, head held high even with the pointed ears on the sides, riding so easily in his saddle, his eyes darting between the throngs of people beneath the horses feet and her.  He couldn’t seem to go more than a few seconds without his eyes flitting back to her. The tree which she had so carefully woven into cloth was now imprinted on him, and the power she had hoped to wield with that coin was but a shadow in comparison with the power that he had opened up for her.  She would use his name now and be Morier en Arwenho.  He was what she had needed, she just hadn’t known at the time.  

Atta’llie tengwe elen… 

----

Kylo Bensigton had always cut a memorable image and today was no different.  One of his feet rested on the seat of a chair, while the other was firmly planted on the ground, he leaned an arm on his raised thigh.  His impressive height made it easy for him to keep an eye not just on the game of skulls being played on the table, but also on the proceedings of the city street around him.  Tattoos had been slashed across the brown skin of his cheeks and arms, and a long pale scar ate a jagged ridge down the side of his neck.  Around the table another five men were crowded, they were mainly fixated on the game, however.  Each time the bones were rolled they would quiet down for a pause and then would erupt again once the results were presented.  In an hour or so he would put an end to the game and get the nest moving out to collect payments.  For now, though, they were enjoying the outdoor cafe and the warm afternoon sun that was out, winter was on its way and there wouldn’t be many more days like this. 

“Double Skells!  Again!  Gregorum!  Time te pay me… again!”  Petrick burst into raucous laughter at his luck, it had been good this afternoon.  The squat man with the eye patch grinned happily and gave the smaller man who sat next to him a heavy shove.

“Yer cheatin’!” The smaller man whined, rubbing his arm where the other man had shoved him.  “Them dice be rigged, by Naxir’s balls!  I won’ pay yer filthy arse nothing!”  

“Oh you’re going to pay one way or another.”  Petrick glared at Gregorum with his one good eye, grinding his fist into the palm of his other hand.  

“Now Petrick…” This time it was the ginger haired man with the matching thick beard who spoke up as he began gathering up the bones off the table for his roll.  The words came out around the thick butt of a cigar.  “Gi’e Greg a bone, ye know he’s been having it rough.  I tink I heard h’ wife left ‘im fer his sister!”  

The others at the table gave an appreciative whoop at the insult to Gregorum.  

“I’ll be breaking a bone if he don’ pay me what I owed!”  Petrick roared, starting to get up out of his chair.

“I ain’t even mar-” the smaller man began whining out his protest but it was cut short by a whistle flung over their heads.  All of their heads shot up to the Lieutentant from whence the whistle had come.  On his face they caught a leering grin and he pointed out into the road.

“Check out de dame on dat horse…”  The dark man grunted and grabbed at his crotch.  The others at the table immediately gave up on the game and turned to see the object of this display.  As they did they quickly found the target, a brunette in black and grey sitting astride a piebald horse. 

“Oh…” the ginger haired man, Crestar by name, pressed his hands to his heart and groaned heavily, “oh te be tha’ horse!”  

“Please… dat broad would eat ye up and spit ye back out.”  Petrick smirked, keeping his eye on the way her body moved in the saddle,  “I tink I’d risk it… she’s welcome te do whate’er she wants te me....”  

While his men were debating who was man enough to take the woman, Bensigton had directed his attention to the man who was riding the horse next to her.  The figure was elven, which was odd in itself, but the dark clothing, the heavy dark mane, the pale skin...

“Wai’ a gods be damned moment!”  he thundered.  “Is that Nyx paching Shyndyn?”  

“Where?” Came the startled reply from one of the other talons.

“On de f***ing horse next te her you blind as bats!?”  Bensigton now stood on both feet, his eyes never leaving the pair on the horses, but paying more attention to the elf than the woman in the hat now.

Gregorum shook his head and squinted as he tried to look at the rider better. “No!  Could’na be!  Boss killed dat horse-pacher.”  

“No…” Crestar rose up as well, putting his hands on his hips as he joined in the intense observation.  “Did’na ‘ear?  He were still alive in de mornin’.  Af’er a full night wit Tselika, the bastard was still breathin’” there was a note of admiration in his tone as he told this to his next, “but tha’ just… tha’ canna be ‘im, he’s gots te still be balled up an’ bleedin’ somewhere’sl…”  

As the horses drew closer Bensigton finally caught a good glimpse of the elfs yellow eyes as they moved over the patrons at the cafe.  The dark haired man slammed his fist on the table.  “Tha’s him!  Tha’s paching Nyx!”  

“May’haps… but… I though’ ‘e only pached ‘orses, what’s dat loverly bit o’ arse doin’ ridin’ wit’ him?”  One of the talons with a few missing teeth raised his opinion.  

“Weren’t ‘e workin’ wit dat spellslingin’ witch?  Maybe dat’s her…”  Gregorum offered up.

Crestar, who seemed to have paid more attention to gossip than his fellow talons, spoke up again.  “Boss put ‘im wit the Wharf Witch, sure… but… pach, dat migh’ be Nyx, but dere’s no way in hells dat’s Cayrimisa!  My wick’s already itchin’ to be in da bitch on de horse, but ‘e shrivels up jus’ tinking about the witch.”  

“I donna care who de pach she is!  Nyx be headin’ to de Go’ners Gate.  Boss ain’t gonna like ‘im skippin’ town.  Ting’s ain’t good righ’ now, s***’s been pilin’ up all week, an I know dat bloody elf’s got sumptin te do wit it all.”  Bensigton was glaring intently by now.

“Wha’ sho’ we do, Kylo?  We ain’t got no orders...”  

The tall dark man rubbed his hand over the growth of stubble on his chin and tightened his eyes on the elf on the horse.  “Petrick… Crestar… follow ‘em.  Kep yer distance, but don’ lose ‘em.  Find ye a cart, ye wonna be able te keep up on yer feet.  I’m gon’ go talk te de Boss, de res’ of ye, stay ‘lert, I dun know wat dis means yet.”  

The two men singled out bounced onto their feet, nodded and headed out into the road, looking for the first unattended cart that they could get their hands on. 

----

Several hours had fallen by and the city was dropping into the darkening horizon.  The road they were on had narrowed down to a single pair of wagon ruts dug deep into hard packed earth.  On either side of the road the tall green stalks of corn nearly ready to be harvested rose up almost to their heads.  A mile or so behind them a single horse cart with two riders was slowly making its way along their path.  

The appearance of the cart, all the way back inside the walls of Drasnia, had not gone unnoticed.  It had happened shortly after a group of men, likely a full Hellkite nest Cay had guessed, had spotted them.  During their ride many had made notice of the striking pair, but that group of men had made the biggest fuss over them.  Nyx had noticed as well, she could tell by the tightening of his grip on the reins and the tenseness in his shoulders, they both knew, though, that getting out of Drasnia without incident was their best course of action.  A short while they had passed through the Governor’s Gate and Cayrimisa had not even looked back as Drasnia pulled behind her.  

Now that they were alone on the road she slowed the pace of her filly and Nyx followed suit, it was time to shorten the distance between them and the cart.  She turned to look over at Nyx, “So… think we’ve let those guys live long enough?”  

When he indicated that he was more than ready to take them out she grinned.  

“Well… let’s make this fun.”  She turned in her saddle, steadied herself and began her spell.  Her left hand rose in a wide half arc toward her forehead, her right hand rose palm facing the road and pushed out under the arc drawn by her other hand.  “Hiise Suula…” the witch whispered and then pulled her left hand back toward her body as she turned her palm so it was facing up toward the sky then she leaned in and blew across it, much like she had earlier in the day.  This time, however, it wasn’t a small blue flame that erupted but instead a billowing cloud of greenish grey fog began to materialize just in front of her hand.  In moments it filled the road behind them, she continued to blow.  The grey tendrils licked their way down the road, found their way into the rows of corn and rose up to try and touch the sky.  

“Now we get to find them…  I think we’ve got the upper hand though.”  

 “...For you, elen en cormamin,” he smiled wickedly, “And yes, let’s go do this before I take it to mind to see how easily all of that comes off, yes?”  

When he broke the kiss she gave him a light push back with her hands on his stomach and stood up fully herself, taking the reins in hand.  

“Ohh… it won’t be easy.  It’s quite the assemblage.”  She ran her hands down the front of the bodice.  “You won’t be disappointed after the effort, however.  I’ve even got a surprise for you underneath off of this, but… yes, let’s go, that can all wait until later.  It’s time to get out of this city... for now.”  

Nyx desperately wanted to argue the point that it could all wait for later. If there was the option, he would have been more than happy to try and solve the intricacies of that particular puzzle; the promise of a surprise to be found underneath made it all the more intriguing. She was right, though, were they to complete this contract on Olsta and, thereby, garner further information on the puzzle they were trying to piece together, time was not a thing with which they could afford to trifle. “You realise, of course,” he snarked to her back as she took the reins and turned to the horse he’d bought for her, “it has become entirely too difficult to argue with you, of late, yes?”

Cay pretended to ignore him and studied the filly and considered the saddle, in particular. After a moment, she turned to glance over her shoulder, a frown on her face that seemed to indicate that she wasn't quite sure as to how to mount the thing. He chuckled to himself, recalling the skittishness she had regarding the horse that had carried them from the Blue Dove to the Albatross, and imagined that the first bit of this journey might be consumed with teaching her how to ride. Just as he started toward her in order to deliver the first lesson, though, she tapped her lip with a finger, the hand on her hip moved to gently tangle itself in the filly’s mane, and, then, leaned in and whispered into the creature’s ear. When the piebald pony bowed in answer, lowering her forequarters enough that Cay could easily slink into the  saddle, the mith’ganni’s mouth fell open in utter shock…

What?!

“Diola lle,” Cayrimisa cooed, taking the saddle, as if this sort of thing had suddenly become second nature.  At the cluck of her tongue, the horse brought itself fully upright again, leaving a dumbfounded Nyx to do little more than blink in wonder.

“I’m going to leave you behind if you don’t get on that horse, Nyx,” she quipped lightly, turning her mount toward the road with a tug of the reins and trotting away.

WHAT?! He shook his head in disbelief, gathered his mane back into the clip she no longer needed, and then swung himself into the black’s saddle. An uttered word and a tug on the reins turned the colt and set it off in pursuit of its sister.

“Who are you,”  he  smirked sarcastically as he reined the colt to a canter at the witch’s side, “and what have you done with Cayrimisa Ettelenya?”

Her head turned in his direction and winked at him  from within the shadows cast by the brim of her hat, an enigmatic smile playing at the corners of her mouth, but said nothing more. Instead, she simply turned her eyes to the tangle of Drasnian streets ahead and maneuvered her steed, almost expertly, through the traffic she encountered.

“Slitch,” he chuffed teasingly, turning his attentions toward scanning the crowds ahead and behind. 

Despite this situational awareness , which had embedded in him long ago, and a nagging feeling that, despite how well their preparations had gone, their taking leave of Drasnia would not be the simplest of matters worried at the base of his skull, Nyx couldn’t keep his eyes from returning curiously to the woman at his side every few moments. He couldn’t quantify it, but there was something very different about this  Cay than the tentative, worrisome, and even scared one he had left with Taellyn just hours ago. As long as he had known her… as long as he had ghosted along behind her in Drasnia’s shadows… Cay had always been confident, even single-minded in her determination, but, with the Cay he had left at the Dreamweaver’s, there had always been an underlying trepidation to it. The Cay he had found awaiting him when he returned, though, seemed almost casual about the confidence she wielded. For some who claimed to know the Wharf Witch, the distinction might have been subtle enough to have gone unnoticed. To him it was an almost jarring transition, though not in any sort of negative fashion…

“...the power you have now could truly be beyond containing should you choose to embrace it rather than continually try to purge it from your withered heart…” 

...The words he had hissed at her through clenched teeth those few nights ago echoed in his mind as he gazed upon Cayrimisa, now. What did Taellyn say to you, ellen en cormamin, that I did not? he wondered, a curious grin on his lips and glint in his eye.

A question for later, he mused when a wolfish whistle issued from the crowd and he realized that their passing drew a bit more attention than he might have liked, when there is less to worry on and more time for distraction, yes? His eyes skimmed back to the streets ahead and fixed the source of the whistle with a reproachful and, perhaps, threatening glare.

So he had passed the time between then and the time they reached the Governor’s Gate. Even after that, when Drasnia’s walls were at their backs and they rode through the smattering of buildings that spread beyond the gate, the stares and calls continued. Few of those truly bothered him until they passed by a small, somewhat dilapidated house that Nyx had come to know as a frequent nest of the Hellkites and eyes there turned toward them. Words he couldn’t quite make out at distance were exchanged and, in the wake of their passing, a flurry of activity transpired that he wasn’t truly concerned with until the small cart appeared behind them, following at a safe distance for longer than he imagined was proper. Had the thing turned off onto one of the better maintained trade routes or even veered off toward one of the many outlying farms they had passed in the hours since Drasnia had diminished behind them, it might not have troubled him so but, when it dogged their tracks even after they had veered onto a lesser traveled route, Nyx’s suspicions heightened.

When Cay slowed her horse’s canter a bit and asked; “So… think we’ve let these guys live long enough,” the assassin’s shoulders slumped in what could only be called relief.

“I have only been awaiting your word,” he replied, that razor-edged grin toying with his lips and a hand falling to the pommel of a blade as he turned his golden eyes her way, “my Mistress.”

“Well,” Cay grinned back, “let’s make this fun.” Turning in her saddle, then, she worked a spell he had never seen her utilize before. At the end of her conjuring, a green-grey fog manifested before her outstretched hand and spread quickly to envelope  the track between them and the trailing cart, the tendrils of it creeping even into the browning fields of corn that flanked the road.

“Now we get to find them,” she winked playfully,  “I think we’ve got the upper hand though.” 

“I love you,” Nyx purred, wheeling his colt around as alabaster fingers closed purposefully around the haft of his kukri and dragged it free of its sheath, “Keep them busy for me, melamin, yes?”

“So busy that they’ll never see you coming, morieramin,” she replied, punctuating those words by kissing them into the air.

Nyx grinned, spinning the black toward the edge of the road. “The likes of these wouldn’t see me coming were it a bright summer day,” he winked, “but, diola lle, melamin. I may be a moment…”

Cocky bastard. Cay snickered to herself as Nyx disappeared into the rows of stalks on her left, You’re not doing it alone, this time. With that, she whispered to her pony, gave a gentle tug on the reins, and slipped silently as she could into the stalks to her right.

-------------------------

“Where’d dis f*#!*in’ fog come from,” Crestar groused as he swiped irritatedly at the grey-green mist that stole his vision and choked his senses, “It f***in’ stinks!!!”

“I dunno,” Petrick responded, his gaze anxiously sweeping the roiling mists that had suddenly surrounded them, “but I don’ like it. Seems like summa that creepy shyte tha’ ya ‘ear about right afore Shyndyn guts somebody... “ he tugged on the reins, slowing the pair of horses that hauled their cart, “Keep a weather eye.”

“Yeah,” Crestar answered, doing his best to squint through the fog, “I’ll try,”

A sharp but indecipherable whisper sounded from somewhere amongst the rows, then, and both men’s heads swivelled frantically as they tried to resolve the center of the sound. The source wasn’t easily identifiable, though. In fact, the soft, alluring murmur seemed to emanate from an entirely new direction each time they thought they had pinned it down. As the cart creaked and clattered deeper into the roiling fog, the pair of Hellkites began to catch fleeting glimpses of something or some things moving through the mists that surrounded them. Like the whispers, the strange silhouettes were elusive and erratic, appearing on the road ahead just long enough for the men to catch sight of it and then vanishing before they could fully resolve what they might be looking at. A whisper or distant, disembodied giggle would follow and the shadows would reappear, rustling through the corn stalks that flanked the rutted road.

“Mebbe we should turn ‘round,” Crestar suggested after the third or fourth time the phantom shapes had teased their vision. A sweating palm worked on the hilt of the longknife he had drawn from its sheath and his head swiveled around to warily regard the road behind them.

Petrick wanted to agree with his partner and was sorely tempted to point the cart back toward Drasnia but, as of yet, he hadn’t brought himself to do it. “You wanna explain’ ta da Cap’n how we let th’ Shyndyn slip us jus’ cuz we got freaked out by th’ fog, does ya? It’d be our skins.”

“Might be,” Crestar swallowed, squinting at the shadow that flitted through the mist behind them, now, “but we’d be like t’ survive it. I’s gettin’ less an’ less sure same could be said, here.” A shiver shot through him as the shadow disappeared. “This were a mistake, followin’ tha’ Twilighter s’ far from th’ city.”

The fog swirled, stirred by those phantom whispers, and the sound of tinkling laughter preceded a languid clopping of hooves ahead of them. The laughter and the hoofbeats drifted away only to be replaced by a rustling of stalks and the strains of an eerie lullaby being sung in a child’s voice…

~Out of the night, the Dark One does call,
Black nights herald red days in which the chosen shall fall,
Death for each one, it has been ordained,
And with their red blood, the world will be stained~

...A small elven child wandered out of the fog and into the road before them, the ominous lullaby spilling from her lips in an all too cheerful sing-song voice…

“Naxir’s nuts,” Petrick cursed, hauling hard on the reins to bring the cart to a halt, “Wha’ in all da hells?!”

“Warriors and wizards, none will be spared,” the child crooned to the ragged doll she cradled, “Salvation for none when the steel is bared.”

“Whaddya doin’,” Crestar protested, his knuckles going white from the too tight grip he had on his knife, “Run dat li’l point-ear down! We gotta get outta here!”

The child had stopped in the road, her yellow eyes lifting to peer through a spill of tawny hair at the men sitting on the cart’s buck. “Hi,” she smiled, “Wanna come play with me?”

Petrick and Crestar blinked at one another and then turned their gawking gazes back to the creepy kid that blocked their path. “Get outta da road, ya li’l shyte,” Petrick admonished, drawing his own blade, now.”

“Mama says I shouldn’t play with boys,” the child chirped, ignoring the threat as if it hadn’t even been aired, “but Papa’s gonna kill you anyway, so I guess it doesn’t matter.” She started walking toward them then, holding the tattered doll aloft so that they could clearly see the brown hat and sack-cloth dress she had dressed it in. “If you wanna play, you better hurry,” she giggled, “Miss Witchy says you don’t have long.”

Petrick spit because he found he couldn’t swallow and, rising from his seat, glowered at the little girl and her doll. “Oh, I’m comin’ ta play, ya li’l slitch,” he growled, waving his blade menacingly as he jumped down to the road, “an’ when yer mama an’ papa fin’ ya bleedin’ in da road…” He rounded the nervously nickering horses, fully prepared to give the girl a proper working over, only to discover that she had disappeared, leaving behind only a giggle and her tattered doll.

“Where’d she pachin’ go,” Crestar croaked as Petrick bent down to retrieve the doll that, he realized, looked an awful lot like the Witch of the Wharf. “C’mon, Pet,” he pleaded as the other man rose back to his full height and turned his horrifically confused eyes his way, “we gotta get outta here.”

“Oh,” a strangely accented voice murmured from behind him, “it’s far too late for that.”

Crestar leapt to his feet and swung his knife in a wide arc as he whirled around to face the voice.

“Hello, Cres,” Nyx hissed, a savage smile on his lips as he deftly avoided the Hellkite’s wild swing and brought his own blade to bare. A pale hand lashed out, caught a fistful of Crestar’s tunic, and hauled the man across the bench and into the bed of the cart. “Goodbye, Cres,” the mith’ganni snarled over the croaking grunt Crestar made as the khukri was slid, excruciatingly slowly, into his belly.

“Sonofabii…” Petrick exclaimed, dropping the doll and turning to run as Nyx proceeded to open a squealing Crestar’s guts. He’d only managed a step or two before he found himself frozen in place.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Cay chastised as she cantered into the road before the petrified Petrick, “No, no, dear. You stay right there and watch.” The hand she had stretched out toward him twisted a bit and he found himself turned back toward the cart where his partner was being butchered. “You’re next and I really want you to appreciate what’s about to happen to you.”

Nyx’s blade had unzipped Crestar’s flesh from belly to breastbone by this point and, as the mith’ganni’s hateful yellow eyes turned to glare at the frozen man, he gave the khukri a vicious twist and then jerked it free. The murdered man gurgled and reached out to clutch at his killer but, with an almost casual kick from Nyx, was sent toppling out of the cart and into the road.

“Hmmm,” Nyx murmured from behind that razor-edged grin of his as he climbed down from the cart on the opposite side of the road from where Cres had fallen. Flicking the gore from his blade, he strolled casually to where Cay had Petrick paralyzed. His head canted to one side as he amusedly regarded the wide-eyed Hellkite, then, as he wiped his khukri off on Petrick’s shirt, he turned to where Cay sat astride her horse and smiled sweetly.

“Let him go, melamin,” he purred, “it doesn’t seem quite fair to not give the breeder at least a chance, yes?”

“If you insist, morieramin,” Cay sighed, her amber eyes gleaming in the shadows cast by the brim of her hat, “I suppose it is only fair.”

Her hand fell to her lap, then, and Petrick found that he had full and free control of his body again. His fingers flexed on the hilt of his knife and he blinked at Nyx who stood, waiting expectantly, before him.

“Well?” Shyndyn sneered when the man spent too long apparently considering his options.

Petrick dropped his knife, whirled on his heel, and bolted for the fog-choked stalks lining the roadside.

“Tsk,” Nyx sighed, flicking a glance in Cayrimisa’s direction, “why do they always run?”

Cay offered a shrug and a smile in reply, then turned her eyes to follow Petrick’s terrified retreat.

Nyx chuffed, hefted his khukri and, with a fluid motion, sent the blade spinning through the air.

Petrick howled as the blade embedded itself in his back. His knees buckled as he tried to turn around but he found himself spared from falling to the road when the assassin’s hand took him by the hair of his head and held him up. 

“Please,” Petrick whimpered as the twin of the khukri in his back materialized in Nyx’s hand, “Merc…”

The mith’ganni smiled, the khukri flashed, and the weight of Petrick’s body fell from his neck and thudded into the road. Nyx regarded the severed head he held in his hand for a moment and then, with a shrug, dropped it to the ground next to the body to which it had belonged.

“You really are quite good at that whole head taking thing, melamin,” Cay cooed from her saddle as Nyx reclaimed his blades and returned them to their proper places.

“Well, you know,” Nyx smiled coyly as he moved to pick up the tattered doll, “eye level and all of that.” He looked the effigy over and, strolling toward Cay, held it up; “This was cute.”

“Hmm,” she smiled weakly as the fog dissipated around them and the doll disintegrated in Nyx’s hand, “glad you approve, my love.” She slumped a bit in her saddle as Nyx reached her. Before she could swoon completely from her seat, though, Nyx had swung himself into the saddle behind her and held her in place.

“Lle tyaya quel,” he asked, as she melted into him.

“Just tired,” she nodded weakly.

“Let us find you a place to rest, then,” he nodded, dipping his head beneath the brim of her hat to brush his lips over the scarred tip of her ear. He whistled for his own horse, then, and the black trotted obediently from the corn and into the road.

“Wait,” Cay yawned, her heavy-lidded gaze turning to regard the corpses of Petrick and Crestar, “I want to do one more thing.”

“Wait,” Cay yawned, her heavy-lidded gaze turning to regard the corpses of Petrick and Crestar, “I want to do one more thing… bring me their heads…” 

Nyx shot up a surprised brow.  “Collecting heads now?”  Despite the question, he made sure she was settled securely in the saddle and began to dismount again.  

“No.  But we’re going to send them back to town, and I want Dmitrova to know who sent them… just bring them over, I’m getting weak and I’d like to finish this.”  She laid her head against the neck of the horse, tangling her fingers in it’s mane and fought to keep her eyes open. 

Nyx settled his boots on the road and turned to look at her.  Gently he pushed an arrant strand of hair off her forehead, leaving just the slightest trail of Hellkite blood on her skin as he did.  “I can take care of this melamin.  I’m worried about you…” the concern dripped from his words.  

“It won’t take long… just do it, bring me their paching heads.  I’ll be fine.”  she batted at his hand with hers, waved him off and then settled back into the horse eyes closing.  “Just bring them…” she whispered again softly. 

Deep in his chest a growl rumbled out from Nyx and a frown crossed over his face and for a moment he simply stared at the woman on the horse.  “Fine.  But that’s all Cayrimisa.  I don’t care what you say, you are going to rest afterwards… I’ll knock you out if I have to… you hear me?”  And when you awake we’ve got some things to discuss, don’t we, istalindir?

Without opening her eyes she waved him off again.  “Just go… dammit…” 

From her seat she could hear him as he stalked off, and could almost catch the spew of disgruntled rumblings he was muttering under his breath as he did.  She listened as he prowled about on the road.  The light slicing sound as he removed Crestar’s head and lobbed it back toward the horse where Cay was resting.  She heard the cart groan as it took on the wet, broken remains of first one body and then the next.  Then Nyx was returning.  

Nyx nudged her leg a little.  “I’m still awake…”  she whispered, the tendrils of wakefullness were proving more and more difficult to hold onto with each passing moment.  She seized one as tightly as she could, though, and forced her eyes to open and her body to sit back up.  “Okay… hold it up for me… hold it still…”  

Nyx nodded and brought the head up as bidden.  He held it with his two hands on either side.  The contorted features of Petrick stared at the witch, blood and dirt staining his face.  His eye patch had shifted and sat more over his nose now, revealing the scarred remains of his left eye socket.  Blood still dripped down from the bits of sinew clinging to his neck and fell to the ground between Nyx’s feet.  None of this held any sway over the witch.  She simply reached out and placed her scarred palm against the corpses forehead.  Purple luminescence poured out between her fingers, growing bright and hot for several minutes before blinking out.  When she pulled her hand back a crescent moon with a rose in full bloom clinging to it’s bottom curve was burned in perfect clarity in the already cooling skin.  

“One more…” 

Petrick’s countenance fell from her view as Nyx dropped that head to the ground and bent over to retrieve Crestar’s.  Briefly she noted the gore stuck in his beard, but then she simply reached out and repeated the spell on this head.  As soon as it was done her eyes closed again and she heard the thud of the still fleshy skull hit the ground.  

“Rest now…” Nyx’s breath was warm and gentle against her neck.

“I won’t argue with that…”  her voice was just a notch over a whisper and in the next moment her hands dropped nearly lifelessly to her sides, if not for the gentle rise and fall of her chest she might have been dead.  

“Pach!”  He cried as he watched her fade out of consciousness.  “What have you done, melamin?”  His hands reached out and double checked to make sure she wouldn’t fall out of the saddle, they smoothed out her hair and gently placed her hands on her lap.  Before he went off to finish with the bodies he placed a kiss upon her forehead.  

Minutes later the cart that had driven two Hellkites out of Drasnia and down this ill-fated road was headed back to Drasnia.  It left a streak of blood in its wake.  On the bed a pile of barely recognizable human meat sat under two tortured heads, their mouths and eyes open in terrified screams, their foreheads bearing matching brands.  

In the other direction two horses made their way away from the scene of carnage.  On the first pony Nyx sat, one arm wrapped protectively around the limp figure that leaned heavily against his chest.  His other hand held the reins and guided them through the recent twilight of this evening.  

---- 

Cayrimisa had slept soundly.  Now and then fleeting moments of memory broke through the darkness.  She could remember guiding her horse through the cornfield and hearing the terrified tones in the voices of the two men on the road.  There had been a child singing, which she herself at created out of nothing.  Then there had been blood and screams, but not her blood and not his screams, so it had gone well.  

Slowly consciousness began to return to her.  At first she didn’t know where she was, and while that brought a moment of panic, it quickly faded as she found she could feel Nyx.  He wasn’t physically touching her, however, he was near, and so she knew that she was safe wherever she was.  The thought brought a small smile to her lips.  

Blinking a few times she let her eyes focus.  She was in a tent, a small canvas thing.  It was still dark, although there was an orange glow that danced along the wall of the tent suggesting a fire nearby.  That it was still dark meant she had not been out long, perhaps only a few hours.  The exhaustion still pulled at her and she knew she would need several more hours of sleep before she would feel fully herself again.  However, she could also sense the waves of worry and even of anger that were pulsing off of Nyx and knew that she would need to wait a little longer to finish her sleep.  

Sitting up in the tent she noticed that he had pulled off her boots and her bodice and pulled a blanket up over her.  It still felt strange to be so cared for, but the feeling of it not being deserved was gone from her thoughts.  She gave herself a few more minutes to wake up and then began to make her way out of the tent.  

Nyx was sitting in front of the fire on a blanket.  A patch of ground before him had been overturned with the many stabs of his dagger while he had sat waiting for Cay to awake.  The tension she saw in his shoulders as he brought the tip of the blade back down into the earth and then flicked some of the dirt toward the flame made her feel mildly guilty.  The thought of the conversation that they needed to have, however, still made her slightly uneasy and she wondered if she could postpone it just a little longer.  

Besides… she thought to herself… talk isn’t all we need to do tonight… 

At the sound of the tent opening Nyx tightened his grip on the dagger and reflexively turned, ready to pounce if needed.  The bright amber sparks and soft smile of Cay meeting him, though, drained the tension out of him. 

“Elen en cormamin…”  she crawled the few feet over to him and as he opened his mouth to say more to her she silenced him by wrapping her arms around him, pressing her body against his back and her lips against his ear.  

“I’m fine… Morieramin… amin vesta.”  she punctuated her words with light kisses against his ear as her hands began to roam over his coat.  “I just need you… karneluva a’amin, nu silma...nu elen…”  

The questions and the thoughts that had been troubling him for the past few hours dissipated with her words.  Reaching behind him he grabbed her and pulled her onto his lap, pressing his lips against hers, his hands roaming over her body and through her hair.  “Manka lle merna…” He purred back to her. 

---

Breathing heavily he lay on his back looking up into the stars above them.  One hand was curled under the back of his head, the other was wrapped around the woman curled up against his side, her head resting on his chest, her legs tangled up with his.  The cool night breeze moved over their bare skin.  Just beyond the blanket the fire was burning down to a glow of red coals and the night was very dark.  

Cayrimisa was lazily trailing her fingers along the flesh of his chest.  

“Who are you?”  He whispered, finally asking the question again that had been burning in his mind since he had seen her outside of Taellyn’s shop earlier in the day.  

She responded with a soft whisper of her own, “Cayrimisa Shyndyn…” the voice was soft and tender as she spoke, but it carried not even a hint of hesitation.  

The name she breathed in answer to his question simultaneously brought a look of surprise to his face and a smile and contented sigh to his lips. His eyes, lit by both the stars and the fires that burnt behind them, turned to regard the woman’s face for a long moment and his fingers slithered up her body to stroke a spill of hair from her cheek. “Cayrimisa Shyndyn, is it, now,” he purred, his lips pressing to her head, “I rather like that, melamin.”

She closed her eyes at the feeling of his lips on her forehead, and she cuddled up closer to him.  Lazily her fingers moved possessively over the scars on his chest.  “Good… not that I was asking permission…”  

“Not that I would have expected you to,” he chuckled softly, his hold on her tightening a bit, gathering her closer, “I believe I told you that you were welcome to it when we were at the Albatross, yes? You are welcome to anything and everything I have, Cay, and there will never be a time that you have to ask.”

Another satisfied sigh blew past his lips and into the heavens, then, and his eyes returned to their contemplation of the stars that glimmered there. “I do have a thing or two to ask you, though, elen en cormamin,” he murmured after a moment, “Are you rested enough to answer or shall we wait until morning?”

She kept her eyes closed, fingers continuing their sweet gentle explorations as she listened to his heart beating in her ear.  “I know you do… I’m rested enough to talk at least…” she whispered softly but did not volunteer any of the answers that she knew were forthcoming.

His own eyes fluttered shut as her breath whispered across his skin and a soft moan welled in his throat at the continued attentions of her fingers. “What I saw you do… back there on the road…” Nyx murmured after a moment, turning his head her way but not yet opening his eyes, “I’ve not seen anything like that from you before.” His eyes did open, then, though they remained heavy-lidded as he peered at her. “Even before the road,” he continued softly, “the thing with the horse… Where has this all come from, my love?”

She couldn’t help smiling a little bit at his mention of the horse, that little bit had been rather enjoyable, she had to admit to herself.  At first she did nothing else but smile, contemplating her words carefully before she spoke.  “I think it’s always been there… it’s… us…”  Finally she opened her eyes and turned her face so she could look up into his own.  “Did you notice?  Earlier?”  Her eyes moved from his and drifted down her body until they fell upon her hip, the blue horse riding across her skin, the pale outline of a second already appearing to join the herd.  

Us? An ebon brow crept higher as he tried to make sense of that. Then, as her eyes trailed meaningfully toward her hip, his own gaze followed. A smile danced on his lips at the sight of the horses and his fingertips moved to feather over the blue-inked steeds. “I was preoccupied looking at other things earlier,” he admitted with a wicked little grin, his touch playing at the outlines of her tattoo. “These are like my tree, yes?”

Shudders ran through her body as he caressed over the new images.  “Yes…” she muttered a bit breathlessly.  Forcing her thoughts to return back to the conversation and not what he had done to her under the stars and what he might be capable of doing again, “yes.  It’s us.  I’ve studied magic for years, struggling for each spell… I spend a few nights with you and I don’t even have to think about it.”  She laughed lightly at the absurdity of it all.  “If only I had known before… I don’t fully understand it yet… and it’s… overwhelming.  The power of it.  It drained me.  I hope I’ll get better at controlling it, I wasn’t expecting to feel like this after.  Although…” her thoughts drifted to what they had done on the road, “I honestly don’t mind…”  

“Hmm,” he droned, considering her words and his own, “I do…” He shifted slightly beneath her, his hand abandoning the horses and trailing back up her side as he brought his eyes to meet her’s, once more “...to an extent, anyway. After all it has taken to have you, melamin, I shouldn’t like to see you destroy yourself for the sake of spellwork, hm?” His fingers had made their way along her ribcage, across her shoulder, up her neck and, now, entwined themselves in her chestnut tresses. His eyes opened a bit wider and he fixed her with a serious stare. “Promise me that you’ll be careful, yes?”

Her lips pressed together as he expressed his thoughts on her use of spellwork.  When he looked back into her eyes hers were a bit cooler than they had been a moment ago.  “I understand how you feel Nyx.  It pulses off you, and I feel the same way.  We’ve come so far, alone, and now together, even though it has been but days… life without you already feels like it would be meaningless… but…” and at this she sits up, starlight dancing along her naked curves as she looks down at him.  “but what we do is dangerous, Nyx.  For both of us.  You have to figure out how to allow me to do what I need to do and I must let you do what you need to.  You cannot protect me from everything.”  Her heart thudded and she looked at him, knowing that there was more she needed to tell him but still unable find the words she simply bit her lip.  

His yellow eyes came fully open as he followed her up and offered a faintly resigned nod. “Amin hiraetha, melamin,” he offered, propping himself up next to her, “It was not my intent to…” Nyx seemed to struggle with finding the proper words, here, “...to tell you what to do or what not to do, for that matter. I just… I do want to protect you from everything and…” he pressed his hand to his chest “...it pains me to know that I cannot despite that want.”

His hand came away from his heart, then, and moved to caress her cheek. “It is not my place to impose my will on your magic, Cayrimisia Shyndyn,” he smiled softly as the name spilled easily from his lips, “My place is at your side and in your heart, nothing more. I simply ask that you try to protect yourself from those things I cannot so that I can stay in that place until the stars fall from the skies.”

As he spoke of protecting her the image of his dagger dripping in his own blood rose back up into her mind, she knew all too well what he was feeling.  When he touched her cheek she leaned into it and pressed her own hand atop his.  Her eyes fluttered closed again.  “I have no intentions of doing anything to disturb this…”  she took a long breath and licked her lips, the time had finally come to be fully honest.  “Nyx… he came to me… last night in my dreams.  Prein… he had… he tricked me into taking your life.  You aren’t the only one who fears losing this.  I was shaken.  Taellyn saw it…”  She opened her eyes again and looked at him.  “He’ll never get to me like that again, and like you I will do what I must to protect us.”  

At the mention of Prien a scowl threatened the corners of Nyx’s mouth and, as she related the dream he had visited on her, his gaze narrowed a fraction and he gave a slow shake of his head. “The Executioner is angry at my having forsaken him,” he rumbled, “Angry that I no longer look to his stars for guidance…” A defiant smirk replaced the scowl on his lips, then. “...When last I heard his voice in my head,” he confessed, “he promised to set the world on my heels and he may well yet do so… or try at any rate… but if wants me, he’ll need to come for me himself. Anything less is but a feast for crows.”

His other hand reached for the cheek he wasn’t already touching and, cradling her face in both hands, now, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. When, after a moment, he let go of that sweetness, he situated himself so that he was sitting beside her and wrapped his arm around her again and, smiling, turned his eyes to the stars. “ There,” he nodded after a moment of scanning the skies, and his finger pointed to an array of stars that matched the sigil embroidered on his new coat, “you see those stars?” 

He felt her head come to rest on his shoulder and, after she had picked out the constellation he had indicated, felt her nod in reply.

“I first discovered them the night I waited for you on the Grey Arm,” he said, a nostalgic timbre tinging his words, “and, as far as I’m aware, that particular constellation had no name. It captured me from the moment I saw it and has been my guide since. Before the day-star chased them from the sky the next morning, I gave those a name; Quenat en Ettelenya.

I suppose, now,” he chuckled softly, “since that name is no longer, I shall need to change it to Quenat en Cayrimisa. When I can’t look directly upon you, melamin, I can always find you there.”

A truly serene sigh escaped him as his gaze fell from the stars and back to Cay. “The morning I found you waiting for me in the cemetery,” he murmured, “after you’d spent your day watching the Bolstoii girl and I was... busy elsewhere… I allowed myself to sleep after you left and I dreamed of those stars.

I’m not accustomed to dreams,” he admitted, then, “and so I took my dream to Taellyn so that she might tell me what it had all meant. By the time she had done so, I knew that you and I were fated to be, that none of this was folly…”

“Atta’llie tengwe elen…”  Cay whispered as she lay against him, watching the stars and listening to him.  “That’s what she said to me…” 

“Written in the stars,” Nyx whispered, turning to brush her hair back and press his lips to the scarred top of her ear, “indeed. That old nag is as wise as she is irritating.”

Cay nodded and laughed a little.  “She slapped me... called me foolish.  But… I can’t say she was wrong.”  

“Sounds like something she would do,” Nyx laughed in return, gathering Cay up in his arms, now. “You sound as if you are ready to sleep again, melamin,” he murmured, nestling his face into her hair, “shall I take you back to bed?”

“Yes…” she nodded and then added.  “I love you…”  

“And I love you,” he purred, scooping her into his arms and getting to his feet in the same motion. As her head settled against his chest, he rained soft kisses on her face and carried her back to the tent. “Quel kaima, elen en cormamin,” he whispered, situating her in the blankets, “I won’t be far.”

“Password,” the burly doorman growled in response to the knocking at the door.

“Horseshoe,” came the muffled reply.

With a faint nod from Dmitrova, Warton thumbed the latch and swung the door open to admit Kylo Bensington.

The tall, brown-skinned man cast a glance around the room, taking note of the others who had assembled in the Hellkite Captain’s presence. Aside from the usual pair of bodyguards who flanked the door, the wizard known as Mouse lounged in a chair that was nestled in one corner of the room, and the assassin, Tselika (who had become something of a permanent fixture, there, of late) perched on the edge of Dmitrova’s desk, absent-mindedly toying with a slim, curve-bladed knife. Good, Kylo nodded, coming to a stop a respectful distance and offering Vadim the customary salute, figger dey’ll be wantin’ ta ‘ear dis, too.

From his side of the desk, Vadim pinched one end of his mustache and curiously eyed the Lieutenant who oversaw the Nest near the Governor’s Gate. “What news from the eastern edges of town, Kylo,” he queried having taken note of the vague look of concern etched into the other man’s bearing. He flipped the ledger he had been working in closed, leaned forward, and rested his elbows on the desk.

“Nuttin’ good, I’m ‘fraid, Cap’n,” Bensington answered, “an’ I ain’t sure it’s ‘zactly news, I reckon, but I figgered ye ought be tol’. We done spied Nyx Shyndyn headed outta town!”

“What?!” Vadim’s face wasn’t the only one in the room to register astonishment - it had suddenly become a very palpable thing in the room, in fact - but he was the only one to bring it voice. “How in the f*** is that even possible?!” he demanded, rising from his seat as his narrowed, disbelieving glare sweeping the faces that surrounded him. “With the pains we put on him, that horse*f***ing son of a bitch shouldn’t even be able to sit up, yet, let alone walk!”

“I told you we should have killed him outright,” Tselika muttered, casually scraping the tip of the blade under a fingernail and feigning interest in whatever she had dug out from beneath it.

“He weren’t walkin’, Cap’n,” Kylo said as Dmitrova glared a warning at the assassin, “he were ridin’ - him an’ some woman - fresh ‘orses, dey seemed, loaded fer wha’ looked ter be a fair haul. I set Cres an’ Pet after ‘em an’ come ‘ere ta tell ye, m’self, straight after.”

“What woman?” Vadim demanded, his seething glare snapping from Tselika to Kylo.

“Can’t say’s I know,” Bensington shrugged, withering a bit in the face of the Hellkite Lord’s glower, “din’t reco’nize ‘er proper. Me an’ da boys were tryin’ ta figger it when I realized it were Nyx she rode wit’.”

“It was Cay,” the words were carried aloft on a somnolent sigh from where Mouse lounged in his corner.

Kylo turned eyes over his shoulder, regarded the wizard for an instant and, then, with an emphatic shake of his head, turned his gaze back to Dmitrova. “I don’ tink it were,” he said, “dis were a fine woman; done up proper an’ pretty nuff ta’ve got da lads arguin’ o’er who’d bed ‘er first. Dat lady wadn’t no fish-stinkin’ slitch, fer sure.”

“If you say so, lieutenant,” Mouse tutted softly, brushing at the front of his robes as he straightened himself in his seat, “far be it from me to argue with someone of your obvious intellect.”

Vadim’s burning eyes turned on the wizard, then; “Something you want to share, Mouse?”

A languorous sigh saw the wizard to his feet and, smoothing the wrinkles from the lap of his robes, he glided toward the carpet upon which Kylo stood. “I saw them together, Captain,” the fondant cooed, “in the afterglow of their lovemaking...”

“They’re f***ing?” Tselika snorted and then made a retching noise to emphasise her amused disgust, drawing another admonishing glance from Dmitrova. Her blade skittered into its sheath as her eyes rolled a bit and, with a shrug and a sigh, she ran a hand through the pasted-up crest of her hair and mumbled; “Given his usual preferences, I suppose even the Wharf Witch is a step up.”

The Hellkite Captain had ignored the comment before she made it; his eyes had already turned back on Mouse. “And this is something you didn’t think to tell me until now,” he snapped, pushing away from his desk and storming around it to draw to an expectant halt before Mouse and Kylo, “Nyx Shyndyn and Cayrimisa Ettelenya - who, by all accounts, would just as soon kill one another as be in the same room - are humping, you saw it, and didn’t think it was worthy of so much as a mention?!”

The grey-robed mage lifted a hand to forestall Vadim’s ire. “I didn’t see it up close, Captain,” he assured the fuming man, “It was in a vision that I experienced after she had those whores ambush me. And given the condition in which the mith’ganni last left here, I wasn’t sure that it was entirely accurate. He should have been at the edge of meeting his god, for all I knew. Fleeting as it was, I know what I saw but I had yet to determine the when of it.

I had hoped to ruminate on it a bit longer and bring the vision more clarity before I brought it to your attention, but…” Mouse shrugged, tipped his head toward Bensington, and sighed ruefully, “...apparently, mundane sight has done away with the need.”

“Apparently so.” An irritated growl rumbled in Dmitrova’s chest and, with a dismissive wave of a hand, he sent Mouse back to his seat.

His irritated gaze snapped back to Bensigton, then. “How long ago was it that you saw the horse-pacher making for the gate?”

“Lemme see...” Kylo’s eyes rolled to the timbers that held the room’s ceiling aloft, “...Nabbed me a ‘orse... whipped ‘er ta a lather…” His eyes came back to fix on his captain’s, then. “...Twenny, t’irty minnits a’ da top en’?”

 Vadim pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, grumbled under his breath, and started to stomp back to the otherside of his desk, snatching up the wine bottle that sat on the corner behind Tselika as he went. “Gather some men,” he commanded Kylo, unstopping the bottle, “send them out after your others. If Nyx and Cay have left the city together, I want to know where they’re going and what they’re up to.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” Kylo saluted, readying to turn and take his leave.

“Bensington,” Vadim called over the sloshing of wine as the bottle came from his lips and threw himself into his chair, “If you can catch them, bring them back, alive if possible, I’d like to kill them myself. If dead is easier,” he shrugged, “so be it, I suppose. If you can’t catch them, I want regular reports in regard to what they’re up to.”

“O’ course, Cap’n,” Kylo returned, “Anythin’ else?”

“No,” Vadim rumbled, “Go. Get my answers.”

“Yessir,” Kylo finished his turn and made for the exit.

Dmitrova flicked a glance at the bodyguard at his left flank, then. “Send out Hawks,” he commanded, “I want to know everything. If someone in this paching city has so much as smelled a Shyndyn since last night, I want to know if that smell was blood or shyte!”

“As you say, Captain,” the muscle nodded, turning to follow in Bensigton’s wake.

“Pach!” Dmitrova took another angry pull from the bottle and, after wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve, thunked the thing back down onto his desk just as Warton hauled the door open for his retreating men. “Gods damned, point-eared, sons of bitches and filthy whores!”

Tselika reached for the bottle, then. Her mouth fell open and the word “I” escaped her lips before Vadim jabbed a finger in her direction and growled; “Don’t say a word!”

“Whatcha want, Ruun,” Warton grumbled as the door came open and the Hydra’s bartender was revealed on the other side.

“Uh,” Ruun droned, “I got this ol’ fart out here, says he’s got some information Tselika might be interested in but didn’t know the password ta get in.”

“What old fart,” Tselika asked from around the neck of Dmitrova’s bottle.

Ruun turned and relayed the question to someone out of sight behind him. Then, as the barman’s eyes swiveled back to the room; “Says his name’s Skjorn an’ he knows ya from the Albatross.”

Vadim spiked a brow in the lady assassin’s direction and she nodded in reply. “Let him through, Wart,” he grunted.

Warton let Kylo and the bodyguard exit before he motioned for the ‘old fart’ in.

Skjorn tottered across the threshold, scratching at his beard and letting his eyes wander curiously about the place before settling on the mohawked woman who slid from her perch on the desk that served as the room’s focal point. “Evenin’, Sister Tselika,” the ancient sailor croaked, hobbling deeper into the room, “Got ye sumpin’ ye migh’ be int’rested ta hear, aye? Might be warth a coin er two?”

“Might be worth your thread, Brother Skjorn,” Tselika replied with equal measures of sultriness and threat on her voice as she met the man halfway across the floor and the latch on the door clicked shut.

At the woman’s words and the almost ominous clicking of the latch, the scraggly mariner cast an uneasy glance toward the door before his neck creaked and he found his eyes on Tselika, once more. “I… err…” he swallowed, “...Uh… Edge o’ th’ Axe an’ his Lady come inta th’ Albatross, las’ night inna wake o’ th’ starms, lookin’ fer jobs. I poin’ed ‘em ta a marker on Olsta’s ‘ead an’ it seemed th’ two of ‘em were keen on it. Got th’ feels as sumpin’ weren’ quite right wit’ Nyx, though, afore he run me off, an’ seein’s how you had a word out on ‘im… I… uh… figgered ye should know?”

Tselika raised her brows at that and glanced over her shoulder at Dmitrova who wore a similar expression, though his bore a faint bit more concern.

“Sit down, old man,” Vadim waved at a bench that stretched at the far edge of the carpet before his desk, “you give me the details of this meeting and this contract and, should they be of the value you think, I’ll see to it that you get your coin. Perhaps a meal and a bath, as well, eh?”

“Aye,” Skjorn grinned somewhat nervously as he tottered for the bench, “Sure. Thankee, m’lord!”

Once he’d gotten himself settled, the ancient adherent of Prien began his tale; “Welp! As’s often ‘appens followin’ a starm, ol’ Shydyn janders inta th’ Albatross. Ain’t jus’ ‘im, though, he’s got ‘im this bird a’ ‘is side, which ain’t usual ‘t all…”

Gauzy hues of pink, yellow, and blue haloed the peaks of the mountains that rose in the east against the dawn sky. Inspired by the steady rising of the sun, birdsong lilted into the air and, carried on a light autumn breeze, resonated through the branches of the small copse of trees beneath which Nyx had made camp for Cayrimisa and himself the previous night. Sitting cross-legged at the edge of the camp’s meager fire, the mith’ganni gently stoked the embers and lifted his moon-colored eyes to the boughs when a discordant quorking imposed itself over the more melodic twittering of the songbirds. Roosted on a branch that reached out high above the tent in which Cay still slumbered, a  large, black-eyed raven peered down and croaked at the elf.

“Sal’kaima re,” Nyx told the inquisitive bird, “Her newly awakened power taxes her.”

The raven quorked again, beat its wings and then, preened at the ebon feathers on it’s chest.

“Sinta’amin,” the mith’ganni nodded, “It is still several hours' ride before we reach the Imperial Highway, but I shan’t wake her before she’s ready. The road will be demanding enough…”

The great black bird squawked out a protest, ruffling its feathers as it hopped further out on the branch.

Nyx scowled and, after giving the coals of the fire another poke, chuffed out a breath and rose to his feet. “What followers,” he challenged, “The two that were set on our heels were dealt with and sent back to Drasnia last night.”

The raven replied with a jerky tilt of its head and something of a peeved croak before it launched itself from the limp and, with a pop of feathers, flew off to the west.

“Crazy korko,” the mith’ganni smirked, eyeing the bird as it winged away. As nonsensical as the raven had been, though, Nyx did agree that he and Cay should get back to the road before much longer, especially if they hoped to catch up to Olsta and his entourage before they reached Ellis East. Discarding the stick with which he had been tending the fire, Nyx flicked a quick glance in the direction of the tent before he set about tending to the horses. If she still sleeps after I have them fed and watered, he decided, I will wake her and see to it that she gets something to eat while I strike the camp. 

At his approach, both the colt and the filly nickered and snorted in affectionate greeting. “Yes; quel amrun, meluinea amin,” he smiled, stroking the necks and scritching withers of each in turn, “breakfast for you both and then we ride, yes?” Each animal was offered an apple to chew on while the Twilight elf set about readying their feed bags; they would need the extra energy given by the supplemental feed mixture given how hard he planned to push them today. 

He had strapped on the filly’s morral and was in the process of cinching down the strap of the colt’s when a strange sensation tickled at the base of his skull. Nyx gave a flick of his mane, trying to dispel the feeling but it wasn’t shaken easily. He finished snugging up the feedbag and patted the colt’s neck once more before padding toward the far edge of the camp and letting his suspicious gaze pan the dawn-lit countryside. As his eyes slid toward the western edge of the panorama that stretched before him, the tingle at his neck flared hot and prickly. Suddenly, his own vision seemed overlapped with the sight of another’s, and the initial shock of it caused him to suck in a sharp gasp, stagger back a step or two, and clutch at his head.

The superimposed vision was hazy, at first, and bled-out toward the edges but, Nyx found that the less he struggled against it the sharper it became. After a moment, his hands dropped from his temples in the wake of a calming breath and he let his own vision fall out of focus. The other’s vision resolved to a much finer focus, then, and Nyx got the sense that he was flying, seeing the world from a much higher vantage point than he ever had before. He shuddered in his own skin, vaguely unsettled by it at first but, once he began to concentrate on the details of what he was seeing, the acrophobic feeling dissipated quickly enough.

The ground sped by beneath him and, after a short spell of watching it go, Nyx realized that he was seeing the road he and Cay had travelled, yesterday. The fringes of the forest fell away behind him, giving way to rolling pastures dotted by humble farmhouses at their edges. Sweeping fields of corn came into view, then, and, with a soft caw, the flyer swooped closer to the earth, still following the rutted track that snaked through the stalks.  A blood-soaked patch of road captured the vision for an instant but disappeared behind him just as quickly and the flyer focused, instead, on a driverless cart a few miles farther west… then, beyond that, a knot of riders appeared - half a dozen, maybe more - all of them armed better than the corpses in the cart’s bed had been and more of the faces in the troupe than not were, at least, vaguely familiar to Nyx.

“Ed’ i’ ithil ar’ elenea,” he whispered as, following a quark and rustling of feathers, the vision disappeared. He shook his head as he found himself suddenly back on his own feet and, the weight of what he had just seen heavy on his mind, ran back toward the tent.

“Cay,” he called even before he found himself pushing through the flap and reaching out to shake her to consciousness, “Wake up, melamin! We need to go! Quickly!” He waited only long enough for her eyes to open and blink at him in drowsy bewilderment; at that glimpse of wakefulness, Nyx scrambled back out of the tent to set about saddling the horses and hurriedly striking the camp.

The sun was bright and high in the sky again.  Nary a hint of clouds touched the expanse of blue that spread out over the city of Drasnia today.  Ever since the storms had passed by them things had been going well, Mouse mused to himself.  Cayrimisa had slipped out of his grasp, and had taken Nyx with her.  Dmitrova was fuming over it, but Mouse knew she’d be back.  Everything had been left in her flat, and even if she had decided to discard all of the material remnants of her prior life, he knew that she would not be able to rid herself of Drasnia itself.  Not yet.  She still had plenty of unfinished business here.  

He had, however, decided that it would be prudent of him to obey Dmitrova’s orders and see if he could trace the last steps of the murderous pair before they left town.  Of the two, it was Nyx who would be easier to follow.  Cay, it seemed, had been acting a chameleon in the past few days, her dress and appearance changing at a whim, making sightings of her difficult to ascertain and to trust.  Instead of focusing on her then, he decided to focus on the moon-elf.  Pulling up his memories of the point-ear he had conjured a small spell up and transposed an image of him on a bit of parchment.  

The likeness had proved successful and as Mouse had wandered about the city all morning there had been various sightings of the elf.  It amused Mouse how little care the elf had taken into covering so many of his steps. 

Mouse had begun at the Vergal Sea Port, the assassin had definitely been in the witches lair, he could easily feel him in the room, but that was not a surprise.  When he left the lair, though, he had tracked him down further.  Pie carts, the Albatross, possibly the Trade Ministry, various shops, even a middle class inn (Mouse’s skin had prickled into tight goosebumps when he stood in the room they had let for a few hours, the strength of their presence still rippling in the air here), but nothing that he hadn’t expected and nothing that would be of any great importance down the line.  

The first hint that he had hit upon something worthwhile happened on one of the busier streets that was littered with mostly elven shops.  A surprisingly petite elven woman pushing a cart selling milk in heavy glass bottles had immediately recognized the image of Nyx on the parchment. 

“Uma…” she had nodded.  “Know him…. Uma…” she repeated herself.  “You want milk?” she said, her accent thick, but that one phrase well practiced.  “Milk three pennies…” she held up three fingers and went to reach into the cart to get the bottle out.  

Mouse shook his head and pointed back at the picture of Nyx.  “I want to know about him.  You saw him here the other day?”  Mouse was patient with her, but the question had been asked over and over again and he was tiring of it.  

“Uma.  I say I know.”  Emphatically nodding her head.  “He come many time.”  

At this, Mouse paused and looked at the woman a bit closer.  She was a wood elf, older and well worn, her hair pulled back with a cloth, her apron dirty.  “Many times?  Many times the other day, or many times prior to yesterday?” 

“Many time, many years.  Milk?”  She tried again to sell her wares to the strange man in the long dark grey robes. 

Mouse shook his head.  “No, I don’t want any milk.  You’ve seen this elf here for years?  He buys milk from you?”  

“N’uma… not much.  He goes to shop.”  She ticked her head over toward a little shop across the road.  

“Nyx Shyndyn has been visiting that shop regularly for years?”  Mouse turned and looked at the little shop, the storefront lacked proper signage, but a small table outside had samples of cloth on it.  A small window had a dreamcatcher with feathers and small bones tied into it’s web hanging in front of the curtain, an unsteady looking wooden door was propped open with a box.  “That shop?”  

“Uma… uma… uma…” the woman was obviously losing her patience with the man who was not going to buy any milk from her.  She pressed her finger at the image of Nyx and then pointed to the shop.  “Elf go to Taellyn.”  

“Taellyn…” he let the word roll over his tongue.  “Taellyn’s the seamstress.”  

“Uma.”  She practically grunted the word this time, and with the man’s attention seeming to focus entirely on the shop she shrugged and began to push her cart away.  

Nyx paid regular visits to a seamstress’s shop… curious.  

He didn’t want to go into the shop himself, he was much too obvious, but this was worth spending more time on.  First he would observe, he decided.  He found a dark corner near an alley and crouched down in the dirt.  From his pocket he pulled out a well worn Bedine coin, pressed it into his palm and began to rub his opposite thumb over the lines carved into it while he kept an eye on the store, seeing who came and went throughout the day. 

---

The grey robes swirled around Mouse as he brushed quietly into the Hydra’s Breath.  The place stood nearly empty, Dmitrova had nearly every available hand out looking for the Dark Elf and his Dark Mistress.  The single mindedness of his so-called Boss was truly remarkable at times. 

He made his way over to the empty bar and settled onto one of the stools.  Ruun was not behind the bar right now, but he could wait, at least a little while.  Thoughts of the prior night were beginning to bleed back into his thoughts and a repeat would be very appreciated.  While he waited he tapped his fingers against the oily counter top.  Tap - tap - tap - tap

Ruun came back from the storeroom carrying a heavy crate in his arms.  Mouse noticed the wince he made when he caught sight of the spell slinger sitting at his counter.  

“Afternoon Ruun… I’m pleased to see you as well.”  Lacing his voice with silk as he drew out the words, smiling warmly at the barman.  

Ruun cleared his throat and heaved the crate on the bar only a few inches from where Mouse had been tapping his fingers.  Bottles rattled noisily against each other, but the wizard did not even flinch.  “Mouse.  You aren’t out with the others then?  I would have thought that you would be eager to get the Wharf Witch back in your grips.”  

Mouse shook his head.  “No… the little fish will come swim back to me on her own.  I don’t need to waste my time fishing… I have found out all I need to today.”  

“Good for you.”  Ruun moved to start pulling the bottles from the crate.  “Anything I can do for you now?”  

“I could use some sustenance.”  

“Anything specific?  And…”  Ruun paused a little and glanced over his shoulder as he put a bottle on the shelf, trying to see if he could get a reaction out of the man, “will you need just one serving?  Or will you require two?”  

No reaction came though, just the soft silky tones that he usually used.  “Just the one serving.  Make it a generous one though.  A soup and crusty bread would be sufficient.”  

“I’ll get it once I get this box unpacked.”  

“Fine…”  Mouse leaned back a little in the stool and went back to tapping his fingers on the counter while he waited.  A few minutes later a small tray with the requested food was pushed in front of him, a glass of ale had been added as well for good measure.  

“Mouse?”  Ruun began, a little tentatively this time. 

“Yeee..sss…” Mouse drawled out, swirling his spoon in the greasy broth.  

“We had some complaints, last night.  About the noise.”  

“Hmm…” Mouse didn’t raise his eyes, but the slightest smirk touched his lips.  He leaned over and slurped up a bit of soup between his thin lips, licked a drop that escaped down his bottom lip then nodded.  “I’m sorry if I caused your other guests any problems.  I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again…”  

Ruun suddenly felt a little sick to his stomach and just nodded in reply, then went back to restocking the shelves.  Mouse continued to eat quietly at the bar.  When he finished most of the meal he got up and picked up the tray.  

“I’ll return the tray and dishes later…” He said as he left, Ruun didn’t bother giving him a response, and was just glad that the man was leaving his bar.  The wizard walked out of the main room of the inn and toward a hallway that led back to a row of small rooms on the back of the building.  

---

Alone.  Tanna was so alone.  She had thought that she was alone when she’d woken up in the dark tunnels after trying to help Aelion escape.  It had only been a night since then, but in that short time she had learned what truly feeling alone was like.  

She had tried to sleep during the day, but it had been difficult.  If her thoughts did not keep her awake, then it was the cramps clutching at her empty stomach, or the aches and pains that surged through the rest of her body.  At least she wasn’t in the dark, but the light was of little consolation she found.  

She lay curled up now in a heavy blanket, stitched with a red tree devoid of any leaves, wrapped around her on the floor.  Across the room there was a bed, neatly made with clean sheets, but she dared not lay on it.  As the day had gone on she had heard footsteps outside of the door, going down the hallway just outside of it.  Each time she had tensed, tears beginning to well up in her eyes at the thought of him returning.  However, for many hours they had continued along and the door had stayed closed.  Now though, the soft shuffling steps she heard stopped where the door was and the next moment the doorknob turned.  

Reflexily Tanna pushed her heels into the ground and pressed her body up against the wall, perhaps if she pushed hard enough she could melt right into it.  A moment later the door opened and the tall man in the grey robes walked back in.  He held a tray in his hands that appeared to hold the leftovers from his lunch.  While she cowered in the corner he stepped into the room, closed the door behind him and set the tray on the small table next to the bed, all without even glancing in her direction.  He sat on the bed and began to remove his feet.  

“Ehhh… my feet are sore.  Too much walking about today.  All those cobblestones…” Tanna listened to him muttering in his misleading voice.  Last night she had heard someone call him ‘Mouse’ before he had brought her to this room, and at first she could see why, but after the night she had spent in his rooms she thought that ‘Rat’ was a much more appropriate moniker.  

Finally he raised his eyes and brought them to Tanna, still rubbing at his feet with his thin fingers.  

“Sloth… I see you remain where I left you.”  

She swallowed hard and uttered a small squeak of a reply, “It’s Tanna… my name.  Yes…”  

Slowly he shook his head back and forth.  “No… it’s Sloth.  You no longer have a real name, much like myself.  I don’t think it would be fair for you to have one when I do not.”  

Her eyes dropped and she found she still had tears to be shed.  

“Now.  Sloth.  Stand up for me…”  and when she began to rise with the blanket still clutched around her shoulders he tsk’d her.  “Uh-uh…” pulling a hand from his foot he wagged his finger back and forth in a warning.  

Shuddering intensely her fingers let go of the blanket and it toppled to the floor, the branches of the tree wrapping around her feet but offering no protection.  Under the blanket she was clothed only in the black and blue blotches and welts from the whips that the man in grey had offered her last night.  

“Good.  Now… we got a complaint.  Too much noise.  I don’t want to do this, but if you cannot be quiet I will have to…”  He leaned over and opened the drawer on the table near the bed and pulled out two rags.  

“Oh stars… oh stars… please… please don’t hurt me again!”  She began shrieking.  True to his name Mouse moved quickly, skittering across the room and shoving one of the rags down her throat as he deftly tied it in place with his other hand.  Wide eyed she stared up at him, tears streaming down her face now.  

“Sloth, I shall do what I please to you… and when I am done you shall bathe and then you shall eat what I have on the table.  But I swear to you, you will be quiet…”  The man spoke quietly but with an edge to his voice that she dared not argue with.  As his hands began to move over her body she closed her eyes and realized that she understood just how Aelion felt when he’d asked her to kill him.  

“Cay,” Nyx called to her through the fog of sleep.  “Wake up, melamin!  We need to go!  Quickly!” 

She heard his voice, and the urgency in it, her eyes fluttered open and she looked up into his face, and then he was gone, the tent flapping closed behind him and the noises of him striking camp hurriedly reached her ears.  

“Well… alright, good morning to you too…” she grumbled and began to find her clothing and get dressed, as she did she called out a little louder so that he could hear her through the tent.  “Want to fill me in perhaps?”  

There was a moment’s pause in the banging around outside.  “Yes… sorry melamin.  We’re being followed.  Dmitrova must have gotten word about our departure already, they look like Hellkites… still several hours behind us, but I’d rather we didn’t give them time to narrow that gap.”  The movement outside the tent picked back up without waiting for her response.  

She nodded to herself and pulled on her boots.  I can only imagine what Dmitrova thought about the two of us leaving… especially together.  I wonder just how much he’s put together… The thought made her smile a little as she crawled out of the tent, to find Nyx tending the horses and another thought crossed her mind. 

How did he know? 

The same way you knew how to cast those spells… 

Nodding comfortably with the thought she began taking down the tent and helping him store their gear in the saddle bags.  It wasn’t long before they were ready to go.  Standing on the side of the road, her horse already bowing down so she could easily slip into the saddle she glanced back at the campsite, with the firepit still slightly warm, the grass bent down where the tent had laid, the marks on the trees where they had tied the horses up.  

“Can’t make it too easy for them…”  she smiled and closed her eyes before spreading out her palms toward the campsite.  There was a brief flash that passed out from her that radiated out over the land, the grass and the browning leaves on the trees shuddered but then fell silent again.  All traces that they had been there were gone.  She threw Nyx a wink, blew him a kiss and pulled herself onto her saddle.  

After an hour of riding hard on the road she waved to Nyx to slow down, they were near a small brook where a collection of trees stood by the side of the road.  On the far side of the brook she pulled her horse to a stop.  

“Sorry… I need a bite, and… well…”  she grinned a little as she turned the horse around.  “I’ve been waiting for a decent sized tree to align itself with the road just right…”  

This time she didn’t bother closing her eyes, just raised one hand up above her head and then brought it quickly down toward her lap.  A crash of lighting fell from the bright blue sky and collided with one of the oak trees by the road.  Thunderous cracking noises followed and the tree seemed to explode close to it’s base, bits of bark and splinters spraying down into the bed of the creek.  The tree teetered slightly, it’s branches swaying back and forth before it finally gave way to gravity and collapsed, it’s trunk falling over the road they had just crossed.  

“Better.”  She began to rummage through the bags until she found a bag of dried fruit.  Popping a morsel into her mouth she turned the horse around again and then settled the bag between her thighs so she could nibble some while they rode.  “Much better…” 

“Hurry up, Ehman,” Mahdi called into the trees that speckled the roadside, “If we don’t get to Drasnia, soon, we’ll have to spend what’s left of the night in that flea infested inn outside the gates! Last time we stayed there, we were missing three casks in the morning, if you care to recall!”

“Don’cha go bawlin’ at me, woman,” the vintner shouted back from where he squatted behind one of those trees, “I’m makin’ enough thunder o’ my own, over here, ta have ta listen ta yer’s, as well!”

 As if prompted by those words, Ehman’s guts rumbled and, once again, his bowels let loose. “Ye gods,” the man groaned miserably, gathering the hem of his tunic higher and trying to widen his stance, “I think I got me breeches with that’n.”  He scowled at the thought and called back to his wife who awaited him on their wagon; “B’sides, we’d like ta’ve already been there, by now, if ya hadn’t tried ta poison me with that stew! What in Zaris’ name did ya put in that slop? It’s turned m’guts ta puddin’!”

Gathering her cloak tighter against the quickly cooling night, Mahdi rolled her eyes and gave a reproachful shake of her head. “Don’t you dare blame my cooking for your bubbling belly, Ehman Shanne,” she shouted back, “It’s the same stew I always make you - beef, parsnips, potatoes, a bit of the red - you’ve never had problems with it before!”

“Well, mebbe th’ beef was bad!”

“It was not,” Mahdi returned, “Maybe you should check the casks of red before we sell them off so you don’t end up giving half of Drasnia the trots!”

The mules brayed anxiously, then, and the creak and clop of an approaching cart sounded from the road behind. Mahdi turned on the bench to try and catch sight of it…

“If I can’t blame yer cookin’,” Ehman grunted in protest, “you best not go blamin’ my wine!”

...In the distance, the cart Mahdi had heard emerged from the night. It was pulled by a pair of rather weary looking horses, appeared to be missing its driver and, even from this far away, the vintner’s wife wrinkled her nose at the ungodly stench that preceded it. “Ehm!” she called out, her apprehensive gaze flitting back toward the stand of trees, “I think someone’s coming! There’s a cart on the road behind!”

“Well pull the wagon ta the side an’ let ‘em pass, then,” Ehman chuffed loudly, “An’ then bring me a rag er somethin’!”

At his back, he heard his wife goad the mules and, then, the clatter of the wagon over the animals’ fretful whinnying. Soon enough, the clop and clatter of the approaching cart reached his ears and a stink even more powerful than the one he had just made stung his nose. “Oh! Inna name o’ all’s holy,” he winced, “what’s that smell?”

Mahdi’s terrified scream shattered the quiet, then, jarring Ehman swiftly upright. As the hem of his tunic fell past his waist and he fumbled to haul his breeches up, he came to the horrifying realization that, in his hurry to get himself behind the tree, he’d left his cudgel on the wagon-bench. If they were being beset by bandits, he hoped his wife had had the sense to grab it before she ran. “I’m comin’, Mahdi,” he shouted, still bungling with his breeches as he ran, awkwardly bow-legged, for the road, “Grab my club! I’m comin’!!!”

He had gotten his breeches passably fastened when another scream split the night but, this time, it was strangled short by the sound of retching. Simultaneous waves of relief and confusion washed over him when his eyes fell on the scene at the roadside. He was comforted by the fact that there were no highwaymen present to molest his wife or his wagon but perplexed at how the sight of the driverless cart that now flanked his own could have evoked such ear-splitting shrieks from Mahdi. The only thing that did make sense to Ehman as he approached was Mahdi being doubled over and puking into the grass - the reek wafting from the road was utterly disgusting. Gah! Smells like death warmed over, he cringed, shielding his mouth and nose against the smell with the collar of his tunic.

“Mahd? Darlin’,” he mumbled through his makeshift mask as he drew up to the wagon, making sure to avoid the rapidly spreading pool of vomit his wife was creating, “are ya a’right? What happened?”

Mahdi could give no reply other than to gag and heave, again. Instead, she simply shook her head, waved him weakly toward the abandoned cart, choked on a sob and spewed into the grass again.

The winemaker lifted a hand to push his wife’s hair back over her shoulder, patted her sympathetically, and then reached past her to snatch his cudgel from the seat. Duly armed, he rounded his own wagon, then, to investigate the driverless one that had stopped in the road. Minus the absence of a driver, the wearied appearance of its team, and the gods-awful stink, though, nothing seemed too out of sorts with the cart until Ehman found himself peering into its bed…

“Mother o’ mercy,” he croaked, his hand and tunic falling away from his face as bile rose in his throat and his complexion went ashen, “What inna nine hells?”

...The bed of the cart was almost fully given over to a pair of dead men. No. Not just dead. Butchered. One of them had been completely split up the middle, it seemed, and both had had their heads hewn from their shoulders. Those heads, nestled amidst the slick spread of innards that spilled from the one man’s belly, stared sightlessly up at Ehman, their faces frozen in rictuses of agony and their foreheads branded with markings that appeared to depict a crescent moon and a rose.

Ehman’s stomach lurched at the sight, his bowels protested, and his knees went to water. The cudgel slipped from his slippery palms and clattered to the road just an instant before he did. “Mother o’ mercy,” he swooned, now on all fours behind the cart, a sour taste filling his mouth, “Mother o’ meEEERRRRRRRRRRGHHH!!!”

-----------

“I still don’t see why we have to be the ones to do this, Ehman,” the woman protested through the folds of the cloak that she’d wound over her nose and mouth.

“What were we s’posed ta do, Mahd,” the man on the wagon seat beside her sighed through his own makeshift mask, “just leave ‘em there in the road?”

“Yes!” the woman nodded emphatically, “Someone else would have found them eventually.”

“Aye,” the man’s shoulders slumped and he shook his head, “an’ s’posin’ that someone were a child er somesuch? Ain’t no call ta suffer children a sight the likes o’ that… B’sides,” he added, glancing back at the fetid cart that trailed behind theirs, “them horses need tendin’ an’...”

“Ho, dere!” Kylo Bensington called out from atop his horse when the couple's eyes found him and his crew blocking the road. “Who’re ye an’ where ye headin’?”

The wagon-driver’s gaze ticked warily over the troupe of armed men that had called him to a halt and, now, cantered closer. “I’m… uh… I’m Ehman Shanne; a… a winemaker,” he answered as his eyes fell back upon the brown-skinned man, then, tipping his head to indicate the woman at his side who seemed to be shrinking into her cloak, “This’d be m’wife, Mahdi. We’re headed ta Drasnia ta sell off a few casks an’... well… an’ ta mae a report ta the Legion regardin’ somthin’ we... found on the road. “

“Yeah,” Kylo’s brows lifted as he reined up next to the wagon and eyed the couple with a vaguely menacing curiosity, “an’ wha’d ye fin’ dat’d be o’ int’rest ta da Legion, den?” His face screwed up in disgust as a putrid stench caught his nose, then; “An’ whut’s dat pachin’ stink?!”

Ehman chanced another quick look at the faces of the other riders that now practically surrounded his wagon, wrapped his arm protectively around his wife, and, swallowing hard, turned back to Kylo. “See fer yerself,” he offered, jerking his head toward the cart and horses tethered to the back of his wagon. “Yer welcome to it,” he added, “just leave m’wife and m’wine be… please?”

“Gregorum,” Kylo barked, sending one of the other riders to investigate the cart with a wave of his hand.

“If whut’s in dat cart’s more int’restin’ den a barrel o’ whut’s in yers, mate,” Bensigton leered past Ehman at the still shrinking Mahdi, “Yer wife’ll be jus’ fine, eh?”

“Well f**k!” 

The curse and the gagging noise that followed snatched Kylo’s attention back to the cart. A green-faced Gregorum stood near the back of the thing, holding up one corner of a tarp and blinking mournfully at what was hidden beneath it. “Well,” Kylo demanded.

“It’s… uh… it’s Pet an’ Cres,” Gregorum croaked, “er what’s lef’ of ‘em, anyhow. Gah! I t’ink I’m gonna hurl!”

“Don’chu pachin’ move,” Kylo warned the vintner before trotting back to the cart to get his own look. 

Once he did, he echoed Gregorum’s curse and cantered back to the front, pausing just long enough to cut the rope that tethered the cart to the wagon on the way. “Where’d ye fin’ ‘em,” Bensington demanded as Ehman blinked worriedly at him.

“On… on the road,” he replied, “‘bout half’n hour back er so.”

Kylo scowled and sighed heavily; “Don’ reckon ye seen no horse-pachin’ point-ear an’ a woman on de road ‘bout half an hour back er so?”

“No,” Ehman shook his head, “only folk o’ any sort we seen since we left the winery were them in the cart.”

Kylo chewed on another curse, glaring at the winemaker and his wife for a long moment, before he let a breath hiss across his clenched teeth. “It’s yer lucky day,” he rumbled, “We’re gon’ take dat cart off’n yer hands. You an’ yer missus c’n go.”

Ehman nodded his gratitude and, as the remaining Hellkites broke their blockade, he flicked the reins and set the wagon moving again.

Bensington and the rest of his crew gathered around the malodorous cart then.

“Wha’ we gon’ do, Kylo,” Gregorum asked, “Cap’n ain’t gon’ like dis.”

“Ye think?” Bensington snapped, stopping just short of backhanding the other man out of frustration. “Pach!” he spat. 

“A’ight, Gregorum,” he ordered the flinching man, “You take dis back ta da nest, send a coupla more men after us, an’ get a message t’ de Cap’n. De res’ o’ ye, come wit’ me!” With that, Kylo and the others spurred their horses and galloped off to the east, leaving Gregorum alone with the cart.

“Figgers,” Gregorum said, spitting at the tarp covered corpses, “Ol’ Greg always gettin’ da shyte end o’ da stick. Onna bright side, Petrick won' be cheatin' me a' skulls n'more.”

They had been pushing their horses hard for the better part of an hour and, had Cay not reined her piebald pony back, just then, Nyx might have seen fit to push them a bit further. As it stood, though, when Cay dropped back, Nyx tugged on his own pony’s reins, too, and the black reared up, whinnying and whirling in the road.

“Aiya,” Nyx exclaimed, one hand firm on the reins as he leaned forward in the saddle and gave the colt a reassuring pat on the neck with the colt’s neck, “Easy, there, you little rauko! All is well; it’s okay. Shh-shh-shh!”

The black settled his forehooves back to the road and, at another whispered word from the mith’ganni astride its back, wheeled around and trotted toward where the witch sat atop his sister. “Good boy,” Nyx murmured to the colt, still gently scritching the animal’s mane, “Well done.”

“Sorry… I need a bite, and…” Cay grinned apologetically as Nyx approached, fixing her with a curious gaze,  “...well… I’ve been waiting for a decent sized tree to align itself with the road just right…” Without another word, or scarcely a glance, for that matter, Cayrimisa sharply raised a hand to the sky and, just as cuttingly, let it fall to her lap. At that, the crisp morning sky spit forth a crackle of lightning which struck an oak near the roadside and set the onyx colt to nickering and spinning, once more.

“Aiya! Whoa, you devil,” Nyx found himself soothing his horse, again, while Cay’s piebald filly stood unfazed even as the tree came crashing across the road, “Whoa!”

“Better,” Cay smirked, briefly tipping her head at the fallen tree before turning to rummage through her pack for a sack of dried fruit, “Much better.” She poked a piece of apple past her lips as Nyx guided the black to her side and cast a faintly facetious gaze in her direction. 

“I do love this Cayrimisa Shyndyn that has replaced our Ettelenya. I really do,” he chortled softly, his yellow gaze lingering on the felled oak a moment before ticking back to the woman beside him, “but she can be a bit unsettling.”

The bridge of Cay’s nose wrinkled in amusement and, again, she flicked a wink and blew him a kiss as the small sack of fruit was plunked to the saddle between her thighs.

“For the better of it, though,” Nyx chuffed after blowing his ‘wife’ a kiss in return and continuing with the soothing strokes on the colt’s neck, “she has helped me to name this horse.” With a couple of quick pats, he abandoned his assuasive attentions to the black and murmured, “Isn’t that right, Devil?”

The feisty colt shook its mane and snorted in response, causing Nyx to chuckle. “Sinta’amin,” he said, crossing his arms over the saddlehorn and turning his gaze back to the freshly felled oak, “she is a mad woman. That’s why we love her, yes?”

 As the Twilight Elf lifted his eyes to regard the road beyond the tree, Devil bobbed his head in agreement and Nyx massaged the colt’s ear as a reward. “I think we’ve put enough space between us and Vadim’s hawks to afford a rest,” he said after a moment, reaching an alabaster hand out to run fingertips over the filly’s neck, then, “and these two could use a tip into that creek. No doubt, they’re thirsty.” 

“Okay.” Another bit of dried berry disappeared between Cay’s lips as she rolled her shoulders in a faint shrug and, at the same time, offered a conciliatory nod before turning the piebald toward the brook beside which the tree had once loomed. 

Nyx followed her to the banks of the creek and helped her from the saddle before freeing the ponies of their bits and bridles so that they might drink unhindered. He snatched the bedroll from between Devil’s saddlebags, too, and, after dropping the horses’ accoutrements, spread the bedroll out on the ground to give Cay a softer place to sit. His eyes ticked back to the road then and, following the release of a breath that she imagined to be more relaxed than she’d heard in the past hour, said; “There is time, too, melamin, for me to cook you a warmer breakfast should you care for it. We’ll be on Olsta’s caravan well before our shadows catch up to us, I think.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Cay grinned hopefully, sinking to the spot he had prepared for her, her fingers probing the sack for another dried piece of fruit, “I haven’t had a decent meal since before we left the city.”

“A moment, then,”Nyx chuckled, already gathering a fistful of tinder and kindling from the ground, “I managed a few eggs in my dealings, yestermorn, and a rasher of bacon, too. That should tide you over for a time, yes?”

“Absolutely,” she agreed over the rumbling of her belly, “as long as you’re sure we have time.”

“We do,” he assured her, crouching down before her, now, and clearing a spot upon which he piled the tinder and kindle before setting it alight.

Cay watched him in silence for a while, continuing to nibble on dried fruit as he raised the cookfire. Once he had the coals going and an iron hook with a skillet hanging over them, though, she twisted the sack closed and, leaning back on her elbows, tipped her head and regarded him with a knowing curiosity. “Ithilamin?” she cooed.

“Yes, love?” Nyx replied, not looking up from his tending of the cookfire.

“How, exactly, did you know that we had other shadows on our heels?”

She almost giggled when his shoulders stiffened, causing his mane to bounce against his back.

“A… uh… a raven told me,” he said, his answer being the only delay in his cracking a few eggs into the hook-hung skillet.

“A raven told you,” she repeated quizzically, “Do tell.”

Nyx chuckled softly as he rose to standing and prowled their surroundings to gather a few spires of wild leek and a handful of mushrooms. “Difficult as it may be to comprehend, melamin,” he chuffed, “I did have a life before I became the Edge of Prien’s Axe.” He stopped and bent down to kiss the top of her head before moving to crouch before the fire, again,and, as he set to slicing the leeks and mushrooms, he appended; “In that life, I discovered that I could speak with some animals.

It was an ability that I might have forgotten during my time in the cities,” he shrugged, stirring the onions and mushrooms into the eggs, “Gulls and rats haven’t much to say and even when they do it’s loud and abrasive.  Were it not for horses, cats, and dogs, I might have lost the ability altogether.

This morning, though, I found that it is a gift that returns easily once the noise of the cities of man are removed from the equation, yes?” He banked the coals and raised the skillet a link or two higher before turning to face her. “There was a raven above the tent, this morning, that told me of and then showed me our followers through its eyes,” he explained with an uncertain shrug. “I have been too long from the wild and yet the wild has awaited my return, perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” Cay smiled softly and simply, loathe to keep her ‘husband’ from returning to his cooking as her stomach was already growling in reaction to the smells wafting from the fire. “Does this korko speak to you even now?”

Nyx’s mane stroked softly across his back as he shook his head in answer. “No,” he said, gathering up a set of tin bowls and scooping a helping of the scramble into each, “but he is close…” He paced off the distance between the fire and the bedroll upon which she sat, handed her one of the bowls, and settled himself down at her side before continuing; “...I feel it.”

“...there is  hera here, that is stronger than anything I have come across,” Taellyn’s voice echoed in her memory as Nyx’s yellow eyes went black when he spoke those words, “Do not fear it... use it!”

Cay smiled knowingly as she let go of his face and scooped a bit of her breakfast from the bowl. “Stay open to that,” she suggested before poking that sampling into her mouth, “it may come in handy.”

“Mmmm,” Nyx nodded around his own mouthful, “The farther from the city we get, the easier it is to remember, elen en cormamin.

Are your eggs alright?”

Cay grinned and nodded, helping herself to another scoop. “Best I’ve had in at least a day,” she said.

“Good,” the mith’ganni nodded faintly as his eyes went yellow again and lifted to the north and east, “finish, then, and I shall fetch the horses. Barring complications and if we keep our pace, we should manage Olsta’s caravan by morning.”

“I’ll leave my trust in that to the experts,” Cay tittered softly, licking the flavor from her latest mouthful from her fingertips as she turned a suggestive eye toward Nyx, “Are you sure we don’t have a moment or two to play?”

For the first time ever, she saw him blush - a flush of hot pink spread beneath the bruises that still marred his pale cheeks - and she couldn’t help but giggle as he turned an uncharacteristically bashful eye her way.

“You are incorrigible, Lady Shyndyn,” he murmured.

“And you love it, milord,” she purred playfully.

“I do,” Nyx confessed,blushing still deeper and, yet, casting a rather lascivious eye her way, “I must admit.”

A deep furrow dug into Erik Toscani’s brow.  He raised his hand to the brow and used it to try and shield the bright afternoon sun that almost seemed to mock the tragedy he was staring down at.  The currents of the Reyal made the water lap around the soles of his boots.  Just beyond the sandy river bed where he stood reeds grew tall for several feet where the river was shallow due to the bridge that loomed overhead.  They stopped growing where thousands of years of erosion had dug the river deep and wide.  

The body was caught along the barrier of the reeds.  The upper part of her body was in the reeds, her hair spread out in a halo around her face, the soft brown tendrils curling swaying with each ripple of water.  One of her hands was up in the reeds as well, a small fish was pecking at the edge of her thumb.  Out further in the current her skirts were caught in a flutter of shifting material.  He sighed heavily and took a longer look at her face. 

She was a young human female, due to her plumpness and the way she was dressed she had to call the Imperial Quarter home.  The high forehead, the pointed nose, the furrow on his brow deepened.  Erik lifted his head up to glance at the bridge above with a sigh, then turned to one of the two guards who were standing on the bank behind him.  

“You said it was a fisherman who found her?”  

“Yes sir… not that long ago.”  One of the men stepped forward just a bit as he spoke. 

“She doesn’t look like she’s been in there long at least, I’d guess she went in last night.  Alright, we need to get her out.  Be careful, will you?  I believe that’s Styopa Bolstoii’s daughter, don’t do any further damage.  Take the body to the coroner, let him take a look at her, make sure there isn’t any sign of foul play, will you?  Then have him clean her up, I’m sure her family will want to come and collect her later today.”  

He took a step forward then, his boot dipping into the water up to his calf.  Reaching down he plucked at a necklace that lay on the girls’ breast.  He gave it a tug and the chain broke easily, he stood back up and pulled himself out of the water.  On his palm a small golden heart with a blue stone it shone up at him.

“Take care of it… I’ve got to go inform her parents.”  

--- 

Back in his office Toscani leaned back in his chair and pulled off his boots.  All the way to and from the Bolstoii Manse his feet had squealched.  Once off he flung the damp leather objects to the corner of the office and began to peel back the soggy socks that were hiding underneath them.  “People should find better places to die than the river…”  He rubbed at the white wrinkled toes that the socks revealed, trying to bring color and feeling back into them.  

He gave up on his feet and decided to pour himself a finger that he had hidden in his desk.  Things had gone as expected at the Bolstoii Manse, there had been screaming and wailing from the mother, and reluctant acceptance from the father once the necklace had been shown.  However, there was something off about the experience that he simply couldn’t put his finger on.  The house had seemed overly tense even before it was ascertained that the girl was in fact missing from her rooms.  The servants were jumpy and did not meet his eyes, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why as the shock of information he revealed appeared real enough.  He would be most interested in what the coroner had to say about the girl's death and if there were any witnesses from the night before.  

Half of the small tumbler was gone, which seemed to have more effect on warming his toes than his earlier rubbing had done, when there was a knock at his door.  Grumbling to himself for a moment he finally called out, “Come in… what is it now?”  

A head peaked through the door, “Sorry Captain, it’s just that… there seems to be an issue over on the Governor’s Gate.”  

Toscani sat up a little and took a quick sip of his drink, “What kind of issue? They can’t handle it on their own?”  

“There’s a Hellkite, Captain.  He’s on a cart and the contents are ‘suspicious’, but he’s refused an inspection, there’s a standoff.  They are requesting you go down there.”  

Bloody hells… is this day never going to end?  

“Alright, send word back that I’m on my way and to keep their skirts from bunching up too much while they wait.”  The guard left without a reply and Toscani began the unpleasant job of putting his socks and boots back on.  Before he left the room he downed the rest of the glass on his desk.  

Moments before he stepped out of the lobby of his station he took in a deep breath and then held it in his chest.  The sunlight hit him in the face again as he moved out through the door.  He squinted a little, turning his head from the light and finding the display to the left of their door within his eyesight again.  Two days of being in the sun had taken its toll on the head skewered on the tall pole there.  The elven features were now purple and bloated, once yellow eyes were now a dark rust yellow and leaked heavy goo out of their corners, from the mouth a swollen black tongue protruded.  A sign hung under the head that read ‘Murderer’.  

When Dmitrova had brought him the battered body of the young elf Toscani had been suspicious of it.  The body appeared to match the descriptions given of the elf who fled the scene of the murders, but with the amount of damage already done to it it was difficult to get a positive identification of it.  Despite the doubt he felt though, the city was on the verge of falling into chaos over the double decapitations and finding a dead body to pin it on was just what Toscani had needed.  So he had given Dmitrova some reward money and stuck the head out in the lawn, it had served to help quiet some things down.  Of course now it was Dmitrova’s men who were causing him more headaches today.  

Once outside the yard he began to breathe again, mostly free from the stench of the rotting head, and then went to the stables to retrieve his horse, at least he wouldn’t have to squealch in the wet boots on his way to the gate.  

---

Erik had not even gotten through the gate before he began to hear the escalating turmoil going on on the other side.  

“I says I don’t care who you thinks you are, I ain’t letting you through this here’s gate, not without either seeing what you gots under that tarp that smells so gorram awful, or mine captains clears you.”  The nasal voice of what could only be one of Erik’s guards rang out.  

“Yeah?  Well ye can go get my cap’n den… see what ‘es got te say about dis.”  Another voice rang out, no doubt the Hellkite.  

Sighing deeply Erik dug his heels into his horse and pulled through the arch of the gate and out into the other side where under the shadow of the wall a cart was pulled over next to the road.  A slender man, covered in dirt from the road and looking a bit wild in the eyes, was sitting alone in the front seat.  Already Erik could smell the stench coming off the back of the cart and immediately recognized it, s***, blood, vomit, death.  He struggled to keep his disgust off his face.  By Naxir himself, I don’t get paid enough to deal with this… 

“Hopefully we won’t need to involve Dmitrova, I’m sure he doesn’t want to be bothered by whatever misunderstanding is going on here.  Now… come someone explain to me what is going on around here?”  Toscani pulled the horse to a stop, dug his wet heels into the stirrups and rose up above the horse.  

The guard, a tall brute that Toscani was having difficulties coming up with his name spoke up first.  “Sir… there be something funny going on rounds here.  I swear that cart left here yesterday with two blokes on it, this morning a whole cadre of Hellkites heads out on horses like their backsides be on fire, and now this feller is returning with the cart and it… well sir, you can smells it yourself, can’t you?  He won’t let me look under that tarp… but it don’t seem right to just let that nasty thing in the city.”  

Erik nodded and turned to the driver of the cart.  “Well?”  

The thin man grumbled a bit under the firm glare of Toscani.  “I’m jus’ followin’ orders, see?  I was tol’ te bring this back te town, bring it te Dmi, he’s the one that needs te see it.”  

Another nod by Erik, he glanced back up at the glaring sun once more then back to the man on the cart.  “Alright, let’s start this over.”  He heaved himself out of the saddle and guided the horse over to the rail next to the gate and wrapped the reins around that before turning back to the cart.  

“Who exactly are you?”  

“Gregorum Pashlaval.”  

“That’s a start, now… who runs your nest?”  

“Bensington.”  

Recognition flashed over Toscani’s features.  “Ben’s a good enough guy.  Next question…”  He walked over to the cart and rested a hand on the edge of the seat, leaning a bit closer to Gregorum.  “Who you got in the cart?  Are they Hellkites?  Or someone you’ve run down?  Be straight with me, I’m going to find out one way or another, and if I find out you’ve been lying to me I’ll cut out your tongue.  Dmitrova and I got an agreement, but it won’t protect you.”  

The thin man swallowed hard and looked at the man in the uniform who was nearly leaning over him.  “I dun wan’ no trouble.  Paching point ear!”  He grumbled to the side, then glanced back at Erik.  “They’se Hellkites… chopped up bad, I gots te get them back to Cap’n Dmi.  He’s gonna wanna see this shyte.”  

Erik leaned back a little now that the man was talking, he raised a brow at the mention of a ‘point ear’.  Making a point of looking around, he asked, “I don’t see any elves here, so… would I be correct to assume that an elf is responsible for whatever state the dead bodies in the back of this wretched cart are in?”  

“Aye’s…”  Gregorum nodded and gave a dismal glance back at the tarp, flies had already begun to collect and flew in and out of the dark creases.  

“Just some random point ear?  Or do we have a name on him?”  Already Erik was growing tired of the questioning and wished that the stupid ‘kite would just spill the information he needed so that they could finish up.  

“We thin’ its that paching bunny humper Nyx Shyndyn.”  

Toscani ran his hand across the bit of stubble growing on his chin and considered.  “I heard that he was dead… don’t tell me his ghost did this.”  

“Nah… like I says we thin’ it twas ‘im.  Ain’t caught up to ‘im yet, leas’ not las’ I knew.  The Cap’n says that they didna kill ‘im, though.”  

“That’s who you were riding out after?”  

“Aye… an’ that fishy witch migh’ be wit ‘im…”  

The furrow returned to his brow, he had heard something about a witch living down by the wharfs, but most of what she had been involved in was small, unlike the rumors floating around about Nyx, it seemed an unlikely pairing.  “That so…?  Well… this has been very informative.  You know I can’t let you bring that stinking pile of…” He shook his head, “into my city.”  

“Well I needs te bring it te Dmitrova!  Ye gots te let me in!”  The man immediately began to protest. 

“Hush now… we’ll get this worked out.  You can get in, but we’re going to have to work out something else for the cart.  Now let’s see what we’re dealing with here…”  Erik pushed back from the front of the cart and made his way around to the back.  

“I warnin’ ye, it ain’t pretty…” Gregorum warned, not moving to go back and help or take a second look himself.  

Just add it to the list of s*** I get to deal with today…  Erik lifted up the blood soaked tarp and had to pause a moment as he took in the sight of mostly mangled flesh before him.  “Yep… pretty gruesome.”  He let the tarp fall back over the bodies and moved back around to the front of the cart, trying to keep the burning spirits in as they rose up in his throat.  

“Here’s what you’re going to do, Gregorum…  Leave the cart here, head back to Dmitrova and let him know to expect me shortly.  I’ll be by the Hydra shortly and I’ll bring the recognizable bits of those two with me. I think your boss and I will have a good discussion about them.  I’ll worry about disposing the rest in a way that doesn’t bring it into my city.”  

Gregorum frowned.  “Not wha’ I twas ordered te do…”  

“Well… sometimes that happens.”  He clapped the man on the shoulder.  “We have to be flexible sometimes.  Your other option is to take the cart back from whence it came and take care of it yourself.  You aren’t getting in the city with it though.  I won’t budge on that point.”

Gregorum sat and contemplated the options for a moment then grumbled and began to get out of the seat.  “I dunna like it, but I been ‘eld up ‘ere long ‘nuff.  I needs te get in dis report.”  

“That’s a good lad.  I’ll be by shortly, like I said.”  Gregorum mumbled something more, but went through the gate without further protest.  Once he was gone Toscani turned back to the guard.  

“Good call not letting him through.  Now… go inside the gate,” he rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a coin and handed it to the guard, “buy me a basket big enough to put two heads in.  I’ll watch the gate while you go.  When I get a chance I'll send some men out here to burn this horrid cart.”