PART ONE

The gates in the castle walls were wide open. Inside the noisy bustle of the morning's usual activities raged. The sun shone down brightly from overhead, and the birds were singing. All seemed to be completely peaceful at first sight, and few cared to look deeper, for they wanted no disruption to their safe lives. The drawbridge was down and the portcullis was raised. Inside the Great feast was about to start in the main Hall.....................

Sarah nervously sat at one of the grandly adorned tables. The finest silver and golden dinnerware was spread intricately across every finely embroidered table cloth. Crystal goblets sparkled like jewels in the light of thousands of candles and the grand crackling fire. She sat quietly as her mother gossiped with one of the other guests, as finely adorn as the table in silks and jewels. She felt plain and awkward in her own pale dress, a hand-me-down from one of her married sisters. At least it was long enough to hide her scuffed slippers. Her mother was going on about how maybe she will finally marry off her youngest daughter. Mother was always complaining about how plain she was. How her long, chocolate brown hair had no shine, and her hazel eyes had no color. Her neck was too long, and why doesn't her skin have color? Why couldn't she be like her sisters and marry early and so well? Why, why, why? Sarah sighed then looked around the room again, taking in the grandness of the room and the people in it. She was surrounded by beautiful people and beautiful things. Grand ladies with their hair done in intricate curls and braids upon their heads. Jewels twinkled in their hair and upon their person. They were dressed in gorgeous wraps of silk, satin and lace of all colors and tones. The men were as beautiful as the women. Some dressed as fancy as the ladies, but some were in more homespun, but not any less attractive clothing. Some leathers and more durable clothing. Sarah liked these more. It seemed more practical to her. Her eyes strayed to the walls of the Grand Hall, to the tapestries that hung there. Some were of the families that have lived here in the past, and some were of grand battles and councils that had taken place a long time ago. Over the giant fireplace was the crest of the ruling family. It was the most intricate piece of art in the whole room, and had her complete attention until dinner was served. This relaxed her and softened the nervousness in her. This state seemed to transform her from a nervous little girl to a stately beauty in repose, hidden amidst the bustle and beauty of the hall.

Sarah looked up and around. It was obvious that something was not going well at the High Table. There, the usual banter was not so merry. She was at the other end of the hall, so all she could see was the lords talking urgently to each other after the page had whispered his messages to them and left, looking relieved to still have his head. It had obviously been bad news. The lords looked both angry and worried, and this was rare indeed, for in the usual manner of things, they feared nothing. Sarah sighed. There were many concerns that according to the other ladies that should be hers, and the lords affairs were not among them. Somehow she knew that whatever the news, she would have an important part to play, and that that part would become clear to her. She brought her mind back to the matter at hand and started to enjoy her food. It would all become clear eventually she knew.

Sarah let her mind wonder on the cause of the fuss at the High Table. A raid perhaps, an invasion by a neighboring kingdom, or something a bit more personal was plaguing them? If it worried the great and brave rulers of the realm, then it had to be bad. Her mother caught one of her glances at the chattering and elbowed Sarah in the ribs to remind her of her place. Sarah sighed and started eating again. The feeling of important things still hung thickly in the air.

Sarah finished her meal. She was the last to do so, as she had been too busy watching the High Table to eat. The hall was getting empty by now. Sarah yawned. It had been a long day. Tomorrow was going to be very interesting she thought.

As she got up from the table a page came up to her to escort her to her room. She was lead to her room, completely oblivious to the watchful eyes of a mysterious man. This was the first time she was to have her own room. Usually she stayed with her mother, but she had left to return to their small landholding. Since her father died last winter, her mother had taken over management of the lands. That is to say, she officially was in charge, instead of running it in her husband's name. Sarah was left to her own devices for the rest of the Festival. The first thing she did as soon as she locked the door was open the door to her balcony and walk out. It was a beautiful night and the stars were out in all their glory. She returned to the room again and looked around. It was well appointed with a large, curtained bed, dressing table and wardrobe. She checked the wardrobe and found all her gowns inside. The page was through and thoughtful. He even set out her brush and make up on the dressing table. Tapestries of waterfalls and ocean views covered the walls, and there even was a wash basin. The water was still a bit steamy. She smiled as she slipped off her slippers and felt the luxurious rug between her toes. She had been taught how to dress and undress without servants, so she easily slid out of her dress, corset and petticoats. She hung them all appropriately and prepared the corset for wear the next day. Still in a light tunic and her pettipants, she washed then took down her hair. She took her brush and stepped out onto the balcony again. As she gazed at the stars, she brushed her waist length hair out. It shimmered under the moon as she lost herself in thoughts of the intrigue that might be going on in the castle. The stranger sought out the page that had lead the young lady to her room. After crossing the lad's palm with a good bit of gold, he knew exactly where to find her........

Sarah shivered. Not for the first time, she knew that danger approached. Things like that had been coming to her since she was a little girl. She crept stealthily out of the door and closed it, and hid behind the drapes in the corridor. Presently, the stranger came along, opened the door quietly and crept in, shutting the door behind him. Sarah crept out from behind the drapes and turned the great key in the door, locking him in. She tucked the key down the front of her bodice and went off to her sister's room, mightily pleased with herself. I'll just let him stew, whoever he is, she thought. She slid into the bed next to her sister and curled round her, for the room was bitterly cold.

A small smile played on his lips as he heard the key turn in the lock. This was going to be harder than his Master expected. A chilly breeze told him that the balcony door was open. He walked out and saw the silver glint of her hairbrush where she had left it on the ledge. He moved it and set it back on her dressing table, and returned to the balcony to escape the room. He was just going to have to be more sneaky about it.

Eventually, Sarah fell asleep. It was not a peaceful sleep. Vivid dreams and visions shook her through the night. She saw great fires and battles. The land destroyed. Most strange of all, she saw herself, on the back of a great winged beast, flying through the night skies. She also felt two presence's looking over her as she dreamt, one kindly and caring and one fearful of her and enraged. As she reached the end of her troubled sleep, she heard the kindly one tell her that the very next day, she must leave the castle and come and seek him out.

She snuck quietly out of her sister's room before she, or more likely her husband, knew she had been there and scurried quickly down the hall to her own room. She pulled the key from her bodice, quietly unlocked the door and peeked in. Seeing no one, she entered and closed the door, locking it behind her. She looked around the room to see if anything of hers had been messed with. She thought she had left the balcony doors open, but they were closed now. Then she walked to her dressing table and found her hairbrush and a deep red rose stuck into the mirror. This was odd indeed. She nearly jumped out of her skin when there was a knock at her door. "Who's there?" she shouted, trying to hide the shakiness she felt. "Only a servant m'Lady," 'twas the page from last night. "I've brought you fresh water and a message for you." She threw on a silk robe and unlocked the door. As she opened it, the lad came in with a steaming pitcher of water and fresh drying cloths. As he emptied the water from the basin into the old pitcher, he spoke to her. "You have been invited to breakfast by one of the other guest's m'Lady. The Steward asked me to convey the message to you." "Who is this guest?" Sarah asked curiously.

"I don't know, m'Lady. I was just asked to pass on the invitation." He finished his work by pouring half the fresh hot water in the basin for her. "Decline all invitations graciously for me, sir," Sarah told him. "I wish to have a ride this morning." "Very well, I shall make the preparations," he said as he bowed to her and left the room. Sarah closed and locked the door after him and dressed for her ride. Dressed warmly in riding furs, she came down to the stables, carrying the pack that was prepared for her. She could feel the warmth of what was inside it radiation out of it's insulated depths. Her stomach growled a little bit. The head groom had her horse ready. She was a bright, chestnut mare with lots of spirit. Sarah loved to ride her. The groom frowned at her. "Beggin your pardon, m'Lady, but ain't it a touch cold for a ride?" he coughed a bit. "Especially unescorted, there's still frost on the ground and the wolves might still be hungry." Sarah smiled at the older man, he reminded her of her father. "Do not fear, good sir. I know these lands like my own hand, and their dangers. Just be glad I'm not insisting on a swim!" With that, she swung up on her mount and galloped out of the courtyard, her laughter ringing off the cold stone walls. She got outside the castle proper and let the mare run. She had a feeling that she was expected elsewhere, and that no matter which direction she took, she would be lead there. A black wolf watched as a rider left the castle. He then took off at a run, following at a distance. He found her scent and followed her on her ride.....

Sarah rode for many hours. As night drew near, she spied the courtyard of an inn. Lively bustle and laughter were everywhere. Getting the lad to stable her horse, she went into the common room and sat quietly up a corner. An old man, a beggar by appearance, hobbled painfully towards her, leaning heavily on a gnarled old staff. He sat down opposite her and pulled out his pipe, filled it with tobacco and lit it. His weary face told Sarah that he too had traveled many miles, although somehow Sarah doubted he had ridden a horse. The old man slowly relaxed. He was not at all alarming in any way, and had a cheeky twinkle in the corner of his crystal blue eyes. The old man slowly leaned forward, beckoned Sarah closer and said.............

"What do you think troubles the Lords of the land, M'Lady?" he said in a strong voice, at odds with his aged looks. His eyes twinkled at her, as if he knew all the secrets of the universe. Sarah was surprised. "How do you know there are troubles, sir? The Festival goes on as planned." "Ah, but everything tells me that the festivities are a mask. Even the Earth feels a coming danger. Even," and he leaned closer to her, "you feel it, Sarah." Sarah did very well to hide her surprise at the use of her name. Just a flash from her eyes gave away any emotion, and most of it was suspicion. She took a closer look at the old man, using more than just her eyes to see him. He did not lean as heavily on the staff as she first thought, and when he moved to reach his drink, that movement was as fluid and graceful as a dancer or some sort of performer. His hands and fingernails were clean, as was his hair. The rest of him was dirty because, it seemed to her, he wanted to be. The old man chuckled at her scrutiny. "You are a sharp girl. You have nothing to be afraid of from me, youngling, but you still have lots to learn." He blew smoke rings out that seemed to change color right in front of Sarah. "In the meantime, you must send a messenger back to the Palace and inform them you will stay here the night. It is too dangerous for you to leave." "I can take care of myself," Sarah bristled. She never liked being told what to do. "I'm not afraid of the dark." "I know, my dear girl, but the Dark is afraid of you. Or don't you pay attention to your dreams?" He took another sip of his drink, watching her. She stared off a moment, letting last night's dreams flood back to her. She remembered feeling an anger from something directed at her. Sarah shivered and silently nodded to the old man. Sarah haggled for two rooms for the both of them, and one of the stable boys carried a message back to the castle for her. She had the feeling this was the beginning of something strange. The black wolf followed the horsewoman's scent to the Inn and stopped short, catching another, familiar scent. A deep growl came from him as he realized that the Old Man got to her first. This was going to be ALOT harder than the Master expected. He laid down at the forest's edge and waited. The Old One couldn't protect her forever, and she will be brought before the Master.

Sarah sat bolt upright with a start. Someone was in the room with her. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck and on her arms prickle. She searched the dark for the presence. "Very interesting," a deep voice said from a dark corner of the room. "You are as powerful as the Prophesy says, but," with a low chuckle, "the stories did not prepare me for how beautiful you would be." Sarah could just make out a deeper shadow where the voice came from. The tall man took a step out of the corner. The moonlight from the window reflected off of the man's startling blue eyes. Sarah looked into those eyes and was suddenly lost. Unbeknownst to her, her eyes had shifted color to a clear blue. The stranger noticed this and smiled to himself. He kept eye contact with her as he took another step forward into the moonlight. His hair was dark, most likely black and it hung handsomely down past his shoulders in a wild mass. He was clean shaven and had rugged facial features. A cloak covered his broad shoulders and Sarah could tell the man was dressed in leather down to his toes. She could also see a wicked sword at his side, but all of this was at a glance. All she wanted to do was look at his eyes. The stranger looked at her and felt a moment of hesitation. Her long brown hair was down around her shoulders like a mantle, shining in the moonlight. Her eyes had shifted to liquid blue pools. Her skin glowed and her tunic had come just untied enough to show a tempting curve. He was not expectation to have such a reaction to this woman. He stepped closer until he was right next to the bed. Part of Sarah screamed at her that this was wrong! Get the knife and cut him! However, she had never felt such strong emotion for a man before. She did not feel like she was in danger. She stood up, letting the bedclothes and looked up at the man, completely unafraid. His eyes widened at this. Such boldness from such a beauty, it was intoxicating. She had no clue why he was there, and at that moment, he forgot why himself. He reached up and caressed her cheek with his fingertips. The touch burned the both of them. Her eyes turned a slightly darker blue as he reveled in the softness of her skin, moving his hand to stroke her silken hair. Before anything else could happen, he suddenly pulled her close to him and kissed her. Both of them felt the electricity between them, shooting from one to the other then back. She kissed back, leaning her softness into his hard, leatherclad body. Her response made him deepen the kiss. Time stood still for a moment. The stranger broke off the kiss and stepped back away from her, startled at himself. Sarah put her fingertips to her swollen lips. He stepped to the window. "Another time, M'Lady." His voice was husky, and uncontrolled. He swung a leg over the window sill. "What is your name?" she whispered. Just now finding her voice. He paused, then laughed, "M'Lady can call me Lucian." He then dropped out of the window. Sarah ran to the window and looked out, but Lucian was nowhere to be seen. She walked away from the window before she could hear the footfalls of a large dog or wolf running away.

The old man cracked his eyes open and reached for his staff. The young woman had gotten him a bath and a room next to her. How very thoughtful of her, how very necessary. He felt the dark presence in Sarah's room and reached for his robes. Another surge of energy brought him to an abrupt halt. After a very still moment, he went back to bed with an odd smile on his face, murmuring to himself, "Very interesting, very interesting indeed......."

What little sleep Sarah had was troubled to say the least. When she woke the next morning, she felt a burning hot feeling when she tried to move. Before long, she was running a high fever. The place that Lucian had touched throbbed painfully. By noon, the innkeeper wanted to let the room to another, and went upstairs to hasten her departure, and discovered her in a damp stupor. The innkeeper flew back down the stairs to the common room and asked in a loud voice if there was anyone there with healing knowledge. The old man was quietly sitting up a corner, and, on hearing who the patient was, rushed up the stairs with a haste that belied his years. On entering the room, he took one look at Sarah and pushed the innkeeper from the room and told him not to let anyone in on pain of death until he should allow it. The innkeeper did not know who the old man was, but even in his own panic could see that not following his instructions would be a very bad idea indeed. The old man assessed Sarah with a practiced eye. He knew now what Lucian had done, and also that he could not effect a cure without summoning help from others of his own kind, which he promptly did. In the meantime, all he could do were a few palliatives to ease her suffering until help arrived.

Lucian's wolf form ran in top speed as his brain tumbled in thought. He knew he shouldn't have touched her that way. It was forbidden to someone as low as he, but how can one resist such perfection. That is why she is dangerous, he thought to himself as he ran..... As she slipped in and out of consciousness, Sarah had a hard time telling what was real and what was dream. She was barely aware of the calming voice of the old man and the coolness of his touch as she tossed and turned in her bed deliriously. She was lying in bed one second, then standing in a large field the next. The field seemed to carpet the rolling hills around her for miles, and she felt totally alone. This did not frighten her until she started hearing sounds. The noise of clanking metal, creaking leather and the pound of many boots seemed to come from all around her, behind the hills. She turned around and around as the sound got louder, waiting for whatever was making it to come up over the hill.... She came back to her bed momentarily, crying out in pain as a cool cloth was pressed against her cheek where Lucian had touched her with his fingers. The touch of his lips did not seem to have had any affect. Someone forced her to drink something and she slipped back into her dreams. In the hills to the North and South she could see men, armies of them, all dressed for battle. She seemed to be standing at the exact spot that they would meet. She knew that she was the only thing keeping this from happening. How was she going to stop this..... Lucian whispered from behind her, "You can't stop it. The Dark is too powerful." He leaned so she could feel his breath in her ear. "Come with me. I will take you far away from this," he gestured to the surrounding armies, "to a place where we can be together, forever." The "forever" was in a breathy whisper that seemed full of promise. She was about to turn around.... A sharp slap across her uninjured cheek brought her back suddenly. She actually cried out. Sarah blinked and saw the worried eyes of the old stranger. "Sarah, you have to fight it! Do not give in! You must live on to fulfill your destiny, girl!" The strength of his words seemed to fill her as her eyes fluttered shut. "Lucian, I can't. I won't let other's die just for my happiness," she said to him, never turning to him. "You won't even do this thing for me?" Lucian now walked around her where he could be seen and he looked at her. "You would be so selfish?" "It's not selfish to put my life down if it would save many others. Why won't you stand with me?" and Sarah held out her hand to him. Lucian vanished and she cried out. Was she to be alone in this? Sarah watched the still gathering armies. They seemed to be waiting for something. The dream shifted and she was in a very dark woods, watching a wolf run. She felt in her heart that she knew what or who that black wolf was. She whispered, "Lucian.....please.....help me" After that she slipped into total darkness. The old man furrowed his eyebrows as the girl called out the name Lucian in her delirium. After that, her body seemed to totally relax. Alarmed, he checked her over once more and sighed. It was only a matter of time now. He only hoped there was enough time for the Chalice to get here. He sat and kept vigil over her, lighting his pipe and thinking.... The black wolf came to a sudden halt. His whole body quaked as he heard the pleas of the one that mattered most to him in this world. He turned on a dime and started the journey back to the inn. On the way, he picked up the herbs needed to cure the infection that he had given her.

In a darkness deeper than any bottomless pit, an evil presence stirred, feeling that all was not right with his minions. In a sudden flash of blue, a silky blue flame burned in The Torin's clawed hand. His deep voice shook the walls as he said, "Show me." The flame flickered as images became visible in it. He was caught surprised when he saw one of his best agents running toward the Promised One to render aid to her. With a growl the image shifted to the feverish girl, red welts vivid on her pale skin. For a moment he flared in anger, then he felt what he could only call a "force" between Lucian and the girl. With a laugh that went through the bones of the Earth, he sent for someone special to do a job for him. The Torin let the flame fade out and surrounded himself in darkness again. This is going to be easier than he thought. Sarah could feel that Lucian was going to return and help her. She smiled briefly and slipped into a more peaceful sleep, thoughts of Lucian's kiss on her mind. The old man witnessed this changed and started to relax himself. Perhaps this was going to run it's course on it's own. Just after that thought, he tensed up again and grabbed his staff. He could feel the presence that had been here last night, returning. The old man was prepared. Lucian changed to his human form just before he got to the Inn. He went straight to her room and tapped on the door. He was not expecting a friendly greeting. When the door was opened by a familiar face, Lucian was taken aback a bit. "Coming to finish the job, Lucian," the old man glared at him. "Or are you coming to take her back to your Master?" "I don't want the Master to have her, I....." he broke off, as if to hide something. He then held out the pouch he had to the old man. "Mardoc, I've brought these to help her." Mardoc took the pouch and looked into it. To his surprise, especially after a discrete magical scan, he found that it was all medicinals. "Make a paste out of the roots," Lucian instructed, "and apply it to the affected areas. Then use the leaves and flowers in a strong tea and make her drink it. That should cure the fever." Mardoc nodded and took a close look at Lucian as he looked upon Sarah. There was genuine concern for her on the young man's face. This threw Mardoc off a bit. He then did something that he hoped he wouldn't regret later. "Lucian, go to her. Your presence will keep her calm while I'm working on this," he said as he moved out of the doorway. Lucian came in and pulled up a chair. "Talk to her man," Mardoc suggested. "I'm sure she'll hear you." Mardoc proceeded to follow Lucian's instructions, but took some time to sneak a look at Lucian as he talked softly to the unconsious girl. If he didn't' know any better, he'd swear that Lucian looked a little less dark next to Sarah. Very interesting, he thought.....

little did they know the real evil among them

Some miles back on Lucian's trail, the sounds of night and early morning birds and insects began to resume, the lingering scent of the passing beastman already beginning to fade. As the stars marched endlessly towards the far horizon, they began to wink out, one by one, in preparation for the coming dawn. The hum and buzz of Owls, Nightcats, and other dark-dwelling flora began to shift to the sounds of predawn, they again fell silent. Something....disruptive. The animals of this particular wood, often more sensitive to such things than was the norm elsewhere in the realm, fell silent for the second time that night. Fuitive movements betrayed their continued presence, however, for unlike the corruptive resonance of the beastman's scent, this .... happening was of an altogether different order. Unlikely in the extreme but hardly unnatural. Just at the fringes of a small clearing, the air stirred, wafting scents not of the deep forrest, but of civilization. Those of the ancient cities to the East. How did these most human of odors find their way here, thousands of miles from whence they surely originated? In half an eyeblink, a black portal irised open from....somewhere else. The dawn critters ceased their movements, however stealthy, abruptly-many of them tensing to bolt and run far, far away. As the muted, half-heard sounds of a bazzar at noon drifted into the wood, scents of human cookfires and other, more exotic smells wafted into the wood. With a slight hiss audible only to those beasts with the sharpest of ears, a lone figure emerged from the "door", shuddering slightly against the -to him- sudden chill. Behind the figure, the orb shaped doorway contracted shut, collapsing to nothing. But the traveller himself remained. Yawning at the air differences between here and the "other" place from which he'd emerged, the stranger recoiled into a catlike stretch, rapidly popping the joints along his spine individually. Finally, he let his arms drop to his side and gathered the folds of his riding coat about him. "Now then," he said to himself, quite in the habit of talking to no one in particular at times like these, "just where in the hells have I gotten to now?" Kneeling down, his golden pooled eyes rested on the recent wolf tracks marking Lucian's passage some hours ago. "Argh." He said silently. "Wolves. Hope they're not .... oh bother." Closing his eyes, he shook his head, quitely smiling to himself. The stranger wore black linnen breeches lined with dark gray wool, soft - soled walking boots with elaborate filigree set into the leather of their make, and over a dark brown lace up tunic, a yellowish leather coat of a hue to match the boots. A mop of jet hair fell across his shoulders and, often, into his face. The slightest narrowness of his features and a certain tapered aspect to both ears and fingers betrayed a heritage other than human. Casting a glance to the brightening horizon, he let his left hand fall upon the oversized shoulder satchel he carried about, hefting the small backpack of some strange material on his right shoulder as he did so. Within the folds of the coat, a short, sharp blade, more dagger than sword, buckled as he turned about. "Nearly dawn....and fightfully cold."

The elfin traveller reached into his backpack, rapidly pulling forth kid-skin gloves and an oversized cool hued blue scarf lined with the hair of a beast from the last world he'd journeyed to. Quickly wrapping it about his neck and face, he squeezed his fingers into the one-size too small gloves. Sighing, his breath turned to steam in the darkness. "Say, five or six o' the clock, depending...." Trailing off, he drew a small platnum and nickel device from the inner lining, almost a waistcoat, of his riding coat...snapping it open, a small melody began to play. With deft fingers, he adjusted the two hands upon it's face to read ten and six, before snapping it shut yet again. "Well, Alysandyr, you've yet to show me anywhere boring." Replacing the small marvel that he'd traded for the healing of a young boy some .... two, perhaps three worlds back, he adjusted his swordbelt and inhaled deeply. Slowly the dawn noises of scurrying animals returned to the clearing. "Alright, time to find some sort of hostelry....be damned if this phaerie is going to trade late summer in the summer City for last frost in some unnamed wood." Glancing upward to the stars, he muttered to his god "Maybe you'll let me get some rest here, eh?" No reply was forthcomming, of course - he was Alysandyr's wanderer, not his Priest. "Not bloody likely." he snorted. Flipping a small octagonal coin embossed with the face of the Mayor of the City on one side, and the ten candles of the Accord on the other, he let -as always- chance decide his route - one way or t'other down the still fresh wolf tracks. Candles came up when he caught the newly minted coin. "Asses up it is then...." the odd stranger mused. Hefting his bags with a grin, Silas the Wanderer, Acolyte of Alysandyr of the Shining Host began walking unknowably towards the nearby township, blithely unaware of the trouble that he was about to get into. As usual.

Just past noon, Silas drew up to a stop, parking against a gnarled tree. Over the course of the morning, the crunch of his boots over frosted grasses had given way to warmer temperatures. Having shed the roadscarf some hours back, it now hung suspended with a double loop off to the side of his swordbelt, doing a passable job of concealing the blade there without getting in the way of his drawing it. Chewing absently on a root he'd acquired over the course of his walk, it looking similar enough to similar such things he'd encountered previously, he wrinkled his nose at the bitter taste. "At least alusianwort was sweet. Damn." He looked around him in a widening arc. He'd hoped to have encountered some sign of civilization by now, preferably one that knew the value of a warm meal. In all his travels, he'd yet to journey to any world berift of such things but it was begining to appear a possibility. "Ah well," he whispered to himself. "P'rhaps the wolf I've been following was *leaving* civilization. Best to be turning round....." he trailed off, ear cocked to one side. "Hm.." The distinct sound of hoof and rider clattered and pounded some several hundred feet away. Metal on metal. Silas looked about, trying to determine a spot of cover. Failing that, he considered which of several nearby trees met his 'ideal circumstances' for climbing quickly. Blue.

Off in the distance, his eyes tracked the color, standing out amidst the foliage. Yes, there, easily a hundred yards off, most definitely *not* comming towards him, but rather, running vaguely parallel to the wolftracks he'd been following. Horse, fully barded, and rider, also armor-clad. A shield slung across the saddle, with too much shine for the phaerie to make out in the sunshine. "Well, whomever you are you're in a hurry." Silas said. "Never a good thing." Gathering his gear, Silas cast a quick glance over his shoulder for insurance, and began to follow his unknowing guide.

Meanwhile back at the castle all was not well. The Great Feast was long past and the castle was now a gloomy place. The laughter had gone. Making merry was a thing of the past. Blackness was everywhere. It was though someone had left and taken the good spirits with them..........

With a sudden gust of wind, much much colder than was normal for the early afternoon, Silas spied upon the courtyard just outside of the inn. About time, he told himself. Of the rider he'd spent the better part of twenty minutes following, there was no sign. The small handful of horses hitched up just out back of the barn were hardly armored. Taking a very careful stock of his surroundings, the phaerie paused just at the fringes of the clearing. Swallowing his courage in typical fashion, he strode out past the treeline, walking deliberately towards the inn itself. Sounds of early afternoon conversation filtered out from within, though somewhat subdued. The words spoken were, mercifully, familiar. People, he mused, humans. Looking about one last time, Silas strode through the doors into the sparsely populated common room. A smattering of local folk, mostly sitabouts still recovering from the markedly short festival, chatted amongst themselves, paying little heed to the traveler. Eyeing his surroundings (One barmaid, a bit on the young side, one elder scraggly gentleman - probably the innkeep, he told himself.), Silas approched the bar. "Good sir, do you perhaps have a room available?" A few heads turned at the stranger's remarkably odd accent. The innkeeper himself turned from checking the taps on a few kegs left over from festival to look over the newcommer - and promptly dropped his taphammer. Momentarily slackjawed, the 'keep looked into Silas' deep golden hued eyes and took an unconscious step backwards. Slowly, the room fell silent. Oh just *wonderful* Silas thought. Well, at least they arent' too pleased to see me... Within the space of a few heartbeats, the inn's common room was quieter than most graveyards. Silas smiled disarmingly and looked about. Similar looks to the one worn by the innkeep appeared on the faces of those present. It's as though they've never.... Hell! he thought.

....seen a non-human before. This could get bad....quickly. Adjusting his stance to one more defensive yet, he hoped, less provocative, Silas quickly filched a handful of coins out of his bag and laid them gently on the bar in front of his erstwhile host. "I have travelled very far and desperately seek lodging, barring that perhaps a bath or drink. I *can* pay." Silas regarded the innkeep for a moment. "I wish no offense, sir." The innkeeper blinked twice. First the fevered girl upstairs and now *this* whatever ..... it is, he thought. Looking down, he saw three, no four gold coins laid before him. Each with finely pressed markings of some far off place he did not recognize. Well, his wife -bless her departed soul- did always call him a practical man. "Very well, stranger. I can offer lodging - and wine." Attempting to appeal to his host's hopefully benevolent instincts, Silas gently licked his bottom lip. "Wine?" "Aye. A local vintage, but most .... travelers seem to care for it." "Excellent. I'll take some. How much for the room?"

The 'keeper sighed. "How long for sir?" Slowly, attention became somewhat less focused on Silas - at least to all appearances. "Um...." Silas paused, unsure of how to gauge his response. What did they use for time keeping here? A week, a tenday, fortnights, what? "Say....seven or eight days? Honestly, I've been away from civilization a good while - I'm not even sure of what the value of my currency is here." Such upfrontedness and plain honesty, especially when dealing with such as this (or any other) innkeeper was unusual for Silas, but then, he'd never quite been in a situation so ..... humanocentric before. Nevertheless, he felt quite certain that Alysandyr was frowning on this sudden streak of honesty in his Wanderer. "Um...." the Innkeep frowned for a moment. Somehow, he felt a bit odd (and more than a little afraid) to try to rube this .... strange one. As best he could determine, only legend explained the man (?) standing before him - and it wasn't every day that one of the good folk siddled into one's inn and asked for wine and lodging. "This here should be *more* than sufficient." The innkeep took two coins, paused, and then moved the other pair back towards Silas with meaty fingers. "And .... stranger, you'd best be keeping this coin to yourself." "Ah...point well taken sir." Silas responded in the same low tone that his host had used. "About that wine..." With a creaking of leather and the jangle of metal on metal, the armored rider Silas had followed here strode through the entrance, bearing the standard of the local nobility upon his outer tunic. Conversation fell again short. Stopping to remove his helm, the knight strode forward to the innkeeper. Gesturing for his strange visitor to take a seat, the keep approched the young soldier, fully expecting an inqest as to the whereabouts of his fevered upstairs guest......

As the strange night entered the Inn, both Lucian and Mardoc looked up from their minstrations on Sarah. "We have a problem," Lucian said, his eyes going dark, and standing. "No, Lucian, YOU have a problem. Take care of it." The older man frowned at him, feeling one similar to Lucian downstairs. He also felt another strange presence, one that puzzled him. Mardoc was not the only one who could sense Silas. Down in the dark depths, The Torin was restless again, and had been ever since the portal that brought the Elven man here had been opened. He rumbled and felt his control over things to come shift. "WHAT IS THAT!" he bellowed. "Show me!" with that he could see through the eyes of the knight in the common room of the pub as he looked over the customers. He focused on the odd looking man, and The Torin rumbled, "Now that could be a problem. Fetch Lucian and get out!" The knight nodded and ignored the innkeeper who was politely addressing him, then began to go up the stairs. Lucian nodded to the old man, "You are right, she is getting better." He stood and walked to the door. "Take care of her Mardoc, I don't know if I can come back." The Elder nodded, and watched quietly as Lucian left, and he locked the door behind him. Sarah's fever had just broken, and now she was just beginning to stir. Lucian decended the stairs and met the knight half way. There was a long quiet momment. "He has ordered you back," the knight said in a hollow voice. Lucian nodded, "I will go." His head bowed, he followed the knight downstairs. "NO!" Sarah screamed as she sat bolt upright in the bed. "He can't go!" "Shhhh....", the old man tried to calm her, "he's doing this protect you." "To hell with that!" she flung herself from the bed and out the door before Mardoc could stop her. "It's too late, child!" he called after her. Still dressed in her underthings that she had slept in, she flew down the stairs, bumping past people to get to the door, shouting Lucian's name. Lucian, who was seated behind the knight on his giant warhorse, turned to the sound of her voice. His face grave, sadness in his blue eyes, as he saw her rush out the door of the Inn, screaming his name. "Lucian, don't leave me!" she called to him, ignoring the fact that he was with someone else. "I can't stay, M'Lady. My Lord calls me," his voice reflecting the mix of emotions moving through him. The knight spurred his horse toward Sarah, his eyes glowing read under his helmet. Lucian was startled, "No! You came to get me, leave her alone." The huge horse approached, but Sarah showed no fear, even though she was unarmed and unprotected. The hollow voice came from the knight again. Sarah shivered because of the very coldness of it. "Go home, girl. Forget him. He will betray you in the end." And with that, he turned the horse and they thundered away. "I will find you, Lucian. I promise," were the soft words Sarah spoke before she crumpled to a heap upon the ground.

Apparently, Silas told himself, any common boor can become a peer of the realm in these parts. The knight, having ignored the innkeeper and wandered upstairs, seemed some indication of the customs of this strange land to Silas. Probably a petty tyrany or minor dictatorship he thought. Reflecting that laying low for as much time as his paid coin had allowed, Silas considered rapid movement away from this kingdom to be, in general a good idea. Tyrants do not breed good ideas, as Alysandyr would have likely said. "NO!"

Silas was not given to spilling paid for (much less free) wine. But the sudden cry of some woman from upstairs and the sudden jostling of those also within the common room proved to be more than sufficient suprise to send it flying out of his mouth and nose. Cursing what no doubt would prove to be some innwench left with swollen belly by what passed for knighthood im this place, Silas produced a linnen handkerchef and began to wipe the dripping purple liquid from his face. Said "brave and fearless" knight came marching down the stairs...followed instantly by a feral young human, dressed as a woodsman or tracker. Silas' eyebrow arched at the sight of them - an odd pair by any reckoning...odder still in such a place as this (he supposed). Of course, the locals by now were up and milling about, trying to get an eye of what was occuring up the stairs. The knight quite efficiently parted the crowd with his mere presence. Hmm....perhaps I'll just alight to the nearest road at once. He told himself. No harm done.... As he rose from his seat, a half-naked woman came bounding down the stairs at a frenzied pace. Outside, the sound of creaking metal announced the knight's mounting of his beast. Silas thought, 'Comely....but *damnit* I am most certainly *not* going to get involved'. Barging through the throng of commoners, the woman charged out the door. "Lucian!" she cried out. "Ah hell..." Silas spoke quietly. The fair young woman seemed determined to interpose herself and her problems quite neatly between himself and the road. At least she doesn't *look* to be with child yet, he thought, sighing heavily. As by now many of the common folk were quite unabashadly staring out through the inn's door at the specticle beyond, Silas walked quickly to join them. With any luck, he might just be able to find the nearest road from directions... In the courtyard beyond, both girl and woodsman parlayed - he from the back of the knights' horse. "Ah well lass....I think you just weren't the folly he sought...." Silas remarked, eliciting a dark look from the innkeep. As he looked, however, the knight turned his mount, edging the horse on to .... run the girl down? "...shit." Silas sighed heavily as he pushed past the observers into the courtyard, damning his conscience all to hell as he did so. Feeling by weight that each item in his 'retinue' was placed where it ought to be, Silas stood tall and approached the confrontation....only to be considerably relieved when the armed and mounted rider turned his steed from the girl and galloped away. 'Ah good....t'was no need to get involved after all', the Phaerie thought. Well.... "I will find you Lucian...I promise." With that the girl collapsed into a sobbing heap on the ground. "Damnit."

Sarah dimly became aware of the presence of someone else standing nearby. Imagining what her mother would say about her being seen like this, she attempted to gather her wits and stand up. In the background, she could hear the old man pushing through the crowd. "Step aside, younglings...Her Presence does not require your attentions!" Even as he took a step forward, Silas extended a hand towards the girl. "Madam...." he began. Hearing Mardoc as he fought his way out the door, Silas muttered. "Oh now what?" Looking up at Silas, Sarah blinked the tears out of her eyes - which went wide with astonishment. Forgotten images from the woodcuts in her Nurse's books from childhood came swimming up from the past. Nervously taking a step back from the alien stranger, she stumbled and fell yet again. "One side!" Mardoc approached Sarah, leaning only slightly on his staff for effect. Presuming that Silas would be the presence he'd felt some time before, he searched the phaerie's face for some sign of intent, while looking deeper with other senses. "My dear, you must get inside...." Mardoc took Sarah by the hand - trailing off as the subtle attempt at "reading" the stranger's intent was replaced by a blinding headache. Taking it, she stood again, this time managing to regain her composure. Flush came to her cheeks at the delayed realization that she was standing before an assembled group of common men in her undergarments - and that it was *very* cold out here. Silas watched the old man flinch, trying not to stare (overtly) - it would seem that the weather agrees with you your highness! Such a remark would get him slapped (at least....more likely hanged, drawn and quartered, or some other similar thing that men did to one another). Mardoc, suddenly very relieved at not having to support Sarah, looked at Silas. "Stranger, you must be ..... very far from home." Trying to "read" him again, this time by a more subtle and roundabout way, flatly produced no results...but at least did not warrant another headache, the first of which was already starting to fade. As though some force was protecting the newcommer.... "Oh....yes....quite far." Silas reflected that in situations like this, a faintly enigmatic answer was often the best....and frequently, expected. Mardoc found Silas' answer rather empty to say the least. Nevertheless, this being's presence shifted things a bit. What was his interest in all this? Silas found the old human waiting for something...what he did not know. Easily, he turned his attention back to the woman. "Perhaps you should return to the warmth of the hostelry? I expect you do not-" "*What* are you?" She asked boldly. "Um...a foreigner." Silas hated it when they asked things boldly. "That much is certain, stranger." said Mardoc. "Perhaps we should speak further." Glancing towards the inn, where the innkeeper was already flagelating his patrons into minding their own business, Mardoc hoped to minimize what was already near certain to spread into a real tale by evening. Silas pursed his lips, considering. "Perhaps....after you good sir." Mardoc glanced at the stranger again and began urging Sarah back inside. She remained fixed and staring at him, breaking off finally to look back down the path. "I must follow him..." Mardoc groaned at her words. Silas, seeing the opportunity, moved in and placed his arm around the girl's waist (eliciting a most severe look from her). "Yes, madame, I suggest you follow ... your uncle's (?) advice....let's away to your chambers." Durine the Brewmaster gently tugged upon the reins, urging the young undisciplined ponies towards greater effort. Sighing lightly he fought off a yawn and considered his journey. Every third month, he'd lashed the donkeys (the ponies were a recent acquisition, courtesy of one Monmorth, a trader by reputation, who'd met him by midnight crossroads with a broken wheel to his cart) to what the locals (largely of the race of Men, but some of his own folk had begun to use the appelation also) came to call the "Beer Wagon", and he would set out from his small Dwarfish settlement and sell his wares to inns and homes located along the Old Sixth Trail, sometimes called the Poor Prince's Road. The outside of his ranging from home lay about three hundred grass-leagues west, to a rather largish inn some fifty leagues from the nearest settlement...but conveniently located near both Road and the Keep and grounds of some local human nobles. The innkeeper there, one Slauwyn by name, was a descent sort, with a good wife and -if Durine's memory was accurate- two grown (or nearly so) daughters. Most of Slauwyn's monies came not from travellers but from the scores of local farming families that used his rather centrally located inn as a communal meeting place....once or twice, he recalled, there'd even been a wedding there. Slauwyn, for whatever reason, was unusually gifted with a head for figures, and was among Durine's best regular customers....t'was practiaclly a guarantee that he would buy whatever remained of Durine's remaining wares and throw in a good, clean (well, by human standards) bed for a night or two at no charge before he trotted his empty cart back along the Poor Prince's Road. Durine in many ways exemplified the common human's sterotype of his kind. A master brewer, born and raised in a small, insular community surrounded by vast fields of wheat, barley and other, less well known fermentables. Although compartively fewer Men had heard the stories about their vast steeped homesteads, topped by what his people called Mills-of-Wind, enough in the region had and so generally a human traveller knew what to expect when sighting such a settlement - a small, fiercely loyal community of the Earth Folk. Among his clan, family bonds (already by definition far tighter than what passed for such amongst Men) were even tighter, for their community had been isolated from others of his older race for many generations (about 250 years by human reckoning). Though far less prolific than men in ability to renew their numbers, Dwarfs tended towards large families, 5 - 7 being common. He had been awarded journeyman Brewer status at the relatively young age of 110 (easily the youngest by decades in some generations) and became accepted as Master Brewer by the old Master Fortwick just short of his 180th birthdate. For the last twenty of his thirty years as Master Brewer, he took to the Road just shy of the turning of the seasons, leaving his (most recently) three apprentice Brewers to watch after the hops. Most of his youngest were entering adolesence now, so that if a real problem did develop back home, he knew his beloved, herself a pewter-smith, would not have to be looking after bawling babes while she armed herself to defend family, community, and home. Smiling at the thought of her, Durine chuckled. Soon, dearest lass, soon i'll be back amongst you. As the chill of a premature evening began to taper around the trees from the north, he pulled a tight, brocaded shawl about himself tighter with thick, knotted fingers. Up ahead, the fires of the inn could at last be seen. With a gentle tugging at his red-orange beard, Durine the Master Brewer urged the ponies on just a few more minutes.

Sarah frowned at this strange man. He seemed to walk straight out of the fairy tales that the oldest grandmother had told all the children when she was but a knee high. He was one of the Faere Folk. But which was he, one of the lordly gracious ones, or the trickster like the stories of brownies and sprytes? Her guess would be the latter. Nonetheless, she could almost feel his strangeness like a power, radiating from him as he followed Mardoc and guided her to the room upstairs. Mardoc turned to look at the girl and the stranger. This had not gone as he had planned. He "leaned" just a bit more on his staff than usual, his actual tiredness seeping into his bones a momment. He did not understand this unusual connection between Sarah and Lucian, but he knew it could be nothing but trouble. He cleared his throat and spoke. "Sarah, you should rest. You have been very ill....," he stopped, saw the flash in her eyes and knew that this would be trouble. "I will not rest! I will not lie down! I *will* go get Lucian back!" She began getting her clothes together. Mardoc sighed. He watched Sarah as she moved, her body shaking with the exhaustion she had from the fever. He may have to intervene in a way he didn't want to. Silas watched the girl and the old man. He now that he had time to actually look at her, he saw that her eyes were sunken, and hair matted from sweat. She could not have been well. "Perhaps your uncle is right, My Lady. You looks as if you need the rest..." Sarah whirled on Silas, angry, "He's not my uncle, and I don't care if you are the Faerie Lord of Dryna. You will not tell me what to do!" She turned again, but too quickly. Her body was too weak to deal with the sudden stress, and she fainted, crumpling to the floor. Mardoc looked at Silas, "Quickly! Help me get her back to bed. Poor girl, so much depends on her." As Silas helped the old man get the girl into bed, he couldn't help thinking again "Why can't I just mind my own business?" as he felt the Tapestry weave him into whatever is happening here..... The Turin was pleased to see that Lucian did not fight His emmisary. That shapechanger was very valuable to him. And if what he observed of the the Chosen was correct. Lucian's value just increased exponentially. He smiled to Himself in the darkness. It started as a tickle, then became an itch in His perceptions as he watched the two on horseback in the blue flame in His hand. It became irritating enough for Him to seek out it's cause. To The Turin's surprise, it lead back to the Inn where the Chosen slept yet again. She had two guardians. One was that old fool wizard, the other....He paused and sat up, looking harder at the figure with the pointed ears. An intruder to this world, that was obvious from the tips of it's ears, down to the strange clothing it wore. "This is unexpected...," He mused as he took a good look at this creature. "However it got here, it will not leave the same way." As he spoke Words of Power, the flame surged and a blue corona grew away from it, growing larger and spreading out. The Torin pushed it so it was a barrier to any magic trying to leave His area of observance. He rumbled again. "Send one of the best packs to that Inn. Kill the wizard and the other creature with him," a cruel smile crossed his lips, "but bring me the girl. Unharmed." Five dark riders rode quickly toward the Inn, light seemed to be swallowed by the black metal they carried..... Sarah woke with a start. It was night, and she did not remember going to bed. She could remember that all she had wanted to do was leave to follow Lucian. She sat up quietly and listened. She could hear a muted discussion in Mardoc's room. Sarah silently rose from the bed and dressed. She armed herself with her dagger, and, quiet as a mouse, snuck out the window of her bedroom. The same way Lucian left the night before. She went to the stable and woke the boy tending, "I want my horse, I will saddle her. And there is an extra copper for you if you are quick about it!" Within minutes she was hot on Lucian's trail. There had been no wind or rain, so the marks the Knight's horse left were quite clear.... The Dark Pack was quiet and quick. Sarah had been gone only a half hour when they came upon the Inn.....

It had been some hours since the Chosen had finally been laid to a still, if dolorous sleep. Silas' abilities as a herbalist or, as he insisted, apothacary, had been not only unforseen, but quite welcome. Almost immediately upon laying the girl to rest, Silas had inquired about the nature and cause of her fever, and set upon grinding up several herbs, not all of which were familiar to Mardoc, which he insisted would help stabilize Sarah's condition. A brief scan upon them, thankfully *not* met with another of those blasted headaches, confirmed not only their benevolency, but that they might even prove more effective than that which Lucian had provided. Nevertheless, the stranger's reluctance to indicate their origin other than "far" proved frustrating. Watching Silas as he worked, the old wizard took the opportunity to recover some of his strength....a feat increasingly difficult of late. Eventually, they seemed to agree on a comfortable if guarded mutual silence, each conveying wordlessly to the other that neither was - at least for the moment - untrustworthy. By the time her fever seemed to have broken for the last time, Mardoc felt comfortable enough with the odd one to make a quick dash down the stairs for some cheap but nonetheless sustaining gruel. He could, of course, have "provided" for something more substantial, but with all that had occured that afternoon - not the least of which was this newcomer's mere presence - Mardoc fell to the side of subtlety. Most of the time he was arranging for the porridge, the innkeep himself was far too busy negotiating with a traveling brewmaster for several kegs of various no doubt intoxicating liquids - two warmed flaggons of which managed to accompany him and the porridge back up to Sarah's lodgings, owing to the good fortune of the dwarfen trader. When he had returned with the meal, Silas sat in the corner of the front, or common, of the two rooms (Sarah being fast asleap in the other - Mardoc checked), his boots removed, rubbing his toes. Smiling wordlessly at the prospect of the meal, the odd one crossed his legs in the fashion of Mardoc's own order (intentionally?) and shoved his coat, bag, and other gear to one side. "I'm not sure if this will suffice for sustenance, b-" "Ohh..." said Silas, smelling the rich thick broth of the stewed meat and oats within the thick wooden bowls. "I assure you it will do *just* fine, good sir. I thank you." Handing Silas the larger of the two bowls, Mardoc managed to juggle both his own portion as well as the two large oakbark mugs while sitting down, back to the door but keeping his staff within reach, of course. The door's simple lock soundlessly slid shut as Mardoc pulled his old legs into the same cross legged postion as his guest. "No offense is intended, but these-" Mardoc indicated the two flaggons of only semi watered intoxicant "-are meant for sharring as well." "Offense?" Silas adopted a suddenly curious expression. "They're not drugged I hope." Taking the mug in his slender tapered fingers, Silas smelled deeply the hot aroma wafting toward him through the cooling air. "Ahhh....mead...I think." He considered taking a sip, eyeing the old man suspiciously. "Drugged?" Mardoc asked, trying to keep a neutral expression as he fidgeted about his robes for a pair of spoons. Silas smiled. "Sorry, old duffer, most don't quite understand my sense of humor at first." He paused, the lopsided grin working on the old man as he expected it would. "Unless, of course, it really *is* drugged." Fittingly at first, they both laughed. Each in their own way, finally, began to relax. After a comment about lacking a proper lunch and other sundries, Silas attacked the porridge in a way most ...... undigified....at least for a Fair One. Mardoc wasn't sure if such title was *exactly* accurate, but it seemed a close enough fit for rough generalizations - for now. In truth, Silas ate no worse than any common man, a hearty appetite already whetted by a good deal of walking and many unexpected stresses in a single day. By simple logic, he decided to avoid the mead until WELL after the meal had hit his stomache, and then only to sip it. He still knew fairly nothing about the environment into which he'd stumbled....t'would be poor judgement in the extreme to get unseemly drunk...at least, just yet. Mardoc ate somewhat more slowly, sipping periodically from his .....mead, the Fair One called it....trying to organize his thoughts...and to analyze the situation from the most rational standpoint possible. Silas eyed him once or twice, but for the most part, the meal passed in relative peace.

When at last the meal had been reduced to noisy scrapings about their respective bowls, Silas sipped ever so gently at his brew ..... he had let it cool overlong, but no matter, and tapped a small amount of dark fragmented leaf into a small, cut square of whisper thin paper - drawing a very intrigued look from Mardoc - and then after distributing it into an even line, lifted the paper between two fingers and licked one side, before rolling it into a shape reminiscent of a pixie sized scroll tube. Blinking once, as if reminding himself of whatever odd manners his people possessed, Silas smiled and offered the small object to Mardoc who, mystified, shook his head. "No thank you." "Suit yourself. Please indicate if this bothers you." Reaching over for the nearer of the room's two candles, Silas placed one end of the object between his lips, holding them pencil thin, and lit the opposite end on the candle's flame. Inhaling the odorous smoke into his mouth, he paused before exhaling it through his left nostril, then his right. "Pipe-root?" asked Mardoc, finding the odor similar enough to make the question seem hopefully less than foolish. "Um....I suppose so. It's the dried leaves of a plant called tobacco....I purchsed quite a bit of it while ..... I was visiting my last place of residence." "I see." said Mardoc diplomaticly. Sighing once, he pushed the bowl away and hefted his still three-quarters full mug to his lips. "Let's talk." "Lets." answered Silas, taking another long drag from his "tobacco" before imbibing deeply of the rapidly cooling mead. Sensing, not for the first time, the oldster's ..... discomfort (?) Silas set his mug down and began. "Dryna?" "What of it?" asked Mardoc. "Um....What is it?" Mardoc hmmmphed. "A .... plainly put, semi-mythical.....let's say kingdom. A *very* long time ago. It's inhabitants are said to be made much like yourself." "I see." "Stranger, you aren't of the Host, are you?" "Nay. Rather, you would seem to be the host, would you not?" A twinkle seemed to blink at the old mage from the corner of Silas's left eye. He allowed himself a chuckle. Smiling, Silas drank again from his mug. "Never heard of it." Silas himself began to laugh slightly, but not nervously. "Very well, odd one. Where....*exactly* do you hail from?" "Oh enough with the thrice crusted ettiquette, sir. I'm not some damned lord come to spy upon you. As I indicated...." Silas swirled the half a mug of mead in it's container before continuing. He was starting to warm up to the old man. "Allow me to - more properly - identify myself. I am Silas Wanderer, Acolyte of Alysander the Ascended. I am also apothacary and something of a healer. I do not come from this....place at all, but from a wholly different realm.. How's that for a more .... informative introduction?" Mardoc smiled. "Thank you sir. It .... does allow me a certain latitude." "Have you done something to elicit a hostile reaction from these.....'Drynans'?" Mardoc's face darkened. "Sir, the land you speak of has been a wasteland for many, many scores of years." Mardoc reflected briefly that his Order *had* been known to make mistakes. Horrible mistakes.... He hoped sincerely he was not in the midst of another. "I sense a tale in you sir, "Silas smiled, hoping to dismiss some of the man's obvious dark musings. "though you need not feel compelled to mention it. Say, where do *you* hail from?" Mardoc smiled tightly, as though pained in passing. Something.... "Sir?" "Forgive me, stranger-" "My mother named me Silas, presumably so that good folk such as yourself could use it." Mardoc chuckled. "Apologies....Silas. To answer your question," Mardoc paused, checking with his minds' eye for an omen, a sign, some indication of whenceforth this being fit into all of this. Still nothing, as had been before. "I myself have journeyed far. Though, Silas, not quite as far as you have, I'd wager." He indicated Silas' discarded possesions to one side before continuing. "I am Mardoc, Master of the Celestial Order, of the Tower of the Seven Stars. That place lay, if you care for such things, just aside an inlet of the Graywaters Bay, on the far side of the Great Eastern Ocean." Silas just blinked. "Say, about ten to fifteen thousand leagues to the east of here." Silas whisted. "You aren't just some tradesman, are you? Wistfully, Mardoc continued. "No, friend Silas. I am an enchanter. A Wizard." "I see." Silas immediately felt it necessary to assure the old man that he was no stranger to such things....in his experience, many "Spelling Folk" were quite immediately put off if you did not indicate accordingly. "Most interesting, Master Mardoc. And the girl?" Mardoc cleared his throat. "She is ..... why I am here." "Go on." Mardoc checked again, sliding invisible fingers along the weave of the world's tapestry. Again, no indication of this .... creature whatsoever. This Silas Wanderer was not mere non-human, but wholly foreign to the place and time in which Mardoc existed. The Covenant made no clear provision for such instances....and there was so little time. "She has been Chosen." "Ah...an....an apprentice then? A young, flexible mind, ready to contribute - no doubt mightily - to your Order?" "No, friend Silas. I'm afraid it's a bit more complicated than that. One of my lineage does not cross the Ten Thousand Leagues of the Great Eastern Ocean (also called by some the Oldest Ocean) merely to seek a student." 'More complicated' thought Silas. 'It usually is, isn't it?' he asked himself silently. "Your tale interests me, Master Mardoc....please explain." Grinding the very last of the tobacco down against the callousses on his left heel, Silas drained the cup of now cold mead. Mardoc considered. His assistance was already forthcomming. When his bretheren in the Celestial Order arrived, he would most certainly have no use for this outsider- -a slight crease in the Tapestry at that thought. Mardoc sighed. Well, a sign at last. Draining his own mug, the old one thought to himself that perhaps ...... assistance might be late for wholly ..... unrelated reasons. And did not believe it himself for more than a second. "A *very* long time ago....at the dawn of this current age of the world, a ...... something called the Compact was created. A sort of mystically binding contract between .... certain of the powers of the world. Ground rules for the comming age, if you will." He paused before continuing. How much to tell this interloper? To all hell with it, he thought. (silently chastising himself for that ..... mead substance....surely a mistake). "The ..... country I come from....a very large, vast land-" "A continent?" asked Silas. "Ah, I see you are also a learned man? More suprises, friend Silas." "Ah - heh. Please continue Master Mardoc." "Yes, well. We, though we were not quite yet the Order that we have become....well, even at that place in prehistory, we were of a sort set apart from....other men. We, though I doubt with as much sophistication as the Grand Recorder of the Order would have us believe, are those few who....were more in tune with the elements, the patterns that flow and vibrate beneath and between the more common spaces that men see and feel. The remainder of the whole cloth that is .... reality." Well, Silas thought, he certainly *speaks* like a Wizard. "The harnassing of fire, the creation of tools....by Will, from the common yet unshaped elements around us." "Grand innovators....worldbuilders..."Silas mused. "Yes...yes my dear boy I think you have it." You, Master Mardoc, are of a kind, the phaerie thought to himself. "At any rate. Needless to say, we were not, and *are* not, the only creatures ever to come about .... as I'm sure you're very existance attests." "Vividly." "Certain ...... Incarnations, as we of my order have come to call them. Pre-human beings.....each tied in their way to the elements of creation." Silas liked this less, and less, and less. Oh for some more mead.... "Of the many forces that contested on the shores of the land from which I originate, it was decided that each should sacrifice a thing, in order to recieve....propriety so to speak, o'er another thing. Are you still with me friend Silas." I rather wish I wasn't. "Yes, Master Mardoc." Silas began to roll another cigarrette.... "There is ...." Mardoc paused. "Among the oldest of the Incarnations, if not in fact *the* oldest, is -or was originally at any rate- the embodiment of ....the Wilder, darker side of Nature, that which is the sum of all the elemental forces." Ah hell..... "He was called, well, it is ill to speak the name of an Incarnation .... *ever* ..... unless you directly wish your attention to come to them. Names carry power, after all, and...." "Please, good Master Mardoc, your tale." "Ah, yes of course. Well, this .... particular Incarnation resented Man. But more than that, he reserved a very ..... uncaring place in his mighty being for those of us that had been born to lead men to their potential. We who were Firemasters, Watercallers, Stoneshapers and such." "The ancestors of your most illustrious Order?" "Precisely. And so, the Compact, an agreement by all those of Power at the dawn of this age of the world, set forth certain .... decrees. The violation of which would, through natural progression, bring the world into a newer age of different potentials." Aw shit.... "Such a time....rapdily approaches." Alright, time to go. "As our end of the Compact, it was decreed that we of the Power, those Greater Weaveries that have developed from our humble beginings, exist set apart from the rest of man. And so we were separated. 'Common' (meaning no insult I assure you) mortal men and women were brought unto *this* land....in waves, but largely within a certain, comparitively, small increment of time. Of course, those of the Good Faith remember us still, and welcome us when we come -so very rarely- to these shores. And the village healer, the midwife, and others of the Simple Way, of course, remained with those who needed them. Those of us, however, who found our path in the elegence and intricate craft of our Art and Way remaind on the far shores. In a land *far* more dangerous and deadly. For unlike this pleasant and ballanced land, the ... continent my Order exists upon is still beset by raging elemental forces. Pools of utter Power lay in wait to fought over and claimed by ourselves and other, more beastial manifestations of Greater power. Beasts and creatures of both subtle and hideous aspect, each of which is more than a match for a score of our apprentices I assure you." "Right." "However, this land, previous to man's comming, was ...... and still is I believe, the ..... World's Cornerstone if you will. A very delicate ballance is maintained here. For naught only was this place barren of men before the Compact, but free of any thinking being. Thinking in the sense of you or I of course." "Tool using? Craftmakers....able to change the world through it's own actions." "Exactly!" Mardoc paused. He really should check his young charge soon, he told himself. "And, you must understand, that of all the Incarnations, few wished the land here to be despoiled....but none more than He of which I speak." "The Wild one?" "Yes." "So?" "In the centuries and millenia since the Compact, he has grown ever more resentful of man and his works. Such that.....perhaps, he seeks to ensure that the *next* age is free of them....er, us entirely." *Ulp* "Or, barring that, for perhaps even the most unsympathetic of the other, lesser Incarnations oft approves of extinction, perhaps he would rather ..... subvert. To change the essential nature of the heart of man." "And....He can do this?" "At the turning of the age, all things are possible." "Well....." Silas began, momentarily distracted by the touch of a very slight breeze. Where was it originating from? "You must understand, friend Silas, that as man....and in this instance, this most certainly *does* include my Order, has ..... taken on a shall we say, increaasingly dominant role in the future of all the world, so has He." Silas arched an eyebrow. "This is not some malevolent otherworldly force I refer to....ballances *must* be maintained...." No, this is a malevolent worldly force....Silas sighed, reaching for his boots out of long practiced habit. "As the nature of man has shifted over the age, so has His nature....becoming a dark, hateful fierce being. He embodies all that man has come to fear....both of the world around him....as well as that which he hides within." Oh leaping, spritely hell..... "And so now, there are even those within my *own* order who whisper that if such is the way of things, then rather than attempt to contest Him for another age of the world, we should instead become adept at deciphering his mortally unknowable wishes. To venerate him, as many do the Great Mother, if you can believe that! They seek to find the true way of the "Great Beastial One" or some such thing." "I must say.....you sound....most troubled." Silas, having wiggled into his boots, came to a realization. "But Master Mardoc, how does the girl fit into all this?" "Ah....she is the Chosen." "Yes, I believe you mentioned that...." Sighing internally, Silas wondered if perhaps he should find a good and sensible rationale to pause and persumably exit the converstion. He desperately needed to think....and quickly. "Speaking of which, I do believe one of us should look in on her, I daresay." "Oh, why yes of course." Mardoc sighed heavily, commming to understand why such things as the cultivation of fermented wheat, oat, and the like was forbidden on the Order's soil centuries ago. Smiling at the old man, for he was truely a miserably poor drunk, Silas rose to his feet. "Allow me, Master Mardoc." "Thank you good sir." How the hell.....Silas mused darkly as he crossed the room, pausing only once to knock gently before opening the door - only to find the source of the breeze he'd earlier felt. An open window. An empty bed. The girls' things quite gone. Damn. "Um....Master Mardoc." "Yes, friend Silas." "We've got.....some rather dire problems, methinks." "Oh?" Damnable draft, thought Mardoc.... ....long enough to realize the implications. Jumping up with a nimbleness that surprised Silas, Mardoc grabed his staff and charged into the next chamber, lighting it mystically from now discernable source. Gritting his teeth and chastising himself for his own carelessness, Mardoc went to the window. "Well, she can't have got far....and I'm fairly certain I know the route she will be taking.....damn." Downstairs and just out of sight of the window, five mounts came to an abrupt half - halt, forming up in a crescent beyond the inn's doors. Each rider dismounted in time, wordlessly communicating with one another. Blades drawn, two strode in towards the front doors, two remained with their equally cursed steeds, and the last began to walk around towards the rear of the establishment, fading into the shadows as though made of ink.....

PART TWO: WIND FROM THE EAST

The inn's common room was somewhat louder than was usual on this night. The notably odd occurances of the day remained topics (if not the center of) conversation. Between such, and the rumors and rumblings slipping out like tiny spies from the recent gathering of nobles at the Keep, men such as were wont to gather at the inn found it easier to remain and drink and speculate than to return to their farms and homes and confront wives and children. A harsh, bitter gust of sudden wind swirled outside and forced the doors to the common room open. Those nearest the doors would later comment that it seemed as though the very air left miniscule little bites upon their exposed flesh it was so cold. Loose fitting clothes whipped up in the turmoil, momentarily stopping and then increasing the chatter about the chamber. The innkeep himself was not to be seen, and was in fact sharing the first two draughts of Durine the Masterbrewer's best draft of the season with the Dwarfen craftsmaster in a small backroom which the 'keep was known to those close to him to call his 'office'. As the fire was briefly dimmed by the whipcord wind, two figures, tall, lean, and immediately forgettable secretly entered the inn's common room. Drawing the lancing shadows of the fire to them was innate - it was in the nature of the Torin's Dark Pack to seek and be sought by the dark; both of night and shadow. Deftly, they passed colourless eyes over the score of farming men (paying special attention to the small number of women amongst their number) seeking the three faces their Incarnate Master had branded into their memories. Preditors, they would remember these faces until they found and ended their quarry - or until the day the sun guttered in the sky, should it take so long. Seeing neither men nor woman they sought, the two near invisible figures nodded to one another and strode, more defiantly as they left the direct light, up the stairs, feeling at last the mysterious pulling they oft expected as their prey grew near. Silas hefted first the small backpack and then, pausing to throw the strap over his head and left shoulder, an oversized satchel - pausing once to make sure that he had everything that he'd arrived with. Mardoc quickly walked back into the room from the Chosen's bedchamber and scanned the room. "Friend Silas, would you consider helping me finding her? I'm afraid I'm-" "Where exactly do you think she has gone, Master Mardoc?" Silas inquired, attempting to stall the old man into commiting *him* to anything until he decided for himself what in all he was going to do. "She is no doubt attempting to follow Lucian's trail. We should check with ....." Mardoc paused, peering slightly into the ether for the 'best possible answer'. As the light in his staff guttered, probabilities shifted across Mardoc's perceptions. "ah yes...the stableboy should help." Neither said anything further as a blast of bone chilling wind whipped around the building and into the open window of the Chosen's bedchambers. "Damn!" shouted Silas o'er the noise thus created. The cold cut right through his flesh, it seemed. Gooseflesh rose on his arms and neck even as his eyes blinked rapidly in a futile attempt to keep both wind and dust from being blown into his eyes directly. Swearing silently in his mother tongue, Silas stumbled into the bedroom fumbling for the window and it's latch like a drunkard. Mardoc's eyes dialated into suprise. Something.....a presence? No...a certain...resonance upon the wind itself. A message perhaps? Mardoc resisted his initial urge to bespell the wind into calm and instead, calling upon ancient teachings of his Order, shifted his concentration from the vaguaraties of chance and the weavings of fate to his physical form....specificly though he did not at first know why, his nose. Scents, acrid and biting - yet *very* familiar assaulted him. As though the wind carried odors from o'er fifteen thousand leagues to the east....from home. Concentrating, quickly as Silas began to close the window, Mardoc isolated many of the dozens of scents that - yes, indeed *had* been carried from his homeland. The smells thick and rich of the Grand Tower, incenses and herbs smouldering....and other things. Smoke...fire....burning flesh. "W H A T.....?" he gasped. No longer concerned about anything else for the moment, he jacked his senses to the highest point his considerable abilities allowed. Commanding the flesh to obey the mind, he took it all in. Burning pitch, the ozone tang of lightning, even...just a little mind you...the shouts and screams of men, his fellow wizards...raised first in passionate, heated debate...and then in murderous frenzy...and in the squallor of painful torment and death. By now the char of many bodies thrown onto pyre choked out all other sensations. Gasping, Mardoc abruptly shut down his perceptions before it became an overload. Nothing. Silas sped back into the room, hearing the oldster cry out. Mardoc had sagged to his knees, a look of near physical pain creasing his features. It made the wise one look yet older still. Mardoc opened his eyes, commanding his senses back into a normal mortal range of perception. Pausing, as he was at first disoriented, he noted the window was closed and the candles were guttering into darkness. "Master Mardoc?" asked Silas. "I'm.....fine....I think." Mardoc grasped Silas' outstretched hand and brought himself to a stand as the first of the candles finally died. The door's lock slowly, lingeringly, began to slide out of place. "Allergic to the cold, sir?" Silas's instincts were by now screaming for him to clear out before he became any more embroiled in this place's rapidly escalating affairs...but his conscience would not allow him to abandon some frail old man who *claimed* to be a wizard. "No my friend, I-" Mardoc's words were cut short by the clattering of the lock bits upon the floor. "What was that?" asked Silas. The second candle died.

A palpable wave of fear washed over them both, as though a cold shadow had been tossed into the room. Mardoc froze, suddenly consumed by unavoidable thoughts of his own death. Images began flashing into his head, called up from his own subconscious...his body, laying crumpled and stiff with flies buzzing about it. Nausea overtook him - one of the first things any apprentice of the Order must master is overriding the so called "death impulse"... a necessary act of will to work any of the Great Arts requires one to dismiss, psychologically, the possiblity of his or her own death. For "Great Arts require Great Minds...Minds that do not accept the capability of mortality." Mardoc had long since decided that such thinking brought hubris upon his Order, but no matter. Now, he could think of nothing else. Silas, however, felt a strange chill slither up his spine, slight as a lover's caress. Watching the door open inward from the outer hallway, lit sparsely by the fire at the base of the staircase, he wondered at the sudden stiffness in Mardoc's features. As though enduring a massive shock. Then, with the next heartbeat, it hit him. Memories welled up from his early childhood, on the world of his birth. The constant smell of death in the gutters of the City of Saints, the rampaging gangs always seeking to repay their fellows a debt of muder. The burning ships in the harbor of his immediate pre-adolescence....the absolutely constant fear all of his kind felt ..... before the Ascencion of Saint Alysandyr....before He united with the stray fragment of his Host's soul, before delivering his people into their own land.... The touch of death, *not* a stranger to him or his ancestors, laid a waxen finger upon his heart. He screamed. The two shadows slid into the darkness of the room....each noting the faces and smells of the two men....well, men-like....figures present. The scent of the Promised One lingered yet still. Nodding to one another, each of the Dark Pack chose their prey and moved in for the kill, focusing their empathic manner of communication yet harder on both the mage and the phaerie. Silas panicked. As he saw, blurred at first, two definite cloaked dark - no, BLACK shapes slide towards each of them, his mind snapped into reflexive instinct. So great was the fear of death upon him that his conscience was cast aside as easily as a torn and soiled garment. He turned and fled at top speed for the far wall of the outer room, dropping to a kneel and opening his mind to the space within that Alysandyr's gift had been planted. In his mind's eye, he could already see the door, opening like a great eye's pupil, leading to a fairer world beyond. Nothing happened. The shock was great enough to stun the terrified parts of his mind back into rationality. Alysandyr....he thought....Great One? but nothing was forthcomming...no words, no subtly amused divine thoughts....and certainly no miracles. As the living shadow lunged toward him, a dark and jet knife aimed towards his chest, Silas gathered his reserves of faith and concentrated again. Mardoc cried out, feebly begging like a boy to be spared the darkness of death. In the space of two heartbeats, his preditor smiled and -scenting the terror in the sweat of the old magician- drew back his blade and then shoved, hard, at the old one's trembling body. Blood wet the dark knife and the shadow slowed to savor lingering taste of the kill, to feel the very essence of a murder in the unlit night. The blooded iron of the knife seemed to writhe within Mardoc's body. Pain racing through his chest, the old one's fingers grasped desperately his staff, white knuckled from the effort. If only the darkness could pass....light....any light. In the pool of shadow behind the inn, the 'alpha' of the Dark Pack looked up at the closed window. His shadow-brothers were now in sight of their prey....the sight, smell, and near taste of their terror transmitted to him immediately...for such was their way. Through the Pack's leader, all thoughts were transmitted instantly to one another...save when he communed with the Torin directly...and then his brother shades would be left with their 'simple' empathic ways. From the ground beneath him, the elder brother of the Dark Pack smelled .... prey. What is this? he thought, momentarily lapsing from his observation of the two males' imminant demise. The remnants of footprints...and the Promised One's scent! She is *not* with them at all. Following with his gaze, now seperating his mind from that of his Pack, the trail led first to the stables...and then, by scent, into the woods on horseback. Empathicly sending out an 'urge' to his shaded brothers, the elder brother of the Dark Pack closed his mind to all things outside himself. Breathing deeply, his lungs recoiling against the comparitively hot air within them, he sent his mind out to his Master. In that dark place where men do not dwell, the Torin casually glanced to include his servant's perceptions into his own. The dark communion began. O Master...the Promised One is not among them. She has taken flight of her own accord and traveled by horse into the woods. What do you wish- "FIND HER! SHE IS THE KEY!" the Torin's thought voice boomed in the elder brother's head, nearly splitting his mind with the intensity of it. "SHE is ALL that matters. Kill the others, but FIND HER no matter the cost. NOW!" Shaking from the intimacy of communion with the Incarnation, the elder brother merely touched the minds of his brothers....a brief gesture to leave them to their own devices, and made off alone into the ever darkening woods after the Promised One. Silas found that particular "space" in his head to be .... empty. Like a locked room containing nothing but detrius and cast off litter. Resentment shot through his elfin body quicksilver. Feelings of abandonment and anger welled up from deeper within him than he realized he possessed. Reflexively, his hand clasped about the longdagger he carried and he -childlike- lashed out, screaming as though an infrequent parrent finally had fled forever.

The dagger struck true, as if guided even though it was not. The brothers of the Dark Pack, though brought "in tune" with shadows and the gloom of overcast nights by the Torin's 'elevation', were mortal. Taken entirely by suprise (a sensation so long unexperienced that it proved nearly exhilarating to the Pack brother) by the speed and ferocity (as well as the sheer luck) of the dagger thrust, he stumbled forward, pushing the eight inch blade further into his midsection. Thick black blood began to run in rivulets across the remaining span of the blade, onto Silas' right hand and down his arm. In the brother's shock, his empathic broadcast was broken. The phaerie's head cleared immediately. Confusion passed between the two brothers...for the one's strike into Mardoc's side was, while not simultaneous, near enough in time to the blow his brother felt to blur their collective perceptions of each experience. Whilest hunting, the Dark Pack was given over increasingly to instinct, not reason....and while linked as they were in some telepathic imitation of a pack mind, certain experiences transcended any one of them. Almost immediately, the four younger brothers of the Dark Pack recieved the slightest of empathic brushes from the elder brother - he had quarry to hunt alone. The one shade's hold over Mardoc flickered briefly, but did not stop. That instant was enough. His mind, already crying out for light of any kind, found purchase within that moment of rationality and his staff blasted fiery white star-light into the room. As if caught in market at highest noon, each of the younger brothers saw the other cast a shadow....and screamed. The first let go of his blade and capered down the stairs, his endowments of stealth forgotten. Mardoc's free hand, now no longer shaken by his attacker's radiance of despair, went immediately to his side and grasped the abandoned blade. Silas grabbed at his own assassin's cloak, only to find it so slick as to be near frictionless, at which point the dazzling, coruscating light filled the room. It might have blinded him were it not for the eclipse of the Dark brother. As the shade's eyes looked down at Silas, it saw his own shadow falling across Silas and the wall behind him and twisted, caught between that which he was forbidden to see and the light itself that briefly eliminated much of his endowed power. Silas lept up and onto the dark figure, throwing all his weight against the hilt of the longknife, driving it to the hilt into the Pack brother. As the light died, he turned to follow his kin out the door, thus twisting the knife -both further into the gutwound and out of Silas' hand. Wailing, it dashed by Mardoc out the door, down the stairs and into the common room.

As the score or so farming folk settled back into their routine in the downstairs common room, some muttering about the wind's portent for a particularly cold winter, a high pitched scream emanated from somewhere upstairs. The room fell quiet once more. A few common folk, already disturbed by recent events, announced their intention to leave with the squeaking of chairs on the hard floorboards of the inn. Others looked to one another. This was not some big city tavern, one man remarked. Such things just did not happen here...each of those at his table in turn thinking private thoughts about just what 'such things' represented - until there was another, louder, much higher scream. "Where's that damn barkeep?!" someone asked drunkenly. At this, a good half of the room was now standing, some making for the door quickly, with the remainder pooling together a leadership born of common bonds and distant memories of hard times. Of the later, two were quickly nominated to travel upstairs to investigate. "Um....gentlefolk..." A young man, barely into his twenties and barely a year into inheriting his father's farmland, stood in the half open doorway to the yard beyond, his arm shaking even as it held the door ajar. Beyond, he could just barely make out two, semi-indistinct shapes, and five beastial looking mounts - mares from the look of them. Backing up, he let the door swing shut. And then with a lurching whine that came from nowhere and then grew quite louder, the young man was knocked to the floor by what looked to be .... a shadow. Eyes growing wider, he looked about...only to see several of his dead father's still - living friends reaching to help up the "obviously drunken lad." The 'elected' pair made for the stairs, in time to see flashing white light bursting from the second floor - and the shape of something out of nightmare screaming down the stairwell towards them. "Get back!" one yelled. The other reached for a knife, tucked into his boot. The hooded figure bounded into full view then, shoulder roughly hitting the lingering farmer with a sharp crack as the phantom bolted for the inn's door. For his part, the innkeep emerged from his back 'office' largely unaware of the nature of the commotion that had interupted a friendly drink with a trusted business partner. "What in the Goddess' green fields-" the words died in his throat as the seemingly half-solid aparition trod right over the young boy still laying prone in the doorway, spraying a gout of thick blood onto his tunic and face. Suddenly *quite* sober, he reached for the carving blade in the kitchen. "Mattie!" he called (surely one among his daughters would hear) "Fetch my crossbow!" "Mardoc!" Silas gasped, breath heaving out of his chest. The dark haired phaerie regained his ballance, noting the loss of his blade. "Damnit!" Taking stock, he noted Mardoc leaning on his staff - this time out of need. The Packbrother's blade remained in the mage's sidewound. "You're injured." "Don't concern yourself with me, we must find Sarah before they do, Silas." Mardoc's left hand strayed from the staff to the blade. "Here fair one, take this....it will replace the blade you've lost." "Don't do-" Silas did not finish his sentance, instead wincing as the older of the two yanked the shortsword from his right side, the very tip of the blade suddenly brought back the gathering shadows that precipitated their attack. "I see." grunted Mardoc. Tearing a length of cloth from his beggar's attire, he wrapped the end of the blade in the soiled fabric - temporarily blocking the shadow-gathering properties of the short stabbing weapon. As his full sight returned, Silas saw blood leaking in rivulets down Mardoc's side, a bloody tided river. "Old one are you senile? That is a serious wound." "Take the blade, healer! I can mend this given time. Sarah, however, cannot stand against them alone. Go, go now!" Numbly accepting the blade being slapped into his palm, Silas tried to imagine how *he* could stand to both of the assailants - alone. "Sir, I'm no warrior, I-" "I see the fear still grips you boy....but she has no one else to defend her. Go!" Mardoc's words reverberated, as though he'd heard them both with ears and mind. Perhaps he had. Mardoc slowly slumped to the floor, his back against the wall, ballancing himself with the staff. "My magics can staunch the bleeding until I can enter a healing trance. But I am in no condition to do battle with those things. I'll be fine." Ah to hell with it. Silas thought.

Nodding once to Mardoc, he charged out the door, barrelling down the stairs. Slauwyn the innkeep cocked the crossbow, a slightly rusted anachronism of younger days when the old Baron still kept a militia - a militia that had included a sunny faced youjng man named Slauwyn. "Alrright gentlepeople...just return to your seats and we'll deal with *this* just promptly." Shooing his daughters back into their rooms, and bading them to bar their doors, he walked briskly from behind the bar and swollowed his courage. Off to his right, the young boy was staggering to his feet, having had the wind knocked out of him by the .... thing that had come charging *out* of his inn. Privately, he just knew that that damn old man and his .... odd friend had something to do with this, if only because they were the only guests he currently lodged- -save the noble girl upstairs, the one with the fever. HELL! Slauwyn stopped in his tracks and turned to the staircase. At a breakneck speed something was comming down the stairs... .....Silas hit the inn floor running, trying to push the thoughts of just what those ... shadow creatures could do to him given the time - stopping abruptly at the sight of a loaded and locked crossbow in his face. "Good sir, you *really* don't want to delay me-" "What in the name of all that's holy is going on up there!" Slauwyn noted in his peripheral that Durine was wandering out from behind his bar as well, having taken up the innkeep's meatcleaver from a few moments ago. "The old man has been struck with .... this blade! The girl has made into the woods....I must go after her." Holding the still wrapped shortsword in the general (Silas made certain that it was *not* specific) direction of the innkeeper, he noticed not only a good twenty odd heavyset farming folk, all in various states of upset as well as intoxication, but .... a dwarf! Somewhat reassured by the sight of a fellow non-human, Silas smiled his broad 'let-me-go-so-I-can-do-you-a-favor-no-really" grin and hoped it was good enough. Durine spit a half-swill of his own blend on the floor. "What exactly are you sir?" Durine had never seen such a strange creature as the one bearing the covered blade. "One that will generously pay for all the inconvience he's caused!" Silas continued his wide, insane grin to the innkeep, hoping like hell that he'd remembered the small fortune (unless he misinterpreted) that he'd been willing to pay for his lodging. Slauwyn considered for a moment and then stepped out of the phaerie's way. "My thanks." And Silas dashed out the door. Lucian rode quietly behind is captor. His mind a whirl of thought as he planned his next move. He knew he did not want to go back to The Turin. Although this Knight's mission was not to kill Lucian, there were worse fates than death. The vision of the flushed Sarah, standing defiantly in front of the Inn flooded his vision once more, and filled his once cold heart with feelings he had never experienced before. He closed his eyes and shifted to another memory, of the girl in her banquet finery, looking curiously at the head table. Her curiousity seemed to make her glow. Then he remembered her in the moonlit room of the Inn, and their kiss. At that momment, Lucian decided what he must do. He had only to wait until the right momment. He could feel The Turin's presence still heavy on them, but soon, he would act. As he maintained the silent relaxation behind the Knight, he thought of Sarah again, wondering why she was so special.... Sarah rode hard, trying to push her mare to go faster. The man who had taken Lucian away had started on a clear trail, and she could ride unhindered. She watched the stars disappear behind an inky blackness, and urged the horse to go faster. Sarah could almost smell the rain as she saw flashes of lightning in the distance. The trail went deep into the forest, and soon was much harder to navigate. She pressed on, forcing the poor mare to push through brush and bramble. The forest noises began to diminish as they punged deeper into the wood, almost as if the woodland creatures did not want to draw attention to themselves. Within a few minutes, Sarah could hear the distant rumble of thunder. This prompted her to try to get the mare to speed up. She did not want the rain to wash away the trail. Trees begin to snag at her clothing, as if to prevent further passage. Sarah would not stop, and tried to urge the poor horse onward. Unfortunately, the gust of wind that suddenly tore through the forest carried with it the sound of a wolf howl, and the horse stopped in it's tracks.... Lucian felt the dark presence of The Turin almost ooze away as it seemed He had other things to consider. Quickly, before he could think about what he was doing, Lucian pulled a knife from the top of his boot and slit the Knight's throat as neatly as a surgeon, pushing him off the horse and taking the now dead man's seat. Turning the horse around, he looked down at the Knight. "I will return to The Master on my own time," he told the dying man. The Knight gurgled at him, "You will pay the price, traitor." He was then still. Lucian just shook his head, and spurred the horse back in the direction they had just come from. He smelled rain in the air, and could barely hear rolling thunder in the distance.... The Dark One rode quickly, catching The Chosen's scent immediately. The Master said to get this one at all costs, and with or without the Pack, he would do it... Sarah drew her knife as her horse danced about nervously, "Easy girl," she tried to speak calmly. But the first howl was joined by a second, then a third. Definitly wolves, and definitly hunting. She gritted her teeth, and tried to think. The howls and the thunder seemed to be getting closer. Looking around, turning the horse a bit she made a decision. Sarah guided the horse to a tree and grabbed a branch that was high up, unless you were on horseback. She shimmied up the branch, leaving the horse alone. "HeeYa!" she shouted and clapped her hands together to startle the horse. The mare reared up and began to gallop away, back toward the direction the Inn was. She climbed to a higher branch as she heard the howls begin to close in. It seemed to her that a few followed the horse.... Lucian shivered as he felt an odd sensation flood his body. It wasn't The Turin's influence, but there was an urgency to it. He closed his eyes and opened his senses. Suddenly, he kicked the horse into a gallop and opened his eyes again, determination flooding him. Sarah was in trouble....

"I'm in trouble," Sarah whispered to herself as she heard her horses hoves clatter in the distance. The wind seemed to whip around her as she clung to the branch she had managed to sit on. This may get a bit precarious if the weather got worse. As if called, the first few drops of rain splattered nearby. She listened as she heard the wolves howling, closer this time, and it also seemed that the group that was after her mare gave up and were returning to the main part of the pack. This did not look good. A flash of lightning reminded her of the impending storm, and she listened as the forest became completely silent except for the howling. The thunder rolled in and she was reminded that she was up in a tree during a storm. Great, the thought went, which is worse, being struck down by the lightning or eaten by wolves. She shivered as the wind seemed to cut her with icy knives... Lucian rode hard, knowing for sure that Sarah's danger was increasing. He Knight's great steed charged through the woods, heedless of the brush and trees that seemed to try to grasp them. Lightning flashed in the sky, and Lucian tried to push the horse to go faster. He felt more than heard the woods go silent just before the thunder rolled. This seemed to disturb the horse too, who was beginning to get agitated. Suddenly, Lucian brought the horse to a halt, making it rear up on it's hind legs. With a graceful leap, he launched himself from the saddle and landed lightly on the ground at a crouch. The horse turned and went back the way they had come from. Lucian sniffed, and smelled before he heard the calls again. Wolves. He bared his teeth in a snarl and began to run, first on two feet as the first few drops of rain fell, then on four as he shifted his form to the great black wolf he was. He ran as silently and quickly as a shadow runs from the lights, his feelings for Sarah urging him on.... Just barely over the increasing wind, Sarah could hear the rustle of movement. The next flash of lightning revealed the pinpricks of yellow eyeshine amongst the brush down below. Five wolves came out around the tree, sniffing and growling to each other. Every once in a while, one of them would look up as if to see if she was stable in the tree. She wasn't, and with the rain increasing, it was getting harder for her to hang on. The bark had become slippery as it got wetter. The next roll of thunder came sooner than the last too. The storm was getting closer. She was hoping, perhaps too hard, that the rain would drive the wolves to cover. She was mistaken. A sudden gust of wind buffeted her on her perch as she flailed a bit to try to stay in the tree. She grabbed the branch above her with her left hand. There was a crack that seemed to her as loud as thunder and she felt the branch she grabbed a hold of give a bit. That noise also made all the wolves look up at her. Their growling changed from indifferent hunting to intense anticipation, as if they knew she was going to fall right into their jaws. Sarah frowned and tried to think about this logically. Kind of hard to do when the wind is trying to knock you out of a tree. She saw two choices. She could just wait until she fell out of the tree, uncontrolled, into the jaws of death, or....she shifted her knife into her right hand and looked below. It was raining in earnest now as she steeled herself. "I will not die this way!" she said. Then jumped down, the next flash of lightning flickering off her blade... Lucian ran far faster than the horse ever did, and was able to navagate the heavy vegitation better in his wolf form. He got to where the pack of wolves was just in time to hear Sarah shout and then jump. He sprang into action, growling as he charged the Alpha wolf. A deep growl distracted three of the five wolves from Sarah as she came down. She got lucky, as she landed she had brought down her knife into the neck of a small dark brown wolf, burying it deep. She savagely twisted it and with a pop of bone an sinews, the yelping and snapping wolf was silenced. It's partner, a larger gray male, took advantage of Sarah being distracted and locked it's jaws around her left forearm. Sarah screamed, and pulled her knife out of the first wolf, and brought it around to slash at the one trying to bite her arm off. Lucian went straight for the large black and grey female that smelled of Alpha, but she was quick and wily. There was a confusion of fangs, fur and blood as they each gave as good as they got. The other two, one of them her beta possibly held back, waiting to see what the outcome of this battle would be. Sarah's scream, then the anguished cry of another wolf was enough to distract the Alpha. Lucian snuck into her defences and locked his jaws around the Alpha wolf's neck, breaking it quickly and neatly. As he dropped the limp form, the other two wolves summited to him. He turned and saw something that shocked him a bit. Sarah stood, her left arm bleeding, her right hand cluched on her blade as she advanced on a whimpering wolf, who's left eye had been cut deeply. She was covered in blood, not all of it her own, which was being streaked by what was now a downpour. Lucian barked an order to the injured wolf who padded over to the other two. Sarah turned and looked at the large black wolf that was looking at her. "Lucien?" she asked, her voice husky with pain. Lucian changed form then, so Sarah could see that this was him. After the transformation was done, he looked at her with concern and a bit of admiration. "Yes, Sarah, I'm here," he told her quietly. Thunder rolled as Sarah ran to him, throwing her arms around him, not caring that the left was injured badly. The three wolves were startled by Lucian's transformation, and once his human form was revealed, began to growl menacingly. Sarah whirled on them immediately, and before Lucian could do anything she had shouted, "Enough!" and thrown the knife to the ground between them and the wolves. Just as the tip of the blade found the rain soaked earth and began to inbed itself, a surge of power came from Sarah and a bold of lightning came down and struck the knife as it finished sinking into the ground. The resulting thunderclap was deafening, and the remaining wolves scattered and fleed into the woods. Lucian stood in shock for a momment, still feeling the vibration of Power from Sarah. He now knew why The Torin wanted her... The Dark One could almost taste the girl and knew that soon he would be able to bring The Master His prize. The rain was a minor concern, but had never stopped him before. It was then that there was a surge of Power from somewhere a head, and he could instantly feel the cold touch of his Master in his mind. What was that? The Torin addressed his servent. "Master, I think it came from the Chosen. She is in the same direction that that came from," the servent replied. Get her immediately for me, the voice almost purred, that power is soon to be MINE! The Dark One continued, pushing his monsterous beast to a faster pace. The Master will have his Chosen.... Sarah blinked stars out of her eyes, and felt a ringing in her ears from such close proximity to the lightning. However, this and all the pain paled in comparison to the thrill of the Power that had just moved through her. She could still feel it's resonance in her bones as she stood there. Lucian finally moved toward her, "How did you..." but he stopped and stiffened. He could feel a familiar presence moving throught he forest. "Damn! We have to get you cleaned up and the bleeding stopped. You are being hunted!" He cleaned and dressed her arm. "This will have to do. Sarah?" "I'm alright, Lucian," she shivered and winced at the pain in her arm. "Who's hunting me?" she asked. "I'll have to explain later, I think I know a place we can hide for a little bit. Will you come?" Lucian looked skeptically at her. Sarah nodded and followed him deeper into the forest. The rain seemed to get heavier, washing away signs and sent traces almost completly.

The stableboy adjusted his narrow frame in it's ensconcement of old hay and blankets. As late as it was getting, the likelihood of any travelers requiring his services grew increasingly slim. 'Not that travellers were exactly that common an occurance!' he thought to himself with a smile. Gingerly patting the steadily increasing amount of coin that the young (and *very* pretty he considered smugly) noble had bestowed upon him in the past few days, he settled in for what looked to be a very good night's sleep. Then he heard the screams. Bolting upright, he paused in action, ears at attention as the initial sound receeded, only to be replaced by a wail that just could not have come from a human being. Rather than diminishing, this one grew steadily louder, until it most certainly originated from the courtyard betwixt the stable and the inn proper. Then, rather abruptly, it died. A chill wind billowing into the stable's open doors stood his nape hairs on end. His stomache knotting convulsively, he reached for the short spear the innkeeper had secreted within the loft for the boy's protection. As thoughts of loyalty and conscience fought others of self-preservation and denial, the stablehand wrapped a tense fist about the haft of the weapon and made for the ladder down. Terwick the Cardbearer's recently aquired white mare stallion thundered down the length of the old road. He could feel old Master Mardoc very near now, an almost palpable invisible thread connecting the young Herald to the elder Mage. In the faded green satchel strapped to his right hip, he bore the Horn Chalice, as the old one had requested some .... days? before. In truth, the journeyman Cardbearer had not slept once in the days since he was dispatched. A great overland and oversea journey of some fifteen thousand leagues in a small matter of days was no mean feat, even for a master Cardbearer, but circumstances were *hardly* normal. And so what would have been an unprecedented journey for one of his status merely a week previous was now demoted to a minor errend in comparison to the turmoil that began some three days and nights past. Literally hours before he'd been given the Chalice, some kind of duel had errupted in the audience chamber of the Tower of Seven Stars. Of the assembled masters, something like twelve were dead (the number varried from rumor to rumor). Some kind of parlimentary disagreement that one of his status was by no means privy to had escalated to lethal dueling...so the stories said. But by the time he'd been roused from his bed and an early night's sleep for once by his tutor, a storm had risen in the Bay (spontaneously it seemed) and talk amongst his fellow Cardbearers suggested that all along the western coast, folk both Mage and 'common-craft' were being found dead in their homes, either by assassination or poisoning. By the time he'd been entrusted with the Chalice, full scale fighting was breaking out in the Tower's courtyards. None of the common-crafts seemed to be involved...or even informed. No, something had divided the Wizards. Something important enough to kill for. As he journeyed to port for the voyage west, the docks were ablaze. The few eyewitnesses that could spare a moment to speak to the Cardbearer blamed it on fallout between warring Wizard factions....something that in Terwick's recall of history had *never* happened. Only weeks before, when he'd been awarded journeyman status, had he been made aware of the continued existance of what his maternal grandfather called 'witch-roads', mystic pathways that at one time had allowed the migration of tens of thousands to the Western continent. But the histories made no mention of their continued existance. By the chance of his ancestry, twenty generations of cardbearers in his bloodline, he managed to find and walk upon, one of these pathways - crossing not just the ocean, but doing so in less than a single evening. The heightened presence of Mardoc stirred the Cardbearer from his reverie. Jerking his mount's reins back with one hand, the beast came to a stop as he examined the now familiar tugging sensation that allowed him to find that whom he'd been dispatched to. Unaware of the increasing state of his own fatigue, the journeyman Cardbearer turned his mount just slightly to the north and wtihin minutes caught both sight and sound of an inn just a few minutes beyond.

Blade in hand, Silas took two steps out the inn's main doors and froze up immediately. Not two, but *four* of these Shadow creatures were occupying the inn's lawn. Beyond, four beastial warhorses were parked in a crescent about the enterance, as if to bar any exit. Directly ahead of him no more than ten feet, the assailant he'd stabbed crumpled to the ground on his knees, hands fumbling to withdraw Silas's blade. Just a few steps past, the second attacker stood with his back to the doors, violently shaking his head as if recoiling from an earsplitting sound only he could hear. The other two walked silently and patiently past their bretheren towards the phaerie. "Heeellllllll!" Silas screamed as much as bellowed. The faded fear the first two had called up was begining to well up within him. With an act of sheer will, he forced himself a step forward and felt blood pounding a song of fear in his veins. The first of the two approaching moved to his right, half flanking as the other strode faster towards him. Silas ducked quickly, just before the one in front was yet in range to strike. Twisting on one foot, he launched himself at the enemy to his right. One hand wrapped around the creature's waist as he brought the captured blade in to stab. It took a step back but not enough to escape the half-tackle and brought it's own blade down, only to meet air. The shadow brother fell backwards. Silas grunted as the blade jabbed through cloak and tunic, it's tip still wrapped in cloth. Bringing the blade up in a wrenching fashion, Silas spun about to face the other, by now swinging his own sword up into the air to cleave Silas in half. The traveller dived out of the blade, even as the light-eating blade sliced into the tails of his coat. The pack brother abruptly stopped the downthrust of his sword, not wanting to harm his packbrother. Silas scrambled to his feet, realizing only belatedly that his stolen sword still lay thrust in the chest of the felled packmember. He looked quickly around, finding Mardoc's attacker having recovered and snarling just before him. Nearest, one of the mounts chuffed at the air and advanced towards him. Simultaneously, two things happened. A rider astride a white horse came galloping into the courtyard, slouching somewhat in his saddle and apparently unaware of the melee before him. And just past the inn, a stablehand came sneaking out bearing a short spear in both hands. Silas mind calculated the odds *very* quickly and bolted for the inn's door, placing himself squarely between the two yet unharmed pack brothers. The fear begining again to gnaw at his mind. Wordlessly, the pack coordinated actions. The uninjured brother nearest the door whirled about, weaving his blade in a low arc before the door. The other set his sword against the crook of his elbow and charged, intending to impale the young phey. The stableboy saw all of this - four dark brigands and a stranger, a stranger about to become skewer. The face of his own father flashing through his mind, he hurled the spear towards the nearer of the two, crying out for assistance from the inn. Though not wrought for throwing, the spear struck true, driving it's metal head into the lower right leg of the packbrother. Lacking enough force or spin to exit, the spear-head remained lodged in the shadowed one's calf, even as he tried to advance another step. A hollow note of anguish errupted from his throat and he dropped to one knee. Hearing much but seeing none of this, Silas lept. The other raised his own sword up correctly having guessed that his quarry would try to dive through the door, over the blade itself. Reflexively, Silas raised one hand in front of his face as he hurtled towards the blade. A lancing pain shot through his left hand as he crashed both into the blade and through the doors back into the inn. Silas smashed into the frontmost table, blood spattering in an arc over the inn's floor. Outside, the speared packbrother yanked out the weapon that had felled him and grinning, hurled it back to the stablehand. Much stronger than either the boy that had thrown it or most men for that matter, it impacted immediately, driving itself right through the young man. With a weeping sound, the boy fell. That settled, he turned to deal with the newcommer.

Terwick slowed his horse as he entered the clearing. The sight before him froze his blood. Two felled ..... men (?) and a third - throwing a spear into a boy....a young man who couldn't be more than a year or two younger than he. Cardbearers were, traditionally, forbidden to carry arms....though he was now chastising himself for not picking up *something* when he acquired the horse. The horse began to tense up beneath him. Slowly, the shadow brothers began to rise. The one nearest the door, the scent of blood rising from his sword, slipped unnoticed into the bar itself. The other one already standing, paused to staunch the bleeding from his leg with a strip of leather from his cloak. Of the other two, only that one which had been gutted remained slowed, pulling himself up by the reins of his steed and comming to lean on the beast. The other one Silas had injured found the wound to be less grievous than he'd first imagined....probably due to it having been inflicted with one of the packs' own swords, he expected. He rose, blending back into the shadows. A gash of lighting errupted from behind the cardbearer....to the east/northeast. Briefly illuminated by the flicker, Terwick saw all three of the remaining pack brothers. His horse saw them too and cried out, forelegs shooting into the air in an attempt to throw her rider. To one side, the stableboy gurgled his last breath. Thunder begining to roll in lumbering peals from the east, the Dark Pack began to advance on the cardbearer. Now utterly terrified, his mount lept into the air again, this time tossing him aloft, his grip on the reins his only link to the frenzied horse. Refusing to let go, the Cardbearer felt a cracking momment of dislocation, as his shoulder was twisted with the effort. His fingers growing numb, he fell to the ground hard, the horse screaming primally before galloping off into the night. Terwick struggled to get to his feet, just in time for the lead brother to grab him by the clasp of his cloak and lift him into the air. Terwick twitched once as the shadowcasting blade embedded in his chest, stealing the air from his lungs. Silas found a momment of light, a shudder, and then a deep and sudden need to sleep before the dwarf smacked him square across the face. The disorientation of onsetting shock fled for the nonce. The ruins of a tavern table were all around him and he'd been pulled into an upright position. Blood ran in a blessedly slight trickle from his forehead down one side of his face to his cheek. His left hand was accursedly cold, and therefore numb. The innkeeper, his crossbow, and the dwarfen stood nearby, towering over him. "Everyone, just stay inside....I'll deal with this." The 'keep announced, steeling his courage. No one save himself had recognized the last shout as comming from his stablehand. Now he *had* to investigate. "Just a moment old soul," began the dwarf, "try not to move too much." Silas noted the short man's eyes drifting towards the cold hand. Looking down he found a raw, bleeding stump where his outermost two fingers had been. The smaller of the two completely gone, the next at the first knuckle. A wave of nausea washed through him. Durine caught Silas as his head began to swoon abruptly towards the floor. "Not just yet stranger..." Someone tossed the remainder of a cup of whey thin ale into the phae's face, bringing a sting to the cut on his forehead. This brought him back. Lighting and thunder exploded in from the outside. As the inkeep cautiously pushed the doors open, the room suddenly grew much darker, the now drawn blade of the packbrother serving to eat the light from around the common room. Durine, seeing a flash of movement just past the stranger, grabbed the nearest weapon - a cast iron skillet - and slammed it into the dark and opalesecent form. A crackle sounded and Durine brought the skillet back and threw his considerable weight into it this time. A sucking sound followed from somewhere behind the innkeep, who turned in time to see the barely visible form dropping at his feet. Panicing, he discharged the crossbow...the bolt thwacking into the dark one and spraying blood at his feet. Silas looked around, dazed...and saw only the blade. Immediately, he sprang for it with his right hand and, tightly holding it, drove the point into the shadowman felled....and twisted the short sword once in the wound before the body became slowly more visible.

The dark one that lay on the floor between them suddenly shuddered, the gut wound now overspilling with thick black blood. As one, each of the four remaining members of the Torin's Dark Pack were joined in the death convulsion of one of their shadowed brothers. The telepathic report of the pack winced in unison, momentarily including their leader - distracting him from his prey. Foisting the link away from his consciousnes, he spurred his horse on to greater speed. The others paused in what they were doing - for this had never happened before. Of course, the number of actual fights (as opposed to assassinations) they'd been in since becoming the Pack could be counted on one hand. As one, the pack took to their feet and faced the inn's door. Behind the pack brother furthest from it, Terwick struggled with the realization that not air but blood filled his left lung...and that death would be quick in comming but slow in ending. Of course, he could always use the Chalice.... No, no that was unthinkable. For whatever reason Master Mardoc had requested the Horn Chalice sent with such urgency, most surely outweighed his own bloody struggles. Resolve returned to him with the thought - he simply *must* get that Chalice to Mardoc...and quickly, before .... before .... before his own death. Looking up from the soil onto which he had been unceremoniously dropped, Terwick the Cardbearer saw that the three figures were now each back to him, turned toward the doors to this inn, arrayed in a triad, advancing with certain menace.

Silas stared agape at the ruined form before him. Durine set the skillet down, absently wondering where exactly he'd set down that carving knife. Slauwyn, the keep, for his part, seemed to embody the feelings of his patrons - - for as the body finally rested into a grim solidity, it became clear that this .... thing was not a man, nor had been for quite some time. It's skin seemed to have been tattooed, or otherwise dyed, as a tapestry or fabric...with dark, blotchy shapes that only stopped their subdermal circulations at the time of death. It's eyes were a sordid gray instead of white...and the pupils were that of a beast. A profuse and dense hair grew over the mangled body of the pack brother, not in itself inhuman, but drawn out in light of the other .... changes. Reflexively, Slauwyn began to relock the crossbow to set another bolt. "Keeper....who..what is that?" asked one of his older regulars. "Nothing -" the action of the crossbow clicked as he locked the bar into place. "-that we have any business with around here. Durine, have you..." Slauwyn trailed off, slowly recognizing that his quivercase of bolts remained in the kitchen. For his part, the dwarf looked up at the innsman. "Some kind of .... beast-human?" Again, Durine regarded Silas with a quizical look. Silas kicked at the body. It did not move. The mask of fear Silas wore drizzled away as his head snapped right to face the dwarf. "There's more of them." he breathed harshly. "At least two...I think three." The doors to the inn crashed open, knocking Slauwyn roughly to the floor. The gatherered farmfolk instinctively drew back where they might have attended to the innkeep, as the oversized giant black warhorse barged into the common room, a fetid stink of death emmiting from it's flared and bloodied nostrils. Lowering it's head towards it's rider, the mount flared back it's gums to reveal sharpened bones of teeth. A hideous honking sound was coughed forth as the warsteed's eyes scraped a hoof against the floor boards, as if prepatory to charge. "Get out of the way!" Silas cried, haughtily shoving the dwarf aside with more strength than he usually possessed. Instantly sighting a carving knife laying upon the nearby scraps of the table he'd careened into, he grabbed it up and braced to defend himself. Just past the mount, whose considerable bulk dominated most of the double henged entryway, Silas could just make out three terrible shapes....shadows. The horse charged. As the shock washed back through him, the phaerie fought beyond his own feelings of mortality and thrust forward and up....as the mount barelled the five foot distance betwixt them. Blood sprayed across the wanderer's face and chest as the beast neatly ran right onto the blade. A nearby man bearing knife stirred his courage and advanced, sinking the 6 inches of steel into the critter's side. It twisted and groaned, shaking to the left and to the right, smashing another - now abandoned - table in the process. Silas backpedaled though still on this back and arms, quickly, until his head rested against stone wall. The mount's rider was by now being trampled to dissolution by the warhorse's struggles. Then, without warning, the mount just stopped....neither moving nor uttering - and promptly fell over, landing on Slauwyn's left leg with a particular crunch that all present would unfortunately remember quite well for some time. Sliding through and between the shadows cast by the still lit fireplace, the three brothers of the dark pack strode into the common room. By mutual agreement, the non-human died first, and then the old man...upstairs. Anything else would be hacked to gore if it interposed itself. One, the leftmost figure, actually somewhat visible by the still seeping belly wound it had sustained, moved immediately towards Silas. Outside, the rain began to pour. "Shit! shitshitshitshit-" Silas was now near breaking in his struggle with inner panic. The dwarf however, having recovered from his brief knock, could apparently also see the wound and accompanying beastman, and stepped over Silas. "Back out the door ugly." Durine brandished the skillet as though a war axe of his subteranian forebears. "You've left your mark, now go." The shade drew back it's blade, sending it whistling towards the brewmaster's head. Jumping a bit, Durine blocked the longknife - utilizing the skillet as shield. Showing apparently the bravado that he did *not* feel, Durine stepped back once again. "Friend, I'm not saving your sorry hide again tonight." Silas needed no further incentive. Despite the pain in his now throbbing head, and the slow awareness of pain from his hand, he pushed himself up with the lowermost stair and darted his head about, seeking the other two. One paused, halfway through the room, unseen by any, awaiting the shadows cast by the fire's dance to show him the darkened and secret way across the room. He could not locate the third. Of course. Suddenly possessed of a certainty of survival where none had been before, Silas bolted across the room, as though intent on immolating himself in the writhing orange and red flames of the fireplace. Durine, seeing his way clear, turned on a dime and made for the kitchen with all haste. Silas stopped. Something to burn....Damn. Shrugging quickly out of his coat, he dropped the torn end into the flames, hoping that some alchohol at least had been spilled onto the leather. One corner of the tear caught flame. Whipping it out of the flames, the phaerie bundled the arms of the coat in his fist and began swinging the coat over his head with increasing rapidity. Now he saw the third one...standing - literally - in his shadow, blade poised to strike. Gasping, he smacked the now flaming coat onto his would be killer's head, noting by wound that this would have been the one that cost him his own blade. The attack stopped in mid-lunge, and then smoke, coiled and dark, began to wreathe the shadow brother. Now with a moment to spare, Silas turned to the nearest table, grabbed a near full mug of intoxicant, and flung it's contents onto the beast man. Licking flames shot up with unexpected speed and Silas jumped back. "Ah...grain liquor..." he muttered. Now frenzied, the pack brother dashed his knife to and fro, managing to contain the light from his own immolation only fractionally. Suddenly, a tall full bodied blond woman vaulted over the kitchen's bar and gave a massive shove with her own soot stained boot, carrying the shadow-being into the fireplace itself. And so the screams began. Meanwhile, the other of the injured shades had been following Silas back around, pack instincts pulling each of them intuitively, not effeciantly; however, his advance was cut short by the additional gout of flames errupting from his packmate, and then by the woman's appearance. The third shadow by now had reached the stairs. "Slauwyn!" shouted the woman, now in a panic to reach what was obviously her husband, pushing folk right out of the way with a strength few would have credited her with. Silas now glimpsed the second of those remaining, itself backpedaling as the woman's shadow retreated. With his damaged hand, it already soaked in blood (some of which was likely not his own, Silas reasoned), he reached to the edge of the fireplace and grabbed at the burning fringe of his coat and yanked once, very hard. Silas screamed both as the heat traveled up his hand and as the searing cauterized both finger wounds. Whipping around, the phae came to find the shadow retreating towards the stairs...and that he carried only an 18 inch strip of cloth....

With a shuddering gasp to end his struggles, a second brother of the Dark Pack died, no longer showering the vicinity with embers. Already backing away from Silas with his covering shadow gone, the youngest brother of the pack turned and made for the darkness of the stairs even as one of the patrons reached up and unshuddered the fireplace. Silas, feeling helpless and yet blessed by luck, felt the heat again rising up his hand and just under the cuff of his left sleeve. Looking down he found the strip of cloth to have become a rapidly diminishing cord of flame. Reaching again for an abandoned mug the phaerie dropped the leather strip inside with a hope that this too was not that damned grain alchohol. When it failed to errupt, he glanced back up to see the packbrother vanishing up into the stairwell. "Mardoc!" he shouted, wishing for that to be enough warning. In the darkness of the stairway, the telempathic bond between the pack was assailed with pseudo-physical force. The second if two packmates had just died and with it a wave, far more powerful than the first, washed over and through them both. The older of the two, halfway ascended to the second floor was affected much stronger than his younger-so much so that a brief paralytic moment seized his body. In midstride, the Torin's servent froze up, and momentarily wracked by the sensations of his packmate's death, fell backwards. As his elder packbrother cascaded down the stairs, the most recent to join the Dark Pack managed to jump out of the way - back into the bright firelight of the common room. Even though not as strongly affected, the youngest staggered with telempathic knives of fire and nausea lancing at his whole body at once. Fighting the mind-fire, he turned, hissing at the nearer of the patrons. The fear, though diminished, radiated out towards them, stirring the already confused and beleagured farmfolk to a near panic.

Upstairs, Mardoc snapped awake, only passingly aware that he'd fallen into a doze. There was power gathering near, perhaps a few miles away....of such raw and passionate resonance that- Immediately it discharged; raw elemental force gathered, sent skyward, and now brought back to earth explosively. Only then did the blast of lightning and an awesome groundcrack of thunder betray it's form. Mardoc blinked, sending the senses of his inner eye out, to what degree his condition would safely allow him to do so. The fight was still occuring...now downstairs in the common area. Two of the Torin's servents were dead - one very recently - and ..... Mardoc sighed. Two others. No, not just yet. Both of them outside in the yard, but one struggling, fighting to reach the door. It was then that Mardoc felt the link drawing he and the dying boy together...a Cardbearer! Why would one of the Council's heralds have been sent? He briefly spied upon the boy's outermost thoughts....and found that he bore the Horn Chalice. Leaning upon his staff, Mardoc slowly scooted up the wall into a stance, one hand still covering the now oozing semi-clotted sidewound. It would seem that the healing trance would have to wait. 'The Chosen has invoked her power', he thought to himself, and now all would be converging upon her..... "Gentlefolk! May I have your attention!" Durine stood in the open bardoor, calling in his loudest and most resonant tone of voice. Gesturing towards the now open rear door to the inn, the dwarf announced "The way is now open to-" His voice died in the cacophany that followed. A surging rush of humanity flowed as one to and beyond the bar for the back enterance with uncompromising force. Silas was bowed over by the sudden and paniced throng of men and women making for the kitchen's exit. His head rapping on the fireplace hearth as he fell, he contemplated that this must be the day for head injuries. Feebly trying to avoid being trampled, he looked about - having lost track of the assassins in the chaos. The pack leader recoiled - first from the crushing non-weight of his second brother's death...and then from the blast of power from up ahead. Ah, the Chosen One. Spurring his mount onward, that part of his mind aware of his Master spasmed with command. "Seize her...NOW!" With but a thought of submission, the pack's leader continued into the wood ever faster, pausing only once to call his remaining brothers to the hunt.

As the room began to clear out, Silas uncoiled himself from the relative cover of the fireplace hearth and looked about. Above him, the fire snapped and pinged- Ping? Looking up, Silas caught the briefest glance of a tiny piece of metal, glowing white hot, launching itself from the fire to bury itself in a low rafter just over the bar. The pocketwatch. In his mind's eye, the phae could picture that strange little nickel and platnum trinket, heated to a semi-molten state. Within, he imagined, the steel and copper coils and ... what were they called...gearsprings growing tauter with the heat until they burst out of the face, flying through the air like sparks. Looking up again, he saw just that. Durine, now scrambling atop the bar itself to escape the mob, all thoughts of uncertainty gone from his mind, scowled as he approached the far wall. His attempt to help the situation had backfired miserably - why had the folk reacted that way? Dwarfs in a similar situation just wouldnt' do such a thing. At that point, his fingers ran across a hard, cased surface. Glancing down, he found Slauwyn's quarrelcase. Looking about the room hastily, he found six humans still standing about, that strange one....and two of those beast-men...one getting to his feet and the other charging. "Stranger!" The masterbrewer's fingers wrapped around the case. Something white-hot shot past the dwarf's face making him wince. Silas jerked his head around to lock eyes with the dwarf. "Take these!" Durine tossed the case which Silas managed to catch with his good hand, still squatting as a few more small springs sputtered out of the firepit with only a bolt or two lost in flight. To his right, a loud growl announced one of his attackers moving in for the kill. Scrambling to his feet, the phae felt the heat at his back - and the char scent of death wafting to his nostrils. His left hand plunged into the quivercase and fingers coiled around a long metal shaft which he withdrew even as he lept to the side - avoiding a vertical slash from his now completely visible attacker. An afterimage of darkness followed the bladetip's narrow arc. Ducking to avoid another blow, Silas hauled the quiver up and to the left, connecting with the shade's left cheek. Snarling, the younger brother knocked Silas' arm out of the way, sending his blade inward to skewer the- To me - now! Even as the collective directed thoughtvoice radiated out to he and his elder brother, the blade propelled forward, deftly deflected by Silas' left handed bolt. Having no other recourse, Silas curled his right hand into a fist and sent it crashing into the pack brother's gutwound. Pain lanced up and throughout his torso. Even as Durine jumped off the bar and out of the way, Silas seized his opportunity and plunged the sharpened bolt into the wound he'd made not ten minutes before.

Mardoc descended the staircase as quickly as his injury would allow. Questions filled his mind - why had the council sent a Cardbearer instead of what he'd asked for - others of his Order. What had happened that required such a drastic step - Cardbearers were the heralds and messengers of his land, but they were not expected to ferry messages - let alone unique artifacts - across the Ocean...alone no less. No wonder it had taken so long for the Chalice to arrive. Regardless, he thought, driving the thoughts from his foggy state of consciousness, Mardoc knew that he *must* reach that Cardbearer and retrieve the Horn Chalice before the Torin's servents came across it. Silas reeled as the body before him slammed to the wooden floor. Trying desperately to ignore the adrenaline surging of blood in his forehead, the phae whipped about. The other packbrother ('Just how many more of them *are* there?' his brain raced.) stood, now completely and fully visible, blade hand shaking with rage, eyes intensely peering at Silas, as though memorizing every detail. It was now less than ten feet from the front door - having evidentally decided that Mardoc could wait. Or so Silas surmised. "Where is that bow?" Silas asked no one in particular. Of the six humans remaining scattered about the room, three were huddled around the bulk of the old innkeep - one a wailing woman trying to revive him, the others attempting to pull the dead weight of the horse off of him. The last two were nursing injuries that prevented a speedy exit. With a blast of white light from up above, Mardoc announced his return to the common room. The sun-like radiance shown from his staff, blinding most everyone present. With a scream, the shadow beast swung out madly with his dagger, trying futily to use the shadow it made as it slashed the air block out the light. As the expanding pool of blood from his fallen fellow radiated out to include Silas' feet in his shallow red tide, the beastman cried out something that at least seemed to be a form of communication and turned on his heel. Mardoc, unballanced from his quick flight down the staircase, carreened into the wall, and would have fell if not for the staff. Roaring, the beastman lept over the body of the fallen mount into the darkness outside. The light of Mardoc's staff died. "Mardoc-" "Quickly boy, grab yourself a weapon. We must retrieve the Chalice!" "What?" Silas glared at the old one. "Well odd one, you *best* take this crossbow and stop that nightcreature from leaving or if Slauwyn does not recover, I'll take your throat out!" The innkeep's wife yelled, sliding the crossbow over to Silas' feet.

So .... cold. So ..... why am I so tired? Terwick's crawling advance toward the inn door had faltered, again, as he lapsed into delerium. His brow felt hot, though the rest of him shuddered from the intense, internal chill that brought on the bouts of insensibility. With the crunch of a boot onto his right hand's fingers, the young Cardbearer snapped back to reality. One of those .... creatures .... that had stabbed him strode out, walking over him and uttered a high pitched screeching noise that slowly descended into a sort of warbling baritone. As one, the three remaining steeds drew up into a formation. The lone packbrother mounted up onto his horse, only a slight amount of blood leaking from the leg wound now, and spurred it into motion as the bitterly cold rain began to increase from a drizzled spray into a downpour. How did I get here? Must .... be delirious... Terwick fell to a stop once more, now just right outside the inn's crumbling doorway. As his sight began to blur and darken for the last time, movement again from the doorway. Still trying to cock the crossbow with his maimed hand, Silas felt the shudering wave of adrenalin begining to wear off, even as he put a foot through the door. In the distance, the last shade, astride horse, spurred his mount to a gallop...leaving the inn. Two other mounts took flight and followed. At his feet, a wail emitted. Silas looked down, still feeling forced into all this (first by Mardoc, then by that *damned* wailing woman), and recoiled from the gory sight. A young human, absolutely covered in the gray black mud of the courtyard mixed heavily with his own blood, trailing most of his internals, having collapsed at his feet. The phaerie's gag tripped, he fell to a lean against the doorjam. Behind, he heard the innkeep's mate shouting orders to the remaining customers - and Mardoc's staff knocking against the floor, signifiying the old mage's approach. The young cardbearer lurched forward with his last ounces of strength. "M a ssssterr.....' rdddoc...." The blooded eyes of the youngster siezed Silas, filling him with a deeper compassion than was generally safe for him to show. The dark fae dropped to one knee and, sighing as he set the crossbow down, reached out and pulled the boy up by his arms. "Mardoc is comming brave one." Silas scanned the courtyard and then the boy. Another, probably a stablehand, lay dead in the icy downpour some twenty feet to his left. At the far side, a pony mare came prancing off a semi-overgrown pathway to the inn. The boy himself bore no weapons, and the softness of his hands suggested that he was not overly familiar with their use. 'Every war claims it's first martyr....' he thought. Mardoc's shadow from the inside hearthfires fell over them. "He is here." The boy snapped into as near to full consciousness as he could manage. "Master Mardoc..." he coughed. Mardoc leaned upon his staff and attempted to hunker down as had Silas. "Master....the Chalice..." Struggling with bloodied hands, the cardbearer attempted to roll upon his back, that he might withdraw the Horn Chalice.

Silas helped turn the boy over, hoping with all sincerity that the magus' stomache was up for it. At least it would help make the boy's passing easier... "T-Terwick, ssir. Bearer of the C..."the boy sputtered, clearly at death's door. Mardoc leaned forward, placing two fingers just above the herald's heart and whispered. "*What* are you doing wizard?" Silas hissed through gritted teeth. Mardoc replied with an irritated glare. "Lifting the pain foolish one." he replied after a moment. Terwick's forced and labored breathing subsided and, for a moment, stopped completely. As Silas watched the remaining colour drain from the boy's face, he sighed. Through bluing lips, the messenger spoke softly. "Terwick, Bearer of the Arcanum Majoris...Wheel of Fortunae. The Chalice..." Cold hands, no longer weighted down by the onset of death, produced the bone and sinew cup from his carrybag and thrust it into Mardoc's hand. "I bring news, sir." Terwick paused again, this time as blood began to well from between his lips. Silas opened the human's mouth and moved him to one side. The cardbearer smiled weakly. "The council is divided. Open fighting has broken out...the rest of your circle is dead." Mardoc blanched but said nothing. "The ....." Silas stroked the human's hair, hoping to provide *some* kind of surcease. Mardoc's now hardened features softened a bit at this. "You have done your duty and accorded your craft well, journeyman. Pass on with a glad heart." Relaxing his concentration on the minor incantation, Mardoc looked the Cardbearer in the eyes. "Be Free." Terwick died. Silas stifled a choke. The bitter cold rain pelted his own body, each leaden droplet pounding what was left of strength out of him. Mardoc closed the herald's eyes and sighed. Within the inn, Durine was water-bucketing small patches of flame out into steam, even as Slauwyn was being slowly revived. The magus turned to face Silas. "We have no choice now. We *must* find Sarah." A thousand objections registered, but Silas found that he had not the strength to object. "Right." Creaking to a stance, Mardoc laid the Chalice aside within the voluminous folds of his robe. "I'll settle things inside. Find us some horses, friend Silas." "Very well."

Sarah's body felt chilled. As the cold downpour continued on, Lucian had led her slaughing through the increasingly heavy mud for near about ten minutes. Her left arm throbbed horribly, and though her fever had broken many hours before, the young noble still felt weak. Chastising herself for not having listened better to the old one's advice, she plunged onward through heavy thorn-like branches which scratched her face and hands. Lucian, leading her by her right hand in his left, stopped. Turning his head back the way they had come, he appeared to be searching for something. A line of worry creased his brow. "Just a little more!" he shouted. Nodding quickly in response, Sarah tried to conceal her misery. Suddently, they reached an slight, though noticable, incline and within another minute or so the incline rose steeply to reveal the mud underfoot giving way to rock. At his behest, the pair stopped once to wipe their boots upon the revealed, chalk white stone before continuing with better footing. Lucian wordlessly bid her to crouch as they ascended the small hill, and Sarah thought better of it to question him. Slowly, she felt the strength slipping away along with the resolve that had sent her out into the night alone in the first place. "Just there...and be careful." He said to her. Looking about, Sarah failed to find whatever it was he felt counted as shelter. Towards the small spire of rock that framed this side of the hill, a small and determined shrub grew out from cracks in the rockface. "That will not keep the-" "Shh." Lucian smiled, holding a finger to his lips. Pointing, whilest hunkering down even lower, Lucian indicated not the bush, but a yawning dark space just behind and above it. "A cave?" She blinked at him. "It's safe m'lady...I've taken steps to insure it." he said, again turning to look back upon their trail. Very well, she thought, anything to get out of this rain. The leader of the Torin's dark pack drove his horse relentlessly through the pouring rain, it's hooves kicking up black clods of earth in it's passage. The burning need to fulfill it's purpose filled the rider's mind with clarity and purpose. Thunder cascaded across the roiling black heavens above as the storm spattered thick heavy raindrops across his smooth and cold black armor. She grows near. He thought. Distantly, he could feel one of his brothers drawing up behind also giving chase - but no others. On some level he could feel a desire to open himself back up, to uncoil his perceptions which he had since withdrawn to focus on the task at hand, in order to further sense the pack's overall progress. A roar and a fast moving shape exploded out of the rainfall ahead of him, breaking his thoughts. Comparitively white emerging from the darkness all about, the Chosen's horse galloped riderless to and then past his own steed, which neyed and scraped the ground, wanting to pursue. Jerking the reins and patting the mount's muzzle with a mailed hand, the rider urged his own horse to continue on the trail. Stubbornly, it refused. Only then did the pack leader's senses detect another arrival. Three lean hungered wolves shot from the brush below chasing after the mare. The Torin's shade clutched on for life as his mount reared up, threatening to trample the predators, two on his right and one now circling back around to his left. Shortsword already drawn, the rider hesitated. 'Natural law must be respected' he reminded himself. Lupine eyes narrowed in his direction. Obviously, the wolves must be awfully hungry, he mused, to consider attacking a horse with armored rider - especially so close to settlements. Observing them closely, he saw that indeed, each of the three were lean to the point of near starvation. And with winter comming..... I don't have time for this. He thought, even as one of the wolves began to edge toward this mount. "Sorry old friend," he whispered. An explosion of blood and screaming fury announced the horse's offering to the Torin on behalf of the starving wolfpack. Withdrawing his blade, the pack leader lept from the saddle of his struggling, writhing mount even as the lupine pack smelt blood and moved in for the kill. Landing with a hard thud on a mud encrusted rock, the pack leader paused only to ensure that the wolves would eat before pressing on on foot after the Chosen.

"When you're done with that, see what you can do about finding us some horses." Silas glowered at Mardoc's retreating form as the phaerie finished wrapping his hand with the last of his herbally treated bandages. the odor of smouldering wood was still thick in the air. The semi-molten bits of metal from his watch had started a small fire inside the inn's common room even as the last of the melee had concluded with the shadows' departure. Slauwyn the innkeep's wife and daughters had since valiantly doused the flames, though a murky combination of steam and smoke lingered yet, escaping from the front doorway in small streamers. "Fetch horses, eh?" Silas muttered bitterly. Working the last of three tiny knots on the bandages with but a single hand proved time consuming but possible. A cold numbness had consumed the pain from his hand and numerous other, minor wounds. Peering about, he saw no one. The few remaining folk from the common room had returned inside, the lasat two having been urged to do so hafter a pair of distant horns had sounded from the north, which one of the locals had vocaly interpreted to mean that the Sheriff had seen the small fire. in Silas' near five years of experience wandering across not quite fifty worlds, he had found that invariably, the position of Sheriff was most incompatible with him. Making afew mental calculations as he stood, he mused that Sheriff plus Silas equaled prison, the dungeons, or another of several things he tried his best to avoid. Inside the inn, Slauwyn's voice raged. He was, quite clearly, most upset Silas thought. And with good reason. However, silas had little motivation to remain - especially if this "sheriff" truly was on his way. Maddened innkeepers and Sheriffs were definitely also in Silas' "to avoid" list. Hmmm, perhaps a horse wouldn't be quite so bad an idea after all.... "Oh right, great and mighty Enchanter. I'll just look real hard and find one standing about..." Silas considered that stealing any extant horse from the stable would definitely encourage pursuit on said Sheriff's part...and would be extremely disrespectful to the dead human youth still laying agape just out of the inn's shadow. 'Where exactly then, will I find a horse?' Silas wondered. As the rain began to let off, silas looked out into the gloom, hoping to be able to identify exactly where a presumed path or road might be. A white horse, already saddled and equipped wandered then into the clearing, skittishly approaching the scene of the fight of some minutes before. "Son of a -" The horse made a noise, looking at last towards the still body of what Mardoc had called a "cardbearer". The steed, clearly no longer a pony but not, Silas thought, quite yet at full growth lowered it's head. Tenitively, Sials made his way toward the mount. "Here boy..."Silas wondered at this. Ducking to one knee in a moment, he was treated to what was most definitely a suprise. In all his wanderings, he had yet to encounter anything quite like this. 'Just how do you address a hermaphodite horse?' He wondered. Blinking absently, he thought briefly to the land of his upbringing and settled on an appropriate form of address. Whistling low, the phaerie extended a low palm. "Here girl." Making some kind of grunting noise, the horse slowly approached. "Friend Silas, we must be going!" Mardoc called out. The horse jumped and the young phaerie turned about to face the mage. "Time is a-wasting." A bevy of common folk filed out of the inn after Mardoc, finally including the old innkeep - supporting himself on a cane alongside his wife. "Now just a damn minute-" began the innkeeper. Silas returned to coaxing the horse towards him, rather expecting that Mardoc would want the horse for himself. "You strangers-" Slauwyn's wife had interupted. "The Sheriff will expect some kind of explanation from you lot." Mardoc now stepped alongside Silas, his brow furrowed in deep concern. "Enchanger, I've *no* wish to be hunted by some blasted militia, and honestly-" "WE do NOT have time for this!" Mardoc shouted, feeling momentarily exasperated with the constant questioning this evening's events had subjected him to. Turning to look Silas in the eyes he added, "We need to get going immediately." Silas felt the tension in the courtyard rise to a wire tautness, even as he himself added to it. He was definitely feeling dragged into something he niether wanted nor felt compelled to become a part of. "Mardoc, I'll not be arrested or hailed by bowshot just because of some utterance. I-" A horn, *much* closer than before, sounded again from the north, killing the phaerie's words before he could breathe them into life. 'Okay,' Silas thought, 'what was it the Ascended One taught? Ah yes, Adapt, Adopt, and Improve. Well then...' Meanwhile, the innkeep's wife was continuing to speak. "You can both just wait for the Sheriff, and-" "Madam," Silas loudly interjected, "her Highness is right now likely being pursued by those .... things, however many of them managed to get away. I believe she is the target. Master Mardoc and myself simply *must* make pursuit immediately - while the trail still exists." Silas indicated with outstretched hand the drizzle falling all around them. As Mardoc whispered to the horse heind him, Silas walked towards the locals, palms up. "I *do* believe she was a guest here?" Silas waited for response. Finally, Slauwyn turned to one of his daughters who had just emerged from the doorway. "Mattie, go check the stable for Her Ladyship's horse." Curtseying briefly, she took a short half-spear extended to her by her mother and trotted toward the stables. "I did not see her leave, stranger, and I *do* make it my business to keep an eye on my patrons." "Sir, she stole away out the window - a fact only realized by Mardoc and myself just before the attack began. I'm telling you she's the target." Mardoc meanwhile had finished his murmuring to the horse and with a sly smile, grabbed the reins and pulled himself up onto the beast, wincing as his action compressed the wound in his side. "Father, her horse is gone." The girl called. Slauwyn sighed...only to see a most unexpected sight at the edges of the clearing. Lady Sarah's horse was jut barely visible, trotting into the clearing from a hard run, mud splattered all over it's legs. Wheeling about, Silas saw the new arrival, even as he noted the faint glow of torchlight and a pair of voices from the forest's edge to the north - from the direction he'd traveled that morning. "Well then," Silas shouted in a voice that he hoped sounded far more commanding and confident than he felt. "She's obviously on foot and moving much slower. I need volunteers for a search party." Turning back to the forrest, he began to slowly advance on the girl's riderless horse.

As Sarah and Lucian entered the cave, their cent trail stopped, completely and utterly. The rain became harder and washed away any traces of any physical trail, and something cloaked the now ebbing Power eminating from Sarah herself. The sudden cease of any sense of the woman brought the Dark One to a halt in the middle of a knee deep puddle. He stood absolutely still for about five heartbeats and then screamed. All movement except the rain stopped in the forest. The wail was of frustration and rage. The next sound from him was a call to what was left of his pack. He would let them come to him, and then they would search this forest completely. He did not dare go back to The Master empty handed. Sarah sagged to the floor of the cave, exhausted and pale. Her body shivered in her soaked garments as she watched Lucian move through the cave. It was bigger than she thought, deeper, and she could hear the trickle of water on the far side of it. Lucian suddenly thrust a wooden cup into her hands. "Drink. I am going to build a fire and see what else is left in here," he told her as he put his black cloak around her shivering form. Her arm ached horribly, and she was very sleepy. He wouldn't let her sleep, he'd make her keep talking. Told her to sing the Fire Song to encourage the fire to light. "Dry grass please light the twigs, to light the sticks to light the branches to light the logs. Blaze up, dancing fire, and fill our hall." It worked, it seemed, and he had also found blankets somewhere that smelled of lavender and pine. By then, though, Sarah was too tired to do anything but sit up. Her now empty cup was limp in her hand. Lucian undressed her and wrapped her in the warm dry blanket, and did the same. She still shivered as he moved her closer to the fire and layed down with her in his arms. Sleep took them both as the chill left her body, and the safety of the cave soothed them. Lucian woke first. He could feel that they had slept the rest of the night and most of the next day. It did not matter. They were safe from those who hunted her here, and, if the old goat was thinking, they could be found by Mardoc. He looked down at the warm soft body that was lying next to him, bundled in a blanket, still very asleep. He smiled softly as he brushed a stray hair from her face, hesitating just a momment as their bare skin touched. She did not seem to be ailing from his minstrations last night. He wondered on this. Perhaps it was the Power inside her that kept the Curse at bay. Just one more thing that proved to him that his place was with her. He slipped away from her, his blanket wrapped lightly around himself as he headed out to the cave entrance to relieve himself. He could probably extend the protections here to include the glen around. It was probably one of the only Good magics that he knew. He smiled to himself as he proceded to do just that. After the rain, the outside was fresh and beautiful, and he wanted her to see it without being in danger. Sarah shifted in her sleep, feeling a familiar tingling run through her. She stretched and let this new Sense tell her that magic was in use close by. She could almost taste Lucian as she felt the magic run through her. She sat up, then picked the blanket up and wrapped it around her very naked body. As she looked around the cave she noticed that their clothes were hanging and looked dry. Upon closer inspection, she could tell that someone had actually lived here before. Racks for hanging clothes, empty shelves and the almost natural fire pit and the vent in the top of the cave. She more felt than heard Lucian come back in as she looked around. "It's a long story," he told her as he caught her looking about in wonder. Her hair cascaded down her bare shoulders. He wanted to take her right there, but there were so many things that needed to be said, needed to be done.... Sarah felt her insides go molten as she watched the desire in Lucian's eyes. Then watched as he gathered control and leaned against one of the walls. "I lived here, a very long time ago, " he said with almost a wistful longing that pulled at Sarah's heart. "Tell me about it?" she asked quietly. She wanted to know everything about this man who could be a wolf. Why wasn't she afraid of him? "After I hunt and we eat," he replyed. "We are going to be here a little bit, but we are safe." He smiled at her then, worry flickering in his eyes as he looked at her arm. "You need to rest, but I will return soon." With that he dashed out of the cave. Sarah was going to tell him she wasn't tired, but suddenly she was, and she let sleep take her. It was better than being alone. She woke to the smell of something cooking and a horrid pain in her arm, and she cried out. "Shhhh.....it's ok," Lucian said. "I am redressing it with some healing moss so it will not become infected." He then handed her a piece of bark that smelled of vanilla. "Chew this to ease the pain." She did as instructed and soon there was only a dull throbbing in her injured arm and she felt ravenously hungry. Lucian deftly served them both some rabbit and a bird of some type on big green leaves almost the size of practice shields. He had also thought of getting some wild mushrooms, sweetgrasses and tubers that were a good balance to the meat. Through a few singed fingers, they both devoured all of it. Lucian then brought a folded leaf of water for Sarah to use to clean up with. Silence fell on the both of them then. Sarah had noticed that Lucian had dressed again, but her things were damp again. He had washed them, but he had given her the extra blanket so that she could fashion a sort of togalike thing that covered her securely. That did not stop him from making her blush with the looks he gave her. She too admired his body when she thought he wasn't looking. He was lithe and muscular and darkly handsome. She felt very drawn to him. She decided that she wanted to be close to him again so she shifted so she was sitting in front of him, and leaned back. His arms naturally went around her, sighing deeply he took in the scent of her as they seemed to fit comfortably together. He chose this point to tell his story....

"Many years ago..... There was barely a rustle in the leaves as a pair of dark eyes looked out from the foliage into the glen. There was no visible sign of anything being up there, but the sharp eyes of the old man on the ground knew better. "Lucian," the old man's voice grumbled merrily as a smile quirked on his face, "you damned squirrel boy! Did you pelt Master Mardoc with those acorns?" "I thought all druids liked nuts, Master?" a young voice called down. Then a lanky dark haired boy of about 12 came into view. "I didn't hit him in the head. The Sprites were doing that!" "Alright, boy, " the old man laughed, "alright. Go fetch some water from the spring for tonight supper and bring it quick. Master Mardoc as decided to stay this eveing, and, if you are good, "the old man waggled a wrinkled finger up at the boy in the tree, "he will grant us with one of his stories." Light as a squirrel and nimble as a deer, the lad got down with a squeal of happiness that broke in about three octives. This gave the old man a moment of pause, but he then turned back to a small cottage and entered into it. The boy was quick to get the water from the spring in the cave, and brought it into the small house. Sitting with his Master was the Master Mardoc. His beard and hair was black with white streaks in it, and he was younger than his Master, but powerful like him. Mardoc smiled as he watched the boy. He noticed something about him and turned to the older man. "Giles, you do know you have a Changer on your hands?" he raised a bushy eyebrow in the older man's direction. Giles just nodded and smiled as he stood and began making preparations for dinner. Lucian, who tended not to pay attention to adult conversations unless Master Giles was teaching him something, clattered back outside to go chase squirrels until he was called for supper. He washed his face and neck in the rainbarrel outside the door and came in. Only to be sent back outside to get behind his ears. He did like to listen to dinner conversations though. It kept him from being too fidgety at the table and sometimes he learned something from them. "I don't like it that you are all alone out here, Giles," Mardoc sighed as he finished his meal. "There are Dark things abroad." "Ah, but I'm not alone," Giles replied, smiling at Lucian brightly. Mardoc grunted, "You should come back to the Isle. You could teach the boy, and..." "He is Special and would not be accepted by Council and YOU, know it, Mardoc," Giles interrupted. "Besides, I do not want to go back to that next of vipers. Politics is not my thing." He shakes his head. Mardoc shrugged then lit his pipe. Lucian fidgeted a bit. He knew that the story was to come soon. It was a grand one too, and just as it ended, he nodded off to sleep. He dreamed of castles and dragons and damsels in distress. Mardoc left before he awoke the next morning. A year later, just after Lucian's 13th birthday, they were travelling back from the village when they were attacked. When the thieves discovered that they had nothing to steal, they proceeded to beat both the boy and old man to death. Unfortunately, that boy, Lucian, upon seeing them hurt his Master, became blind with rage. Everthing turned red, and then......he seemed to wake, covered in blood and rended pieces of human flesh around him, and Giles calling his name. The old man died in Lucian's arms, telling him what he was with his final breaths. Telling him to go find Mardoc. Lucian howled with his loss and rage. He was filled with hatred and this is what drew The Torin to him. Lucian wandered the forest alone for a long time until the dark night that all things changed for him. The Torin lured him in with promises of Power and revenge. Lucian's young heart was still hurt by Giles' passing, so it was easy to be swayed. Little did Lucian know that the people who attacked him and Giles were working for the Torin. Lucian was to be their replacement..." "So, that how things came to be as they were.......before you..." Lucian's voice softened, and he stroked her cheek and neck with light fingers. "And now I am yours forever, Sarah. I cannot deny that. I cannot be what I was, now that I'm with you." Sarah shifted so she sat on his lap and looked into his eyes. The firelight danced in them as his love for her seemed to pool in their dark depths. She reached up with a trembling hand and stroked the hair from his face, and then softly placed her lips to his. That was enough for both of them. The shock that ran through them with just a touch of their lips brough a brighter burning passion to the surface as he tightened his embrace of her, pressing her soft body against his. A soft moan came from her throat as her fingers instinctivly began to unfasten the lacings of his clothes. Very soon, they were together, each touch and kiss bringing them closer and closer, until finally he took her. Her cry was part pain and part extacy as he took her to a place she had never been. Her cry startled him suddenly, but not as much as the emotions flowing through him. Together, they made sure that they would never be apart again.

What a night. Silas absently rubbed the back of his left hand, wholly unconsciously. Astride the girl's white horse, the phaerie sagged in the saddle, utterly rainsoaked, and still in a twitchy and paranoid state. Just ahead, Mardoc (himself riding that strange he-mare of a horse that the young boy had apparently ridden before his death) drew to a halt. Silas waited. Mardoc said nothing. The evening, and it's accompaniment of a near death experience or two, several dead non-human bodies, an inn's charred common room, and a noisy near riot turned just barely into a militia-cum search party, had somehow managed to go downhill from there.... Silas adjusted in the saddle, one cut and cured for a woman, and grimaced his displeasure. Mardoc remained silent, though he was now dismounting from his horse. At least the rain was finally letting up. The Sherriff had indeed shown, with two others, arriving just as Silas had managed to get six volunteers, including that Dwarf (the only one of the half-dozen with any kind of sense) to follow in a search party to find the noblewoman. The 'local law' had demanded an explanation and got several...all at once from different peoples. If he had had his way about it, Silas would have grabbed Mardoc and slipped off into the woods...but that damned wound of his had still been closing, even with that Chalice thing.... Silas, now that he thought on it, realized that the Sherrif had been afraid of him. Mardoc had stepped in to try to smooth things over, again re-iterating the point that Sarah was missing, on foot, in the rain, somewhere in the woods, with more of these (Silas then kicked one of the beastmen corpses for good effect) pursuing her. That had placed things in a different light. The Sherrif insisted that all militia members present (which it seemed included most of the older males, including the rather irate and concussed inkeep) muster and begin to seek out the royal; dispatching both of his lackeys to the (Silas soon learned) nearby castle (castle?!?! Silas had thought at the time) to inform the family there. At least, by that point, Mardoc had become ready to leave. (and Silas had convinced the horse to let him aboard, but he tried not to think about that) Leading five semi-armed militiamen (the prev. six volunteers, minus the Dwarf) into the woods, traveling east, a VERY long night began. Over the next six to eight eons (hours in fact, though it felt quite differently to Silas), two of the militia in the woods (their woods...their home...where these folk have lived their entire lives, Silas thought) had been attacked by an angry wolf; one had been trodden upon and crushed to death, his skull staved in, by what some described as a great black wild horse...likely one of their former foes' mounts, Mardoc had said. ("Really? You think?" Silas had said.) And then that howling - wailing...like death knocking upon the wood itself. Amidst some discussion of something called a Banshee ('a what?' he'd asked Mardoc to no real effect), fully half of the militia had abandoned the hunt - and Silas couldn't blame them. The vibrato of whatever mouth made that horridly painful noise twinged both Mardoc and Silas' respective wounds....and with that, they exchanged a worried look with one another, closed ranks, and split off from what was left of the main body of the search party. Sometime around what Silas guessed would be moonset, the horns began to call, from further north and by now west, giving him some indication how far into the trees they had wandered. And all of this with him practically unarmed.... Mardoc was returning to his horse. Silas looked a question at him but the old mage merely shook his head and mounted back up.

By daybreak, a thick carpet of mist had risen to cover the woodland's verdent floor, easily rising to some two to three feet off of the ground. It was then that Mardoc began to - to himself - declare their search a fools' errand. Only now were the woodland noises of birds, insects and other natural creatures returning...after several hours absence. Silas had somehow, it seemed to the old mage, missed the eere quiet that had covered the latter half of their so-called pursuit. The phaerie was by now clearly shaking, and very likely with fever. With a blast of disquieting noise, Silas sneezed. Well, that's it then, thought Mardoc. "Alright. Enough of this." Lithely dismounting, Mardoc patted the eastmare on the rump good naturedly and wandered to where Silas sagged within his saddle. Producing the Chalice from within the folds of his robe, he paused as a rivulet of rainwater drizzled from the treetops into the cup. "Drink, fair one. It will drive the toxins out of your system." Hesitating, Silas said "will it banish this damned cold? no, of course not." but then the phaerie took the Horn Chalice and drained it's contents without argument. Mardoc managed a smile as he watched the colour return to his wayward companion's face almost immediately. "Damn, Mardoc." Silas said, now with a good deal more vigor than he'd shown since this all started. "Got any more?" "Give me that." Mardoc twitched and reclaimed the Chalice. Silas slid from the saddle and proceeded to rub feeling back into rather delicate portions of his anatomy. Mardoc sighed. "What do you think?" "I think...." Silas paused, turning his back to the mage and giving himself one more good thorough rubbing. "I think .... I think I'll die if I don't make water." Silas sprinted off towards a nearer cove of low bushes. "Water?" Mardoc asked. Momentarily, a sigh of relief from the otherworlder explained THAT particular turn of phrase. Mardoc chuckled and then turned, scanning the rising hills in the distance. "Do you want to turn back, Silas?" Silas adjusted his garment before turning and approching Mardoc. "What, after all the fun we've had so far?" The elfin stranger took a moment to regard Mardoc, "No, I don't think that would be ..... it'd be a waste of time I think." With that, Silas parked on a nearer outcropping of rock and began to take stock of what he still had, both on him and what little he'd managed to salvage from the inn.

Midmorning Elspeth Gallinineous, Baroness of Mirabille, sat alone in the giant old chair that had been the literal seat of power for generations of her mother's ancestors. This was, however, the first time she had ever so sat there, on the far end of the castle's Grand Hall - at least alone. As a girl, she had often sat in her mother's lap durring the summers that she and her sisters had spent here, her mother 'holding court' - a polite euphamism for once annually returning to the barony that her mother had been heir to, prior to her marriage to their father, the Count. Her father, who had died last winter, had only sat once in the chair incidentally. And she had been the one to sit in his lap then too. That was a decade back in the mists of time; her mother had fallen ill and so it had fallen to their pappa to travel to the Barony from their great manorhouse to the south and west of here and administrate whatever various issues had arisen over the previous year requiring settlement by nobility. Unlike the girls' mother, however, he had never seen the point of "such pretentiousness" and both gladly and proudly kept a child in his lap durring such functions; unless, of course, the nature of the proceeding was something that "were not for young ears or minds." But now, here she sat. That morning at daybreak, her husband (having married her two summers past, months before her father had gone to the summerlands) the Baron Valeran Gallinineous had woken her at her bedside. (The Baron In name, though not yet in fact. Until such time as they had produced a living heir (and that she had brought to term and birthed), by the tradition of her mother's line they were not to share a common bedroom. By the same dint of tradition, enforced thoughout the kingdom as noble law, until such a time as such an heir existed and/or her mother passed away, Elspeth was yet the heir apparent to the Baron-ship, and her husband *technically* still a mere knight, not yet the Baron, and thereby entitled to mete justice. A technical point of law, and one that had not prevented any man or woman in his situation from acting as de facto baron for the duration in many many generations.) At any rate, her beloved had woken her....personally, not though her chambermaid or any sort of intermediary - not unheard of but unusual. He was dressed and equipped for....hunting (?) she had thought sleepily. Dismissing the twin guards that had apparently followed him just inside her door, he had sat upon the edge of her bed and - now that the sword and dagger he wore became aparent to her - took her hand in his own. Sarah, her sister, was missing. Blinking as though he had intended to mention that last, her husband of a year and a half paused and started over. Over night, he had told her, a band of armored soldiers had entered the Barony, mounted, and attacked the old roadside Inn. There was a fire, and apparently, a large fight there in the place's common room. Then the dark armored knights had fled into the woodlands. And there was talk that her sister Sarah had been their target. Valeran had then, hesitently in that way that he often was with her - even when alone - kissed her gently upon her full lips and stood, telling her that he was taking a contingent of the castle's guard into the woods outriding, hoping to find her. Since their marriage ceremony, Elspeth had been more than content to let her newlywed administer and run both the castle proper and the lands surrounding. Durring her recent visit for the Great Feastival, Elspeth's mother (now ruling their father's County as was her right) had expressed approval of his handling of what was still *her* barony. Nevertheless, only on formalized guest entertaining occasions had Valeran left the castle for any length of time, certainly not dressed as he was. This required Elspeth to "place her baronial hips upon the seat of officialdom." Presumably, the great number of -generally trivial- matters from the begining of the post-Festival season would both require her (official) attentions as well as serve to distract her from the possible plight of her baby sister Sarah. Such had since proven not to be the case.

After offering Elspeth assurances, though even Valeran admitted they were not necessarily based in fact, that in all likelihood her mother had since safely returned to the County manor *and* that Sarah was likely safe and sound somewhere - all of this proving to be a large misunderstanding complicated by rumor and hearsay, her husband - dressed more like a roadwarden than the "battletrained" Knight of the Kingdom of Prismiir that he was - had departed both her bed chamber and the castle, astride fully barded horses, with six of the baronial guard that he had long since decided that he liked. Both the chambermaids and then Sondrae (the lady-in-waiting who had come down from the Crown Duchy to the north for Festival to remain for the next two years, hopefully finding both a would be husband and - in the tradition of Elspeth's mother's ancestors - a skilled lover durring the interval) had entered then and began afussing. The chambermaids obviously already knew much, if not more, of the situation than did Elspeth, while Sondrae was still adjusting to the routine and people around her having never, Elspeth thought, been away from her home before. Quickly bathing herself (not wanting the bath to take an hour), the young Baroness apparent had solved Sondrae's problem by asking her to please write a letter to Elspeth's older sister Caterine. By the time Elspeth had emerged, appropriately "courtly" clothes had been fetched, prepped, and laid out by the other two. Allowing them to dress her, she squalched thoughts of Sarah by thinking of Caterine, who'd married fully five years before her and now had two daughters elsewhere in the Grand Duchy of the Middle Lands. As the chambermaids nittered at her attire, Elspeth recalled that her menses were due in another week, or perhaps just under. Or perhaps, she hoped, they would be late..... And so she had, not for the first time, whiled away the time by wondering and dreaming about...her family. For nearly a year and a half now, Elspeth and Valeran had been trying - and trying more - to, by "rite" start their family and "consumate" (as the strange easterners of the far coast would say) the lifebond between them. So far, despite numerous attempts, Elspeth had not yet gotten pregnant. Prior to her mother's comming for the Great Festival (the first time she had seen her mother since her wedding), Elspeth had been struck with guilt and fear - this was not something she had ever heard of. Didn't that mean she wasn't a woman yet? Thankfully, mother had not only been of great help in assuaging her fears ("uncommon? Child of my blood, it's not only *not* unheard of, but it had much to do with the fall of the 'empire' your beloved's ancestors hailed from. It's just not something that girls talk about. Only we Women do.") but had left in Elspeth's keeping the ingrediants for an herbal 'remedy' (one she strongly suspected had a twin in her husband's possession). Alas, the opportunity had not yet arisen since the Festival's end. Time passed so slowly. Only the commings and goings of those who lived and worked directly in the baronial household broke up the momontonous silence. The guards had been posted to all entrances, rather than their more usual interior postings, when Valeran had left .... some hours ago. So much for a busy day of - With the clanking of sword and metal, Elspeth herd her husband and his 'hunters' approach the far end of the Great Hall. As he walked into view, he guestured -postioning the six accompanying him at various doorways and portals connecting the Great Hall from the remainder of the castle. Walking straight for his bride, Valeran's "coastal" features (curly dark hair, wide pools of green for eyes and a strange complexion that marked him as different from almost anyone she had known) seemed to absorb the shadows cast by the lanterns and torches he passed. Pausing once to withdraw his swordbelt, Valeran approached the baronial seat and -bowing to his wife briefly - laid the unbuckled weaponsbelt gingerly alongside the chair's arms. His face was grave. "Dear?" Elspeth inquired, a lump forming heavily within her throat. "I'm afraid it's not only better than we thought." Valeran said, pausing to catch his breath. "It's far worse. This morning, at daybreak, two half-scores of militia met up in a clearing within the wood. There they had each found a dead horse and the unpicked remains of about six wolves. Following a trail from there, the dozen or so men found a second, much smaller clearing with two more wolf bodies. At that point, one or possibly two armed and armored knights and their mounts attacked by ambush." At this Valeran spat. "The militiamen fought back, thankfully. Only one of them survived, unsuprisingly." He paused again. Sondrae had somehow managed to finagle her way into the Hall, bringing a tray with a mug of water, a few slices of cheese and a small tied sausage. Valeran took a step back at her approach, then drew deeply from the mug even as he grabbed it. Sondrae blinked, backing away from what she would likely have called "an overly manly display". Elspeth by now was sitting on the very edge of the baronial chair. Valeran continued. "The survivor had been found by the time I rode out from here this morn. His wounds were wrapped and treated - a great pity. Huge man, his legs nearly useless." Valeran paused, studying both women for the first time. "Local farmer...trodden upon by one of these horses. One of the mounts managed to die quickly enough. Still not sure if there were two of these so-called foreign knights, or just one. Either way, no tracks left that clearing. The mounts though....a real piece of work. As though they'd been bred for wildness from the look of it." With a look, Elspeth dismissed Sondrae, who curtsied and departed. "I'm sorry, wife o' mine. Your sister Sarah is in fact *quite* missing. Fled into the forest from that damned inn last night...her horse turned up a few hours after these blackguards showed up at the roadinn." Sighing, Valeran began to pick at the food that had been brought for him. Questions filled Elspeths' mind....an innate need.... to protect her baby sister rising within her even as did a sense of powerlessness. "Does...." She began to ask before thinking better of it. Valeran chewing, paused. "What?" Mute silence. "Oh ask away, I'm not that sort of man and you know it wife of mine....speak your mind." Elspeth plucked at immaginary gnats on her "baronial" gown. "What....do you remember what was being discussed at the Festival...the day the Messengers and the Heralds came?" Valeran stopped chewing. "What of it?" "Well...." She paused again. This time, Valeran reached out, tucking thumb and forefinger just underneath his wife's chin to elevate her face. "What is it you are thinking poppet?" "That .... that Kingdom -" "Empire, my sweet. Hymenoptera is an Empire." He gently corrected. "Very well, that...Empire, whatever the difference, didn't your friend from the border...well, didn't he say that their King; I guess he'd be an Emporor actually, didn't I overhear you speaking of his death?" "Yes. Yes you did. Without a clear heir, the Hymenopteran lands are facing a dynastic crisis. I believe he said that there were three likely condtenders for the Honeyed Throne." Valeran looked deeply into his wife's eyes. "Sweetwater, I grew up in a marcher barony, remember? Only 100 leagues of marsh and swampland seperated Outer eastern Prismiir from the Hymenopteran Empire. I *know* what their soldiers look like, and the desriptions I've heard -exaggeration aside- look nothing like the armor and such the Opterans wear. This has *nothing* to do with that." Elspeth nodded. "You're sure that Sarah hasn't been .... taken by one of the factions or whatever?" Valeran actually chuckled. "Dearest, I assure you that *both* of your sisters are quite out of the running for captive "wife-emporor"." He kissed her. She remained unconvinced.

...That was enough for both of them. The shock that ran through them with just a touch of their lips brough a brighter burning passion to the surface as he tightened his embrace of her, pressing her soft body against his. A soft moan came from her throat as her fingers instinctivly began to unfasten the lacings of his clothes. Very soon, they were together, each touch and kiss bringing them closer and closer, until finally he took her. Her cry was part pain and part extacy as he took her to a place she had never been. Her cry startled him suddenly, but not as much as the emotions flowing through him. Together, they made sure that they would never be apart again.... And now the fuse is lit.... Far, far to the west. Hundreds of leagues beyond the western boundries of the Kingdom of Prismiir, lay a land known to those in the east as, variously, the bandit lands, the barbarian kingdoms, or the great western wilderness. Though folk had traveled west, beyond the dominion of the three great kingdoms of the continent (known to some as Cornerstone) for hundreds of years now, only a few scattered communities had managed to remain intact. The general lawlessness of an unharnessed frontier combined with the sheer vastness of the remaining land to create a territory wholly different than the lands of the eastern half of Cornerstone..... "Ghamon!" The cry broke over the early post-dawn morning. Scents of smoke, blood and burning flesh filled the air, wafting into the nostrils of the individual being called. Smiling wryly, the one known as Ghamon removed his blade from the fallen individual at his feet and looked about him. A largish farming community of 40 or 50, now burning. His score of raiders had followed him, on foot, to descend into what would have been the makings of a small town, until they had assailed, like locusts, out of the rising sun and put man, beast, and bushel to the torch. In the distance, several cries circulated from the main lodge building of these people as his two more loyal 'officers' began their interrogations. "Ghamon!" the call repeated. Whirling about to face the speaker, Ghamon tightened his grip about the blade he carried. A feral countenance replete with bared teeth and a bushy mane of hair met the young man, recently acquired by the warband and appointed to the position of Herald. The youngster paled and stepped back. "s-sir, I'm sorry to disturb you.." The one known as Ghamon chuckled his hearty, deep throated laugh. "What is it boy, can't you see I'm working?" Ghamon's dark eyes, seeming to have a yellow halo about the pupils, bored into the herald's own gaze. The messenger flinched and again stepped back. Ghamon turned away and began to walk. Only after a minute did the younger of the two attempt to catch up with him. Ghamon stood easily 6'3", with a matted press of oily black curls that fell from his forehead in ringlets in front, framing an eastern, olive skinned face. Powerfully built arms and shoulders topped a broad chest that was criss-crossed with the odd scar here and there. But the massively wide legs were as thick as the boy's neck, and he had a longer stride than most men. The herald fought to keep up, even as Ghamon stopped at a makeshift campfire and began to strip out of his black and gray leathers, shedding cloak and sandals. "well, what is it?" Ghamon asked again. "The last of the resistance has been crushed. The six that fled to the east were ridden down by horsemen." Ghamon moved the hair out of his face with a large hand and eyeballed the messenger for a moment. "Good. Is that all?" The young herald, like most of the bandit company, failed to understand just how or why it was that their leader never took much interest in either the spoils of their takings, nor in much else that followed a seige. Only the actual battle seemed to enliven him, and that only temporarily. "Herald! I asked if that was all?" "uhm, yes...Yes Ghamon. I-" "LUCIMAL." A voice boomed from deep within Ghamon's being-a voice so long unheard that he jumped at it. Thinking himself now expendable, the messenger flinched, eyes blinking rapidly. "LUCIMAL, I WOULD SPEAK WITH YOU." Ghamon's eyes dialated rapidly, and with a wave of his fist, sent the boy running - thanking himself for another day of life, life under the service of the Black Raider himself, Ghamon. Ghamon himself stood quickly and began to strip the remainder of his blood and bile soaked clothing off of himself and, heedless to the thoughts of his lessers, bolted for the nearby treeline. In minutes, his powerfully built and conditioned legs had carried him a third of a league away from the burning farmland, inside a grotto damp with morning dew. Quickly assuming the form of a great, prehistoric Dire wolf, 'Ghamon' bared his neck to the unseen presence within his mind and kneeled upon the ground, rolling onto his back with his belly exposed. "LUCIMAL, IT IS TIME." Ghamon-wolf closed his lupine eyes and breathed, trying to feel more than hear the Torin's commanding presence, so long absent from his mind. "LUCIMAL, IT IS TIME YOU REPAID YOUR DEBT TO ME." The man now known as Ghamon had traveled from the east almost thirty years ago, abandoning both his life before and the future that had lain before it. Before the Torin had heard a young man's pleas to make him something more than human. And in that time, the Torin had only called upon him twice, and each time more than twenty years before. For only once in the near three decades in which he had spent his half-beastial state had he regretted his decision; and he had left both her and the child they had made together in the company of some lesser druid he had crossed the path of. Not since before had the Torin come calling. "LUCIMAL, IS THIS THE BEST YOU CAN DO WITH THE GIFTS I HAVE GIVEN YOU?" The question snapped Ghamon-wolf out of his reverie. Images played through his mind of twenty years out on the western frontier, the "Territories" as he had come to calling them. Images of meat, blood, strife, hunting and other, less wholesome activities. "PERHAPS YOUR SKILLS AS A REAVER OF MEN HAVE IMPROVED. PERHAPS I HAVE USE OF SUCH NOW." Suddenly thrown back into his manish form, Ghamon gasped for air as a sudden sweat broke out across his body, shaking from the forced return transformation. Stammering, Ghamon spoke, whether out loud or within his own mind he did not know. "What do you wish, Incarnation?" "I NOW WISH YOU TO RETURN TO THE LAND OF YOUR BIRTH AND RECLAIM WHAT IS YOURS. YOUR BROTHER IS DEAD." Ghamon felt, to the surprise of neither himself nor Torin, absolutely nothing for this news. Save perhaps dread. "And his heir?" "THERE IS NO HEIR. THERE IS NO LINE OF SUCCESSION. THE THRONE HAS THREE CLAIMAINTS-YOUR BROTHERS MINISTER, HIS NEPHEW, AND A WOMAN-HIS COUSIN. YOU ALONE CAN RIGHTFULLY RULE, AND YOU ALONE CAN USE THE EMPIRE AS I WISH YOU TO DO. THE TIME OF THE WINNOWING DRAWS CLOSER." Ghamon's mind filled with questions. "GO NOW." However, they would have to wait. And then, the awesome presence of the Incarnation called the Torin was gone. And with that, Lucimal Gallius - heir to the throne of Hymenoptera, known to some as the Black Raider and Ghamon, assumed again the form of the wolf, and stalked back towards the farmland, contemplating the death of his most recent twenty followers. It was time to travel light.....

In a wooded glade, amidst semi-dried and violently made hoofprints, lay the dead and ripening armored body of a man - one bearing the heraldry and colours of the local barony. The corpse lay where it had fell, some hours before, when it's throat had been slashed by Lucian. In the distance, dogs began to bark. First just a single curious bark, and then another, and then a third yip. The sounds of voices joined in soon, among them that of one Slauwyn -the innkeep and local garison commander of the Baronial militia. His neighbor's dogs had caught a scent. "Over here!" he bellowed, thinking and hoping that the trail that the hounds had taken led to the noble girl, and *not* to her corpse. Across the nearer league of woodland, the call was picked up, carried from one party to another. And the body was found......

Sarah dreamed. She dreamed of riding through the sky, her hair whipping around her head as lightning parted the clouds in front of her. She soard high and far. She felt the rumble of the Beast she was riding upon. She could feel it's muscles work under her legs as it's great wings worked to keep them aloft. She had never felt so free and alive before. Her mount dived down so it was barely skimming the ground. She could see Lucian's wolf form running, keeping pace with them. All was well....all was.... She woke slowly, feeling very content. It felt good to be held by the sleeping Lucian. Or was he asleep? She paused a moment to listen to the rhythm of his breathing. "I'm awake, Sarah," he said softly, trying not to break the moment. He had not expected her to be Pure, and he was a bit nervous and did not sleep well. He was afraid he might have set something in motion that no one could stop. He took a deep breath and kissed her cheek. "What were you dreaming of?" "How could you tell? Haven't you slept?" she asked, a bit alarmed, shifting and turning toward him, concern in her now dark blue eyes. He stroked her hair. "Calm yourself. I have never slept much. Your heart," he gently touched his fingertips to the pulse point on her neck, "was racing for a moment there, but you were smiling in your sleep." She stretched, smiling as she watched his reaction to her body moving against his, then relaxed and smiled. "Lucian, are Dragons real?" Lucian's own heart nearly stopped, and he could not cover the shocked look on his face. Too many signs, too fast, he thought to himself as he looked down at the girl that was becoming more dear to him than his own life. "I need to get you to Mardoc, very soon," was his reply. "He can answer all your questions." Sarah frowned slightly, then nodded. She did not want to push Lucian away. She never wanted this moment to end. However, she had a very heavy feeling on her heart that told her that things were just beginning. Later, Lucian showed her the glen outside the cave. There were a few stones left of the cottage his old teacher had, but the glen had taken almost everything over. He showed her where it was safe to bathe in the stream, and the boundaries of the protection he had put in place. After making sure she had want for nothing, he went off to hunt. They could both use a good meal of cooked meat, and some time with their own thoughts. When Lucian left, Sarah immediately went to the stream. In a little grove, the stream fed a small waterfall that came into a deep pool. The noonday sun was full up, and the air seemed to be alot warmer than usual. She happily stripped from her clothes and dived into the water. She let herself float there and relax. She tried very hard to sort out everything that had happened so far. I did not take Lucian long to find a big healthy deer, truss it, and take it back to the cave. With practiced hands he built up the fire again and put several big pieces of venison on a spit to cook. It would be bland, but welcome. He then went to find Sarah. He could hear her splashing in the bathing pool. Smiling, he made his way there, removing his own clothing. He could use a bath as well.

While Silas was fiddling with his things, Mardoc walked a bit away from him, but stayed within sight. Turning away from the Faerie creature, he extened is magical senses out to see if he could find Sarah and her newfound magical energies. It seemed to him that when the rain stopped, and the Howl took place, that he could no longer feel her. There wasn't much that could block that kind of power. However, his thoughts turned and tumbled, there were some places that occured in nature that could buffer magic from being sensed. His mind wondered to a memory, one of his old friend Giles. The clatter that Silas was making seemed to make the memory stumble a bit. His mind nearly drifted to other things when something hit him in the head. "Now what," he grumbled as an acorn fell into his lap. Acorn....his focus sharpened. Maybe.... Silas looked up when Mardoc spoke, and watched his face change. Quickly, he put all of his things back in his bag and got up. "I suppose it's time to go?" he asked as Mardoc walked back to the horses. "I think I might know where she is, Silas. There is a chance that The Chosen has fallen onto some good luck." He mounted his eastmare quickly. Silas was a little slower to mount. That shot from the Chalice did him a world of good, but this saddle thing was gonna take the skin off his rump if something wasny done soon. Mardoc lead the way. He was very sure of his path, Silas noted as they seemed to pick up the pace a bit. Mardoc muttered something and it seemed that some of the vegetation that would usually be bothersome was parting before them. Damn handy to have a Willworker around, Silas thought. Tired, and getting warmer as the noon sun just starts to head West, even Silas could feel the change as they seemed to pass a barrier. Mardoc smiled to himself, wondering exactly how powerful this girl is as he felt her Presence again, almost surging. Silas paused a moment, his sharp ears picking up an odd sound. Mardoc dismounted, taking a deep breath and walking toward where the cottage used to be, his face sad as he viewed the ruins. "Ah, I told you Giles.....it just wasn't safe..." he muttered. Silas happily got off his horse again, but his attention was not drawn to the house, but to the sound of water. Figuring that the horses could use a drink, as well as himself, he made his way in that direction, taking the reins of both horses. Mardoc looked up, then nodded as he saw what the Fae was about. Mardoc closed his eyes and "looked" about. As Silas neared the stream, the sound that caught his attention before came again, louder this time, and a bit familiar. He crept quietly along, and recognised the sounds. His curiousity now busting buttons, he peeked over a small rocky outcropping that looked onto a waterfall fed pool. His ears turned read as he saw the two locked together in the water, doing......well, what comes naturally for two very healthy young people. An odd smile quirked his lips as he backed slowly away and returned to Mardoc. Sarah and Lucian were oblivious to all as they lost themselves in one another again. Even Lucian's guard was down as he was swallowed by the passion of their love making on the edge of the pool. Mardoc looked up as Silas came back with the horses. The Fae one's ears were scarlet and he had a funny look on his face. Mardoc walked to him, a bit excited. "Did you see Sarah?" he asked. "I can feel her Presence in that direction." Silas sputtered a bit, was he laughing? "Yeah, Mardoc, she's there, but we might want to wait for them..." "Them?!" Mardoc rushed in the direction that Silas just came from. Silas sighed and followed. Last thing they needed now was a shotgun wedding, or whatever was equivilant here. Mardoc got there just in time for the couple to be completely engulfed in their passions. He stood there, staring in disbelief, his hands wringing his staff like he'd wring someone's neck. Silas, very quietly and gingerly, moved Mardoc away from the scene. The returned to the Grove, and Mardoc sputtered as he guided them to the cave. The smell of cooking meat hit Silas and made his mouth water. Mardoc was still sputtering like an overflowing teakettle. "Look, Mardoc, they are young, and well...." he paused. "I'm not sure what customs and propriety is around here, but," then he smirked, "they looked like they were having fun." "Having FUN?!" Mardock roared. "They.....She.....how could he! Oh Great Fires of Firnigast, what the hell does this all mean?" Silas eyed the meat on the spit and unslung his bag. "Not sure, but there's enough meat here for all of us to have a good dinner." He began pulling seasonings and herbs out of the bag and flavoring the venison. Mardoc stared at Silas for a long moment, then chuckled a bit and sat down. Glad to be off his own horse, and happy to find Sarah, whole and ....well....happy.

Mardoc glanced back in the direction of the sounds comming from the stream. Making a slight grumbling noise, he shook his head and stood back up from where he'd been "helping the fire along." Silas continued wrapping his injured hand. The brief draught that he and Mardoc had each finally taken from the Horn Chalice had done, in his mind, a world of good. Somehow, his injuries weren't *quite* as severe as he had thought. The ring finger on his left hand could be salvaged, severed as it was at the outermost knuckle. His little finger, however, was wholly gone. The disinfecting he'd done earlier was now repeated and, having quickly cauterized the two wounds, he was winding the last of his air-tight 'evercloth' (or whatever that fiesty merchant had called the stuff a world away) over the stumps. Tying the last knot he looked up to hear a much more sudden, earsplitting cry errupt from beyond the clearing. Mardoc grabbed his staff with both hands, a fierce look drawing the muscles of his cheek taught. "What is he *doing* to her?" Sinching the binding finally closed with his teeth, Silas muttered. "I should think that would be obvious." A look of lighting and fire siezed the young phae's gaze, holding it fast. "He's probably her first." Mardoc looked as if he might spontaneously combust. "C'mon, I haven't seen to your wound yet old man." "It can wait." Mardoc grunted. Silas sighed. Mardoc, hearing the moan again - this time as if in pain - immediately began to walk down the barely noticable trail to the riverside. "Master Mardoc-" "It too can wait, young outlander." And so Mardoc stormed off into the woods. Chuckling again to himself, Silas checked on the meat.

Their passion finally again spent, Sarah and Lucian collapsed, laying amidst a tangle of limbs and fallen leaves pressed against their damp skins, casting an almost palpable afterglow. Sarah stretched underneath him, her head laying back against the ground, lost in a whirlwind of her own thoughts. She had never known "it" could be anything close to being like this. There were aspects of this that she would never in her wildest dreams have imagined...like the biting. She rather liked that, though she would be hard pressed to admit it amongst more 'polite' company. The image of 'courtly love' that had accumulated in her mind was rapidly being replaced with a much more raw, passionate idea of what was done....or did her sisters really inist on being treated so .... delicately? A low noise, possibly a growl, purred from deep within Lucian's chest and throat. As she suppressed a giggle, he quickly nipped at her shoulder. "Again?" she asked. Lucian's nose twitched - immediately his muscles constricted - "no my sweet-" Climbing off of her quickly, he stood to full height and tossed her one of their cloaks. "Dress quickly. Someone's comming." Dazed, and dissapointed at the interuption, Sarah drew the cloak around her and began to seek her dagger. Lucian began to snicker. Sarah blinked once, "what is it?" she whispered. Now a laugh. "You needn't worry." he responded. "Though you probably ought to still get dressed." Huh? "Lucian!" came Mardoc's hoarse cry. "Oh!" Sarah exclaimed. Immediately, she scrambled to a low squat and began to gather her clothes. By now, Lucian was laughing heartily. "Mardoc! I was wondering when you would show back up." "If you have done *anything* to harm her in any way, so help me-" "Relax." Lucian hissed, slightly perturbed at the idea that he might bring harm to Sarah, even as Mardoc lumbered into view. "You are looking a bit threadbare for one so accomplished." said Lucian. "Yes, well we've had some problems." Mardoc said, exhaustion clear in his voice. His eyes shot past Lucian and went immediately to Sarah, inspecting her for any sign of mistreatment or abuse. "Are you well?" he stammered at last. "Oh yes." Sarah said with a smile, finding herself quite unable to conceal the joy that errupted within her heart. Seeing the near frown growing exponentially on the old one's face, she gulped a bit, even as she recognized that she was sore in places she hadn't realized she possessed. Seeing her wince, Mardoc dashed immediately to her side. "Chosen, are you well-" the immediate blush that spread across Sarah's near naked body was enough to kill the words in Mardoc's throat. Turning away from her politely, he extended his arm, which she took readily. "My thanks. I seem to ...." "Don't bother trying to explain, Sarah, I have some idea-" began Mardoc, fighting for something to talk about. "Oh really?" interupted Lucian, by now grabbinghis leathers and pulling them on. "Since when does the Order allow *that*?" Mardoc replied with a look that might have killed lesser men. "Camp's this way." said Lucian. "But I gather that was how you found us?" "Yes. The meat should be ready by now. Silas-" "Who?" asked Lucian. "I've enlisted some....assistance." Sarah for her part was paying more attention to getting dressed than the conversation, though by now she was more or less done and stood up fully, only to find a pain where none was before. Briefly, she buckled. Both men immediately had an arm each. "Oh stop. I just...." Sarah paused. "Lucian, could you help me back to the fire?" Lucian smiled. "Of course." "Why don't I lead the way." grumbled Mardoc.

Silas loked up as Sarah stumbled into the clearing, guided by the man he'd seen carried off by one of those beastmen the day before. 'Oh hell....' he thought, even as MArdoc's glowering form, hovering about the pair, followed them. The meat had been removed from the spit and turned again, and Silas was half-way through the process of carving enough meat for two when they'd arrived. Sarah, seeing silas, stopped and managed a wan smile. 'Why do I bring about that reaction in some people?' Silas thought to himself. Lucian helped her sit down, casting an eye and a nostril in his direction. 'What in the world is THAT?' Lucian asked himself silently. Now visibly, he sniffed at the air. 'Impossible-' "Oh I assure you sir, that the odor is myself. I haven't bathed you see." Silas glanced over at Mardoc. "The local river seemed occupied." Looking back down at his work, Siulas grabbed a parcel of meat and handed it to Sarah. "Fair One - your hand!" she exclaimed. "Hm? Oh that." silas tried to be as non-chalant about it as possible. "Well." Quickly withdrawing his injured hand, he gestured to Mardoc to sit down. The clouds were returning and the setting ofthe sun could not be far off by his estimation. Lucian eyed the fae warily, slowly sitting to the immediate left of Sarah, sitting the rest of their things to her right. "Sorry," said Silas. "That would be what's left of my hand." Mardoc glared at Silas. He ignored it. "Seems a few more of those black armored arseholes came looking for you after you jumped out the window. They weren't too pleased to see us. On the plus side, I may have a future career in being a maimed beggar if this keeps up." Silas immediately regretted the steel that had crept into his voice. Sarah looked about to cry. 'Damnit' he thought. From across the campfire, he could feel Lucian staring at him, as though boring an invisible hole in his forehead. "And what of them?" asked Lucian, looking the question at Mardoc. "They're dead." Interupted Silas. "And hopefully by now if the locals have any sense they'll have burned the bodies. All but one." Silas then fell silent, again chastising himself for his quick tongue. "All of them?" asked Lucian. Mardoc, having torn a strip of meat off for himself was licking the juices off of his fingers. "Yes." Lucian tipped his head in Mardoc's direction. "It seems you *are* powerful in the arts." "Silas did most of it. With a little help around the edges from the odd bystander or two." Lucian gazed again at the stranger. 'Perhaps a bit more formidable than he looks' Lucian thought to himself. An uncomfortable silence seemed to swell with the setting sun. Lucian tore off a hunk of meat and began to loudly chew upon it. Mardoc adjusted his seat, earning a stern look from Silas - who still meant to treat the wound. Feeling strangely chastised, Mardoc looked about. In time to notice a string of bruises about the Chosen's neck. "What in all the skies?" Mardoc roared. Sarah seemed to sense immediately that she was again the object of observation. Shifting uncomfortably, Silas' eyes tracked the old magician's own gaze. With a snort, the fey began to laugh. A blush rose hot to Sarah's cheeks. Lucian, feeling somewhat in the dark, tossed the bone of his meal into the fire and glowered. "Just what is so funny?" Mardoc flustered. "Lucian, you have some explanation here-" "Ah settle down Mardoc" Silas interupted. "She'd got a hickey." "A what?" demanded Lucian. "A love bite....or four or five from the look of it..." Silas trailed off, leaning sharply to one side as he counted the rising road of bruises that traced the line of her shoulders up to the back of her neck. Sarah for her part focused her eyes upon her food and returned to eating.

Aside from Mardoc's heavy sighs, the four in the clearing fell into an odd silence thereafter each devouring their meal. Silas kept one eye on Mardoc throughout this, seeing the oldster's possible attitude about 'recent developments' as a potential problem. His other flickered nervously back and forth twixt the girl and Lucian. Lucian for his part seemed to visibly relax, though his mind was now racing with all that had happened. As his dinner was rapidly reduced to a small pile of bones that he periodically tossed into the fire he found himself constantly eying Sarah - half because he almost expected her to vanish into nothing and reveal herself as a dream - and half because he simply could not keep his eyes off of her. Finding this loss of control of his own faculties upsetting, Lucian balled up this strange nervousness that she was bringing about in him up and tried as hard as he could to force it down. Down into that dark place where men could not see.... Sarah began to nod off almost immediately. As much as she had slept that day, the pace at which things were moving proved dizzying. The contentment bred from a full stomache (and other things...) was making her head heavy, and her heart light, though it did nothing to stop the tangle of thoughts that had spread itself across her mind in recent days. The simplest solution seemed to be just to toss her bones into the fire as had Lucian and curl up next to him. Her meal completed, she tucked her legs underneath her and did just that. Mardoc ate very mechanically, staring into the fire and utterly unaware that his concern (and disapproval) over Lucian's "involvement" in things was so plainly apparent. Only when he ran his oilslick fingers over naught but stripped fleshless bone did he snap out of his near trance, looking down to discover that the food had long since been eaten. Only Silas, cocking one eye towards him, lingered over any remaining meat...and that was almost gone. He looked over towards Sarah. Lucian was folding his cloak over and around her even as she tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder, eyes closed and cheeks ablush with inner fire. She nuzzled him and laid her hands into his lap. Lucian took them into his own, his own eyes never leaving her. Absently, Mardoc reached into his robes to lay a thumb upon the curved edge of the Horn Chalice. 'She seems to have recovered...without my efforts, or the need of the Chalice.' Mardoc thought. Taking his gaze off of Mardoc finally, Silas sucked the last of the meat off the small fragile bone and then began to loudly lick his fingers clean of the grease the meat had left. This earned an irritated look from Mardoc, which was met with a 'what?' look from the elfin traveler. In the distance, a twig snapped.

Lucian was first on his feet, placing Sarah's hands to her knife and sliding up from underneath her in one fell motion, exhaled air whistling out of his flaring nostrils. "Company." he hissed towards Mardoc. Sarah, warned by the feel of steel across her hands had managed to hold herself up when Lucian shot to his feet, and now drew the blade and rose to a low squat, only somewhat painfully. The grimace that creased her fine features made her a bit self-conscious, despite Lucian's aparent alarm. Only the Fair One seemed to have noticed, who looked at her, not Lucian, when he had risen. Mardoc grumbled. "Confound it what now?" "Men. Several of them..." Lucian paused, twitching his nose yet again, and drawing his blade. "Horsed...and armored." Silas jerked his head to one side noting that his habit of keeping his bags packed for sudden travel was again well justified even as his uninjured hand reached for them and slung them over his neck and shoulders. His injured hand grabbed his own blade from his lap. With his right hand again free, he felt for the strange 'shadow-tipped' short sword he'd kept from one of last night's attackers - still there, wrapped in heavy cloth and scabborded. "Mardoc. Get up." he whispered. Even as Mardoc rose, he cast his senses abroad, hoping that whatever consecrations his old friend Giles had worked still lingered about this place....and then he saw. "A half score or more..." he murmured. "Men-at-arms, soldiers of some kind-" Mardoc did not get a chance to finish his sentance. Lucian roughly grabbed Sarah by her left arm and jerked her behind him even as he twisted about to get the fire to his back a fraction of a moment before two men in chainmail, bearing longswords charged into the clearing from the path Sarah and Lucian had followed up the hill to reach this place the night before. In the distance, someone shouted commands to archers. "Surrender your arms and submit to the Baron's justice!" Barked the taller of the two armored figures, drawing to a halt and wraping both hands about the pommel of his blade, pointing it in Silas' direction. The other brought his own sword around to leer at Mardoc's head. Quite unintentionally, Mardoc backed up a step, having been thrown out of his seeing trance substantially sooner than he'd meant. Lucian spat into the fire. "No closer." he told the nearer of the two. Sarah shot to her feet and recognized the green and black blazion that covered the frontpieces of each man's armor. "Heed." She said. Twisting out of Lucian's protectively tight grasp, she edged around the fire to get a better view. Silas and Mardoc exchanged a brief look and Silas, hand a-ready to draw the second blade, backed up towards Sarah even as Mardoc did likewise. "Surrender your arms!" came a third shout, this time from the treeline some fifty paces off to one side of the clearing opposite the hill - in the trees. "Damn." Silas muttered - "Archers." He concluded, speaking loud enough that he hoped this Lucian fellow would have heard him. "Identify yourselves!" shouted the shorter of the two men at arms, his face showing obvious discomfort at an armed confrontation such as this. Sarah wrenched free completely of Lucian's grip and advanced towards both men, at least one of whom she thought she recognized (difficult due to the half-helms each wore). "Sarah-" Lucian growled, before turning and following to keep her back protected, winding his grip upon his blade. "Who comes and challenges in the name of the Baron?" Sarah spoke, her voice taking a note of authority that none present had heard her use previously. The shorter of the two within the clearing, hearing the militia-men advancing quickly on their position, recognized both the voice and the eyes of the girl that was quite obviously being surrounded protectively by the three strangers. "My lady?" he asked quickly. The taller of the two heard his companion's words and looked hard at the young woman who now was pushing her way past the old man to address him. 'Gods it's her-' he thought. Immediately, the taller of the two hissed a woodsman's call, birdlike, and the 6 odd militia men behind him, each moving to enfold the camp, froze in place. He took a step back and sheathed his blade. Removing his helm, he made eye contact with Sarah and dropped to one knee. "My lady?" he stated, firmly with a hint of steel to his voice. The second armored man sheathed his own blade and imitated the first's stance immidiately. Silas moved just to one side of Sarah, hoping like hell he wasn't going into another fight so soon. Irregardless, the pair kneeling before them wore the same heraldry as the knight that had ridden away with Lucian and so kept his blade out and ready. Lucian paused, noting the advance of the hunting party had stopped. He could still feel, literally, an itch around the back of his neck that was a few steps up from feeling watched. 'Bowmen probably.' he thought. Nevertheless, the woodsmans call he had heard merely was a command to halt and await orders if he understood it correctly, and so remained ready for battle. Mardoc looked at Sarah and, sensing her desires in the matter he hoped, stepped to one side, earning a harsh look from both Silas and -especially- Lucian. Sarah looked into the young blonde curls of the shorter of the two men at arms, recognizing him as a squire who'd been just recently knighted at the Festival. He nodded to her once in recognition, and shot a look at both Silas and Mardoc - one on either side - and then back at her. Her features softened. Sarah, taking stock of the situation and thinking quickly, found herself suddenly and very much in control of the situation. Exhaling harshly through her nose, she made her features soften a bit, hopefully communicating to the young knight that she was not in the company of strangers. The taller of the two seemed also to note this, and pausing once, slowly moved his gloved hand to his belt, whereupon he withdrew a hunting horn and brought it to his lips. Sarah found her eyes drawn to the left as Silas visibly tensed at the sight of the imminant signal, noting that his maimed hand now wrapped it's remaining fingers around the hilt of a second blade. A blush of near panic rose to Sarah's cheeks and she locked eyes with the golden pools of the Fair One and with a willful glare, shook her head. Silas paused only to look at Mardoc, who seemed to be letting her handle this, and relaxed his grip upon the stolen shadow-blade. The knight blew the horn.

Across the woodland that encompassed the vale and beyond, a dozen search parties heard the horn and stopped in their activities. Militiamen, a score of the Baron's men at arms, several knights, and a handful of volunteers drew together and raised a collective silence. When it blew again, a second time - now a volley of short staccato bursts - each searcher turned to the best tracker amongst each party and began to converge upon the hornsman's location. Save for one party, originally numbering five, now reduced to one man, who at least had the satisfaction of knowing that the bellywound that slowly was bleeding him to painful and unquiet death had not fully been in vain. A smile weakly played across his lips as the dark, humanoid and armored figure that had ambushed them shook in clear torment. Seeing the smile, the last man standing of the dark pack growled and twisted the blade in his last victim. The only thought that now remained in his beastial mind was that the Torin will be furious.... The horn's first blast had shaken Lucian - whether from long habits of remaining hidden or from some furious exterior force even he could not tell. As the note finally died, the shorter of the two of them had risen and approached Sarah. The horn-blower had muttered something to his companion and then returned down the hill's slope before blowing it again. "My lady, the Baron has commissioned a large search for you." The young knight was saying to her, "he will be most pleased. Are you well?" The end of the knight's remarks had faltered just a touch, his eyes comming to rest at once on the marks across Sarah's neck and on the man that now walked out from behind her, tense. Mardoc relaxed, looking at Silas, still skitish but now content enough to sheath his blade. Sarah looked at them both, and then to her right to see Lucian join her at her right side. Mardoc gave Lucian a look, and only then did Lucian sheathe his own sword. "I am whole, yes." Sarah breathed an audible sigh of relief and her body relaxed somewhat. "My -" she faltered, looking about the clearing again. "My companions will need to see a healer." The other knight now returned uphill into the clearing. "My ladyship, we have strict instructions to deliver you to the Baron's castle at once. A member of the militia is presently holding your mount -" he paused, looking at the motley three others that were apparently in her ladyship's company -"as well as an Isekanderian Mule." Sarah ignored most of the knight's words, only now thinking of the possiblity of returning home to the Castle...something that had not crossed her mind so much as once in well over a day. Somehow, it seemed, she had somewhere within her decided that she was not to see that place again.... Mardoc turned to face Sarah. Silas looked towards Lucian, who was riveted on Sarah's next words, shrugged and moved to Mardoc's side. Only the sudden look of suprise upon the knight's face as he gazed upon Silas' face gave her the opportunity to speak. In the background, the squire-knight was ordering some militiaman to fetch the two horses they had found. "They should come with me." She said, largely without thinking, feeling a hot blush rising to her cheeks, as sudden thoughts of the implications of what all had happened began to creep into her head. The senior knight opened his mouth to object, still somewhat slackjawed from the bizare appearance of the woodman that stood to her ladyship's side, but thought better of it. Besides, he told himself, likely one or more of these men were present at the fight at the inn. Already, he was thinking of the Sherrif's description of the two that had initiated the search parties in the first place. "Very well my lady." Behind him, the two steeds were brought forth. Sarah smiled at the sight of her horse, and absently walked past the soldiers to stroke it's mane, begining immediately to whisper reassurances to it. The other mount was led by two militia-farmers, one in front and one -very confused- in back. It trotted past Sarah up to Mardoc and whinnied slightly. He smiled. "Silas, would you-" he began. Unconsciouly rubbing his haunches, Silas responeded. "I follow on foot." Lucian cut between the two to join Sarah at her side, drawing looks from each of the knights. "Actually friend Silas, I was to have asked for a boost up onto the beast's back." Mardoc grinned wearily. "Ah, that i can do." In the distance, horns blared from the castle itself, and the party's leader responded with a blast from his own horn. Sarah nuzzled her horse, and ran fingers over Lucian's chin before swinging up and over the beast's back. A pained smile spread across her face, transforming slowly into an overwhealmed, tired look. Lucian immediately took her hand, and as she nodded, swung himself up onto the horse behind her. His own steed now brought before him, the elder knight mounted up and slung the horn onto the saddle. Replacing the helmet on his head, he issued commands to surround her ladyship until such time as an honor guard detachment effected rendevous with them. Galloping forward to bring his mount around to the path, he called out. "To the castle!" Sarah's horse wheeled around and followed immediately. Mardoc urged his own beast into action, the procession moving quickly enough that Silas relented at the last minute and clambered onboard the strange 'mule's back as the militia party drew up around the group and ran back towards the far castle.

Silas paced slow measured steps out of the staircase onto the cold stone battlement. He needed fresh air, away from the musty damp of the castle's interior. More to the point, he also needed away from the constant sense of observation he aroused in seemingly everyone - from the chambermaid, the scribes, and most certainly from the men-at-arms and watchmen that now patroled the length of this place constantly. It had been a week this night since he and the others were brought to this place at Sarah's side. In that time, Sarah had been locked away behind closed doors with her sister Elspeth and several servants. He had come to understand that Sarah was largely confined to bedrest for the first three days after their arrival - durring which time he and Mardoc had shared a drafty common room and largely done likewise. Each of their wounds had healed, or as much as they were going to in Silas' case. Flexing the four (well, three and a half) fingers remaining on his left hand, he remarked at how well that Horn Chalice of Mardoc's had sealed up the wounds. In time, he would likely grow used to using the ring finger again. Lucian had been sequestered in a room of his own initially, likely because of the way he was looking at Sarah Silas thought. On the second day, Lucian had moved into their room, looking strange and preditory looks at Mardoc but saying very little. He did not eat, nor take much drink and then only water. It had been easy to forget that he was there for that second day and on into the third, which made Silas especially nervous. Or maybe it was the way Lucian kept pacing throughout the night. Lucian had asked more times than Silas could have counted when he could see Sarah, and been rebuked each time, until finally their chambermaid told them all point blank that she was under a healer's treatment and not to be disturbed. After she left, Silas swore that he had heard the man *growl*. The night that they had arrived, it was only by Sarah shouting commands at the staff, and then when some were in clear contridiction to what her brother in law had left, by calling for her sister and getting her to accomodate her commands. Thusly, the three had been escorted to rooms below the ground level of the castle ('the dungeons' he had remarked to an unamused Mardoc) and locked in for the better part of an hour until servents came to make beds, bring linens, washbasins and chamberpots. Mardoc had woven some minor enchantment to keep 'pests' away, and in fact, not the slightest gnat had dared their room since then, much to Silas' contentment. He (and he later learned Mardoc as well) slept away much of the first twenty four hours they had been there. Lucian, he expected, had paced. On that third day, Lucian looked about ready to snap. As Mardoc had been wont to do, meditating, and Silas growing weary of constant boredom and wanting to insist on a bath (though he expected such would not be forthcomming), Lucian was like a coilspring, growing tighter and tighter. Silas merely shrugged and congratulated himself for learning to sleep with knife under pillow many, many years ago. And then Lucian had thrown the door open and shouted that he be allowed to speak with Sarah. Several servents and more than a few men at arms had bolted to the hallway outside, and under threat of sword point they were all disarmed (save for that shadow-casting blade, but Silas had stashed that within the down matress the night of their arrival). However, it *had* gotten them some results. Sarah's sister Elspeth had come an hour hence, accompanied by four knights of the baron, and told them what she could. Basicly, that Sarah was well, sleeping much and recovering 'from such a horrid ordeal' (a comment that nearly led to Lucian 'uncoiling his spring' thought Silas) and would be rested to take visitors soon. Clearly, the woman (though Silas found it easier to think of her as a girl, as she behaved so much younger than Sarah) was quite frightened of Lucian, though she was no different than the rest when it came to staring at Silas. Mardoc seemed not to have noticed when she came in, and the feeling appeared to have been mutual. They had also learned that six militiamen had been butchered the day of the search, and another six injuried severely enough to have died in the intervening three days. By 'wanton acts of cruelty' it was said. Elspeth, whom Silas also found convenient to think of as girlish (rather than womanly) to keep himself out of trouble, had also said that her husband would be wanting to question them at some point. Then she had left. Lucian tore up some furniture afterward, earning a good and steady look of contempt from Mardoc after a few well aimed words. Thankfully, the next morning, the seneschal for the Baron greeted them and informed them that they were given guest privileges. Silas jumped on that immediately. He had gotten his bath, and then, after some prodding, some new clothes. Each of the others got the same treatment following, durring which time Silas had seen fit to ply his charms upon the servents, who seemed to relax a bit. He found his way to the kitchens, and thus began a wait of another four days. Each time after, if any of them left their room, they were followed, either obviously or 'discretely' (though not in Silas' mind) by at least a pair of men-at-arms at any given time. In the afternoon of that fourth day, each had also been given their own rooms, upstairs (on the second floor no less!) with *much* nicer accomodations. Mardoc's room to the right, and Lucian's to the left of his own, Silas found boredom only briefly escaped from. Especially as that evening they were told (each individually) that they would have to remain on their floor - possibly indefinitely. Again feeling more the prisoner than the guest, Silas had opted for a single solution to multiple ills. Mardoc had continued his damned aestetic mediation, and eventually got escort to visit the (according to Mardoc) damnible pitiful library kept at the castle twice each day with armed escort. Silas suspected that he also secretly consulted Sarah at least once durring this period, but denied it. Mardoc only really made himself available for conversation at mealtimes, in a common room at the end of their lodging's hallway. Lucian on the other hand, nearly got into a brawl with one of the men-at-arms that first night, likely trying to sneak out and find Sarah no doubt, Silas believed. The next day he'd been led down below and, Silas was uncertain of this, spoke with the Baron, or perhaps some of his men. After returning he had seemed drained somehow, possibly depressed, but after one of the servents arrived with a small letter, his spirits had improved. He had even stopped trying to scare the staff, Silas thought. Strangely enough, the young phae thought that maybe Lucian was avoiding him for some reason. Silas had spent most of the last two days working on his "single solution"...specifically a young and comely house-maid named Monegail. It had taken most of the first day to get past that whole 'inter-species' thing, or so he had thought, but on the second day, flattery, a bit of wit, and some genuine charm had led to ..... a few hours respite. Mardoc had eyed him as he slipped out to dinner that night, having more than effectively covered the girl's tracks he thought. Some more information about the place and society that he had ended up in had been netted of course, as well as a better idea of the layout of this castle and it's surrounding grounds. And - something he was saving for Lucian later - he now had a pretty good idea where Sarah's bedchamber was. If he was correctly putting the dots together, it was on the same floor as they, though in a different wing. Much as it pained him to do so, he had said nothing to Lucian over dinner. And now, some hours later, having made off with a knife from the dinner table, he'd found the gate to the battlements relatively easy to work open at the expense of said knife. The fresh air was already carrying the increasing chill of an approaching winter, invigorating Silas, who bounced on dancer's legs for a moment. Stopping, he listened for the approach of guards. None. Excellent, he thought. Bending down, he reached into the pockets of the dark velvet wine trousers he'd acquired and produced a rolled cigarrette. Approaching the nearer torch cautiously he lit it and took a deep inhale before notcing - too late! - an approach from behind him. "Evening Drynaian." said Lucian. Silas nearly dropped his cigarette. "Evening Lucian. How did-" "Same as you did, although that crappy knife of yours had little to do with getting the lock open." Folding his arms confidently across his chest, Lucian smiled a preditors smile. Silas gulped, and then shrugged, puffing repeatedly off of one of his last cigarettes. "How's the scullery maid, still walking is she?" inquired Lucian. Silas frowned. "I smell't it." "Ah, right-o." said Silas. "I do hope I'm not intruding." Both men froze. Mardoc stepped from the shadows of the staircase. "Lucian, your abilities at forcing open a lock are hardly better than our Fair stranger." Smiling as though possessing a secret, the oldster winked at Silas and proceeded to light his pipe without discernable flint.

TO BE CONTINUED