Storyboards: Malrevon

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Malrevon stared blankly at the creature in front of him, before remembering with a start what he was supposed to do with it. His headache made it difficult to think and move, and as he tried to walk towards the creature he stumbled and swayed. The world tilted and tipped madly, and he could barely keep his feet moving.
Then he was in front of the creature. What was it called? He strained his memory. Ah yes. A horse. And the brown object on its back was a saddle. He was going to mount it.
He put one foot in the stirrup, and managed to swing himself onto the seat. His vision was swimming. And the uncomfortable sensation was... a headache. He wondered if nudging the horse with his knees would make it go away. It felt like the correct thing to do, at least. And so he squeezed the horse's sides gently, and it started to move forwards.
A moment later he was on the ground. He blinked, puzzled at how he arrived there, when someone laughed, and he fell into the comforting embrace of darkness.

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He jolted awake, spluttering and coughing as cold water poured off his face and hair.
'Haha you ok?' A cool, calm voice asked. He looked around, and found himself staring into the face of a young man, with chestnut brown hair and one deep blue eye and an equally dark brown eye. The young man patted him on his back. 'Chased off those bandits, though I hate to say your horse's run away.'
'My horse?' He concentrated, and dim, faint memories of different horses came back to him; stout or lean, tall or short, of many different shades. 'I think... I've had a few.'
'Well I was followin' you, and you didn't look very well. Pale, sweating, eyes not focussed. Then suddenly this band of men leapt outta the trees and knocked you out, so I charged at them. Punched two in their faces, both went down. Got a nick from another man, but kicked him in the privates. He passed out over there. Rest of 'em fled.' The man nodded at one of the limp figures on the ground. All this was said in a matter-of-fact tone. 'So. What's your name, Nadrak?'
'Ma... koth. I think.' Makoth said after a while.
'Makoth? Peculiar name. Well I'm generally known as Pebbles.'
Pebbles helped Makoth up, and then methodically stripped the prone men on the ground of their money and their knives. He also tossed a short sword at Makoth, who caught it and sheathed it into the empty scabbard. It fitted. Pebbles continued by taking the coil of rope hanging from one of the men's belt and bound their hands and feet tightly. Makoth watched him.
'Where're you planning to go?' Pebbles dusted off his hands.
'I don't know.'
'Aaah well. Guess you can come with me. Can do with the company.'
'Where're you going?'
Makoth followed the man as he ambled further down the path.
'Oh you know, nowhere and everywhere. I just let my feet guide me. Come on, we gotta get to the next clearing before sunset.'
Makoth tried to remember what happened before meeting Pebbles, but found he could not. He shrugged. If he can't remember it must not have mattered.

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He plunged his hand into the bloody wound and pulled out... a warm, pumping heart. Blood trickled down his hand into the sleeve of the robe, but he ignored it, raising it once, and then plunging it onto the brazier.
The heart turned brown and sizzled.
The gong rang once.
Makoth jerked awake, and blinked blearily around the clearing. Pebbles was staring intently at him, while a kettle hung over a fire. In the sudden silence in the forest, Makoth could hear the water boiling fiercely in the kettle. Pebbles turned back to lift the kettle off the fire and rested it on the ground, before tossing the branch aside.
'Nightmare?'
'Yes.'
'Looks like a bad one. You were tossing and turning all night.'
'You were awake?'
'Oh yes. I generally find sleep meaningless.' Pebbles laughed, and continued in the same cool, calm voice he had been using since they met.
'I needed to rest though. Trying to keep pace with a horse isn't easy.'
Nothing was said after that as they readied themselves, filling water skins and watering a mule Pebbles had found somewhere. Makoth guessed it was a farm, but chose not to ask.

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The next few days were spent on the road, travelling down obscure paths that sometimes vanished then reappeared somewhere else, and sometimes they abandoned the paths and moved through the forest.
Makoth's nightmares worsened, as he dreamed of huge dogs with red glowing eyes, of slaves being driven like cattle into filthy pens, of cruel men and women slaying hundreds upon thousands of people... and he was one of them. He did not tell Pebbles about these dreams, nor did Pebbles ask.
Suddenly a yell and people crashing through the bushes shook Makoth out of his reverie.
Pebbles spun quickly and lashed out with the walking stick he had recently cut. The man collapsed, clutching to his groin. The walking stick blurred as it thwacked into another attacker's stomach. Makoth recognised them as the men who had attacked them a few days ago, and drew his short sword to aid his friend when a man sauntered into view, eyes fixed on Makoth. His clothing was considerably finer than the other men, and the rapier at his side hinted that this was a competent swordsman. Makoth decided he was a nobleman.
'You're actually going to fight with that?' the noble laughed, 'Would have thought someone with your abilities would have sensed us and blasted us to pieces. Of all the people to desert...' The man shook his head sadly.
'What are you talking about?' Makoth growled, crouching slightly as the man approached. He was eager to go help his friend. The noble was a... mix of Nadraks, Murgos and Thulls, and something about the way he spoke and moved was familiar. The noble stopped just out of reach of Makoth's blade.
'You mean you've forgotten?' The noble looked slightly alarmed. 'Now this is unexpected. My, my. Makes me wonder what happened to you. Well, we'll know soon enough.' He turned to regard the fight. Makoth did the same.
Pebbles' right arm was dangling uselessly at his side as he parried the ferocious attacks with the stick, and the gash down the side of the arm looked bad. He was also limping, and it was a miracle that he was still in any condition to fight. The walking stick snapped. Pebbles cursed softly as he tried to retreat, but the men had formed a small ring around him.
'What do you say, my lord? Kill him? Spare him?' said the noble in a jovial voice.
Makoth stared in horror, and ran to attack one of the men. His opponent easily fended off his clumsy blows, while another man lazily lifted his sword to impale Pebbles. Makoth felt rage and frustration bubbling up in him and snarled,
'Die!'
The man fell to the ground, clutching his throat and thrashed for a few heartbeats. And was still. A deathly silence descended upon the men.
'Torak's breath... They said you had no power outside!' The noble whispered behind Makoth, and backed away. The other men were transfixed by their dead companion on the ground. Trembling, with fear or rage Makoth did not know, he slid his sword back into the scabbard. The anger burning in his blood was an icy rage.
'You can go now.' Makoth said quietly, offering the men a chilly smiled.
Pebbles stood frozen in the circle of men. The men backed away carefully, and fled. The noble gazed at Makoth in awe.
'You've changed... and forgotten much.' The noble shook his head, and slipped silently between the trees and was gone.
Makoth sighed, the anger draining away, and gave his friend a concerned look. Pebbles was staring at him in amazement, before Pebble's knees could no longer support his weight and he sat down heavily.
'Belar's beard! What did you do?
Makoth hurried over to half-carry and half-support Pebbles to a tree, where he lay back against the huge trunk.
'What did you do, Makoth?' Pebbles stared at him with wide eyes, and for the first time something other than cool and calm entered his voice.
'I... I don't know.'
'Don't lie to me, Makoth.'
'I really don't know.'
Pebbles gazed long and hard into Makoth's eyes, making him feel embarrassed and nervous.
'Belar have mercy on us all... You're not lying.' Pebbles sighed, and rested his head against the rough bark with his eyes closed. 'Go on. Get the mule and the supplies, and then bandage me. I don't trust those Angaraks.' He paused. 'Except you, but you're one odd person, Makoth.'
Makoth found the mule placidly cropping on some leaves on a bush, and all their supplies were still in the saddlebags. He led the mule back to Pebbles and it shied at the smell of blood. Makoth kept a firm grip on the reins, though, and calmed it after stroking it on the nose a few times.
'Take your time. I've got all day to bleed to death.' Pebbles said dryly, and Makoth laughed softly as he quickly took out some bandages, some thread and needle, a candle, a tinderbox and a skin of wine.
Makoth crouched down and washed the wounds. Pebbles gritted his teeth, screamed once and mercifully passed out. Makoth then heated the needle, threaded it and carefully sewed the wounds shut. He bound the wounds tightly, but blood still seeped into the cloth from the deep gash in the arm, and it was this wound that worried him.
He grimaced as he stood up, rubbing some life into his legs, and gathered some branches and twigs and built a rather shabby fire. It was weak, and it had a tendency to fall apart, so he put a ring of whatever stones he could find around it and covered Pebbles with a blanket, and sat cross-legged next to the fire.

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Makoth flinched awake when he felt a hand settle on his shoulder.
'Mmmph?' He mumbled into the soil.
'Oh so you're alive. Get up. I'm in no shape to stand, so there's no way I can help you up. We gotta move.' Pebbles sounded cool and calm, but Makoth could hear the underlying pain in his voice. Makoth sat up and eyed Pebbles with concern.
'Are you sure you're fit to travel?' Makoth asked doubtfully, plucking a few twigs and leaves from his hair, and then did the same for Pebbles.
'Thanks. And well if I happen to fall off a couple of times just tie me to the saddle.' He must have seen Makoth's expression, because he added 'I'll be fine.'
'At least let me put your arm into a sling...'
Pebbles sighed, and grudgingly nodded. After fixing the sling, Makoth helped Pebbles onto the saddle of the mule, and caught a whiff of alcohol on Pebble's breath.
The pain must be bad, Makoth thought.
He rummaged in the bulkier saddlebag and discovered a tent.
'Should we throw this?'
Pebbles looked at it with dull eyes and gave a one-shouldered shrug.
'I guess... I can... get another.' Pebbles paused, closing his eyes briefly. 'And more wine... please.'
Makoth wordlessly handed him a new skin of wine from the saddlebag. Pebbles drank deeply from it and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
'Not much better... but will do.' Pebbles lapsed into silence when Makoth led the mule forwards, and when Makoth glanced back at Pebbles a few hours later, the man - an Alorn, Makoth realised with a start - had his teeth clenched, and he was sweating, despite the rather cool weather. The few directions Pebbles gave Makoth were short and abrupt, as though Pebbles was concentrating on keeping the pain at bay.
Pebbles did not talk about the pain, nor did Makoth ask about it.

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Pebbles' gash on his leg was slow to heal, and caused the Alorn obvious pain when he was riding, as it chafed against the saddle, but it was clean. The other wound on his arm was, Makoth suspected, becoming infected. The wine had run out, which meant Pebbles had nothing to dampen the pain with. A brief touch on Pebbles' forehead confirmed Makoth's suspicions. The man had a fever.
It was three days after the confrontation before Makoth saw a town, with a stout fort rising over the tops of the houses.
'Where are we?' Makoth stared around at the unfamiliar surroundings. Pebbles, sheathed in sweat, looked up with slightly glazed eyes, before letting his head droop down again.
'Some Arendish town... no doubt.'
'Maybe they have a healer or something.' Makoth said hopefully, as he trudged towards the gates, dragging the mule behind him. As he approached the gates he noticed that the guards had drawn their swords. He gave them a friendly wave of a hand.
At the gates, the guards stopped him, barring the way. Makoth gazed at them anxiously.
'My friend here needs help. Can we please pass through?'
A guard narrowed his eyes dangerously and spoke in a low voice,
'Prithee, Angarak, why shouldst we allow thee to venture forth into our domain?' He drew his sword. 'Speak, for death doth beckon for thee, and I am of mind to send thee to do his bidding.'
'Sheath your sword! Belar! Can't you Arends quit reaching for your weapon every time I visit?' Pebbles snapped from behind, 'Send a runner to Sir Elratryn and tell him Pebbles is here.'
The guards looked uncertain, but eventually reached a consensus after much whispering, and a young man sprinted away towards the fort. Those left behind eyed Makoth warily. Makoth was about to turn back to Pebbles to check on his bandages when one of the guards levelled his sword at his throat. Makoth froze.
'Thou willst keep thy hands in our vision if thou valuest them.' The man smiled thinly at him. Slowly, Makoth nodded.
The runner reappeared, panting, and managed to gasp,
'Sir Elratryn, Knight of Vo Boras, gives summons to thee. To his chamber thou art bound, even as I am bound to bring thee.' The young man paused. 'Ridst thyself of any weaponry, Angarak. If thou dost attempt anything that is worthy of mistrust thou shalt find thyself thrown into the deepest dungeon of this keep.'
Makoth removed his dagger and sword, and laid them on the ground. The weapons were gathered and tied in a bundle next to a saddlebag. Pebbles was also lifted into a stretcher and briefly searched. When it was done, they headed towards the fort.
Makoth could feel hostile eyes boring into his back as they passed through the town, raising the hairs on his neck. It was not much better inside the fort, as although there were fewer people, they were much better equipped. Every time they passed by a guard, the guard had his hand on his weapon hilt. They stopped before the double door, which Makoth guessed opened to some sort of hall. The guide glared at Makoth darkly.
'Thou shalt speak when spoken to, lest thou shalt leave our domain less thy tongue.' the young man warned Makoth, 'We have little patience for thy kind. Doth thou understand? Or hath mine instruction fallen upon simple ears?'
'Yes-'
'Quiet! We shall now enter.'
Great, Makoth thought, this condescending idiot won't even let me answer his question.
Two guards stepped forwards and pulled open the door. Makoth smiled nervously at the towering man sitting on a large chair at the far end of the hall, and looked around. With some alarm he realised that the man standing next to the Arend was a Murgo. There were also other men, who spun around to stare at him. There was silence.
The knight half-rose in his seat, his face turning red, and the room erupted in shouts and yells. The knight drew his sword, as did the other men, but the Murgo screamed something and half of the men hesitated.
Suddenly, someone from behind slapped a wet cloth onto his face, and too surprised to react, Makoth breathed in the strange fumes and everything turned black.

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'There you are! Haha I caught you!' A voice cried triumphantly. A young boy peeked around the wall, and beamed. It was his older brother, Malyras. He flashed Makoth a cheeky grin, and beckoned quickly.
'Mum said to go to the entrance! Come on, slow poke!' With that he dashed off towards the entrance of their house, and Malrevon chased after his sibling. A moment later he nearly collided with Malyras as his brother suddenly stopped in his tracks. He was about to demand what was wrong when he too saw the person standing in front of them. The two boys awkwardly bowed, puzzled as to why a Grolim would enter their home.
The black robed man, a purple Grolim from the lining of his robe, stood in the middle of the small garden. Beside him their mother, who was being ignored, wrung her hands anxiously. The tall, gaunt man stared down at them for some time, and then opened his mouth to speak-
'Makoth, is it?' drawled a voice. Makoth opened his eyes, as the haze of sleep sloughed off. The scarred face of the Murgo loomed over him. Makoth tried to sit up, but found he was securely bound to something. He also could not move his head, which meant he could only see the ceiling. And anything above him. This also meant his imagination could run wild, which could be very useful for extracting answers. The problem was his imagination was running wild, despite his efforts to curb it.
'Well my men are happily warming up. Hopefully they're not too rusty. I'd hate to have anything prolonged.' The Murgo stretched. 'Ah well let me just go check on them. You wait here.' His face disappeared from sight, and footsteps sounded as the Murgo walked away. The light dimmed, and with a click the door closed. Makoth was left in pitch darkness.
The door opened. The multiple footfalls told Makoth that at least three people had entered the room.
‘So, Makoth.’ It was the Murgo. There was a scrape of wood on stone. 'We can do this the easy way, or the easier way. So what do you say?'
Makoth considered his options. There were not many.
'What do you want to know?' he asked, trying not to tremble.
'Oh, you know. Why you're here, what you're doing and so on.' While the Murgo spoke, Makoth heard clinks in the background. Knives probably. And some glass bottles. Makoth felt his blood freeze. A Nyissan? That explains the cloth.
'I'm a Nadrak. Why shouldn't I be here?' His voice quavered. 'I'm following Pebbles, but I don't know where he's going.'
'Nadrak? You look more like a Mallorean to me.'
'Mallorean?' he asked, perplexed, 'What Mallorean?'
There was silence, and a few muffled chuckles.
'Syphiss, I thought you gave him a truth potion.'
'I did,' whispered Syphiss, 'while he wass assleep. If he liess it hurts him. He issn't hurting.'
The Murgo sighed. 'I don't know whether I'm questioning an idiot or just someone really ignorant. He doesn't even know where he's going.' The Murgo cursed. 'Wish that knight would give that Drasnian rat. His 'friend', the knight says. More like 'fiend'.' There was silence again. 'You can play with him. I'm going back to entertain the thick dimwit.'
There was a swish of robes, then loud footsteps that faded, and then a soft click of the door. Makoth tensed, his mind blank except for the animalistic terror and fear that rapidly filled his mind.
'Hello, Makoth.' Syphiss breathed next to his ear. 'We'll be sserving you for the next few weekss. I hope you'll enjoy our company.'

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Reality merged with his dreams. He had no sense of time. Sometimes, demonic creatures in the dark chased him, filling his heart with fear as he ran forever. Other times he was in terrible agony, and felt the white-hot pokers burn and thin, serrated knives make delicate but painful cuts, tasted foul liquids that burned his throat and made him feel terrible. When the light went away, he wondered if he had become blind, and soon feared as much as longed for the light to return, for the darkness was full of nightmares.
A soft scrape, and blinding light filled the room. Makoth once again felt that strange mix of dread and relief. There was silence.
'Makoth?' asked a familiar voice. A pause. 'Makoth?' said the voice more urgently. Makoth decided an answer was expected of him.
'Yes?' he whispered. If he did not answer he would suffer.
'Belar... What did they do to you?' The voice sounded sickened.
Makoth did not know how to answer, and so repeated what Syphiss had said. 'They said they would be trying something new the day after.' Makoth felt the bonds loosen, then fall away, one by one. He did not move.
'Makoth? You can move now... You're free.'
Makoth experimentally lifted his hand, and stared at it in wonder.
'Come, come! Before they discover us! Quick!' Makoth sat up as quickly as he could and slid off the table. His knees buckled, but he managed to stay upright. 'That is, if you're in any condition to run.'
A man - an Alorn, Makoth remembered dimly - beckoned. A blue eye and a brown eye. Brown hair. A white feathered scar ran down one of his bare arms.
'I'll carry you on my back. It'll be faster.' Makoth obeyed, wrapping his arms around the Alorn's neck. 'Belar have mercy. You're so... light.' He shook his head. 'Enough talking.' The man set off at a brisk pace out of the room, through the corridor and into another, and another, until they were outside.
The Alorn stopped.
Makoth looked up. A Murgo, Syphiss, and a few Arends were waiting for them.
'Hello, Drasnian,' the Murgo almost purred at the Alorn, 'out for a midnight stroll? And who've you got for company?' The Arends clearly flinched at the sight of Makoth, but he was indifferent to their reactions.
'What did you do to him?' the Drasnian snapped.
'The knight? He's just sleeping. With a little help from Syphiss.'
'I meant Makoth.'
'That's none of your business. If it weren't for the knight you'd be joining him, Pebbles.' The Murgo spat the name out. 'Although there's nothing to stop me from killing you right now.'
Makoth could not hear the rest of the conversation, the name jolting his memory, breaking a dam and drowning him in a flood of images.
When he managed to clear the memories clouding his mind, he realised that they were surrounded by the Arends, he was on the ground and Pebbles was on the ground, writhing as he clutched his head. The Murgo was staring down at him with intense concentration. With a start, Makoth realised that the Murgo was torturing Pebbles.
'I said, who are you?' The Murgo grated. Makoth rose unsteadily to his feet, but was ignored by the Murgo. The Arends drew their weapons uncertainly.
'Leave him alone, Shakonat.' Makoth whispered, unable to speak in anything louder. Cold anger filled his mind. The Murgo flinched, breaking his hold on Pebbles.
'How did you know-?'
'You left your mind undefended, Grolim.' He said the title awkwardly. Something tugged at a dim memory, although he could not remember what it was and so continued in a rasp, 'And now... I now return your service... with mine.'
Shakonat's eyes widened in horror.
'Kill them! Kill them both!' he shrieked, backing away. Syphiss was rooted to the spot, petrified. Makoth took some satisfaction in seeing the reptilian indifference evaporating from Syphiss's face. Then, he turned and calmly regarded the increasingly apprehensive men.
Seems like he still has some control over them, Makoth thought. I better be quick.
He visualised what he wanted, keeping a tight rein on his anger, and said,
'Goodbye.' He smiled at the two men, willing what he wanted to occur. The Grolim was too frantic and hysterical to fight Makoth's will, and almost instantaneously both men sank to the ground, their eyes empty. Behind them, Makoth knew, they would live their lives out in pain, but will be unable to do a single thing.
The Arends stared at Makoth and Pebbles, who was very slowly getting to his feet, in utter confusion. Some dropped their weapons, and then seeing their weapons on the ground, retrieved them puzzledly.
'My lord Rospur?' said one of the guards, baffled. 'What is happening? Chaldan save Thy Children... Your companion!' He gaped at Makoth, who looked down at his body for the first time.
Except for the rag of a loincloth, he was naked, and numerous scars, many still red and healing, covered his entire body, as well as welts and burns. His wrists and ankles were crusted in blood. His bones were also clearly showing through his skin. Makoth could only imagine what his face looked like. Amazingly, none of his wounds seemed to be infected.
That would probably deprive Syphiss of his pleasure, he thought drily. Seems the only thing they didn't do is maim me or break any bones.
Pebbles cleared his throat, and the Arends quickly looked away from him.
'A room and lots of food would be nice for my companion. And a room for me too.' Pebbles smiled wearily at Makoth. 'I bet you're starving.'

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Makoth felt much better after a night's proper sleep and plenty of food. He had also bathed, cleaning the blood and grime off, and allowed a maid to dress his wounds. The knight had recovered from the cloud Shakonat had cast over his mind, and also the various drugs and potions Syphiss gave. He and Pebbles were currently chatting about something, or so the squire had said.
Now he was enjoying breakfast alone in his 'simple' room, which, despite his protests, was still finer than he was comfortable with. He had also chosen to sleep on the ground, as the feather mattress was too soft. When a serving maid saw him resting on the floor he thought she would faint.
He looked up when he heard a light rapping on the door. Pebbles entered.
'Better?' Pebbles asked, pulling up a chair and sitting. Makoth nodded.
'It's all my fault.' Pebbles stood up suddenly, and started pacing restlessly around the room.
'Why do you say that?' Makoth asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
'Because I up here feasting while you were being tortured!' Pebbles exploded, turning on Makoth angrily, before resuming his pacing. 'I-'
'What happened?' Makoth cut in, unable to think of a way to soothe Pebbles.
'One minute I was being carried by guards, the next minute I was dropped on the floor and I blacked out. Landed on my arm.' The Drasnian muttered a curse before continuing. 'When I woke up the Murgo was peering down at me. He told me you were in one of the guest rooms and I didn't have to worry, and somehow I completely forgot about you. It was only after I saw your armour in the armoury before I remembered, and I started looking for you. Shakonat was too busy fawning over Elratryn to notice I was gone. I can't believe I actually bloo-'
'It's not your fault. Shakonat was playing with your mind with sorcery.
There wasn't anything you could do.' Makoth sighed.
Pebbles stared at Makoth for some time, as though unable to decide if he was lying just to calm him or not, then turned to stare out of the window.
'If you say so...' He murmured.

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Makoth spent the next two weeks eating, sleeping and walking, as the long torture had left his limbs atrophied. At first he could barely take a few steps before becoming breathless and tired, but soon he was able to walk properly and even jog for a few minutes. His voice had also recovered, allowing him to speak louder than a whisper. He was now chatting to Pebbles as they strolled through the garden.
'Good thing there aren't any snakes around here. I hate snakes.' Pebbles shivered. Makoth suddenly remembered about the two prisoners.
'How're Syphiss and Shakonat?'
The Drasnian's voice became flat. 'They're in cells. Eating, breathing, living.'
'I see.' Makoth kept his voice toneless, and his face impassive. They sauntered under the shade of a large tree, and he sighed, changing the subject. 'I'm seriously getting bored here. Watching Arends bashing pieces of wood isn't my favourite past time. Besides, their looks are really... unnerving. They don't like me, Pebbles.'
Pebbles eyed him critically.
'We-ell... I guess you can come with me to the Arendish fair...' Pebbles said doubtfully. Makoth raised an eyebrow. 'Oh all right. Come on. Horses are waiting for us at the gate.'
'I see you've had this all planned out.'
Pebbles grinned.
'Us Drasnians are like that.'
They left the garden and made their way through the corridors until they reached the courtyard, where the knight and two horses were waiting.
'Good day, Sir Elratryn!' Pebbles called out, striding ahead of Makoth. Elratryn smiled at the Drasnian, although when he rested his eyes on Makoth his eyes become hard and his smile frosty. Pebbles coughed politely, and the knight abruptly turned his attention back to the Drasnian. Makoth knew at that moment why the knight had been avoiding him for so long. He admired his tactfulness.
'The gods must be smiling on thee, Pebbles, for blessing thee with this fair day to ride out with thy companion, to whom I still owe much gratitude for lifting that cursed sorcerous fog from mine eyes and letting me see the error of mine ways. I believe I speak for all the people in this town when I say we shall be greatly saddened by thy departure.' Makoth highly doubted that. The only reason why he walked in that overly sweetly scented garden everyday was to avoid the hateful eyes of the servants. 'I trust thou hast all that thou needst for thy journey?'
Pebbles grinned. 'Yes, we do. I think we must hurry if we want to reach a decent place to rest tonight.'
The knight nodded gravely. 'Then I shall not delay you any further than necessary.' If he doesn't want to delay us he should shut up, Makoth sighed to himself. 'A word of advice when thou art on the roads. Beware my treacherous kinsmen, the Asturians, for they are not above stealing your horses and goods for money, thinking it is good sport. They have not our honour and are capable of many foul deeds.'
Pebbles laughed gaily. 'I shall, I shall. Have no fear, my friend. Now we must be off.' The Drasnian beckoned quickly to Makoth, and they both mounted their horses. 'See you the next time I visit, Sir Elratryn!' He nudged his horse into a quick trot. Makoth followed.
'Fare thee well, Pebbles, and may Chaldan protect thee from harm, and see that thou reachest thy destination safely!'
'Belar!' The Drasnian muttered the moment the town vanished between the trees. 'I thought he'd never stop talking.'

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Makoth enjoyed the few uneventful days of travelling. Although Pebbles spoke calmly and they travelled at a slow pace, Makoth could sense the urgency behind Pebbles's relaxed demeanor. Makoth insisted he could travel by himself but the Drasnian refused his offer. He wondered what Pebbles's motives were.
Their brief visit to the next town was a test as much as for the necessary supplies, but neither mentioned it. No one in town noticed Makoth was a Mallorean - they were too busy staring at his scars and disfigured face. The pair quickly purchased some supplies and left. Makoth once again felt more comfortable outside the town than inside.
The second day of peace and quiet after the town was shattered when a voice shouted,
'Halt!'
Makoth instantly sat up straighter in his saddle and tugged on the reins sharply. The horse stopped. He scanned the surrounding trees alertly, but saw no one. Pebbles ignored the voice and allowed his horse to continue trotting forwards.
'Halt, Drasnian, or else I'll shoot you!'
'Pebbles...?' asked Makoth uncertainly.
'Laylldir, it's me,' Pebbles called out. There was a moment of silence.
'Rospur?'
'Yes.'
'Really Rospur?'
'Yes...'
A middle-aged man burst out of the bushes, flourishing his bow in excitement. Pebbles's horse tossed its head and stepped backwards, snorting. Pebbles threw the Arend a sour look.
'Sorry Ros. You know I don't like horses.'
'You better start liking those I sit on or there'll be trouble.'
Pebbles dismounted, and gestured at Makoth to do the same. Laylldir smiled warmly at Makoth.
'And this is your companion?'
'Yes. He's Makoth.'
'Pleased to meet you, Makoth.'
'Hello.'
Makoth looked at Laylldir carefully. The Arend did not seem bothered by his looks, something very unusual.
'You... don't mind my looks?'
Laylldir shrugged and smiled amiably.
'Can't blame a man for being born that way, can you? Besides, if those are scars, they sure aren't something you'd carve on yourself. Well... at least Rospur's companions wouldn't do it to themselves voluntarily.'
'So what do you think of Mimbrates?'
'Oh they're fine... until they start speaking in that fancy language.'
'Which means all the time.'
Laylldir merely smiled again.
'So what brings you here, old friend?'
'Just passing through. Going to the Arendish Fair.'
Laylldir nodded.
'You'll have safe passage through the forest then. I'll spread the word.'
'Thanks.' Pebbles clasped hands warmly with Laylldir, and clambered onto his horse again. Makoth followed. 'I'd love to talk, but we're in a bit of a hurry.'
'Ah. Good luck on your travels.'
Pebbles nudged his horse into a trot, glancing back to check if Makoth could cope with the pace. Makoth could, but he suspected he was in for another week of aching limbs again.

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The next four days of travel passed by quickly, and true to his word, Laylldir in one way or another kept the road and trails clear. As Makoth expected, the aches appeared the next day, but they were mild ones, or he was sure they were mild ones. It was difficult to remember the torture.
He was also troubled. He did not want to leave the semi-solitude he had with Pebbles as they rode through the peopleless, or at least seemingly peopleless, forest.
They left the cover of the forest, and started down the straight road leading to the market. Malrevon could see the tents, both plain and gawdy, in the distance, some with little flags fluttering from them. A Tolnedran patrol saluted them as they rode past.
It took only a few hours to reach the entrance of the roughly staked boundary, where a few guards had stopped a group of traders. Pebbles pulled up his hood, and the bright sunlight threw a dark shadow over his face, which obscured his features. He also hunched over slightly.
'Say I'm your father.' Makoth blinked at Pebbles in confusion. 'I think they're the Malloreans we bumped into recently.'
Makoth gravely considered this. On one hand he wanted to know what the peculiar nobleman knew about him, but on the other he did not know their intentions, or why they attacked him and Pebbles.
They neared the group, and Makoth smiled politely at them. The Malloreans stared back at him impassively, except for the nobleman, who was repulsed and quickly averted his eyes.
A guard suddenly stepped in Makoth's horse's way.
'G'day sir. What's your honour's business here?' He grinned at them.
'Just visitin' the fair with ma pa. He insisted on comin',' Makoth said in a nasal, whining tone.
'Eh? Wossat?' The quavering voice of an old man behind him.
'Soldiers checkin' us, pa.'
'We ain't done nothin' wrong!'
'Yeah I know, pa-'
'Oh, you can pass through.' The guard lost interest in them and turned his attention back onto the Malloreans.
'Ye hear me?' Pebbles shouted. 'We ain't done nothin' wrong.' The guard scowled, and Makoth hurriedly said,
'Yes, yes pa. They know we haven't.' Despite himself he felt embarassed.
They rode further into the multitude of tents, past small groups of people, who were talking, bargaining or even yelling at each other.
'Drasnian sector is to your right.' Pebbles muttered in a low voice after a while. Makoth led the horses into the miniature 'tent square', where a few Drasnians were standing. A woman peeked out of the tent, and snapped,
'Where were you? I waited for two whole days!'
Makoth was lost for words. A comely lady he did not know was throwing a tantrum at him.
'Go on. Say something and help me off this horse.' Pebbles said softly.
'I... Um...'
'Oh come on in. Quit stuttering.' She disappeared into the tent again.
Makoth dismounted and helped Pebbles off his horse. Pebbles hobbled into the tent while Makoth tethered the horses to a pole. When he was done he joined them.
'Belar! My back aches...' Pebbles rubbed his back and glowered at Makoth. 'Wish you were faster.'
'Just you getting old, Pebbles.' The woman said smoothly, eyeing Makoth cautiously. 'Who's this? Can't say I recognise who or what he is...'
'A Nadrak.' Pebbles grabbed the woman's wrist before she could draw her knife. 'A friend.' He said firmly. Makoth stared at them. They had moved far faster than his eye could follow.
There was silence in the tent, then eventually the woman said,
'If you say so.' She relaxed, and Pebbles released her.
'A Nadrak. Belar... What a varied company you keep around yourself. First a Mimbrate and an Asturian, then now a Nadrak... Who's next? Torak?'
'If I do bring Torak home I'll be sure to tell you, Silver.' Pebbles winked at her. 'Ah yes. The introductions. This is Makoth. This is Silver. At the moment I believe she's also Paysha.'
Silver, or Paysha, grinned at Makoth.
'Nice disguise you've got there.'
'It's not a disguise.'
The smile dissolved, replaced with a look of alarm, then it too was gone, replaced by a calculative expression. Pebbles and Silver exchanged looks.
'It's partly my fault.' Pebbles admitted.
'Well, young man, you're gonna tell me all about it later. First things first. Want some food?' Makoth shook his head.
'Just a place to rest please? I'm a little tired.'
The magnificent smile returned to her face.
'That won't be a problem.' She clapped her hands twice, and a young girl materialised. 'Take this gentleman to the guest quarters.'
The girl curtseyed, glanced at Makoth and was unable to look away.
'Klyra!' Silver said sharply, and the girl tore her eyes away from Makoth guiltily.
'This way, sir,' the girl said meekly. Makoth followed her into another tent, where she unrolled a blanket and left him alone. Makoth undressed, glad to be out of the clothing he had been wearing for the past week or so. He put on the new breeches and tunic next to the blanket, and lay on his back. Soon, he drifted off into dreamless sleep.
Makoth sat bolt upright at the sound of footsteps approaching the tent. Pebbles entered, and paused when he saw Makoth staring at him.
'Was there something?'
'Oh... no nothing.' Makoth tried to clear his head. 'Just woke up.'
Pebbles smiled slightly.
'Glad you see you're alert.'
'So how was the talk with... Sylva?'
'Silver. It was fine. She yelled at me for getting you into all that... trouble. She said she'll check on the Malloreans.' Pebbles grimaced. 'Her voice is very... piercing.'
'I didn't hear it.'
'I'm not surprised. The tent was thicker and heavier than most. Sandbags heaped around the base of the tent too. Muffles everything.' Pebbles yawned spread it on the ground and sat on it. 'You know, when I was talking to her, I started wondering how you survived all that. I mean, Nyissans are good... but surely not that good?' Pebbles glanced at Makoth worriedly.
Makoth laughed softly. 'Syphiss was a sadist, so he took care of his toy. Didn't probe too deep... just drugged me a lot and peeled off only my skin.' He smiled wryly. 'Even Shakonat lost interest after a while.'
Pebbles ran a coin around his knuckles thoughtfully.
'So why didn't you just... blast your way out of the prison? I mean... after what you did with that Mallorean...' Pebbles shuddered.
Makoth thought about it. 'It's quite new to me. It needs concentration and it's hard to when you're terrified...' He stared into the distance, remembering his attempts. Not the pain, oddly enough. 'Or in pain...'
Pebbles stood up suddenly and gazed at Makoth intently.
'Belar... I still feel bad everytime I see those scars.'
Makoth stared at Pebbles' back.
'There's nothing to be sorry about...'
'Nothing to be sorry about?' Pebbles laughed uglily, and shook his head. Makoth thought he caught a whispered 'I can't do this'.
'What's wrong?'
No response.
Makoth sighed. 'There's nothing to be sorry about... it wasn't your fault.' Pebbles's back was still facing him. Eventually, Pebbles said very slowly,
'Do you think it's familiar, because you were once a Grolim?’
Makoth felt his jaw drop, then closed it and stammered 'I... I don't know. I don't... remember anything before we met.' Pebbles looked over his shoulder and gazed at Makoth critically, then looked away again.
'Y'know what I think? I think you're a Mallorean. And a Grolim. Not that anyone looking at you now can tell.'
'I... I can't be... can I?' Makoth felt terribly confused and lost.
'D'you remember being ambushed?' Makoth nodded slowly. 'They knocked you out with a cudgel. Think it messed up something in your mind. When you were sleeping, I took a good, long look at you. You aren't tall, broad or scarred enough to be any of the Angaraks 'round here. When I helped you up you had no calluses, even though you were dressed up as a mercenary.'
'Are you sure you aren't... mistaken? You're not... joking are you?'
'Hell!' Pebbles spun on Makoth angrily. 'You think I'd say this lightly to anyone? "You're a Grolim"?' Makoth stared into his hands. He could not think straight. When Pebbles spoke again, his tone was gentler. 'Sorry... I don't know what came over me. Part of my Alorn heritage.' He smiled sardonically.
'I thought... all Alorns hated Angaraks...'
'Aye, we do.' Makoth froze. 'Relax. Us Drasnians are rather more open-minded. Besides, I had to know what a Mallorean Grolim was doing here. Patriotic duty. Haha. And my insatiable curiosity.' Pebbles shook his head. 'And then? I got him into a mess... He nearly dies while I sit in a hall feasting...'
Makoth could think of nothing to say. Nothing that would give Pebbles the forgiveness he sought from himself. His mind was still numbed from what Pebbles had told him. It explained the nightmares. It explained his dreams.
Silence filled the tent as both men brooded.
'I'm sleeping in the next tent... Good night.' Pebbles stood up and left, leaving Makoth alone with his thoughts.

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Silver watched Pebbles enter and sit on a stool heavily. He stared into space, his face expressionless.
'Are you all right?' Silver said after a while. Pebbles had an unnerving ability to control his expression, or at the very least keep his face impassive, no matter how he felt, making it difficult to judge his true mood. For all she knew, he could be feeling angry, miserable or just tired. There was a pause, then he shook his head. Silver pursed her lips disapprovingly. 'So you did do it after all.'
'Well you told me to.' Pebbles said flatly.
'And?'
'He's sleeping.' Silver glared at him, crossing her arms. 'He looked shocked. But then he realised something. What I don't know.'
'So worst case scenario... He's a Grolim spy who's been messing with our minds... yours in particular.'
'You really think he loves to get starved and tortured to that extent?' The vehemency in his voice surprised Silver. She glanced at Pebbles, but as usual, his face was blank as he stared back at her. It sometimes made you wonder whether you were hallucinating or not.
'There are such people as masochists.' She said gently.
'He doesn't seem that type.' Pebbles was stubborn. Silver gave up. There was simply no changing his mind. She had known him for far too long to even try persuading him.
'You shouldn't have told him... Never mind. What's done's done. Mind if I set a few men to watch him? If not to gather info then...'
'No. And I need some of your tools. They saw an old man hobble in. I don't want them to see him come out younger.'
Silver clapped her hands sharply, causing the string around her wrist to tug, which led outside through a tube to ring the bell. It was, she felt, a rather over elaborate design to stop people from realising that the tent was pretty soundproof. Klyra appeared.
'Go fetch my kit... and some ointment.' Klyra nodded, and slipped out of the tent again. 'So what are you planning to do?'
'Follow the Malloreans.' Pebbles smiled grimly. 'They know who he is.'
'I wonder what we'll discover when he regains his memory...' Silver murmured thoughtfully as Klyra returned with the small chest.

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Dronachus swore loudly as they left the Arendish Fair. He cursed Malrevon, his luck and the world in general. Had Malrevon taken him along to see Drosta, Malrevon could have died and Dronachus wouldn't have cared less. As it turned out, the Grolim hadn't, so now he was on a wild goose chase around the entire West. You had to laugh. A Mallorean had somehow managed to blend into societies that disliked and distrusted Angaraks.
They had lost track of Malrevon shortly after he killed one of his men, when they were attacked by Murgos. Dronachus still felt chilled when he remember the scene. 'Die'. One word and the man was dead. At least he could look forward to reporting the Murgos' behaviour to Kal Zakath.
'Sir?' Dronachus turned to the deceptively innocent and young man riding next to him.
'Yes corporal?'
'If we're going to Nyissan shouldn't we get some antidotes?'
Dronachus grimaced.
'Assuming we can find any. We probably need to spend more money buying them from those thieving Tolnedrans.'
'Sir?' Corporal Tolnar seemed to be working his way up to something. Dronachus nodded. It paid to listen to the veteran who quenched many of the frequent Gandahar rebellions. 'When we're buying the antidotes, we should also get something that... puts people to sleep. Just in case, sir.'
Dronachus stared at Tolnar, who smiled cheerfully.
'Remind me... why haven't you been promoted?'
'Because I don't like politics, sir.'
'Ah. And you think I do?'
'Well, sir, I like it better if the nobles are fretting about a bastard endangering their positions than just a plain commoner.' Tolnar's face was perfectly straight. Dronachus raised an eyebrow. 'Sorry, sir. Couldn't resist, sir.'
'It's all right. I agree with you... even though I'm the one who gets it.'
'So what do we do if we can't find him in Nyissa?'
Dronachus grimaced again.
'We return... empty-handed.'

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Pebbles emerged from the shop and nodded.
'They've passed through here... and bought some antidotes.'
Makoth listened with half an ear to the conversation, looking around the city again. It was familiar, and yet not entirely. Sometimes, when he passed through a street, he expected to see an armoury or a seamstress' shop, but instead some other building stood there, jarring him.
'You've got our antidotes?' Silver asked, while adjusting her bun vainly. She was now the dainty, self-centred Lyrania, accompanying her uncle and her brother to travel to southern Tolnedra, where she will meet her fiance.
Makoth was the uncle, dressed in a black robe that settled unusually comfortably on his shoulders, with the hood drawn over his face. He still could not accept that he could be a Grolim, but he realised it could very well be true. Sorcery was no ordinary thing, and the nightmares, Makoth knew, were real memories, no matter how many times he refuted it.
'Of course. At a bargain price as usual.' Pebbles laughed . 'I think he's afraid what happens if... news leaks out.'
'Ah... I've forgotten about that.' Silver grinned.
Pebbles offered a vial up to Makoth.
'Uncle, have one.'
'Thanks, Lodran.' Makoth accepted it graciously, and tucked it into his belt. Pebbles swung onto his horse and led the way out of the city. 'So why do the Arends keep calling you Rospur?' Makoth asked, suddenly remembering the conversation with the peculiar Asturian.
'It's another disguise. Of course, Elratryn and Laylldir are among the brightest Arends in the whole of Arendia, so they do know I'm hiding something. I occasionally let it slip that I'm talking to the 'other side', so they think I'm trying to meditate peace between them. Mimbrates and Asturians I mean. You'd have to be insane to try, and I'm not that senile.'
'You think,' Silver retorted.
Pebbles narrowed his eyes.
'I ought to spank you.'
Silver fluttered her lashes at Pebbles. 'Spank me? Your poor, little sister?'
Pebbles stared at her, and turned away disgustedly again. 'Forget I mentioned it.'
Silver trilled a laugh, casting Pebbles coy looks.

The Nyissan jungles teemed with life, and most of it was either poisonous, parasitic or both. Dronachus hated it. Trained as a foot soldier, he could imagine how disgusting it would be to march through these jungles. The horses were reluctant to enter the jungles, and Dronachus fully sympathised with them, but they had to ride or else they would risk losing time. He cursed and slapped his arm hard. He wiped the bloody mess off onto his cloak, knowing that he was rewarded with another itchy lump this evening.
'Corporal?' he asked, wiping the water that had condensed on his face with the other edge of his cloak.
'Sir?' Tolnar rode up next to him.
'How long is it to that damned city?'
'Still a few days, sir.' Dronachus growled, slashing at a few unoffending vines. He was a lieutenant, not a babysitter. 'Oh, and sir?'
'Hm?' Dronachus turned around, and felt something slash him. He stared down at his hand, then at the dagger in Tolnar's hand. The dagger was coated in a pale yellow liquid. Tolnar smiled at Dronachus.
'Sorry sir. Captain's orders.' Dronachus swung his sword clumsily at him, but Tolnar lightly tugged on the reins and his horse stepped back. He was losing sensation in his arm already.
'Curse you! Why?' Dronachus snarled, trying to guide the horse with his knees. 'I have a family, you bastard!' The numbness spread to his shoulder.
'You're a threat to everyone politically, sir.' Tolnar saluted him. 'We came this far because we respect you. Captain wanted us to kill you the moment we arrived at Arendia.' Dronachus lost his balance, sliding off his horse and hitting the ground. 'Goodbye, sir. We all salute you.' Tolnar grabbed his horse's reins and moved out of Dronachus' view.
Then there were fading sounds of drumming hooves, until only the sounds of buzzing insects and animal calls were left. Dronachus barely managed to pull himself up against a tree. It started to drizzle.
'Bye, Ilrasin...' he whispered, as a snake slithered out of the bushes and onto him, then was interrupted by a cheerful voice.
'Goodbye? No need be sad! Me here! Me help!' A hooded figure in black appeared before him. 'Nasty rain, make us wet! Where? Where?' Dronachus stared at the strange person. 'Here! Drink up! Good for you!'
'What, it kills me?' Dronachus was starting to slur.
'Quick quick!' Dronachus thought, since I'm dying anyway, what difference will it make? The figure tilted Dronachus' head up gently and poured the liquid down his throat. 'Good boy! Now me must find people. Nice people!' The figure picked up the snake on Dronachus' torso and cooed at it, just as Dronachus blacked out.

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'Aiyeeee!!!' A figure came crashing out of the bushes. Silver and Pebbles sprang to their feet, weapons drawn. The figure tripped and fell over. 'Bad men chasing me! You must coming with me! Bad men poison family man! They looking for weird man! You good man so must come come quick! Help!!!' There was a stunned silence among the three trackers, who stared at the small man still sprawled on his face. After some time, Silver said kindly,
'There's no one following you. I don't hear anyone.' She reached down to help him, but he flinched away so suddenly Silver jumped back with alarm.
'No touch! No touch!' the man whined, tugging down on his hood desperately. 'Must no see me!' He squirmed away from Silver.
'What do you want from us?' Silver asked, keeping back from the man.
'Bad men poison family man! He dress like... like people in the East! Same like bad men! You help him! Me cannot! Me must go find snake! Snake is red and yellow and black and-'
'So what's "weird man"?' Pebbles interrupted.
'They talking. They say Grolim. They say Ma... something! Must hurry! Me busy! Must find herb too! It's tall and green and leafy and-'
'Dammit we don't want to know about your snaky tree!' Pebbles lost his patience, and tried to grab the man, who darted out of reach. 'We don't even know who you are! How the hell are we supposed to believe you?'
Silver shot Pebbles a hard look, and he glared back at her. There seemed to be a silence exchange of words going on between them. Silver threw her hands in the air and stalked to the edge of the clearing, where she turned her back on them.
'Must not see me, else me get stonied!' The man flung his arms protectively over his head.
'After seeing him' Pebbles jerked a thumb at Makoth 'I think I can stand the sight of anyone. And what's "stonied"?'
The hooded figure turned his head fearfully at Makoth, then sighed.
'You not understanding. Me is white.' Silver snorted with laughter. 'Me is all white. White hair white skin white teeth white everything.'
'You don't sound old.' Pebbles said, baffled, 'Did you bleach your hair by any chance?'
'Me is white. Everything white. But...'
'But?'
'Red eyes.'
'Red eyes? You mean an... albino?'
'Albino?' The peculiar man nodded. 'Yes, me is albino.'
'Never seen an albino before...'
The man shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny of the three people. It was, Makoth suspected, going to be a very interesting evening. He knew he was the "Ma..." person. He just wondered who exactly "family man" was.
'Help?' he said uncertainly.
'Oh all right.' Pebbles gave Silver a startled look. 'Look there's no harm ok? You brought yours, I bring mine.'
'Whatever you say, dear.' Silver beamed triumphantly at Pebbles. Makoth also begun to wonder if there was something going on between these two Drasnians. 'Show us the way, then.'
The albino melted into the bushes, and the group quickly followed, leading their horses through the bracken. Darkness descended, and Makoth took out a torch and tried to light it. It would not catch, still wet from the rain a few hours ago. The albino paused to mix two things from two bottles in a shallow dish, which glowed softly, casting eerie shadows. Makoth thought he heard the word 'Ulgo' pass between Silver and Pebbles.
Eventually, they arrived. The man jumped up and down excitedly, pointing. Makoth stared. It was the Mallorean noble. The noble stared back at them, and weakly smiled.
'Hello... Drasnians and Mal... Makoth.'
'Perhaps you would like to explain what this man meant by 'weird man', 'bad man' and 'Ma... something'?' Silver said icily.
'Sorry?'
'The albino...' Silver turned to wave at the man, but he was already gone. 'Drat.' Silver and Pebbles exchanged looks. 'Why don't you just tell me everything?'
'I'm not sure if I can tell you about "everything"...' The man gave the two Drasnians a very piercing look. 'I've still got a certain duty to my country... So there are limits. And you can't force them out of me.'
'I'm not planning to. So why're you here?' asked Pebbles.
'Got poisoned by my troops.' The man laughed bitterly. 'We were, or at least I thought we were, looking for... a Grolim.'
'I know I'm a Grolim... but who am I?'
'What do you know?' the noble asked softly.
'They say I'm a... Grolim. And I'm Mallorean.'
'And your name?'
'Makoth.' The noble's expression became veiled.
'I see. How ironic.' Makoth realised that the Drasnians were watching the noble very intently, and that the noble was also watching them, with a very cool expression on his face. 'Personally I don't think your name will help you much.' The noble shifted his position slightly, and the Drasnians tensed. He glanced at them with amusement.
'Something's better than nothing.'
'Not always... not always.' The noble's eyes took on a haunted look, as he stared deep into Makoth's eyes. 'Your name... is Malrevon.'
Silver hissed in alarm, her eyes darting to Makoth, and Pebbles suddenly looked uncertain. Makoth... or rather Malrevon, felt despair overwhelm him. It had, despite all his hopes, triggered no memories. His past was still obscured. He still did not have an identity.
'We must!' Silver snapped suddenly.
'Must?' Malrevon echoed. Her eyes narrowed as they bored into Malrevon with distrust. Pebbles looked torn and indecisive.
'If he is Malrevon you must be the captain.' Silver pointed at the noble, who laughed bitterly.
'No. I'm actually a lieutenant who's just been... eliminated.'
'So what's your purpose here in the West?'
'You have to ask Malrevon for the answer.' Malrevon flinched when she spun around and glared at him.
'I... I don't know!'
'Belar! I'm going to have some answers tonight or else there'll be blood spilled,' she snarled, her dagger materialising in her hand. Pebbles looked stunned.
'You can't do this!'
'Why not? You've done this before! Why can't I?' Pebbles was lost for words. Silver spat at his feet. 'Because it's not moral? Because I'm a woman? Because you've only just realised that Angaraks are human? I'm thoroughly disgusted, Pebbles. Get out of my sight!'
'No!' Pebbles roared, as something in him snapped. Malrevon stared at them with fascination.
'And what do you think you're gonna do, Pebbles?' Silver said chillily.
'Silver...' Pebbles' voice took on a pleading tone. 'Don't do this.'
'Or what? You're gonna spank me?' Her eyes were an icy blue. 'Get out of my way, Pebbles.' She tried to shoulder past him, but Pebbles did not move.
She glared up at him.
'No.' he said quietly.
'Damn you, you bastard! Get the hell out of my way!' She was stopped by Pebbles again. The frustration suddenly gave way to anger, and she threw the dagger at Pebbles. He dodged it, drawing his own, and barely brought it up in time to parry her wild slash. Her foot lashed out, and he side- stepped it, calmly parrying and dodging her increasingly frantic attacks. Silver's dagger scythed air as Pebbles ducked it, and he suddenly surged up and knocked the dagger from Silver's hand. With his other arm, he grabbed her by her torso and hugged her close to him, pinning both her arms at her side. She struggled, biting and kicking him, until eventually her anger drained away. She stopped. Pebbles relaxed his tight embrace, and she slumped to the ground.
'They killed my parents...' she whispered, staring into empty space. Pebbles knelt down next to her, bleeding badly from his nose. 'Do you know that? They killed them...'
'Hush, yes, I know.' Pebbles stroked her hair. 'I understand...'
'No! You don't!' She jerked away from him, standing up. 'You'll never understand! They killed my parents! My mum and my dad! They did!' She pointed an accusing finger at Malrevon and the noble.
'They killed my wife, Silver.'
There was a deathly silence, broken by the chirruping of insects.
'Oh Belar...' Silver sank into a crouch, running her hand through her hair. 'I'm so sorry... I don't... I...'
'We understand.' Pebbles tenderly wrapped an arm around her.
'And now the two lovers comfort each other and we have a happy ending,' a voice said flatly behind Malrevon. He turned around. The noble met his eyes. 'If only life was that simple.'
'Why are you so bitter?'
'I have my own wife and my own children, Malrevon. If I died... which I have, according to the records... they'll not have money. It's perfectly all right for the 'pure blood' nobles. We bastards get the brunt of everything.'
'But that's got nothing to do with them...'
'It doesn't. It's got everything to do with you.'
'Me?'
'Yes. But that's all past... and gone.' The lieutenant looked away. 'I might still die. Here at the hands of that woman or at home...' His voice trailed off. 'It doesn't matter anymore.' he concluded, shrugging.
'Why wouldn't it?'
'Because... nevermind.' Malrevon decided not to press the matter.
'So who're you?'
'Me? Just another nameless casualty in the endless battle for power.'
Malrevon stared at the lieutenant for sometime, as a dim memory surfaced.
'Dro... Dronachus?' The lieutenant saluted him with a shaky hand.
'Reporting, sir.' He smiled wryly. 'Memories returning?' Malrevon watched the two Drasnians, who were too caught up in each other's presence to remember or notice them.
'Some... I remember the sacrifices. And... my brother. My older brother and my mother. And a Grolim with a purple trimmed robe. Nothing else.' Dronachus nodded, closing his eyes and resting it against the tree.
'Perhaps it is better you don't remember... everything. Not everything in life is pretty. You do know what the purple means, right?'
'Purple... is the highest rank a Grolim can achieve without becoming a disciple. They can use sorcery.' Malrevon looked up at Dronachus in horror. 'You're saying I'm...?'
'You already knew who you were. You just didn't want to face it. You killed one of my men with just a word. They told you you were a Grolim.' He smiled again, the peculiar crooked smile. 'And black?'
'Initiate,' Malrevon said automatically, 'the lowest ranking Grolim.'
'See? It's been drilled into you. You won't ever be able to forget.' Dronachus laughed harshly. 'I admire the way they school you.'
'School who?' Pebbles said, looking away from Silver for the first time. Silver was asleep, curled up in Pebbles' arms.
'Grolims. Angaraks. Every race as a matter of fact. They breed hatred into us.' Dronachus opened his eyes. 'Sometimes I feel that after the Rivan King has come and had his little tussle with Torak... No matter who wins, the hatred will still be there. We're as bad as the Arends.' He laughed.
'That's too bleak.' Malrevon shook his head.
'Or you're too naive.' Dronachus was starting to slur his words.
'Are you all right?'
'Just tired.' Dronachus murmured, closing his eyes. A moment later he was asleep. Malrevon met Pebbles' gaze across the small path.
'Best sleep now.' Pebbles sighed, drawing his hands over his eyes. 'We've got a long way to go tomorrow. To catch up with his men for one thing.' He paused. 'So did you find out his name?'
Malrevon hesitated, remembering Dronachus' words. 'No. I didn't.'
'Shame.' Pebbles tenderly brushed the hair from Silver's face.
'Everything in its own time, I guess. Good night.' The Drasnian slowly lay back against a tree, careful not to wake the slumbering woman, then he too was asleep.
Malrevon quietly stood up, walking to the horses and tethering them to a tree. He removed the saddles, and took out the blankets. He draped one over the sleeping couple, and the other over the lieutenant. The third he wrapped around himself, and he huddled under the tree, waiting for the sun to rise.

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Alywin opened his eyes the moment he felt the sun's warm rays bathe his face. Silver was still asleep, turned slightly away from him. He carefully sat up and covered her with the blanket, then looked across the road. Malrevon was curled up on himself, his expression serene behind the scars.
Scars.
Pebbles felt a twinge of guilt, and quickly buried that feeling. The lieutenant was still slumped at the base of the tree, his face still pale but slightly better than yesterday. Everything was damp, and it already felt too warm and clammy. Alywin looked down at Silver again.
She reminded him of his wife. No, not her looks, but the way she acted. He closed his eyes, remembering the silken feeling of her long, flowing hair, her depthless golden-brown eyes, her bronzed, supple body. But superimposed on his wife's perfect image was the memory of her being impaled by three arrows as they rode into an ambush. He had sunk into a deep, dark despair after that, and when he emerged from the darkness, he found himself chained with a multitude of other slaves. He escaped that night, killing three of his captors, and spent a year tracking down and killing those who were involved in the death of his wife. It did not relieve his grief or his guilt. He opened his locket and ran his thumb over the tiny portrait.
'Brook...' He stared at the portrait for some time, and closed it again, clenching it in his fist as his eyes flooded with tears. When he recovered, he felt someone watching him. He looked up. The lieutenant.
'Memories?' said the lieutenant. Alywin shrugged. 'How about an answer for an answer? Reasonable questions of course.' Pebbles considered this. The Mallorean could either be lying or be sincere, but that could go both ways couldn't it?
'Very well. Who're you?'
'Dronachus, a former lieutenant of 'Zakath's army, husband, and father of two children.' Alywin started, realising that the Mallorean was more devious than he previously thought. He wants me to sympathise with him. Problem is I do. 'Who was that in your locket?' Alywin stiffened. 'If you don't want to tell I can ask something else.'
'Something else... please.'
'If I don't tell you anything, what will happen?'
Alywin frowned. He did not want to think about that. 'Nothing... I guess.'
'"I guess".' Dronachus sighed, his face drawn, 'It'll do. And your friend?'
'Another question?'
'If so that's also the second from you.'
'Ah. Well. I don't know. I don't make decisions for her.' Dronachus sighed again and nodded.
'It'll have to do. So. Next question.'
'What do you know about Malrevon?'
'A little. But it won't help you... or him.' Dronachus smiled oddly. 'A question that I... will not answer.'
'What do you know about the West, then?'
'Little. Alorns hate us, Tolnedrans love money, Nyissans worship snakes, Arends wage war on each other daily.' Dronachus paused. 'And that Drasnians have their real names, false names and... nicknames.' The unspoken question was obvious.
'Pebbles?' Silver murmured, stirring beside him. Her fingers did an almost imperceptible dance as she spoke silently, using his true name. 'Alywin? What're you two talking about?'
'Trying to get information out of the lieutenant.' he replied in the same language, while saying out loud 'Just idle chit chat.' Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dronachus pull himself painfully into an upright position.
'Morning... Malrevon's still asleep.' Silver's eyes narrowed as they focussed on the Mallorean, but she forced herself to relax.
'I can see.' Alywin could see her struggle to be civil to the Mallorean.
'What do we do now?' her fingers asked, while she said 'I'm hungry.'
'I don't know.' Alywin stood up. 'I'll prepare some breakfast.'
'No!' Silver started at her own outburst, and lowered her voice. 'I mean... no... Come sit down next to me?' Pebbles flinched.
'I... I can't. I made a promise. To Brook.' he said helplessly, looking away. Birds sung and animals called in the silence that ensued. Alywin half expected Silver to stand up and slap him, screaming at him for the bastard he was, half expected her to cry and curse him.
She did neither. Instead, she said softly,
'I understand.' Alywin slowly looked up to meet her steady gaze. Her expression was cool, neither angry nor sad. It was more chilling than if she had cried or screamed. 'Go prepare breakfast then,' she continued in an equally dispassionate voice. Alywin stared at Silver in horror.

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'So what're we going to do now?' Dronachus' voice said, as Malrevon drifted back to awakeness.
'Pebbles decides, of course.' said Silver quietly. Malrevon opened his eyes and sat up. 'Good morning, Malrevon.' Silver was acting oddly stiff and politely, but he could see the hatred burning in her eyes as she gazed at him blankly.
'Morning...' said Pebbles in a strained voice, and he turned back to Dronachus. 'Go after your men, I guess.' A pause. 'Silver... I-'
'If you're not making breakfast I will. What do you want, Malrevon? Dronachus?' She stood up and moved to the saddle packs, and begun to rummage in them. 'We've got only stale bread and smoked meat, I'm afraid.'
Malrevon stared at the two Drasnians. They must have been arguing while he was asleep. He gave Dronachus a puzzled look, but the lieutenant just shrugged.
'Um... meat please,' Malrevon said uncertainly, 'Um... so how do we follow Dronachus' men?' All eyes turned onto Pebbles. He paled. Malrevon was worried. Whatever had happened between Pebbles and Silver must have hurt Pebbles, and hurt Pebbles bad. After a few moments, Pebbles took in a shaky breath and said,
'I'll spread a description of the men around Tolnedra... via my contacts. Legionnaires will then stop anyone who is suspicious, or fits the description. But for that I need your help.' Dronachus stared at Pebbles impassively, then nodded, his eyes lighting with a fire uncomfortably similar to Silver's. 'Then now there's the problem of getting you to Tol Honeth. We can't build litters 'cause nearly everything in this jungle is poisonous. And we can't strap you to a horse 'cause we've only got three.'
'Are you sure?' Silver said, her expression sardonic. She pointed to a mule tethered next the original three horses. 'Our peculiar visitor's come back it seems.'
There was a small note attached to the saddle of the mule, as well as a small bottle. Pebbles unfolded it, his hands steadier as he recovered most of his composture. Pebbles stared.
'Read it.' Silver's voice cracked like a whip. Pebbles flinched, as though he was slapped, then cleared his throat and read it.
'Hello nice men! Me is glad you helping family man. You no enough horsies so me give! Give when you all sleeping sweet like narcissus! Tell family man must drink drink, so rest of poison go away. And tell family man be... I can't read this word.'
'I'll read it.' Malrevon offered, while Dronachus muttered under his breath. Pebbles handed the note to him.
Malrevon blinked at the large, crooked and, above all, childish handwriting. Some of the ink had smudged, from the moisture in the air, he guessed. He peered at the last word of the note.
'I think it says... euphoric.'
'I see. That was very helpful,' said Silver drily, 'Shouldn't we hurry? I for one don't want to be left behind.' She quickly gathered up the blankets and packed them away. Pebbles sighed, saddling the horses. Dronachus sniffed at the bottle suspiciously, and shot Malrevon a questioning look. He shrugged in response.
Sighing, the lieutenant tipped the contents of the vial into his mouth. His expression made Malrevon burst into laughter. Pebbles turned, and, upon catching sight of Dronachus' face, grinned.
'No worry worry! Good good for you!' Pebbles exclaimed, pitching his voice to imitate the albino. Dronachus glowered, snatching the wineskin Malrevon offered and took a long draught from it.

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It did not take them more than a few days to return to Tol Borune, as fortunately for them, it was not the mating season for the Dryads. There, Malrevon and Dronachus were left at an elderly Tolnedran matron's house, and were told that Silver and Pebbles would hunt down the other Malloreans. Dronachus had objected, but his protests were overridden. He was too weak, and needed time to recover from the poison's lingering effects.
The Grolim suspected that the apparently fragile matron was either another Drasnian spy, or the Academy's contact. Dronachus obviously shared the same opinion, as he rarely spoke to Malrevon, or for that matter, anyone. Still, Malrevon enjoyed the peace and quiet, and often strolled along with the silent lieutenant in the small garden, admiring the carefully cultivated plants and the small blossoms.
It was during one of their garden walks when Pebbles and Silver returned, with a troop of Tolnedran legionnaires, another Drasnian he had never seen before and three prisoners. Dronachus' stony face hardened even more – if such a thing was possible - and hatred flared in his eyes. Malrevon warily rested a hand onto Dronachus' shoulder, and felt the tensed muscles there. The man clenched his jaw, but waited, his eyes following the prisoners as they were dragged unceremoniously into the house.
Just as the last of the legionnaires entered the house, Dronachus shook off Malrevon's hand and strode after them. The Grolim sighed, and hurried after the vengeful man.
Inside, the old matron stared at the captured Malloreans, her lips pursed in disapproval. Silver and Pebbles were quietly conversing with the Drasnian man, who occasionally gestured at the prisoners with a roll of black velvet. Pebbles did not look happy. The legionnaires stood guard, ready to spring into action at any moment. The prisoners were shackled, but their gazes were defiant as they glared around. They looked familiar - likely faces Malrevon saw when he was escorted, but he could put no names to them.
'You!' hissed one of them in alarm when he noticed Dronachus looking at them through slitted eyes. The lieutenant smiled grimly. Everyone in the room turned to regard the two Malloreans standing at the door. The new Drasnian nodded when he saw Malrevon, and turned back to Silver and Pebbles, while the prisoners stared openly at him.
'Me.' Dronachus nodded, and shifted his gaze to the Drasnians. 'What are you planning to do? Where are the others?'
'We need answers,' Silver said coolly, 'Since Pebbles has grown rather fond of you, we must get them from these three. Besides, I suspect these three know of things you do not. The others died in the fray.'
The Drasnian man walked over to the table, and unrolled the velvet. Metal gleamed. 'I'm called Truth,' he said quietly, 'and these prisoners are in my care.' Malrevon stared in horror at the array of implements within. Truth selected one and held it casually in his hand. 'Of course, if you wish to leave, Malrevon, you may.' The prisoners paled. Truth studied them. 'Although, I must say you've got quite an effect on them. Not surprising, given your reputation.'
Malrevon felt sick in his stomach. 'So you're going to use those... things on them?' his voice coming out weaker than he would have liked. Truth nodded. He stared at the jagged knife, and very slowly said 'I'll question them. Just... just don't use those.' He made a quick gesture at the knife.
Truth merely smiled and nodded. Malrevon glanced askance at Dronachus, who smiled savagely.
'Corporal Tolnar,' he grated, and the oldest of the three flinched slightly, 'Would you like to explain yourself? Or would you like to have some help?' Tolnar's eyes flicked to Malrevon, then back to Dronachus. He mumbled something. 'Sorry? I didn't catch that.'
'I'll explain,' said Tolnar hoarsely. He drew a deep breath before continuing. 'We were sent to the West... here... because Drosta has been ignoring Kal Zakath's envoys. Malrevon was to make it clear that Drosta's behaviour was not tolerated. After the discussion, he disguised himself as Makoth, a temple guard, and left with an Asturian. They fought other Arends manipulated by Murgo Grolims. Malrevon's camp was hit by the Grolims, and after that we lost contact. We assumed he was dead. We also had to kill
Dronachus. Dronachus was not aware that Malrevon was dead, and so we used that as an excuse to lead him away from his men, and once safe we would kill him.' He faltered. 'And... and that's all.'
'Lies!' snapped Dronachus. Tolnar sneered at him.
'Why would I want to lie?'
'The captain had other motives.'
'He did not.'
Dronachus growled, stepping forward, before Malrevon grabbed at his arm.
'Corporal,' said Truth smoothly, 'if you are discovered lying you will suffer an unpleasant fate... I'm sure we all wish to avoid that.'
Tolnar smirked. 'Nothing as bad as losing my wife to a lecher.' Dronachus went very still.
'Enough taunting.' Malrevon scowled at Tolnar.
'And what will you do? Strangle me? You're powerless in these countries.' Tolnar smiled mockingly. 'I must say Yilanda deserved her fate, given how cowardly her brother is.'
'Yilanda...?' Silver asked, but her voice was faint, as though she was far away. Malrevon stared at Tolnar.
Yilanda.
His sister.
White-hot rage filled Malrevon.
'How dare you?' he snarled, flinging out a hand. The corporal's eyes bulged as he writhed on the ground. 'You have no right... no right!'
'Enough.' Dronachus sighed. Malrevon stared at him. 'Enough.' And he remembered Syphiss. He nodded, releasing his Will. Tolnar sagged, panting hard. The other two prisoners had edged back as far as their chains would allow them. Silver looked shocked, and the matron had fainted. Pebbles had his back turned. Truth was amused.
Tolnar slowly sat up, his eyes wide with terror. Truth slipped the knife into the roll and tucked it under his arm. Malrevon looked away, not wanting to meet anyone's eyes.
'So what will you do?' he asked Dronachus.
Dronachus glanced at Tolnar. 'Go home. Will you come with me?'
'I don't think I can. My parents are dead, and my brother has no love for me. I'll travel with you into Yar Nadrak, but that'll be it.' Malrevon glanced at Tolnar, who was being questioned by Silver, feeling guilty. 'I think I'll take another walk in the garden.' Dronachus nodded.
They left the house and wandered along the small path winding through the garden. Malrevon felt better out in the open, away from the stink of fear. They sat on the bench at the back of the house, listening to the rustle of leaves.
'Who's Yilanda?' Dronachus eventually asked, then quickly added, 'You don't have to tell me.'
Malrevon stared blindly at the ivy-covered wall. 'She was my sister. She was raped and murdered by a soldier. My mother was driven insane by her death. My father was shamed, and fell on his sword after killing my mother. I was being trained at the temple when this happened. My brother was at an ambassador's house, learning the art of negotiation.'
'And the soldier?'
'My brother flayed him personally, and had him hung on the wall for ravens to peck at. I slit the guard's throat. My brother was incensed, saying I was too merciful, and never spoke to me ever since.'
Dronachus was quiet for some time before replying. 'It was the right thing to do,' he said finally. Malrevon slowly turned to Dronachus. The lieutenant was toying with a leaf. 'Mercy is too rare among us Angaraks.'
They were silent after that, and sat there, watching the first few drops of rain fall.

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Tolnar and the other two Malloreans were handed over to Dronachus and Malrevon the next day. The old lady was also better, but still shaken. Malrevon apologised to her, and just before he left her house for the last time, he removed the memory from her mind.
Silver said she and Pebbles would accompany them to as far as the border of Drasnia in no uncertain terms. She still turned a cold shoulder on them, but out of the need to keep face rather than disgust. Her hatred of Angaraks seemed to have mellowed out, much to Malrevon's relief.
The corporal and his two men for the most part were silent, not daring to speak or run away. They were a subdued bunch, and often, they cast apprehensive glances at Malrevon. Even after Malrevon explained that he would not do anything to them, they shied away from him when he approached them, and soon he gave up trying to soothe the prisoners.
Judging from the banter between Silver and Pebbles, the two were likely to marry, whether Pebbles wanted to or not. They argued every step of the way, from what disguises to assume to what they were going to eat.
'We're close to Elratryn's fort!' Pebbles called over his shoulder.
'What should I wear?' Silver fretted, 'Why did you tell me about this earlier? I would have brought something then.'
'How should I know? Dress up as a peasant woman.'
There was a long silence. Dronachus flashed Malrevon a grin.
'A peasant woman?' she said mildly, her eyes narrowing as she nudged her horse into a faster trot, and once level with Pebbles she glared at him. 'Me? Dress up as a peasant woman?' she demanded, her voice becoming louder with every word. 'What do you take me for, your servant woman? Your cook? Your maid?' A few bird flapped away from the treetops at the last screeched word. Pebbles rubbed at his ear, still grinning cheekily.
'Or you can wear nothing. Now THAT would be a sight to behold.' Pebbles nodded, and ducked as she lashed out with her dagger sheath. She missed his face and instead slapped his horse's rump.
It bolted. Pebbles yelped as he slid off the horse, landing on the ground with a loud thud. Groaning, he rolled onto his feet, and glared at Silver. She offered him a sweet smile.
'Oops.'
'Woman, I never said we were going to stop by.'
Her eyes widened, radiating innocence. 'But you never told me that.'
Grumbling, Pebbles stormed after his horse, which had quickly stopped, and stood at the edge of the clearing, tail flicking flies off its back.
Malrevon gazed up at the familiar fort, and closed his eyes, searching. Once he found Syphiss and Shakonat, he murmured 'sleep well'. When he opened his eyes again, Pebbles was watching him intently, back onto his horse.
'Can you tell Elratryn those two are... dead?'
Everyone turned to stare at him. After a moment, Pebbles slowly nodded, and kicked his horse. They watched in silence as Pebbles met the gleaming figure riding out of the fort, exchange a few words. When he returned, he was nodding solemnly. Dronachus' words echoed in Malrevon's mind again as they rode on.
Mercy is too rare among us Angaraks.

At the Drasnian border, the Drasnians bade the Malloreans goodbye. Pebbles tossed a sheathed sword at Dronachus, who drew it and smiled.
'A good blade,' Dronachus said admiringly as he examined the sword.
'It should be. I spent some time searching for one.' Pebbles grinned.
'Thank you.' The sword was sheathed, and buckled onto Dronachus' belt.
'Take care.' Pebbles clapped Malrevon and Dronachus on their backs. They smiled at him. Silver kept her distance, a few steps away from them, but did not speak. Malrevon nodded and waved at her, then climbed onto his horse. Dronachus quickly checked the bindings on the captives' wrists before mounting. They swung their horses around.
'Wait!' Silver suddenly called out. Malrevon twisted in his saddle. As the Drasnian stepped forward, it struck him again how pretty she was. Pebbles was a lucky man. 'Where will you be going, Grolim? Dronachus goes home... but you?'
Malrevon considered the question, not having decided what to do. He sighed. 'I can't go home. I have no home to return to anyway. I think I'll stay in the West, probably wander around, stay out of trouble...'
Silver and Pebbles gazed at him, faces blank, then the woman said slowly,
'If you need any help... just contact us.' Pebbles blinked, turning to stare at Silver. Malrevon too was surprised by her offer.
'Oh... thank you,' he said when he recovered from his shock.
Silver merely smiled and turned her back, and started walking back to her horse. Dronachus raised an eyebrow, but did not say anything. The Grolim sighed again, nudging his horse into a walk towards the border.

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It was a gloomy journey past the Drasnian-Nadrak border. Dronachus was silent most of the time, and it was plain the lieutenant want to go home. The captives too were silent, still too frightened of Dronachus' wrath, and above all, Malrevon's.
The Grolim sighed. He liked peace and quiet, but not this. It was too... eerie, too dull. The cloudy skies did not help matters much, nor did the unchanging landscape - the dark, deep forests and mountains, grey and white in the distance. All of it added another layer peculiar melancholy onto his soul. He found himself thinking back to his family, Mal Yaska, and Mallorea.
Unpleasant memories.
He pushed them to the back of his mind, tensing as the road before them opened up. Two red-tuniced guards at the gates. Mallorean guards. He reined in his horse, exchanging looks with Dronachus. They dismounted. Malrevon frowned at the prisoners, who flinched under his gaze, bowing their heads.
'Not a word,' he warned. Then he gathered his Will, and slowly released it, creating an illusion of a Nadrak fur trader and binding it to himself. Dronachus loosened the sword in its sheath, and strode forward, his hand not far from the hilt. Malrevon adopted a deferential pose as he followed Dronachus, leading the horses. They approached the gates.
The guards' eyes widened, and Dronachus relaxed slightly.
'Sir!' one exclaimed, his eyes darting to take in Malrevon and the three bound men, 'We thought you were dead!'
Dronachus smiled wryly. 'Not yet dead.' The two guards looked relieved. 'Where's the captain?'
'He left, sir. There is a ship heading back home though. In a few hours.' The guard hesitated, before asking 'Why is Corporal Tolnar tied up?'
The lieutenant's expression darkened. 'Politics, Elman. He attempted to poison me.' Shocked silence.
'Why, sir?' the one called Elman asked.
'I intend to find out once I'm back. Now take me to where the men are staying.' Dronachus paused. 'Where do their loyalties lie?'
'With you, sir. All the captain's men have been sent home, but we've been left here to rot in this hell hole... uh... Meaning no disrespect, sir.'
Dronachus gave a dismissive wave. 'Just lead me to my men.'
They saluted smartly. 'Yes, sir!' Elman took the reins, giving Malrevon a funny look. Malrevon smiled awkwardly at him. The other stayed behind, standing stiffly at his post.
As they wandered down the streets, Dronachus described the events in a low voice, but he glossed over some details, and passed Malrevon off as a travelling Nadrak. Elman's expression soon came to match his lieutenant's - dark and stormy. They arrived at the entrance of a familiar tavern, and Malrevon stared up at the sign, recalling a certain frosty conversation he had with a king. Shaking his head, he entered.
Like most Nadrak taverns, the common room was dim and smoky. However, there was a certain tension in the air Malrevon did not like. Although the majority of people sitting in the tavern were Malloreans, the Nadraks kept cracking their knuckles, casting hateful glances at the Malloreans. None made a move to fight, however. All eyes swivelled to the newcomers, and as one the red-tuniced guards stood and saluted. Dronachus smiled grimly as he sat down at a table. The soldiers followed suit, muttering among themselves.
'Permission to tell the men, sir?'
'Go ahead, sergeant.' Sergeant Elman disappeared into the smoky haze, and Dronachus gestured at Malrevon to sit. 'So, Makoth. What are you planning to do?' Dronachus looked intently at Malrevon, who shrugged, picking up the tankard plonked in front of him. He sniffed it apprehensively, and pushed it away in disgust, suddenly remembering how foul Nadrak beer tasted.
'Wander, I guess. I have no wish of becoming a... what I was again. Though if I must I'll act one,' Malrevon said quietly.
Dronachus chuckled, sipping at the beer. He choked, and spat it onto the rotting floorboards. 'Torak's eye! What is this?' He shook his head. 'Well, I'm not looking forward to playing in politics again, though I have a strong feeling my captain won't be staying in his position for too long. I was going to be promoted, you know.' He looked around the tavern, and Malrevon followed his gaze. The guards were clearly outraged, gesturing and glancing at Dronachus. The Nadraks, of course, misunderstood what was going on, and left en masse. The barkeep looked worried. 'My... regiment's always been popular in the army. I think the nobles have just guaranteed that most soldiers will sympathise with me when I'm back in Mallorea.' He looked back at the Grolim. 'Do you need anything? I can most probably get it for you before I go.'
After some thought, Malrevon said, 'Some money, I guess.' The lieutenant smiled, and beckoned at one of the nearest soldiers.
'Fetch some money for this man. He deserves it.'
'Yes, sir!' The soldier grinned gap-toothed at Malrevon. 'Trader Makoth, huh? It's your lucky day today.' Still grinning broadly, the man wove his way through the maze of tables and the smoke swallowed him. The two men sat at the table, neither speaking as they waited. Eventually, Malrevon said,
'Give my regards to your wife and children.'
Dronachus suddenly laughed. Malrevon gave him a puzzled look. 'My wife will be surprised. I've never been fond of... your kind, but now I've even made a friend.'
Malrevon smiled. Some good had come out of this adventure of his, and he was glad. Worth the price he paid. 'I'll be leaving after I get the money. I can shield myself from... them, but enough of them and my shield will shatter.'
A lie. The Grolims periodically probing the minds of those within the city were not thorough and clumsy. But he did not like staying in this city. Too many memories. A street here he walked past, there an alley leading to where he and Alsila lived...
'Good luck, then.' Dronachus' voice cut through his thoughts. Malrevon hastily stood up with Dronachus and they clasped hands, as the soldier returned. Malrevon took the heavy bag of coins. 'Try not to get mugged, Makoth.' Dronachus grinned, nodding at the bag. 'And take care.'
'Same to you.' Malrevon smiled sadly, and walked out of the smoky room. The soldiers guarding the horses at the stables nodded at him. He muttered a thanks as one handed his horse's reins to him, and loaded the bag onto its back. He led the horse out of the stables, and stopped, oblivious to the people casting irate glances at him as they stepped past. One question kept resounding in his mind.
Where?
Where can I go?
He jumped when a hand settled on his shoulder. Fortunately, old habits died hard, and he kept a firm grip on the illusion.
'Makoth?' Malrevon turned, trying to slow his pounding heart, to see Elman. 'Just a quick question.' The Grolim nodded. 'Do you know where Malrevon went?' An icy pit opened in his stomach.
'Uh... why?' he managed, as he tried to quell his fears.
'Oh, just that Dronachus never mentioned him, even though he was tricked into finding him. I think the Grolim was part of the coop, that's all.' Malrevon stared at the sergeant. 'Are you all right, Nadrak?'
He shook his head. 'Yes, yes, I am.' He paused, his mind racing. 'The Grolim wasn't part of this.' Elman gave him a sharp look. 'I don't know how I know. It's a gut instinct. That's how I got this bag of money anyway. How I got us outta some troubles.' He winked.
Elman's expression cleared. 'Ah, thank you. Have a safe journey home. Oh wait.' He dug out a coin on a string, and tossed it to Malrevon. He caught it. Gleaming dully on the heavy, lead coin was the Mallorean military insignia. 'That'll keep you out of harm's way. From us Malloreans at least.' Elman grinned.
'Thank you, sergeant.' Malrevon wore it around his neck. 'I must be going.'
'Bye.' Elman gave him a wave and went back onto the tavern.
Now where to go? Malrevon wondered, as he led his horse out of the city. He paused at the sight of another sign, remembering the graceful dancer and her not-so-graceful owner. I wonder how Alsila and Haklor are coming along.
Malrevon shook his head again, quickening his step. His illusion was, after all, an illusion of himself dressed as Malrevon the fur trader. Someone might recognise him. He stepped out of the city gates, glad to be free of that maze of wood, tar and dirt. He slowed, settling down into a leisurely stroll again, taking in the view before him.
The sun peeked out between the clouds, casting a beam of light down onto the forest. Now he could see the green lushness of the forest, instead of the dull, murky grey-green the trees were. The snow-capped mountains in the distance almost seemed to glisten. His heart felt lighter, and he realised he was humming to himself.
He stopped humming, puzzled. What brought about the change? He considered it, each step he took taking him closer to the forest. I'm free. Free from Mallorea, the Grolims... No more responsibilites except for myself. Free!
Smiling, he swung himself onto the horse, marvelling at the beauty around him, and rode into the forest, without a care of where his horse took him.

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After a few hours of drinking in the scenery, Malrevon shook his head, and looked closely at the path his horse was following. He had long disposed of the illusion, although he kept his mind shielded. It was too risky to have a confrontation with another Grolim, whether he could overpower the other or not.
The path led to the mountains, or so he guessed - he could see a trail winding upwards a little way before disappearing into a deep valley. He hummed to himself, wondering what he would find in the mountains. He knew little about them, as he was brought up in Mal Voran, and when he was taken to Mal Yaska, he was not allowed to leave the city.
'And the little fish flicked its tail... swish swish swish went the little fish,' he sang, a children's song from his childhood. He felt a pang of sadness, remembering the games he played with Yilanda and Malyras. Hide-and-seek, statues...
'What song yer singin', boyo?' a coarse voice asked. Malrevon jumped, and turned to see an old Nadrak stepping out of the forest onto the path. The man did not seem alarmed by Malrevon's appearance.
'Oh... a song my mother taught me.'
'Eh? I ain't ever 'eard it before. Sing on, laddie, sing on.' The old man walked with a spring in his step Malrevon had not expected from someone his age. He sung on, rather nervously because of a surprise audience, and when he reached the end of the song the old man laughed out loud. 'That what 'appens tah young fish who don't listen tah their mas, eh? Good song, good song,' the man said, his eyes twinkling with merriment as he hummed the refrain of the 'Little Fish'.
Despite Malrevon's initial fears, he found himself warming to the old man as they travelled towards the mountains, as they chatted about the weather. The old man was called Kraash, and he was a gold miner and a part-time fur trapper. He had a woman, but sold her because she was too feisty, and was single for his entire life.
They soon came in sight of a mining town - a haphazard collection of tents and homes constructed from wood and tar. Malrevon felt apprehensive as they entered the town. Most miners ignored them, while others greeted Kraash.
'Ho, Kraash!' a gruff voice greeted them from behind. Malrevon jumped, and when he turned his heart almost stopped.
'Haklor! Ol' frien' o' mine, Raven. Oh, yah got yerself a gurl now, eh?'
'I'm called Alsila, not "gurl",' said Alsila icily, her glacial eyes boring into Kraash.
'Yes, yes, gu... Alsila. Whatever you say,' mumbled Kraash.
Malrevon stared at the two. Surely the world was not this small? Why did he have to run across this pair, of all the people? He looked away in time before Alsila turned to him, remembering too well the woman's temper. Oddly enough, she said nothing, merely glowering at him before spinning on her heel and striding away. Haklor and Kraash exchanged knowing looks before hurring after her. Malrevon was slower to follow, wondering if either recognised him.

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Malrevon tethered the horse and the mule outside Haklor's tent, also strengthening and binding the reins so that no one could steal them. The others had gone inside. Despite himself, he was still worried one of the Nadraks would suddenly realise why Kraash's companion looked so familiar.
'Oi, Raven! Comin' in or not?' came Kraash's muffled voice. Reluctantly, Malrevon shelved his doubts and slipped into the tent.
It was a large, spacious tent, with two doors, one he just stepped through and the other opposite it. Judging from his clothing, it seemed Haklor was doing well. The familiar smell of Alsila's cooking hit Malrevon, as he sat down on the spread blankets.
'Hit any good mines lately?' Kraash asked, gulping down some othlass.
Haklor nodded, offering Malrevon a jug. 'Yeah, stumbled across one when I was setting a trap.' Malrevon took the jug and sniffed its mouth cautiously. Othlass. Smiling, he pretended to take a large swig from it, but merely wetted his mouth, and handed it back to Haklor. 'You know...' Haklor made a series of strange gestures. Kraash nodded, drawing out a folded piece of parchment. He spread it on the ground, and the two huddled over it, pointing and whispering to themselves. Malrevon felt left out.
Alsila poked her head into the tent. 'Hey, one of you lazy bums in here! I need a hand!' Malrevon quickly stood up, and followed Alsila out to the back of the tent. The two men did not even look up as he stepped out of the tent. She picked up the wooden spoon and continued stirring the stew. He fidgeted in the silence.
'Toss in more firewood,' she ordered, taking up a handful of herbs and sprinkling them into the pot. Malrevon obeyed, and they watched the bubbling stew in silence again. 'Malrevon?'
'Yeah?' Malrevon immediately responded, before realising his mistake. It was too late.
'What happened to you?' she asked quietly, lifting the pot off the flames. Malrevon did not answer. 'Grolims did something to you after we left?'
It was tempting to say yes. 'Y... No. Well, a Murgo Grolim did, indirectly, during my travels. For different reasons...' He looked into her eyes. 'When did you know this?'
'The moment I saw you.' She took in his puzzled expression and sighed. 'The way you walked, the way you acted. Living in the house with someone tells you a lot about them.' She picked up the cutlery, and handed him the pot. She paused at the edge of the tent. 'You've changed, though. Harder. More... wary.'
'Will you tell Haklor?'
She gazed at him for a long moment, before responding. 'No. If you didn't tell us, you must have reasons. I just hope I can hear them someday.' And with that she drew the tent flap aside, ending the discussion. Malrevon silently padded into the tent, the heavy and still hot pot dragging down on his arms, mulling on her words.

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The next day, Kraash set off as soon as they had gathered the supplies. Malrevon decided to follow him on the gold hunt, since he still had no idea where he wanted to go to. He would have cursed his own indecisiveness if not for the fact that they were travelling into the mountains.
Alsila said nothing about Malrevon's identity, merely treating him the same way she did Kraash: she stared imperiously down her nose at him. Malrevon was glad to leave, though. He hated the feeling that he was somehow betraying Haklor.
'Eh, I keep tellin' yer, you should gedda mule, like me!' Kraash's voice cut through Malrevon's thoughts. 'Better balance an' all.'
'My horse was a gift...' Malrevon ran a hand down the horse's neck. He was very fond of the dark brown stallion.
'Whateva you say, Ra,' said the old Nadrak placidly, as though expecting something to happen that would change Malrevon's mind, 'Yah know what markers are? Curse markers, pestilence markers...?'
'Uh...' Malrevon thought hard back to the books he read so long ago.
'Thought so. Yah got the look of a greenie, yah know?'
And so Malrevon's education in the Morindim people began. How to make markers, how to disguise oneself, how to behave when disguised... Kraash's explanation of demon summoning was quite misguided, but Malrevon did not have the heart to correct the old man. Telling him the truth would probably scare the wits out of the Nadrak, who did not really believe in demons.
Against better judgement, Malrevon actually hoped to meet some of these Morindim, despite their fierceness and aggressiveness. He cast frequent glances around the mountains, and also sent out the occasional mind-web. Kraash noticed his wandering attention, and quickly disillusioned him of the notion of meeting Morindim this far west. They had to go further up and east before they would have any chance of meeting the savage people.
The mountains themselves were surprisingly dull after a day of travel, but Malrevon enjoyed learning how to trap the various creatures living in the surprisingly rocky terrain. One day, he found a strange, weasel-like creature dead in one of his traps. He very carefully removed the carcass, trying not to damage the pelt, and asked Kraash what it was.
Kraash sprayed his mouthful of beer into the fire at the sight of the carcass, startling Malrevon. He wondered if the animal had some sort of contagious disease. 'Torak's bloody face! That's sable, that is.' He ran his hand over it, wonderingly. 'Good stuff you've got there, boy. Lucky you, eh?' he winked, and started roasting a bird over the fire. 'Best skin and cure it fast. Yah can sell it fer lotsa money.'
'This is sable?' Malrevon stared at the surprisingly ordinary animal, not expecting the expensive furs in Mallorea to come from such a plain-looking creature.
'Yeah, boyo. Quickly get it done, so yah can have some bird meat. Haha... It's like eating your kin, no?'

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Scattered markers littered the rocky path. Kraash reined in his mule, looking worried as he examined them.
'Them Morindim are gettin' bolder, I tell yah. Neutralisin' these markers. See? The gut string and stuff they wound 'round. Worryin' signs, laddie, worryin' signs.
That night, Malrevon slept poorly, flinching awake at every sound. What little sleep he managed did not refresh him, but instead tired him more. Kraash did not sleep at all, choosing instead to pace the camp with his sword drawn.
The next morning, Kraash kept his sword loosened in its sheath. Malrevon nervously followed, occasionally rubbing at his swollen eyes. He knew all-too-well he was no use in a fight, unless he used sorcery or magic. He liked neither option, so he kept an eye out for the Morindim, throwing his mind-webs further afield from that day onwards. Whenever a Morindim strayed into his web, he carefully produced a sense of uneasiness in their simplistic minds, which quickly sent them away. His eagerness to see the Morindim also faded after the first mind he came in contact with.
'Annoying people...' he muttered to himself, as he nudged away another roving band of Morindim, many days of practice making the task easier. He did not want a confrontation with them, but they refused to co-operate.
'Yeah, they are,' Kraash said darkly, dismounting, 'Well, we're here. Nice o' Haklor tah tell us where to find a vein of gold. Come on, laddie! Help me here with the minin' equipment.' Malrevon hurried over. They set up camp, putting up curse markers and digging a pit, so that their fires would not be seen. They then followed hidden signs Haklor set up, which Malrevon could not see. Kraash gave up after the fifth marking, and led him to a stream, where they quickly set to work. Soon, Malrevon tired, his shoulders and back aching. It did not help that he knew the next day would be worse.
They retired for the night, with some gold dust and sore muscles. Malrevon went on the first watch. He tossed wood onto the fire, trying not to nod off, glad to rest his sore muscles for the night. Then Kraash took over the watch. Malrevon slowly lowered himself onto the blankets and dropped off into dreamless sleep.
The cycle begun the next day, then the next, and so on, until the vein was exhausted. By then it was a few weeks past, and they found themselves with many bags of gold dust. Malrevon was also far fitter than he had ever been, and he found the quietness of the mountains comforting. He threw the three mules and his own horse a dubious glance before he slipped into the bedrolls, wondering how they could possibly not collapse under the weight. With this thought running through his mind, he drifted off into slumber.

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Malrevon jerked awake at a yell, and sat up immediately. He looked around wildly, and saw Kraash swearing under his breath as he backed towards Malrevon in the growing light. Malrevon followed the old man's gaze and his eyes widened as he watched a band of Morindim approach. Behind the warriors was a magician, drawing a circle around himself in preparation for demon summoning.
'Best do somethin' soon, laddie boy,' panted Kraash, his voice hoarse with pain. It was then the Mallorean realised that Kraash was injured, gashes and bruises running down his arms and legs. His hand was clamped over his side, where blood was welling up through his fingers.
Malrevon hesitated, drawing the unfamiliar short sword into his hand, then said in a low voice, 'Close your eyes.' Kraash did so, and Malrevon quickly formed the image of himself changing into a demon and a shroud of darkness expanding from his body, and shaped it into a illusion. At the same time, he triggered fear in their minds, and snapped a word. There was a gasp behind him, and a soft thump, but there was no time for Malrevon to even spare a glance for his companion.
'Flee, mortals...' the demon rumbled in a chilling voice. Its breath steamed. The magician broke off in the middle of his incantation, the shimmering in the air disappearing as his eyes bulged in terror. The demon turned its attention from the fleeing warriors to the magician. 'Should I eat you, enslaver?' The magician too bolted after his tribe, as the unnatural gloom reached for him. As an added measure, Malrevon conjured a ball of fire and threw it after them.
When their screams could no longer be heard, Malrevon released his hold on the dark sphere and the sniffing demon. The sun appeared, blinding him momentarily, and he allowed himself a nervous laugh. He had never had to use his Will so quickly before. Shaking his head, he turned to tend to the unconscious Nadrak.
The wounds were mostly shallow, except the one at his side and down his leg. Malrevon cleaned the wounds with wine, and stitched the two deep slashes. Then he bound them with strips of cloth, shifted the old man into a more comfortable position and covered him with a blanket. He sat back and stirred the fire, musing. He did not like having to do that to the Morindim, wishing he had met them in a more peaceful occasion. Assuming they were capable of that. He snarled at himself. Stop thinking of them as sub-human!
Sighing, he started boiling some water, and rubbed his temples. A mild headache was starting, and although he felt tired, he doubted he could sleep. Not with the Morindim hunting around this region.
'Torak's balls...' These words were followed by a groan. Malrevon jumped, and twisted around to see Kraash propping himself up with his elbows. A moment later the Nadrak sank back onto the bedroll, swearing colourfully. Malrevon quickly moved to squat next to the pale man.
'Are you all right?' he asked, hoping Kraash had forgotten the sorcery.
Kraash grimaced, his hand lifting half-way to his abdomen, before he let it fall. 'Demon!' he growled, pushing himself away from Malrevon.
'Demon?' Malrevon stared at Kraash.
'Demon! Get away from me!' The Nadrak's face turned from pale to white, and he grunted in pain and stopped moving.
'Don't move! I'll... I'll step away, okay?' Malrevon hastily stood up and walked to the other side of the fire. 'I'm not a demon!'
'What was that, eh? Some Morindim come to our aid? Hah!'
'It was an illusion,' Malrevon admitted, looking away. Kraash stared at him. Not meeting his eyes, the Mallorean picked up the stick and stirred the fire. 'It's chillier today, isn't it?'
'Illusion? Yah mean it's a trick of the eye, heh? Yah takin' me as a fool, boy? Pah!' He spat, and panted from the pain. 'That's what I think of yah!'
Malrevon was lost for words. Eventually, he said quietly 'I... I wasn't intending to mock you. I was just telling the truth.'
'That beastly thing is an illusion? Then why the Morindim run away? Dun tell me they're runnin' tah their mother.'
'They don't know sorcery,' Malrevon said even more quietly, knowing all too well where the conversation was heading.
'Sorcery? Pah!' Kraash spat onto the ground in defiance. 'Yer a Grolim!'
Malrevon smiled sadly. 'I used to be.'
'Go away! I ain't helpin' a Torak-lover like yah! Away, I say! Are ye deaf?' Kraash scrabbled for a pebble and threw it at him. Malrevon flinched slightly as the stone flew past his ear, and gathered his meagre belongings.
'Keep the gold,' he said, and led his horse away. The only sounds he heard as he walked away from the campsite was the crackling of the fire.
As he made his way across the rocky terrain, Malrevon cast his mind-web as far as he could reach, chasing away any Morindim within his range. When he judged he was far away enough from the Nadrak, he stopped. Part of him wanted to just move on, to leave behind the stubborn, old man who did not seem to understand Malrevon had meant him no harm. It felt wrong, though, to leave behind a man he had come to think of as... a friend. Now everything was ruined, thanks to a bunch of savages and his past.
Gritting his teeth, Malrevon sat down on a boulder, burying his face in his hands. Why did whoever controlled his fate choose such cruel paths for him? It seemed every time he made friends, the friendship fragmented just as he got his hopes up.
You chose to leave Pebbles and Silver, whispered a voice in his mind.
I... I didn't want them to risk their lives for me.
Liar...
You left Rhanwyn and Maelwys to the Grolims... defenceless... hissed another viciously.
'No-'
Now Kraash is going to die... sneered the first.
Aren't you proud of yourself? questioned a third.
'Shut up!' he shouted, squeezing his eyes shut.
The echoes faded into a blissful silence.
Malrevon slowly opened his eyes, and found himself staring at his clenched fists. Trembling, he returned to the task of keeping the Morindim at bay, while following Kraash at a distance. He kept himself busy, not trusting himself to be left alone with his thoughts.

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Light.
The sun was blinding him.
Groggily, Malrevon sat up, wincing as he kneading his back, where a jutting stone had dug into during the night. He stared around at the mountains, wondering why he had a nagging feeling he had forgotten something when...
'Kraash!' he exclaimed, leaping to his feet and scanning the surroundings frantically, before remembering to cast a mind-web. The old Nadrak was west of him. Malrevon quickly unhobbled his horse, fumbling as he tried to shake the haze of sleep from his mind, and rode towards Kraash.
It was a few minutes before Malrevon realised something was wrong. Kraash was not moving. Frowning, he reined in his horse and slipped off the saddle. Gathering his Will, he poured himself into his shadow. He then concentrated. A moment later, he was there, hovering behind a small tree as he surveyed the scene. The mules were milling around aimlessly.. His sense of unease escalated, as he stepped out of the tree's shadow. Kraash lay in a crumpled heap by one of the mules, his shirt stained crimson.
Unable to hold it back anymore, Malrevon swore, returning to his body and swinging onto his mount. They galloped to the unconscious Nadrak. Malrevon ran to him, and shook Kraash gently, who moaned but otherwise did not move.
'Torak's...' Malrevon begun another curse, but Torak was not his God anymore, was he? Settling for a snarl, he lifted the Nadrak onto his own horse, and clambered onto the mule. Where to go? The all too familiar question seemed to haunt him perpetually. He resisted the urge to swear again. It would not get him anywhere. Tightening his grip on the mules' reins, he started towards the direction Kraash was heading, hoping that it was the right way to go.

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One day had past, and there was no sign of any inhabitation. Malrevon lifted Kraash off the horse, and examined the wound. It was beginning to show signs of festering, and it was not healing well, blood welling up through the stitches. His stomach turned, but he had seen far worse sights, inflicted by his own hand. His hands trembled slightly as he bound the wound with fresh bandages, and tenderly covered the old man with a blanket. He did the laborious task of building a fire.
Then he stood there for some time, gazing blindly at the dancing flames, desperately rummaging in his mind for ideas of what to do. He was in unfamiliar land. He had no map, dwindling supplies, he was tired and he was still very much a city dweller. Sinking dejectedly under a tree, he stared dully at the path ahead of him.
At this rate, he would have to -no!- abandon Kraash. It would be -no!- a mercy to free Kraash of his agony. He had -I will not!- done it so many times before, after all. His bloods were stained with blood of the innocent. What was -don't!- one more murder to one who had killed so many already?
Looking back at his life, there were so few people he truly could call friends and family. Yilanda was -dead- dead. The Malyras he knew had –his heart now stone- died with Yil. His parents were -dead- dead. He did not know his aunts or uncles or cousins. Alsila and Haklor, but only Alsila even recognised him, and was fearful, no, apprehensive, of his change -lies!-. Pebbles and Silver, except Silver still had difficulty coming to terms with peace -everyone can learn-, and Pebbles had his own troubles. Dronachus he did not know well, and now he doubted they would ever meet up again. There was simply no way he could survive in Mallorea. And Kraash.. Another pang of sadness hit him. The old man would rather die than to befriend a Grolim, or a former Grolim.
Was there anything he could live for? Waves of despair sunk back in, in some ways hurting more than what he had suffered under the hands of Syphiss, in other ways hurting less. Even the small voice protesting against his dark thoughts had fallen silent, crushed by hopelessness.
He glanced down at his hands and blinked. He had unconsciously drawn his dagger, and was absentmindedly toying with it. Now he lifted it in the firelight, turning it over and over, watching the blade gleam orange and red.
It would be so easy to end it all.
Here.
Now.
Sudden anger flared inside him. He had worked so hard to get this far, and he would give it up now? Enough people had died on his bloody path. He'll be damned if one more was added onto the mountain of corpses.
Then as quickly as it had come, his rage faded, leaving behind a hollowness. No, he would drop Kraash off. He didn't care what happened after that. It no longer mattered.

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They were lucky.
A passing caravan directed Malrevon towards the nearest settlement, which, on arrival, did not impress him much. It looked small, scruffy, and like most Nadrak settlements, a firetrap. Surprisingly, one old woman living there knew some arts of healing, and tended to Kraash, while Malrevon paced outside impatiently. Despite having promised himself he would leave after putting Kraash into capable hands, he stayed. The Nadraks in town would cast him odd, and at times admiring looks, whispering among themselves. Sometimes, he caught fragments of their conversations, before they fall silent.
'...loyal...'
'Maybe that man owes him money...'
'...long lost brother?'
'Just a friend...'
'...love...'
'The sick man probably has a treasure hidden somewhere...'
Before long, Malrevon tired of the rumours and stares he was receiving, and retired to a rented room. Since he shared the house with three other men, he avoided them as much as possible, moving in and out at odd hours.
Finally, he departed from the town, eager to explore more of the West. Kraash would live, and that was enough for him.

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