Wander West, in Shadow

All over Twin Lamps, bells tolled, ringing out clear against the cold winter air.

The skies were grey, and a gentle snowfall was quietly blanketing the town yet again. Despite this, folk caroused in the streets, beating the snow into a mush, linking arms and dancing with each other; music poured out of every inn, there was a smile on every face and laughter in every heart. Especially amongst the farmfolk, who rejoiced at being able to return to their homes, and the town guard, who abandoned their rules temporarily and drank and sang while in uniform. So long had they lived with the specter of the Bogge-man haunting them, that now that he was gone, it was impossible not to celebrate.

The common room of the White Queen inn was particularly lively and crowded. Drink flowed freely, and the folk there shouted and cheered and danced with the white-skirted maids, Madame Ro clapping along with the music, laughing, not caring for once if her employees had some fun. Even Harald, her massive, gruff doorguard, had abandoned his duties and danced with them, the maids looking nearly as surprised as he was by this. They laughed as they danced with them, many of them not even half Harald's size, looking almost ridiculous as he twirled them.

Martimeos and Elyse stood in one corner, surrounded by their own little crowd of folk curious about the witch and wizard, asking them about the Art, and some of the inn's patrons pestering Martim to sing. The wizard had a faint blush on his cheeks from all the eyes on him; he puffed on his pipe and blew smoke in their faces in the hopes that it would drive them away, but the folk seem undeterred. Elyse, meanwhile, was red-faced with drink; she made the shadows dance upon the walls to entertain the folk, and pestered Martim as well, placing her hat upon his head and telling him it was cursed and he could not remove it until he had sang.

The Crosscraw women were there as well, Maddie and her two younger companions, who had finally revealed their names. The youngest one, wiry and bright, was called Petra, though she was apparently not as young as she looked - only a few years beneath Kells in age. The other, much taller, more curvaceous, and more muscled than Petra, was named Inna. They were all dressed as the townfolk as Twin Lamps did, now - form-fitting colored jackets, Maddie in yellow, Petra in green, and Inna in red - and long black shirts that reached the ground, though Petra plucked irritably at hers, as if unused to them. They did not keep their hair covered in bonnets now, though, letting their shining red curls fall free.

Kells was surprised by just how much of it the three had. It framed their heads in bright, burning halos that caught the firelight; Maddie and Petra had hair that fell nearly to their waists, but Inna had hair even longer than that - much longer, and it would have dragged along the floor. Inna and Petra seemed to have lost their distaste and distrust for the 'lowlanders', as they called the Twin Lamps folk, laughing and clapping along with the music, crying uproariously in their strange accents.

Kells himself danced with the maids, spinning them in his arms, their white skirts billowing out around them, dancing from one to the other. Anne twirled into his arms, the tall thin maid with dirty-blonde hair who had been staying in his room for a while now; she leaned in and whispered something into his ear that made him blush deep crimson before she twirled away, laughing, to dance with Harald.

He was surprised when it was Inna who twirled into his arms next. The Crosscraw woman laughed at his expression as he took her hands, bright green eyes flashing in a pale freckled face. "Ye hae daft dances, Queensman," she told him, as she struggled with clumsy feet, "But Ah thought ye deserved a go wit me." She squeezed his arms appreciatively as they twirled, giving him a wink. "Yer stronger than ye look. Ye struck a mighty blow agin' the Bogge-man. 'Twould hae put Uther the Fearless tae shame."

Kells didn't bother asking who Uther the Fearless was. "You know," he said, his grey eyes flashing as he spun her 'round, "You don't have to call me Queensman. I never really served her. It was Twin Lamps that had my loyalty. And besides, the Queen is dead, and has been for some time."

Inna peered up at him, squinting. "Ye hae th'look of one of her folk," she replied, then nodded towards Elyse. "Ye an' yon witch. But I s'pose 'tis true. The Queen is dead an' gaun." She reached up and pinched his cheek, giving him a smile. "Ah will jes' call ye lowlander, then."

"You can call me Kells," he told her, pulling her out of the way just before her awkward feet led her to bump into another pair of dancers. Her wild, long hair nearly wrapped around him entirely as he spun her. "That is who I am."

"Kells, then." Inna reached up again to ruffle his short dark hair. "So," she continued casually, "Where aboots do ye sleep taenight, Kells? Ah like ye, an' Ah would like tae hae a toss in the blankets wit' ye."

Kells coughed at the innocuous way she said this, as if she was proposing just taking a leisurely stroll together, nearly tripping over his own feet. "I, uh," he stammered, suddenly aware of Inna pressing her body to his, "I already have someone staying with me-"

"Who? Th' blondie?" Inna shrugged, glancing out across the dance floor at Anne. "Ah dinnae mind. She looks fun. Git her a few meads an Ah bet she will nae mind tae share."

Kells opened and closed his mouth, trying to find the words to say, when a cry went up across the common room, saving him.

"The mayor! Make way for the mayor!"

All the noise in the room died away instantaneously. All eyes turned to the door. There stood two large, rough-looking members of the town guard, burnished breastplates gleaming in the firelight beneath orange tabards bearing the sign of Twin Lamps, two black suns on an orange background, cudgels at their side, flaring green pants tucked into well-polished knee high boots. And between them, nearly half their size, stood Taavetti Bartuk, the wizened and white-haired mayor, snow still melting on the shoulders of his fine black velvet coat, lined with rich dark fur.

The little man blinked sharply around the room from behind his spectacles, frowning down his sharp nose at everyone. "What," he snapped. "Can the mayor not make a visit to an establishment in his own town, on such a fine day as this?" Bartuk shook his head ruefully, laughing. "Do you think I would be aghast at the sight of some dancing and carousing? I've seen far worse than that. You lot should have seen what went on in the taverns in the City of Bells. Were we there, half of you would be naked, and doing much more than dancing, besides. Now there were a folk who knew how to celebrate." He rummaged in one of his coat pockets for a moment, removing a small purse of clinking coin, which he tossed onto a nearby table. "There. Drinks for the day are on me. Get back to it, already."

A great cheer went up, and the common room was suddenly filled with the sounds of dozens of patrons ordering fresh ale all at once. Taavetti and his guard forced their way into the room, shouldering through the packed crowd, as Madame Ro practically leapt out from behind the counter, her purple and red silks fluttering behind her as she approached him. "Mayor!" she cried exuberantly, a beaming smile on her dark features, beringed hands clasped before her. "To what do I owe this pleasure - this magnificent honor?"

Bartuk cast a skeptical eye at the innkeep, looking her up and down. "I did want to speak with you as well, Madame Rouchard," he said, capturing the accent of her name perfectly. "I need to speak to all the innkeeps in town in preparation for the feast. But..." Suddenly, the mayor cast a sharp eye at the three Crosscraw women, Inna still in Kells' arms. "I would like to speak to you three, first." He considered for a moment, then nodded at Kells. "And you as well, Kells. I think you should come too. Madame Rouchard, did you have someplace quiet where we could speak?"

The three Crosscraw women glanced at each other, worried, as Madame Ro fretted about where to put them. Inna gave Kells a curious look, but he had no more idea than she about what could be going on. He tried to rack his brain, to think what Taavetti might want to speak to them about. The mayor knew of them - Bartuk had been of great help in planning the ambush for the Bogge-man, after all - but had not met the Crosscraw women himself yet. Perhaps he simply wanted to meet them?

Finally, Madame Ro led them away from the hustle and bustle of the common room, and down into the inn's dark cellar, stone walls lined with gigantic kegs and barrels of ale, and shelves holding hundreds of bottles of wine. Torches lined the walls for light, and there was a space in the center for them to stand and talk on the bare dirt floor. Madame Ro fluttered about, saying that this was hardly fit for the mayor but that it was the best she could do at such short notice. She asked whether she should have her maids bring in a table and some chairs, but Bartuk dismissed her curtly.

Finally, Madame Ro left them, closing the door to the cellar behind her, shutting them in, the noises of the celebration upstairs muffled by the thick door.

The Crosscraw women stood in a small circle, huddled together, staring warily at the mayor and his two guards. Somehow, the little man managed to loom even more threateningly than his bodyguard, though the Crosscraw women all stood a foot or more taller than him. Kells stood between the mayor and the Crosscraw women, his arms folded, waiting for Bartuk to speak. The mayor did like his long silences. He used them to intimidate people.

Finally, Taavetti spoke. "I am the mayor of Twin Lamps," he said, his voice curt and smooth. "Do you three understand what that means?"

Maddie glanced down at Inna and Petra at her side. "Aye, ah ken," she replied quietly. "It means yer th' town's chief."

Bartuk nodded. "Just so. I had a question I wanted to ask the three of you." He tapped his smart boots upon the cellar floor, dark eyes twinkling in the torchlight, behind his spectacles. "I want to know," he said, "Why should I not arrest you?"

Kells mouth dropped open; he ran a hand through his short dark hair, the shock clearing some of the drink from his blood as he focused. He had not been expecting this.

Maddie, Inna and Petra were all holding their long black skirts, gathering them up, glancing about as if looking for somewhere to run. Bartuk's two guards put their hands on their cudgels. "You should know," Bartuk continued quietly, "That even if you make it past me, I have twenty men outside guarding every exit from this building. And as I am given to understand that one of you practices the Art, I have a further fifty men stationed in the streets behind them. Your description has been circulated among all the guard, and they all know not to let you leave the town. I assure you, you will not escape."

The three Crosscraw women slumped, their shoulders hunched, looking like cornered rats. "But...why?" Maddie whispered, shadows beneath her eyes.

Bartuk tapped his boots, his arms crossed, regarding her oddly. "Leave us," he ordered to his two guards. The two burly men glanced at each other, then made their way out of the cellar unquestioningly. Once they had shut the door behind them, Bartuk shook his head. "Why indeed. Let me list your crimes. Trespass - entering the town walls without the knowledge or permission of the guard. Theft. Assault and attempted murder." Maddie withered under each accusation, as if it were a physical blow.

"And perhaps worst of all," Bartuk went on, and Kells glanced up sharply, narrowing his grey eyes. Was that an emotion other than irritation and annoyance he heard in the mayor's voice? Taavetti's eyes were hard, like glittering chips of black stone, but if Kells didn't know better, he thought he heard a sadness in the man's voice. "You hid yourselves while this...Bogge-man, preyed on the people of this town, knowing that it was you he sought. Do you have any idea how many of our farmfolk and guard were killed?" The mayor glanced towards Kells, and his voice went to a whisper. "How many good men we lost, that may have lived if only you had come forward?"

With a start, Kells realized this was why the mayor had brought him here. Bartuk was doing this, in part, for him. He couldn't lie to himself - he had had some of t he same thoughts.

Maddie's head hung forward, her long red curls falling about her face. "Aye," she said softly, her voice hoarse. "Ye're nae wrong. Th' deaths of yer folk are on our hands. We dinnae come forward fer fear ye would sell us tae the Bogge-man. An' after all that, ye risked yerselves tae save us." Suddenly, she fell to her knees, lying prostrate on the ground before the mayor; Inna and Petra stared at this in shock. "'Tis a shame more than Ah can bear, chief," she cried. "If ye must punish someone, punish me. Kill me, imprison me - but Ah beg fir mercy fir these two. As the eldest, Ah should hae led them tae wisdom. 'Tis mah failure."

Bartuk merely stood, staring down at the Crosscraw witch thoughtfully, as if he were considering her offer.

Kells was quiet. It was true - when they had first discovered the Crosscraw, when he had first heard their story - there was a hard knot of anger in him that blamed them for Roark's death. But Kells tried to think of what Roark would have wanted. He did not think the Captain would have wanted the blame for his death being spread around, to justify endless recrimination. It was true that Roark may have lived had these women come forward earlier. But there was only one truly responsible for Roark's death, and that was the Bogge-man - and he was nothing but ash and dust now. And in the end, Roark had been a soldier. He had lived to protect, and was born to die. And with the Bogge-man gone, Kells had found that knot of anger within him untangled, melting away to nothing. No more fury, no more rage. Just a long, weary sadness that it had been this way.

"Mayor," Kells said softly, raising his eyes as Bartuk glanced towards him. "I...don't think you can truly blame them for their actions. They did what they thought necessary to survive. They were hunted in their home by many of these Bogge-men; hunted near to extinction, it sounds like. Just one was bad enough, I can't imagine what that must have been like. In their boots, I might have done the same."

"Is it your wish," Bartuk said softly, his face unreadable, "That these women not be punished for their transgressions?"

"I think it's what Roark would have wanted," Kells replied quietly.

Bartuk stared silently at Kells for a long moment. "Rise," he said sharply, not turning his head. Finally, he glanced over at the Crosscraw women after Maddie had scrambled to her feet. "Do you think that more of the Bogge-men might come down from the mountains to pursue you?" he asked.

"Ah...dinnae think so," Maddie said, her eyes wide, brushing the dirt from her skirts. "Ah dinnae think they ken we're here. Among the crags, th' Bogge-men hunt in packs. This one could hae called fir help at any time, an' brought more wit' him, but there was ever only th'one. Ah think knowledge of us died wit' him."

Bartuk tapped his chin, looking off into the distance, thoughtfully. "I wonder why it is that he never brought in reinforcements."

"Ah...cannae ken th' ways of th' Bogge-men, entire," Maddie replied, wrapping her arms protectively around Inna and Petra, drawing the two younger women closer to her. "They are dogged in pursuit...perhaps he could nae imagine givin' up th' hunt, even fir a moment. Or mebbe he truly thought he could do it alone. Or..." Maddie looked away, hiding her face. "Mebbe," she said quietly, "There were still a part o' him that remembered he were a Crosscraw, once. Some part of him that jes' wanted tae give us a chance." She shrugged. "Or perhaps there is nae reason. Perhaps we will never ken what it were that went through the Bogge-man's head."

Bartuk stared at her, sharp eyes misting over in memory behind his spectacles. "Just so," he replied. "What are your names?" When the Crosscraw women had given them, he nodded. "Well, Maddie, Inna, Petra. I will not imprison or execute any of you. But as far as I am concerned, you still owe a debt to this town."

Maddie's eyes welled with tears; to Kells' surprise, so did Petra's and Inna's.

"We should hae never thought so poorly of ye lowlanders," Petra whispered miserably. "Who cares if ye cannae fight so well?"

Bartuk snorted derisively. "Fine words for you Crosscraw. I seem to recall that every time you have ever come down from your mountains, your forces end up crushed eventually. Or did you think the Queen's war was the first time that happened?" He shook his wizened head, and Kells wondered just what Bartuk had seen in his long lifetime. "Now, as for your debt...it has been a long time since Twin Lamps has had the service of a witch. And we will have many empty farms that need to be tilled, come spring."

Maddie's eyes widened in surprise, her mouth dropping open in a silent 'o' of surprise, but then she smiled, giving the mayor a warm look. Inna and Petra, however, did not look so enthusiastic. "We are tae live as one o' the farmfolk?" Petra asked, sounded decidedly disdainful. "We dinnae ken how tae farm."

"You'll have a whole winter to learn, and plenty of farmfolk to ask for advice," Bartuk replied wryly, his tone brooking no argument. "Better start praying to Woed. And we had better keep it quiet that it was you the Bogge-man came looking for. I think the rumor will spread eventually anyway, but the more uncertainty behind it, the better. Who else knew? Martimeos and Elyse, I assume."

"Madame Ro," Kells offered. "And uh, Harald. And Vincent. A farmer," he clarified, seeing Bartuk's curious look.

"Not so many people to pay for silence," the mayor muttered. "Madame Rouchard and Harald know how to keep their secrets. I do not know this Vincent, though. And I suspect others overheard, and others may make a guess, or saw something...you may have folk here who will hold a grudge against you, but I can start enough competing rumors to always leave things too uncertain for folk to act on. You three will meet with me again, to nail down exactly what I expect of you." Bartuk gave a long, weary sigh, pushing his spectacles back up his nose. "And let me clarify - while you live under my protection, I expect you to live as civilized folk. No honor duels. Assault is illegal, as is theft. You will learn the laws of my town, and quick. I know a little of you Crosscraw, and we live very differently than you do upon the mountains." He nodded in Kells' direction. "Ask him. He's a guard. He can tell you what is legal and what is not. Until then..." Bartuk gave a small, mysterious smile. "Enjoy your freedom. Now enough of this business. I'd like to be able to celebrate myself, for once."

Maddie was shaking her head happily, as she held on to Inna and Petra, her eyes wet with tears. "Ye're a good man, chief," she said, her voice wavering with emotion. "Good, an' mercful."

"Don't go telling anyone that," Bartuk replied with a snap, though he gave Kells a mischievous wink and laid a finger along his long nose. "I have a certain reputation for ruthlessness to uphold."

And with that, Taavetti left the cellar, and they followed him, rejoining the light and the din of the celebration.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was a few days later that the festival took place.

It was, perhaps, not as grand as it might have been if it had taken place sometime other than the dead of winter. But still, Elyse as astounded by the sight. Every inn and tavern threw open their doors, regardless of the chill; bonfires were set up in the streets to keep folk warm as they danced and caroused in the snow; drink flowed like water, and great piles of steaming food - cooked duck, chicken, turkey, pork, vegetables, bread - all kinds imaginable - were served. And the mayor had arranged it with every inn and tavern to ensure that none were excluded. Whatever he had done, whatever amount of coin he had passed out, it had convinced the inns and taverns to serve food and drink to the farmfolk for free. The mayor, she thought, must be wealthy indeed. Though there were perhaps less farmfolk than one might expect in the streets of the town, now. Though they had the greatest cause to celebrate, many had probably already returned to their homes.

Music was everywhere; it seemed on every corner one of the townfolk played the fiddle, or the flute, or beat a drum. And it seemed from every building, somewhere, flew the flag of Twin Lamps, the twin black suns on an orange field. Children ran through the streets, throwing snowballs at each other or at passers-by. Elyse, truth be told, did not like the town that much - too many people, crammed in too small a place. But there was something about it, today, a music that ran through all the folk, as if they all danced to the same exuberant tune, that was pretty, in a way. Though she was not a citizen of Twin Lamps, she thought she could see a light dancing behind the eyes of the folk there, a pride they all held for being a part of the town, dancing beneath the many fluttering flags.

But Martimeos did not seem so pleased about it, as she walked beside him through the streets. "The White Queen was fond of her flags too," he muttered, watching the banners rippling in the breeze, his dark green eyes wary as their shadows passed over him. "Personally, I think it can drive folk mad."

It was to the heart of the festival they were headed. In the center of town, the large cobblestone plaza from which Twin Lamps got its name. Where the eponymous, mysterious twin lamps stood, long, twenty-foot tall poles of unknown metal, silver with a rainbow sheen, topped by orbs of cloudy, unbreakable glass, which glowed with dancing colors that shifted hue for no reason that anyone in this age could name.

In the plaza had been set up a makeshift stage, upon which musicians played, their lilting tunes drifting through the air. And also a massive, long wooden table, with high-backed chairs, setting in the snow, piled high with steaming dishes. Taavetti sat at this table, along with other members of the Council - pasty and rotund men, for the most part, dressed in fine silks, who glared at Bartuk when they thought he was not looking, though they were all polite smiles and meekness whenever the mayor did look their way. Elyse heard Martimeos mutter something dark under his breath as he looked at those men. Kells was seated at the table, too; Bartuk had wanted to give a place of honor to the witch and the wizard, as well, but Martimeos had refused in no uncertain terms, though he had conceded when Bartuk had insisted they at least come to attend the festival's heart. And Elyse, having her own plans for Martim that night, had refused as well.

A large bonfire stood in the plaza as well, to keep folk here warm, and some smaller tables ringed it as well for the common folk to sit and drink at. Martimeos and Elyse took a seat at one of these tables, amongst the farmfolk. As Martimeos blathered on with them about nonsense like what they planned to plant next spring, which animals they raised, and for how many generations their family had owned land here, Elyse did her best to get Martimeos drunk as he feasted. She discretely tipped wine into his glass when he wasn't looking, so that for every single glass he thought he drank, he actually drank three. She furtively shoved mugs of mead and ale in front of him, so that he thought they were his and downed them. She watched delightedly as the wizard grew more and more red-faced, dark blue eyes gleaming beneath the shadows of her hat.

As they feasted, the day wore on, and dusk began to settle. The plaza began to fill up with folk who came there to dance around the bonfire. The light from the twin lamps filled the plaza, casting everything in strange, vibrant hues, shifting from pink, to purple, to blue, to green, and yet more. The shadows cast by their mysterious glow were oddly comforting to Elyse, and she did not know why.

Occasionally, a member of the Council would ask for the music to stop, so they could go to the stage and make a speech; but nobody really seemed to listen to these. Instead the dancing folk would stop, staring, sullen, as whatever fat Councilman blathered on about the need to work hard and preserve coin and whatever other nonsense.

Finally, as the music stopped yet again for one of these speeches, Martimeos raised his hands to his mouth and yelled. "BOO!" he cried, laughing as the many-jowled Councilman who had stomped up onto the stage glared at him. "Nobody cares for your damn speech, you fat twit! Bring back the music!"

The townfolk who had been dancing looked back at the wizard in astonished silence. But a few shouted agreement. Bartuk watched this with glittering eyes, hiding a small smile beneath his hand, from his place at the grand table.

"Guards," the Councilman pleaded, flapping his hands at Martimeos, "Silence that man - citizens of this town must respect the Council."

"I am no citizen of Twin Lamps!" Martimeos cried, his smile dark and mysterious, his green eyes flashing. "And I respect only the Art!" As he said this, the bonfire in the center of the plaza leapt higher, high into the night, sending hundreds of sparks swarming through the dark sky. "Now off the stage, merchant, and bring back the music, lest you earn a wizard's ire!"

Oh yes, Elyse thought to herself, Martimeos certainly seemed drunk enough. The Councilman paled, realizing he was speaking to a wizard, and retreated from the stage, and soon enough the music began up again, and the dancing continued around the bonfire, a few of the townfolk shooting Martim appreciative glances. "You know, Martim," she said, innocently, sipping at her own wine, "I would bet that none would dare interrupt if you got up on that stage and sang yourself."

Martimeos snorted in reply, dark eyes glimmering. He looked strangely wild, his hair a shaggy shadow aroudnd his head, his face hidden almost entirely in shadow. "None would dare if I lit a fire beneath their pants, either."

"But think of it - we will likely leave Twin Lamps soon enough. It may be the last chance for this town to hear your voice..."

Martimeos gave her a shrewd look. There was something about his eyes, Elyse realized, as he looked at her. Almost as if she could see strange shadows dancing within them. "You know what I think," the wizard said slyly. "I think you want to hear me sing."

"So what if I do," Elyse answered airily, trying to hide her irritation that she had been found out. She tugged at one of the ribbons in her hair, resisting the urge to frown, as she took another sip from her wine. "You should sing more often! A fine alternative to the foolishness that usually falls out of your mouth."

Martimeos had his arms crossed, now, and the smile on his face spoke of mischief. "I'll sing," he said idly, "If you are honest, and ask me true."

"Stubborn..." Elyse muttered, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. She gulped down the rest of her wine, feeling the fire of it warm her blood. "Fine. Will you please sing, Martimeos? For me?"

She nearly yelped in shock as Martimeos shot from his seat, his black-furred cloak fluttering behind him as he snaked his way through the dancers, making for the stage. The musicians nodded at him as he waved at them to keep playing as he mounted it. Martimeos looked out over the crowd of dancers, towards the table seating the Councilmen, his face twisting in a mischievous smile that was more than a little vicious.

And then he began to sing. Once more, his voice seemed to fold into the very music the musicians played, and the shadows cast by the flickering bonfire seemed to dance around him. Though, Elyse thought, that might simply be because his voice was so entrancing, that it seemed to breathe music into everything. Even the shifting lights of the twin lamps seemed to now beat in tune to his voice, their glow painting the world in slowly changing colors. And Martimeos himself seemed like a shadow at the center of it all, the colors and the night and the music all blurring into him, his shaggy hair drifting gently in the breeze, his cloak fluttering behind him, all in darkness and shifting hue, except for the almost hypnotic, brilliant green of his eyes.

He sang a song of a town living in the shadow of a castle full of decadent nobles. The nobles found themselves hunted down and murdered by someone simply called 'The Strangler', the slowly revealed joke over the course of the song that nearly everyone in town had been 'The Strangler' at some point - the townfolk were simply murdering the nobles whenever they could get their hands on them, while the nobles themselves remained oblivious, wondering how it was possible The Strangler could seem to be in so many places at once.

The Councilmen began to look uncomfortable and nervous during the course of the song- all except Taavetti, who simply clapped along with the song, laughing in delight. Elyse could not say she blamed them. The song seemed to be giving people ideas. The dancing townfolk were stealing glances towards the Council, and she could see the devilish thoughts whirling behind their eyes. Even the town guard seemed to grin and leer, patting their weapons and watching the fat merchant lords with shifty glimpses. The Councilmen began to rise from their seats, and leave the plaza, muttering to themselves - but never alone, always in pairs or groups of three, watching the laughing, dancing townfolk with haunted eyes.

"Quite the singer, isn't he?"

With a start, Elyse glanced to her side. There, in the shifting glow of the lamplights, stood Vincent, the handsome young farmer, his golden blond hair catching the light of the lamps and shifting in color along with them, his bright blue eyes twinkling with their glow, tapping his foot in time with the rhythm. He stared up at Martimeos, a small grin on his face. He wore his simple woolen tunic, plain and unadorned, and mud-spattered boots. "He is," she replied, then coughed, embarrassed, when she realized that she had said this with a longing sigh. "I mean. Fair enough, I suppose."

"I've heard this one before. Many, many times." Vincent nodded sagely. "Can be a dangerous song, when someone has the skill to do it justice." The farmer glanced down at her, nodding towards the folk dancing around the bonfire. "Care to dance?"

"Ah...I'm afraid I do not know much of dancing."

Vincent shrugged. "Neither do I, really. 'Tis just a simple farmfolk dance. All you really do is link arms and spin. C'mon, music like this is too good not to dance to. Isn't that why you got yon wizard drunk enough to sing?"

"How did you...?" Elyse snapped, then shook her head, laughing, her long hair full of ribbons fluttering about her. She could feel the wine breathing a pleasant fire into her blood. "Alright, fine, a dance, then."

She stood and linked elbows with the farmer, and he led her away from the feast table, to the crowd of dancing townfolk. They spun around each other, boots stamping on the cobblestone, in the flickering shadows of the bonfire, as Martimeos belted out a verse about the King wondering how both a Duke and an Earl might have been killed on opposite sides of the town within minutes of each other by The Strangler.

"Ah, this takes me back," Vincent sighed, as they whirled around each other. "Been a while since I danced with a witch."

Elyse's head spun as she danced, the night seeming to blur around her; perhaps she had drank too much wine. "You have danced with a witch before?"

"Oh, many, many of them, over the years."

Elyse gave the young farmer a curious look. He simply gave her a mysterious wink, a silhouette against the bonfire as it spun by them. "You must be a very strange farmer, to have danced with so many witches so young."

The farmer gave her a shrug; he reversed direction, dancing backwards, so that now Elyse was spun counter-clockwise as they twirled. Elyse snapped a curse as she struggled to coordinate her feet to trot backwards like his. "There are some lands where witches and farmers go together like bread and honey."

"And you are from these lands...?"

"I am from here and there," he said idly, blue eyes gleaming. "I wanted to compliment you; you acquited yourself well against the Bogge-man. 'Twas truly a foul thing."

"You did not do so badly yourself," Elyse replied, a little out of breath. It was not that the dance was so hard, but that all the spinning and the wine was making her head play strange tricks on her. It was like she could not even see Vincent properly, as she looked at him. The edges of him blurred and spun; his face seemed to warp and change. "Disarming it, like that."

"I am a farmer, not a warrior," he laughed, "But a farmer with a staff is far from defenseless."

The music, and the dancing, stopped for a moment, as Martimeos finished his song and cried for more ale. Elyse was relieved; she did not think she could have taken much more spinning. The stars wheeled above her, and the cobblestones beneath her feet seemed to thrum and twist.

"Listen," she heard Vincent say, as she adjusted her skewed hat on her head, "I wanted to apologize. I think I misjudged you badly, when first I saw you. I'd like to give you a gift."

She looked up at the farmer, curiously, trying to hold the night steady about her in her head. Vincent had - she did not know from where - retrieved a reaping-hook, which he held out towards her with a smile. Puzzled, Elyse took it from him. It was a simple thing, a plain wooden handle well-worn, as if held and used often, and a crescent blade that gleamed in the firelight, a few nicks and scratches marking it. "A sickle...?" she laughed, bemused.

Vincent shrugged. "I'm a farmer - I give farm tools for gifts. Who knows, maybe you'll have a farm of your own someday." He wagged a finger at her. "Even if you don't - hold on to that. It's my lucky sickle. You never know when it'll come in handy."

"A lucky sickle," Elyse snorted, laughing at the farmer again. "No, no," she cried, when Vincent frowned at her. "Do not mistake me. I thank you for the gift, I will keep it. If nothing else, 'twill be a memento of this place."

The farmer smiled, clasping her shoulder, lights dancing in his bright blue eyes as they caught the reflection of the bonfire. "I thought you might like it. I apologize again for misjudging you. You have a good heart, Elyse." And then he leaned in, slowly, placing his lips next to her ear, and whispered quietly, "Don't let your father take that from you."

Elyse felt her blood run cold. She stared at Vincent as he drew back from her, smiling mysteriously. "Wh-what do you know of my father," she stammered. "How could you? Vincent!"

But the farmer just stared back at her with his mysterious blue eyes, and as he did, Elyse realized they were impossibly deep, holding more secrets than she could ever know.

And then the music started up again, Martimeos beginning another tune, and Vincent laughed, dancing away from her, disappearing into the crowd of dancing townfolk. Elyse pursued him, pushing her way past the dancers, following the sound of his laughter. If she could still hear him, she thought, he must be nearby.

But it made no difference. Vincent had vanished. Elyse stood alone among the crowd of dancers, looking down at her hands, and the sickle he had given her, the farmer's laughter echoing through the night, slowly fading away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Martimeos stood in his room, in the White Queen inn, staring silently out the window, fiddling with his red scarf.

At three stories tall, the White Queen inn was taller than most buildings in Twin Lamps. And here on the third floor, the window offered an impressive view of the town. Snow-covered roofs stretched out in all directions, columns of chimneysmoke rising up to the sky. But it was not the town that Martimeos had eyes for. It was the mountains, off on the horizon, beyond the town walls. The Witch-Queen's range, their peaks seeming to reach up to claw at the sky, grey and grim. The home of the Crosscraw, and the Bogge-men who hunted them. Where, years ago, his brother had journeyed, and slain Kells' father among the pines and snow.

Martimeos glanced around the room. He had it to himself, once more. The festival had been two days ago, and now, with the celebration dying down, the city's inns were emptying, with merchants finally daring to make their way east, and farmfolk returning to their homes. Kells, too, had returned to his room in the barracks, and so Elyse had claimed a room of her own once more. The witch wanted to wait until Cecil's broken leg was fully healed before moving on. Which was fine by Martimeos; if the mountains were as dangerous as Maddie and the other Crosscraw women had said, he needed time to plan.

He cast an eye towards the room's small wooden desk. A folded letter lay upon it, stamped and sealed with candlewax. He had written it to his parents, telling them what he had found so far of his brother. He had sent occasional letters home, during his journeys, whenever he could find a merchant to carry them for him. He never knew truly if they arrived, of course - he never stayed in one place long enough for anyone to send back a reply.

Still...Martimeos cast his eye out the window once more, towards the horizon, and the shadowed crags that were his destinaiton. He had thought this letter particularly important. If he were headed towards the mountains, it may be a long time indeed before he found a merchant to carry a letter for him again. And who know how far his travels would lead him beyond that. Martimeos shook his head. If that were the case, then there was another letter he ought to send, along with the one he addressed to his parents.

He fiddled again with his red scarf. He thought about how long he had been on the road, now. Even before he met Elyse, he had been on this path for quite some time. Sighing, he closed his eyes, and memories drifted out of the depths of his mind. Memories of the time he had left Pike's Green.

It was early spring in Pike's Green, but already the land bloomed with green life, the sun bright and warm in a clear blue sky. The snows had melted early this season - in past years, at this time, they might have still expected snow to blanket the ground. It had been like this for the past few years, in fact. Some folk said it was because the White Queen was dead. She had always had a reputation for bringing the cold and snow against her enemies, and had often been blamed for long winters.

It had been long years ago, now, that the Queen's forces, her knights and the Crosscraw savages, had come to Pike's Grren to burn and pillage. The burnt rubble had long since been cleared, and the dead long since mourned. But still the village bore the scars of that attack. In many places, where there had once been farms, there were now untended fields, growing over with shrubbery and wildflowers not yet bloomed, long stretches of wild growth that waved gently in the breeze. The forest had not yet quite reclaimed these fields yet, but given enough time, it would.

But it was not among the fields or in the village that Martimeos stood. It was in the forests that surrounded Pike's Green, where he had always felt more at home. There, amongst the shade cast by oak and pine, deep within the dark green and shadows, and the dappled sunlight that filtered to the forest floor through the leaves.

He was feeling quite satisfied with himself, as he walked along the forest paths. It would not be long now, he thought, before he was ready to leave, to journey out in search of his brother. He already wore the dark leather tunic his father had given him, along with the fine belt, and the black-furred cloak his mother had draped over his shoulders. His boots were the same he had worn for years, now, though - as a son of a cobbler, he knew the importance of having your boots broken in at the beginning of a journey. Flit rested on his shoulder, sleeping, the tiny cardinal giving long, whispering whistles as it snored.

Martim's parents had been...supportive of him leaving, after a fashion. He did not know if supportive was the right word. His father had seemed more....resigned. As if he had always known this day would come. His mother, on the other hand, had been more enthusiastic. But then again, she had never really believed that Martim's brother had died, all those years ago. Martimeos wasn't so certain; he thought it far more likely that the best he would find would be his brother's bones. He hoped his mother wouldn't be disappointed if that were the case.

Other folk, though, shook their heads at him, or called him a fool to his face, when they saw him walking about the village in his road-ready garb, telling him he was mad for leaving Pike's Green. He thought they were making a mountain out of a molehill. It was not as if he was leaving forever; just a journey to find what had happened to his brother. He might very well be back within a few months.

Martimeos paused for a moment on the forests paths, looking about him, a gentle breeze running through his long, shaggy hair. He peered with curious green eyes through the branches and trunks of the trees surrounding him. He thought he had seen a shadow moving there, for a moment. Something with gleaming yellow eyes, watching him from the distance.

"Hoi, wizard," a quiet voice called to him. "Over here."

Martimeos turned, to find Vivian stepping out from behind an oak tree, giving him an odd, small smile.

She had grown beautiful, over the years. In their youth, Vivian had traipsed through the forest with him dressed in boy's clothes, but she had traded those in for a long, loose, flowing white sundress, thin enough that the sunlight drifted through it, making a silhouette of her curves in a way that always left Martim's mouth dry. Her long blond hair tumbled past her bare shoulders, loose and wild. Despite her smile, there was a sadness in her sky-blue eyes as she approached him.

That sadness was always there, though. Ever since the day Pike's Green had been pillaged by the Queen's forces. Vivian's parents had survived, but she had lost nearly all her siblings - three brothers, and one sister. Only her eldest brother had survived, and then he had gone, too - joining Martim's brother, leaving to fight in the war against the Queen, never to return. Vivian had gone from having a large, happy family to being an only child.

As she drew near him, Martimeos bent down to grace her with a kiss. They had been best friends in youth, growing up together, but they had grown into lovers. It seemed a foregone conclusion that they would marry someday, and soon. Though Vivian's parents were not so fond of him, they had never managed to convince their daughter to leave his side.

Vivian lingered on the kiss, for a surprisingly long time, wrapping her hands around his head to draw his face to hers. When she broke off and stepped back, Martimeos looked at her curiously. Her eyes seemed wet. Vivian glanced towards Flit, resting on Martim's shoulder. "Might you ask your familiar to leave?" she said softly. "I would like to speak to you alone. There are others who know bird-speech, and who knows what Flit may gossip to the other birds."

With a small frown, Martimeos tapped at Flit on his shoulder, waking the little red cardinal, who awoke with an irritated chirp, glaring with one beady black eye at Vivian when told that she wanted him to leave. With a burbling mutter, Flit took off, a quick red blur darting through the shadows of the forest.

Alone now, Vivian took Martimeos' hand and led him off the forest path, to a small spot cleared beneath the shade of an oak, its branches stretching wide and far above them. She had a small picnic set up there, spread out across a rough blanket of white wool, a basket of woven straw covered with yellow cloth holding it down.

They sat, Vivian bringing bread and pickles and honey from the basket for them to eat. She seemed quiet, for the most part, as they sat, so Martimeos talked about what was on his mind - the places he might visit, as he looked for his brother, the hopes he had for finding him, the theories he had about what may have happened.

"You seem nearly ready to leave," Vivian said softly, as Martim paused to take a bite of bread. She looked him up and down, taking in his garb. "You wear your cloak and tunic all the time, now."

"Not quite ready," Martimeos replied. "I would still like to speak to your father about a weapon." Vivian's father was the village smith. Martimeos had been putting off talking to the man, because, well, the conversation would be awkward. Her father had never approved of Martimeos. Still, he did not think her father would refuse to sell him a blade.

Vivian did not respond to this, silence settling in between them for a long moment. "Martim," she said finally, her voice quiet. "Do you truly love me?"

Martimeos slowed his chewing, and swallowed. "Of course I do," he said softly. "And I have for a very long time."

Vivian raised her clear blue eyes to meet his, and Martim could see the beginnings of tears there, now. "Then why do you leave?" she whispered.

Martimeos felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. Vivian had not protested before, when he told her of his plans. Then again, he could not say that she had approved, either. She had responded with quiet ambivalence, but Martimeos just assumed this meant that she would miss him while he was gone. "I will not be gone long," he replied. "I will return to you."

But Vivian was shaking her head, her long blond hair swaying about her as she did. "I do not believe that. Folk say you will be gone a very long time. That you may never come back."

"Who told you that?" Martimeos snapped irritably. "Your mother?"

Vivian looked at him very quietly, for a very long time. "No, Martim," she murmured. "'Twas your mother who told me that."

Martimeos sat silently, not answering her.

"My mother," Vivian went on, "Told me that if I wanted you to stay, I should get myself with your child."

Martimeos' eyes widened, then drifted down towards her stomach. "Are you..." he said hoarsely, feeling a strange nervousness coarse through his blood, "Do you...carry my child?" A thousand thoughts raced through his mind. He could never leave, if that were the case.

"No," Vivian responded. A small blush came to her cheeks. "Though Fortune knows I tried."

Martimeos relaxed, feeling an immense sense of relief draining the nerves from him. It was not that he would not want to have a child with Vivian. Just...not now. He also felt a little annoyed, at her, for trying to conceive a child behind his back. Though he was certainly at fault, as well. It was not as if he had protested...

"Why must you search for your brother?" she went on. There was anger in her voice, now, and heat in her clear blue eyes. "He is gone, just as mine is." Her voice hitched, and suddenly tears spilled down her fair face, falling to the blanket beneath them. "I lost everything that day," she whispered miserably. "All those slain by the Queen's forces, and then my only remaining brother gone fighting her. And now I will lose you because of it, too, gone chasing off after your brother's ghost. Do you have any idea how much I love you, Martim? I love you so much I could die. How could you do this to me, how could you break my heart like this?"

Martimeos did not know what to say. He felt his gaze frozen on her face, on the tears flowing there. "I...I will return soon," he protested, feeling like a fool as he did so.

"No you won't!" Vivian cried, and now she put her face to her hands to weep into them. "I was so happy, the day you showed me you knew the Art," she wept bitterly. "If only I had known then that a wizard would wander. I wish now you had never learnt it at all." She raised her face to look at him again, and Martim was shocked by the grief he saw there, the shaows of the oak's leaves playing across her tears and despair. "If you love me, you will not go."

But Martimeos just remained silent, unanswering. Why did he do this, he wondered to himself. What was it within him that drove him away from Vivian's love, that made him hurt her so? But he already knew the answer to that. It was the Art that called him to the road. He felt tears falling down his own face, now.

"Please, Martim," she begged him, "Please don't go - stay with me. Please."

"I cannot," was all he could bring himself to say.

Vivian looked at him for a long moment, silent tears still falling. And then she leapt forward, and tackled him to the blanket. He thought for a moment, as she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body into his, that she meant to tempt him to stay with kisses and passion.

But what she did was so much worse.

Laying her head next to his, her hot tears on his cheek, she whispered into his ear. Whispered to him of the life she had wanted with him. What she had planned to name their first child, and all those who came after. What their home would have been like - though her father was a smith, and Martim's father a cobbler, she had wanted to settle down on a farm with Martimeos once they got married. She whispered to him of their children running free through the fields. Of growing old with him, of the stories they might tell their grandchildren. For a long time, she whispered, of the life he might have, if only he would stay.

And when she was done, she pulled his face to hers, and kissed him, long and lingering, and there was a part of Martimeos that knew that this may well be the last kiss they ever shared. "Stay with me," she whispered when she was done, her bright blue eyes filling his vision, as she touched her forehead to his, laying together with him. "Stay, Martimeos. Please, stay."

Martimeos was quiet for a long, long time, simply appreciating the feeling of her body pressing to his, the warmth and softness of her. There was a part of him that wanted to lay here with her forever. That wanted to stay, and live the life she had weaved for him with her words.

But an even greater part of him, dark and wild, yearned madly to go. The part of his soul that sang with the Art. And it would not be denied.

"I promise," he told her, "I will return one day."

Vivian was quiet for a moment. And then, with a long sigh, she sat up. There were no more tears, now, as she looked down at him, her face dark in the shadow of the tree. "Mother was right," she said, her voice full of a weary wonder. "All these years, I defended you to her. And she was right all along. I was a fool to love one such as you." Her bitter smile was like a knife to Martim's heart. "Damn you. I was such a fool."

Martimeos sat up, watching Vivian as her shoulders shook with a strange, desperate laughter. "You will not wait for me...?" he asked quietly.

"I will wait for a time," she replied, her shoulders still shaking, bright blue eyes stabbing out towards him from the shadow. "Oh Martim, how could I do anything else? But how long do you wish me to wait? I had hoped to marry you this year, and have our first child the next. I want a family, my beloved wizard. I want to fill all the sad, empty places in Pike's Green with the laughter of children. I will wait, but is this what you will do to me? Will you make me wait until I am too old to have a family? Make me wait as I watch my friend's homes fill up with love and sons and daughters, always alone, always waiting for you to return? Could you truly be that cruel?"

Yes, Martimeos thought to himself, there may very well be a part of him that could be that cruel. "I will hasten back," he insisted once more. "You have my promise. I will return to you as soon as I can. I will not make you wait long."

But Vivian shook her head once more, with a strange, crooked smile. "I have no hope for that. I cannot let myself hope. You will wander long, wizard, and as you do, your heart will wander too."

"It will not," Martimeos snapped in reply.

"It will," Vivian whispered. "It will. 'Twas your mother who told me that, as well."

Silence fell between them, then. The wind blew through the trees around them, whispering to them through the gently rustling leaves.

Vivian reached out to the forgotten picnic basket, bringing it to her lap. She rummaged around inside it for a moment, before drawing out a bright red scarf. "I made this for you," she murmured, holding it out to Martimeos. "For your journey. I hope it keeps you warm."

He took the scarf from her, unfolding it in his hands. It was a bright enough crimson that he thought it might make Flit jealous. "I will wear it often," he told her, "And think of you."

"Do, or do not." Vivian was looking down, away from him, her long blond curls hiding her face as she knelt on the blanket. "I do not mean it as a token of my affection. Just...think of it as a gift from a friend. Someone who wishes you well on your travels." She sighed, her voice beginning to waver. "I...think I would like to be alone now."

Martimeos paused, the scarf still in his hands, and then rose to his feet. "I...will say goodbye to you, before I leave," he said quietly.

Vivian did not answer, or look at him. She simply remained kneeling on the blanket, in the shadow of the oak tree, as Martimeos eventually shrugged, and walked away, through the dark forest paths. He had not walked far when the sounds of Vivian sobbing once more reached his ears.

He did not look back.

Martimeos sighed wearily as the memory left him. He looked down at the red scarf that he wore about his neck, its bright color faded and worn now. He looked sadly around his room in the White Queen's inn, empty and alone.

He sat behind the desk, the chair scraping noisily as its legs scraped against the hardwood floor, and concentrated for a moment until a candle that sat on the desk was lit with a tiny dancing flame. He took a piece of parchment, and inkpot and quill, and set it before him.

He stared at the blank parchment for a long time, not sure what to write. There was so much he might say. He felt his resolve waver, as the blank parchment stretched before him.

But before it could break, he grabbed the quill, and with quick scratches, dashed out a note. It was short, and simple, and all he could bring himself to write.

Vivian,

You were right. Do not wait for me.

I'm sorry.

Forever a cruel wizard, and a fool,

Martimeos.

He gently set the quill back in its inkpot, staring at the letter, waiting for the ink to dry. A long, deep sorrow settled into his skull, one that threatened to force tears from his eyes.

But he forced them back. Once the ink was dry, he folded the letter, and dripped wax from the lit candle onto it to seal it. Once this had hardened, he took both letters in hand - the one to Vivian, and the one to his parents - and left his room, to find a merchant to carry them.

As he did, he wondered just how long his journey would turn out to be.