Chương 19: The Bogge-rider: Chapter Ten

Twin Lamps really was quite a large town; there was no way that it could be explored in a day. Bordered by rolling plains and farmlands in the south and east, where the rider was most frequently spotted and soldiers patrolled the roads, in the north the roads of the town sloped upwards into hillier terrain, and not far out beyond the town walls led to one of the solemn gray peaks of what folk here still called the Witch-Queen's range.

The Queen's forces, Kells told them, used to travel down through those mountains, sometimes bringing with them some of the Crosscraw barbarians who inhabited the mountain paths; for they had made a pact with her and served her as well. But since the fall of the Witch-Queen they had gained a reputation for danger - the Crosscraw never came down from them anymore, and any who tried to make their way up the mountain paths never returned.

So feared were the mountains now, in fact, that Twin Lamps had abandoned many of the mines that lay close to it, outside of the city gates. To the west, the land stretched out into hillier, less fertile terrain, marked by harsh cliffs and pine barrens. Though the pines were quiet, dark, and foreboding, the paths that stretched through them were considered safe enough for merchants to frequent, and much of trade from distant lands entered Twin Lamps through this route.

Though the rider was less frequently spotted in this territory, the guard still discouraged merchants who were considering return home, giving up on eastern trade, from traveling back west. There were many trade caravans, their carts crowding the streets of the town, waiting to see whether something might be done to free up the path to the east. They settled into a routine, as their time in Twin Lamps stretched on. During the day, Kells would join them, and lead them out into the streets of town to show them about.

Martimeos found it a bit curious that the soldier did not have friends among the guard he would rather be spending time with - though he came to realize that Kells himself was curious. Not in his manner - he was friendly enough - but the look of him: the sharp features, the dark black hair, storm-grey eyes, skin so pale it was almost worrying - he did not look quite like anyone else in Twin Lamps.

Most Twin Lamps folk had blonde or brown hair, blue, green, or brown eyes - never grey - and while they could be pale, never as pale as Kells; most were olive-skinned. The more he saw, the more he realized Kells stood out. He began to suspect the soldier was not originally from the town or its surrounding farms.

He looked more like he might share a people with Elyse - though when asked, Elyse merely shrugged; she had no concept of who her people were or where her mother may have come from before she lived in the swamp. Twin Lamps had many curiousities to explore. Kells showed them where the town's namesake came from - there was a plaza, in the center of town, ringed by fanfciful looking shops with expensive-looking dresses and other clothes meant for the rich proudly displayed in their looming windows.

And in the center of the plaza, a curiousity - twin metal poles rose nearly twenty feet in the air - though they were of no metal that Martimeos recognized; gleaming, bright silver with an odd, rainbow sheen to it. And at the top of these poles sat orbs of cloudy white glass - though Kells said, they could not possibly be glass; nothing had ever managed to break them. These orbs danced with strange, soft light, illuminating the plaza, occasionally shifting color - first white, now blue, now green, now pink.

They were eerily beautiful, and what was more, neither Martimeos nor Elyse could sense any touch of the Art upon them. The lamps had always been here, Kells told them. The town had grown up around them - records of them existing went back to the founding. A wizard, some generations back, had tried excavating the earth around them, to see what they led to - he found only that the poles extended straight down into the earth, as far as he was willing to dig, and finally he had given up without solving the mystery.

Some remnant, it was thought, of a bygone era - some mad wizard's construct, origins lost to time. Though this was not the only curiousity he showed them. He also brought them to what townfolk called 'The Bell House', a grim, gray stone building built among the mansions of the town, looking almost like a castle, but which had not one but four bell-towers, and dozens - maybe hundreds - of smaller bells hanging from the windows and parapets.

Every hour, through some unknown mechanism - Martimeos thought someone inisde must be pulling a string - the bells would ring, the louder gong of the larger bells triggering a cascading symphony from the smaller ones, in a melody that was eerily beautiful. It was an embassy, Kells told them, from some land far in the west, known as the City of Bells.

In previous years, they had never been allowed in Twin Lamps - they would bring slaves to sell, many of them children, and Bartuk always ordered them hanged whenever the guard found them in the lands surrounding the town - but some few years past, they had installed a new King who had abolished slavery, and now they came selling finely-made weapons and tools instead of flesh.

There were other places he showed them as well; shops that sold odd curios that might interest a wizard - apothecaries and alchemical ingredients, as well as bookshops - though none of them seemed to have any books of the Art, Elyse's eyes had lit up at that, and she had purchased, Martimeos noted with some amusement, a book that was a collection of adventure stories about Rance the Lion-Hearted Knight and his companions.

And places to drink - Kells had endless opinions on which inns in the town offered the finest ale for your coin. Martimeos liked the soldier; he had a cheerful manner about him, and seemed to take things in stride, and Kells himself seemed... well, almost eager, to befriend them. And he seemed on good terms with most in town - though some of the shopkeeps would call him Nick, rather than Kells.

When asked, Kells said it was a nickname - he had been a troublesome youth at one point, and the shopkeeps had named him nickthief. Though, he said, those days were behind him - he did not steal anymore; not as a member of the guard. Even Elyse, though she had been cold toward him at first - finding his soldierly stoicism in the face of death chilling - began to warm up to him, especially when she had seen him deep in his cups one night, when he became weepy once more over the fate of Nielson.

He did have sorrow and feeling in him, she supposed - just the key to it was drink. Kells could not be with them all the time, of course - the patrols of the guard were soon reorganized, and he had duties. Now soldiers never went out in groups smaller than twenty; except to dispatch scouts on the fastest horses to the furthest farms, to order what farmers remained there to evacuate to town.

The new patrols seemed to be working - or at least, while the rider may still have haunted the countryside, he did not approach these larger groups of soldiers, at least for now. Even in larger groups of men, though, it felt eerie to be out in the farmlands. Too many farmhouses needed to be burned; and too many of the bodies went missing.

Whenever Kells was not showing them about town during the day, Elyse would stay in her room, becoming engrossed in her adventure stories - she did not like walking the streets of the town without a guide - and Martimeos would take the hilt of his brother's dagger, and ask about town whether anyone could recognize the crest on its pommel. He got frustratingly little information - no smith, shopkeep or guard seemed to recognize it. He began to wonder if the Dolmec had told him right - or maybe even lied to him?

Dolmec were not known to lie in their bargains, but... he supposed it had been an unconventional bargain that he had made, when he was told to go west. He did not know why his brother might have passed by here. Why would he have abandoned his post against the Witch-Queen's forces on the front lines, going south - only to turn west again, back into her territory, without an army to support him?

He wondered briefly if his brother had actually turned traitor and joined the Witch-Queen, but quickly put that out of his mind - he simply did not think that was something his brother would have done. Still, it was curious.

At night, Martimeos and Elyse would continue their studies on the Art - most of the time in his room, since Elyse's bed was currently occupied by a slowly recovering Cecil - in particular, experimenting with the curious phenomena they had discovered with regards to feeding an illusory flame by way of the Art.

They bickered back and forth about what to call it - Martimeos suggested calling it glamour-flame, but as Elyse said, that was what you would simply call a flame conjured by glamour - this was something more, some strange interaction between glamour-flame and Art that fed true fire. In the end, they decided to call it false flame. It had curious properties. As it turned out, it was extinguishable - it disappeared the moment nobody in particular was paying attention to it, or was aware of it.

And while it might feel as if it was creating heat, it was not true heat - the pain it caused was all illusory; you could not even truly warm your hands with it, your fingers would remain cold to the touch no matter how warm they felt. And while you might be burned by it, the pain was not permanent.

Even when you held your hand in the flame, it was as if, after some moments, the mind realized that flesh was not burning, realized that it was not true flame - after which, even if the flame danced on your bare skin, it caused no pain to you; though it might cause pain to others.

Martimeos found it curious that, even though he might know the flame was a glamour, apparently some part of his mind did not, and would not be convinced until it saw that flesh did not actually burn at the false flame's touch for some time. There were also odd differences in the false flame's behaviour, depending on how it was created.

When Martimeos first started the flame as a glamour, and Elyse fed it with the Art, the false flame would not spread on its own, but it could also not be put out by normal means - remaining lit even within water. However, when Elyse began the flame as a glamour, and Martimeos fed it, it changed - now, it could spread by normal means, just by touching it to another object; but also it could be extinguished more easily - disappearing when you placed it in water, or blew it out as if it were a true candle flame.

They also worked together on other discoveries they had made - boiling water, for instance; Martimeos finally got a bucket from Madame Ro so they could experiment. They could bring a surprising amount of water to a boil, working together - nearly a full bucket's worth - useful for cooking, Martimeos thought, or for keeping baths warm, as Elyse pointed out. And Martimeos had another discovery he thought he might have gleaned from the book of sigils.

Not a sigil itself, but something read from a sigl's pattern; moving earth with the Art. He could only move a small amount right now - enough to loosen dirt to turn it into a small bit of quicksand, perhaps, or create a hole beneath someone's feet - useful, he thought, but he had not nearly enough practice in him to use it reliably yet - many times he was simply unable to achieve it at all.

He continued to coach Elyse in sigil-work - he thought perhaps soon, she might be able to write some of the simpler ones - while she showed him how to make wards and tried to coach him through forging a deeper bond with Flit. Martimeos did not know if he was making any progress on the latter - he always thought he felt something, fleeting and quick, when he closed his eyes, but never more than that - and Flit, of course, was completely disinterested in sitting still for any of it.

He thought, somewhat ruefully, that Elyse had probably had a much easier time with a cat familiar - they practically lived for lounging about, it would have been much easier to get Cecil to concentrate. And besides the Art, t here were other curiousities they pondered over too - particularly, the Mirrit-egg they had gotten back in Silverfish. Martimeos had ignored it, for a time, packed in a jar under layers of cloth. But when he went to check it, out of curiousity, he found that...

well, at least he could have sworn that it was bigger than the last time he had looked at it. When he had first removed it from his shoulder, the jet-black, rock-hard little stone was about the size of a robin's egg. It was definitely larger than that now - though not yet so large as eggs he had seen come from ducks or geese- and he could swear that the sound of bells when he held it to his ear was a bit louder.

He shivered as he wrapped it back up again, placing it next to the Mirrit's beak in his pack, vowing to look at it at least once a week and track its growth. It was an enjoyable time, despite the danger that they knew still lay outside the town walls; at least within it felt safe.

The rider that haunted them along their journey began to feel a little less frightening, now that he did not threaten them directly; and the soldiers seemed to be doing a better job of, at the very least, avoiding being killed by whatever it was. He thought that Twin Lamps would certainly have to hunt down.... whatever it was, and kill it, to be free of its trouble, but he did not know if he would be around to see it - hopefully the next clue about his brother would lead him away from its path.

But though he enjoyed seeing the sights of Twin Lamps, and practicing the Art with Elyse, no clue came any time soon. And the White Queen Inn - though fine, and worth the coin - was expensive. He watched his supply of coin dwindle with alarming rapidity.. A less expensive inn might have helped - but all other inns had their rooms, even their stables, completely full of refugee farmfolk and stranded merchants.

He had handed Kells the little bit of treasure he had - the golden ring, with a gleaming sapphire set into it, that he had taken from the finger of the glimmerling in Silverfish - and asked him if someone might be buying it for a fair price. But a couple days later Kells had handed back the ring, shaking his head, telling him that as things were now, nobody was buying that ring even for a tenth of its value. Better to wait and sell it some place else.

And so it was one evening, in the common room of Madame Ro's inn, that he sat by Elyse, pulling her aside. The common room was crowded at this hour, and raucous - full of stranded merchants, a few farmfolk, and guards off their patrol duties - many of whom, while they did not wear the uniform, still carried weapons. Harald, Madame Ro's gruesomely large muscle, looked over the crowd warily.

There was a certain tension in the air, folk still irritated at the situation the town found itself in, but Madame Ro behind the counter watched her maids serve food and drink with a serene smile, plucking at her purple silks, apparently not sensing any reason for concern. Kells was with them, as well, having popped in for a drink - though he had a patrol the next day; so Martimeos wondered how deep the soldier was going to get into his cups this time.

Martimeos had a tankard in front of him as well, though he hadn't touched it yet; Elyse held a small glass of wine that she occasionally sipped from. With her size, it really did not take much to feel the effects.

"Alright," Martimeos said, plopping his bag of coin down on the rough wooden table in front of him. He opened it, so Elyse could see just how little still glimmered inside.

"At the rate we're going, we'll only have enough for three more nights here."

"Oh," Elyse said, looking a little disappointed, sipping at her wine.

"Only three more nights with a bath?"

"That is without baths," Martimeos snapped. Elyse had become overly fond of baths in her time here, in his opinion. An occasional one was fine, but she was ordering them every night - and they were expensive.

"I could, perhaps, talk Madame Ro into letting you stay a few days extra - a rare thing. But she does enjoy having a wizard and a witch here." Kells gulped down his tankard in almost a single, large, swill, smacked his lips, and raised his hand to a maid for another one.

"But... I don't know, after that. Perhaps I could ask the Cap'n about getting you two a bunk in the barracks? I don't know if he'd be alright with a woman bunking with all those men, though. And it means no more hot baths for you, sister." He winked at Elyse; 'sister' was the occasional nickname he seemed to have settled on for her.

"Just ice-cold washbasins - when you are lucky." Elyse frowned at this.

"I should really not like to move Cecil, when he is recovering... is there no way to get more coin? I admit I know nothing of earning it, truly. I suppose sleeping outside with the farmfolk would not be so different from sleeping in the forest...." suddenly her eyes lit up.

"Martimeos," she said, glancing towards him, "Did you not say you spent some time on the road, traveling from inn to inn, before you knew me? How did you make your coin then?" Martimeos' green eyes widened with alarm. And then, to her surprise, he blushed as deeply as she had ever seen him do so, taking a deep quaff from his tankard to hide his face as he mumbled something.

"What was that, wizard? Don't talk through your drink, man," Kells laughed.

"Speak up."

"... I said I sang," Martimeos muttered quietly, putting down his tankard.

"Sang for coin." Elyse stared at him a moment. Then she laughed, as Martimeos blushed once more.

"Sing! You sing?" But Kells had slapped the table, his grey eyes lighting up.

"That's perfect, though. Madame Ro is always looking for entertainment. And I can play the fiddle halfway decent; I know she's got one stashed away somewhere." He slid out of his seat on somewhat unsteady legs.

"It's worth a shot, no? Let me speak with her."

"Wait," Martimeos cried, but it was too late. Kells was already making his way across the common room, to speak with Madame Ro behind the counter.

"Oh, why did I say that," he muttered to himself, then glared at Elyse angrily.

"This-it's your fault."

"My fault?" Elyse asked, as Martimeos swiftly finished his ale and asked for another.

"What fault is there...? I did not know you sang, Martim! And well enough to be paid? I want to hear it." She laughed, as he buried his face in his hands - she did not think she had ever seen him so embarassed.

"I am going to need to be drunk for this," Martimeos said to the knotted wood of the table, not daring to look up. He had already finished three tankards by the time Kells returned, carrying a fiddle in his hands that he tuned and plucked a few strings at with the bow.

"Good news! She's all for it," the soldier reported, grinning at Martimeos.

"Says if it's good enough, she'll cut your price in half - plus you get to keep whatever the crowd tosses your way. A fine deal, if I say so - I should have become a musician."

"Wonderful," Martimeos muttered.

"When does-"" Attention, patrons!" Madame Ro's lyrical voice cried, cutting above the chatter of the crowd. She beamed across the room in Martim's direction.

"I am delighted to announce that tonight, our very special guest, ah..." she searched for words for a moment, then her eyes lit up.

"Martimeos the magnificent-" Elyse snorted, and Martimeos whispered, "Please let the inn catch fire, right now, please," as he drew his red scarf about his face to hide his blush and look of horror.

"-skilled wizard, has decided to grace us with song! Please, clear a space, please, for the performance-" she busied herself, shooing away some guests to other tables to clear a space in the center of the common room for Martimeos to stand and sing. With a groan, he lurched to his feet. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest; his face felt hot enough to catch fire. He looked around the room, at the crowd, as he made his way to the small table that Madame Ro had cleared to serve as his stage.

Farmfolk, sitting all together in one corner, looking skeptical and irritated - he even saw Vincent there among them, the young farmer they had met on their way to meet the mayor, though he looked more amused than annoyed. The merchants, at least, looked interested - they all wore fine silks, though cut oddly, exotically - they were probably used to having entertainment.

And the soldiers - they snickered amongst themselves as they watched him climb the table, raising tankards to their lips to hide their smiles as he looked at them. Even the maids that Madame Ro employed had stopped their hustle and bustle to watch him, arms folded, eyebrows raised, brushing down their snow-white skirts as they sat in stools. And, of course, Elyse, with her dark blue eyes gleaming beneath the black brim of her hat, wearing a wicked, mysterious smile.

Kells sat on a bench next to him - Martimeos bent to whisper to him about what tune to play on his fiddle, and also to curse him for what he had done. Kells just raised an eyebrow and grinned, readying his bow above the fiddle's strings. Elyse watched as Martimeos stood upon the table, casting his eyes out across the crowd one last time. He looked so nervous, red-faced, tugging at his black-furred cloak, almost seeming to want to sink down into the depths of his scarf.

But then he ran a hand through his shaggy, dark hair, and closed his eyes, breathing. The crowd began to mutter amongst themselves as the silence stretched for a moment. But then, Martimeos' eyes snapped open, his nerves apparently fled, and they blazed green with such intensity that Elyse felt a little shocked. She could swear they were brighter- In their rooms merchants count gold, And piles of silver deftly earned To think that I may join their fold If only counting coin I'd learned.

But 'tis not to wealth that my heart turned, Though it would spare my heavy load It is for the Art I yearned I am a wizard, I love the road. If merchants listened they would know At journey's end there lies a Tree; To it there is no use for coin, and so Gold will never have hold on me. The moment Martimeos began to sing, all conversation in the room stopped. Beside him, Kell's eyes widened; Elyse felt her mouth drop open in shock.

She had heard of witches who wove their magic into song; she didn't think that was what Martimeos was doing - she didn't sense the Art, quite rightly - but she could think of nothing else to compare it to. His voice was so fine it sank into your soul, struck a chord somewhere deep within. The shadows in the room seemed to lessen; the tension drained from it; even the fire somehow seemed friendlier. The rhythm was fast, energetic, but his voice communicated a sense of lingering sadness.

She had heard singing like this before, she realized - when she was very young, in her mother's swamp, from a great distance, a chorus of voices like this, whose music seemed to grab hold of your very heart. It was the Fae, her mother had told her, trying to lure strangers into the wood. Madame Ro stared in shock, then began to tap her hand on the bar counter along with the beat.

The merchants laughed, though Elyse thought they might have found the words insulting; one of them, a strange man with a long drooping mustache and rings in his nose, pulled out a strange, square metal object from his pocket, and put it to his lips; it made a strange humming noise, but not unpleasant, and played along to the tune. Farmers know that merchant's love To tilled field does not compare Fresh earth below and sun above The dark and wild ever near.

But their roots I do not share, So let them give thanks to Woed To the Art I say my prayer, I am a wizard, I love the road. Farmers know well about the green that lies there at the journey's end We travel there by different paths I'll meet you there and call you friend. Martimeos seemed to gain confidence as he sang. He tapped his boots along to the beat; and looked more fierce and wild than he ever had. While the shadows in the room seemed to shrink, his own seemed to grow, green eyes blazing like witchfire.

Some of the farmers now took their spoons, banging them together to produce a rapid, complicated patter with the beat. Vincent, though, just watched and grinned. Soldiers know that farmer's roots Will break before the enemy'Tis only the march of many boots That makes the foe tremble and flee But alleigance is too much for me And I chafe beneath their code The duty-bound aren't truly free And I am a wizard, I love the road.

Soldiers know that journey's end Can come when you're least prepared Like leaves they fall around the Tree Never asking to be spared. To Elyse's shock, the soldiers rose their voices in deep chorus to join in the song, even Kells; apparently, they knew that last part. The room was din, now, of instruments, singing voices, clapping hands, fiddle and flute, but somehow Martimeos' voice cut through it all, weaving it all together into rhythm and song.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. My lover knows her love's a fool Who will leave her all alone In the end a wizard's cruel To him true love is never known. Oh how I wish I could atone and resist the Art's fierce goad But 'tis too late, away I've flown I am a wizard, I love the road. I wish I'd only taken her hand, And told her to come with me. At journey's end we might have lingered And kissed awhile beneath the Tree.

That last set the maids blushing, some of them staring quite openly at Martimeos, as the fool wizard was even bold enough to give them a wink as he sang, his nerves apparently having fled entirely. Truth be told, Elyse might have guessed at how they felt; it would be lie to say she did not feel her own heart flutter a bit at. There was just something about the strength of the sng that made one think of standing beneath a tree's shade, with a lover in your arms.

The Tree is beautiful beyond measure Leaves of light and gentle green A single branch worth more treasure Than all the world has ever seen. And before the Tree a wizard keen Might make his right and worthy plea And ask the Tree, "What does it mean"? What a fool.

'Tis just a Tree. A man then might sit and think On all the world that he had missed. All the loves that lay abandoned; All the girls he might have kissed. But me? I shrug, and tie my boots, And pat the tree upon the roots, Tell it that I need no reply, But it couldn't keep me if it tried. The Tree is not my last abode- I am a wizard, I love the road! Martimeos' face burned as he finished the song, to raucous applause. He might have confidence while singing, but the moment he was done, his shame returned to him.

He desperately wanted to wrap his cloak around his head as the merchants poured coin onto the table he stood upon. Cries came for more as he tried to step down; he tried to refuse, but people crowded around him, a tankard was pushed into his hands, he drank and soon his head was swimming, and the next thing he knew he was back up on the table, singing more songs, songs about lost loves and adventure while a sea of faces swam blurrily before him.

He sang until he was hoarse, until neither ale nor water could bring his voice back. Shadows danced in his vision; he was aware he was fumbling at picking up coins as Kells laughed at him and told him he'd handle it, telling him it was alright. Martimeos thanked him with a voice that barely escaped his throat, stumbling up his stairs to his room. The hallway seemed to spin before him as he staggered down it. He paused for a moment before he entered his room, steadying himself against the wall.

When he walked in, he blinked. There, in the center of his room, was a brass bathtub, already full of steaming water. Had he asked one of the maids to draw him a bath at some point? He must have, though he could not remember. A good thing he did though; a bath seemed a fine thing right now. Maybe help him sweat out some of his drink. He kicked off his clothes, struggling to remove them with clumsy fingers, before stepping as gracefully as he could into the bath, still sloshing water onto the floor.

While the water was soothing, he felt ridiculous - the bath was always too small for him. The best he could do was either curl into a ball, or let his legs dangle over the end of the tub. As he was shifting around, trying to get comfortable, sloshing water everywhere, he heard the door to his room open. His eyes hot open and he looked up - only to see Elyse there, standing in the doorway, watching him with gleaming eyes, a bemused smile on her face, long hair swinging below her waist.

"Oh," she said, "Now isn't this a gift."

"Would you shut the damn door!" Martimeos snapped. Elyse's eyes flashed, but she didn't lose her smile. She quietly closed the door behind her, tossing her hat aside as she entered the room. Her eyes settled upon the pile of his clothes on the floor, and immediately she snatched them up, tossing them inside the dresser.

"What are you doing here?" he asked her, wearily.

"What am I...? What else would I be doing here?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. She pulled a chair away from the room's desk, dragging it over so that she might sit by him. She leaned over, putting her chin in her hands, dark eyes studying him intently while a blush stained her pale cheeks. Her smile had never left her.

"Martimeos," she said quietly.

"You sing like a Fae." Martimeos' eyes widened, and he looked away from her.

"'Tis nothing, honestly," he muttered.

"They were Fae songs, after all."

"No, not nothing. Why do you become so embarrassed...?

'Twas beautiful! I had no idea you could sing so." He felt her hand on his arm; he whipped his head back around to glare at her.

"If you've just come into my room to tease me, you can leave," he muttered." Your room?" Elyse laughed at him, her eyes wide and innocent.

"Martim, this is my room." Martimeos stared at her. Then he whipped his head around the room, taking a sharper look at it. No, this had to be his room, she was lying to him, it... he spotted Cecil on the bed, blinking at him slowly, ears twitching, tail flicking back and forth, one of them bound in a thick cast.

"Oh damn," he mumbled, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks.

"I... apologize, let me get my clothes..." he blinked, looking around the tub.

"Where are my clothes...?"

"I have no idea," Elyse said as innocuously as possible.

"Don't worry, I don't mind! You just enjoy the bath you stole from me." Her eyes widened as he tried still to rise from the tub, on unsteady, drunken legs.

"Wait, careful-" Martim's legs slipped out from underneath him as tried to stand on the wet brass; he toppled over backwards, with a splash, cracking his head and his shoulder against the back of the tub as water sloshed from it. With a groan, he put a hand to the back of his throbbing head, looking at fingers that came back wet with blood.

"Stubborn man," Elyse snapped, glaring at him, shaking her arms to fling water from her robes. But for all that, she still wore a smile, though that faded as she saw the blood on his fingers.

"A nasty crack, there. Relax - Martimeos, relax," she said sternly, as he tried to rise again.

"Just enjoy your bath, and I will heal your fool head." She held his shoulder down to prevent him from trying to rise again - as she thought the obstinate fool might - and finally with a grumble Martimeos settled into the water. He winced against the pain in his head as Elyse pulled her chair behind him to examine his scalp.

"I have to say," she said, as he felt her fingers work their way into his hair, "I don't think I've seen you as flustered as you were tonight."

"I... don't like all those eyes on me," he replied quietly, as her fingers found his wound, and he felt warmth begin to ebb the pain away.

"Even worse when friends are there to see me make a fool of myself."

"A fool of yourself? How, by singing so beautifully half the maids wanted to leap into bed with you? You have made a fool of yourself many times, Martim, but singing was not one of those." He felt her hands leave his head as the pain there soothed, but instead of withdrawing, felt her touch trail down his back. Down his scar. He knew the question burning in her mind.

"Martimeos," she said softly, "Can I ask you a question about this scar? If it is not a sore subject. I have been wondering for a while now."

"Let me ask you a question first," he interjected quickly.

"You still never told me. The talking head we saw, in the farmlands - where had you seen one of those before?"

"Oh." Elyse was silent for a moment, her fingers still tracing along his back.

"'Tis.... simple, but gruesome. My mother took a man's head, and created much the same thing. She could use it to speak to spirits and... others. Outsiders."

"Your mother was a necromancer?"

"She knew some of it - she did speak to spirits - but never raised the dead that I saw. To use a head as a mouth for those Outside - it is not actually necromancy. You are not raising the dead - you are lending something a mouth to use to speak." He felt her hand trembling on his back.

"I... felt very badly, for the man whose head she took."

"I see," Martimeos said, growing quiet. In the silence, he could almost feel her burning desire to ask the question he knew was coming.

"Alright. You may ask."

"Who was it who healed this wound that gave you such a scar?" Martimeos blinked. That had not been the question he was expecting.

"Oh.

'Twas my brother."

"Your brother was a wizard too?" She paused.

"Wait. How much older than you was your brother...? And.... when did he do the healing?"

"Nearly ten years older. And nearly ten years ago. I think either he or I was an unexpected baby," Martimeos chuckled. But Elyse was silent for a long moment. And then he felt her teeth closing around his shoulder, giving him a hard bite. He yelped at the pain, twisting around in the tub to glare at her. She just glowered back at him, frown on her face, her arms folded across her chest.

"What was that for?" he snapped.

"I told you," she replied harshly, "That if you lied to me again, I would bite you. I warned you. Do not lie to a witch."

"Aren't you supposed to be able to tell when someone lies, if you want to punish them for it...? I tell you the truth, it was my brother!" Elyse stared at him for a long moment.

"Martimeos," she said quietly, "That wound... it ought to have killed you. It bit deep; it bit through bone and innard. I can tell. I asked because... I don't know anyone who could have healed such an injury. I studied healing harder even than glamour; it is a complicated matter, and the best I can achieve now is to heal some scrapes and bruises and quicken the healing of some more serious wounds. I cannot even completely close the small cut in your head.

And you mean to tell me your brother, when he was around the same age as I am now.... healed a wound like that?" She shook her head.

"It simply does not make sense."

"I don't know what to tell you," Martimeos replied, growing quiet.

"My brother, he was - very talented." Elyse studied him, quietly.

"I... apologize for the bite," she said finally.

"Perhaps you truly believe it was your brother. But I tell you, it could not be him; or not him alone. That it was healed at all was astounding; that it was healed with nothing left but a scar, I would say it was impossible if I could not see it here before me." Martimeos did not answer; he merely turned around in the tub again with a quiet splash, once more facing away from her, staring at the wall.

He once again felt her hands return to him; this time not to trace along his scar, but simply running along his shoulders. He blushed, though he felt stupid for doing so. He didn't know why her rubbing his shoulders would embarrass him; she had already leapt into bed naked with him before, though he had been unconscious for that.

"... That was not the question I was expecting," he said, to break the silence.

"I thought you were going to ask me how I got the scar."

"Oh. Well, as long as you're in the mood for honest answers, why not tell me that too? Consider it payment for the bath you stole." She paused.

"That is, if you do not mind the telling." Martimeos sighed. It was a somewhat painful memory, but he had gotten the question often enough from people who saw the scar that he had stopped being annoyed at the telling - though he did not tell all who asked. But he supposed Elyse could know; it was a simple enough tale anyway.

"I told you, roughly ten years ago," he began, "My village was raided by the Witch-Queen's forces..." He closed his eyes as the memory overtook him. It was springtime in Pike's Green. The rolling fields of farms were covered in a brilliant green, and farmhouses brightly painted in loud - some might even say garish - colors dotted the landscape. If a child walked up to one of those houses, he might find that for a few simple chores, the farmer would be glad to hand them a pie or some other sweets to enjoy.

But though Martimeos was young, he had always enjoyed the forest. He walked now on a shaded path of soft dirt between trees of cedar pine, the gentle light of midday sun warming him where it filtered down through the shadows cast by the forest. His familiar, Flit, lay perched on his shoulder, burbling excitedly - he had found Flit just two winters past, and though the bird had tricked him, he made a fine scout - also, Martimeos found his rude behavior funny.

It delighted him when Flit would insult someone he was talking to, and only he could know - for only hew knew the bird-speech. Well, he, and a few others in the village, but still. Beside him walked his best friend, a young girl named Vivian, dressed in boy's clothes, rough linen shorts and pants, having cast off the white dress her mother always tried to make her wear so she could go exploring with Martimeos - though she kept the ribbons and flowers in her long blonde hair.

She was the daughter of the village smith - one of many children they had - and her parents disapproved of her spending so much time traipsing about in the woods. Though Martimeos had begun to suspect that it was not the woods they disapproved of - it was the time Vivian spent with him. Vivian's parents were polite enough to his face, but always wary and curt, and he was old enough now to notice.

It bothered Martimeos, but her siblings seemed to like him well enough - particularly her eldest brother, though that made sense; Vivian's eldest brother was good friends with Martimeos' brother as well. And truth be told... Martimeos didn't know if she was really just his best friend anymore. They had grown up together, but lately Martimeos had become more aware of things boys and girls did together. He didn't understand any of it - didn't truly understand love - but he did know he had started feeling...

fonder, of Vivian, gradually, over the past year or so. He supposed this meant they would probably get married some day; he had talked it over with her and she had agreed this was most likely. It had made them both laugh, feeling embarrassed. What did they know of marriage, after all? It was for her that he had asked his brother to teach him of the Art; by now he could, with long concentration, make a leaf smoulder and perhaps catch flame. Just that - and his brother had called him a very quick learner.

He had felt disheartened - all that work, just to do that? It was nothing like what his brother could do - his brother could do such things as step Outside, into entirely new worlds - though he had made Martimeos swear not to tell their parents he was doing this. Martim barely understood it, though he was very clever for his age - already reading books meant for adults. And his brother had, after all, stopped doing it once they had learned how dangerous it was to step Outside.

But still, compared to his brother, Martimeos felt like he could barely do anything at all. Vivian, though, had thought it very impressive, watching raptly as he had set fire to a dry leaf set in his hand, no matter how long it took - and now that he had Flit, well, he supposed he truly was a wizard now.

"Martim!" he heard Vivian call, snapping him out of his reverie. He glanced towards her - she was grinning at him, sky-blue eyes lighting up her face.

"You hear it?" Martimeos cocked his head, eventually hearing a faint burbling noise - the sound of a creek running through the woods. He nodded and grinned. Vivian had told him that she had found a creek down this path - one of many, many in Pike's Green - that led to a pond with the biggest frogs she had ever seen.

"At least three feet around, surely," she had told him. Martimeos had his doubts - the woods around Pike's Green was surely unusual, but Vivian had a tendency to exaggerate when she got excited. Still, they raced ahead, running until they came across the creek, cutting a path through the forest, running down hill and across rock, following it down until it led, as she said, to a large, murky pond, overgrown with lillipads, nearly hidden by a thicket of dark green brush.

Martimeos paused a moment before following Vivian - he thought he had seen the shadow of something strange, with horns, in the forest behind them. But when he looked closer, there was nothing, so he shrugged and followed. She led him quietly to the banks of the pond, putting a finger to her mouth to hush Flit when he chirped, and pointed to the water. Martimeos squinted his eyes. There, in the muck by the pond's bank, he could almost see...

Suddenly, Vivian's hands darted out, quick as a flash, grabbing something that squirmed and struggled in her grasp.

"Look," she laughed, holding it up - an enormous bullfrog, one that she needed both hands to grip, but nowhere near three feet.

"I told you they were huge! You think the Fae enchanted them?" Martimeos crossed his arms, giving her a frank look.

"You said three feet," he replied. Vivian lowered the bullfrog, giving him a frown as it nearly slipped from her grasp.

"They are. That's a small one - I swear I saw one that big. I bet you we can find him again." They spent the afternoon by the pond, hunting for Vivian's supposed three-footer, following the twanging sounds of the frog's calls as the sun sank slowly in the sky.

Some of the frogs really were quite mammoth in size - big enough for Flit to get nervous and take off on wing, not wanting to get eaten - big enough to make Martimeos wonder whether they really might have felt the touch of the Fae, though they might have been just as likely to shrink them as a joke - but none ever got quite to three feet.

Vivian slowly progressed from insisting that a three foot one existed, to saying that, well, really, what they had seen was nearly as impressive as three feet, so what did it matter? The sun had gone down in the sky, turning the light filtering through the pines orange, when they grew tired of their hunt. With muddy feet and slimy hands, they made their way back to the path, Vivian idly speculating with Martimeos why the Fae might have changed the frogs.

Martimeos grinned - she always considered him an expert about the Fae, though the truth was, he barely understood himself sometimes. That was when Flit had come winging through the forest, chirping with alarm. He alighted on Martim's shoulder, whispering into his ear; Martim holding up a hand for Vivian to hush as he concentrated on making out what Flit was saying in his rapid bird-speech. Flit... Flit was saying... Flit was saying Pike's Green was on fire.

He glanced upward, to the sky - above the trees, he could see that the otherwise clear sky was stained with plumes of black smoke. Flit continued his report in his ear as he watched, and his face grew pale as he realized what his familiar was saying.

"What is it?" Vivian asked, hushed, nervous.

"The village," Martimeos replied.

"Men are attacking the village... it's on fire." Vivian's eyes grew wide, as Martimeos started walking up the path back to the village.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. Martimeos... wasn't actually sure what he was doing. He knew that he shouldn't be going back to the village. Pike's Green had never been attacked, but his parents had told him - if ever it was - what they should do is hide in the forest. But there was this wild, burning desire in him to see what was happening - some impish voice that told him to turn towards danger.

"I just want to go check, and see," he whispered.

"I want to see what-""No!" Vivian whispered back, glancing nervously towards the village, and then glancing back behind her, where the shadows of the forest grew darker - it was clear she wanted to head further in.

"Don't be stupid - follow me -" He pulled his arm free of her, and she looked back at him in surprise.

"Don't worry," he said, "I'm just going to sneak a bit closer and see if our houses are all right." She stared at him. And then, tears began to fall from her bright blue eyes, cutting paths in her muddy cheeks. Martimeos blinked - he rarely saw Vivian cry.

"Please, Martim," she begged him, "Please don't go - stay with me. Please." Martim awkwardly rubbed her arm as she wept, but... there was no denying that urge in him.

"I'll be right back," he told her, feeling miserable as she wept harder.

"I promise. Don't worry." He left her there, weeping in the forest, as he ran back towards Pike's Green. The guilt he felt over making her cry quickly dissolved into fear and anxiety, as he grew closer to the edge of the forest. He was close enough now to hear the shouts of men; close enough to hear screams. Hiding behind a tree at the edge of the path, he peeked out from behind it, staring across the rolling fields.

He could see - several of the farmhouses burning, their bright colors wilting to black as they collapsed into infernos. An entire barn burning, screams echoing across the fields. Men on horseback - men with bright, flame-red hair, dressed in animal furs, carrying axes and bows on horseback, galloping through the fields, chasing down farmers, cutting them down, pincushioning them with arrows.

And one rider, dressed in all black, on a night-black steed, his helm a cattle-skull with gleaming yellow eyes, black streamers tied to the horns, raising a hooked blade as he rode down yet another farmer... Martimeos felt panic rise in his throat, he pressed himself up against the rough bark of the pine tree, breathing quickly. It was almost unthinkable, seeing his peaceful little village turned so quickly into a nightmare - it felt like a bad dream.

Quickly, he whispered to Flit to fly on ahead - to stay high, out of the range of arrows - and see whether or not he could find Martim's family. Or Vivian's. Summoning his courage, he glanced out from behind the tree once more. He blinked, as, in the distance, a massive lightning strike tore down from the cloudless sky, sending some of the attacking men flying from their horses. He wondered if that was his brother.

Moments later, the lightning's thundered roared so loud across the fields that it felt like it nearly shattered his eardrums. He ought to go back, he knew. There was nothing he could do here. But he couldn't stop that strange, wild urge in him to forge forward. He dropped to his belly, crawling forward in the grass. If he could just get a little closer, he could... he didn't know. Help? He didn't think he could do anything against these soldiers - but maybe he could...

find some fleeing farmers, and lead them into the forest's dark paths - he knew the forests well - or... well... he didn't know. He didn't know what he would do, exactly. But he was still fairly safe, here - the men attacking were far in the distance, far away from the edges of the wood. Or so he thought. Ice ran in his veins as he heard the sound of hooves coming from behind him. He rolled over, quickly, staying low to the ground so that he would not rise above the tall grass in which he hid. The man behind him...

wasn't like the others. He didn't have flaming-red hair, or wear furs, or carry axes. His entire body was hidden by armor, polished to a fine, gleaming sheen, well-jointed to allow full movement. From his back fluttered a snow-white cape, and his face was covered by a sleek, winged helmet. He rode a tall horse, almost slim for a warhorse, as pure white as his cape. In one hand, he held a light glaive at the ready, with a thin, narrow blade. In the other, he held the reins of his horse as he peered into the forest.

Eyeing the path Martimeos had come from. The path Vivian lay down. She had to have gone further into the forest... or had she stayed where he had left her, waiting for him? That path - it was a well-worn one, more than enough for that knight to ride his horse down. Fear sang through his heart as the knight took his steed down the path a cautious step. He popped up from the grass, screaming.

The knight immediately turned his horse around, startled, his expression unreadable beneath his helm, as he trained his horse on Martimeos. Martimeos didn't waste time waiting. He ran. He flew faster than he ever had. He tore through the grass, towards Pike's Green. He thought he almost certainly was going to die - all he could see was the attacking men riding through the fields, in the distance, their wild red hair coursing through the air as they rode.

He heard the thunder of hooves closer, ever closer behind him, as he sprinted forward. It was luck that saved him the first time. He tripped in a hidden hole in the field, falling flat on his face, just as the knight passed over him. He could hear the man curse as he passed by, the horse's hooves striking mere inches from Martimeos' head, the glaive passing through the air where his chest had been a mere moment ago.

Martimeos immediately sprang to his feet and began running again, in a slightly different direction than he had before, away from where the knight had passed him by. Soon enough, though, he heard those hooves gaining on him again. Now, in front of him lay a burning farmhouse, with some of the red-haired riders milling about in front of it - though still very far away.

As he watched, one of those red-haired riders suddenly burst into flame, no time to even scream - just a man one moment, and a blackened corpse wreathed in howling fire the next., as the other riders stepped their horses back in panic. That - that had to be the work of his brother. If he could just keep dodging this knight, if he could just find his brother - he glanced behind him, eyes widening - the knight was nearly upon him.

He threw himself to the ground, in a desperate bid to avoid the strike - But he failed. The knight didn't run him through, but his glave carved a deep path up Martimeos' back. It carved into deep, dark parts of him - he felt something vital within him snap as it sliced him through. An unbelievable pain, like he had never felt before in his life, lanced through him. He collapsed to the ground, his vision immediately growing dim, as the knight thundered past. He couldn't feel his legs.

All he could see was a few blades of grass in front of him, and his hand, twitching involuntarily, as it lay before his face. Dark blood poured from his mouth as he tried to breathe. He knew, with complete certainty, he was going to die, and very soon. Through the pain, he tried to make his last thoughts happy ones. He tried to think of Vivian, but all he could think of was the sadness he felt that she was going to be left alone. He should have listened to her. He hoped she lived.

He hoped his death wouldn't make her sad for too long. Dimly, in the distance, he could hear something horrific - it sounded like metal being twisted and bent, accompanied by the cracking of bones and a man's gurgling scream. But he didn't know what any of that meant. He could feel consciousness slipping from him. The last thing he saw before his eyes closed were the dusty boots of his brother, stepping into view. Martimeos sat quietly in the bathtub, having finished his tale. The scar on his back burned.

It always tended to act up a bit whenever he thought about that story. Some memory of pain ingrained in him as a child, perhaps. Elyse was quiet for a while, her hands still trailing their way along his shoulders, one leaving those now to trace his scar once more.

"You... sound like you were a very stupid child, Martimeos," she said softly. Martimeos barked a laugh. Well, that was Elyse for you.

"I suppose I was," he replied.

"I like to think I'm a little smarter these days."

"Still, very cruel. A child, struck down by a knight in the service of the Witch-Queen. I suppose there was a reason why these lands rose against her." Elyse's touch was soothing - the pain disappeared from his scar as she traced her fingers down it.

"What was the next thing you remembered....?" Martimeos closed his eyes.

"Waking up in my mother's bed, my parents, and my brother, standing above me, weeping. The attackers had been driven off, but... much of the village was burned, or slaughtered. It took my brother practicing the Art on me for nearly half a year before I was whole again."

"Hmm." He felt one of her hands gently press against his neck. Then, curiously, she asked, "Martimeos, do you realize what you said to me?"

"What...?" Elyse was quiet for another long moment.

"You said," she continued carefully, "That the dark rider here... that he was among the men who attacked your village." Martimeos opened his eyes, turning around to face her. She sat in her chair, watching him curiously, hands now folded in her lap, dark blue eyes mysterious.

"I.... did?" he asked. When she nodded, he put a hand to his head.

"I... no, that's not right. I swear, I had not seen him before we spotted him on the way to Silverfish." He furrowed his brow - funny, no matter how he thought of the memory now, he could see the dark rider there, among the red-haired men who burned Pike's Green.

"I must be more addled by drink than I thought," he muttered.

"Perhaps I ought to get to bed. Where did I put my clothes...?" Elyse did not answer him. Instead, wordlessly, she helped him up from the tub as best she could, giving him a dark look when he nearly fell again, and handed him a towel to wrap around himself. As he dried off, she went to her bed and gingerly moved Cecil to make room. When Martimeos went to her door, to peek out into the hall and see if he might dash to his room wearing just a towel, Elyse pulled him away and quietly directed him to her bed.

"Sleep here with me tonight," she told him, as she sat him down on her bed.

"I... don't, uh... object, but why?" Martimeos asked cautiously. Not that he did not trust Elyse... or that he might not like to sleep here. But the swamp-witch had... peculiar ways about her. She put her hands on her hips as she looked down at him, dark eyes twinkiling, her hair as dark as shadow in the flickering candlelight of the room.

"The whim strikes me that I should like it tonight," she replied, "If I could use you as a pillow, and besides, it will save you from having to run into the hall naked. We can look for your clothes in the morning." With that, she turned and blew out the candle, sending the room into a darkness only lessened slightly by dim moonlight streaming in through the window.

Martimeos tried to keep the towel wrapped around him in some semblance of modesty as she pushed him under the covers, but she grumbled that it was damp and unpleasant, so shrugging, he tossed it aside. She at least kept her robes on, though there was a part of Martimeos that wished she did not; in fact, there was a part of him that wanted to do much more than simply lie here with her.

But his head still spun from drink as it hit the pillow, and so though she wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest, he felt more desire for sleep than for anything else. The last thing he heard before he drifted off to sleep was Elyse murmuring, "Martim, I would like to hear you sing again sometime."