Revenge - Writing.Com

Slave to a Princess (Kindle)
Fugitive Empath taken and chained to a princess terrified of men. Bestselling P/N Romance

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[Introduction] This story is rated 13+ for language, violence, and sexual themes.

While the bright blue sky dimmed navy then darkened further to deep indigo, light simultaneously brightened the village inn's cheery interior as candles were ignited and kerosene lamps lit.
As was typical per such an idyllic evening, the village inn attracted a variety of patrons. Most were town inhabitants who stopped by most every night for the legendary gossip and the drinks that were only marginally less so. For Starmorage was, if anything, a small, intimate community where everyone knew everyone else’s business. Because the area was fairly secluded with little economic productivity except a modest forestry industry, the rather sleepy village attracted few newcomers and those longtime inhabitants remained there out of some mixture of nostalgia, pride and accustomedness. In fact, Tsyné believed she had been one of the town's most recent residents, and she'd relocated at least ten years ago. While the citizens had been initially wary of her presense, as all well-established communities are wont to be of strangers, they had eventually accepted her graciously and she charmingly lapped up their affection by playing her given role to perfection at the only local nighttime scene.
Skillfully balancing an assortment of trays on both arms and her head (all of which holding full glasses, mind), Tsyné swept the assortment of drinks onto various table surfaces at lightning speed, never spilling a drop nor confusing orders. Cheers and whistles of admiration erupted from her loyal audience, causing the cocky barmaid to grin and give a small curtsey before stacking the trays and turning to other tables to collect more orders.
“Ay, Tis-ney, let’s have another round,” one man demanded drunkenly, waving his empty mug to and fro, as the bell at the front door tinkled merrily, signifying another arrival.
“That’s Si-nay to you,” she corrected mock-sternly, deftly refilling his mug from a glass pitcher. “If there’s one thing that ticks me off-”
“Oi Tsyné, we have a newcomer,” the bartender called as he wiped glasses with a sodden dishrag. “Go an’ situate him.”
“-it’s mispronunciation of my name, although being called to go someone else’s job ranks fairly high as well,” Tsyné finished with a flourish, now whirling to face the bartender with raised eyebrow and pseudo glare. “Can’t you get it?” she whined petulantly.
“I’ve just had seven orders,” came the overdramatic groan as the bartender pretended to collapse from fatigue that surely resulted from the rigors of preparing drinks, “do me a favor.”
“Oh all right,” she grumbled good-humouredly as her part of the playful banter, and cheerfully wound her way out of the crowded barroom, strode through the vacant dining room, and pratically leapt into the entryway. Many travelers filtered in and out of the homely establishment, deciding to kip for the night before finishing their travels the next morrow. Starmorage was centrally located on the road between Aroville and North Bay, which was a popular business route (as the latter’s teeming fish industry exported to the former), so Tsyné was hardly surprised at a newcomer's arrival even at this late hour. It always entertained her to watch the travelers’ foreign dynamics and their mingling with the locals, exchanging trivial news from the outside world and adding to the general hustle and bustle that exemplified the village inn atmosphere.
As she took her place behind the register, Tsyné began “Welc-” before she looked up at the newcomer and her breath caught itself in her throat.
The sudden recognition dawned upon the man’s face as well, but unlike Tsyné his registered shock quickly transformed into contemptuous amusement. He broke into a leer that caused the pit of Tsyné’s stomach to immediately turn sour, and all powers of articulate speech convieniently abandoned her.
“Well, well, if it ain't Tsyné,” he brogued, “now I wasn’t expecting to see you hereabouts. A lovely surprise, I must say.” His eyes lazily flickered about the room, and he commented, “Charming place you’re at here, but you must know this gives me a little cause for concern.”
He took a step closer to her, and Tsyné finally startled, but her shock-induced dumbness persisted. “I mean, you never know…” he slowly drawled while advancing, “you could meet some nasty folk working in a bar.”
His leer had now evolved into a malicious grin as he continued to approach her; Tsyné belatedly attempted to flatten herself against the wall in some futile hope that it would absorb her form. “I’ve an idea," he said ingenuously, as though the thought really had just dawned upon him. "Why don’t you accompany me for a drink,” he proposed in a dangerous tone of voice, leaning his face an inch away from hers, “for… old time’s sake.” He offered his arm in a mock show of gallantry.
Unable to utter protest, Tsyné was led into the barroom. The man pulled out a chair for her at an empty table and she plomped down automatically, feeling faint.
“Friend of yours, Tsyné?” another bargirl asked as she approached the table with mugs of frothy amber liquid.
“More like a dear acquaintance,” he smiled faux-reassuringly, taking the mugs and offering one to Tsyné. Numbly she accepted and continued staring at the man. Gulping thirstily, he downed half the glass’s contents before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “So, Tsyné, Gaolencit will be glad to know you’re alive and well. Reestablished and from the looks of it, managing yourself decentlike. I’ll admit, your self-sufficiency is impressive.”
Tsyné had found her tongue but could not think of a reply. She did, however, stammer several unintelligible syllables.
“Oh, you couldn’t be scared now, could you, girl?” he jeered with a lopsided grin. Tsyné averted her eyes and attempted to grease her brain into proper function, but his next words drove themselves into her mind like spikes and she was unable to concentrate. “Listen to me,” he snarled, all appearances of jollity gone. Leaning forward so his face was directly in front of hers, he menacingly whispered, “You should say good-bye to this nice little life you’ve found yourself here.” She could feel the alcohol on his breath. “You might as well come with me now, eh, make it easier on everyone?” His hand hovered over hers.
“No.” Tsyné found the strength to firmly enunciate that one syllable and unhesitatingly withdraw her hand, facing the man straight on. Internally she flinched but kept her gaze unwaveringly. The man raised his eyebrows in affected amusement, his palm flat upon the table where hers had been but a moment ago, but Tsyné could tell that he had not expected this resolve. He made to grab her arm, but she stood up immediately, knocking her chair backwards but continuing to meet his gaze. The general hubbub subdued as people finally turned about to see what was transgressing, but she didn't even consider them. Tsyné couldn’t read his reaction, and for a moment thought he might seize her, but the man instead leaned back in his chair and took a long, purposefully nonchalant gulp of his ale. The crowd, disappointed at the lack of a brawl or at least a decent altercation, turned back to their own conversations and the noise soon reached its previous level.
“Feisty now too,” he commented, the sexual implications evident in his tone, but Tsyné knew he wasn’t going to try to hurt her now. “I imagine you’ll be runnin’ as soon’s I leave your eyesight. But mark my words Tsyné,” his voice was now deathly calm, “Gaolencit has not forgotten you.” He stood quickly, and continued once more in his affected-jovial tone, “So I’ll be seeing you around, eh?” Downing the contents of his glass, he winked before turning to exit the barroom in the direction of the guestrooms.
Her mind now finally spiraling back in a forceful vertigo, Tsyné felt the return of numerous questioning eyes upon her which combined with the stress gave her little idea as to what to do except run away, which she proceeded to do. Once outside and leaning against the building, she allowed the anxiety attack to wrench her body; her legs grew shaky and she began hyperventilating as blood pounded at a roar in her ears.
She hadn’t allotted much thought to her past while a Starmorage resident, for Tsyné had carved out a new life for herself here. Granted, it was not an especially painful history that she had been forced to overcome. But captivity was hardly a jesting matter even if she had survived relatively unharmed. And there lingered still that particular image, the last memory she had been left with of the man called Gaolencit… she could have easily gone the rest of her life without ever considering it again, and it flooded back to her now.
Tsyné shuddered and held her arms to her chest as she drew breath at longer, more normal intervals. She had been lucky, extremely lucky, with her timing back then. She had escaped just as a rescue mission had arrived to detain her. They were the ones who had helped her situate in Starmorage. Well, they hadn’t helped so much, but they had given her the chance. The point being, she was tough and she had a knack for survival. And if it meant leaving this cozy world behind, that’s what she would do. Without another moment’s thought Tsyné darted off into the night, instantaneously melting into its velvety blackness.
A lone star twinkled innocently over unpresumptuous Starmorage. Though she did not know it then, Tsyné would never again have the chance to retreat into that blind security.

“My dearest Clenara,” Etaria spoke the words aloud as she wrote them across the top of the parchment in her thin, neat script. “All right, go on.”
“Much though I may regret it, I will not be able to return home in time for the May Festival,” the man dictated in his thin, piqued voice, while wringing a hat between his hands like an unfortunate dishrag. “Give my regards to my mother and I do hope that her back is not bothering her so badly.”
He went on to list specific concerns and messages for another dozen or so people in the same fashion, but she caught up with him ably, all the while narrating a tale to herself about the imaginary complications that would be detaining this… tailor, she decided, from his sweetheart and the crippling illness suffered by his mother. Creating fictitious backgrounds for her clients was about the only way to stag off the boredom of spending an entire day writing correspondences for them, and it was significantly more polite than bluntly asking for details about their personal lives. The problem with letters, in her opinion, was that they were utterly meaningless for all save the intended viewer, leaving little more than paragraph after paragraph of unanswerable questions for anyone else who happened to read them or, in her case, write them.
Being a scribe was hardly an ideal occupation, but as the only marketable talent that Etaria possessed was her book-smart literacy and she did not belong to that leisurely class of individuals who can afford to do nothing all day except write their own letters, she was begrudgingly grateful for the employment and had resolved herself to make the best of it.
She let the man sign his own name, probably the only letters that he could form without misshaping, then deposited her earnings into an envelope in her pocket and went back to the novel she had been perusing, content to read until another patron arrived. Probably the greatest advantage to working in Aroville was the colossal library that her employer, Ven, operated in a side corner of, allowing Etaria to pilfer the odd book or two whenever she was unoccupied.
In all, it wasn’t a bad sort of life. Not the sort that she had used to know as a child, of course, but it could certainly have been worse. Ven provided her with a small, one-room flat, which provided all the space she could want since she owned little more than the bundle of quills and stacks of paper necessary for her trade. And if her wages were never enough to allow any sort of accumulation, neither were they so meager as to provoke hunger. No, she was really quite fortunate to have pulled herself away from the ledges of vagrancy so neatly; many could not have done as well as she had. If she tried cleverly enough, she could almost convince herself that she was happy, also, but it usually took a few mugs of ale to make that lovely story believable.
“Um, miss?” a female voice interrupted hesitantly.
Etaria snapped away from the page that she hadn’t read a word of anyway and automatically replaced those thoughts with a businesslike demeanor. “May I help you?”
“I’d like a letter written to my brother, please.”
Perhaps the girl, with her large eyes and ragged apron, was waiting for him, her only living family member, to send money for passage across the ocean so that she might join him there. Or he was supposed to visit her a week ago, but she had yet to hear from him. Or any one of the countless, extraordinary scenarios that Etaria devised as she took down the girl’s words. Postulations with no certainty of fact or lie, like those that she entertained about her own past, and holding about the same likelihood of ever receiving an answer.

Tarryn Farrick was not one known for her kindness. Nor was she known for her charm, or her beauty, or her clever wit. What characterized Tarryn Farrick in the minds of most who knew her was, in fact, her silence and, perhaps, if the observer was very shrewd, her sharp gaze. Silence was a habit she had become very well acquainted with and her sharp gaze was half necessity and half gifting. However, sublimely ignorant in this one thing, of how the world perceived her, Tarryn believed these to be very minor aspects of her self.
She currently found herself employed in small town called Starmorage. A place of little society and less importance. Its one trait of note was that it was home to one Lord Varen who happened to have convenient loyalties and a very good library. To the town and most of the household she was a personal maid to Lady Varen, and indeed, she did take on some of those duties. However the majority of her time was dedicated to the real purpose that had brought her to such an unassuming locale: research. Somehow, her employer had decided that it was necessary to know every intimate detail of Elvin life, from physiology to history to social structure. Why this information was so imperative she had no idea, but with the elves having suddenly disappeared from the world, perhaps it wasn’t so surprising after all. Still, being used to procuring more… difficult information, Tarryn almost saw this assignment as an insult. Anyone could do research, and she had thought she had proven her loyalty many times over by now. Still, one did not balk at assignments and the pay was, as always, good. But then, spies were always paid well.
This particular evening, Tarryn was having trouble concentrating; she was restless. A rare event. She set down her book with an inaudible sigh and crossed to the open window of her study. The air was cool and balmy, a slight breeze relieving the stillness of the night and bringing in the fresh clean scent of the fields. For one who cared to notice, Starmorage could be quite a beautiful place. Tarryn was not such a person and she merely leaned her elbows on the windowsill and massaged her eyes, a feat almost made awkward by her height, which was taller than most women and even with most men.
There seemed no point to this. She had researched elves now for weeks on end. There were no curiosities, no dark secrets, at least no more than had always been there. For all intents and purposes it seemed as though they had simply decided to leave. Perhaps they had gotten tired of dealing with mortal creatures and retreated into their own immortal selves. She knew that this answer would hardly satisfy and that more work was required but, for now, she was content to rest.
A timid knock followed by the unmistakable creak of the heavy wooden door caused Tarryn to straighten and turn biting back a moan. Meari, a housemaid stood timidly in the doorway, regarding her as a mouse might regard a snake. Tarryn merely looked at her, saying nothing to sooth her obvious nerves.
Meari took this opportunity to tremble a few minutes more before opening her mouth. “I- I know what you are.”
Tarryn sighed, “Meari, what are you talking about?”
“I know what you are,” asserted Meari again, more strongly this time.
Tarryn leaned back against the windowsill and rubbed her forehead, an obvious sign of irritation calculated to cow the girl into leaving. “Alright Meari, what am I?” Her tone was the exasperated, “I’m too tired to argue” tone Tarryn knew the girl was used to hearing. Meari was young and known for her tendency to exaggerate if not simply make up things.
Meari took another step into the room, apparently gaining courage. “Now, don’t try to deny it. I saw you Change.”
Tarryn stilled as momentary cold washed through her. “What did you say Meari?” she asked, her voice utterly calm.
Meari swallowed, but didn’t back away. “I saw you Change. Yesterday, in the field.” Tarryn cursed silently to herself. Meari continued anxiously. “Now, you never did any harm as far as I can tell so I’ll give you a day to leave but, after that,” she left the sentence unfinished as Tarryn looked up at her. Meari swallowed again, bobbed a curtsey (from habit Tarryn guessed) and fled the room.
Tarryn sank into a chair, her head in her hand. Wonderful.

Tsyné sunk against the tree, panting for breath. She had travelled all through the night sleeplessly with little rest. She was fairly strongly built and had always been a decent runner. But when assessing her athletic prowess she'd never conjured up something as farfetched as this. Chewing on a handful of meager, bitter berries she'd grabbed off a scraggly bush, she pulled a flask out from underneath her tunic and considered her situation.
By her rough estimation, she had covered half the distance between Starmorage and Aroville. Now the sun was sinking, and it was time to actually evaluate what exactly she was planning on doing. She didn't know the exact geography of the country, only an abstract representation from the stories she’d heard from travelers in the years past that gave her a very imprecise mental map. Well, Aroville was Estonia's largest city so she could conjure up her next move from there.
That brought up another point: why exactly was she going to Aroville? She had chosen this direction almost entirely because out of her two options that she knew how to get to immediately, Aroville and North Bay, she had more options and resources at the former, and a better chance of elusion.
But that led to more questions: what was the man even doing in Starmorage? Probably not to look for her, for he had only chanced upon her and did not force her to accompany him. He must have been on some other directive then. But what? Something more sinister? Or was she perhaps overreacting? After all, it was Gaolencit's crony who had threatened her, not Gaolencit himself. And it wasn't exactly a threat really, more menace and bluster. Perhaps it wouldn't be prudent to stay there for an extended period of time, but was her departure really this urgent? For a brief moment Tsyné entertained the prospect of turning back to Starmorage, and felt a pang of guilt when considering the employer, coworkers and patrons she had abandoned… but that sentiment dissolved rapidly when the same grotesque image flashed before her again, and she vaguely felt like vomiting.
She also confusedly remembered the assurances that this man and his followers were to be arrested and tried by the King’s Court, and would likely face execution; the king’s courier had told her that himself. True, this man Gaolencit, her apparent captor, had never explicitly mistreated her, but the potential… Well, clearly these government officials had been mistaken, for judging by the looks of it, Gaolencit’s criminal activity had renewed, and had possibly never even ceased.
All this circular thinking exhausted Tsyné’s remaining mental faculties and her head began throbbing; she unscrewed the top of her flask and took a gulp of water. Or at least that was what she thought it was until the taste of ale flooded her mouth and she choked and spurted in surprise. She glared at the flask as though it was its fault, but it was still liquid and she was still thirsty, so she sipped at it distastefully.
So what would she do in Aroville? Well, besides getting away from Gaolencit’s lackey, the primary goal, she could investigate what her former captor might be up to. Starmorage was too contained for undertaking that kind of research without people finding out what you were up to and getting suspicious. Besides, there were few facilities to engender that sort of enterprise, except perhaps the library at Varen Manor, which was private and its use undoubtedly restricted. Not that Tsyné had ever bothered to attempt access, for booklore had never been of great interest to her. Be that as it may, she knew from the tales she’d heard that Aroville housed a legendary library, so she could start there. And as possibly the country’s largest cultural mecca, she could converse with people as well, gauging if Gaolencit’s name had come up often in recent times, and if so, in what contexts.
The problem was now getting to Aroville. All that Tsyné wanted to do was sleep, but that was hardly a safe thing to do as a lone, female traveler, and she had no food and only a half flask of stale beer, so there was no point in delaying the acquisition of victuals that would arise in Aroville.
Luckily for Tsyné, she was keen enough at that moment to spot a halted wagon a half mile down the path. She approached it cautiously to discover the driver inattentively taking a break from the certain rigors of wagon travel to drink from a glass bottle. After scrutinizing the driver's features she did not recognize the driver, which was good: as a hired driver who had never stopped at the inn (she had an uncommon knack for remembering faces, and she certainly had never stored his) he wouldn't recognize her from Starmorage. Upon swift inspection of the wagon's goods she determined that the wagon was indeed headed for Aroville. Silently Tsyné slipped into the back of the wagon and pulled the coarse material over her form to hide her presense. She lay still as the driver heaved himself back into the cart and flicked the reins, starting the wagon in motion.
Well, things didn't look so bad after all. By her estimations she would now arrive at Aroville sometime tomorrow afternoon, with plenty of time to settle down in decent lodging with food, and she could begin her research the next day. Tsyné felt something oddly squishy underneath her head and discovered, much to her merriment, that she had been squashing a loaf of bread. Her luck was, indeed, looking up.

Etaria wiped the nib of her pen against a dark cloth to clean it and looked up at the clock hopefully. Half past eight. Another fifteen minutes and she could clean up for the day. By now, the library was mostly deserted; only the most devoted of scholars still remained, hunched over tables until their foreheads and texts were almost meeting. There was little chance of getting any more patrons for the evening; Ven wouldn’t mind if she closed shop early.
She performed the customary end-of-day activities, filling out the logbook of total earnings, siphoning out her own small portion, replacing her pens into their box, organizing stray papers. The tasks were mindless, allowing her to slip into a half-alert haze, so that it was a wonder she noticed the girl slip through the library’s enormous double doors and then look about with curious examination at all.
There was no reason why this stray patron should have been of any interest, yet, as Etaria worked, she couldn’t help but watch the girl’s progress from the entryway into the main gallery. She was close enough for Etaria to see that her face was red and her breath heavy, as if she had been running for some ways, although why anyone would be in such a hurry to get to the library was beyond the limits of even Etaria’s talented imagination to ponder at.
She must have felt the scrutiny, because she had suddenly turned and was approaching Etaria, still looking behind and to each side even now, in a strange, almost hunted fashion. Perhaps there was something that she urgently needed written, the thought occurred to her and, never one to turn down an opportunity for money, Etaria offered a polite, “May I help you?”
The girl paused and examined the business sign for what seemed like an age before replying somewhat raggedly, “I need to find a book. Or several.”
“Um, all right,” Etaria frowned; this wasn’t her area and although she was quite certain that she could find any stray scrap of document located in the entirety of that building, she could not be paid for it. “I suppose that you’re in the right place then.”
“Yes, I thought so.”
There was a rather awkward silence, as the girl looked at Etaria almost expectantly and Etaria looked back at her feeling rather confused. She had extraordinarily pretty features, creating a strange contrast with the stains of travel and exhaustion that spoiled what otherwise might have been a regal essence.
“Do you know the titles or authors?” Etaria finally asked, since the other seemed to have no intentions of volunteering information on her own.
“No.”
By this time, a trace of annoyance had edged its way into Etaria’s voice as she replied sharply, “Do you know the subject?”
“Gaolencit.”
She said it so indifferently that it took a moment for Etaria to connect the four syllables into the name and this time the pause that ensued was more fraught with tension. Gaolencit. The few volumes that held references of him were ancient, moldering, dark of both spine and content. Even when a stray fact was given- an attributed quote, a distant sighting- more questions were created than answered. Why would this strange traveler be interested in such matters?
“Do you have any books about him or not?” the girl asked impatiently, interrupting these thoughts.
“Yes,” Etaria nodded, still distracted. “Follow me.”
The books on mages and dark arts were kept in a back corner on the second floor, far away from the eyes of the casual reader and researcher. Such matters were of little interest to the general populace, anyway. Mages were about as commonplace these days as unicorns; in fact, none had been publicly known of for decades. And Magic was the stuff of bedtime tales, used to frighten children into behaving and little more. There weren’t even any torches kept lit along the wall in this section. Nonetheless, Etaria found the slim volume easily, bound in cracked leather with the words “The Ways of Mages” inscribed along the front cover in small, inconspicuous lettering.
“Here.” She retreated to where she had left the girl at a table equipped with pen and paper. “This probably has the most information, although it won’t be much, just so you don’t get your hopes up.”
She took it from Etaria’s hands and stared at the cover dubiously before taking up the pen and writing the title across the top of a blank sheet. Or rather, she attempted to write the title, but seemed rather unknowledgeable in the ways of holding such a contraption as a pen and got more ink on the table and her fingers than on the page. It took a full five minutes for her to form the four words and when she had finally completed the task and looked up to see Etaria watching, she gave her a withering glare.
“I could, um, help you with that,” Etaria offered, after backing away one or two steps (you never could tell what these vagrant types would do once made angry; she was all too familiar with such situations). “I write for a living and,” an idea suddenly occurred to her for how to make a profit from this arrangement after all, “I’d be quite willing to assist you. For a small fee, of course.”
“How small?” the girl narrowed her eyes.
“Ten coppers.”
It was a reasonable amount, in Etaria’s mind, though she wouldn’t have been terribly surprised if the girl had refused it immediately. But she seemed to hardly consider the sum, nodding immediately and saying, “All right.”
Much more willing to be useful now that she knew she was being paid for her efforts, Etaria once again adopted a friendly demeanor and said, “There’s a few more books I want to find for you, and then I’ll be back.” As an afterthought, she added, “Don’t try to write anything until I return. Oh, and my name is Etaria.”
The girl gave a curt nod in reply, "Tsyne." Etaria registered this, then headed back into the dark rows of shelves to resume her search.

Tarryn glanced uninterestedly around at the scenery. It was all fields and picturesque farmhouses. Perhaps it held an interest for artists but for her tastes, Tarryn had always preferred a wilder setting. Her life at the moment, however had seemed to take a turn for the bland. Even her horse was dull and uninteresting, as most domesticated animals were wont to be. She supposed if her life were a tale it would be terribly exciting: being given a secret assignment, being threatened and forced to flee in fear of her life; but what the bard never let onto in such tale was that the secret assignment involved weeks shut in a moldering, thoroughly common, library and that the actual substance of fleeing for one’s life contained many long stretches of boring road. I
Though flee she must for however maligned and mocked Meari might be, Tarryn was well aware that the girl was capable of raising the town against her. When she wanted to be, the girl was quite convincing, and prejudice against Phouka was higher than ever. Tarryn sighed, it was for the best that she put distance between herself and Starmorage, she was well aware that Meari would inevitably bare her long kept secret after the self-imposed time-limit was up. And Tarryn needed to be gone when that occurred, not least so she could not be pulled in for immediate questioning. Phouka, while having all the higher sentience of the Elves and Humans, were still apt to react in a more primal fashion when faced with danger. Also, Tarryn desperately needed to find something to save her skin when word of this got back to Gaolencit, her employer. Some bit of information, some lead that would buy her the time she would need to find the piece that would saver her life. It was not a very appealing prospect. Though good at her job, happening upon salvation might just prove to be difficult.
Well, Aroville was the next town of any size, and though she had delayed a day collecting her things and preparing for her indefinite journey, she could probably still make it there in good time. Then she could begin her search. But for now, she had to deal with the extremely dull rigors of solitary travel.

Rubbing at her eyes in frustration, Tsyné once more questioned her sanity. She had been poring over the same book for the last hour, grappling with small print, crampled lines and unrecognizable words, yet had only progressed through the first chapter with no small struggle and little direct mention of Gaolencit.
The fact of the matter was that she simply had not had good luck tonight. While the cart had served her travels well for a period of time, as she slept unobtrusively in the back, the driver had discovered her presense the next afternoon whilst rummaging in the back. He had rather forcefully turned her out, continuing upon his way disgruntled. Tsyné had thus been forced to finish the rest of the long trek on foot, and upon her arrival the watchman had refused her entrance into the town without paying a nominal toll fee. Thankfully she'd a small amount of spare change in her pocket, but the tax had further depleted her of money that could have otherwise gone towards a bed and a meal. Since she’d arrived past dusk, she'd missed supper and so had resigned herself to compensating the next morning with an exorbitant breakfast. However, she couldn’t find vacant lodging.
While she'd never before been to Aroville, there seemed to be more activity in the town than was usual, for the streets didn't seem quite wide enough to accomodate the many groups of somber looking people that spilled out of the inns and conversing in low tones. Although suspicious, Tsyné would have paid these large gatherings no heed had she not overheard a muttering that distinctly resembled "-Gaolencit-" and curiosity piqued, she had ambled closer to one group in an attempt to overhear their conversation. The man in question continued to mumble in his colleague's ear, and she further made out the words "-resistance-" and "-disappearance-" before the speaker, sensing her eavesdropping, had turned in her direction. But she had darted past as half his profile had turned, and escaped unnoticed. Feeling rather uneasy and suddenly desiring the sanctuary of a large public building, Tsyné had made way for the library.
Prospects had started to look up when she'd settled down with the book, and she’d felt triumphant when Gaolencit's name sprung forth in the first several pages. However, he had merely been mentioned in passing as an example of the more contemporary mages, and his name had not arisen since.
She yawned, scratched her head and scowled at her paper. So far it contained the following notes:
The Ways of the Mages
Gaolencit: mage
Not especially profound.
Tsyné was doubly annoyed by Etaria's disappearance, for she had left over an hour ago. It rather surprised her, for she would have thought even if she had nothing helpful to offer in the way of information (which she suspected) that she would have come back at least to collect her wages (not that Tsyné actually intended to pay her). She needed more resources than this singularly unhelpful document, and the girl’s expertise, however limited it may be, seemed to be Tsyné’s best chance at finding any information that was remotely useful or novel. Grudgingly she turned her mind back to the task at hand, continuing onto the next page, and the next, and the next… but inevitably Tsyné succumbed to sleep, her head falling to rest upon the book’s open pages.

The history of mages and their practices, incomplete though it may be, fascinated Etaria. Over the course of her five years in Aroville, she had read every scrap of information that the library contained on those elusive individuals, never giving especial heed to what little was written about Gaolencit, although of course she had heard the rumors that he might not be so idle as the old texts would lead one to believe.
Balancing books in the crook of each arm, she found a stool at the end of one aisle and sat down heavily, lowering the stacks to the ground at her feet and taking up one from the top. It seemed to be newer than the rest, untouched by mildew or insects. The Cleansing of the Land was the title; unfamiliar to her, which was the only reason why she had picked it up with the rest. She flipped through several chapters, reading stray groupings of words that held little meaning on their own. “The disappearance of-“ “-which was precipitated by a vast-“ “-involving an unknown quantity-” “-reason to believe that Gaolencit is-“ Etaria froze, tracing her finger back up the page until it landed beneath the word. The entire sentence read “Given these developments, there is now reason to believe that Gaolencit is not truly human in nature; rather, it is speculated that he was created by another mage and, therefore, cannot be destroyed by ordinary methods.”
‘Created?’ Etaria frowned and was about to read more when a heavy hand took hold of her shoulder and she practically lurched from the stool in surprise. Upon turning around, she saw that it was only Ven, which might have inspired some amount of relief if he hadn’t been looking at her so strangely.
His face was dark and his eyes grave as he asked harshly, “Why are you reading that?”
He couldn’t have been angry at her for skipping duties because her shift was long over by now, so then what was the reason? “I was looking up information for a customer, Sir,” she answered, wondering if maybe a deal had gone badly or if he were drunk.
“Where is this customer?”
There was no reason why she should not have promptly led him to where she had left Tsyne; certainly she should never have lied to him. And yet, somehow she heard herself saying, evenly, “The man said that he had to leave, but asked me to find some books for him and hold them until he came back.” As she spoke, she slipped The Cleansing of the Land behind her back and tucked it into her satchel, next to the envelope containing her earnings.
He didn’t say anything immediately, but it was obvious that he did not believe her. When he spoke, it was only after picking up several of the books and thumbing through them brusquely, as though looking for something that he could not find. “You are dismissed.” His voice was like lead.
“Thank you, Sir, I’ll be-”
“I mean that I no longer require your services here. You will take your things and be out of your quarters by noon tomorrow.”
She stumbled backwards a step and was almost felled by the errant stool. “But-”
“If you insist on protesting the matter, I’ll be forced to report what I have seen here to the authorities.”
Who, exactly, the ‘authorities’ were, Etaria did not know. Nor was she sure what Ven had seen that could possibly be worth reporting to anyone or, for that matter, what she had done to lead to this sudden expulsion. But there was no doubt at all in her mind that he was deadly serious and that speaking so much as a single word more might be dangerous so she edged away until able to take cover behind a shelf and then she ran blindly through the endless rows, down the staircase, out the doors, into the dark, almost empty streets, which she stood in the middle of for some time, shivering, not quite processing what had happened but perfectly aware that it had been quite final in nature.
Eventually she dragged herself back to her small loft; the only sort of home that she had known here, now suddenly taken from her. True, there were no sentimental associations about it, but it had been hers, or at least, the false sense of security that it provided had been hers. Losing it wouldn’t have been such a crisis if she hadn’t also been robbed of her only source of income. This sudden despair displaced her initial confused fear and she sunk onto her narrow bed- the only piece of furniture in the entire room- staring at the blank wall ahead with unseeing eyes. ‘Take your things,” Ven had said, knowing perfectly well that she had nothing to take. Her pens, a spare blouse and skirt, the three books that had not been sold off with the rest of the estate after her father’s death. Thinking of these reminded her of the offending book that might have played a role in her termination. All right, so she had four books, and perhaps if she could find that girl again, the ten coppers of payment added to the sum she had earned that day would last long enough to for her to get to the next town and perhaps there was need for a scribe there.
She should really go back to the library immediately to get the money- fates knew the task had cost her enough as it was, she might as well collect the small incentive. But the thought of returning there after what had just happened sent chills down her spine and, slipping her satchel off over her neck and depositing it on the floor, she shifted into a supine position, inadvertently colliding the back of her skull into one additional possession that she had forgotten to list- the bottle of wine she had purchased the night before. Only one glassful had been removed since then, which she took as a sign that perhaps things were not so bad as they appeared, and over the course of the next hour she devoted herself, with as much ardency as she treated her reading, to emptying the remainder.
By the time the bottle was dry, Etaria was much less reserved about marching back into the library and rather than fearing Ven, she fervently hoped that she would be able to find him as well as the girl- she had concocted some phenomenal things to say to each of them. But it had been years since she had consumed such a great quantity of liquor in one night and although her stomach had not lost its tolerance for it, her muscles had and she only made it a yard away from her doorstep before her precarious balance gave out and she collapsed, unconscious in the street.

Tarryn reached Aroville in the early morning, having stopped to sleep one more night outside the confines of civilized dwelling which, although she had subjected herself to it nearly all her life, she still found vaguely uncomfortable. She understood this to be a racial trait. And anyway, it did save funds, though that was one thing she had no lack of. She was paid a generous wage in her service to Gaolencit and was not in the habit of spending much of it as her assignments usually inculded a cover that provided room and board. At least financially she was secure. Now if only she could ensure her continued survival.
She had roused herself in the early pre-dawn light and reached the gates just as one set of gaurds was being changed for another, creating a noticeable hold up in the mid-morning traffic of merchants and farmers entering the city. She paid the tax without quarrel and so passed into Aroville without much incident or notice. Unfortunately they had taken her name down.
She quickly found she had relinquish her seat upon her horse though upon entering the main part of town. The traffic at the gate only mirrored the traffic in the inner city, making traveling its narrow streets on horse back an impossibility. Tarryn had thought Aroville a smaller town, still carrying some of the stringent morality of some of the more isolated communities, but as she stepped distastefully over a young human girl blatantly passed out in the street she thought she might have to revise this perception. At least it had a library. Perhaps she could finish her research... no, she needed something a bit more impressive than that. Lost in thought on possible avenues of mortal salvation Tarryn had hardly paid attention to where she was going, simply moving along with the crowd through the narrow streets. So when she looked up, remembering that she still needed to find lodging, she realized that she hadn't the least notion of which part of the city she was in. It seemed quite busy though, if a bit dingy, and it sounded (and smelled) as if there were a Market a few streets over. And if she found the Market, she would most likely find an inn. Or at least someone who might give her actual directions to one.
She turned down a street, vaguely going in the direction that she thought the market might be, leading her horse. This one was quiter than the other, practically deserted in fact. Then she turned down another. By the time she realized that this street was a dead end she was already half-way down it so when she turned around and was confronted with two men blocking her way she knew there was no real chance of escape. And she couldn't Change in the middle of a city. Not when people were already after her.
She swallowed, the men grinned, showing rotten teeth and an immense amount of self-satisfaction.
"Hello there Sweets, don' think I've seen ye 'round here before," said the one. Taller, stronger, and obviously the leader of the pair. "Tha's a mighty fine beast ye've got there."
He took a step forward and Tarryn leaned into the horse, clutching the reins so that her knuckles turned white, her whole body tense. She couldn't. Not here, not here!
She swallowed again. "Y-yes. My Master's he is." She tried to adopt the slightly more educated cant of a lower maid. "Stubborn thing, an' slow but 'e's pretty enough."
The men advanced again, Tarryn grew cold.
"Ye know, there's a market for sich a beast round bouts. If ye'd come wit us we'd split the take." He leered. "Or ye could just let me take care o'ye. Horse's na the only pretty thing in this alley."
Tarryn gulped, hating that they could clearly see that she was afraid. She had no doubt what was on this man's, and his lackey's, mind. And she only had two choices. Let them do as they pleased or reveal herself again, leaving an all too clear trail. She felt her blood beginning to burn through her veins. Panic always made her loose control. In a few minutes it wouldn't be a matter of choice anymore.
She spoke, hoping against all rationality that there might somehow be a thrid way out of this. "N-no. I like my position. 'Scomfortable an I got an ailin' mother."
"Now don' be like tha' Sweets," he took another step, now only inches from her. Tarryn dropped the reins, raising her arms in a futile gesture which only ended in the man grabbing both her wrists. Tarryn gasped, her eyes wide but her vision bluring. The human touch was too much for her panic-heightened senses and her mind reeled trying to fight off the iminent Change. Without control, she could become anything. Better to let them do as they wished than to start the nightmare of existence Change now would inevitably bring.
"I believe," said a cool, almost nonchalant, voice from the mouth of the alley, "that the lady said 'no.'"
All three froze except to stare at the intruder. He was a large man. Taller than Tarryn with black hair green eyes and features that he plainly knew were quite handsome. He approached casually, hand resting on the hilt of the sword he wore at his side. Slipping between the two men, he took up the reigns of Tarryn's horse and slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her gently from the man's nerveless grasp. Tarryn, for her part, was still fighting of the panic, her breath still ragged and her blood still hot in her veins, and only distantly aware of what was taking place.
The would-be horse theif, however, seemed to regain his senses. "An' what business o'yours is it?" he demanded angrily.
"I consider anything that concerns my fiance my business," returned the man calmly. He leaned down as if to kiss Tarryn on the cheek but whispered in her ear, "relax, I'm trying to help you. At least try to pretend like you know me."
Tarryn, not at all sure she could trust this man over the others, at least thought relaxing was a sound course of action for her right at the moment. And deciding that one man might be easier to escape than two she even leaned into the arm encircling her shoulders.
The theif, however, remained unconvinced. "Your 'finace' is she?," he seered. "Ain't no man alive what kisses his fiance like tha'."
Instead of arguing that gentlemen did, as Tarryn might have expected in a clearer state of mind, the man merely shrugged. "True enough," and so saying he bent his face towards hers once more and kissed her soundly. Tarryn, already dazed, was now shocked as well and so couldn't quite collect her thoughts enough to do anything, which was probably a good thing.
After an interlude, which, Tarryn would later reflect, was much longer than the situation required, the man looked up at the two men. "Any more complaints?"
The two men stared at him sullenly but were apparently unwilling fight a swordsman over one skinny girl and a horse. They slunk out of the alley, leaving the other two to do as they would.
The man looked down at Tarryn, smiling, as he pulled from the alley, arm still about her shoulder and still holding the reins of her horse. "My name is Morgan," he said congenially. "May I know the name of the damsel I've just rescued from distress."
"Tarryn." She replied before she thought about it, her senses not quite catching up with what was happening.
"It is a very great pleasure to meet you Tarryn. What was a girl like you doing in this part of Aroville anyway?"
"I was looking for an inn."
"Here? My dear I think you might want something a bit more tasteful. Not to mention safe." She frowned at his tone but didn't mention she had been lost. He continued, "I happen to know just the place." He was already guiding her through the maze-like streets with assured steps.
Tarryn frowned again and slipped from his arm, pausing. "I wouldn't want to trouble you."
"Oh it's no trouble. I haven't yet supped and the Apple Blossom serves good food." He grinned. "Besides, I wouldn't want you to get lost again. One heroic deed a day is usually my limit."
Tarryn's mouth dropped open, just who was this man? But then she closed it. Whoever he was he obviously knew his way around, and she did need to find an inn. Morgan smiled again, placing his arm about her shoulders again and started walking once more; apparently taking her lack of response as acquiessence. Tarryn sighed.

Tsyné awoke with a jolt as the impact of her body hit the floor. She had landed solidly on her back, knocking her breath away. Pushing herself upwards in a panic, her head hit the surface of the table and she cursed from the pain, which came out as a gasp and allowed her to resume breathing. Her thoughts returning alongside the air now saturating her body, she presumed she'd fallen asleep while attempting research, as evidenced by the sharp twinges in her back.
And she was starving.
Motivated, Tsyné nimbly pulled herself to her feet, haphazardly grabbed the papers strewn about on the table and shoved them into her bag while quickly pacing her way out of the library, onto the streets of Aroville in search of a street vendor. Her quest did not take long, and soon she was tucking into a large meat pie that she held with one hand, a hot muffin in the other. Tsyné devoured both pastries and sighed contentedly at the pleasures of fulfilling carnal desires.
Such bliss was cut short by her realization that her impulsions had depleted her dismal money supply, and she had gained nothing of import contributing to her repertoire of Gaolencit-related knowledge. And Etaria still hadn’t reappeared (or at least, presumably hadn't).
Well, she could continue onwards, seeing as Aroville hadn’t exactly endowed much information upon her. But there weren’t exactly numerous famed research libraries just scattered about all over Estonia. And seeing as she had now lost the entirety of her funds, running off again wasn’t the best idea. Besides, where would she go, really? So Tsyné resolved to return to the library and continue with her studies, as futile as they had proven to be as of yet. Perhaps Etaria would finally be back with something of value to assist her. With these somewhat optimistic thoughts in mind, Tsyné trudged back to the library.
As she approached her study carrel she thought it looked rather emptier than she'd left it, and discovered it had indeed been swept cleam, all of the books she had been perusing and had left haphazardly spread over the table missing. Thinking that some worker had thought her finished and had returned them to their shelves, Tsyné made her way to some sort of circulation desk where a scrawny, middle-aged man sat writing some figures with a scratchy quill. Upon noticing her he looked up with a civil smile. “May I help you?” he inquired politely.
“I’m looking for a book,” she stated bluntly.
“Which one?” he asked with a slightly patronizing smile.
She stated the title, upon which the man’s eyes widened slightly and his face visibly paled. He recovered with a brusque “I’m sorry, we don’t carry that work” before turning swiftly back to his work.
Tsyné blinked confusedly. “That can't be right. I read it here.”
The expression on the man’s face grew yet more anxious as he coldly replied, while still not looking at her, “You must be mistaken. Now, if you continue to pose these errant allegations and insinuations, I’m afraid I will have to ask you to leave.”
Irritated by this idiot's obvious incompetence, she leaned down to glower straight into his face. “Actually, I was reading that book here just last night. How could it now have just disappeared?”
Tsyné suddenly sensed that continuing this line of conversation was unwise, given the oddly inquiring look the man shot her. With narrowed eyes he asked, “What’s your name?”
Finally (belatedly) recognizing the situation as potentially dangerous, she shuffled backwards as inconspicously as possible (which was not very), but the man rose and grabbed for her arm as though to contain her. Tsyné averted his grasp and without pausing to think sped off.
The man attempted pursuit, but Tsyné lost him eventually in a particularly confusing maze of twisting aisles. Short of breath and heart pounding, she halted temporarily to collect her thoughts but nothing coherent came to mind. Except for the anxious fact that she know didn't know where she was, nor how she could get to the exit.
Then, quite unexpectedly, she recognized close to her location both Etaria and another man, who seemed oddly familiar. The two were conversing fairly loudly, which in Tsyné's stretched logic meant that it was probably safe to approach them. Hoping that one of the two could offer some form of explanation or at least escort her to relative safety, she briskly strode towards the pair.

When Etaria awoke, every inch of her body was aching in a fantastic chorus of pain. She was still in the middle of the road, and more than slightly bruised from having spent the night there. With a groan, she pulled herself to her knees, and then quickly sank back down, head spinning and eyes refusing to focus properly.
“Hell,” she muttered miserably, wiping away crusted blood from a gash she had sustained to her cheek and feeling rather sorry for herself now that she no longer had the invincibility of alcohol warming her veins and lessening the severity of her prospects. Well, she could at least go back to the library, as she had planned, and even if Tsyné were no longer there, perhaps she had left the payment. The fact that this was highly improbable did not dissuade her; it was the only thing that convinced her to rise shakily to her feet and head off in the direction of the public bath.
Once clean, with her hair pulled away from her face and the mixture of blood and dirt washed away, Etaria felt significantly more clear-headed and, pack of belongings in one hand, had already begun to make plans about what to do once she had collected her money. Ten coppers, combined with her small salary from the previous day, would easily be enough to carry her to the next town, maybe even the next if she were frugal, and once there she could procure work as a scribe again; smaller towns, especially, always seemed to be in need of someone literate.
These were her thoughts as she entered the library, just as she had every morning for the past several years. It was still early in the day and the wide halls were almost entirely deserted of people. Here were a few devoted scholars, huddled in a corner, discussing some brilliant thesis, there a stray traveler, probably having journeyed to Aroville for the sole purpose of finding a rare tome.
She wandered back to where she had last seen Tsyné, displaying far less caution than she should have- but found nothing. The table had been cleared of books and papers. The girl and her purse were nowhere to be seen.
Maybe she had spent the night at an inn and would be back soon; or maybe she had simply gone to find more books, Etaria reasoned desperately, walking back to the secluded corner she had searched through the previous evening. But the only person there was a man with his back to her, thumbing through a novel-sized volume towards the far end of the row of shelves.
Sighing, she sank to her knees, removing The Cleansing of the Land from her satchel and opening it to the first page, as if it held some sort of answer to what she should do now. Was it because of this unassuming book that she had been not only fired, but evicted as well? The fury in Ven’s eyes had been real; she had never seen such an expression contort his usually calm, genial face. But what was contained within these pages to provoke such extreme measures?
She began to read the preface- an introduction to the history of Istania painted in broad strokes which then segued into a discussion of its ethnic makeup. Three main races had always dominated the land: elves, phouka, and men. Until recent times, each had had its own monarchy and military, with a central, nation-wide council to mediate disputes and see to formalities. But then-
As she read, Etaria was surprised to find that her vision began to blur around the edges, the way it sometimes did when she was overtired. But her mind felt alert enough and so she wondered if perhaps this was a late-arriving effect of the mostly dissipated hangover.
When she tried to wrench her eyes away and couldn’t, she was momentarily overcome by panic. The page before her dissolved until all she that she could see was a pair of sharp, cold eyes, staring back at her from a shadowed face that, if she had been able to put a word to it, seemed almost to be beckoning. She let out a cry and fell backwards, inadvertently grabbing on to something behind her that also shouted, which made the vision promptly disappear.
She swung around hastily, terrified, almost certain that whatever was behind her was one and the same with the eyes, but when she saw the stranger’s face, felt the mutually kindled recognition, she decided that the former, ethereal being might be preferable to this one.
“Etaria? Sweet gods, is it actually you?”
Events were unfolding like the sort of bad dream one has after a night spent imbibing sour ale. Only a second and she would give herself away, but that would have to be enough time.
She shoved away the lingering aura of the image and forced her face into a ruse of calmness. “I’m afraid you’re mistaking me, sir,” she lied, shrinking away from him slightly. How had she not recognized him immediately? He always had a peculiar way of standing, tilting one shoulder higher than the other, as if trying to make up for his rather average height. More importantly, what was he doing in Aroville?
“Oh,” he frowned slightly, still probing her face until she had the sense to look down. “My apologies. You bear a resemblance to an old acquaintance. Here, let me help you.” This last offering arose as a result of Etaria attempting to stumble to her feet and practically assaulting his ankle for a second time.
“No, that’s quite—” But he never had been one to listen to dissent and his almost farcical gentility had not lessened over time so he had soon helped her right her self, which, of course, necessitated that he see what she had been reading, which made him all the more perplexed.
“Why the interest in such a subject?” he asked, making as if to reach for the book, but Etaria quickly pulled it away and shoved it into her satchel.
“It amuses me.” She glanced nervously over one shoulder, mentally gauging how quickly she could be outside if she started off now at a dead sprint.
“Odd choice of amusement.” He, also, held a book beneath his arm, but Etaria could not make out the title. “But such a likeness…” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t keep you.”
Etaria could not have agreed more earnestly to the suggestion. But before she could take so much as a step, someone else appeared at the entrance to the row; a slight figure that was instantly identifiable as Tsyné.
With the sickening realization of impending disaster, she could only listen as the girl asked plainly, “Etaria?” followed by an oblivious, “What are you doing, Etaria? You look like a complete prat.”
This analysis of her appearance was probably correct. She looked, in fact, rather like an actor who, after delivering his most impressive monologue before an audience of hundreds, realizes that he has become bereft of his trousers at some point in the proceedings.
When she dared to look back, he was standing, motionless, grinning wryly; a smile without the slightest trace of warmth to it.
“Look, Aldwyn, I’m sorry, but—”
“No need,” he cut her off abruptly. “Forget that I said anything.”
That was his way, when angry- adopting an aloof insouciance that always drove her mad. But when they were children, his pettiness had a youthful charm, aided by inexperience. Now, as adults, it was simply aggravating.
“Found someone you know?” Tsyné asked. Her curiosity was equivocal; a honeyed mixture of pleasant inquiry and unabashed sadism.
“Something of that sort,” she muttered through her teeth.
“Well, do either of you know any places where one can get a private sitting room around this city? I was going to get more books and I want to read it someplace other than here.”
It was an unexpected question, but a welcome change of subject. “The Apple Blossom,” Etaria replied, not looking at either of them. “It’s an inn with reasonable rates. Not very far up the road.”
“What a coincidence this is!” Aldwyn reentered the conversation, his voice still coated beneath a veneer of sarcasm. “It just so happens that I was wondering about a good place to stay, also. Would you be so good as to take us there, Etaria?”
The thought was loathsome, but if she let Tsyné go off alone, she would probably never see her again and the coins would be lost. At any rate, it would only be a brief humiliation and then she could be rid of both of them.
They set off as soon as Tsyné had plucked a trio of books from the shelves- likely at random since her skills with literacy didn’t seem terribly advanced. The walk was, fortunately, a short one, and Etaria kept herself at the front of the group to avoid conversation. She had quite a bit to say to both of her companions, actually, but nothing of the sort that should be brought up while threading through streets crowded with a myriad of onlookers.
Why was he here? The question had not left her mind, displacing the more disturbing matter of the vision. Aldwyn was a member of the Council, despite his relatively young age, and, at least when she had known him, he almost never left the Capital; certainly he couldn’t afford the time for a journey to Aroville. But these thoughts were interrupted as they arrived inside the foyer of the inn and Etaria’s day erupted into chaos yet again.

Tarryn wondered, yet again, how exactly she had come to this. She was sitting in the common room of an inn that was neither grand nor seedy listening to a man tell her obviously false stories of his own exploits in the ‘underbelly of the city’. She sighed and looked forlornly into her glass of cider. It was depressing really. She was supposed to be uncovering secrets and plots but instead she was stuck with an over-grown oaf. She sighed again mentally and once again picked up the thread of the oaf’s story.
“… the biggest loaf of bread we had ever seen, and of course at this point we hadn’t eaten in three weeks,” he was saying. Even though, Tarryn noted, that if he and his companions had truly not eaten in three weeks they would either be dead or too weak to do anything about it. “So we decided that since it was the ‘respectable citizens’ that had gotten us into this mess anyway, we were going to steal it. We hadn’t been raised on the streets so we were completely inept, any true thief would have been ashamed of us, but we were ingenuitive. And hungry. So we devised a plan-“
“Doubtlessly as terrible as those you’ve had since. Or perhaps those were the product of your extensive education,” Tarryn looked up at the new voice. There was a shortish man with sharp features standing above them and smiling sourly. “I am unsurprised to learn that you would resort to such tactics as you’ve been morally bereft since your youth.”
Morgan looked up at the man with his own bitter smile and replied, “Indeed. Doubtless, as morally superior as you are Aldwyn, you would have made the correct decision and seen your companions die of starvation. It is one of your strong points, is it not, abandoning your comrades?” Morgan stood slowly and smirked down at the shorter man from his superior height. “I confess, that is one area in which I find myself coming up short.”
The short man, Aldwyn’s face paled in anger. “You barbaric lackey, who are you to lecture me?”
“At least,” hissed Morgan, “I’m not little man so low on courage that I find the need to hide behind my morality!”
Aldwyn stepped back, but it was only to give himself room to draw his sword, the common room suddenly went still. “Draw your sword and I’ll show you the courage of little men!”
Morgan smiled and drew his own, “With pleasure, Dwarf.” He was about to rush Aldwyn but Tarryn grabbed his arm. As it was, she dragged along for a brief moment before he noticed she was there. He stopped and looked at her curiously. “I’m touched by your concern Tarryn, but really, the Gnome there won’t hurt me.”
Tarryn frowned but was interrupted by Aldwyn, now red and apoplectic, “Why you--!” he started forward again.
“Stop!”
Everyone turned to look at Tarryn in silence.
She cleared her throat, a little embarrassed. She looked sternly at the two men, who were still standing in battle-ready stances but giving her curious looks. “If you two are going to act like little boys with a broken toy could you at least do it outside?” She frowned at them. “I’d like to finish my lunch without having the table knocked over by two idiots intent on brawling.”
Morgan sheathed his sword rather sheepishly. “My apologies Tarryn.”
Aldwyn looked at him incredulously. “What are you doing!”
Morgan, now sitting once more, looked at him. “I’m eating lunch with Tarryn. Say, you’re kind of intimidating from here.”
“You idiot! Get up and fight me!”
Morgan seemed to consider him for a moment. “Ummm, no. It’s close but in the choice between beating you into a pulp and enjoying a meal with a beautiful woman, I’m afraid the woman wins. Maybe later.”
Aldwyn gaped, apparently at a loss. He was sputtering. One of his companions, the dark haired one, sighed and sat down. “Just sit down Aldwyn,” she said, obviously exasperated. “You look like a fish.”
Activity in the common room started back up and an obviously nervous waitress approached the table to see if the new comers wanted anything. Morgan went back to his story, now apparently ignoring Aldwyn but including the other two women in his telling. Tarryn went back to watching her cider.

Morgan paid for Tarryn’s meal and told her that he would be honored to pay for her room as well. Tarryn, while she possessed enough funds, wasn’t unwilling to let someone else pay. It wasn’t until later that evening that she realized that this might not be the best policy. She excused herself from the company she inadvertently found herself attached to saying she was tired and going to bed for the night. Predictably, Morgan followed her.
At the door of the room, she frowned at him, “I’m perfectly capable of putting myself to bed.”
He smiled. “I have every faith in your ability. However, since we are sharing a room I though it would be rude of me to risk waking you by coming up later.” She gave him a look, then turned back toward the stairs. “Where are you going?”
“To get another room,” she replied flatly, descending.
He smiled, watching her retreat. Well, It had been worth a try. He opened the door to his solitary room and got ready for bed whistling.

Safely ensconced in her own room, Tarryn watched the shadows on the ceiling as she waited for sleep. She couldn’t quite understand how she had found herself with four companions. Because that’s how they were acting. Like it was an accepted fact that for the duration of their stay in Aroville they were a party. She didn’t understand that mentality in the least. Perhaps it was a human thing; the need to associate with others, even if you didn’t particularly like them. She shook her head slightly. It didn’t matter, tomorrow she would keep her ears open for any promising rumors, and if people thought she was part of a larger party, well then, that would just make her less suspicious.

Initially Tsyné had considered retreating with all possible haste from the inn, as in the midst of the hubbub she'd remained completely unnoticed. And seeing how entirely unhelpful Etaria’s endeavors had proven, combined with that pressing issue of the ten coppers, she had little incentive to stay amongst this company. However, she had a pressing hunch that this was her best route to some obtainable information. Furthermore, food would likely be produced out of this meeting, food for which she would not have to pay; always an incentive. So after the chaos had died down Tsyné was content enough to sit there while the two men (Morgan and Aldwyn, she had gathered, the latter being Etaria's earlier companion) began alternatively telling tales boasting of their own courage, valor and cunning, both of whom clearly attempting to outdo the other. Etaria sat alongside her, looking as torn as she felt between staying amongst this unexpected and dysfunctional gathering (perhaps also for the free meal) and bolting as far away from the inn as possible. The other girl, Tarryn, was tall, somber, and did not look at all pleased by the overt attentions that Morgan was quite unsubtly paying her. Tsyné wasn’t quite certain what was to be gained by remaining amongst this clearly mismatched company, but as no other brilliant options surfaced from her mind at the moment she'd opted for the one with food.
The boastful tales soon gave way to an argument over who was to pay for everyone’s meals. Morgan and Aldwyn disputed the issue, both insisting to pay, while Tarryn and Etaria looked steadily more disgruntled, and when they tried to interject the arguing men ignored them. (Personally, Tsyné couldn’t see why they would complain. Free food was free food.) As for herself, she observed the table dynamics with mild interest. Clearly there was some bad blood between Aldwyn and Morgon, for the two men were acting as though constantly engaged in some sort of inane yet frenzied competition. And there was also some odd hostility between Etaria and Aldwyn as well, still as of yet undetermined. Tarryn, meanwhile, seemed to have landed in this situation as arbitrarily as she. Tsyné assessed her companions: Morgan was tall, dark and handsome, and in addition seemed stereotypically dense and egotistic. He continued to heap lavish attentions upon Tarryn, who for her part was staring rather resolutely into her mug. Etaria was now chewing her lip while her expression grew more aggravated by the tale. And then there was Aldwyn, whom she pegged as simultaneously insecure and arrogant. A self-destructive combination to be sure. He still troubled Tsyné; there was some strange familiarity about him that she could neither shake nor place.
After what seemed hours Morgan declared that he would pay for everyone else’s lunch except for Aldwyn’s, which seemed to settle the matter, more or less (the latter was still glaring daggers at the former). Except, the argument had prevailed so long that by the time of its resolution dinner was being served, and she was incredulously subjected to the same cycle: the two men telling more tales that grew more elaborate and more clearly untrue, while the three women grew more stoic and irritated. For her part Tsyné couldn't herself believe that it was possible for two men to make such astonishingly complete asses of themselves in laughable attempts at machismo, but these two clearly confirmed her former misconceptions to be glaringly false. She even snorted back laughter when Morgan spoke of slaying a rampant boar bare-handed, which he seemed to interpret as a gasp of horror as he continued to plow through the story even more inspired than before. Naturally, the same arguments next surfaced, first over funding dinner, then the women’s lodgings.
While Morgan and Aldwyn debated who was to be the one to fund her own room (on the apparent basis, she’d gleamed, that one’s manliness was partially gauged by the extent to which one provided funding for young damsels in need of lodging), she picked up the key resting idly upon the counter, and retreated from the common room unnoticed by either man as they continued their determinedly heated, yet entirely irrational, dispute. Etaria looked up as she exited the room, regarding her as a hawk does a mouse, and Tsyné, unwilling to deal with her imminent demand for repayment, doubled her steps, found her room and swiftly locked the door behind her (she fancied she’d caught a glimpse of Etaria’s irate face as she’d slammed the door). With a sigh she fell onto the bed, intending to consider the next steps she would take on her so-called journey that had sprung up ever since she’d had the misfortunate notion of leaving Starmorage on some half-baked romantic delusion of escaping from forces of evil.
To date, she still hadn’t obtained any information that was remotely original or useful to her semi-formed directive of uncovering what Gaolencit was undertaking. Furthermore, she was now not only penniless but also indebted, to both Etaria and whichever one of the two men had been victor in their petty contest of wills. (Although she supposed she would not be asked to repay that loan, and she certainly didn’t intend to bring it up.) Musing her woefully destitute situation was not only bleak but also unprofitable, and she gave up, allowing her ponderings to wander as they liked while she stared absently at the ceiling.
Tsyné startled suddenly as something that had been nagging at the back of her mind all afternoon finally clicked. She had recognized Aldwyn, from the night she’d first entered Aroville. He had been milling on the streets amongst one of the scraggly-looking groups. In fact, come to think of it… it had been in front of this very inn. The realization that Aldwyn had deceived both herself and Etaria made her pause. It was a small, seemingly insignificant falsehood… which made it all the more intriguing. Why would he lie about something so trivial as lodging? Perhaps he was hiding how long he was staying in Aroville... or what he was doing in Aroville... And he had spoken of Gaolencit. That in her mind settled the matter: Aldwyn was clearly up to something.
Tsyné wasn’t sure whether it was completely related to her own queries, but it was some kind of lead, which was more than she’d had five minutes ago. So she resolved to track his movements, gaining information by stealth as overt attempts were now unwise (given the librarian’s reaction to her inquiries, which she still found puzzling). Plus, this mode of action provided the unforeseen bonus that following Aldwyn meant that she would likely lose Etaria and her debt; given that the two could hardly seem to stand each other, her pursuit was unlikely. It all worked together perfectly. Impressed at her own unlikely planning skills, she prepared for bed and several hours of sleep, intending to rise early and wait outside the inn for Aldwyn to leave.

In all, it had not been a particularly good day. Yes, Etaria had managed to procure a free bed for the night, but she was beginning to doubt that Tsyné would ever willingly pay her the fee (the door slammed in her face seemed a good indicator of this) and even more problematic, she had collided disastrously with Aldwyn, after six years of successful avoidance.
Since it seemed that she would not be having an audience with Tsyné any time soon, she let herself into the room that had been paid for by the pompous broad-shouldered man- Morgan, she remembered- and slumped onto the bed wearily, rubbing at her temples with her forefingers. Morgan had interested her immediately, not just for his ability to intimidate Aldwyn, whom he seemed to have known previously, but because of his obvious weakness when it came to the female sex which might, she reasoned, be useful if she happened to see him again the next day. Although generally reserved, years of dealing with difficult customers had taught Etaria the fine art of flirtation, and she had honed it carefully, the way an actor learns a part. He seemed to have an abundance of money, in any case, if he was able to lavish it so freely on three women he didn’t know beyond name, and that was enough to make him the most desirable man in the city, as far as she was concerned.
She fell back onto the thin blanket, not intending to sleep yet because her conscious mind had not finished its ramblings, but darkness overtook her almost immediately and she wandered through a thread of meaningless dreams until suddenly turning a corner and finding herself inches from the same searing eyes she had seen that morning. As before, although she struggled, she could not wrest herself into wakefulness, and this time a pale hand shot out from the shadows and latched onto her wrist.
“You are mine,” a voice hissed, the nails digging into her skin until it throbbed sharp pangs.
It wasn’t the most heroic or inspired thing to do, but Etaria screamed. She screamed until the pain in her throat rivaled that in her arm and only stopped when she felt herself abruptly collide with the wood floor, back in the Apple Blossom, drenched in sweat, shaking and sore.
After a long, frightened moment, she realized that no one was attempting to break down the door and her throat was not raw, so if the cry had been merely a product of the imagination, she reasoned feebly, the rest must have been also.
A candle still burned on the windowsill; the nightmare couldn’t have lasted long, but Etaria felt as exhausted as if the struggle had gone on for hours. She crawled back into bed, muttering about food poisoning and half-convincing herself that the entire occurrence was the result of a bad stew until she noticed a dark substance trailing down to her wrist and closer examination revealed five, crescent-shaped gashes in the perfect outline of fingers and thumb, glaring up at her in a silent warning.

Etaria forced herself to stay awake for the rest of the night by counting all of the things she would do once she had sufficient monetary funds. Drink an enormous mug of coffee. Build her own library. Hire a chef. Leave the country and never return.
Several hours later, when she heard the unmistakable creak of the adjacent door opening and a series of retreating footsteps, the sky beyond her window had turned a faint shade of grey. And by the time she stumbled outside, after realizing that the neighboring room belonged to Tsyné, the sun had begun to rise.
If it had been anyone else, Etaria would have ignored the occasion, but her brief experience with Tsyné did not reveal a girl who would hasten to abandon a free room without at least trying to get a complimentary breakfast out of the deal, also. In that way, if no other, the two were alike. If she was leaving now, it was only because it was necessary for her to do so. And Etaria, more than glad at the opportunity to puzzle over something other than her disturbing new habit of visions, was intrigued enough to follow.
At first she could see Tsyné easily, moving in a definite direction some distance ahead, but the streets grew continually more crowded with each passing moment and the girl was soon gone from her sights. Undeterred, Etaria proceeded in the same direction for over an hour, certain that at any moment Tsyné would reappear, and not realizing that she had entered a rather sketchy area of town until she was already in the heart of it.
The square mile of cheap clapboard buildings slightly south of the center of Aroville, was known as the Theatre District, although there was not a theater to be found in the vicinity. This place was known for its shady activities that occurred with such frequency and brutality that the law was generally left to uphold itself, which it did quite badly. Etaria was tempted to turn around and head back to the Apple Blossom with all haste, Tsyné be damned, but a motion from the nearby street corner caught her eye and she focused to see none other than Morgan hurrying into a place marked with the reassuring sign “Backman’s House of Fun and Tricks.”
Etaria frowned, caught between the sensible desire to leave with all due haste and the more nagging call of curiosity. The choice was made for her.
A boy, perhaps a year removed from adolescence, with a smooth face and large pale eyes, appeared from the same direction Morgan had, dressed quite nicely and cradling a box wrapped with twine beneath one arm. “Hurry up,” he hissed to Etaria in a loud whisper, noticing her at the same time she noticed him. “They’ll be starting any minute.”
It would have been difficult for the exuberant youth to look more out of place in such a neighborhood as they were in. “Starting what?” Etaria asked, thinking of Morgan and looking from the sign on the decaying door to the boy, feeling rather disturbed at the resulting conjectures.
“Why, the meeting!” He paused, “Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“Um, yes, of course,” she lied clumsily. “I was just… making sure that I had the right address.”
“Well this is it. They were just waiting for me to get us some breakfast and then they were going to begin.” He motioned towards the box and Etaria’s interest perked, replacing all other thoughts of danger or questionable activities. Complacently, she followed him inside and up a dark stairway until they reached a second door, at which the boy knocked loudly four times, then paused and added a fifth, softer rap, like a sort of juvenile code.
The door swung open, but this chamber was little brighter than the stairs, illuminated only by a single candle. “Took ‘ee long enough,” a raspy voice said, presumably belonging to the one who had opened the door. He added, suspiciously, “Wots the girl?”
“She was confused about the address, Neil,” Etaria’s companion replied genially. “Will you have a scone?”
He took the proffered pastry, but still seemed hesitant about whether or not to let Etaria proceed. “Our glor’yus leader’ll be none too ‘appy ‘bout strangers showin’ up.”
“Even if he did care, he wouldn’t be able to see her because he keeps the place so dark.” The boy countered. “And he’ll be wanting to start, so we should be going.”
Neil gave a disapproving grunt, but offered no resistance as the two went through yet another door into a second shadowy chamber, in which the only light came from a window mostly covered by a blanket with a jagged hole in the center. But even this was not enough for Etaria to see where they were going and she had to trust the boy as he led her to a stool along a wall and took a seat beside her.
There were obviously other people in the room, she could hear muttered conversations on both sides, but when the boy said loudly, “You can start, Sir, I’ve got the breakfast,” all talk was instantly silenced.
“Thank you, Tane,” a man in the center said, his voice low. The name he addressed the boy by was obviously a pseudonym- Tane had been a poet from several centuries ago. An odd choice of disguise, unless this was a covert literature club. Without hesitation, he began to address the group. “You all know why I have summoned you here today, so I won’t compromise our secrecy by dwelling on that. What I want to speak to you about is an issue that has, doubtless, been on the minds of every one of us for many months and that would be the disappearance of the elves.”
Was it a political society? The speaker’s smug air of authority grated on her nerves and was made even more annoying by the fact that he operated in darkness, like a third-rate hero from a bad romance novel. She wouldn’t have been terribly surprised if he had begun to give his account in verse, perhaps with musical accompaniment, but her attention was quickly diverted by ‘Tane’ passing her the coveted box, from which she removed two invisible items- one of which felt like a sticky bun whereas the other was most certainly a muffin- before it was taken by someone on her opposite side.
He seemed to talk for a very long time and Etaria didn’t pay him much heed until she suddenly caught the word ‘Gaolencit’ from amidst the sea of others. She sat up straighter, perplexed as to why the name seemed to be showing up with increasing frequency of late, but just as he began to say more on the subject, the proceedings were interrupted by a loud crashing noise from just outside the door and the meeting was, quite abruptly, halted.

Tsyné executed the first part of her plan flawlessly: not more than a minute after she’d left the Apple Blossom that morning did Tsyné spot Aldwyn descending the wooden inn steps and turning in her direction. Of course, even in the best laid out plans, hitches are generally expected and factored in, and Tsyné was practically asking for trouble with her naïvely optimistic self-assurance. The first glitch happened just as she was beginning to track Aldwyn from a distance, when unbeknownst to her Etaria was in fact following her. The second belayed the first, yet also ruined her entire plan: the unprecedented amount of crowds blocking the streets. While initially grateful for the cover this provided, Tsyné was no stealthsman and the hoards soon swept her in directions she'd not intended to take. After struggling against the current in which she found herself unwillingly moving, she managed to escape only to find that not only had she lost sight of Aldwyn but she also had no idea where she was.
Now what?
The abundant flow of brilliant ideas that had poured so freely last night now halted entirely to a barely-existent trickle. Dejected, she conceded defeat and decided to make her way back to the Apple Blossom and organize from there, but found her misplacement to be absolute- she had lost all sense of direction.
Sitting upon the steps of a nearby establishment to evaluate her prospects, Tsyné looked up at the building she’d happened upon. It was obviously a shady establishment, with dim lighting and dinky windows. If she squinted, she could make out the name on one of the window’s tattered signs: Backman’s House of Fun and Tricks. No doubt a reputable institution. Still, perhaps she could ask for directions there. Or, seeing as her objective to track Aldwyn had just collapsed, she could beg shelter for the time being and offer to wash dishes or something until she thought of a better idea. She herself had, as the resident Starmorage barmaid, allowed visitors who could not pay for lodging in coin to instead pick up the slack on some of her less desirable kitchen duties. Although she suspected Backman would not be so altruistic as she. Or worse still, judging by the name, she’d be allowed bedroom under the condition that she partake in these “fun and tricks,” as they were, during her sojourn. Perhaps she’d better stay out here after all.
Wait. She paused her reverie, uncertain. Backman. Could it possibly be…? Suddenly riled, suddenly positive that her instincts were correct, Tsyné marched up the steps, shoving the door aside and finding herself face-to-face with a small, seedy-looking man who, initially surprised at the outburst, gathered himself together and looked her up and down appraisingly, without an attempt at subtlety.
“Good afternoon, milady,” he said in a tone that made her skin crawl. “What can I do y’ for? Some… accommodations, perhaps?” he leered.
“I’m looking for Neal Backman,” she snarled.
He blinked in surprise at her ferocity, and answered automatically without thinking it through. “Upstairs- workin’ the conference room at the mo’.” He retained a hold of his senses as he started uncertainly, “But- y’can’t-”
Tsyné paid his sputtering no further heed as she took the stairs three at a time, and strode down the hall until she reached a rotting wooden door with rusty knob and hinges. And standing there was a tall man with gangly limbs who slouched slightly, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the door in a manner he must have thought innocuous. What was left of his wispy hair was too pale as to be distinguishable in color, and he was dressed in a drab shirt and slacks stained from drink and other substances that she preferred not to dwell upon. As she stood in front of him, hands on her hips and accusatory eyebrow raised, he looked up and the recognition dawned in his bleary eyes, as Neil Backman raised his eyebrows and quickly tried to rearrange his face to a mask of unconcern under her glowering stare.
“Why ‘ello Tsyné,” he attempted with a smile that already began to falter and revealed discolored, uneven teeth. “’Aven’t seen y’ fer awhile now. Er, wot brings y’t’ these parts?”
“Well I was just passing by and thought I might pay a visit,” she began acidly. “After all, it’s not like you were charged with my care after harrowingly rescuing my poor young imprisoned self.”
“Er, no, tha’ sounds ‘bout right,” he replied uneasily.
“Or that you abused that impressionable trust by leaving me stranded in the middle of Estonia so that you could run off to broker an illicit business deal.”
“Well see now, it wosn’t all like tha’-”
“Or that you stole the funds that were marked for my new lifestyle and university education to broker said deal," she finished before pretending to consider the matter in a new light. "Except... oh wait, you actually did.”
“Yeah, well… forgive an’ forget, eh?” Backman transfigured his face into what he must have believed a winsome expression. Tsyné responded to this by slapping him, leaving red welts streaked across his cheek. He recoiled and swore in pain.
“Why you little bitch-” he turned to her as though to retaliate, but she rushed him full-on and slammed him against the door. Except that this force broke the door frame entirely and the two fell through it as it splintered, forward into a darkened room. Tsyné only managed to keep her balance by shoving Backman forcefully away from her, who landed soundly against a window. The blinds and ragged curtains crashed down upon him as he sprawled as a heap to the floor, and sunlight flooded the room through the now-cracked windowpane. The room had been filled with chatter despite the darkness, which crescendoed at their sudden interruption before dying as though stricken when the light entered (except for the painful moans emanating from the bundle of curtains and man on the floor).
Tsyné blinked, temporarily blinded by the sudden surge of light. She opened her eyes to a large group of people in varying degrees of disguise sitting around a long table, including (she noted incredulously) three of her companions from the previous day. Aldwyn sat at the head (revealed to be sitting on a heightened stool so as to appear taller in the dim lighting), Morgon was several places to his right (who looked especially ridiculous in a balaclava and large collar), and nearest the door was Etaria (who appeared as utterly confused as she felt).
“You,” she finally spoke haltingly to Etaria.
“You,” Etaria spoke icily to Aldwyn.
“You,” Aldwyn spoke murderously to Morgon.
Morgon, for his part, attempted an ingratiating smile. He failed dismally.
For a moment there was a collective, nonplussed silence. Then, predictably, chaos ensued.

As if in compensation for her lack of other graces, Etaria had been blessed with some amount of commonsense, which had gotten her out of many a previous crisis. Unfortunately, it chose to desert her just then, and for the longest of moments, all she could do was stare incredulously as the meeting dissolved, rather like a building which has had its cornerstone removed and is left to topple upon itself in a heap of rubble. First Aldwyn made a snide comment about the way Morgan was dressed, then the latter lunged at the former, who, intelligently enough, ducked. Morgan flew over him, landing on the face of an unsuspecting giant of a man who evidently possessed a proportionate temper. This was more than enough to incite the rest of the room into a raucous brawl.
“You might as well be going,” a voice spoke from Etaria’s side. “They’ll be at it for hours and they never get anything done once the fighting starts.”
She glanced over to see Tare, watching the action impassively. “You mean this has happened before?”
“Oh practically every time. One of them says something which another takes offense to and-” He dodged a half-eaten pastry that had been thrown in their direction. “In any case, they’ll have gotten over it by the next meeting,” he went on, unfazed. “I don’t think Neil’s ever been involved before, though. He must have upset that girl somehow.”
She had been so incensed to identify Aldwyn as the leader of the meeting that she had forgotten all about Tsyné. Now, however, she scanned the room just in time to see the girl slinking towards the doorway, carefully staying away from the fighting.
“Well, Tare, it’s been a pleasure meeting you,” Etaria said hastily, making to go after her, “We’ll have to do this again some time. Be sure to bring breakfast then, also.”
“I’m here every week,” he called out. “It’s always very exciting until they start to-” This time, the creampuff hit its target and Tare disappeared, pulled into the action, and Etaria did not linger long enough to watch the outcome.
Tsyné was already on the street, but Etaria caught up to her easily, not about to make the same mistake she had that morning. “I wouldn’t want you to leave on your own,” she smiled at the girl, winningly. “You could get lost out here, if you’re not careful.”
Before Tsyné could offer anything more than a sharp scowl, another voice added, “Indeed. And quite a dangerous part of town for two ladies to venture through unattended.”
How she had not placed Aldwyn’s voice before, she would never understand, and how he had managed to get away unscathed from his own ‘followers’ was even more infuriating.
“What are you doing here?” she cried, the triumph drained from her voice.
“I could ask the same question of both of you. Still pursuing me, dear Etaria?”
From between clenched teeth, she replied sourly, “And who’s following whom just now?”
“As I said, you can’t trust strangers in this area. No telling what someone might- now where is she going?”
Etaria followed his gaze to where Tsyné was rapidly walking in the opposite direction. “That stupid-” she muttered, taking off after her for the third time that morning, with Aldwyn only a step behind.
Tsyné had the advantage. Her small, athletic frame could easily outpace the other two, neither of whom were at all muscular or accustomed to running. Adding to his more general difficulties, Aldwyn was still wearing an absurdly long cape, which kept tangling between his ankles and nearly tripping him.
This went on for some blocks and Tsyné would probably have gotten away if she hadn’t made the mistake of looking over her shoulder. During the half-second in which her eyes were diverted, another figure stepped out from a side street and Tsyné went flying into him, sending both to the ground. Etaria managed to grind to a halt before falling also, but Aldwyn was not so fortunate. He slammed into Etaria and both crashed to the ground on top of the others, a noisy heap in which much yelling and kicking occurred until Etaria yanked at a fistful of hair and came up with Morgan.
“You bloody idiot, what do you think you’re doing?” Aldwyn saw Morgan at the same time and instantly both darted to their feet, the women forgotten.
“I received word of your little experiment and decided to have a look,” Morgan smirked. “Are your men always this disciplined or were they just on especially good behavior today?”
This caused Aldwyn to bristle even further. “They haven’t had years of battle to harden them. Their minds are unspoiled.”
“Their minds are unhinged. Rather like your own.”
“Will you both shut up already?” Tsyné interrupted crossly, brushing dirt off one of her shirt sleeves with swift, impatient motions. “I understand: you’re short and you’re a braggart,” motioning to each in turn. “You’re both absolute asses and neither of you can go a sentence without proving so. If you won’t let me leave, you could at least do me the courtesy of not giving me a headache.”
As he had the day before at the inn, Morgan was instantly repentant. “Of course, Tsyné,” he said sternly, “terribly rude of us. And my dear Etaria-” magnanimously helping her to her feet, “-if that man has always treated you like this, you’re far better off for-”
“Watch your words,” Aldwyn cut in dangerously at the same time Etaria fumbled out a, “What makes you think I know him?”
Morgan grinned lightly. He had pulled off the balaclava some time during the scuffle and now looked somewhat less comical. “Aldwyn and I have a past, also.”
“We’ve noticed,” Tsyné snapped.
“Yes, well anyway, we should be heading back. Tarryn will doubtless be wondering where we are.”
If she had even noticed their departure, Etaria thought, flinching slightly as Morgan draped an arm easily about her shoulders and proceeded to lead their small, bitter procession. Why Aldwyn was organizing a covert society or what Tsyné and Morgan had hoped to gain by tracking him there, remained unanswered.

Tarryn woke with the sun and wasted no time dressing. She had wasted enough time yesterday and she meant to remedy that today. She still wasn’t quite sure how she had gotten caught up into an impromptu and borderline ridiculous company but she determined that by the end of the day her ‘companions’ would have no doubt as to what she thought of them.

Entering the busy common room, Tarryn ordered a meal and settled down in as dark a corner as she could find in a room brimming with morning light. It wasn’t long after she had settled herself that she saw Aldwyn slip out the door, followed clandestinely by none other than Morgan in a rather ridiculous disguise and a bit more openly by Tsyne, who was followed by Etaria. Tarryn, refusing to let her curiosity be piqued by a procession of fools, contented herself with listening to the conversations flowing around her.

It was an old and familiar habit; the chatter about the market rates and the success of crops moving over her in a soothing monotony. For years she had been listening silently for that bit of information that would sell. In the months after her parents had died, arrested and brutally murdered before her young eyes, Tarryn had taken refuge in small and unnoticed forms. Insects she found to be cramped and uncomfortable, claustrophobic even. But she thought that she must have spent a month as a spider after her parents’ deaths; crazily spinning webs in a dark corner of the tavern they had been in, trying to erase the memory of blood spattered walls. She had only forsaken that form when the tavern keeper’s wife had come after her with a broom. She had Changed right there; a small and dirty child with wide, staring eyes and barely any speech appearing where the spider had fallen. The woman had screamed and attacked her with the broom again. Without any real though Tarryn became a mouse and escaped through a hole in the wall, but she had remembered her true form and the woman’s incoherent screeches about ‘thrice damned and cursed Phouka’ still rang in her ears.

It wasn’t long after this that Tarryn had realized that people would pay for the odd bits of conversations she picked up while hiding in tiny forms. And that this money would purchase things like bread and milk, which her body craved when in its natural form, and even shoes and blankets if the information were particularly interesting. She also learned very well that no matter how much people may like the information she gave them, they hated what she was even more: a cursed and loathsome shape changer, a Phouka. As she grew older she also learned that, while she wasn’t above using her abilities to gain particularly lucrative information, sitting inconspicuously in a tavern as a human was every bit as effective lurking as a mouse and less dangerous as well.

She had entered Gaolencit’s employ as a teen, being careful to hide her origin. Because of Gaolencit she no longer went hungry or lived in fear or wondered how much longer she would live. At least she hadn’t. What had been the best time in her life had come crashing down due to a stupid mistake and she would do whatever she needed to get back into Gaolencit’s good graces.

However, this resolve was proving difficult to bring into fruition. It was nearing midday and Tarryn had heard nothing of any consequence whatsoever. Unless Gaolencit had suddenly become interested in the best ways to treat a peculiar crop blight that was wreaking minor havoc with the season’s turnips.

Sighing, Tarryn’s eyes swept the common room without much interest. The door opened and her eyes were pulled to it automatically. Aldwyn, Morgan, Tsyne and Etaria were entering the Apple Blossom once more, each seeming quite put out to be in the others’ company. Except for Morgan that is, who seemed perfectly content with the company of Etaria, whose shoulders he had his arm draped over, and Tsyne, who seemed to be doing her level best to avoid his other arm.

Before she realized it, Tarryn had made eye contact with Morgan who smiled brilliantly and extricated himself from a notably relieved Etaria to slip into the chair next to her, the other three trailing behind him. Tarryn bit back a groan and was again caught by the incongruity of human behavior. Why were they all coming here? They obviously disliked each other so why did they insist on sticking together when it was not at all necessary? Animals never behaved so illogically.
“Ah, my poor Tarryn,” Morgan was saying, “I had not realized we had left you all alone. Unfortunately I had business that could not be avoided.”

Aldwyn snorted, slouching sullenly in his chair. “I’m flattered; I didn’t know that spying on me was such urgent business.”

Morgan gave him a sharp smile. “Believe me, had I known the condition of your little ‘Resistance Movement’ I wouldn’t have considered it such.”

Tarryn blinked. “Resistance Movement?”

Etaria turned to her with palpable sarcasm. “Oh yes, couldn’t you tell? Aldwyn here is the ‘glor’yus leader’ of the resistance against Gaolencit.”

“Except that this Resistance seems to consist mainly brawling prats,” added Tsyne.

Tarryn gaped at the four sitting around her. How in the world had these four idiots found what she had been searching for without any effort whatsoever? After a moment though, Tarryn closed her mouth and smiled at Aldwyn. “So, tell me about this resistance against Gaolencit.”

Aldwyn sat up a bit. “You’re interested in overthrowing Gaolencit?”

She nodded fervently, hoping the hunger in her eyes would pass as a fanatic passion for the ‘Freedom’ that Aldwyn was now preaching. It very much looked as if she had just found Salvation.

Up until the point that she'd heard the words "Resistance Movement" fall from Aldwyn's lips, Tsyné had been disparaging the whole morning as a waste of time (although admittedly, confronting Neil Backman was rather satisfying). But as soon as she registered that phrase in connection with Gaolencit, Tsyné quickly shifted the exasperated expression on her face to a quizzical look of interest.
"What exactly is the form of this resistance?" Tarryn inquired.
"Not here, not here!" Aldwyn hissed in a panic. "Wait." He went to arrange for a private sitting room, and then ushered the four to follow as he led the way out of the dining commons. Tsyné rather thought Aldwyn's attempts at secrecy abysmally belated, for their heated discussion of Gaolencit that he'd suddenly silenced, followed by their abrupt departure from the room, was blatantly suspicious.
As they entered the sitting room and settled in the armchairs, Aldwyn looked fervently about him before closing the door, and immediately rounded upon Tarryn. "Before we- that is to say, I- let you join our auspicious ranks I must ascertain as to where your true loyalties lie." He cleared his throat impressively and steadfastly continued, "Do you swear allegiance to the Council, that disorganized assortment of corrupt and racist incompetents who spends more time arguing amongst themselves than taking action against the threat that Gaolencit poses to our livelihood... or to I, the leader of what will ultimately become the true uprising, forged in understanding of the need for unity amongst differences and welcoming the creativity that diversity brings to fruition?"
Tarryn blinked, looking slightly overwhelmed.
"Well, that wasn't a loaded question," Morgan drawled sardonically.
Glaring at him, Aldwyn opened his mouth to continue, but Etaria cut in, "Oh give it a rest, Aldwyn. Maybe your 'supporters' find your theatrics inspiring but that's because your meetings are so dimmed they can't see how much you resemble an over-puffed peacock."
Aldwyn deflated considerably at this remark. While Etaria smirked and Morgan looked satisfied, Tarryn quickly asked, "What kind of threat are you talking of?"
He turned to her, apparently relieved to have a subject on which to deliver his soliloquy, and replied, "To fully answer that query necessitates a full comprehension of today’s political situation." Aldwyn paused to frown thoughtfully. "In theory, our beloved country Estonia is governed by the highest body, the Council. In theory, this Council contains representatives from the citizenry’s three major bodies: the humans, the elves, and the phouka. In theory, the Council acts independently of any action or influence of any of the respective monarchies of the three races."
At this point he heaved a sigh, and while Tsyné still found his performance over-the-top she had to admit the effect was somewhat endearing, enough so that she could understand how such an idiot had actually gained any gathering. "Alas, theory has been failing practice for quite some time. The Council is essentially controlled by humans. The phoukan representatives especially have been maligned, and have never been truly influential within the Council. Gaolencit took advantage of this weakness to force himself into a position of power. As he has steadily grown to wield more power and influence over the Council, it has in turn diminished and now is essentially decrepit. The phouka, a mistrusted people even before his ascension, have been subject to outright discrimination and, dare I say it, genocide at his backing. The phoukan representatives have now been outright banished despite their explicit inclusion that the council demands. Equally as troubling is the fact that the elves have, for lack of better information, disappeared. Over the last several months, they have gradually retreated not only from the Council but also Estonia, and have not been sighted within the country's borders for several weeks. No one knows where they are currently residing, nor whether their departure was a defensive maneuver or instead coercion from Gaolencit's followers.
"This has left Estonia with a Council now entirely directed by humans, and leaned heavily on by their king, Tylerr. Tri-partisanship has disintegrated into clear bias, which is considerably troublesome.”
"Well, no wonder the country's gone to hell," Etaria scoffed. "Tylerr's lost his edge a long way coming. The man's practically senile, and what sense he has left he directs towards his illicit land transactions."
"Worse yet," Aldwyn declared solemnly. "Those rumors- of corruption, of senility- have been underplayed. The truth is that Gaolencit's influence has reached Tylerr."
Etaria looked dubious while Morgan smirked as though enjoying a private joke. Tarryn on the other hand was watching Aldwyn intently, paying rapt attention to every word.
“So far Gaolencit has not attempted to overtake the Council, I suspect for fear of retribution from those peoples who have not yet been stirred to action, or are still unaware of his more subtle misdeeds. He does not dare threaten the Council so overtly, and his covert attempts to join its good graces have to date been spurned. The Council recognizes the danger that his influence poses, now especially with Tylerr under his control, and concentrates upon removing him from power. They determined to do this by force, and formed an army independent of any monarchy, and also like the present Council the resultant army is comprised of and directed entirely by humans. I felt- I feel that this is a grave mistake. This so-called army, much like the Council which oversaw it, spends the majority of their time arguing amongst themselves and accomplishing little. This resulted mostly due to the severe differences of opinion amongst the army. Some were blatantly racist towards the elves and phouka. Some felt our allegiances would be best utilized alongside Tylerr. Some, like I, felt that we needed the cooperation of our other citizenries. The whole thing was, quite bluntly, a hopeless entanglement.
"So I took my leave of this farce of an army and determined to rise against Gaolencit with efficiency and integrity. I have brought into being what will become the real resistance, one that will be truly tri-partisan. With unity and common ground we will confront Gaolencit, and with the backing of all peoples we will force his hand and he will eventually be rendered powerless." He finished grandiosely, with a sweeping arm motion and an ardent stare. Etaria looked at him with furrowed brow, chewing her lip contemplatively. Tsyné for her part wasn't sure what to think. Gaolencit growing more and more powerful was hardly surprising news, given how his name seemed to be appearing in everyday conversation more and more frequently. She wasn’t quite sure that he was as eminent a threat as Aldwyn was portraying him, but it was a little worrisome for her own well-being.
"Well, that all sounds very nice," Morgan sneered, his tone of voice clearly indicating that he clearly thought the opposite. "But I feel compelled to mention that you are, as always, engaging in your fatal flaw. You’re thinking idealistically, rather than looking about you and considering practicality. For instance, your failure to recognize the army that you so lavishly criticize has far more might and respect that does your motley uprising. For how many recruits have you gathered to your banner? A score? And have you critically evaluated the personal and professional qualities of this ragtag assortment? I would think that deluding your would-be followers with unrealistic plans would be, to use your own words, immoral."
"You speak of morality as though you have any," Aldwyn retorted, his face reddening to an ugly puce. "At least my conscience is unsullied! Unlike yours! What ideals are you defending when you defend this travesty of an army? Corruption? Greed? Inequality?"
"I defend the best chances we have of bringing Gaolencit to justice! I defend brotherhood and loyalty!" Morgan snarled, rising to his feet. "At least my head is on the ground, while yours remains amongst the clouds! How many men did you abandon when you left the army? How many thousands of men have turned to me in your stead, demanding answers for your betrayal? How many good soldiers were dismissed in the 'reforms' that surfaced in your wake? You speak of morality, but you- you are nothing more than a common traitor!"
"You mistake opposition for disloyalty! I fight to restore the true Estonia! If you believed in equality, you would join me, but your cowardice blinds you!"
This discussion was quickly deteriorating into the most heated shouting match between the two men as of yet. Although intrigued by the surfacing of the real underlying tension between Aldwyn and Morgan, Tsyné felt it wouldn't serve her ends if the idiots killed each other, so she hastily interjected, "So what are you doing now? For the resistance, I mean."
Both men's hands were on their hilts, and Morgan had a dangerous glint in his eyes. They both paused at her question, and slowly, with great effort, Aldwyn turned away from Morgan to face her, letting his hand fall from his sword and taking a deep breath. Morgan mutinously followed his lead and strode to the window, not looking at any of them.
"The path that my efforts have forged leads next to Morrenk," Aldwyn pronounced.
"Why?" Etaria immediately asked sharply, her eyes darting to Aldwyn's.
"To recruit a resistance that is truly tri-partisan," he answered loftily with a sideways glare at Morgan, who snorted impatiently but did not turn or deign to reply.
"I'm coming with you," Tarryn declared suddenly. Tsyné stared at her. She'd thought Aldwyn's reply a little too vague to elicit immediate allegiance, but no one else seemed to notice anything strange, except for Morgan, who'd finally turned at Tarryn's sudden declaration.
In the silence that followed Tsyné considered her next move. She'd certainly found out more in the last ten minutes of listening to Aldwyn then she'd tried to figure out on her own- she'd had no idea as to the extent of Gaolencit's influences. Aldwyn hadn't been especially clear on his motives, though, rather then disparaging his thirst for power. Well, that might be the case, but the Gaolencit she remembered was a far cry more subtle than that. And she still hadn't ascertained as to whether she herself was in any danger thanks to Gaolencit's newfound influences. Would he come after her? And why had he held her prisoner in the first place? She'd always been able to overlook these questions that had always lingered in the recesses of her mind, distracted by the normalcy of her life in Starmorage. But now it was becoming more clear that life had been illusory at best, and she was, she admitted, highly curious as to her past. It seemed it would be best to align herself with someone who could protect her, who was conspiring against Gaolencit. And he seemed to have some sort of plan, albeit a vague and overly idealistic one. But what joining Aldwyn brought her to his attentions once more, into the spotlight with this revolutionary?
"Wonderful!" Aldwyn beamed, interrupting her reverie. "You see? The promise of true reform and integrity are what will ultimately win over the confidences of the people and spurn them into revolution," he said, directing this to Morgan. "What of the rest of you? Will you join me?" Now this was clearly addressed to Etaria, who looked at Aldwyn, unsure.
Tsyné made her decision. "I will."
They all turned to her in surprise.
"You?" Etaria said incredulously. "Join his-" she jerked her head at Aldwyn- "resistance?"
"You needn't sound so stunned," she said a little crossly. "You didn't say anything when she-" indicating Tarryn- "decided to join up."
"Yes, well, it's a little more surprising with you," she replied sourly, "considering all you tend to do is look out for yourself."
Tsyné opened her mouth to retort but closed it as she realized that Etaria was, in essence, right. She wasn't joining Aldwyn because she wanted to help overtake Gaolencit, but to protect herself and her interests. So instead, she smiled sweetly and said airily, "Might you consider that I've had a change of heart."
"I doubt that," she snorted. "A change of heart that manifests in your fruitful relations with Neil Backman?"
"Yes," Aldwyn interjected with a slight frown, "if you wish to join with us you'll need to resolve whatever tensions there are between the two of you, as Neil's an integral part of the resistance. What is your exact history?"
Tsyné, who had opened her mouth slightly at the news that Backman was part of Aldwyn's organization, quickly closed it. Her opinion of Aldwyn lessened at the knowledge that he would willingly associate with Backman, and for a moment she reconsidered the intelligence of aligning with his resistance. But Tsyné had already committed, and to back out now without explanation would appear highly suspicious. So she decided to go with the truth- or some form of it.
"Neil Backman headed some army mission targeting some of Gaolencit's prisoners, and they happened to come upon me. I was a child at the time, orphaned" she modified. "He was charged with my care, and, needless to say, failed dismally." She left the explanation there, and Aldwyn nodded, looking neither surprised nor troubled by this expose of Backman's shady past. Tsyné supposed that Backman hadn’t changed much.
"A touching tale," Etaria responded scathingly, narrowing her eyes. "Might I suggest that in the spirit of your newfound selflessness that has spurred you to resistance, you would consider repaying me the ten coppers that you owe me."
"Er." Tsyné supposed she could hold the charade no longer. "Well, I'm- actually- at the moment- sort of insolvent," she replied haltingly.
"What do you mean by that?" Etaria's eyes now resembled slits.
"I mean that... um, I don't have ten coppers. I don't have any money, I can’t pay you. Sorry."
Etaria's eyes widened in anger and she looked as though she were about to lunge for Tsyné, but Aldwyn, ostensibly to protect his newfound charge, placed a restraining hand on Etaria's arm and stepped between them, facing Tsyné with a brilliant smile and shining, fervent eyes. "I'm glad to see that the spirit of freedom and true liberty impassions so many of us," wringing her hand and then turning to Tarryn to do the same. As the two women glanced at each other, both raising their eyebrows faintly at his enthusiasm, Tsyné had the inkling suspicion that Tarryn's motives in joining Aldwyn were, like hers, not entirely altruistic. Aldwyn now rounded upon Etaria, his smile undeterred by her look of fury. "What say you, Etaria? Will you join the true resistance as well?"
"I-" she sputtered, apparently lost for words. She hesitated, the effects of an internal battle ravaging across her facial expressions. "I- hardly- don't think- that is to say- well- oh, all right," she finally agreed bad-temperedly, shooting malevolent eyes at Tsyné as though it were all her fault.
"Wonderful." Aldwyn rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation. "We'll depart at dawn, then, for Morrenk," he announced purposefully.
"Yes, we will," Morgan said, glaring at Aldwyn, who sputtered.
"You! Why would you even-"
"You hardly think that I'd leave you alone in charge of three highly impressionable women?" he scowled darkly. "I hardly intend to abandon them to your own twisted devices. My sulliedconscience would never permit me to merely step aside as you gallavant off."
"You," Aldwyn stated, "are not coming."
Morgan raised his eyebrows. "Oh? And you'll try to stop me, then?" he asked coolly. "You and what army, pray tell?"
Aldwyn glowered, but a moment later acquiesced, "Just don't get in my way." He strode past everyone moodily and exited, slamming the door behind him. Morgan took the opportunity that his departure provided to turn to the remainder of the group and smile charmingly. As she glanced at Etaria and Tarryn, Tsyné felt certain that all three women were, for the first time, united, in suppressing a groan.