?It should have been expected,? grumbled the man into his mug. The clattering of drinks and rousing chorus of song lead by the bard could not hide the comment from Ewan?s ears. Not when he focused so completely on the man from his own shadowed table nearby. It had taken two days as he anticipated to get him this far. The fletching of the arrows as well as the signs on hands and worker boots of the slain assassins had taken him to the neighboring barony west of Yransea.

Keefe had been struck at the idea, so set was he on believing Geofsson to be behind the attack that Ewan going in the opposite direction from the lord?s lands brought up a heated argument. Ewan was not dissuaded, and so arrived at the first inn on the edge of the barony at the late hour of carousing when laborers fled their homes of work after dinner to share their thoughts, swap tales, and sing through a stupor.

?Expected, is it?? the man?s companion chuckled which choked him up, so he hacked and coughed the phlegm loose and spat it on the floor behind him. ?Yransea family?s got more power than the King nearby. Damn fool to attack them, says I.?

?You aren?t known to be a thinking sort,? the third fellow ridiculed his friend with a companionable smile. ?No others to take that seat if the three little ones are out of the way. Lyana?s not about to start playing the lady now and curb her lust for the sword.?

?Wish she had lust for my sword,? the second said accompanied by a crude motion of his tongue.

It had earned him a clout to the back of the head by the first man. ?Shutup, you. Tithes go to the baron and baroness, she who is Lady Lyana?s sister. Speak respectably of them.?

?What for? Wasn?t it you just then saying the attack shoulda been expected? How?s that respectable??

Ewan tilted his head down and away, keeping an ear directly at their table. The first spoke soft, ?Just what Bearyl said. Makes an easy opening to the seat. Too many a lord wanting the rich prosperous land of Yransea. Could name a few myself.?

?You? When?d you get tied up in the mess of the nobles?? The first man?s companions started to grin, catching on to his boasting. ?Went to dine with them last week, did ya??

?They asking for your advice on the state of the world now, Leifes?? Bearyl joined in.

?No,? Leifes grumbled. ?Just know things as all.? The other men laughed and continued their ribbing.

Ewan was certain the Liefes did. Certain because of the look in his eyes. Certain from the cautious tension in hunched shoulders. Certain in the words spoken and hinted. A motion to drink, though the liquid of his tankard barely touched his lips, Ewan rubbed at the false scar created from glue and flesh that marred his dyed whiskers, now black as his hair. He let the man drink and rose in chorus as the man made to depart.

The road would be dark. Leifes should have taken more precautions.

It was miserable weather for anyone, but more so for one trying to hide. Effort had to be put in concealing tracks even more. It slowed a person down. Ewan, however, did not care about what tracks he left behind. Able to move without hesitation, eyes keen to the way one would obscure their movements in the cold and wet weather, yet not too cold for snow to build and blow over trail markings.

At an early rise of the next day, he packed up what little he had taken from the saddle bags for his cold camp. Fire was deemed unnecessary in the hollow of an ancient tree where he had slept the few hours. Turning for the road, Ewan checked the outfit of Sid?s gifted cloth beneath the cuff of his linen shirt and leather bracer. He wore it for added warmth as well as protection, though he worried if he began to rely on it too much. Justifying its use due to weather was, he realized, a slippery slope. The next day he would change out of it.

Morning brought him back on the trail that ran alongside the road not a man?s height into the brush. It would have served his prey better to stick with the road where the horse?s hooves would have been mixed and mingled with other travelers. But it seemed he did not want to be seen by others. Either way, Ewan would have known that print, the new shoe making a more crisp impression than the other three. There was no losing the man unless he changed horses.

But being Nersali, changing a horse was akin to changing an arm. It was something of a kinship Ewan could understand. The horse he rode now was not like Zesperis or other horses before and after that were more companions than mode of transportation. Still, it served its purpose and seemed eager to please. A gelding, chestnut from nose to tail, it was no more than three, and was called Temrin.

Temrin?s head lifted, ears perked up, and stopped. Just because it was not a horse of his own training, Ewan was not going to doubt the animal?s instincts. He searched about him and just between the framing of two alders a distance ahead was the swish of a horse tail and the sighting of a quiver with the distinct fletching of the western clans. A squeeze of his legs set Temrin in step again, but Ewan steered him onto the road.

It was the wiser choice, for either the man would stop and hide to let the road traveler go by without drawing any sight to him, or he would continue on as he was relying on the cover of the brush to keep away the casual eye. Either was the better for Ewan, who if he came crashing through the brush behind the man would set his prey into flight and a longer chase. Risk of injury to horses and men alike ruled out that notion.

Ewan?s prey was near and the cold calculations played out in his mind. Fingers loosened knives in their sheaths on his saddle. The steely certainty turned the key and he grinned at the cold that filled his body. A stride or two away to the next piece of the formless puzzle.

?Tomorrow,? Maelgwn announced as he, Ewan, and Keefe stood and observed the captive. He was not chained in the stone room, but still he kept to a wall. Dark defiant eyes glared sharp vitriol at each man in turn. The stubble of his jaw did not conceal the tight clench of his muscles there. ?Tomorrow we will start. I think we may have assistance in the matter.?

The prince turned and the other two men followed him out the door. Ewan locked it and took the key with him. The guards would have no way to let the man out or way to let anyone in without Ewan. It being a particularly favored room of Ewan?s, tucked in the dark cellar of a gatehouse to the cemetery of the town. Cries, if hear at all through the twisted slender corridors of stone to the world above, made for interesting rumors and tales through the city.

?Assistance?? Ewan prompted while following in the men?s footsteps up from the thick aired cellar to the gatehouse above.

Maelgwn cast a knowing smile over his shoulder his assassin, ?I am not undermining your abilities, Ewan. Besides, you and she have worked together before.?

?Kiema?? Ewan held back his surprise to a mild raise of his brows. ?Torture is not her forte, you know.?

?Forte? Oh, I do not know. From my understanding she has the ability to get to the heart of the matter in her own gifted way. That she may not choose that way from the start, well,? Maelgwn mounted his horse and turned it for the ride back to the manor, ?not everyone takes the point of view to strike hard first and show kindness later.?

Keefe chuckled and shook his head. Turning his horse about in a circle to control its nervous sidestepping, ?Coming back to the manor then, Ewan? You have several letters awaiting you.?

Temrin waited patiently for Ewan to settle in the saddle before starting after the other horses. ?Aye, that I will. Wash up and catch up. Has there been news from Yearling Brook??

Keefe?s smile revealed warmth that went beyond usual concerned friendship. Ewan was becoming more concerned about the man?s intentions with Sylvia, and had even set some of his own contacts within Keefe?s personal household to listen out for dangers in the man?s plotting. ?The Baroness is healing well, and the poisons are being drawn out without, so it is reported, damage.?

The rest of the way was traveled in silence, each man keeping his own counsel on matters dear to him. Ewan took direct route to his private quarters. The bath creaked into usefulness, sputtering against disuse to cough up the first few drops of water before beginning its warm, consistent flow. In that moment, the complete disgust of his clothes, his smell, and the itch of days on the road rose up like a wall of discomfort and he shed it all with speed to join in the comfort of the bath.

It was while soaking he glanced to the bedside table and the two letters there. Water, while still warm, was murky and less than appealing for extended stay encouraged his exit. Dried off and dressed, he looked over the letters seeking one style of handwriting in particular. Storm?s was there among the others, and he opened it.

Pouring over the words, relieved to hear that Avery was well and she was feeling some better, at least well enough to visit Sylvia, who also seemed to be on the mend. The ending words of the letter parted lips in a convolution of dismayed joy. He read them twice to be sure of no misunderstanding. Certain of the words, the smile arrived bright and unrestrained, imbibed of joyous laughter.

Grabbing his cloak, he dashed for the door, springing around a near collision with Colwyn. The quick explanation to the befuddled older man, ?Storm?s pregnant!? and he was gone down the stairwell before the gentleman could tender his congratulations.

?Am I late?? Kiema announced her arrival to the outside of the gate house. Keefe, Maelgwn and Ewan stood in a silent trio at the doorway.

Ewan moved to greet Kiema with a hug, which she returned in kind. ?It is good to see you, and no you are not late. Is there a timetable for torture??

?Ewan, really,? she scolded, ?but no, I suppose there is not. Still,? eyes changed from dark blue to a lighter shade tinged with green, ?You are blocking everything but that, so it must be you want me to know whatever news it is that has you near glowing.?

?Storm is pregnant,? Ewan admitted.

Kiema hugged Ewan again, and then punched his arm. ?Not that you deserve the hugging. She?s the one going to be carrying the child. Matre noctis, Ewan, what are you doing here??

Ewan?s emotions were as suddenly cut off from her as if she had been dropped into the abyss of his mind. Nothing revealed, and his tone was just as dark. ?I have matters to see to here. The more quickly they are done?? The way he could do that with such abrupt and precise skill, be warm and loving and then cold and calculating, still gave Kiema chills. She felt the same effect on Keefe, but not so much the Prince. His emotions were so perfectly balanced as to be ephemeral.

With Ewan?s point taken in its full measure, she did her best to combine the dual emotions, and said, ?How I do love opposites blending together. Happy news to counter the day?s tasks. Shall we get to them?? She motioned to the door.

Ewan and the other men nodded, and all turned for the door and beyond it the corridors to the guarded room. He could feel Kiema try to knock repeatedly against his shields against her, but he would not let her in yet. Not until it was necessary. ?I think we should start outside the room. I do not know if he has had encounters with the Circelus before, but it might make a good point.?

A nod of agreement, Kiema softened her voice as they neared, ?I have sent out a slender link to him, but I am not reading much right now. Outside the room will be best, and if he hasn?t had encounters with a Changeling - wait,? her hand moved up to press against the door and she smiled, ?I am feeling something now.?

All three men looked to her waiting for the rest. ?Fear.? She peeked through the barred window and smiled, drawing up anger to force her eyes to turn red. The lamplight did its part to cast her face into shadow except those eyes, ?So, you have met my kind before.?

The man was pressed against the back wall, his head turning to try and draw his eyes away from the red glare of the woman beyond the door, and yet he could not look away. ?Please,? he whispered.

Ewan chuckled without humor to Keefe and Maelgwn, ?This may be easier than I thought.? It was a peculiar fear. He did not have Kiema?s gift, and in his early years he mistrusted it, but he had not feared it. Wonder and distrust now came from the man?s reaction to that gift and not his friend.

Kiema broke the stare on the man and turned brown eyes upon the men beside her. ?I would not go that far, yet. I do not think I have stolen your fun. He fears me, but his emotions were not going away from that. He does not fear you. He does not fear death. He fears me, and I am harmless.?

Ewan countered, ?But I am not. Time to go in.?

?Give me your hatred, Ewan, let me in-?

He shook his head hard, cutting her off, and gave a nod to Keefe, ?Use his anger. I am sure he will have plenty for the task.? Unlocking the door, Ewan took one step after another in time with the slow rhythm of a drip from a corner of the stone room. A rumbling clank behind him signaled the door?s closure.

Kiema knew what he meant. It came from years of working together, though it was the rare occasion to take part in his methods of extracting information. It was not anger Ewan was looking for right now, it was guilt and shame. ?Of course,? she spoke through the barred window. Guilt and shame was something she could draw in plenty from her own mind and memories without reaching out to the others: guilt she had been gone so long; shame of being what she was as a child; guilt of what she had done when she had not learned control; shame of defiance. This she twisted into a thick rope of emotion and pushed across the slender thread of connection with the Nersali.

In measured levels she encouraged his own shame and guilt, made it them the dominate feelings to influence his thoughts, encourage his actions. It was the first phase of the trial before the young man. She did not count on information coming from this. She knew Ewan did not. The method of Ewan?s gift was to languish and suffer.

It was not Kiema?s way, and even now the seeds of her own guilt and shame were encouraged to grow and fed into that thread. If it were not for what this man had done, she would have stayed with the Sedlaral children. Sylvia?s death alone would have not drawn her, but that the intention was to kill her children and cause civil strife. Well, even the Circelus had given their blessing to her participation. It was, she believed, with the hope that nothing more than a few moments of emotional distress would resolve what was needed. They did not know Ewan.

She heard him speak in a voice so unlike him. It was the voice of a confidant, a holy man, one to which people spoke deep confessions in search of absolution. ?Come, Rumanris, redeem your heritage and the esteem of your clan. Absolve yourself of the misjudgment of a moment?s deed. You were led astray by another who promised you power and privilege in return for skills your clan holds in high regard. This person encouraged you to twist that talent away from its purpose into an aberration of disgusting proportions. Let us have this person and punish him for abusing you for needs selfish and unworthy of your attention.?

Rumanris?s shoulders shook where he sat on the floor, legs pulled up against his chest. And yet all he gave was his name in a soft whisper.

?Kiema,? Ewan?s face was a flash of glaring anger across the gap in the door as he approached the somber prisoner.

?A moment,? she said and turned to Keefe. ?My Lord Keefe, I will be pulling emotions to feed into the man. I need your rage. You need do nothing physically, but you must think of things that make you angry.?

?That will be easy enough,? he grumbled, and his look revealed how true that was.

Tapping into that pool of rage, testing it like one tests the taste and texture of honey, she found its source untainted and then drew it along into a weaving of her own angers and slammed them into the man without care. She used caution though, knowing how dangerous her skill could be, particularly in the manipulation of anger. Eyes flamed red glared through the bars. Rumanris howled in his fury and scrambled to his feet, beginning to pace. Ewan joined in the prowling, speaking venom into the man?s ear.

?You betrayed your people for this person. Is he or she more important than your people? What do you value anymore?" The man swung out at Ewan, who dodged smoothly. Rapid, flowing strikes rained out against the Master of Arms who pushed them aside or danced out of the way. The cell seemed to shrink in the vicious dance of attack and defense. All the while, Ewan kept taunting Rumanris. "I can take those tattoos from your cheek myself if you like, banish you, mark you, and dump you in the center ring of your clan wagons. This person does not care about you. Give him up to me, take your revenge of his abuse, strike to the heart of the treachery.?

Kiema drew back and the Nersali collapsed to the floor, weeping and weakened. Ewan stood over him and softened his voice. ?Rumanris, who hired you??

?My name was Rumanris." The words were soft against the stone walls. Kiema prepared to send another volley of raw emotion, but hesitated at Ewan's look to her.

Rising from the crouch near the man, he looked down at the confused and soul weary man. "Not was. Is. Your name is Rumanris. Keep it and give us another in exchange." Ewan moved away from the man and leaned once more against the wall next to the door.

Ice blue eyes, the whites of them tainted red with the strain, drew up from their lock on the floor. "Sea and stone, water and rock, the river runs upwards to the mountains."

Ewan unlocked the door and exited, turning to lock it again. Kiema did not understand the riddle, but from the look of the men, they did. Maelgwn's angular features more chiseled of stone than ever. "Baron Galwyn has gone mad. Yransea's part is done now. I will deal with this."