...Too much of that
May lead you bye and bye through gloomy lanes
To a sad wilderness, where one may grope
Alone, and always, or until he feels
Ferocious and invisible animals
That wait for men and eat them in the dark.
-Rahel to Varnhagen, The Three Taverns, by Edwin Arlington Robinson


?It was a cruel blow,? Kieran spoke solemnly as he rested a hand upon Ewan?s shoulder as the man sat down in a chair opposite his desk. The minstrel was arriving just behind and took the other vacant seat.

?It is the price of what I do, my lord, and I am accustomed to it, though that is not to say I do not mourn for the loss of them.?

Kieran lifted his hand and returned to sit at his desk. He took the words of his Master of Arms, his assassin, as what they meant: acceptance and an undertone of returning the strike in kind. The Baron had rumors only of what Ewan?s creativity in his assignments produced, and never did he ask for clarification. He would not start now.

?Let us to the task at hand,? Kieran sighed and sat back. ?You both are to go north, to the town of Ersan, and find what you can of that place. That was where Cathal was last known to have stopped.?

Mistress Buie spoke up, ?It is also where some of the Circelus have felt their gifts refused, walled away, for no reason.?

?And,? Kieran continued with a nod to the Minstrel for that information, ?where the raids of grain and provisions stores are heaviest.?

Ewan sat with his mouth in a firm line, ?Do we need more clues??

?Clues? No, but we need to know what we are facing before I take a troop into the slaughter or an army for a band of thieves with a rogue Changling at hand.?

Ewan shook his head, ?Of course, of course, but that is not what I meant, my lord, and forgive my vagueness.? At Kieran?s wave of a hand to forget the misunderstanding, his thoughtful warrior went on, ?I merely meant clarification on what my purpose is other than finding the strength and source of these actions. If I feel it within my scope to handle on my own, shall I do so, or would you try political maneuverings first??

?To deal in secret is to have no political maneuverings. This smacks too much of subversion, and the threat is growing. I will not waste time in bargaining, but I leave it to the lords and courts of his Majesty once the information we need is found.? Kieran smiled, ?You are, of course, left to your own discretion at what methods you need employ to find the information we seek.?

Ewan nodded and Kiema quirked a smile, then turned that smile on him, ?We will leave this evening, I think, do you not agree??

?Yes, I think that would be best,? Kieran smiled. It was so easy to work with these two who had built up an easy way with each other and knowing their talents and limitations. It had been a fortunate turn in the last war, and he hoped this time their gifts would avert another.

?Hold still,? she snarled at him once again, ?or you?ll have uneven hair.?

Ewan sighed and shifted on his stool in his small room rented in the inn as Kiema went through the process of dying his hair. ?Maybe I should just permanently dye it instead of doing this temporary thing.?

He heard a snicker, ?And have the ladies of court cry their eyes out? Besides, you are already known as the flame haired guard. Why throw it aside??

?Because it is annoying,? he grumbled low and crossed his arms.

?For one about to infiltrate a band of thieves, you seem to be worried about the wrong thing,? she continued to work the herbal mixture through his hair, jouncing his head with her hands as she did.

?On that I would disagree,? he sighed, then queried quirking a brow, ?How much longer??

She came from behind and washed her hands thoroughly in the basin of water, though some stain would remain on her nails and she would cut them down again to remove the signs. ?As usual, it takes an hour to set, which should be plenty of time for me to sing a few songs and find out which of the customers down there is the one you need to contact.?

He nodded and wiped away a drip of the tonic from his cheek. ?I worry about that monastery the innkeeper mentioned. It is not far from where Cathal was found, and the rumors coming from it are strange indeed.?

Kiema nodded, but her eyes remained the calm blue by force of will. She did not let her eyes change color when on the road as it gave away too much, and in this part of the kingdom where the settlers from across the sea and the original inhabitants blended in life uneasily, additional unease with a Changling walking abroad was not a wise idea. ?Oh, I certainly agree, but could be an illness they do not wish to spread, and we do not want to assume the worst.? She smirked at his snarl, ?Well, I do not want to assume the worst. That?s just your way.?

?Thank you,? he grinned.

But Kiema winced, ?Gah, I hate when you smile like that. You look so horribly cold and evil, but you have your emotions clamped down tighter than a?well, you have them clamped down so I cannot read them I do not know what you are feeling.?

?That, my friend, is the idea.? He smiled that same smile, and Kiema cringed and turned for the door so she might start her performance in the crowding common room below.

Morning came and Ewan watched the men slumber tied and gagged each one stride apart from the other. They had been completely unforthcoming as to their actual leader, their purpose, or much of anything he had asked after he had subdued them. He had returned to town to rouse Kiema in the early morning after the three captives had finally fallen into true sleep. Upon his return he found them as he had left them, but checked their ties carefully all the same.

Rain fell outside, cooling and cleansing the muggy atmosphere. Among its hushing sound and the song of leaves in the wet wind, he heard the steps. Rising to his feet and one hand drawing a dagger in preparation only to rise and stand as Kiema strode inside.

She viewed the captives. ?They have no fear in them now,? she spoke with certainty.

?Evidently the turning of the tables on them last night has not frightened them to disturbing dreams.? Not that he had intention of doing so, as the fight had been brisk and clean. Two of the men at least had sense to hesitate and observe him before attacking, but the third was all brute strength and no brain. With a few deft twists and turns, the bully had done some of Ewan's work for him against the others, and eventually all had been choked into unconsciousness allowing Ewan time to bind and gag them.

Kiema nudged one awake and he looked blearily up at her with a garbled noise around the gag in his mouth. ?Who is your leader? Who protects this cave and these bandits??

The man only made motion to spit, but instead near choked himself. Kiema looked up at Ewan, ?There?s nothing for me to turn. He is completely calm, no anger, and no fear.?

The other men started to stir, and Ewan asked them in turn the questions, then looked to Kiema who shook her head once more. ?Then I will have to do this another way. I will meet you back at the inn in three hours.?

The minstrel nodded and departed as she had arrived. Ewan smiled feral at the men and saw not a flinch from any of them. ?Let?s see what we can learn today,? and he started with a removing a slender slice of skin, nor more than the size of the blade in length, breadth, and depth, from one man?s bound arm. He dangled it and tossed it aside onto the embers of the low fire and the stench of burning hair and skin danced on the air.

Ewan brushed hair, once again free of its dye and shining rusty blonde in the sunlight, from his eyes as he turned to look at the Minstrel riding her own horse beside him. She looked deep in thought as she watched the scenery pass them by. ?Ahh,? she turned to smile at him. ?I felt something there for a moment.?

A bitter laugh, Ewan made certain to reinforce his protections. ?I was just wondering what you were thinking.?

?That was the curiosity, was it?? She shifted on her saddle. A nod, ?Well, I was thinking of what you found out. Seems like more layers to me. And,? she continued, ?how you found it out. Will that man be able to have his finger reattached??

Ewan gave his own nod and turned to keep his vigil keen on the road, ?If he finds a fair enough surgeon and in good time. I let them lose to inform their leaders, and was particularly glad they did not require having one of their heads removed to convince them whatever protection they had been promised was not going to save them.?

?Also be glad they are not zealots that believe death is the promise and hope for every member of their group.? Kiema let out a slow breath and turned her face up to the sky. Forest lined the eastern side of the road, which Ewan had taken as he side to ride. Long stretches of farmland freshly planted with the sprigs of new growth rising up over the dark earth claimed the western view from the road.

?I suppose. I would have three dead men and no information.?

?Letting them inform their leaders is always fun,? she grinned over the field. ?See what changes are made. If things move more quickly or slow down from their actions. I always enjoy this part of time.?

Ewan looked askance at his traveling companion, not sure if she meant the seasons and growth of the land that she was viewing, or the uncertainty that faced them now, and she turned to face him, her dark auburn hair whipping in the wind, but she did not brush it back. ?Is it not a little too warm for a scarf, my friend??

?Are you to criticize my clothing choices now as well as my methods??

She huffed and looked away once again, ?I do not criticize either, only question.?

A change of shadows, the stirring of a branch harsher than the wind, and Ewan called to Kiema, ?Run!? as he too set heels hard to the flanks of this borrowed horse. He missed his Zesperis who would not have hesitated at his yell, nor needed his urging to run flat out. There had been anticipation for their move, and the gift of Sid proved its use as an arrow punctured the brigantine he wore but made nothing more than a bruising punch against the lower layer of cloth. A sharp eyed archer in the group took one last chance and sailed an arrow across Ewan?s cheek, missing the loss of an eye but causing a blood raising graze all the same. A wince at the sting, he thundered on ahead with Kiema riding low and unwounded beside him.

Ewan watched Kieran in silence. The Baron?s face never changed, but it was obvious he was thinking on the news just provided. Kiema, too, sat in quiet contemplation, but her mouth would twist from time to time. Kieran seemed to notice this, and prompted, ?Mistress??

?I am just wondering how these men became involved with the Sedlaral, as we believe the have.?

Kieran countered, ?Maybe they have not.?

?No, my lord, I would not think the name Sedlaral well known among such a people, particularly those that came from the far country,? Ewan explained. ?And one man specifically said that the Sedlaral would assure my debt was paid.?

?But he made no indication that they were actually the leaders,? clarified Kieran.

?No, my lord.?

?Layers, of course, Kieran,? Kiema spoke. ?There will always be layers between the Sedlaral and their servants.?

?Someone must know them directly,? the Baron spoke. ?Has there even been a determination of how to recognize one or how they were defeated before??

Kiema sighed, ?No, but I think I was close when the accident occurred, and before you claim it otherwise, I do not think the matters related.?

Ewan had been ready to say just that, but as she nipped the thought in the bud, he continued instead with another thought had been brewing in his mind, ?It comes to mind that Palendies is one the only kingdom of the Seven Nations that has no innate magical gifts to it. Is it not possible that the Sedlaral came from here so long ago??

Kiema?s eyes widened, ?And what made you think of that??

?New habits of connecting the strange and unusual,? he smirked.

?Rhydin does do some good,? Kieran jested.

All three groaned under weary, but good natured, laughter. ?We have something, but not enough. Mistress Buie, I ask you to keep looking for information on the Sedlaral, particularly how to recognize one. Ewan, I want you to assist her. Search the tomes of Rhydin and the Seven Nations as deeply as you can.?

The two rose as the Baron remained seated, ?And Ewan,? the master of arms turned to his liege as the minstrel moved on to the door, ?try not to be too distracted.? There was a sincere request behind the jesting smile, and Ewan gave a firm nod.

Kiema had waited for him outside the door, ?So, taking the road back??

?Aye, but I?m going to stop by and see my mother and Lenika before I go. I should arrive back in town in the evening. Meet at the library??

She nodded and strode away in that strange gliding-waltzing fashion she had. Ewan turned to clean himself up in his chambers before seeing his mother so she would not worry so.

"I agree with you, Kieran," Sylvia repeated for the fifth time, "but I am simply saying we cannot remain cautious for much longer. They have not moved in anticipated ways, and I do not think they ever will." The wingback chair in the parlor was becoming uncomfortable, and so she rose and began to pace the room.

She felt her husband's eyes watch her as she moved. "Ewan and Kiema feel they have a lead on some information of the Sedlaral, and I think Atin can be of help." It was risky to mention Atin's name, and her husband scowled perceptibly.

"I do not see how that can be. He will not speak directly to you, and he will not go with anyone else."

"Kieran, he has been teaching me, not that I can do any of what he is trying to teach me, but I can see how it works. I think, in a backwards sort of way, he is telling me how they think and act. It is all metaphors, which is what confuses us."

The Baron showed that much confusion right then, "Now you sound like him."

"Oh, do not say that," she laughed lightly. "I cannot go to the monastery,"

"Most assuredly not," he agreed quickly.

"Kiema cannot go there," she continued.

"A distinct difficulty," another agreement.

"Ewan can, but not alone. You and I both agree he cannot go alone."

Kieran sighed, "So what do you propose?"

"I think it is time to test some of our recruits from here. They have been trained by Ewan, for the most part, and they deal with the unusual and mystical daily. Some even grew up here."

"I do not like the idea of this manor being less protected than it is."

"New recruits, dearheart, as well you know. We're near to running out of room as it is. Five of them go to the monastery."

"Ewan should know which to choose, but we should not send him in as yet. I would like to have a better way to communicate with them, though, should they need help."

"That is where Atin, Kiema, and I come in to this." Sylvia smiled at her husband's skeptical frown. "Trust me."

Kieran walked with Ewan and Sylvia in the gardens of Seansloe manor. Sunlight waved down upon them from the sky above, but the breeze rustling the green leaves also touched and cooled them.

"We will simply have to continue on as we were," Kieran said for what he felt was the fifteenth time. "The use of distance speaking did not work as hoped. Our communications must be as they ever have been."

He felt more than saw Sylvia's disappointment, but she spoke softly, "Yes, so it seems. It is unfortunate, though, as I do not like continuing to send Ewan into the unknown."

Ewan smiled and bowed slightly, "It is what I do, Your Excellency, and we manage to get regular letters from the men in the monastery. It is there I would like to travel first."

"Agreed," Kieran spoke. "You will need papers and a good story, but there is something happening there that they have not been able to reach. Perhaps your skills can break that secrecy."

"Kiema writes that she will be joining us here in Seansloe soon with some information," Sylvia's mouth puckered slightly then frowned. "It concerns me greatly that she would not even hint at it in writing."

"Probably better not said, for whatever enemies are abroad would be alerted to stopping her sharing the information," Kieran wrapped his arm about his wife's shoulders and kissed the top of her head. "Kiema will be here in two days time, and we will have the news then."

"I should depart tomorrow, though, as the sooner there, the sooner I can begin," Ewan offered.

Both Kieran and Sylvia nodded as they turned for the manor. "We just need to find the end of the thread to follow," Kieran mused out loud. "Just somewhere to start."

It was a bright morning as the sun sailed its way to its zenith. Ewan had traveled for two nights along the boundaries of the main road until he took the western trail north to Ersan. He made his way leisurely into town where the small farming community was starting its daily rituals. That morning Ewan had changed into the garments of the monastery, an order of brothers called the Brodens after their founding leader Brother Brode. The brothers were a part of the followers of The Twelve, one of the many religious systems found in the Seven Nations. As part of their devotion to The Twelve, the brothers wore simple cotton spun garments dyed an earthy reddish brown. Around Ewan?s waist, instead of blades and pouches, were the charms of The Twelve, each bouncing upon their short threads as other Brodens wore.

A dark lock of hair, recently dyed black on his way north, crept along his temple and he brushed it aside. The heat of the sun was uncomfortably penetrating on his shoulders, but he kept his countenance serene as he went. He had to send word through the system of his arrival and hope to meet one of the five of his men sent earlier this night.

?Good day, Brother,? the innkeeper greeted him as he stepped inside. ?Come to check on your brothers up at the monastery??

He offered a kindly smile, ?Word has been scarce to our newly established houses, and I have come to see what aide I can offer. Have you had word??

?Little enough and less than you, I?d vouch. Illness continues and they have the vendors drop off the needs at a croft they built. Place the items inside, turn the wheel, and pull the bell. In about ten minutes you hear a bell and you turn the wheel again. In the place of your wares there?s payment.?

?Things must be very bad if they have sequestered themselves so well, but it seems they do not fear transfer of the illness by the coins.?

This thought seemed to not have occurred to the innkeeper and his eyes widened in a paling face. Ewan smiled reassuringly, ?The metal probably cannot retain the taint.?

?Oh, aye, true enough,? and the man seemed relieved. ?Well, now, anything I can get you??

?Is the Blacksmith Korvin still in town??

?Aye, that he is. Not left for his wife?s country yet this summer, though he?s been planning for a few days now and closing up his place. You can find him there this time of day.?

?Thank you,? and Ewan offered a bow to the man and made the sign of blessing, his hand palm outward and then turned up before he turned back for the door and on to his contact.

"You came to us in good time, Brother Alric," the monk stood behind Ewan and watched him work over the feverish man. "Though you may have only joined us in death."

Ewan, having taken the name Alric, turned and smiled to the weary and depressed Brother Nevell. "You say none have survived this fever?"

"None, brother, and it puzzles us exceedingly for it struck the strongest of us first. We are wheedling down to the old and feeble, and the work around the monastery doubles."

Ewan sighed and looked back to the young man who convulsed in his pain and wiped his brow with the cloth soaked in herbal water. This fever had for certain taken some of the strongest, for the five of his men had lived not long past the first two weeks arrival.

The room was becoming warm in the midday. Ewan rose and patted the old monk's shoulder. "I will go out to the gardens for some fresh air and return to see what else can be done. You say you place the deceased outside the garden walls, yes?"

The skull white pate with barely a whisper of grey hair nodded, "True, true. We have fenced off the area as best we can to warn others away from the site."

Using the edge of his robe sleeve, Ewan patted at his brow. He needed to get outside and breath fresh air and feel the cool breeze under the willows of the garden. The room needed to open their shutters to let a breeze in. He also needed to inspect this burial. Four days from his arrival had been spent mostly helping with the chores that had fallen aside with the decrease of able bodied men, but now he would get to his appointed task and find out what was going on here, and if it had anything to do with the land at large.

Ewan crossed the room to the door and stepped outside into the heady scent of herbs and flowers. His vision swam as he breathed in deeply, and he took a moment to steady himself before continuing on to the place beyond the gardens. Heat had given to cold, and a shiver ran up his spine even in the heat of the day and the starting sheen of sweat upon his brow.

Ewan burned the note from Kiema carefully over the slight flame of the candle. The darkness of his small cell that was outfitted as a spartanly furnished room was briefly banished by the high light of the burning note, then gathered around him closely again.

He had to meet her and speak of what she knows and what he has found, but he could not. He had the fever. He knew it. Death was whispering in his ear every time he closed his eyes to rest. It beckoned now in comforting tones so sweet that it mixed his mother and father together in strength and affection. "Rest, friend. Let me help you to find your strength again. But you must rest."

"No," Ewan snarled into the darkness and then blew out the weakening light of the candle. He would complete his return note to Kiema once he knew more. Heels of his hands pressed and rubbed at his weary eyes, but he drew up from the well of determination and pressed the door open. Walking close to the wall of the narrow hallway, he felt his breath shallowing and he paused at the top of the stairs to regain a smoother pattern. The faint line of stairs illuminated by torches in sporatic wall sconces blurred before his eyes, so he closed them and relied on memory and touch to make his way down.

At the foot of the stairs he opened green eyes bloodshot and burning, narrowed to the point of tolerance and still able to find the door along the corridor to the gardens. The night air teased and chilled sweat moistened hair around his forehead and neck. Ewan found a shovel near the other garden instruments and used it as a crutch more than he carried it with him to the burial behind the garden wall.

There he chose a grave freshly dug and began to remove the earth. If the brothers that remained found him here, he would not have to wait for the fever to get him. Old men and little boys or not, they would see him burned as much outside as in for this sacrilege. He pressed on into the methodical motion of removing the dirt as time swept by.

Fever or not, it should not take him long if, in true Broden fashion, the graves were not deep. The Brodens, different from other followers of The Twelve, believed that if an animal wish to feed upon the flesh of a man, it was merely the circle of life. A grave was merely to keep other men from benefitting from death of his own. True enough, the shovel hit something firm beneath a layer of dirt. Ewan bent down and brushed away the remains of the dirt.

His fingers curled about the strange protrusion and lifted a rock. "What?" he whispered. Then half blind by the fever, the whisperings starting again, he scrambled from that grave and to the next nearby to begin a frantic dig. Here, too, a bed of rocks and not the bed of a departed soul lay. "They are...gone," Ewan pulled together thoughts and information trying to know why. Why the monastery would do this, or who might do this, but everything was awash with fever. He pulled and tugged at the edge of the grave to try and crawl his way back to the monastery, but he could go no further. He lay upon the dirt strewn grass and listened to the whispers as his body convulsed. "Sleep, friend. We will meet soon."

Stop fighting and fleeing from me. Your body will not take this long.

Ewan?s thoughts ran through the maze of his mind. Compartments of memories beckoned him to pause, but he could not as he tried to hide away from the voice that kept following him.

We need each other now. You must meet me.

?No!? Ewan flung back as a man running tries to throw something across the path behind him to block pursuit.

He no longer knew if he lay in the ravages of fever or that this capture within his thoughts was his torturous life after death. This might be his eternity, to remember so much of his life and be haunted by voices sweet and sinister. His mind became a desert road barren of places to hide.

These were his thoughts. Control was his here, and he willed it to be so. Words of Compass came back to him and he knew what he had to do. He had to hide part of himself and offer up something to this voice. A decoy or created copy to cast out as bait. There was no other way to find out what would happen or a way out of the maddening fever. Maybe that is why the others died. They had kept fleeing until they wore out their souls into nothingness and could not fight back.

Ewan released some thoughts upward like a kite of mirrors without a line to tie him. Like so much of his memories and his thoughts, Ewan tucked part of himself away, hidden far inside. He wondered how long he could hide without going completely mad.

There you are. Came the voice so pleased in its discovery. This will be much easier now. Do not fear.

He had given enough, and in that he had answered one question. This was not his Mistress Death come to claim him, hunting him down through the ravages of fevered thoughts. This was something else sharing his mind and seeking him inside his own body.

We will heal now. Ease into slumber, my friend. The voice seemed to caress him into peacefulness.

?The fever has broken,? this voice swam in some miasma of awareness just above him.

?My Laral?s memories think well of this man,? another voice familiar in a far cry across a canyon fashion.

?He fought long. We might have lost him and our kin.?

Ewan?s stomach felt sore and sour. He wanted to open his eyes, but the voice in his head echoed softly. Sleep.