It was odd how when one was focused enough, through whatever outside influences, to find the corrupt, it became such a simple task. He had left the inn, stirred into action by a fresh reminder of the constraints put upon him. There were some things he could not do without compromising the honor and integrity of others. This, however, he would do, and if he fall in such actions from honor or life, then it was as he had always accepted.

He had learned of this particular man?s transgressions some weeks back while bargaining with a merchant on behalf of Yransea for grain. Chester Fellos, Esquire, enjoyed the excellent wines from all areas of Rhydin not because he had a good nose for wine, but because he had gained favor with many wealthy land owners for his clever manipulation of land rights and investment dealings off the backs of the laborers and tenant farmers. At the time, Ewan felt the man was sloppy enough that he would eventually be found out, but things had changed. He was not willing to let possibilities linger out there in all things.

The home of Fellos was just south of the city walls on a grand tract of land with its necessary gardens and walls. Necessary but not effective against Ewan?s stealth and skill. Days of his youth spent upon climbing the walls of houses to sneak in and play practice jokes on the unsuspecting dwellers gave him an uncanny knack for entering some of the most difficult places. Nights of his adulthood and requirements of his Majesty had made not even walled citadels safe from him, though he used other means to gain entrance to those.

His following her out of the Inn and remaining in the buildings shadow to watch her, piqued her curiosity greatly. Of course she got absolutely nowhere when asking for the reason why. Only a vague reply about him seeing to his 'duties', followed by a comment that she can handle things herself. His words brought forth more questions. Many more than she dared to ask ... rather, press him for, since he was disinclined to answer a couple of them in the first place. In her opinion, he is acting a bit strange. Particularly since he remarked that if she is going to kill him, to just get it over with now. Not being able to place her finger on the problem(s), she certainly has no doubts he is under a lot of pressure. He is driven, but by what?

Suddenly finds their little talk ending quicker than she wishes, and he takes his leave. Oh! But, the need to follow him took precedence to socializing. And that is exactly what she does, remaining far enough behind not to call attention to herself. And always ... always ... using the shadows.

Southbound, to a place which appears to hold some wealth.

Keen gaze watches as he stealthily breaks into the hus via window. An arching of one eyebrow at how little time and effort it takes him to gain that entrance. He does not remain inside overly long, and when next she sees him, he is carrying a man outside. Whether the male is dead or alive, she does not know, nor does she know if he is the owner of the residence. Once Ewan deposits the 'unknown' on the lawn and makes his way back inside, the decision is made to see if the male still breathes. Unfortunately, she is unable to complete the task since the Bordermann returns too quickly with two animals. Luckily for the Seafaring Warrior, the hund does not detect her scent even as she remains hidden in the darkness.

The hus now ablaze, as are her thoughts about one Master-Of-Arms by the navn of Ewan Corinsson. Needless to say, she is viewing him in an entirely different light.

A sly grin forms.

Ewan heard the scratching of shovel blade against earth not distant from his hiding beneath the lamenting branches of the willow. He crept out of the tree?s cocoon and made his way to the man and his partner with no intention of concealing the sound of his footsteps. ?Who are ye?? One of them asked, turning with shovel still in hand. The shuttered lamplight at the edge of the freshly dug dirt barely gave sight to Ewan?s arms, must less his cowl concealed face.

?Merely someone who hopes you?ll give up this atrocity and turn your ways,? Ewan sighed mockingly, ?But I feel that is unlikely.?

The other man had stopped digging. His knees unsteady at this confrontation. ?Gabriel, you said this was easy money??

?Hush you,? Gabriel snarled and came up from the small pit where they had made quick progress to their next grave. ?Look you, they?s dead and they don?t need it. It?s not harming none to take a bit.?

Ewan was all too aware Gabriel was only talking to try and find his moment. The words were too hollow, and the matter too clear. Ewan knew about the dark supply from graves, and he would have to be disposed with, or do the disposing. A shovel came flying at him and brought Ewan down to one knee, but the Master of Arms was more than prepared for such clumsy attacks and his arm came out straight. The dagger from his hip only flashed a brief moment in the shuttered light before it was buried hilt deep in Gabriel?s throat. The man sputtered out blood and fell to his knees, hands wanted to lift to remove the dagger, but disbelief and difficulty breathing confused him. His companion cried out a whimper and tried to run with a tell tale sign of moisture darkening a pant leg. Ewan threw the shovel nearby at the man?s legs bringing him down with a clatter and yelp against the stone of a tomb.

?Swords and arrows,? Ewan cursed under his breath and he rushed to the man. A sigh of relief as the man was discovered to be only unconscious. Gabriel was kicking out the last of his life, and Ewan ended that quickly with a twist and slice of the dagger with such thorough force the man?s head separated from his body. More blood pooled around the man. Unlike at Feris?s, Ewan did not clean up the body or the area, but let the blood flow and soak the ground of the desecrated.

In methodical precision, Ewan set about staging the unknown companion. He was tied up with a string from the pack they had been using to haul their loot. When the cemetery grounds crew and eventually the authorities found the men, a newly revived accomplice would splutter out the entire story in fear of a dark man he would not be able to describe and also hope that he would get off easy with jail time.

A breeze of chilly portent stung at his face barely concealed by a dark cowl. Carried mournfully on that breeze was a child?s whimper. A dark taint hardened in his chest. Ewan had hoped he would not hear it. He had hoped his information had been wrong. The contacts and tunnel works at his disposal had given him more freedom and ease in his many dealings, but when this particular crumb of news came to him, he abandoned his usual patience and desire to tread carefully. The night and day of illness that kept him from further news only hastened his need to act now.

Soundless steps brought him around a corner where a boy and a girl sat huddled close to warm each other. Purposely Ewan scuffed his boot across a stone. Two dirty faces jerked up just as timid spirits shrank back, leaving eyes nearly empty of light. ?I will not harm you,? Ewan spoke though knowing there would be little reason for them to believe him, and he did not see change in their countenance. ?Where is your mother??

A stick thin finger rose as the little boy pointed to the window shuttered and barred above him, ?Inside wit? pap doin? ?er duty.? He repeated words from his father?s mouth; words that meant torture.

Duty: a word like many others, so easily corrupted by intention. Duty with honor or duty with subjected terror and pain. The thought soured Ewan?s expression, but he controlled the distaste while his mind continued on its dark quandary. How many others suffered in such ways, and he?could he stop them all? And what then? What could he do then?

He had other reasons to be here and she had only justified, lessened a concern she might still somehow love this man. In an economy of motion, he entered the bedroom of chaos. Furniture overturned and knick knacks littering the floor. Laying horizontal across the bed the man lay with a satiated smile. His breath though, was too shallow for sleep, and Ewan kept to his care, walking around to the head of the man.

?Aww..yer a cautious one, ain?t ye?? the man growled as he opened his eyes and, in quick motion for such a large man, rose up to turn and face Ewan. ?You been the one bedding my woman, are ya??

No use in arguing with such a one as this, Ewan said nothing, stood still, sword across his body almost as if he were saluting. ?I asked ye a question?or are ye dumb, eh?? The man was given time to get his own blade from the floor, and he came around some scatterings across the floor to face Ewan. ?Mattering not, I say. I?ll have ye down and take that fancy little prick of a blade.? He guffawed and came at Ewan in a thunderous manner.

Ewan dodged and deflected a turn, a parry, and the mark of a pattern coming to his mind as the dance of the sword continued. A continual movement of feet over the uneven flooring as Ewan, ducked and returned blows blocked and avoided in turn. The man was not a fool to the manners of fighting, but he did not have something as so many lacked ? patience. Time would play its tricks upon the man?s frustrations until Ewan did the unexpected just as the man came to bear upon his final stroke. Ewan closed in instead of blocking and dancing away, drew the knife from his vest as his short sword kept the man?s blade busy, and he cut the man?s entrails from him in a swift circle of flesh.

There was always dismay. What surprise held in that face so sure of his strength and his ability to know that his life puddles at his feet. There would be a lot for Ewan to clean up as the man dropped with a thud as his life continued to pour out of him. With a sigh, Ewan saw to his blades before he would begin on the filth of the gutted man.

The words confused Ewan as he turned to the speaker. The woman, even if she were able to walk, would not sound like that, so his dismay at seeing Shylah there was not concealed in any slight way. There were many questions he wanted to ask ? how? when? why? And not a one of them did he actually ask, because Shylah was a mystery to him. But of one thing he was certain: she did not look like she was there to kill him, nor did she sound like it.

?My apologies. Had I known you were tagging along,? there was one question tucked away in the words, ?I would have made sure to leave you a leg or two to hack off.? He finished cleaning his blades and started to arrange the body. "Well, I suppose I did actually leave you those, but he's gone and no sense in getting brutal with the dead." The Master of Arms left the insides of the man out, but he rolled the man overtop of them face down. As he worked, he spoke more to himself than to Shylah or the woman who had managed to crawl her way to the entrance of the room. ?I should have waited until I had something to show for his misdeeds.?

When he looked over to the doorway, the woman?s battered face and curled up body debated that statement with him. Her eyes were swollen so greatly as to be barely slits of vision. ?I will see you to a healer, ma?am,? he offered.

?Nay, I?ll be takin? myself in the morn, but you?re needin payment,? her head barely followed the sound of his movement or his voice.

Ewan walked towards Shylah and looked at her when he answered the lady, ?No payment.? He then walked past and to the outside, where he spoken to the children, ?Go in to your rooms and go to sleep. There are no living nightmares in there now.? He watched the children fumble up on chill weakened legs like fawns just learning to walk. They kept his cloak about them and went inside. He waited at the dark corner of a building for Shylah to hear what she had to say, and to say a few things himself.

He waited patiently in surveying his memories with sharp detail of the path to this place and to the intent of this night. He had been so sure he was careful in his going. Perhaps he had moved to hastily? And what now? Now Shylah knew, and while she was one of the few he felt he could trust, just what would that trust entail with something like this? How far does their friendship go?

"No," he whispered and shook his head, "No, it isn't that." It was that the illusion of control that was so quickly snuffed with her appearance. He had to accept that. He had to admit, no matter what he did in this land, there were others with more talents that could surpass him. He had no control. If his dealings had been known by Shylah, they were probably known by others. "By your leave land, remember?" He chided himself softly. He was acting petulant and sulky, and he did not like it.

So, when Shylah approached offering his cloak, he smiled, an almost sheepish, or perhaps embarrassed smile, "Thank you, Shylah. I gather you saw them to resting?" He takes the cloak and drapes it over his arm. "I apologize for my behavior. Your appearance brought up an emotion I was fighting against, and I did not treat you fairly." His words were true, and should she ask more of him, he would answer. But for now he spoke on, "I am not sure whether I want to hear you have special talents that kept you from my notice or that I was just that sloppy in my concealment." His smile one of weary resignation, "Or, I could hope that you simply knew of this situation as well, but I would be grateful for an answer, whatever the truth may be." He calmly moved from his lean against the building, "How did you know to be here?"

Shylah parted and he lingered in that shadowed corner crafted by the juxtaposition of two buildings. He watched and listened to the whispers of running water along stones and vermin against refuse layering such corners as the one he occupied. The cowl concealed him just enough so that when he looked up to examine windows of the line of buildings, the vague and random lamplights would not light his eyes.

His question answered and, for the moment, he was satisfied with what he had been told, Ewan drifted from the corner. There were other places to stop this night and other streets to walk. His manner and his height he changed as he broke from shadow to light at times it was necessary. A tunnel entrance, rumored to once be the tunnel system asylum escapees used, was some distance off. He rounded a cottage tucked cozily between two larger brownstones to its gardened backyard. There a large pot sat among the array of many others. This entrance was always troublesome, and definitely not to be used when one was in a hurry. Ewan had to be careful of the dirt and plant concealed lid that made the pot look like just another planter and not the door to a tunnel below. Carefully he balanced the lid on the edge as he slipped down until his feet touched a rung of the ladder leading down. Just as he dipped beneath the lip of the planter, he lifted the lid cautiously and brought it over, keeping it level so not to let dirt go sliding off.

With the entrance closed once again, Ewan dropped down into the murky tunnel. Earth and tang of metal cut stone mixed with animals' musky scent. He could see one lamp some distance down, like a ship light off in a sea. There was also someone waiting beneath the lamp. Adjusting eyes gave note of a familiar stoop and twitching left hand. A soft grin lit Ewan's face as he walked forward. "Early morning, Gurin."

"Oh, that it is, but you've had a busy time of it, so the tunnels tell me," the old thief didn't waste a moment, "You'll be leaving?"

"Could be." It would not be much longer before this all would have to stop for him in one way or another.

"Hm."

And as ever, that was the meat of their conversation as they walked on in silence back through the tunnels to a convenient exit for each to continue their work.

A bitter ache began to sour the strength in his arms and legs as they tired of holding him up against the curve of the bridge?s underbelly. The slight miscalculation of timing brought him too early to his place of hiding. To have left and returned would have spoiled the plan beyond redemption.

For a week he had watched the skiff pull into the bay to confirm the pattern divulged to him by the tunnelers to find they had spoken true. Every three days, in the crease of time between darkness and the shadow of dawn, a skiff would deftly rope up to a side of the harbor wall and a hushed hurry of activity would begin. Crates concealed beneath rolled up sails and fishing nets would be quickly loaded onto the small vessel. The marks of the original owners sanded off the crates and now on their way to a new owner. The dock workers making double pay stealing here and there from their employers and turning a profit for selling the items off to another. It had taken months, according to the tunnelers to break the silence of some insiders. Now it was time to break down this little side work.

Muscles of his legs twinged with the warning of coming cramps if he did not move soon. Half a moment too long and he would barely be able to move for the fight to come. The prow of the skiff came into view, moving along the quay towards the rendezvous point beyond the bridge where Ewan waited. Three men hunched low over oars and tiller as they passed blow. Ewan released his hold to land solidly on the center of the boat, startling the men, but he knocked the two rower?s heads together, abruptly ending their conscious state. The third man drew blade and rose, Ewan faced him with a dagger at the ready. The boat rocked beneath their feet as they tried to overpower one another as well as stay aboard. As much as Ewan wanted to keep this from bloodshed, the other man was not so hampered by morality. A stroke or two, bloodied Ewan?s shoulder and leg, his movements restricted by the sore tension of earlier and the skiff now lazily floating with the previous energy the men rowed ebbing away. The man?s body was no better off, bleeding from slices across his chest and groin, but evidently not giving up for all that. With a scowl, Ewan changed his tactic, closed in, grabbed the wrist of the opponent as his own dagger drove deep into the man?s gullet, ?You could have lived, you fool.? Jerking his blade free as he pushed the man over the side. Another body for the bay.

Ewan positioned the rowers over their oars, though he leaned forward and worked them himself until he came into range of the meeting place, where he threw the rope perhaps earlier than normally would have been done. He hoped the shadows that played upon the waters and the wall of the wharf would keep his trick unspoiled for a few moments longer. Just long enough was all he needed.

He took several steps back. The men needed to be drawn out to give Ewan room, and so he wouldn?t have to drag their unconscious bodies out of the boat or set another body into the water. Bodies in bodies, his time was running out. The early workers of the city, those called to trade before the cracking of dawn, would be out and about, as well as the bleeding draining his energy. Adrenaline would only give him so long.

Shifting from foot to foot, he rocked back and forth to keep his energy up as the men crawled, still groggy but determined, from the craft below. It was, in truth, an equal match: the men not together in mind, and Ewan not together in body. Blessings in disguise, blood sticking meant it wasn?t dripping to the ground for a trail that he would have to clean up. The thought on the matter was not allowed to last as the two rowers finally engaged in trying to take him down. He tried to close in and finish this quickly, but they were having none of that, playing to the strength of the reach of their swords, and kept caution as their guide. They read his movements as strength flagged and his wounded leg and shoulder gave sign of decreasing mobility.

A pattern started to form; too easily did fighters drop into rhythms. Ever the hard thing to avoid, but soon Ewan had them dead to rights, almost literally. One dagger against his bracered forearm blocked a coming blow, and Ewan rammed his wounded shoulder against the belly of the man, bringing him down with a grunt. A fortunate crack of the man?s head against a crate put him out, and the other man took the moment to draw in close to Ewan, a thought of opportunity that was his. An unfortunate and incorrect thought as Ewan ducked the over eager strike. The man?s momentum carried him past the Master of Arms, and Ewan cracked him in the temple with the hilt of a dagger. The second man fell atop his companion.

Now, all he had to do was hobble to the nearest tunnel entrance, make sure a tunneler got word to the authorities quickly, and see to the wounds well enough to get back to the manor. Once the authorities arrived at the wharf, they would find two crates of merchandise and the other crates of unconscious men.