With the rain mostly subsided, they had found a clearing, some distance away, in which to set up camp.

Adimus sat inside the wagon. “I’ve a terrible headache.” he’d told them; it worked well, since it had been established that he suffered from them, if only that it made him seem like a complainer.

He wasn’t exactly lying, as again he hadn’t gotten any sleep, but the physical pain was dulled by the distractions of his gnawing worry.

Laina had come in to check on him. The arm was pale and numb, and so she bandaged him and gave him a potion to help him sleep. "You will be alright. You must tell no one." She warned, just before he dozed off, no doubt from she exhaustion. When he'd awoken, his fingernails had turned blue-black and when he shined the lantern on it its shadow wasn't there.

He didn’t know what she meant to say now, he could see the concern on her face, yet she said nothing. This was Almsday, the day where she wore her veil all day. She would not eat today, or show her face, and would not be heard speaking, other than muttered prayers in recitation under her breath.

Adimus, when he was younger, would visit her at The Beat anyway on those days. He fondly remembered following her around, if only to entertain her or raise her spirits, as he reasoned it must be boring or lonely to spend all day in solitude, and he could see by the smiles that touched even her eyes that she did enjoy it. As he grew older though he came to respect and even understand such times, which spoke to him across the lines of religion.

Meav had grown much the same way, assigning her menial chores in the back that day at first, saying that she ought to enjoy her day off and not be tied down by such things, but came to make it the day of reflection it was meant to be soon thereafter--he just wished with all his heart that it wasn’t this one.

He had looked at his shadow while the sun still shown, saw that something wasn't right; nothing about it could be right. All the boy could repeat in his mind were the words he'd always heard 'Mortals don’t get touched by Shades and live.' The chill allowed him to wear his great kilt in a tossed hood style without a second glance, allowing him to conceal it and cradle it as would one with a sling.

Swirls of vibrant red and deep green and bright yellow leaves danced in the path that led down in the town of Adaire the following day, stark against the white and black brick paving stones and houses that dotted the main street. It was much larger than Balfour, but could barely be worthy of the title of ‘town’. Adimus marvelled at faces that seemed all-too-familiar. This town had a Niall, and an Anwell, a Brian too. Most hurried through the streets, as if the rain had made them all late for some life or death task, paying no mind to the carriages as they went about their daily do. Most.

Strange ornaments adorned the white wattle and daub houses. In windows and chimneys and on walls and doors these talismans sat in mute vigilance where strung, mounted or dangled. Elaborate criss-crossed tangles of mystic branches, wicker worked, barred some of the portals entirely, while black iron shutters barred the windows of the more well-to-do, bells of black iron, sprigs of holly, vials of white sand, pairs of open scissors, horse shoes, half-burned plugs of sage or dried jasmine flower. Alara with a quick prompt from Argent piled into the wagon with Delaney, sure to hide her face deep in her hood.

"Briskly.” he warned the others.

Lord Pembroke greeted several people as he came into town, all platitudes until one stood before him astride a horse.

“Weylan.” Pembroke saluted him.

He was a proper city guard. The brooch of his family, worn above his iron chainmail unblemished, shown upon his livery with neither stain nor crease: the boar's head on white and blue, crest of clan Pembroke. The chopped, smooth look of his sideburns and his well-groomed toss of hair showed that appearances were important in his station. It gave him an air of authority that transcended the scrawny stature that seemed to plague his family.

“Welcome back, uncle.” He said. How mannerly.

He stood. “This is Baron Torrin von Krasad and company. My travelling companions. They are to be treated with the utmost hospitality.”

Weylan gave a flustered look, “If you’d told me you were going to take the Ruined Road we’d have sent a contingent of guards." Resting a hand on a polished sword hilt with a black leather glove he commented. “It's a miracle you weren't killed by bandits. Or worse. Found some more Nis hiding in the barrows."

"Truly?" Thadeus stammered. "We encountered a Grimm."

"What?!"

"We're unhurt." He assured him. "It was my own folly and fault." He strained a chuckle, hitching up his pants. "Did give us quite the scare, all in all." He looked at everyone behind him, who shared the same strained sentiment, all except Adimus. "Besides, I had Ambrose with me."

"Ambrose." He acknowledged him with a nod.

"Milord." He saluted.

"We will follow up with a patrol. I am glad you're well." Was all he said of it.

"So never you mind, how are your wardens?"

"One fallen. Otherwise it was a victory. We've overcome the bulk of them, routed them back to the hills. We've subdued a shy half dozen of them."

"Subdued? Why not let the little buggers meet their end with cold iron and be done with it?"

"That's not how it works, uncle. If they be Tala fleeing the Magustrate we'll have to do politics with the Menkarans. And, Crom guide us, if they are Seelie we may incite a war. No uncle, McDougal is with them on their way to Cairnfang as we speak."

Shades were a laughing matter, but mention of this man's name had apparently soured his face back to seriousness. "Cadifor? He..he came through here?” he stammered.

“...Yes, but you were away. Enjoying cakes.” He gave a playful wink, and with a couple more glances and a salute he left them. The comments were pure levity and facetiousness and had no malice in them. "He and his conscriptors again." He elaborated, "Crom knows why; not a worthy footman to be found in all of Macmearion."

"So we've bandits and stray Nis within our borders?"

The man shook his head "Most come from from without, Crossing the Ruined Road. I have by the authority of house Foxwell that it is so."

"Indeed." Argent simply nodded along.

"Knaves and vagrants from the contested lands on the northern border." Weylan explained. "All the more reason to use more discretion, uncle. Pardoner's Path is much more well guarded."

"Why would Torant not give them asylum? Rougehastier's court has sworn fealty to the Lord Protector, by now they should have a voice in the privy council, no doubt from some well-fed statesmen that can air their grievances."

Weylan sighed. "Lots of goings on in Torant too these days. The noble houses squabble worse than the Ormandians."

Thadeus concured, "Only the fear of imperial encroachment keeps those two-faced blaggards decent." He glanced back at Krasad, who gave no response.

The Whispermonger seemed to agree. "Doubtless."

"Tell me, who is this man of Ormond who has such ears for the machinations of kings and rulers?"

At that Weylan dismounted and strode up to greet them.

"Little, save fear, keeps a man decent at all nowadays. Dark times. Argent, a bard of Bowen." The minstrel introduced himself, dismounting to meet him.

Taking off his black leather glove, Weylan shook their hands warmly, each in turn starting with his, until he came to Adimus. “What's this? A Grigor? “Then you were in safe hands after all. Well met.” He reached out a hand.

"And you." He replied in the smoothest voice he could feign.

He raised his left hand of course, which led to an awkward exchange where Weylan hastily leant his gloved hand to meet it. “Left-hander, eh? Puts a man on his feet in combat. I should like a spar sometime.” he smiled, trying to put him at ease.

Finally he came to the Baron himself. “Milord, we are honored.” Torrin took the invitation gracefully.

Thadeus patted Adimus on the shoulder as he passed, following his nephew. "You see, lad. There's much work that needs doing by our lordships nowadays." It was meant as an excuse and apology to Luloch, he was more concerned at the fact that he didn't feel pat.

Argent took his hat off, and continued his reasoning. "Pembroke is the clan that enforces the edicts of the stewardship...as I understand it. Why, milord, if I may, do you take it upon yourself to fight brigands and the like?"

"Much has changed in the years you were gone, Whispermonger." Said Thadeus.

"But McDougal holds our army, the army of the king, that nick has not changed." Argent responded. "Last I checked he had men to spare. Foreign invaders or simple ruffians, surely they could spare a few bannermen to ease your burden."

"Oh, his conscriptors have subjugated half the countyside and made them ready to ride, all at the Council of the Kingship's command."

Argent's eyes widened in shock. "Dark times indeed, that Menkara would allow Lord McDougal to muster a force in their borders. And a shame you must pick up the slack in their stead. And here I was, trying to witness to you for the Grigor and his mission…"

"Come again?" Said Weylan.

"This brother in arms seeks assistance with the Fae himself." He pointed at Adimus.

Weylan looked to his uncle questioningly.

"We enforce the local laws as well now, not just in our own county but abroad. We are the Royal Constabulary of the Stewards now." His sincere eyes fell on Adimus. "Sorry lad, I just can't."

"But wasn't that the charge of clan Casey?"

Adimus zoned out. His teeth chattered uncontrollably. He was certain he was beginning to lose sight in his eye.

"As I have said, Whispermonger, much has changed."

"Hmph." His look was one that Adimus read as disconcertedness that melted into delight. "No worries. So, an official keeper of the peace, eh? Can't think of a clan more deserving. Come on then, let's toast to this new revelation." He put his hands on both of their shoulders.

The place even had a Green Beat, the boy had found, albeit much larger and more extravagant, if a little less well named. Nestled atop the cresting hill opposite whence they’d come, it served as a civic building and alehouse and tavern just the same, Stackstone Lodge was its name.

By dim beaming sunlight they’d all gathered around the communal longfire in the center of the room, to tear at spatchcocked chickens cooked between stacked planes of granite, and drink pints of stout.

Adimus sat all to himself in the corner, clawing at the wooden table with his fingernails in mad anxiety.

He overheard a conversation the bard made with the common folk, of a ruckus from a Cait Shii’ who attempted to rob the general store through the back window and was caught by one of Weylan's men, after that, Alara came to sit with him. They watched from afar.

“Not a normal everyday occurrence, but less than fortuitous for us." He spoke to her without bring attention. "We’d best be going as soon as possible.”

“Why should you give mind when we leave?” Tirlag said, elbows on the table, straddling the stool eyes on the massive leg of fowl she held. It had come out rather defensively. “Argent, Bard of Bowen.” it was slathered in mockery, “You don’t have to leave with us.”

"Yes, minstrel, you needn't be so hasty." Thadeus had overheard them. "Stay with us, tell us your tales, regail us with your songs, I'll give you special accommodation and all the drink you can survive." He laughed at himself.

"It's a generous offer, truly. But one I must regretfully decline. You see, we must away to Hewnyleigh, before the inns are well and full." The lord gave a questioning look. The bard continued "We've many ears to harken and many heartstrings to pull for our Pledging."

He almost choked. "Pledging?"

"Surely you haven't forgot."

The man finished his drink quickly. "Goodness. Ten years do go by." He pulled the handkerchief from his pocket to dab the sweat from his head. "Weylan!"

"I'll be attending. I've already made the provisions." groaned his nephew. "My lord will be...indisposed."

He glanced at them all with darting eyes.

"Good. Very good." He said.

Argent leered at Tirlag, but was courtly just the same. “You’ve been known to say that you are from Marron, correct?” he responded, after a moment when Thadeus was distracted with his nephew. Tirlag grunted. He continued “I’ve been there. A reasonable bunch, sailors. They will take any help they can get. Invite any manner of Gentryman or Fair Folk aboard if they have sea legs. But I don’t think you know what one would fancy of an imperial, a Fae cait shii, and a free urisk this far inland. Especially ones so secretive.” He was sure to glance at Alfred to ensure he took no offense.

“I think it’s unfair to say such things about the Ormondians.” Ambrose piped up. Everyone froze. “Why, my uncle lives in Tavishire and used to keep a Killmoulis in his home. Fed him bread. Was right nice to him and he was nice back. The thing cobbled his shoes, fixed his door, cleaned the house.” the conversation trailed off when everyone appeared less than interested. “Besides, you saw how Count Pembroke enjoyed Ellylon!" He finished his tankard of ale.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Alfred sat and watched, sipping his tea. Adimus could tell he had something to say but he bided his time.

Argent dismissed him. “Fear and reverence," he pled now to the reasoning of Alfred "they are selfsame, friend: both born from ignorance. Do you think he'd laugh and carry on if it were the real Great Hunt? If he were the sport of the spirits that fly and hunt men for pleasure?”

Laina suddenly spoke “No. One always fears the unknown. The difference between fear and reverence is whether one knowing something as unknown, and honoring it as truly unknowable...” It was the first time Adimus had ever seen her break her silence. There was something different about her voice. She smiled comfortingly at Adimus. "However, we must away."

“I warn you all to make haste just the same.” the Bard said, ignoring her clear missing of the point. To punctuate he got up and left. Alfred followed.

Adimus looked at Laina, whose eyes widened. Trying to hide the shake in his legs, he stood “I think he is right.” he said. Tirlag glanced at him from her food. He continued, "I know no one has asked me, but we should leave. My mission is dire as well."

“You’re right. No one asked you.” Tirlag said. Laina twisted her face in disgust.

There was silence until Rigel finished his plate, then got up to retire. Finally, Alfred spoke “I still stand by my decision. I think his political knowledge could be an asset when it’s time to decide.” It took Adimus a moment to realize they weren’t talking about him.

Then, when he was sure he was gone, Tirlag chimed back in. “I think he is simply trying to make himself seem helpful.” The bard strung his lips like a bow ready to fire, but Tirlag cut him off. “But he’s not. Besides, already got one extra aboard by your graces.” She answered, looking at Adimus. She snarfed down some food. “Go ahead and invite the whole Named city, why don’t you?” Her eyes shot curiously up to Adimus as she stood. She grinned, whether it was a mocking jeer or a sincere smirk Adimus wasn’t sure. “I voted that we be rid of you. To continue alone on your little quest." She shrugged, then shot a sultry grin. "No hard feelings."

Adimus felt faint, but the room read it wrong.

Argent lept to, and whispered something in the wizard's ear. His eyes widened.

“Is it fear or reverence and keeps his tongue stiff?” bemused Alara guffawed when she saw the look on the boy’s face, what he thought was his response to her judgemental glare.

“...We’re leaving. Before the catchpole takes the thief to Hewnyleigh and we're forced to meet him roadside. We need to make up time anyway.” Said Alfred.

Tirlag stopped with a sigh, before directing herself instead to the stable.

“My words instill both.” Alfred smirked back at them, and he got up as well.

"Adimus. You come with me." Alfred gestured with a nod that beckoned him to follow.

He found himself in one of the vacant back rooms.

“In here.” he beckoned.

The Seer shined his lamp unhooded. It blinded him. "You were bitten." a small part of the boy was relieved at the acknowledgement. But the man's voice was even, unreadable, unaesthetic, like a man trying to steel himself from some trauma. "Show me."

He hesitated, the Seer looked into his eyes. "Be brave, Adimus."

Adimus volunteered it: it had been hidden long enough.

The Faeth picked up the arm, Adimus only knew because he saw it in his hands. He adjusted his glasses, fogged from the beading sweat of worry. "Well?" The bard pled. They doused the lantern. Their figures were looming shadows.

"He is in Dissolution. His Nature and Form are separating." It took him a moment to reason that no one knew what he meant, and it seemed all the worse to him to explain in non-sterile terms. "The wound will spread, like an infection no one can see or cure, until he becomes one of them." He adjusted his glasses awkwardly. "The rate of this process seems to be determined by the type of Shade, but eventually." He had neither the heart--nor the need to--finish his thought.

A new numbness befell Adimus, one that he could not be sure was real as a symptom, but felt real enough to make everything else unreal. “I’m sorry.” the boy kept muttering. “I’m sorry. I let it in...I let it in.”

They ignored him. “Is it..? Can...can it be cut off? Is there an apothecary, a barber that can help?” Adimus asked.

But Alfred said nothing. Then Laina peeked her head around the corner. She too said nothing, but her eyes warned: ‘You will say nothing of this.’

“How long?” Argent asked.

“It’s hard to tell at this rate.”

“What do we do?” The bard answered for the boy, before he could even utter the words himself.

Alfred silently stood and left the room. Argent lingered for a while, he could only see his silhouette in the darkness, its shoulders buckling from the shed of silent tears.

* * * * *

It took a lot of convincing to push Torrin and the others out the door, but promises that there were bigger fish to fry sang to him. “Lord Cadifor McDougall is there, and Ross of Ward, and all of clan Mathune. All hold powerful seats on the Council of Princely Stewards.” Argent had told him. That, and with fancies of the windfall he would receive from the party’s ‘excavation’, he’d most graciously bid his farewells to Thadeus Pembroke and his ilk and was out of the town by sunset. Laina pressed hard as best she could to see it done as well.

Whether they would regret it or not they could never tell, as in some serendipitous twist, as if the gods themselves played some great caprice upon the bard or somehow favored the words of the haughty young lass, it poured rain, even more so than the day before; Adimus reasoned to himself that it was the wrath of the same gods coming down on them; he shivered all the more in the freezing downpour.

There was no room for both he and the provisions they’d gathered, and so the boy was now shunted out along with Laina. She’d had to help him get on his horse. Rigel and Argent rode further up ahead. The sky had darkened first from rain, then from night.

Laina straddled the horse and sat behind him, her arms around him shielding him from the buffeting winds with the hems of her robes. She was warm. He forgave her for her silence. He looked down when he felt something bristled on his leg. She held the hand.

The road to Hewnyleigh made the Ruined Road perhaps a bit of hyperbole, as little more than a wide muddy trail called the Lord’s March led from Adaire to Hewnyleigh.

Regil had went about the order of finding a level and dry spot for Torrin’s tent. Alfred sat around the lantern, looking over some old rolled up vellum manuscripts. Alara circled Krasad’s wagon like a vulture. Trickles could be heard in the dark as the rain spattered nearly an hour after they’d come to a stop. Finally the others started peaking their heads out.

Finally, when everyone was well distracted, Laina jumped down from the horse. “It’s time. Let’s go.”

She took the boy’s hand (his good one) and helped him from the horse. “Where are we going?” he said, but she hushed him. He left with her into the night air, their breath shown hard as they awayed. With wide, determined strides, her robe pulled up in her other hand they plodded through damp foliage.

She lead them down a steep embankment, slippery and difficult with loose clods of sliding sod and snagging roots, and into the treeline. Adimus watched all remnants of the wagon and horses and everyone disappeared. And then they walked some more. They came to a small copse of trees, its floor clear and its footing steady.

“The Airs in your body must be called back.” she said off-handedly.

“The what?”

“The Airs.” she said, almost sounding frustrated. “Your arm is dead. Gone is the fire that brings it warmth, the Earth that keeps it from rotting, the Water that keeps it from becoming stiff, and the Ether, the space between objects through which sensation is felt. They each leave at varying times upon death. But it is only the providence of the gods that tethers the soul to the body...” she explained. Finally they reached their destination.

“Ancient.” She commented upon the copse of stifling pines which said it so, the looming hutch of trees shielding all below them from the intrusion of the sun’s scrutiny until all smothered. She put her hand upon one of them. “Providence. Just as our many whispers hide secrets from unworthy ears, Adimus, they shall hide my actions from ignorant eyes.”

Trickles of water tinkled as the rain settled and dripped cold onto his head. There she stopped. He could hardly see. “What-what are we doing here?” he said.

She turned to him. Slowly, deliberately, she removed the shawl from her neck. “You must never tell anyone? Understand?” she said, shaking a finger at him. "You are so lucky." he smiled.

He didn’t answer, and she knew he didn’t have to. Her eyes softened, and in this tender softness there was a glow. She placed something in his numb hands. It was the fangs from the skeleton they had buried. Adimus thought the shadows played tricks on him but then his eyes trailed down. Her hand was warm. Warm. It took him a minute to process it. He looked up in astonishment. She began speaking. He didn’t know what language it was or what she said, but it didn’t matter. The symbol upon her cheek lit up like some hot brand, her eyes smoldered like the coals of a fire at the hearth on a cold night at home. She finished the prayers. A golden effulgence emanated from her mouth like flames. The warmth from it infected his hand, and then his whole body. As he looked at her he saw the glow completely enveloping her. The droplets scattered rays like embers and burned to steam where they fell too close. “There is a third mind one has, that the bard did not mention: when the unknown is brought before the one who is convinced he already knows.” The voice she spoke was both hers and someone else’s. “The mystical is always secret, never known. One must revere through faith alone. But for you Adimus, behold.” it muddled his mind, as the robe of flame came as from an infinitude away, far beyond her, called forth by her lips.

It suddenly clicked in the boy’s mind. “Ailen. And Eichgun!” he gasped. She placed a finger over his lip and looked into his eyes. Then they saw something over his shoulder.

Adimus’s eyes followed. The twinkle of little eyes reflected in the glow.

There the urisk stood, arms folded. Like a flame doused the glow faded was dispersed, but it was too late.

“Now what in All Creation was that!?” it said.

“Heathen Mansii Magic, I’d wager.” Tirlag’s voice came as she appeared from behind a tree, confidently adjusting her hat. “Though I’ve been from the Gulf of Three Cities to the Patient Sea and never seen anything like that.”

Laina’s eyes narrowed. The girl gave that same unknowable smirk. ‘Fear.’ It was undoubtedly fear. "What should we do with them, eh?” she asked her little accomplice.

Tension filled the air and Adimus snapped. The words just came out. “If you say a word about this I’ll tell everyone about you!”

Her eye widened for only a second. “Ohh! Bold you are, like Alara says, Watcher. All blustery and cross! Puts wind in my sails! It’s kind of…arousing.” Then she gave a mirthfully flirtatious grin, and watched him blush again. It broke just as quickly. “I don’t suppose there’d be any reason to do so, anyway. There’s no reward to gain.” She shrugged. Then looked at Laina critically. “Now this gift of yours...”

“It is not for the eyes of fools!” Laina said, reflexively pulling the boy away from the girl.

"Are you going to curse me, Mansii witch?"

"That's bigotous hogwash." Delaney scolded.

“Not that I believe that necessarily, but you’re not helping yourself very much.” She replied, hand on her hip, thumb on her sword. They locked gazes for quite some time. Finally she relaxed. “I’ll just call it a bird in the hand, love. I’m saying there’d be less than a good reason for me to tell, and I’m sure there’d be more than a good reason for you not to tell, right?”

Laina said nothing.

“Right...?”

"What is she talking about, Adimus?" Laina questioned.

“Let’s just kill ‘em!” Delaney snapped.

Tirlag let out a dainty gasp. She swatted her with her hat. “See, you don’t think these kind of things through! We’d have no alibi, and where would we hide the bodies? For shame! Uncouth little savage!”

“I was just saying what you were thinking.”

“Don’t play that card with me, you little hob.” she jested as they saundered off toward the camp.

* * * * *

Argent struggled with flint and steel and a bundle of tinder in the damp. “Name it all for Thrice’s sake!” he finally threw the bundle down. It landed right into a puddle, which didn’t help.

“You!” he pointed at Alfred. “Use that thing you had the other night. The staff.”

He was sitting on the edge of the covered wagon, casually examining a pile of notes.

“It’s not to be used for foolishness.” The Sumseer replied. If Laina had heard it she would have perhaps fallen in love.

“How is it to be used, then?” he shot back.

He lifted his head from his notes after he’d finished a few more sentences, only because he could feel the burning gaze upon him. “Not lightly.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think you know what this ‘thing’ is exactly.”

“Try me.”

Alfred lifted his head again and examined the joker for a few moments, weighing some unknown variable in his head. Then he smiled. “You’re a scholar as I. I can appreciate your thirst for knowledge. Tell me what you know and I’ll see if you’re correct. Go on, now.”

“It’s a Vesican Harp.” he announced. “Also called a Holy Distaff. They call upon the Otherworld to create, destroy or transform according to your Proclamation.”

“Proclamation?”

“Yes. It does what you tell it to do.” Alfred’s smile grew as the Bard talked, a smug sneer of victory.

Alfred pulled a rolled up leather bag from the pocket of his robe. “Proclamations.”

Argent stood for a moment, looking quite confused.

“What are those?”

“As you said. Proclamations. Graces and Spells in crystalline form.” He unrolled the bag. Inside were tiny shards of crystal of different size and luster. “There are thirteen known such. I have only five of them.”

“...But how?”

His smile fell. “That I’m not quite sure of. I’ve never seen one made, but I do know that they are imprinted by some other form of device.”

“Imprinted. Like a printing press?”

“Cymatic conduction. I don't quite understand it myself, but yes, it imprints the sound. Albeit imprecisely.”

The Seer rolled the bag back up and put it in his pocket. The Bard’s face twisted half awe and half stricken fear. “The voices of angels in a stone.”

Alfred reached again into his pocket, this time pulling one of the tiny twigs from it, like the one he’d lit the lamp with when Adimus and he had first met. “I just don’t think this situation requires the will of the gods.” he lent down, striking it. The tinder caught perfectly.

“So, now perhaps you can clarify something for me.” Alfred started to say. “Now that cloak--”

“Aha ha! It was a trick!” Argent exclaimed. “I’ll not tell you ‘till you tell me what I asked.” Alfred tried to hide his guilt as best he could. Then Argent looked at him, and he himself judged some such variable. “Why are you so interested in this cloak anyway?”

“Just academic curiosity.” He took off his white glove. “Let me just-!”

“Oh nononono!” Argent swatted at him. The Seer lept. “No!” Argent took off running around the wagon. Papers rained down from the sky in delicate swirls and right into the mud as the Seer took off after him.

Adimus came up just as it had started, and couldn’t help but chuckle in spite of himself. He looked down at the pile of papers, all now caked with mud. He started to gather them up, with his fresh new hand, until his eye caught a particular drawing; a facted pillar of crystal. “The Stone of Kings.” he whispered the title under his breath.

Argent tumble-rolled over both horses still tied to the wagon. Alfred took the long way around, giving the Bard ample time to get away, but when started to bolt his feet slipped, causing him to have to scurry once again to get away from him.

“It’s important to me, alright?!” Alfred huffed, starting to tire. They were both drenched now.

“You know what’s important to me? Piles of jade! Lordship! Glory to last the ages!”

He turned to run, but Tirlag had just come from out of the bushes. Adimus hadn’t seen whether it had been on purpose or not, and he would dismiss neither, but either way the Bard tumbled into her and Alfred saw his opportunity. He lept on the Bard. Argent tried to get away, putting a muddy hand in the Seer’s face. They rolled in the muck. They were both covered now.

Adimus quickly tried to snatch up more papers before they rolled over them, until he grabbed what appear to be a crinkled old map. Tirlag immediately walked over to him. “Give me that!” She snatched it from his hand and gave it to Delaney, then walked up to the both of them.

“Ack!” they said in unison as they grabbed them both by the ear.

“Inside. Now.”