I spend the night in a chair beside my brother's bed. Wake bleary-eyed to bright morning sunlight streaming through his huge bedroom window directly into my face. I turn my head, grumbling.

Whatever fool forgot to close those curtains last night, I will gut them.

I peel myself off the chair and step softly to Fal's side. He's sleeping peacefully, his half-elvish face looking very young without the worry that creases his waking features.

I don't want to leave him. Don't trust his soldiers like I trust myself. Unease roils in my gut. If someone made it inside the palace and succeeded in attacking Fal once, what's not to say that it won't happen again? And here I am, having to leave on some drat-blasted mission to recon on some fool-cursed paladin who won't mind his own business.

Falkirk wakes, shifting his head on the pillow and opening his eyes to meet mine. I stuff away my unease and smile at him.

"I have to go." I whisper. "I'll check in regularly, alright? Do try to stay away from excitement, and please don't have your physician executed if you don't like something he says. A good doctor is very hard to come by these days."

Fal grins tiredly at me. "I'll rest." He promises. "Come back soon, Blackbird."

I touch his cheek briefly in reply, dig my slate marble out of my pocket, and whisper to it the name of the paladin's last known location.

Vezgaxur.

Fal and the bedroom fade to misty white. My cells grate through inter-dimensional barriers. And then the dark streets of a sleeping city form around me. Shadows abound here, only pushed back by the occasional dim flame inside of a glass street lamp globe. I have appeared in one of these shadows; someone's tall, stone garden wall is at my back. I hesitate for a second, getting my bearings. My body gently protests the abrupt time-shift and adjusting to it is not helped by my troubled sleep from the night before.

I have been to this town only once before, and I do not remember particularly liking it. Not that it was a bad town, just full of shady characters who came out after dark.

Back then, I was a Drow mercenary, supposedly looking to make some gold by escorting a merchant's caravan safely through to the kingdom of Exalos. In reality, I was here to assassinate a crime-lord.

Which I did.

Quickly and effectively.

But now I am not here to assassinate anyone. Yet. I am here to meet and 'befriend' a fool paladin.

I glance up and down the seemingly empty streets, taking careful note of the shadows, which might hide the odd cutpurse or murderous criminal. The paladin was supposedly last staying at a tavern-cum-inn called the Hollow Bard.

Charming place, and as good a place as any to start. I step out onto streets damp with a recent rain. I'm glad I did not arrive in the midst of the downpour. That would have been miserable, to say the least, even though the kingdom of Dalozun is warmer than most places.

I am getting close to the Hollow Bard when I hear the sounds of a struggle in a dark alley to my right. Someone is receiving a beating, by the sound of it. I shake my head, then groan to myself as I veer off into the alleyway.

Why, oh why, can't I just mind my own business? I'm supposed to be looking for a paladin! Not stepping into someone else's trouble that they likely deserve!

But I can't leave. I know what it is to be starving, alone, beaten in dark back alleyways. I cannot just do nothing for the poor soul.

The sounds of fists striking flesh grow louder the further I stride into the alley, and I loosen my mage-blade in its sheath at my back. A unique sword-- a gift from my brother-- it has hidden properties, some of which even I don't know about yet.

"Shouldn't 'ave come 'ere, paladin!" I hear a harsh, gleeful voice somewhere ahead of me. "Should've stayed in yer own lands! Yer ilk ain't wanted 'round these parts!"

"Now ye'll die 'ere!" Someone else chuckles.

Grunts and groans accompany every smack of the assailants' fists, and once I hear a faint crack followed by a short cry of pain. I quicken my pace, turn a corner.

And then I see them. Under the glow of a lone flame globe a sandy-haired man is held in the tight grip of two burly half-orcs while a third attacker, a large tiefling, hurls blow after blow into the poor human's ribs. The man's face is bruised and bloody, and he sags in his assailants' grasp. Another rib cracks under the tiefling's assault. The human utters another cry as his knees buckle. With a flourish, the tiefling whips out a jagged blade and sets its point against the unfortunate man's navel.

"Now ye'll die 'ere." The tiefling softly agrees with his companion. "I'll leave yew gutted 'ere like a fish, bleedin' out on the stones. Yew fancy that, paladin?" The human struggles feebly against his attackers, straining to get away from that wicked blade.

"Enough!" I say, halting at the edge of the pool of light. My voice cracks like a whip through their bloodlust. The tiefling and half-orcs turn and look at me in surprise.

"Weel now." Purrs the tiefling, recovering quickly. He leaves off his assault of the human and stalks toward me, a malevolent, lustful smile baring his jagged teeth. "'Ello, darlin'. Yew best get yer bee-oo-tee-ful self back out o' this alley afore sumthin' bad happens to yew. Wouldn't want yer lovely self to end up like 'im, now would ye?" He jerks his head at the battered human as his cronies heave the man up against the wall and pin him there.

"Per'aps yew could join me later for a time, hm?" The tiefling suggests, raking his eyes over me.

My lips curls in disgust. These no-good shadow-scum are pathetic, and the tiefling's offer means less than nothing to me. It's insulting at best. At worst, at least for the tiefling, it'll get him killed.

"Leave the human alone." I say, authority swelling my voice. The tiefling adopts a cocky stance, folding his arms, his knife dangling from one hand.

"Or what?" He asks, smirking. "Interfere wi' my business, and I'll gut yew along wi' the paladin."

In a rush of smooth movement, I draw my short mage-blade from its back-sheath. Hold it out to the side, away from me, allowing the light to catch the sheen of its otherworldly blade.

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"Care to test my blade?" I counter calmly, arching an eyebrow. This will be almost too easy, if the tiefling accepts the challenge.

The tiefling throws back his head and laughs. "That puny thing?"

Now I'm the one smirking. I press a hidden button set in the hilt of my weapon and its blade shoots out into full sword-length.

The tiefling stops laughing. His brow lowers in dark anger and he stalks toward me with his jagged knife held ready.

I almost laugh.

"No!" The human calls to me weakly, all sweet concern for me and none for himself. One of the half-orcs buries his fist in the man's stomach, and he gasp-chokes and sags.

I appreciate his concern, but I can take care of myself. It's the arrogant tiefling who should be worried.

The jagged knife flashes out at me, and I dance aside. Whirl and take the tiefling's blade-hand off at the wrist. He shrieks and clutches at the wound. Falls to his knees on the blood-slick stones. I step forward and drive my blade into his heart. He looks up at me and dies with a look of surprise on his face.

A whirlwind of stolen manna bursts from the tiefling as he topples onto his face.

Huh. That explains why the human wasn't defending himself with mage-craft. He couldn't. He didn't have enough manna.

I nudge the dead manna-thief with my boot, then turn toward the half-orcs and their prisoner. The bullies blanch pale green as I glare at them.

"Run." I say, lifting my mage-blade with a savage smile.

They flee, dropping the human onto the stones. I listen to their boots slapping at the ground, growing fainter the further they get. They probably won't be a problem again.

I turn my attention to the injured human. He's climbing painfully to his knees, one hand clutching at his ribs. He looks up at me as I step forward to help him. Takes my offered hand, but can't quite rise to his feet. So I crouch down beside him.

"Thank you." He wince-gasps. He looks a sorry sight: his sandy hair matted to his forehead with blood, two ribs cracked at least, maybe more. His lip is split, his nose broken. His eye is swollen and blood drips from a cut on his cheekbone. His youthful face is handsome under a mass of dark bruises. I can't see his chest and stomach, but I'm guessing they are just as black-and-blue.

"What are you called?" I ask him, sheathing my mage-blade.

"Daniel, paladin of Elhim." He hisses in pain, falling back. I catch him and lay him gently down. So, this is the paladin I'm looking for. To be sure, fate certainly works in mysterious ways.

"You?" He asks.

"Avalon. Well, Daniel," I say, ripping open his blood-stained shirt to survey the gross damage beneath, "we need to get you off the streets. I need to know, are your ribs cracked, or broken?"

"Broken." He gasps. He's right. There's a puncture wound from the inside of his chest as a piece of rib-bone pokes slightly out of his skin. He's lucky it didn't turn inside and stab his lung. Or his heart. Blood leaks out of other numerous cuts where the tiefling's steel-knuckled gloves had hit against the paladin's bones and broken skin.

Well, this sucks. I can't just bind up his ribs and sling him over my shoulder then.

Sensing my dilemma, he says, "If I had sufficient manna, I could cast a healing spell."

"Take mine." I say in relief, grasping his hand. He draws on what I have stored.

It's an exhausting rush as the manna flows out of me and into him. Daniel makes a weak gesture with his free hand. Groans as his ribs scrape and knit back together. I hear them pop. See the one jutting out slide back in and align itself with its fellows.

The gash on his head, the cuts on his lip and cheek, his broken nose, his cuts and bruises, all heal as I watch. He's powerful. I've never seen a healing cast with such efficiency. I sense a divine Presence around us and guess that he has the aid of his God.

Huh. Daniel's one of the only people whose god I've seen help. Very interesting.

The paladin raises his head and moves to sit up. I stand and help haul him to his feet. Sling his arm over my shoulders as he stumbles with weariness. We support each other.

"Where to?" I ask. "If you know a relatively safe tavern, I'll buy you a drink. It'll help you recover."

"The Hollow Bard." He replies. I should've guessed. We limp out of the alleyway together, leaving the tiefling's body for the town's constabulary to find.

The Hollow Bard is a less seedy place than most of the establishments you'll find in this town. You still have your shady characters and your lust-sodden patrons, but they're less abundant here. And here, nobody is trying to cut your throat or your purse strings. Swindle you, yes. Gamble you dry, also yes.

But as Daniel and I slide into a private booth against the back wall, I allow myself to relax, knowing that we are relatively safe here. I order us each a sizable tankard of strong brew. I want it strong tonight, want to feel its bracing and slightly numbing effects ease my weary body.

I can hold my liquor and have never gotten actually drunk, even though sometimes I'm tempted to sink into that oblivion. I wonder about the paladin's drinking habits, turn to him to ask, realizing I should have asked before ordering. Find him with his head leaning back against the wall, snoring lightly. I suppress a smile. Sleep sure looks good.

A portly barmaid good-naturedly slams our drinks down on our table, striding off without a word, just a nod, smile, and wink. Daniel wakes with a start, glances around-- probably wondering what he missed. Then wraps his hand around his tankard.

"So," I begin, taking a long pull of my ale. It slides down my throat like liquid fire. I don't mind. Contrary to most people, it actually wakes me up a bit. "What were you doing wandering around town after dark with no armor and no weapons to speak of?"

He takes a drink before answering.

"I was out earlier today, helping a young mother give birth. She'd been having difficulties, and I have skills as a cleric. It almost seems like I'm the only reputable person in this town, so her family came to me for help. I didn't think I'd need armor and blade for this, so l left them here, in my room. The birth was hard, and the mother lost a lot of blood. I was able to save her and the child, but it was after dark before I felt free to leave."

He gives me wry smile, saying, "Believe me, I regretted leaving my blade here when I stepped out of their home into black streets."

I chuckle, taking another long pull of the fiery brew.

"Well, now you've learned and lived to tell the tale. You won't make the same mistake again." I tell him. Daniel nods.

"Thanks to you." He raises his glass to me. I wave my hand and laugh it off.

"You'd do the same for me." I say. He sobers.

"I would. If there is anyway I can repay you..." He trails off, thinking, even as I shake my head.

"I don't want payment." I say.

"Nonsense." He replies. "I don't leave my debts unpaid. Do you have a something to put a transportation spell on, or something that already has one on it? If it's the latter, I could tweak the spell, add something to it to alert me if you are ever in danger, something to tell where you are. Then I can transport to you and give you aid."

That's... actually a good idea. Useful. I hate it.

But I should acquiesce as, after all, I am supposed to be befriending this man.

Reluctantly, I draw my slate marble from my pocket and hand it to him. Daniel takes it, looks it over.

"There's already a transport spell on this, and I don't want it tampered with or changed." I warn him. "And while you're at it, you might as well put the reverse of your spell on it too. We can aid each other."

He nods in acknowledgment. Grips my stone in his hand and whispers something. It glows briefly. Then he hands it back to me.

"Done." He said. "Now wherever we go, if either of us are in danger the other will know, and also know the exact location we are at. You will also be able to tell where I am at all times. If you ever need my help for anything, you whisper my name to your stone. It should transport you to within five feet of me."

I flinch.

"What?" He asks, with sudden concern.

"Nothing." I say. Shake my head.

"Are you hurt? Did that tiefling score a strike that I didn't see?"

"No." I say shortly. I abruptly stand, walk away to the bar.

I am under my brother's orders. I have to stay with this fools-cursed paladin, this Daniel.

I don't want to.

I hate this. I hate Daniel placing on my stone a replica of the same spell my brother did.

I clench my fists. Relax them. Breathe in. Breathe out.

I allow my anger to drain away. There is no way Daniel could know about Fal's spell. He doesn't even know my surname. And even if he did, there is no way he could know I am connected to Falkirk. My brother and I have made sure that, when I have missions like this, we cannot be connected to each other.

I order a room from the bartender-cum-innkeep, slide the cold, metal key into my pocket once it's handed to me. Then I make my way back to the paladin.

"Are you sure you're alright?" He asks, sea-blue eyes searching my face with concern. I muster a smile to reassure him.

"Of course." I say, picking up my half-full tankard. "Why wouldn't I be?"

I tip my glass up and drain it to its dregs.