Isabeau was sitting by a fire, out in the middle of nowhere, trying to breathe through the visible fog of pollen released by the steppe in autumn.

Isolde was always late. The confounded woman was totally irresponsible.

Isabeau prided herself on her discipline. She spent all summer trying to shed all the weight she had dutifully put on to catch that old letch Konstantine’s eye. It made her sick to think about how much red meat she had eaten now, but illusions are always best when served up with as much truth as possible.

“White wolf.”

Isabeau straightened up at the sound, she returned her half of the password at once. “Black bear.”

Isolde stepped into the circle of firelight. She was covered in high elven silks, with silver fastenings to identify her as a diviner. The face scarf she wore looked quite useful for keeping out the pollen. Beneath it, her face had been painted silver. Although she couldn’t quite pass as a genuine elf without some magic to smooth the lines around her makeup.

“You took your time.”

Isolde sat down. “I’ve been smoothing the feathers you ruffled. That was a very messy job you did in the Imperium.”

“I made it messy as part of our plan. Those were my orders.”

“We expected you to kill a handful of the emperor’s male favorites. That business of murdering one of our client's oldest friends in front of him was… uncalled for.”

“I didn’t murder him exactly. I just allowed him to stay dead. And he was going to reveal my identity!” Isabeau nerves were getting the better of her, Isolde outranked her. She needed to be cautious.

“There was no need for you to remain there once the job was done. You should have snuck away that night.”

“Well, I interpreted my orders broadly.”

“You’ve interpreted them broadly before. This isn’t the first dead lover you’ve left in your wake. Four other men we’ve ordered you to seduce have later turned up dead for one reason or another over the past ten years.”

They know!

“What I do on my own time is my own business.” Isabeau replied guardedly

“True. So long as it does not threaten your commitments to the Lodge of Illusion.”

Isabeau’s mouth went dry. This was a serious accusation for a senior member of the Lodge to hold over her.

She tried to look like a child taking her mother’s chastisement to heart. Tender eyes, followed by a demure look down at her shoes. “It won’t happen again, Mistress. I swear.”

Isolde raised up her chin. “I know it won’t, sweet pea. Now, I’ve passed information to that vampire, Gaius. Where the witch went to hide in the southland. He says he knows a ship captain who can take him there.”

“That surely mean he intends to involve the priestess and her pirate. What are my orders?”

“The Lodge has made arrangements for one of Omar’s rivals to intercept his ship when they return to Whitegate. I left the gold Gaius paid me at the usual drop, just on the Velian side of the Whitewood. You remember the place?”

“Yes, mistress.” Isabeau couldn’t afford to look incompetent while she was already striding across such thin ice.

“You’ll use that money as payment to buy the box. Omar’s rivals don’t know it’s value, except for one. That sailor will steal it, then bring it to you. Wait on the land of Simon Half-man with the money, and a message will be sent to you where to meet the sailor when the time is right.”

“Why go to all this trouble manipulating everyone if we’re just taking the box for ourselves now? What will I do with it?”

“Not much of an illusionist, are you?”

Isabeau bit her tongue.

“The box was always just a moving target to confuse the marks, while we went about our own business. We’re only taking the box now to return it to the original purchaser. It’s already served its purpose, and completing the original delivery should soothe Justinian’s ruffled feathers completely.”

“Very well. Afterall, I always do as the Lodge orders.”

Isabeau du Souisail stopped for the third time, as her dress caught once again. One of the farthest meandering tendrils of the thick hedges she was trying to pass between reached out and grabbed her hem.

Three was an important number of completion for those who practiced the occult arts. Anything could happen once, and twice might be merely a coincidence. If something occurred three times, however, it portended something larger.

In this case, it portended that she needed more sensible attire if she intended to go traipsing through the heath. So, after tearing herself free, she sat down on a projecting rock, and performed a working of rending. It split her dress open on a middle line in front of her. She took the fabric and wrapped each half around one of her legs before performing a working of mending, using the blood already leaking from all her thin bramble-thorn cuts as sacrifice.

The result was a passible imitation of a pair of men’s trousers, although they did flare out somewhat towards the feet. How fortunate there were no priests in the general area. She could only imagine the haranguing they would give her.

While she was seated, Isabeau took the opportunity to cast a spell of invisibility over herself.

It wasn’t real invisibility, of course. Isabeau could only dull other’s ability to perceive her. Only the greatest illusionists could completely vanish from the world of men, and even those stories could be elaborate lies. You could never put anything past a master of illusions.

Stolen story; please report.

She set out once again.

After about half of an hour of marching, she reached her destination.

Ahead of her was a campfire, and around it sat four men in rough armor composited of hardened leather and metal chain. They were armed like brigands. Or more charitably, hedge knights; at least one of them had an emblem on his left breast. She couldn’t quite make out the heraldry in the fading evening gloom.

“What’s got you in such a foul mood, Ser?”

“Ser Alphie is always in a foul mood.”

Isabeau couldn’t see who was speaking, but the hedge knight must have been Alphie. He was holding the purse, containing the gold she had been sent to collect.

How had he found it? What where they doing here?

This is going to be difficult.

She didn’t have any choice though. She couldn’t afford to disappoint the Lodge.

Isabeau moved back to a safe distance. Then she began to work more complex spells. She had already found a lone wolf two nights past, and bound it to her.

In a voice, no louder than a whisper, she began to sing. She wove her chant into and through her song. She danced as well, and made the signs through elegant and flowing gestures.

An hour of casting later, the sun had set, and her sending was complete.

The moon was waxing, and nearly full. That made it much simpler to call forth the aspect of feminine mystery necessary to the ritual. Even so, Ser Alphie, her first choice, did not come.

So, she redirected her spell to the largest of the other three she had seen. Although she knew him only by sight, and not by name.

The big one responded instantly, and began to tramp out into the forest towards her, after giving his companions the excuse that he was going to make water. He stumbled into the clearing, where he found Isabeau waiting for him.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I am called Isabeau. Who are you?”

“Are you a dryad?”

“No.”

“A nymph?”

“Do I look like a dryad or a nymph?”

“You look like a lady out in the middle of nowhere with pants on.”

“Why are you so trepidatious? You can see I’m unarmed.”

“A demoness?”

“I’m human. Same as you, Ser Whomever-You-Are.”

The big man smiled and combed his dirty hair with his hand. “I’m no ser. My name is Vito.”

“Come closer, Vito.”

His smile faded, and he looked as though some thought was trying to force its way through his charm-induced bliss. “I shouldn’t.”

“Do you not like girls?” Vito was looking at the ground, but she kept trying to find his eyes.

“I do… but Ser Alphonso said… dangerous…”

Finally, she caught his gaze and did not let go. Isabeau began to use the connection to pull him in. “Come closer, Vito.”

Slowly, his unwilling legs began to bring Vito forward, until he was standing directly before her.

“Kiss me, Vito.”

He pressed his lips to hers just in time.

His companions came crashing through the underbrush behind him. Ser Alphonse was leading them, and looked furiously at her and Vito. “No one goes off alone! I told you! I told each one of you. Gods, why me?”

“They’ve come to kill us! Vito, you must protect me!” Isabeau knew him by face, by name, and by kiss. Even without eye contact, she could feel that her domination of his mind was complete.

One of the men was foolish enough to try and talk sense into Vito. He approached the giant with his hands in front of him. “It’s me! The witch is trying to cast some kind of spell on you!”

“Don’t talk to him! Cut your way through while-” Ser Alphonse was wiser than his man, but it was too late.

Her wolf leapt from the foliage and brought the hedge knight to the ground.

During the distraction, Vito took his two-handed great sword and cut his sense-talking friend in twain. The man was split from his left collarbone to his right hip, with a single blow.

The last bandit paid more attention to his commander’s orders. At once, he struck out at Vito wounding him. With his boot, Alphonse kicked the wolf off.

The giant obeyed Isabeau’s commands, but his movements were stiff and uninspired. A moment later, the bandit left a vicious slash along Vito’s inner thigh, severing his femoral artery. Her champion collapsed moaning to the ground.

Isabeau pointed at the man who felled Vito. “Kill him!”

The bandit advanced on her, but Isolde’s wolf regained its feet. It jumped at it's new target; fangs bared. The man screamed for a moment, before the sound ended in a wet gurgle. The animal tore out his throat.

“Excellent, my love.” Isabeau realized she had lost track of the Ser Alphonse. “Now find the hedge knight.”

Then she felt the knife at her throat. “Tell the mutt to heel.”

Isabeau froze.

“Tell the wolf that you’re dead if it takes another step towards us.”

The wolf was appraising them, its teeth bared. It stretched out a paw in front of itself.

“Stop! Stay where you are!” Isolde wasn’t sure how she had found her voice, but she was speaking without realizing she had begun.

The wolf retracted the paw.

“Now, tell it to leave. Tell it to travel south for three days, and wait for you to come to it there."

“My spell binding won’t last three days. It won’t make it to wherever you want it to go.”

“I don’t care where the damn thing ends up, so long as it’s away from here.”

Isabeau repeated the hedge knight’s original order. Her wolf gave her a curious look, before backing up and then loping off into the brush. Animals weren’t intelligent enough to hold complex information, there was no way to secretly order him to return. Her las ally was lost to her now.

Isabeau knew she had to master her terror, and keep her wits about her, if she wanted to survive.

The moment it was out of sight, Ser Alphonse started pulling her roughly back towards the way he had first come.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Away. I don’t trust that thing, or you.”

“What about your men?”

“You’re the one who killed them, so don’t pretend that you care about them now. They’re dead, and you’re worth more to me than whatever meager treasures they might have kept on their persons.”

“So, you’re a bounty hunter? Who was it that sent you? What's he paying you? I’ll match it, and you’ll have a sorceress’ favor.”

Ser Alphonse pulled them both back into the light of his camp fire. He threw a pitcher of water over the fire to douse it, then chose a small stick off the ground. He held it out to her. “Put it between your teeth and bite down hard.”

“Why?”

“Do it now, or I’ll beat you with it.”

Isabeau did as she was bid, even though it gave her a horrible feeling. She couldn’t think of what alternative she had.

As soon as she did, Ser Alphonse forced her to the ground. He grabbed her arm, and put her hand over a large rock. She tried to stop him by shaking her head vigorously, but the knight paid no heed to her pleas.

Her finger bones shattered under his boot, and she would have howled in agony, if she could.

Tears streamed down her face. The moment she’d nearly recovered, he grabbed her other hand and repeated the process.

Without even knowing what was happening, Isabeau found herself picked up and thrown over the back of a horse.

A second later, Ser Alphonse mounted as well. They tore off into the night, abandoning the camp.

Isabeau wasn’t sure how fast or long they rode, but the first traces of light were just making themselves visible on the horizon. When they did come to a halt, they were in a hilly field beside a small brook. She couldn’t see the water in the early morning darkness, but she could hear it. They had crossed the border into the Republic.

When they stopped, the hedge knight threw her down onto the ground. Breaking her fall caused a spasm of pain to shoot up from her mangled hands.

“There you are!” A teenage lad approached them. “What happened to the other three?”

“She killed them.”

“How come people who spend time around you keep ending up dead?”

“You’re still alive, somehow.”

“Here, stow a few of these away. You've gotten good at that.” Ser Alphonse tossed the purse to the boy. “I overheard the fortune teller’s reading that sent us out here. She didn’t mention how much gold was inside. No one will notice if some of those ducats go astray.”

Fortune teller?

Isabeau suddenly realized that she had been betrayed. “Listen to me, both of you. My name is Isabeau du Souisail. I belong to the Lodge of Illusion. Nothing you believe is as it seems! That fortune teller was a fraud! Her name was really-”

Ser Alphonse cut her off. “I don’t care who she was. I don’t care who you are. And I don't believe the Lodge of Illusionists is real. You can tell whatever you wish to the Baroness when we hand you over to her. And you'll tell her more than you'd like too, I’ll warrant.”

“The Baroness…?”

“Baroness Stirba. She wants to talk to you, or I would have cut out your tongue. I have to warn you though, the She-wolf wasn’t happy the last time I saw her.”

Isabeau's bladder loosened itself.