“Here we are," Hubert's sudden announcement shook Metterlich from his silent reverie, drawing his eyes up to the fortress looming before them.

Trevigen. Or at least Trevigen castle.

The ancient citadel towered over the surrounding countryside, its fearsome battlements casting a dark shadow over the city nestled on the river bend beneath.

River. More like a bog. Metterlich thought to himself, glancing at the reedy swamp that surrounded the cliffs beneath the fortress. Combined with the oppressive cloud cover, it gave the otherwise welcoming town a somewhat sickly, foreboding presence. The perfect place for a man to disappear. Or maybe it was just a trick of the mind, a naive assumption based on impulse.

"You think he's here?" he asked quietly, glancing back to the inquisitor expectantly.

"No," the old man said bluntly, "Almost certainly not."

"Then why-"

“Getting supplies,” the inquisitor said, spurring his horse onward “Might as well see about getting something decent for the road ahead. And who knows, maybe we can find some useful information if we're lucky. Spend the night here, with a roof over our heads.”

"That would be nice," the young wizard admitted.

"There's a lovely inn, the Maximilian Franck. Should have rooms for all of us," the older man said, before glancing over at Eris, "Even you. If you don't show too much of your teeth."

"How generous," the woman said, the sarcastic barb drawing no reaction.

"Once we have a place to stay, you two should get supplies. I think you can manage that," Hubert said.

"And what about you?" Metterlich asked, frowning intently at the bearded man, "What are you doing?"

"Talking to the authorities. At least whoever I can find on such short notice."

"Shouldn't we accompany you?"

"No need," the inquisitor said, not deigning to explain, "Odds are they will have nothing of note. But if there is news from any outlying areas on Trevigen's periphery, they might know."

"But the wyrd-sight? What if they're lying? What if there's more to know."

"Here, there won't be. Save your strength for when we reach the border. For Frolingen," he said, putting the matter to rest once and for all, "Help fetch supplies and we'll meet back up. If I do need your- expertise-, I will be sure to call for it."

----------------------------------------

“What are you thinking about?” Eris raised an eyebrow as Metterlich led the way down into the market square.

"Me? Nothing?"

"It's not nothing. You keep glancing around like you're expecting something to happen," the woman said pointedly, "You think the witch-hunter is here?"

"Well- maybe-" Metterlich began hesitantly.

“Met, Hubert is right. It's almost guaranteed he isn't here. Look at this city. Unless the witch-hunter went straight to talk to the authorities there's no possible way they’d catch a sight of him here. He could pass in and out with none ever noting the fact,” Eris said bluntly.

“There are guards at the entrance, there’s probably records if he passed this way,” he shrugged.

“If. There are dozens of roads leading to the northern border. The odds of taking the one that passes through the largest city between Loseine and Frolingen seem pretty slim, don’t you think?” the dryad said skeptically.

“This is the most reasonable route from Ernheim though. Unless you think he doubled back to the main road, or cut across kilometers of wilderness,” the wizard shook his head.

“I can’t see his tracks. The snow would have covered anything useful by now. Yet either path is possible. This man, he acts erratically. Ernheim made no sense in the first place. I think he was searching for something else there. Something we didn’t find,” the woman drew herself up and stared Metterlich down.

“Hubert thought he’s trying to lead us astray. To confuse our pursuit and lose our trail,” he said.

“No, silly man,” she shook her head mockingly, “He believes he lost us after Loseine. His movements show that clearly. I know my craft, Met. This killer is clever, but arrogant, and overconfident.”

“Well, he is probably the executioner from Tarva. So he’s gotten away with it before,” Metterlich said.

“Oh no, he’s been getting away with this for far longer. He’s managed to evade capture for seven years, it has made him uncareful,” the dryad continued.

“Careless you mean?” the wizard asked.

“If you say so,” the woman chuckled.

“How can you be so sure though? He knows we are pursuing him, and you nearly caught him at Liars Ford, if he wasn’t wary before he’ll definitely be wary now,” the young man suggested.

The marketplace was cluttered with people, the droning buzz of the street mingling with the tide of human impulse in the wyrd. It was certainly not as full as it could be, but there were more than enough present to enhance his discomfort. He could feel his eye twitch as he tried to concentrate on drowning out the psychic chatter.

“What’s wrong,” Eris chuckled, laughing at his facial expression.

“Nothing, just a lot of people is all,” he muttered grumpily.

“Sixth sense bothering you, huh?” she asked.

“Just a smidge,” he grimaced and massaged his temple.

“Maybe you should get a physician to see if there’s a cure,” the woman said sarcastically.

“Plenty of people have a suggested ‘cure’ for the wyrd,” Metterlich rolled his eyes, “I just don’t think that’s the cure I want.”

“Fair, fair,” Eris nodded as they passed through the small throng.

“We need to find a baker, restock on biscuits, get some more dried fruit and jerky too,” he listed off quickly, “Hubert wanted us to meet him back at the inn by sunset to discuss tomorrow's course of action, so we should really get a move on.”

“You’re making this out to be a far more hurried affair than it needs to be,” she admonished, “Unless you plan to get distracted and waste time, this is hardly a time-consuming task. Only pity is that we’re here late, all the warm pastries will be gone.”

“Good thing we don’t need pastries then,” Metterlich snorted and rubbed his shoulders.

The weather had improved, but the cold remained. If only he had brought a thicker coat. The wizard eyed a merchant's stand displaying a variety of fabrics and furs. They looked warm.

“I wouldn't buy those,” Eris muttered, “The fur's been poorly maintained. You can tell by the discoloration.”

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“Could always just get some fabric. A blanket would be nice,” he answered, stepping away from her and approaching the stand.

“Perhaps. But if the fur quality is anything to go by-” she began, smoothly moving alongside him to keep pace, “Yeah, as I thought. Moth eaten garbage.”

The merchantman smiled and waved them over, gesturing happily to the array of goods before him.

Metterlich hunched closer to examine the material.

“What might you be looking for today good sir?” the man announced loudly.

“Just something to keep warm,” the wizard replied.

“Understandable, it is a bit nippy as of late, I must say,” he nodded, “I'm sure I have something for you. It might not be the finest silks of Rassa, but you won't find better quality furs or wool anywhere around these parts.”

The sudden sound of shouting from across the market square made Metterlich's head shoot up, eyeing the source of commotion at one of the stands. Panic. Panic in the wyrd. He twitched with pain as the emotion struck him.

My wares- They're ruining- Stop!

"Ignore it, it's nothing," Eris said, laying a firm palm on his shoulder, "Remember what the old man said. Grab supplies and meet back at the Franck."

He turned back to face her, meeting the surprisingly stern look in her eyes with brow raised.

"It's not nothing- Can't you hear it?" he shook his head in disbelief, turning back toward the sound of the commotion.

Perhaps sensing the brewing problem. The shopping crowd was moving apart, giving wide berth to the scene of the crime.

"My tools- my wares! Why?!"

"That's what you get for ripping me off. Fucking bastard!"

"I deliv-"

"Shut up! Shut up! You groveling wretch!"

"Met. No. It is not our business," Eris repeated, glancing past him to see a throng of individuals surrounding a knocked-over stand, "Leave it to the guards."

"They're not coming- They're ignoring it, look at them, just standing around," he indicated, "We have to do something. I have to do something." The wizard's gaze flickered back and forth between the idle guards in the distance, Eris, and the merchant being beaten to pulp on the ground ahead. "They can't act like this," he said, surprised by the firmness of his voice, "It's not right. The law-"

"It's not our perog- prerog- job," the dryad shook her head, but Metterlich was already moving away, "No- Met!"

"Stop!" he shouted forcefully, making the small gaggle of exquisitely dressed youth turn to face him in stupefied shock, "Stop this nonsense! Damn rabble!"

One of them. The ring leader if he were to guess by the expensively embroidered, ornate frock, rounded on him brusquely, moments surprise supplanted by anger at the interruption.

"Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what to do?" the young man turned about, glaring angrily at the wizard, "To speak to me in-"

"Doesn't matter. Stop this nonsense, leave this man be. You have no right to behave in this manner," the young sorcerer said simply, trying to maintain his calm veneer.

"Do you know who I am? Do you know who you dare to address in such a manner?"

Metterlich blinked, unperturbed and uncaring. He hadn't felt such confidence in a long while. A sense of self-righteous indignation.

"No. Should I?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he could just make out the merchant scarpering away. Leaving him alone to confront the young nobleman and his coterie.

"I am John of the House Lenou. I will not tolerate some insolent wretch dictating proper behavior," the man snorted and frowned, "It is not yo-"

That was enough. Something within Metterlich snapped. He would not be spoken to this way. Not by some nobody. He had the authority here. He was the scion of Astana's founding families. A bloodline venerable and pure. And this man was nothing. Rabble.

"And I am Metterlich Rook," the wizard growled, his tone taking a far more combative edge, "My lineage has begot kings and barons at the very heart of our great nation. And what of yours?"

"My fam-"

"Some nameless dungheap in the far north? That is all you have. All you are," he said angrily, leaning ever closer to the man opposite.

He hadn't felt such anger in a long time, and it carried him. A torrent of impulse that he simply could not resist.

"You're nothing more than a backwater cur. Your family name is an irrelevant footnote in our kingdom's ledgers," Metterlich sneered, "The last thing I need to do is listen to your pathetic prattling."

Anger and rage is no man's friend. The old adage flitted through the young wizard's mind far too late.

The noble grimaced, youthful features distorted as agitation turned to blind fury. It had been too much, Metterlich had overstepped his bounds.

He could scarcely blink in shock as the nobleman drew his saber, the small gaggle around them drawing back at the sudden outburst of aggression.

"What the hell-" the wizard's exclamation was cut short as he staggered back and out of reach, desperate to evade the sudden violence.

This was not what he had wanted. Not at all. And yet the nobleman opposite him showed no hesitation, advancing with murderous rage in his eyes.

Instinctively, the wizard could feel his body opening to the wyrd, fingers tingling with ill-restrained energy. Power beckoned. The strength to kill his foe with a flicker of his mind. To end the fight then and there. Metterlich shook his head, clearing the thought away, fear and confusion clenching at his gut. This was really not what he had wanted. His hand slipped toward his own blade, even as his mind cursed the impulsive anger that had put him in such a position.

Instinct more than skill saved him from the following blow as saber met saber in sudden crash of steel. Metterlich backpedaled further, desperately trying to think of a way out of the situation. He was no swordfighter, and could already feel his nerves giving way, inner indecision worsening his reactions even further.

Another strike, another desperate parry, the haphazard effort sending jarring reverberations through the wizard's arm. He was losing swiftly, and running out of room to retreat amid the surrounding crowd.

All watching. Some shouting. Not one individual looking to intervene, their minds too fascinated by the spectacle unfolding. He was nothing more than entertainment. With a startled cry, he stumbled across uneven paving stones, slipping and guard falling in momentary disruption. It was a distraction his opponent did not miss, the mans glittering blade striking down with murderous intent.

Eris was a blur of motion too swift for response as the noble surged toward the sorcerer, her hand shooting forth like a viper to interdict the man's sword arm in a steel vise.

The man's surprise turned to agony as the dryad twisted his arm with terrible force, the pop of breaking bones echoing amid the sudden silence, sending the saber toppling from rigid fingers.

The crowd had frozen, amusement and fascination turning to shock at the sudden intervention.

As swiftly as she had struck, the woman released her grip, even as the nobles companions belatedly pressed forward to help the whimpering man back away.

Metterlich blinked, scrambling to a stand and trying to make sense of what had just happened.

Events had transpired so swiftly, he still felt the saber hanging loose in his hand, abruptly feeling out of place and unnatural. The wizard turned to face Eris as she backed away from his attacker, her palm raised in a passive gesture. He had expected a cocksure grin upon her lips, that malicious gleam of joy in her smile at a task well done. Yet as their eyes met, he could see an all too different emotion in the dryad's wide yellow eyes.

Fear.

"We need to leave. Now," she said hurriedly, moving away from the mewling noble.

"Halt! Stop right there!"

Metterlich hesitated as he heard the shout.

Amid the myriad minds still breaking out of stunned stupor, the anger and frustration from the city guards plowing their way through the crowd stood out in stark contrast.

"Met, move," Eris turned back toward him, "Now."

"We shouldn't, we have no reason to," the wizard shook his head abruptly.

Running now was foolish, and would only cause further trouble, the last thing they needed at the moment.

"Stop right there!"

The first of the guards shouldered their way through the surrounding mob, muskets raised at the ready as they surveilled the sight before them.

First, the injured nobleman, surrounded by his coterie and nursing a broken limb, then to Metterlich and Eris, standing isolated and alone in the malformed circle of observers.

"What the hell is going on here?" the lead officer asked incredulously.

The wizard tried to piece together an answer, mind racing to come up with a suitable explanation.

"He slandered me,” The nobleman said loudly.

"What was that?" The guardsman asked, brow raised as if he had misheard.

"This man slandered me, slandered my family name," the man said again, speech interspersed with hisses of pain.

He may have been exaggerating, but Metterlich was more than aware the pain was very real. It showed in the wyrd, and it showed in the man's wan, pallid face.

"I had to defend my honor," he continued, before indicating Eris, "Then this beast interfered. She assaulted me and very nearly killed me."

"That's not true at all," Metterlich said loudly, feeling anger and indignance welling within him once more, "This man attacked me without just cause. He sought a duel where none was being offered."

"Lying bastard, you forced my hand," the young man sneered, "How else was I to defend my honor!"

"You-"

"Shut up! Shut up both of you," the officer said angrily, a furious scowl contorting the man's quivering mustache, "You're all under arrest. Both of you and that- thing."

"That's unfair!" The nobleman shouted, "My father-"

Metterlich opened his mouth to voice his own protest before clamping it shut as the small squad of guardsmen approached.

"The bailiff will hear of this ruckus, and justice will be dealt," the officer batted aside any further protest with a contemptuous wave of his palm, "The rest of you disperse, get on, out!"

With some minor murmuring of discontent at their spoiled fun the cluster of surrounding rabble slowly began to dissipate, making way for the guardsmen to move forward.

Metterlich stood rooted at once wishing to flee yet knowing it would only worsen the situation.

Hubert would be furious.

Eris clenched and unclenched her hands in silent frustration, feet shifting anxiously across the paving stones of the square. The desire to flee was all too clear in her every motion.

Don't be stupid. You're gonna get us all shot. Don't run. Don't fucking run.

Metterlich became dimly aware of his teeth grinding together as one of the soldiers shoved him forward, soon herding the trio out from the square.

They had screwed up, badly.

No.

He had screwed up.

His actions another delay in a pursuit that had already been hamstrung and disrupted at every turn. What would Hubert say? No, what would Katarina say? He could feel her disappointment already.

All he could do was be thankful that at least Eris hadn't done anything impulsive.