Wander West, in Shadow

The baths the Crosscraw had in Dun Cairn were nothing short of a wonder. A room larger than a house, into which was carved a square pool into the stone, polished and shined to a gleaming sheen. Steaming hot water sluiced into this pool from other chambers, drawn from hot springs that lay in caves deep within the mountain, and while they had no soap or oils, the large baths were filled with the aromatic petals of some curious blue flower, so that the water was perfumed. There was Art here, in this ancient stone, as well, something beneath even what Grizel had sunk into the stone - some lingering weaving from bygone days, though Elyse could not tell exactly what it was meant to accomplish. Flanking the pool was the statue of some curvaceous nude woman, draped in a clinging cloth, and holding an urn - who she was, Elyse had no idea; some forgotten goddess, or merely an icon, she was lost to time. And there were actually multiple rooms like this, though many had fallen into disrepair through the ages, their plumbing cracked and broken and their pools shattered from shiftings of the mountain over the ages. A few, though, still survived, with the odd upshot being that, as primitive as the Crosscraw who dwelt in Dun Cairn might be, their baths were fit for a King.

Elyse sank into the steaming water, feeling it seep into her bones as the scent of the perfumed water filled her nostrils, closing her eyes and feeling her thoughts drift and gently dissipate. It had been too long since last she bathed, and too long since she had seen anything other than the tomb-walls of Grizel's chambers. This moment would have been perfectly relaxing, except -

Suddenly, she spluttered as a splash of water hit her face. Snapping her eyes open, she glared at Aela as the Crosscraw woman grinned playfuily at her from across the bath. "Obnoxious!" she snapped irritably, dark blue eyes flashing, as she peeled a limp flower petal from her nose.

Aela's face fell, her bright green eyes growing sad, as she clung to her waterlogged red mane - it looked as if it weighed a hundred pounds, soaked as it was. "Ah'm sorry. Mah folk, ah, they tended tae be more rowdy when they bathed. Ah'll leave ye be."

Elyse softened as she watched Aela wade way; it was only the two of them in the baths right now. Truth be told, the Crosscraw woman had gotten on Elyse's bad side shortly after they had first met, with her habit of declaring how adorable and small she was. Elyse silently fumed, thinking back to that. She did not like being small, she wished she was as tall as Aela was, who stood a mere head shorter than Martim and Kells did. Or even taller. Wouldn't it be a sight if she could look down on the men, instead of craning her neck to look at them.

But still, Elyse realized, now that she could relax a bit, she had been a bit of an ogre to Aela over the past week. It was true the Crosscraw woman had contributed to it by being far too affectionate - far too many hugs and kisses for Elyse's liking - but really, she was just trying to express her gratitude at being saved. And Elyse realized that she had let her sharp tongue run far too wild in her frustration at being cooped up in a dark, miserable cave. Aela was not like Martim, who merely snorted or seemed amused at her outbursts; the woman really seemed to take her insults to heart. "You certainly are brave," she said begrudgingly, "To tease a witch as you do."

Elyse had meant this as a compliment, but Aela seemed to take it as a threat. Her eyes widened, and she held up her hands as if to ward off a blow. "Ah promise!" she cried, "Ah'll leave ye alone! Nae need tae hex me, please, I swear-"

Drawing a deep breath, Elyse resisted the urge to snap at the woman to shut up. "I did not mean it like that. I meant...." she sighed, then looked away, and grudgingly said, "I meant to say sorry. For my sharpness. Being in a dark closed space frays my nerves, it seems."

When she looked back, Aela was staring down at the water, a slight blush in her cheeks, smiling crookedly. "Nae need tae apologize. But Ah'm glad," she replied. "Ah thought Ah truly bothered ye."

"Well, you do. But, well...." Elyse's eyes widened, as she realized something about herself. "...I...suppose everyone bothers me, to some extent. Hmm." She was a little perturbed by this. It reminded her disconcertingly of her mother's myopic view of other folk.

But Aela merely nodded sagely. "Ach, Ah should hae guessed," the Crosscraw woman said, her tone knowing and apologetic. "Grizel es much th' same, an' she tol' me why, once. Her head es full o' th' Art an important thoughts on et, an 'tis frustratin tae hae et interrupted bah th' babble o' normal folk. Ah suppose the same es true fer all witches and wizards. Ye an Martim are alike, en that way. Though Ah think he jest ignores folk when he's thinkin' o' somethin important and doesnae wish tae be disturbed."

Elyse snorted, then coughed as water went up her nose. "No, I do not think that is it."

"What then? Ah would like tae nae bother ye, ef Ah could."

Elyse gave Aela a frank, hard stare for a long moment, as the Crosscraw woman smiled timidly back at her. "You're too sweet!" the witch cried, water splashing as she slapped the hard stone of the side of the bath to emphasize her point. "Ever since you've awoken, you've been far too sweet!"

Aela blinked in surprise, then blushed as she sank into the water until her mouth barely rose above it, looking away. "Es et any surprise Ah'm sweet on the lot o' ye," she murmured. "Ye could hae, and should hae, abandoned me tae th' Bogge-King. But ye swept me up an rescued me nae only from him, but from his curse. 'Tis somethin' Ah doubt mah own folk would hae done fer me." She pulled wet clumps of her hair in front of her face to hide it, and wrapped her arms around herself. "Yer mah heroes."

"You know, you saved us too, from the bogge-men who pursued us up the mountain," Elyse pointed out. "Some would say we're merely even."

But Aela just shook her head, which looked like nothing more than a wet red mop. "'Twas nothin' compared tae what ye did fer me."

"It's just..." Elyse sighed, and paused for a moment, considering best how to say this. "You seem false. I would rather have you honest with me, than to wear a false smile." She paused again, looking at Aela, weighing her. "Like the one you wore for your people."

Aela did not answer, for a moment. She slowly swept back her hair from her face. She did not blush any longer. Now her green eyes were sad, and her expression serious. "What d'ye mean?"

"I mean, I could tell you forced a smile to your face when you saw them." Elyse shifted uncomfortably in the water, sending ripples across it upon which the blue flower petals bobbed gently. She did not know whether Martimeos and Kells had noitced Aela's false smile, but it had been so obvious to her. She knew well, after all, what it meant to hide your true feelings, for a very long time. "'Do you not like your folk...?"

Aela drew her legs to her chest and hugged them, looking down at the water, her wet hair hanging limply about her face. "Et's nae tha'," she said quietly. "Nae at all. Et's jest...so many o' them hae given up. But ef a smile on mah face an' th' sound o' mah laughter can bring them jest a little happiness, 'tis th' least Ah could do. Even ef Ah dinnae feel et en my heart." Aela looked up, wearing a crooked smile. "Et's hard, sometimes," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "But et's why Ah like ye lowlanders. Yer th' first Ah met en a long while who still hae th' flame o' life within. Mah smile es nae false fer ye, at least. Ye remind me tha'...there's a whole rest o' th' world out there." Elyse gave a start as Aela looked up. It was almost as if the lights behind the Crosscraw woman's eyes had gone out. "Et ent all bloody horror, an' waitin fer death, an' feelin' nawt but fear when ye dare tae walk beneath th' sky."

A dim memory swam out from the foggy depths of Elyse's mind. A memory of a dream, of countless headless corpses in the snow, of a great pile of red-haired heads, frozen and grotesque in the blood-tinged ice. A memory of the crushing sense of sickness, the black-hearted cruelty and slaughter. The irritation drained out of her, as she watched Aela, the Crosscraw woman staring listlessly, blankly, at the stone walls. She remembered Grizel's words; that less than one in ten Crosscraw still lived. She remembered the tombs down below, full of those killed by the Bogge-King, at least those that could be recovered - the endless rows of corpses that Martimeos had sang to.

And suddenly, Elyse did not know what to say. What could possibly be said to someone who had lived through that? Who still lived in the midst of it?

Aela shook her head once more, and some life seemed to breathed back into her by the movement. "Ah well," she murmured, "Ah dinnae hae et so bad. Plenty o' folk here saw their entire families kilt. Ah still hae Torc, sour ol' lug that he es."

They sat in silence for some time after that, until shortly, Aela rose from the water and stepped out of the bath. Elyse felt a twinge of jealousy as she watched the Crosscraw woman do so - she had so many muscles. Stepping onto a thick bearfur that covered the stone floor of the baths, Aela shook herself dry, much as a dog might. "Ah'll tell the other women nae tae bother ye, ef ye like tae soak," she said quietly, as she wrapped a fresh set of furs about herself. "Et can be nice tae have the baths tae yerself, Ah ken."

Elyse fidgeted as she watched Aela dress, thinking back over the conversation they had just had. As the Crosscraw woman made her way to the door, she cried out, "Wait!" When Aela paused and turned, looking at her quizzically, Elyse sighed, "I...I did not mean to say you were...false, either. 'Twas a poor choice of words."

Aela seemed to brighten at that, and Elyse relaxed a bit at seeing her smile. At least, until the woman spoke. "Ach, Ah understand. Ah dinnae mind. Yer a wee one wit' a tongue like a wolf's bite. Et's charmin', really. Yer cute."

And with that, Aela waved and closed the door, leaving Elyse sitting in the water, wide-eyed. "I take it back," she sputtered. "I don't apologize." But it was too late. Aela was already gone. The next time the woman called her wee, Elyse thought wildly, she would simply have to poison her. Nothing deadly. Just something to give her a nasty rash.

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Kells stood in the darkened shadows of the Great Hall of Dun Cairn, where the Crosscraw made their home amidst the crumbling ruins and dusty stone monuments left behind by their long-gone ancestors, where the flickering torchlight that lit the place could not touch him. He stood, a silent shadow, and watched the savages thoughtfully, with weighing gray eyes.

After the initial hubbub of the Crosscraw meeting the lowlanders had died down, Elyse and Martimeos had managed to sneak off. The witch, Kells knew, had been intent on a bath, and he suspected Martim had wanted to take one as well. Kells himself would have liked a bath too, but he had packed enough extra clothes that his stink was not so bad, and he could wait a while yet before washing. It had been more difficult for him to sneak away, as well - so many of the Crosscraw women had seemed intent at pawing at him so aggressively that they would have been arrested for it in more civilized lands. But eventually he had escaped, to slink into the shadows.

Truth be told, there was a part of Kells that wondered why they were still here. They had, after all, completed their mission. Whatever lingering curse the bogge-man of Twin Lamps had laid upon them, it was gone. His dreams had been free of the shade for the past week. It seemed when the bogge-man's shadow had died within The Dream, it had been the foul thing's final death. And if it were true that the Bogge-King was Martim's old friend, and did not seem to wish to harm him...it seemed likely, to Kells at least, that they might be able to walk off the mountain, free of harassment from the bogge-men that dwelt among the slopes. If Martimeos would agree to it, he could be back in Twin Lamps in a few days. Back home, to live out the rest of his life. It was so close.

But, well, Kells did not mind lingering here for a while longer. It was, in a way, comforting to be away from Twin Lamps. Though it was his home, the memory of Roark's death still lingered there. And while he was hardly friendless, Roark had been by far the closest person in his life in the town. He had his companions among the guard, and maids to squeeze at Madame Ro's inn, but...seeing something new, it was not so bad, at least for a time.

And besides, he was curious of these Crosscraw. He had never seen more of them than glimpses, growing up, but he had heard of them in the White Queen's court. Fearsome warriors of incredible strength, men so adept at living off the land that they could strike far into enemy territory with little in the way of supplies; archers of no small skill, who fought for the right to plunder what they conquered. A Crosscraw, it was whispered, could run for a day straight, and still be ready to kill at the end of it. They were few in number, but they made up for it in ferocity.

Here now, in Dun Cairn, the reality was very different. Here among the ruins of their ancestors, what he saw of the Crosscraw from the shadows was a broken people. The twin disasters of the Queen's war and the Bogge-King had left this once-proud race of warriors little more than an pale echo of what it once was.

Among the women - who made up by far the majority - there seemed to be three types. There were those who still had some life among them, who still walked about, and talked with each other, and even managed to smile now and again, though none of them seemed as lively as Aela was. These were the Crosscraw who had mobbed him with questions, after they had met with Maol-Manos. But far outnumbering these livelier ones were the listless, the shadow-eyed and silent, those who merely sat around the fire pits burning in the hall, staring into the flames, barely ever lifting their heads, barely talking to anyone.

And even worse than these were the utterly lifeless. Crosscraw women who did not have the energy in them to even stand, did not even care enough to drag themselves to the fires. They lay here and there, motionless on the cold stone floors, eyes dull. Kells would have thought them corpses had he not seen them breathing. He thought at first that they might be suffering the effects of starvation - but no, while the Crosscraw did have to ration food carefully here, these women did not have the emaciated look of one starving. No, they simply...did not have it within them to move. It made his skin crawl.

And the men of the Crosscraw - the women outnumbered them nearly ten to one. And what men were left, half of them seemed to be old grayhairs. There were precious few that remained that might be considered of an age to have children; Kells realized with a start that the number of young men, among all these Crosscraw, was perhaps less than two dozen. They were doted on by the livelier women, who were as handsy with them as they had been with Kells himself, though they did not seem happy with all the attention; to a man, they seemed dark-eyed and distant, barely paying attention to their surroundings. Kells did not think he could blame them. What they must have witnessed, to have become so reduced in number in their fight against the bogge-men, was difficult to imagine.

As he stood in the shadows, silently contemplating the Crosscraw, he slowly became aware of something like the sweet smell of flowers. He felt his shoulders itch as he realized that someone was standing behind him. He spun, only to be greeted with the bright green eyes of Aela peering up curiously at him. "Hell's bells, do you normally sneak up on people like that?" he muttered, as the Crosscraw woman chuckled at him.

Aela swept back her damp red hair from her face. It was she who smelled of flowers. It seemed she had recently bathed, and changed her furs too; now she wore a hooded wolf's-head cloak, and a wrap of deer-hide that left much of her well-muscled legs exposed, barefoot against the cold stone floor. "Yer one tae talk, skulkin' about th' shadows here as ye are." She paused for a moment, eyeing Kells curiously, and when she spoke again her tone was pensive. "Ah watched ye, fer a time, watchin' them. What es et did ye see?"

Kells mulled this over thoughtfully. Between himself, Elyse, and Martimeos, he was probably the one that got along best with Aela. The Crosscraw woman seemed oddly afraid of Martim, and Elyse was always so sharp-tongued with her. He didn't want to insult the woman by talking disparigingly about her folk, but... "I saw..." he began, but then paused, grimacing, running a hand through his short dark hair. "Aela, so many of them seem as if they barely have the will to live anymore."

Aela stared quietly out across the Great Hall, to her folk, the smile fading from her face as she did so. She fiddled anxiously with a strand of her red hair, biting her lip. "Aye," she murmured. "Aye, that's a fair way tae put et." She shook her head, and suddenly seemed to slump, as if she were exhausted. "Et's jest haow et es. Many...dinnae wantae live, nae like this. Ah heard Grizel say once tha' these days, we lose nearly as many tae takin' their own lives, or jest lyin' down and refusin' tae eat, as we do tae th' bogge-men."

She was quiet, for a moment, staring thoughtfully at her folk. And then she took a deep breath, jaw set in determination, and moved towards them without another word, bare feet padding silently along the floor.

Kells followed after her, as she moved among her people, always with a smile and a laugh for those who had the life in them to respond. Aela, he realized, was deeply adored among the Crosscraw. Eyes brightened and spirits lifted wherever she went, and children would follow after her, tugging at her furs. And Aela would lift them, twirling them around before setting them down, telling them to go run and play.

But it was not the lively ones that Aela spent most of her attention on. It was the listless and unmoving, those who did not have the energy to move to the fires that burnt brightly in the pits of the Great Hall. Those, she knelt by, murmuring encouragement to, and if they did not move, she lifted them herself, to bring them to where it might be warm. Kells helped her to carry these, watching her thoughtfully as he did so. Aela kept the smile on her face, though the more of the listless ones they carried, the more tired and sad her eyes became.

It was heavy work - many of the Crosscraw seemed like dead weight - but between the two of them, it was done quickly enough. All of the unmoving, unspeaking Crosscraw that had lain in the shadows of the Great Hall now lay, if still unmoving, on top of comfortable furs piled around warming fires. Kells, though, found it odd that none of the other, more lively Crosscraw apparently felt any need to help them. He remarked on this to Aela, and she seemed shamed by it. "They would say, et makes nae difference," she murmured softly. "An' mebbe, they're right. Ah can try tae keep 'em warm, but I cannae force them tae eat, an...." She shook her head, blinking her bright green eyes to hold back tears. "Et's fine. Ye do what ye can. Ah thank ye fer th' help."

"No thanks needed. At least it got the blood pumping - Ah!" Kells suddenly leapt into the air upon feeling a sharp pinch upon his bottom, and whirled around to glare at a pair of young Crosscraw women, giggling amongst themselves as they eyed him hungrily. "I wish you wouldn't do that," he snapped at them, earning nothing but chuckles in return. "I get any more pinches, and I'm not going to be able to sit right."

"Ef ye dinnae want 'em tae do et, why nae give 'em a wallop?" Aela asked, frowning at the two Crosscraw girls. "'Tis haow et es amongst mah folk. Give 'em a smack an' teach 'em a lesson."

Kells blanched, tugging his dark coat straight and brushing the dust off it. "'Tis not....proper...to hit a woman unless you really need to," he muttered.

"Ach, et's haow these lowlanders are," one of the Crosscraw woman who had pawed at him laughed, a slim thing with hair nearly down to her ankles and scars crisscrossing her bared legs. "Ye can understand et, their women are all soft an' demure, like yon witch this Queensman traveled here with."

Kells nearly tripped over himself laughing. "Are you talking about Elyse? She's about as soft and demure as a knife in the ribs. No, it's just...you don't hit women idly."

Aela placed her hands on her hips, glaring up at him fiercely. "Oh, but et's fine fer men tae smack each other around. Ah bet ef a man pinched yer bottom, et's just what ye'd do. Ye jest think yer so big an' strong that nae woman can stand tae take a punch from ye."

Running his hands through his short dark hair, Kells sighed. "I mean. Truth told....yes?"

"Men!" Aela snorted, but she wore a small smile. She lifted up her fur cloak to reveal a bare arm, well-muscled, that she flexed at him. "Ye see that, lowlander? Crosscraw women ent nae faintin' waifs like yer girls are!" Dropping her arm, she pounded her shoulder, flashing him a sharp grin. "C'mon an' hit me. Yer strong, Ah ken, but Ah promise ye Ah can take et." And then, as if reading his mind, she stamped her foot and shook her finger at him. "An' ye best gimme a proper wallop, ye ken? Gimme th' hardest ye got."

"Alright," Kells said, shrugging. He wasn't fond of hitting women, but if she wanted to insist on playing this game, he'd play it. "But you asked for it. I really am going to give you the hardest punch I can. I'm not going to feel guilty about it. Understand?"

"Ach, et ent gonna be so bad, jest do it already-"

Kells slammed his fist into Aela's shoulder with an audible smack that echoed off the walls of the Great Hall. Her eyes widened, and she cursed, and then bit her lip and clutched her shoulder. She staggered away a few steps, then bent over, growling and stomping her feet.

"Are you alright...?" Kells asked, cursing himself inwardly for already feeling guilty.

"Ah'm fine," Aela replied, her voice hoarse. She waved with a limp, dangling arm at the two Crosscraw woman who had pawed at him. "Naow...do et tae them."

"No, I don't think so," he replied dryly, but it did not matter. The other Crosscraw women, seeing Aela's groans and grimaces, beat their feet against the stone and retreated, though not without a few backward glances and smirks. Kells did not think that it had, in the end, done all that much to discourage them, really.

But as soon as they were gone, Aela straightened, giving him a wink. "Ach, ye didnae hurt me so bad," she laughed, seeing the trepidation on his face. "Ah played et up fer those two, since Ah knew ye'd nae hit 'em. Scared 'em off witout ye having tae strike at em, ye ken?" But she grimaced as she rotated her shoulder, wincing as something popped back into place. "But ye do hit pretty damn hard. Ah should hae figured, the way ye carried me up th' mountain." And then, to his irritation, she blushed, and looked down at the ground, before rushing forward to hug him. "Thank ye fer that, again," she began.

Kells interrupted her, pushing her away. "Aela, you must have thanked me for that two dozen times over the past week," he snorted, folding his arms across his chest, and tapping his boot on the floor until the Crosscraw woman looked back up at him. "I'd rather you be pinching me, at this point. That's not an invitation." He softened, rubbing the back of his head. "Just...thanks accepted. No need to beat me about head with more."

Aela was quiet for some time, considering him with a serious expression. And then she broke out into a small, light laugh, holding a hand to the side of her face as she contemplated him. "Ah cannae help et," she murmured. "But alright. Haow about th' next time Ah try tae thank ye, ye go ahead and give me a wallop like th' one ye just did. Fer Ah cannae promise Ah will nae feel th' need tae thank ye, at least until Ah hae found a way tae pay ye back proper."

"I'm partial to pumpkin seeds," he offered. "Get me a few pouches of those and we'll call it square."

"What's a pumpkin?" Aela aksed, frowning. "Ach, wait, Ah think Ah heard o' them before. Big orange things, right? Ye lowlanders grow 'em tae play catch with." She scratched her chin thoughtfully, before Kells could correct her. "Aye, Ah could look around fer such as that. Ah'll get ye yer pumpkin seeds, Ah promise." She pounded a fist into an open palm, nodding, though he didn't have much hope, given Aela's past record of promises. "But, uh, ef Ah can give ye some advice?" She leaned forward, and whispered conspiratorially, "Take a bath. Ah nearly keeled over huggin' ye."

Kells frowned, and sniffed himself, as Aela walked away, to go and bring cheer to her folk. "Not that bad," he muttered.

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That night, there was a great "feast" declared to welcome the brave lowlanders into Dun Cairn - at least, such a feast as the Crosscraw could muster with their rationed food. Which was, Martimeos reflected, actually more than he had been expecting. While the Crosscraw did not engage in what might be considered normal farming, and much of their diet was hunted meat, they had other sources of food besides that to rely on as well. Dun Cairn, beyond the carved monuments and pillars, connected to a larger series of caverns in the mountainside. One of these held a vast underground lake which the Crosscraw fished from; others were damp enough to support the growth of edible mushrooms. These, combined with foraging and hunting, had been enough to keep them fed for quite some time now, though perhaps not as well as they would have liked. But it was enough to make Martimeos realize that Dun Cairn itself was quite the self-sufficient fortress. Against any normal enemy, a few hundred Crosscraw could have withstood a siege nigh-indefinitely. Unfortunate for them that the bogge-men were anything but normal. All the fortifications and defenses in the world would not have helped them against creatures that could appear through doorways. A stroke of fortune that they had Grizel and her Art to protect them.

The food was laid out on long stone tables carved into the gray rock of the Great Hall, the stone benches that flanked them draped with furs for cushioning. Though the feast was ostensibly in honor of the lowlanders, none of the Crosscraw themselves seemed to pay much mind to that - they had already begun to eat by the time Martimeos had made his way back to the Great Hall, though he could not help but notice that many of them did not seem all that enthusiastic to see the food. And it was quieter than he thought a feast might be, as well, with only a few of the Crosscraw woman chattering amongst themselves. A subdued and sour atmosphere, for such a gathering, but then, who could blame them?

Martimeos fiddled anxiously with his unlit pipe as he approached the tables. Truth be told, he had considered foregoing this feast entirely. He had spent much of the day studiously avoiding the Crosscraw in general; after her had bathed - and what grand baths the Crosscraw had available to them, he thought wryly - he had explored the hallways of Dun Cairn. There was so much to see - the mountain fortress was humongous, and seemed as if it could have once housed the entire population of a small town all on its own. Hall after hall lined with relatively small, unadorned stone rooms - housing, perhaps, though all furnishings had long since turned to dust.

But there were other, larger rooms as well - ones that could have easily held the entire population of his village all on their own. Rooms with fountains long gone dust-dry, and lined with statues of ancient Crosscraw warriors, dozens of feet high, grim men with stern visages and long, flowing beards carved into the rock, clad in scalloped and scaled armor. But warriors were not the only ones the ancient Crosscraw had built monuments to; he had sutmbled into a room, large and circular, that had stars carved into the rock ceiling high above, and in the center had been a strange statue of a pair of Crosscraw, man and woman, clad in long, flowing robes. Between them, they held what appeared to be a small globe - but upon further inspection turned out to be a carving of the moon - and their other hands were held out towards the stars in the ceiling, as if reaching for something. Martim had no idea what it all might have once meant, and he could only wonder. Wonder what had happened to the Crosscraw, in ages long past, that had reduced them from a folk capable of producing statues and carvings such as this, to the barbarians they were today.

It was not mere curiousity that had driven him to explore, though. It was the Crosscraw men. Nothing they had done themselves, but...Martimeos was comfortable enough with seeing groups of the Crosscraw women. But seeing the men, bands of them, flame-haired, broad-shouldered and shadow-eyed, it had bought back unpleasant memories of the attack on Pike's Green. He had found his breath growing ragged in his throat, looking at them, and his mind growing fogged, and even felt anger flaring up inside of him. Which was foolish, he thought. There were so few of the Crosscraw men left, it was likely that all those who had attacked his village years ago were long dead. But even still, just seeing them had made him sweat, and so he had fled into the lonely, empty halls of Dun Cairn.

And now, approaching the feast-laden tables, he could feel his nerves becoming rattled once more. Perhaps, he thought, it was foolish to come here. But before he could change his mind and turn around, Aela spotted him. The Crosscraw woman was seated next to her one-armed brother, at the end of one long table, and across from Elyse and Kells; when she saw him, her eyes flashed and she waved him over, nearly getting to her feet and shouting his name when he pretended not to see her. And so with a sigh, he joined them, taking a seat next to Elyse, who, he noticed, seemed oddly red-faced as he settled in.

"Ah was wonderin' when ye'd make yer way here," Aela said, beaming at him. She was red-faced as well, and her normal trepidation around hi seemed to be gone. Of all the Crosscraw, Aela seemed to be behaving the most as if this were a normal feast, her high spirits at odds with the quiet and subdued manner of her folk. "Ah was jest speakin tae Kells o' th' history o' this place."

Martimeos eyed the food in front of him - roast moosemeat and mushrooms, of portions that he could generously describe as 'adequate', carried on crude clay plates, with no utensils in sight - but he perked up at that. "The history of Dun Cairn, you mean? You know something of it?"

Aela squirmed a bit beneath his intense stare. "Well, Ah meant, nae all of et. Et's bin here longer than any can remember. But afore we all holed up here, ye see, et was a place o' peace. Sometimes th' clans would go tae war, ye see, an' when they got tired o' th' killin', all clans involved would pack up an' come here, tae blether at each other an' make peace."

"I did not realize that the clans fought amongst each other," Kells said, frowning as he picked up a portion of greasy moosemeat with his bare fingers. "Did you go to war often?"

Before Aela could answer, Torc snorted, giving Kells a hard, long stare. "Th' battles fought amongst th' clans could hardly be called war," the dour Crosscraw scoffed, brushing a stringy lank of hair out of his face. "Nae, that's a lesson ye Queensmen taught us, hard."

Kells looked taken aback by this, his slate-gray eyes widening. If he was offended at being called a Queensman, though, he kept it to himself. "What do you mean by that?"

"Never mind," Torc muttered, turning back to his plate with a sour expression on his face.

Elyse frowned at this, while pushing a stone cup in Martim's direction, in what he was sure she thought was a surreptitious manner. "So..." she said, eyeing Torc, as if expecting another outburst from the man, "Did you ever come here before? Before the bogge-men, that is."

"Hah! Nae," Aela laughed, downing a stone cup of her own. "Ghostfoot clan were too smart tae get wrapped up in clan wars."

"Aela!" Torc snapped, glaring at her, but his sister merely slapped his back.

"C'mon, Torc," she said, wrapping an arm around him as he grumbled beneath his breath, "Et's fine. Ye heard th' chief, we're tae treat th' lowlanders as one of our own. They can at least know of our clan." She grinned across the table at Martimeos, Kells and Elyse, her green eyes bright and twinkling. "Ah'm Aela Ghostfoot," she proclaimed grandly, pounding her chest, "Th' white shades o' th' pines, we are!"

"We were," Torc corrected her darkly. "We're all one clan naow." He downed his stone mug, staring into the dregs of it wistfully. "Ghostfoot dies with us."

Aela's smile slipped, but just for a moment. "Ach, ye jest need tae take on some more wives an' put babes en em, an' we'll be back," she replied, shaking his shoulder.

"One wife es all Ah need. An' Ah regret enough gettin' her pregnant. This ent nae life tae bring a child intae."

As the two Crosscraw bickered back and forth, Martimeos took the stone mug that Elyse had pushed towards him, absentmindedly sipping from it as he washed down a bite of moosemeat. To his surprise, it burned on the way down, and sputtering, he set down the mug, eyeing it. "Wine?" he asked, glancing around. Suddenly, he realized why both Aela and Elyse were so red-cheeked, and even Torc and Kells seemed to be slurring their speech a bit. "You have wine here?"

"Aye!" Aela cried merrily, reaching across the table to tap a large clay pitcher, and then grabbing it to pour a dark liquid, of a rich purple, into her mug. "We didnae make et ourselves, ye ken. Nae grapes upon th' mountains. 'Tis plunder, from the days of the Queen's War. Used tae get big caravans o' th' stuff, sent back bah our menfolk. Aye, we still hae some o' that left, tho' th' Chief only lets us break it out fer somethin' special." Once done pouring, she immediately tipped her mug back, downing the wine with a loud gulp. "Ah give lowlanders praise where et's due, wine es as fine a drink as Ah've ever had. An' ye hae so many different kinds!"

"Plunder?" Kells asked quietly, setting down a roasted mushroom. Shadows played across the harsh angles of his face as he furrowed his brow. "I had heard the Crosscraw fought for plunder, but I suppose I assumed you were more interested in more practical loot. Armor, weapons, that sort of thing."

"Drink es practical," Torc retorted. He seemed to be brightening up a bit himself, perhaps cheered by his sister's infectious enthusiasm. He gave Kells a small, wry smile. "Et keeps th' morale up. Even ef et makes ye do some daft things."

"You should see just how daft Martim gets when he's had some in him," Elyse said, and Martim frowned as the witch gave him a mischievous look with her dark blue eyes and poked him in the side. "Did you know he sings?"

Aela busily poured herself another cup of wine, her grip unsteady, nearly sloshing it over the brim. "Aye, th' White Queen might hae been a right cold bitch," she murmured, "But at th' very least, we got wine out o' th' deal." She gave Torcull a nudge, as she poured him another cup as well. "A fine trade, Ah think, fer mah brother's arm."

"It was during the Queen's War you lost your arm, then?" Kells asked, glancing at the Crosscraw man as he raised his cup to his lips. "How did it happen? From what I hear, more men lose limbs to simple infection during war than anything else."

Torc was quiet for some time, prodding at the food on his plate. "Aye," he said, not lifting his eyes from the table, "Ah saw that happen, more times than Ah would hae liked. Were a bit more excitin' fer me, though. Ah actually lost mah arm tae a wizard."

Martimeos, who had been sipping from his own wine - gently, the stuff was strong - gave a start. Calmly, he set his cup down with a small clatter, and stared across the table at Torc. "Is that so?" he asked.

Torc, staring at his plate and half-heartedly pushing his meal around it, did not notice Martim's stare. He scratched at the dirty furs he wore where his right arm should be, and blinked his tired, dark-circled eyes. "Aye," he muttered. "At least, Ah assume so. Ah never did see th' man mahself. All Ah ever saw were the earth tearin' itself apart around me, an' men snappin' like twigs, an' burstin' intae flame. 'Twas Fortune's sweet grace Ah survived. Ah ran, though afore Ah went, mah arm had been burnt tae th' bone."

Martim leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table, and folded his hands in front of him, peering over them at Torc. "It seems strange," he prodded, "For the Queen's forces to send normal men into battle against a wizard such as that."

Kells' eyes snapped open wide as he realized what might be happening. He cursed under his breath as he glanced over at Martimeos. The wizard's eyes were wild and fierce as he stared at the Crosscraw man, like a forest full of shadows concealing traps and blades drawn for blood.

But Torc, eyes on his plate and oblivious to this, carried on, sipping once more from his cup and smacking his lips as wine dribbled down his short red beard. "We didnae ken we'd be facin' a wizard at all," he replied. His mood seemed to grow much darker, his face clouding over with the recollection of unpleasant memory. "Let alone one as powerful as all that. 'Twas jest a small raid on some farmlands, ye'd think ye'd hae heard o' a fell wizard ef he was there. Never did figure out who et was. Some say et was Grimwold hisself."

And now even Elyse, far in her cups, took notice. She felt a sick knot of dread form in the pit of her stomach as she slowly placed her cup down, and stared hard at Torcull. Glancing over at Martimeos, she felt her fear leap into her throat. The wizard wore a crooked smile, and his gaze was as intense as she had ever seen it. Fortune pray it was a coincidence, she thought. "Martim," she murmured quietly and cautiously, prodding him, but the wizard ignored her.

"Just some farmlands," Martimeos repeated, his voice like the whisper of a dagger slowly drawn from its sheathe.

Finally, Torc seemed to notice what was happening. He raised eyes bleary with drink to look at Martim quizzically, and immediately paled upon seeing the wizard's expresssion. But then his shoulders slumped, and he looked at the wizard with a long, weary resignation, as if he knew what was coming. As if he had been expecting it for a long time.

"These farmlands," Martim continued, his crooked smile growing cruel, "They would not have happened to be called Pike's Green, would they?"

"Aye," Torc replied softly, "They were."

There was a clatter as Aela, who had been watching the exchange with some confusion, suddenly dropped her cup. She stared at Martimeos, mouth slightly ajar, as realization suddenly dawned across her face. "Nae," she whispered, "Oh, nae."

Martimeos calmly reached across the table, grasping the pitcher of wine by the handle, and slowly filled his cup. Raising it to his lips, he almost chickled to himself. He felt so wild and free, he realized, and he didn't know why. Something in his blood was not upset by this. Something in his blood thought it was, in fact, very funny. "So, Torc," he said, tone light-hearted and deceptively calm, "You spoke before of honor duels." He sipped from his wine, and then grinned, his eyes burning like witchfire. "Tell me, what does it take to arrange a duel to the death?"