Wander West, in Shadow

Martimeos stood by the entrance to the cave that contained their camp, plumes of smoke billowing from his mouth as he puffed furiously at his pipe, wisping away on the wind. The rosy fingers of early dawn had begun to grasp at the sky, and it was brilliant with pink and orange hues. Flit was perched one one of the dead trees that surrounded the cave, the tiny red cardinal signing his song to the new day. Very pretty, Martim thought, for such a twisted land.

He tried to keep his mind occupied with thoughts of the bogge-men. The one with the wolf-skull helm, that he had faced hours before, the one that had wielded the Art against him. He supposed, after a little thought, that it might make sense. Perhaps a wizard that had been turned into a bogge-man did not lose his knowledge of the Art. After all, Hadley had not lost all his memories, either. What worried him more was how willful the thing had seemed. He had not thought that the bogge-men might turn on each other. And why was the creature so impatient for him to meet with Hadley?

He heard the sound of small, quiet footsteps behind him, and turned to see Elyse approaching him, wiping her hands and shaking her head. The witch look tired, with bags beneath her dark blue eyes, and her long dark hair knotted and tangled. "How does he fare?" he asked.

Elyse sighed, and then glanced behind her, back further into the cave. There Torc sat, cross-legged on the cold stone floor, bound and gagged. The haggard Crosscraw man stared sullenly down at the ground, his hair hanging limply about his face, hiding his expression. Aela sat by his side, silent, tugging fretfully at her red mane. She did not look at her brother. And behind them both stood Kells, his breastplate gleaming in the light of dawn, hand on the mace by his belt, watching Torc very carefully.

"Better. He is at least conscious now." she replied. "And intelligible enough to speak sense. But he has a fever. Though I've given him some tea that should help with that. Driven himself to near-exhaustion, too. I think he's a few fractured ribs still, from the beating you gave him. And..." grimacing, she waved her hand and made a chopping motion across the wrist. "That stump you gave him, it looks as if he burned it to seal it, but still it bleeds, and looks like it might show the beginnings of infection."

Martimeos bit down on the stem of his pipe, and resisted the urge to snap that he did not care about all that. He only cared for one thing. "Can he speak?"

"Yes," Elyse answered warily. "The tea I've given him should have soothed his throat and cough." She paused, biting her lip, regarding Martimeos oddly. "But...perhaps you ought to let Kells and I be the ones to speak to him-"

But Martimeos was already brushing past her, his black-furred cloak fluttering from his urgent movement.

Aela looked up at him as he approached, her eyes widening upon seeing the wrathful expression on the wizard's face. Martimeos stared in silent fury at Torc. The man looked only at the ground. He still looked ragged from the beating Martimeos had given him not so long ago; his skin was a patchwork of bruises, and his hair patchy and thin, much of it having been burnt away during the duel. "Remove his gag," Martim snapped at Aela, and then he sighed, softening a bit, running a hand through his shaggy hair. "Please."

Aela reached out, behind her brother's head, and unknotted the cloth bound there to keep Torc silent. The Crosscraw man did not move as she did this; he remained staring at the stone floor. But the moment the gag fell away from his mouth, he began to speak. "Ah-"

"You will open your mouth only to answer my questions," Martimeos snapped. He struggled to maintain control; the moment he had heard the man's voice, a black anger had gripped his heart, so thick it almost frightened him. And he could feel something in his blood that delighted in this rage; something that whirled and danced with it. He tapped his boot upon the ground, puffing at his pipe, until he felt calm enough to speak once more. "How is it," he asked, frowning at his spent tobacco before putting his pipe away, "That you knew to find us here?"

Torc shifted, straining uncomfortably against his bonds. "Grizel," he murmured. "The ol' witch told me everythin'."

Martim's hand strayed unconsciously to the hilt of his sword. "Everything," he whispered. "What do you think 'everything' is?"

"Where ye were goin'," Torc answered, still staring at the floor. "How ye planned tae kill th' Bogge-King." He looked up finally, his eyes full of a feverish intensity as he stared at Martimeos. "An' why. She tol' me who th' Bogge-King was, wizard. That it were someone from yer village."

Martimeos cursed, and spat on the ground. His every muscle felt on edge, tensed and ready to spring. What had the old crone been thinking? "And did you tell anyone else?"

"Nae. Grizel said ef Ah spoke a word o' et, she'd skin me alive an' make mah bones dance." Martimeos relaxed, on hearing this, though he did not know whether he should trust the man. "But knowin' Aela were goin' with ye, Ah couldnae jest..." Torc trailed off, looking at his sister. Aela still refused to look at him, her hands twiirling and knotting in her hair. "She tol' me that ye'd...how dangerous, et would be." He paused, then said, his voice pained, "Aela, Ah...couldnae let ye...fer what Ah did-"

"Ye should nae hae come," Aela interrupted him. She finally turned to look at her brother. Her face was impassive, stony, though her hands still tugged fretfully at her hair. "Ah dinnae want ye here. Yer mah brother, but - Ah dinnae know ye, any longer. Ah dinnae know who ye are. Ye're a stranger tae me." She blinked suddenly, rapidly, and looked away from him once more, hiding her face beneath her hair.

Torc's eyes widened; he looked back down at the ground. "Aye," he said quietly. "Aye, that's fair."

Kells coughed, clearing his throat, so that both Torc and Aela glanced towards him. "A fine enough story," the soldier said, giving Torc a look as hard as steel. "But it does not tell us how you found us."

"Et were nae so hard tae track ye," Torc replied. "Ye hae Mors with ye, an' a bear his size leaves behind a clear trail. An' it were nae as ef ye were coverin' yer footsteps." He grew quiet, looking inward. "Ah went without sleep tae catch up tae ye, an' hid from...th' things, Ah saw en th' woods." He shivered, and then gestured down towards his ash-smeared hides."'Tis easier fer one man tae hide than a group, an' Ah covered mah scent with th' ash from yer campfires. Ah did a good job o' et, 'til th' bogge-men spotted me an' gave chase. Ah am - was - a Ghostfoot, after all."

"You're an idiot, is what you are," Elyse snapped. The witch was kneeling nearby, placing her herbs back into her satchel, but now she looked up with a glare sharp enough to cut. "What were you going to do? What were your plans, once you found us?"

Torc was quiet for a long moment. "Ah...wish tae take Aela back wit' me. She should nae be th' one payin' fer mah blood debt." He paused, his face grim, the lingering bruises making it a mottled canvas of purple and brown. "Or Ah can take her place."

"What possible use could you be to me, you worm?" Martimeos asked, his voice cold. "If Aela does not object to it, you may both leave together. But you will not be coming with us."

But before he had even finished speaking, Aela was shaking her head so vigorously that it nearly became nothing but a red blur. "Nae, nae, nae," she cried, her voice nearly a yell. "Et should nae be jest lowlanders, doin' this. Ah'd never live down th' shame o' abandonin' ye. Nae, Ah will stay."

Torc glanced at Aela, his mouth opened, as if he wanted to say something in return to her. But before the man could speak, Martimeos cut him off. "Well then, Torc," he said, "Looks like you'll be going back alone."

The Crosscraw man glanced from his sister, to Martimeos, and back and forth again. And then he set his jaw, his mouth a grim line, and lifted his eyes to meet Martim's. "Nae. Ah willnae leave mah sister."

Martim's mind flew away on dark wings of rage; before he knew it, he held his sword in his hand. Some shadow laughed and bubbled in his blood, some part of him was amused. "You will do exactly as I say," he hissed, "Or you won't go back at all. I'll take your head myself and gift it to the bogge-men. Just how far do you think my patience runs, butcher?"

But Torc only smiled in response, his eyes wide and frantic, dark set in his fever-burned face. "Do et," he cried, "Do et, kill me an' then send Aela back. That's fine wit' me as well. Life ain't worth et with th' curse ye've put on me, wizard!"

Martimeos stared down at the Crosscraw man, his eyes wild and blazing, his sword gripped firmly in a white-knuckled hand. Start with his defiant tongue, a laughing voice within him said. Then take his feet, since he has so little else to take. Wouldn't it be funny to leave him with nothing but a head? To let him suffer with nothing but the one thing the rest of his people had taken away? He wouldn't live long, but it would certainly give the bogge-men a puzzle when they found him. Martimeos struggled to resist the dark whispers of this impish voice in his mind. But as much as he might find its suggestions bloodthirsty, right now, they seemed alluring.

But then, Aela spoke, her voice small and quiet. "Nae," she murmured. She had her hair pulled across her face, and sat looking away from both her brother and Martim. "Ah ask o' ye, nae tae kill him. Ah..." suddenly, she spun her head, bright green eyes glaring furiously at Torc, and she lashed out with a slap hard enough to jerk his head back. "Ah cannae believe ye hae done et," she snarled at her brother. "Ye hae made me beg fer yer life again. How much more shame will ye pile on me?"

A sudden sense of shame and revulsion washed over Martimeos. He had been thinking of torturing the man the man. Surely, Torc deserved to suffer, but the gruesome thoughts he had been having, they weren't right. "What am I doing," he whispered beneath his breath, looking down at the two Crosscraw. Torc might bring out these whispers in his mind, but that did not mean he had to listen to them.

With a sigh, he sheathed his sword, as Kells stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you let me talk to him, wizard," Kells said quietly. "Perhaps I can make him see sense."

"That might be best," Martimeos muttered in reply. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair wearily, feeling some of the anger drain out of his blood. Damn Grizel, but this was a fine mess. With a grim shake of his head, he sighed, and left as Kells crouched down besides Torc and began to speak in low, urgent tones to the man. He found a clean rock by the entrance of the cave, sat down, and pondered, staring out into the forest."

He did not have much time alone with his thoughts before Elyse joined him, brushing her black, tattered dress free of Cecil's fur as she sat down beside him. "So," she began, and then paused, as if uncertain what to say. "A curse? I did not know you knew how to curse people. You might have told me. What was it you cursed Torc with?"

"He cursed himself with his guilt," Martimeos replied, toying with the edge of the red scarf dangling from his neck. "It's not the Art. It's all in his head. Though I might wish I had the knowledge to honestly curse him." He snorted. "I might have thought taking his hand would be curse enough. I must admit I am impressed that he managed to follow us, crippled and wounded as he is."

"I do not think he was thinking very clearly." Elyse glanced back into the cave, where Torc was now talking animatedly with Kells, red-faced and shaking his head. "Even if the bogge-men did not find him, I think a few more days and he might have been too sick to go further."

Martimeos shook his head. "I wish I might have Grizel here before me," he growled beneath his breath. "I might have a few choice words for that old crone."

"Perhaps," Elyse replied softly, "She sent him for a reason." When Martimeos glanced towards her, raising a dubious eyebrow, she shrugged. "Why would she have told him where we went? Perhaps she had another Telling, and saw that he would be useful. I can see no other reason why she might send him after us."

"No other reason other than she might be mad," Martimeos grumbled. "How useful could Torc be, as he is?" He sighed, and leaned down to give Cecil a scratch, as the witch's familiar strolled over to rub against his legs. "I take your point, I suppose. Either she is mad, or she had a good reason to send him, and we do not know which it is."

"But if she did send him for a reason," Elyse pressed, "It might be an important one. And if she didn't, well...I...understand that it irks you, but..."

Martimeos glared at her for a moment, and then his shoulders slumped. "You're right," he muttered. "I should not let my rage blind me. It would be foolish to send him away, if it might somehow mean our lives. But damn, I do not like it."

"I could tell. You can become rather frightening when you're angry, wizard." Elyse gave a small, strange hum, peering at Martim from beneath the shadows of her hat. "I suppose that is what the stories I have read meant when they spoke of a wizard's wrath."

Up in the trees, Flit chirped, and Martim extended an arm for the little cardinal to fly down and perch upon. "I did not mean to scare you," he said idly, as his familiar preened.

"You did not frighten me," Elyse scoffed. "But Aela and Torc might have a hard time choosing between you or the bogge-men, when you are wroth. But I know you enough by now, I think, to not be frightened by you. Even with all your secrets."

Flit hopped from his master's hand to Martim's shoulder, regarding the witch with a beady black eye. Elyse was glad to see a small smile grace the wizard's face, as he was drawn out of his black mood. "Is that so," he said. "You know me so well?"

"You are not a complicated man, Martimeos," Elyse replied lightly. "You like the Art and pretty girls. And you like for folk to be treated fairly. And..." Frowning, she gestured vaguely, unable to find the right words. "...you have a warmness to you that remains, even when the world about you is cold."

Martimeos gave her an amused, befuddled smile. "I think that is the first time anyone has described me as 'warm'. Usually there are other words applied."

"You can be mischievous and stubborn, I suppose," Elyse continued quickly. "Foolish, sometimes. Irritable, for certain, and reckless."

"There they are," Martimeos said.

"But I can see the warmth there, even if others cannot.. I..." Elyse gave a small laugh. "'Tis what I like about you, wizard."

Flit chirped something into Martim's ear, and the wizard gave a small smile. It faded, though, as he fingered the red scarf that hung about his neck. "Well," he said, "I am not sure I agree with you there. I think I can be very cold indeed. But I think I might be colder, if you were not here. I am glad you are around to talk sense to me."

A cough interrupted them, and they both turned to find Kells and Aela standing behind them. The soldier had his arms crossed, gray eyes stern above a grim frown, while the Crosscraw woman simply seemed tired, looking wearily down at the ground. "Well," Kells said, "it seems he won't listen to reason after all. That one could give a mule a run for its coin. He says that if Aela will not go back, he will go where she goes." He paused, and then shook his head. "We might leave him behind, but I suspect that would be just as good as killing him outright."

Martimeos rose to his feet with a groan; the endless cold of the mountains had caused a weariness to settle into his bones that he could not seem to shake. "I see. And what say you, Aela?"

"Ah dinnae want him here, ye ken," Aela answered. She raised her eyes to meet Martim's, and then quickly looked away. "Ah...dinnae want him dead, but Ah meant what Ah said. He's a stranger tae me. Ah wish tae be here, with ye. But..." She gave a sigh, looking back into the cave at her brother, who remained seated and bound, out of earshot. "If Ah must, tae spare his life..."

"I will not make you return with him, if you do not wish it." Martimeos looked over her shoulder to Torc, giving a long, hard stare. His lips began to curl into a snarl before he shook his head and gave a defeated sigh. "Elyse raised a good point. Grizel must have sent him after us for a reason. I cannot imagine how he might be useful, myself, but...perhaps he should come with us."

Kells' eyes widened in surprise; he drummed his fingers on his breastplate thoughtfully, giving Martim a considering look. "Are you sure that's for the best?" he asked slowly, as if choosing his words very carefully. "I do not blame you for it, mind, but - he, uh, seemed to put you in a dark mood. And can we really trust one such as he at our backs?"

"What could he possibly do to us, such as he is?" Martimeos asked sofly, but Kells shook his head.

"I told you before Torc must have been clever to survive the Queen's War with one arm. Well, I tell you now he must have been twice as clever as I thought to track us unseen with one arm and no hand, and wounded as he is, to boot. If I've one bit of wisdom, it's that clever men can be very dangerous, with or without weapons."

"Ah...Ah s'pose Ah agree," Aela muttered. She glanced back uneasily between Kells and Martim, furrowing her brow. "Torc es - well, was - one o' th' best Ghostfoot had. Few could track an' hide as he could. An' even with only one arm, he still managed tae best most who challenged him. Ah wouldnae think him powerless, nae."

"And..." Kells frowned, tapped his boot on the ground, and lowered his voice to a whisper. "He says he knows that it is your friend Hadley who is the Bogge-King. I note that he did not mention how he felt about that. He says he's here for Aela; what if he's actually here for revenge?"

"But that would be stupid," Elyse cried, and then at a meaningful glance from the soldier lowered her tone to a whisper as well. "Revenge, when we are trying to kill the Bogge-King ourselves? Do you think he'd be so foolish as to endanger that for revenge?"

"I don't know. Perhaps he thinks we'd fail either way, and he wants to be the one to kill.." trailing off, Kells nodded in Martim's direction. "Or perhaps he thinks we lied to Grizel about our intentions. Or perhaps he's simply half-mad and doesn't care. Men can do strange and stupid things."

Martimeos scratched his chin thoughtfully, as Flit burbled something in his ear about how it was true that you didn't need hands to be dangerous; feet were enough. "Do you think that is something he'd do?" he asked, looking at Aela.

"Ah - Ah dinnae ken," she replied, stammering, as if surprised at herself. "Ah tol' ye. Ah thought Ah knew mah brother. But Ah cannae say any longer that Ah hae a good idea o' what he might an' might not do."

They were interrupted by the sounds of snapping branches; the trees surrounding the cave entrance shook and groaned as something massive passed through them. They stepped back in alarm, until, moments later, Mors stepped forth from the forest, shaking loose broken twigs from his hide. He snorted, scratching at the dead half of his face to remove a long vine of black brambles that had become stuck there.

"How went the scouting?" Kells asked, as Mors padded over to them with footsteps that made the ground tremble.

"I RANGED FAR," Mors grumbled in reply. Martimeos thought he must have; the bear had been gone for hours. "AND MANAGED TO CATCH SCENT OF THE OGRES. WE ARE CLOSE. PERHAPS A DAY OR TWO WORTH OF TRAVEL."

"You can smell them that far off?" Elyse asked, dubiously. "Even Cecil can not smell something so far away."

"DO NOT INSULT ME BY COMPARING MY NOSE TO A CAT'S," Mors growled in reply, a barking growl of a chickle escaping him as Cecil backed away, hissing, his hackles raised. "THE OGRES STINK, AND MY NOSE IS VERY KEEN." For a moment, he seemed abashedswinging his snout towards Aela to give her a gruesome, fang-filled grin. "YOUR BROTHER WAS VERY CLEVER TO DISGUISE HIMSELF WITH OUR CAMPFIRES, FOXHAIR. I THOUGHT I WAS SMELLING THE LINGERING STINK OF SMOKE ON YOU ALL."

"Mors," Martimeos asked suddenly, a thought leaping to his mind, "Didn't you say before that Grizel spoke to you in dreams? Torc knew to find us because she sent him here. Could you ask her why?"

But Mors just returned his question with a flat, glassy stare. "THERE ARE LIMITS, WIZARD, TO HOW FAR GRIZEL CAN REACH OUT AND TOUCH MY DREAMS. BUT IF IT IS TRUE SHE SENT HIM, THERE IS CERTAINLY A REASON. I DID NOT CHOOSE HER AS MY WITCH BECAUSE SHE IS A FOOL." His tongue lolled out and his black lips peeled back, revealing slavering fangs. "OF COURSE, IT IS UP TO YOU WHETHER YOU HEED HER REASONS. I THINK, MYSELF, THAT YOU SHOULD LET ME EAT HIM. I DID NOT FIND ANY PREY DURING MY SCOUTING."

"No," Martimeos replied, as the wicked, ruined face of Mors leered at him. "I don't think so." He lingered a moment, toying with his scarf, and then, squaring his shoulders with resolved, walked back into the cave.

Torc did not look up as he approached; the Crosscraw man remained staring at the ground, submissive and quiet, not straining against his bonds. Martimeos halted a few feet from him. He could feel his blood growing hot just from looking at the man, but he forced his anger back. "This is going to be the only time I ask," he said quietly. "But if we took you with us, what would you do?"

Torc remained silent, for a long moment, and Martimeos tried not to let his rage flare up from not receiving an immediate answer from the man. "Ah am nae after revenge," the Crosscraw man answered finally. He raised his eyes to look up at Kells, who had come to stand by Martim's shoulder. "Ah heard ye," he said flatly, "Ye didnae whisper soft enough. Ah hae nae thoughts o' killin ye, wizard, an' Ah dinnae hold ye responsible fer the bogge-men. The Bogge-King may hae been someone from yer village, aye, but he ent yer blood. All I care fer es...tae see mah sister doesnae die fer what Ah hae done."

"That ent yer concern," Aela snapped at her brother, from somewhere behind Martim. Her voice was cold; it seemed odd to hear such a harsh tone coming from her. "What Ah do ent nae business o' yers, any longer."

Torc grew pale, and he looked down at the ground once more. "Ah wish ye tae send her back," he mumbled, as if he had not heard her. "Either wit' me, or let me take her place. But ef she willnae go herself, Ah....Ah would go with ye, aye. Tae keep her safe, ef I can. An..." He swallowed audibly, and looked up at Martim. "Ah ken ye dinnae want me here, an' Ah dinnae blame ye. But ef Ah could pay back mah blood debt tae ye mahself, Ah would do et."

Martimeos stared at the man, gritting his teeth so hard he thought they might crack. "Let me make this clear," he replied, his voice severe and hard. "Unless you could go back to the day you and yours burnt down Pike's Green and undo all that was done, there will never be any forgiveness for you from me." He stopped for a long moment, closing his eyes and breathing slowly, until the heat in his blood died down. "I will take you," he muttered, "If only because I think Grizel must have had a reason in sending you. But you will remain bound, and you will not speak a word to me. And if you give me the slightest reason to think that you plan to betray me, my sword will be through your heart before you can blink."

Torc opened his mouth, as if to answer, then remembered Martim's words, and merely nodded.

Martim spat at the man's feet in contempt, and then turned his back on him. This was going to be difficult to put up with. He looked into the eyes of Aela, Elyse, and Kells, all watching him carefully, and felt a hot spike of embarassment in his skull. He could see pity there, and that wasn't what he wanted. "Well," he said, his voice deceptively light, "Let's go, then. Not much further now."

And with that, he brushed past them, to the entrance of the cave, where Mors waited for them, grinning.