((OOC: Sorry it took me so long, Thelizzy. With help from Big Willy Thunder.))

It was late when the wagon stopped. The light of the moon was stale in the night sky; Alaren, unable to sleep, had been watching it since the sun had set, as though it held the answer to her predicament. Curlan was resting on the opposite side of the wagon. Whether he slept or not, Alaren could not tell, but she could not see his eyes in the moonlight, and so she hoped that his mind had been easy enough for sleep. She herself found no such peace of mind.

“Alright,” came Thelize’s husky voice from below. “Come on then.”

Alaren glanced at Curlan, nudging him with her foot in case he had not heard; he rose, and the pair staggered groggily out of the wagon. She could still feel her stomach turn with every step, as though the wagon still lurched beneath them. Her pained efforts to regain her footing were met with little sympathy; instead, Thelize urged them onward, and Alaren had no choice but to hurry behind her captor towards the looming house in the distance.

The house was abandoned, as far as Alaren could tell, and had been for some time. The paint chipped visibly from the caving walls, and the whole building was rank with the stench of must and rotting wood. She and Curlan were herded into a dark, dusty cupboard that felt more like a prison cell than a bedroom, but there were two pallets on the floor and Alaren was not going to complain over a halfway-decent bed. Thelize sealed the door with the Power and left, her footsteps echoing as she walked down the hallway and upstairs.

**********

The tavern was clean and bright, with a freshly painted sign above the door and the sound of polite merrymaking drifting through the windows. It was rare to find such a gem of an institution in a city like Caemlyn; it was even rarer to find a fellow like Danraed frequenting it. He had done his best to clean up. His ragged hair was combed back neatly, and his collar was straightened and pressed, so when he stepped inside out of the murky night he nearly looked as though he belonged there. Danraed, of course, knew better.

The man who he was looking for was easy to spot. Danraed’s eyes and ears had been very careful in their description; a younger gentleman, with the start of a beard and a pair of half-moon spectacles. He wore culottes and a coat with tails, a mark of his status, and had long dark hair pulled back from his brow. Kaith Prowers was his name. He was a military expert, sent as an advisor to the king. He was also a ruthless Darkfriend. Danraed knew vaguely of his role in the Dark One’s plan; he knew more clearly how the man would fit into his own. He fingered the knife at his belt and walked towards the man, the hint of a smile playing at his pallid lips.

**********
Alaren tossed and turned beneath her woolen blanket, her face flushed and glistening with sweat as she turned feverishly. She had not had a nightmare since her night with Saker, chased away as they were by the presence of her Warder. Without him beside her, she dreamt again.

No!” she cried desperately, fighting off the stranger’s offered hand and clinging to the earth. The sky was thick with smoke and pleas as Tear burned. It was over… the city had fallen, and Saker was dead. Dead. “No! Leave me!”

“I won’t hurt you,” the man insisted. “You’re injured. If you stay here, you’ll die.” Dead. “Hush, child. I am going to help you out of here.”

She was crying. She felt pain, nothing but pain; the pain of denial, of understanding, of overwhelming helplessness. “No…” she murmured, her voice weak. “No… please. Please just leave me. Leave me here.”

Yet the man had lifted her over his shoulder and was carrying her away.*

********

The bloody clothes had grown heavy in Danraed’s hands by the time he reached the farmhouse, a pair of culottes and a jacket with tails. Somewhere in Caemyln their owner lie dead in the streets; Danraed’s knife was wet with blood. The knife, of course, had been unnecessary; the Power had been effective enough, but he had used it anyways. You are an evil man, Danraed, he thought to himself with a heavy heart, and made his way up the stairs.

Thelize had settled into the bedroom, and was asleep with her head propped up against the brass headboard. Danraed set the clothes down beside the bed and sighed. Why had he brought her into this? She had been right; it was a fool’s errand. There was little chance he would escape from this venture alive, let alone victorious. Yet somehow, with her there, it seemed possible. She believed in him, and he loved her. He only wished he could be as good a man as she believed he was.

He reached to touch her cheek, but when he saw the stains of blood upon his hands, he pulled them back and stared at them in disgust. Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
clean from my hand? he thought to himself. No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas in incarnadine making the green one red. He pushed them behind his back, as though he could rid them of their metallic crimson glow by putting them out of sight, and instead bent to kiss Thelize’s brow.

Edited by: Alaren Maidon at: 2/19/07 5:22 pm