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Fantasy Cloud Tower

In the heart of the city, the Roving Mutt bar was in full swing. When big news happened, which wasn't often, the bars flooded with gossips and snitches alike. Full bars meant flowing kegs, which meant flowing gold. This particular day, however, the news was of a much higher caliber. The princess herself, the one they all knew and loved, had been snatched from the castle under the guards' very noses! King Galbrant issued a one hundred thousand gold bounty for whomever could bring his daughter back alive and unharmed, and mercenaries flocked at the news.


One such band, as of yet nameless, had just received their official writ of 'King's Justice', authorizing them to conduct searches and interrogations as if they were part of the King's own high guard. While many might abuse the power, it was a risk the King had to take to ensure his daughter was returned to him. She was the only child he had, after all, and his wife had passed several years ago due to illness.


"Barman! Another ale!" demanded a voice from seemingly nowhere. Looking around curiously, the bartender startled as the owner of that mystery voice pulled herself onto a barstool. Ah, perfect. A gnome. Well, at least she was bound to have money, right?


"I'm sorry, did I serve you before? You said 'another', but I don't remember you..." He trailed off under the withering glare she sent his way, moving to refill her tankard with ale. Scoffing, the gnome placed a single silver piece on the bar, pointedly making sure the barman caught her disdain. She weaved back through the crowd towards her table, where the others were situated. They'd only met today, forming a group spontaneously due to the fact that the other mercenary bands assembled in the castle weren't hiring.


Smirking at the gnome, one of the men leaned forward on the table, chewing a thin strand of wheat. "Bartender giving you trouble, May?" The gnome, obviously not named May, reached out to slap the man lightly across the cheek.


"It's Ma. Maaaaa. Not May. I'm damn near old enough to be your grandmother six times removed, so why don't you treat me with a little more respect?" He chuckled, looking over at the others. Not necessarily the most outlandish group. A nice round number of five, with two being non-humans. The elf was definitely not a talker, that much he'd gathered from their brief interaction.


He leaned over and nudged her with his shoulder anyways, trying to crack the 'ice queen' vibe she was giving off. Sure, she advertised herself as a capable mage, but conveniently forgot to throw in details. "What about you, huh? What'd you say your name was?" If Ma's glare was fearsome, hers came off as downright deathly. Raising his hands, the man looked to his fellow humans. "Alright, forget it, I'll talk to the nice kids. Heya, I don't remember if I introduced myself. Markos." He held out a hand to them, careful not to get in the elf's bubble of personal space.


The woman snickered, eyes twinkling, and held out her hand in return, shaking Markos'. "I'm Mikayla," she informed him, grinning, "and this is my twin Michael. But don't be mistaken, we're as different as day and night. I like fun, and he's a boring stick in the mud." She glanced at her brother, minor malevolence in her gaze, and tossed tumbling black hair back over her shoulder.


Michael simply shook his head. "What my darling sister means to say, is she likes to sleep around then visit all manner of healers because she's caught something." He shook Markos' hand as well, and returned Mikayla's look. While the two were twins, and had grown up close, their personalities as adults made it difficult for them to really see eye-to-eye, and they often clashed. However, when there was a job that needed doing, they managed to set aside whatever differences they had and get it done.


Mikayla rolled her eyes, then grinned once more. "I haven't ever had a disease. He's just jealous because I'm the better merc." She loved to tease, in whatever way she could, and sometimes she was downright mean about it. Since she didn't mind blood on her hands, however, none bothered to say anything against her. None except for Michael, of course. "I'm hungry," she said after some moments of silence, and waved over the wench serving tables, ordering a simple meal of beef and potatoes. "Anyone else want anything? I'm buying."


"Grilled leeks and cabbage," the elf spoke up quickly. Both Ma and Markos paused their drinking to look at her oddly. Those were the first words they'd heard out of her since 'I'm a mage'. She returned their stares with a slightly furrowed brow, daring them to make a comment. After a moment, the two looked at each other, shrugged, and went back to drinking. "But don't cook the cabbage," she added quickly.


The wench nodded, mumbled something about how their order would be right up, and proceeded on to her other tables.


"Grilled leeks and raw cabbage. Sounds tasty." The absolute disgust on Mikayla's face showed how much she truly disagreed with it. Then again, this was the first elf she had ever come across. Perhaps it was normal for them. When it came right down to it, she was fairly ignorant when it came to the other races. She hadn't been able to meet many.


"Sister dear, leave the lovely lady alone. She has done nothing to you, and we're all on the same team. Don't be rude." Michael flicked his sister's forehead, ignoring her glare, and went back to his studied silence. He might be quiet, but it wasn't due to shyness, or lack of eloquence, rather, because he liked to study the others around him.


Having had his confidence boosted somewhat by another similar opinion, Markos agreed with Mikayla. "No, I agree, it's weird. Who doesn't cook their cabbage? Look at you, you're skin and bones, elf. You need a good roast with potatoes. Oh and gravy. Mmm...Oh and carrots, onions, toma-" Suddenly he quit speaking, an expression of confusion mixed with pain plastered across his face. Reaching up, he gingerly touched his throat, but found nothing there. So then what explained the sudden feeling of a sharp blade piercing his neck?


Slowly, the elf lowered her index finger back down to the table, an almost imperceptably smug smirk tugging at the edges of her lips. Markos cleared his throat and took another swig of beer, too disturbed to continue his little food speech.


"My name isn't 'elf', just like hers isn't 'May'. It's Nisa." Nisa briefly met Ma's eyes, choosing not to acknolwedge the gnome's grin. Ma liked the girl already.


"So, now what? We go out into the big wide world to find one person?" Markos had recovered remarkably quickly. Either he was thick in the head, or too brash to know better. "I mean, you can hide someone in a box and leave them in a tree if you ensorcell them correctly." The comment brought a frown to Ma's face, banishing her earlier amusement. In the midst of it all, she hadn't even thought to ask about details. What a rookie mistake...


Mikayla watched it all, doing her best not to laugh. That's what he gets for irritating a mage, after all. She was genuinely amused, until she heard Markos speak, then she sighed. "That's why my brother is here. He's a tracker, and he's damn good at it," she informed the others. Slowly, she pulled one of the small daggers from her hip and began cleaning her fingernails with it. "On top of that, we have a mage. Ensorcelled correctly or not, between Nisa and Michael, I think we have a very good chance of finding the girl. Now, unless we're starting tonight, there's a handsome, young man over there that looks like he's going to buy my bed for the--


"Shut up, Mik. No one cares. Markos, what information do you have about the girl?" Michael interrupted his sister, all business. "Personally, I don't even know what she looks like. Never cared much for the royals and their noble lapdogs." He ignored his sister's look as best he could; in truth, he was frightened of her temper, and knew he was pushing it by cutting her off while she was talking. The girl had killed for less, and it was probably only the promise she made their mother that kept her from completely killing him.


"Ass," he heard her mumble under her breath, but he continued speaking to the others, instead. "Nisa, forgive me if I'm rude, but how strong of a mage are you, exactly? I know elves are stronger, but that doesn't mean that you'll be strong enough. Markos? Ma? Your specialties? I need to know what allowances we all need to make for one another."


Quirking a brow, Nisa pursed her lips momentarily. "It isn't a matter of 'strength'. I cannot level a mountain, nor can I call down a tempest at will as some claim to be able to do. In fact, I would not list 'strength' under any of my skills, except strength of will. What I do have, however, is cleverness. I guarentee I can dispell any ward or barrier in half the time of anyone else you meet. Not only that, but my charms and hexes are nigh impossible to shake." She puffed her meagre chest out slightly in pride as she boasted, very obviously her biggest fan.


Markos stared at her for a moment. "Uh huh...Yeah, I don't know about all that. I'm a," He paused in thought, stroking his goatee. "I don't really know what you call it, I guess. I do a lot of sabotage. You know, climbing gates and leaving powder charges, dismantling siege engines, cutting pant ties at inopportune times. That sort of thing." He gestured for Ma to go next, eyeing a fresh pie being set at a table next to them. Blackberry cobbler...his favorite.


"I've done many things in my lifetime. My childhood, I spent in the mines. I know the cut and fault of any stone I come across with a touch. Of course, being a gnome, I'm skilled with gemcutting, minor illusions, enchantment, and stone handling. But as of late, I've taken up hunting. As far as I know, I'm the only one to use a stone bow to hunt with, so you could say I occupy a niche role." She shrugged, taking another sip. "What about you, Mikayla? Didn't catch what you do."


Mikayla glanced at the gnome, then slid the dagger she was using back into its sheath. Sighing, she glanced at the others as well. "Poisons. There's not a poison in this world that I can't make or cure with the antidote. I also happen to use daggers and short swords, as you can see. I aim for stealth kills. I'm also," and at this she smiled predatorily, "the distraction whenever it's needed. Men are easily controlled, and I make it easy for others to sneak around. A guard is worthless when he has only one thing on his mind, and it isn't his duties." She smirked. Sleeping around had it's uses, not that her brother could see it.


Michael slowly shook his head. He couldn't believe her. He wondered how she could have turned out the way she did, but there was nothing he could do about it, except keep her alive when it counted. That's what family did, he supposed. "All right, a hunter, a mage, a sabateur, her," he gestured absently to Mikayla, "and a tracker. What a ragtag group we are." He sighed, leaning back into his chair. He wasn't even sure what to do about this group. Normally, he was very strategic, but his new team seemed to be so diverse that he didn't know if he could even form a good plan.


"Well, the first thing we are going to have to do is go where the princess was last known to be. I can't track her otherwise."


"Yeah, that'd be the castle. I dunno if King Stuffybritches is going to let you pick through her undergarments though. I mean, did you look at him? I'm surprised he's hiring mercs to do this job. I guess he did the smart thing by saving up the reward til the end though. I bet half these guys would've just grabbed any up-front and cut to a new country with it." Markos' laugh choked off suddenly, causing him to grab his throat. He'd figured out what it was by this time, however, and scooted a little bit away from Nisa. Satisfied, the mage released her magic and turned to Michael, folding her hands primly.


She almost got to speaking before the wench delivered their requested food. While having the food was nice, being interrupted was not, and she glared daggers at the woman. Of course, the wench was used to such treatment and let it roll right over her. "As I was about to say, I took the liberty of questioning a few of the guards while the other mercenary bands were milling about like cattle. There are four guardsmen in the sick ward right now, under healer scrutiny. Apparently, they were incapacitated by magic, and are having a difficult time recovering. We could go ask them for information. Well, some of us. Well...I could."


Nisa cast an uncertain glance around the table. She honestly didn't trust any of them to accompany her and not make it worse, except Michael, but he had a different job to do. If the guards were conscious, she could probably tickle some more information from their minds. Perhaps one of them caught a glimpse of the attacker? It was something to hope for.


Michael scratched his head thoughtfully, before sighing. "We'll all have to go. The guards should be questioned, and there's no telling which direction the trail will lead. Speaking of the trail, it's getting colder the longer we sit here." He glanced at Mikayla, who was just staring at the plate placed in front of her, almost glaring at it. "Sis...?"


Mikayla shook her head, still staring. She took a few bites before passing it off to Michael. "Sis, you have to eat. You know that. This problem of yours--" Before he could get anymore out, Mikayla drew her knife and held it to his throat.


"You don't know what you're talking about, brother," she informed him coldly, "And I suggest you keep your worthless mouth shut." As much as she'd like to kill him, she knew he was right. However, she couldn't bring herself to eat more than a few mouthfuls. A pity; the food was delicious.


Once she was sure that he wouldn't say anything more, Mikayla sheathed her dagger once more, but the ice in her eyes had not dissipated. They glittered dangerously, fury simmering in their depths. She had once asked her mother why she was like that, why she had to be angry all the time, but her mother had never given her an answer. She avoided the question, consistently. All the poor girl knew was that she was angry, and she couldn't seem to help it one little bit.


That brought a bit of silence to the table. Ma excused herself quietly, brows arched, and went to get a refill for her drink. Markos slipped away as well, scooting a pair of giggling girls over in their bench to share the pie. They squawked at him, but apparently he cracked a joke, as their anger changed to laugher in a snap. Nisa, however, simply continued to eat, calmly looking between the siblings occasionally.


"Is this going to be a problem?" she asked. "I'd certainly hope that your asking about our capabilities means you have your own...issues under control."


Mikayla narrowed her eyes before stalking off to the bar. Ale wasn't strong enough for her, anymore.


Michael sighed, and shook his head. "Actually," he said softly, "that was her under control. She didn't even cut me open. It wouldn't have been the first time." He shook his head once more. Despite how it looked, he did care for his sister, and he hoped that hopefully she could beat whatever was wrong with her.


"She just...I don't know, has this problem that keeps her from eating much. She's gone to a healer about it, but they don't know what the problem really is. And she has an impossible temper. But she isn't all bad," he explained, watching his sister down whatever she had chosen to take away the pain. "Something inside her broke when our mother died, I think."


Hmm. On one hand, that could be a serious issue. On the other, that little squishy part deep inside the elf that encouraged her to empathize, the bit that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't squash it, asked her to care. "I see. She's been to healers and they don't know what is wrong... Has she sought refuge in a sanitarium? Their methods may be...coarse, but they appear to work. Perhaps it isn't an illness of the body, but of the mind?" That was a relatable problem. Nisa's cousin went raving mad and decided he was a deer after delving a bit too deeply into forbidden research. Mental illnesses were very serious in her eyes.


Still, there was business at hand. "Nevertheless, we may discuss that later. As of yet, we are on a 'cold trail' that is only getting colder. I suggest we finish up our business here and get a move on."


Michael laughed humorlessly. A sanitarium. Yeah, he doubted that would go over too well with his sister. She was liable to kill whoever suggested it.


"I agree with you, Nisa. You are so blessedly straighfoward. A nice change of pace from what I'm used to. Mind getting Ma and Markos? I'll deal with my sister." With that, Michael left his place at the table, and headed for the bar. Not bothering to say anything, he grabbed his sister and threw the poor short woman over his shoulder as easily as could be. She protested, quite colorfully so, but she couldn't get him to loosen his grip. Finally, she just gave up and laid there.


Slowly, picking his way through the room, he took her outside and set her down. Before the others could get outside, he spoke, "Look. You need to get a handle on things. We need this money, whether you care or not. So play nice, dammit." She looked like she was going to spit in his face, but thought better of it. The others would be outside soon, and they didn't need to see that.


Not a moment later, the remainder of the group filed out of the bar, laughing about something someone else had said inside. They noticed the tension however, and paused awkwardly. "Uh, You alright? Someone eat something bad?" Markos said with a half-laugh, looking between the siblings.


Nisa rolled her eyes, pushing him slightly. "Don't be such an ass. Move it, we're going to the castle. The trail is getting cold, remember?" She turned and walked down the cobblestone street, missing Markos' mocking hand gestures.


"Yeah, let's go," Michael said quietly, leading the way in the darkness to the castle.


---


 
Mikayla stared at the castle looming over them, a look of mild disgust on her face. "Not exactly fair, is it?" she asked, "Them sitting all high and pretty while the rest of us have to scrounge around for food. All because of blood." She had seemed to regain composure once more, as if nothing had happened in the bar, like everything with her was perfectly fine.


Michael couldn't help but agree with his sister, though he kept quiet on the subject. He'd seen firsthand just how unfair it was, but didn't feel like delving into it right then. Or ever. "Alright, we're here, now how are we going to be let in, considering the hour?" he asked, thoughtfully, more to himself than the other. He saw the guards at the gate, and he wasn't entirely too certain that they'd be let in. Then again, they were especially hired to find the princess, so maybe that entitled them to some liberties that others wouldn't get. Like barging into the king's home without so much as an invitation.


Ma pulled the writ they'd received out of a pocket on the inside of her dress and approached the guards. They seemed surprised that someone would so boldly hail them at such a late hour. When Ma showed them the writ, however, they stepped aside to let the group through. Apparently none of the other merc bands had thought to do that. A good sign. She got directions to the infirmary ward, leading the others confidently.


"Man, this place was built with defense in mind. All the masonry is well maintained, there aren't any shadowy nooks to hide in, no obtuse or decorative architecture. At least not out here by the gates." Markos examined the castle interior with a saboteur's eye and found it unfavorable for his line of work. At least the first King knew what he was doing when he hired the architect. Built to last, this building.


A pair of sleepy-eyed guards stopped the group outside the infirmary ward, crossing their spears in front of the door. "Business?"


"We are here in the name of the King, looking for any leads to aid our pursuit of the princess' kidnapper," Nisa spoke with confidence. That satisfied the guards, who retracted their weapons and allowed the mercenaries to enter. There, at the end of the ward, were four beds currently occupied by those who could only be the King's high guardsmen. They were in terrible condition. One man missing an arm, another with his face almost melted into a smooth plane of flesh...It made Markos' stomach roll.


Nisa took a small breath before approaching the least wounded of the four. She waited until the man's nurse moved away, then knelt by his bedside. At the last moment, the elf turned to Michael and waved him over, remembering that the man wanted to ask questions as well. They'd probably have different lines of reasoning to pursue, she figured, and it'd be best to put their minds together from the beginning anyways. "Would you prefer to start?" she asked the tracker.


Michael stared at the poor bastards lying in their beds. Whoever had done this was not going to be easy to find, that much he knew. Sighing, he nodded. "Might as well," he said, kneeling down next the man. He took a breath. He wasn't keen on disturbing him, but Michael knew that whatever information could be gleaned from the guard's mind could very well save the life of the princess, and that made it worth it in his own mind.


"Mate," he said softly, "I need you to tell me everything you remember about what happened. I'm sure you've told your story a hundred times, but I need more than just your story. I need the mannerisms of your buddies, I need minute details. A stutter, refined speech. Dark hair, light hair. Wealth, or no. Things no one else would think to ask. It will help us to find your princess, and get revenge for you."


Mikayla studied the room, hating the false concern in her brother's voice. At least she didn't pretend. She either cared, or didn't, and that was how she liked it. Everyone knew where they stood with her, and she didn't feel the need to coax anything out of someone. Then again, that's part of why she wasn't asked to speak to the guard herself. She was sure of it. As it was, it did bother her some that these men had to suffer so when all they were doing was their job.


Quietly, she reached into the pack that sat on her left hip. Using a tie she found in it, she pulled her hair back away from her face, neck and shoulders. Then she grabbed some ointment. Thanks to her knowledge with poisons and their antidotes, she also knew some things to speed healing and remove pain. The sad bloke whose face had been burned away could use both ointments.


She kneeled next to the man's bed, doing her best not to disturb him and cause him pain. "Shh," she whispered, "I have something to help you. It will hurt just a little to put it on, but I promise it will make you feel somewhat better." Slowly, achingly slowly, she dabbed the healing ointment onto her fingers, and as gently as she could, she rubbed it on the man's face, where he was most burned. She wasn't as cold as everyone thought her to be.<>


Ma and Markos had moved away, uncomfortable with the turn of events. They weren't healers, weren't exceptionally 'feeling oriented', and quite honestly, felt queasy looking at the terrible wounds inflicted on the guards.


After a moment, the guard by Michael cleared his throat, glancing up at the man and the elf behind him. He began giving the requested information in a raspy voice, brisk and businesslike, just as his guardsman training had imprinted upon him. It had been a normal night shift outside the princess' chambers. Gulman still had some sort of head cold, pestering the others about it because he loved to whine. The two that were designated to patrol the hall had been diligent, always taking the time to investigate dark spots and checking their backs every five seconds. The man speaking, named Hart, recounted how he'd watched Gulman's face blow away as if it were made of sand. Turning to face the source, or at least where he'd assumed the source lurked, he was assaulted from behind. The last thing he'd remembered before blacking out was seeing his own arm, still clutching his longsword, go sliding down the hall past the other two who'd been taken out previously.


Nisa made a small, thoughtful noise as she stepped around the bunks to examine the now faceless guard. He was very obviously in a great deal of pain, and that disfigurement would never heal. It would be kinder to end his life, she reasoned, but it had to be his own decision. Still, based on the subtle texturing of the wound, she figured that he'd faced his attacker directly, which meant he might know what they looked like. The elf gingerly reached out and placed a finger on a small patch of hair (mostly to avoid touching his skin out of revulsion), and sent a small magical plumb into his mind. It wouldn't give exact information, but it would translate enough emotional subconscious data that she could make an informed impression. No such luck, however. The attack had come from an unnatural shadow.


"I have a lead," she announced suddenly. "Ask whatever remaining questions you have, but I will be in the ramparts above, investigating." Ma quickly volunteered to go with her, eager to leave the dispair-filled room. Markos, however, remained, approaching Michael and Mikayla uncertainly.


"Anything you two can use?" he asked at last.


Michael shook his head. "Nah, I've got everything, he doesn't know any more than he's said." He stood once more, slowly making his way after Ma and Nisa. He was perturbed by the events that had taken place there. The fact that someone had taken this much effort to dispose of the guards, but not outright killed them, could both bode ill and well for the princess. A normal person, one that knew how to kill and had done so, wouldn't have bothered leaving the guardsmen alive. Yet, these were. What that told him is that whosoever did this, was extremely sadistic, but either wasn't used to killing, or just hadn't, which meant they could expect the poor girl they took to at least be alive. In good health was another story.


Mikayla had just finished putting the pain killing ointment on the burned man's face, the set the vial next to his bedside. There were written instructions on the little bottle explaining how to use it. She hoped the nurse and healers would use it. "Just something to clean up with," she sighed, looking to Markos with sad eyes. It bothered her that he had to suffer in this way.


"Hey, Markos?" Mikayla asked. The man glanced up at her suddenly, broken from his reverie. He'd been staring at the faceless guard, looking queasy.


"I really do need something to clean my hands. I have blood and ointment on them, not to mention leftover scraps of his skin and muscle. I would really like a rag, at least..."


The saboteur made a face as he reached behind his back to dig around in the little satchel that stayed with him at all times. "Here, no guarentees it'll be clean though. Stuff tends to get jumbled around in my pouch. And, uh, don't worry about giving it back..." Markos produced a fair sized scrap of handkerchief, covered in a dark grey powder, and held it out to Mikayla.


Mikayla smiled at him, one of her rare genuine smiles. She wiped her hands on the handkerchief as best as she could, removing the worst of the gore from her hands, and tossed it into a wastebasket nearby. "Thank you, Markos. I suppose we should catch up with the others. I think if you stay here much longer, you'll get sick," she teased.


Sniffing indignantly, the saboteur nevertheless failed to surpress his obvious haste to leave. "Listen, about that rag..." he sniffed his fingertips cautiously. "I'd advise against warming your hands near any open flames until you wash thoroughly. Just friendly advice, take it or leave it." With a short laugh, Markos increased his pace to rejoin the others.


Atop the ramparts, where the princess' private tower jutted from the main structure, mirroring the King's tower on the opposite side, Nisa examined the door that allowed access. No obvious scarring or signs of forced entry. Oh, it didn't even have a lock. Why on earth would there not be a lock on the princess' own tower? The elf muttered under her breath, brushing rogue strands of snow white hair away from her face.


"No no, definitely not that. Not enough sulfur or nitrate. Hmm...Couldn't have been aero either, not enough structural damage. Then what?" Her ramblings clearly went straight over Ma's head, as the gnome was simply watching Nisa with a dumbfounded expression. After a moment, she tapped the elf on the hip and pointed.


"There's something wrong with the stone there," she said. One thick cobblestone in particular gave off a nasty aura, as if it had the plague. Only, stones can't catch the plague, as they were not living things. Who better to diagnose creepy magic leftovers than a mage? Nisa locked on to the stone, getting very close to it and touching it oddly. Several moments of intense scruitiny passed, ending with a sharp sneeze from the elf.


She picked at it with one well manicured but sharp fingernail, finally turning to the gnome with a shrug. "I've never seen that before," she admitted matter-of-factly. "It is very interesting though. I want to take a piece with me for further study." She held her hand up to her face, whispered silently, then scooped a chuck out of the stone as if it were soft butter. "Hmm...fascinating," she murmured, once again lost in her own world. Elves, thought Ma exasperatedly.


Michael watched Nisa, fascinated. He had never really known an Elf, and he had never gotten the chance to see magic up close and personal. It was definitely awe-inspiring to him. Mikayla, on the other hand, rolled her eyes. She had seen one person get so enthralled with what they were doing, and that was her brother. Great. So now she had to deal with two of them? That wasn't going to be fun one little bit.


"Can we go in now? If she didn't put up a fight, it makes it that much more difficult," she said, hip thrust out to the side, one hand resting on it. "If she did, then we know she wasn't drugged, or put under a spell. At least, not right away."


Suddenly, Mikayla froze, her eyes clouded with thought. "Hey, guys? Look, I know I don't know much about royals and nobles, but don't they usually have at least one maid that sleeps in the same room as her? Are we supposed to believe that the maid was taken, too, or killed? Because I don't remember anything about that. And what about the other maids that are supposed to have conjoining rooms. They heard nothing?"


Michael frowned. His sister was right. Either the king was withholding information about the maid because she wasn't as important as his daughter, or something else was going on. "What do you guys think?"


Stroking his beard, Markos hummed quietly for a moment. "I know what I'd do. Were I going to plot a kidnapping of someone as high ranking as the princess herself, I'd weasel my way into the environment first. Hire sleeper agents, replace guards, bribe officials. You know, nefarious things."


"Or they all died trying to flee this mystery attacker that can remove a man's face with magic. How often do you hear of maids or servants going missing from a castle? Never. They just get replaced. Plenty of people out there willing to fill the position, I guarentee you." Markos shot Ma a glare, not fond of her pessimistic assessment. Better to have sleeper agents than slaughter helpless maids, he decided.


Nisa had returned to examining the door very intently, her peach colored eyes darting around the surface, barely an inch away. "But how did he...or she, get back out? Carrying a victim makes an exfiltration much more complicated, especially when they are unwilling and most likely fighting you. Even were she drugged, a human being weighs quite a substantial amount." The elf turned to Michael, though she remained bent over. "Tracker? Care to track?"


Michael shook his head slowly. "As much as I hate it, we need to talk to the king first, I think. There's important information before we can even try going after her. Something doesn't sit right with me about all of this." Carefully, he opened the door, and examined the princess' room. It almost seemed...deliberate. Like the fight was an afterthought. As if...as if things were simply thrown around. And Nisa was right. Whoever it was managed to get in and out unseen, with the princess, whether she was drugged or not. It wasn't right.


Mikayla rolled her eyes again. "Seems it isn't just the king. We should try and talk to servants, too. There are servant stairwells that are built into the castle, so if whoever did this was able to find one, that could easily take them past the guards. However, there should be at least a servant or two per person in this place that has to be up all night in case someone needs something." She, too, looked at the room. It didn't seem much like a normal girl's room, in her opinion, but then again, she didn't really know how a royal girl's room should look. Did they make a mess, too? Even if they did, the servants probably cleaned it up anyway, so there was no way to tell.


As she scanned the room, Mikayla noticed the jewelry box. It was untouched, or looked to be, and she walked briskly over to it, ignoring everyone else. Brow furrowed, she opened it, and saw that none of the jewels seemed to be missing. All of them were in place. Every single one. "Hmm. Now, if I was to kidnap a princess, why wouldn't I touch the jewels? Even if I were to return her for ransom, there is plenty of crooks that would pay well for these in the black market. But these..." she murmured softly, "These were left alone. Things are a mess, but this. Why would that be?" She couldn't help the confusion in her voice; it didn't quite add up. And even if the maid wasn't missing or dead, had been behind it, why wouldn't she touch these? Why wouldn't anyone? Most of these were worth more than ten high ranked assassin jobs, she knew, but they were where they were supposed to be. "I don't get it..."


Ma reached up and grabbed a ring from the box, examining it carefully. "But these are fake," she concluded. "I mean, they're legitimate, but I've done gem work for royalty before. This emerald is very poor quality. As in, this is the kind of stone they wouldn't think twice about throwing into the mud." Checking out a couple others, she came to the conclusion that they'd been replaced. Either that, or the king was a cheapskate. "Well, you know, I could always be wrong. I doubt it, but it's a possibility. Let's look around for someone to show us the servant's passages, interrogate them about any suspicious activities."


Well that explained a little, but left plenty of questions at the same time. This was a mess. Michael sighed. "Nisa, you and I will talk to the king. Ma, Markos, Mikayla, you take care of the servants. No more than two hours. If we finish up early, we will help you guys. Unless, you'd rather pair up differently." He shrugged. It didn't really bother him any what pairings they used, but when push came to shove, he would rather be paired with Nisa, since she was quieter than his sister, and he could relate to her a bit more. Plus, she didn't have the temper Mikayla had, and he had no doubt that his twin would have an issue with something that the king might say.


Mikayla shook her head. "I don't mind where I'm at. I'm just tired. And since we'll be sleeping on the ground for who knows how long, I'll have to get used to it." She was still looking at the jewels, the fakes as Ma said, and went ahead and pocketed a necklace. Fakes they may be, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were key. She shrugged at Michael's questioning look. Even if they weren't useful for much, it was a good enough fake that she could sell it if they needed a little extra gold.


Everyone else was content with the assignment. Nisa was glad to be away from Markos' idiocy, and he honestly felt a bit frightened of her. No one who can obsess over a door the way she had mere minutes ago was safe to be around. Not in his book. He took one last look around before stepping back out onto the ramparts. "We going or not?" Ma waved distractedly at him, following with a pendant in hand. She was honestly impressed with the effort taken with these fakes. Who ever heard of someone faking pearls? You just fish them out of the ocean, why go through the trouble of polishing a geode? In her home village, her father would probably have paid more for the rock these fakes had come from than a pearl.


Once the others had left, Nisa put her hands in the outer pockets of her travelling coat. "It is a couple hours after sundown. The king could be doing any number of things at this time. I believe dinner is the most likely, however. We should investigate the dining hall." Nisa didn't want to admit that she was hungry again.


Mikayla followed Markos and Ma lazily, sliding her hands into the pockets of her breeches. A gnome, and a man that essentially turned her hands into explosives. How wonderful. "Markos, if I wind up losing my hands before I get the chance to wash them, you will be in a ton of trouble," she said, lightly, teasing him. She winked at Ma. She was in a good-natured mood, but she knew she wouldn't be if things kept being confusing. Maybe she could find someone to keep her bed warm before they left? Well, she wouldn't hold hope out for that.


Michael grinned. "Very well. Let's go," he responded, leading the way out the door. "I wonder if royal food is as rich as I've heard," he added thoughtfully. He hadn't actually eaten the food that Mikayla had pushed off on him, and he wouldn't mind getting at least a roll to hold him over for a while. Besides, how many chances would he get to eat food this good? "The king is going to be furious for interrupting his meal just to interrogate him, though."


"Then I suppose we'd better simply join him at first." A small mischevious smile found its way onto her face.


---
 
What a waste of time. Not only did they not gain any good information from their investigations, but it had taken several hours to ask all their questions and find each other again. Most of them, anyways.


"Where's Ma?" queried the elf as she watched Markos and Mikayla approach. Markos made a big show of looking around for her, though it didn't last long before he suddenly grabbed between his legs and fell over. Nisa shook her clenched fist at the man, thoroughly unamused. "A simple 'I don't know' would have sufficed, thank you." Markos couldn't hear her over his own silent sobbing. What a bully she was! The sound of a horse drawn cart approaching drew her attention.


Ma raised a hand in greeting, smiling cheerily as she chewed on a stick of tough jerky. "Hey, so I found a cart. We all ready to go?" A brief moment of concern over Markos went through her mind, but the gnome quickly pushed it away, assuming he'd smarted off to Nisa and gotten taken out.


"Go?" asked the elf.


"Yeah, go. As in leave the city. No way the kidnapper's staying here. Too hot. If they swiped the jewels, they'd have to sell them at some point. I've got contacts all over, so if they pop up on any market, white, black, or otherwise, I'll hear about it. Best bet for a sighting at least would be Thistleden, a few days down the road that way." She leaned forward on an elbow, eyeing the rest with a raised eyebrow. "Sooo...?" Ma prompted, gesturing with a hand.


Mikayla looked at poor Markos. "You're not cute enough to be that sarcastic to an elf with anger problems," she told him softly, "And that's coming from me." She walked to the cart, shaking her head and tsking softly, and climbed into it. She checked the supplies. It seemed like Ma had grabbed the essentials, but she was hoping for individual tents. The moon and stars were pretty and all, but frankly, she wanted nothing to do with anyone else when it came to sleeping. Not unless they wanted to work for it, and since it was her brother, two females, and Markos, it wasn't exactly like she had options.


Michael grinned, however. "Ma, that's amazing. You just made my job easier, for sure." He was grateful that they wouldn't have to walk the whole way searching for the princess. However, there was no real trail to follow. Not a physical one, anyway. All they had were the fake jewels to go on, nothing else. He should really get a hound. That would make this job so easy that it was ridiculous.


"Well," he said, "the king had nothing to do with it, that's for sure. And he didn't even know about the fake jewels. You guys find anything?" He climbed into the cart as well, sitting opposite the contraption from his sister. They wouldn't be close unless they absolutely had to be. He didn't even know when that happened. They used to be closer than anyone could be, inseparable, and always had one another's back. And now she hated him, and he had no idea why.


"Oh psh," Ma scoffed humbly, waving in dismissal. "You, kiddo, get to ride sidesaddle with me up here. I want your tracker eyes pointed ahead in case you spot anything interesting, got it? Nisa, could you please not fight with Markos for a few moments? Just long enough for him to get into the cart. Afterwards, you can hex his family jewels all you want."


Markos moaned, dreading the ride already. "Come on, Ma! That's not fair! You just disappeared and-" His sentence trailed off into a voice-cracking yelp as Nisa snapped her fingers, forcing him to stand up. "Alright, alright, I'm getting in the cart!" Taking a running start, the saboteur leapt up to the vehicle and vaulted over the wall, sitting next to Mikayla hurredly. Nisa took her sweet time, however. She was not physically fit at all, and her lack of muscle made climbing up into the cart difficult. Debating with himself only for a moment, Markos cautiously leaned down and offered a hand to the elf, clearly still frightened of her.


Blinking at the offer, Nisa accepted his aid with a confused expression. Still, she refused to say anything to him, taking her seat near the driver's position and looking out over the side. One kind act didn't excuse his irritating buffoonery.


"We didn't find anything of note, no," Ma reported as they began the first bit of their trip. "The servants almost make a business of confounding and misleading. They'd make excellent politicians, if they were allowed to hold an office..." The gnome chuckled at her own joke, gently kicking her feet. Her legs weren't long enough to rest on the cart itself. "They did mention the castle being a tad bit quieter than usual that day, though their reasoning for it was 'it was Thursday'." She quoted the servants with a mocking tone, rocking her head side to side and making a face. "You? Did the King give you anything at all you can use?"


Mikayla grimaced at Markos and Nisa. "The sexual tension between you two is disgusting. Could you sleep together and get it over with, please?" she groaned, leaning back into the cart and covering her eyes with her arm.


Michael shook his head at the three in the back, but ignored them otherwise. "Like I said, the king knew nothing. I think he was telling the truth. He seemed genuinely concerned. That was, until I asked about the maid. 'They probably just ran. Twits. They weren't of strong mind or something.' That's what he said. He completely didn't care. This is why I don't like royals and nobles," he grumbled.


He watched the road, as well examining the grass on either sides of it, but nothing looked disturbed beyond the norm, and trying to find tracks on a dirt road was like finding a needle in a stack of needles. The tracks were all the same, so there wasn't much point until they had really gotten out of town. And even then there was no real guarantee that he'd find anything. Without a lead, there wasn't much he could do besides hunt food.


Nisa turned and looked at Mikayla, extremely offended. She made as if to say something several times, but never quite managed to actually commit to a vocal utterance. The mere thought of them having to share a cart together grated on her nerves incessantly. Why in the name of the seventeen nature gods would she sleep with him? She was almost tempted to hex him again, but it would only invite more comments. Finally, the elf simply pouted, turning around again with a quiet huff.


"If we are going to Thistleden, I have someone I'd like to see when we arrive," informed elf to gnome quietly. Ma glanced over her shoulder.


"This about the brick?" A nod. "You know, I only just now remembered that. Good thinking, Nisa. What kind of someone is this someone you're meeting?"


Nisa didn't respond at first. Finally, with a short sniff, she shrugged. "My childhood tutor. He's in the area giving a seminar on certain...practices that he'd pioneered. If anyone nearby can figure out what kind of magic is soaked in this stone, it's him. I have a feeling I know what it is, though..." she trailed off ominously.


Mikayla sighed, thoroughly bored. She was more for the doing, rather than the waiting. Or being done. Whichever way. She snickered at her own thought. And looking up at Nisa from under her elbow just made her snicker more. She really didn't care if she offended the elf. It was exactly how things between her and Markos seemed to her, and it really was annoying. They were like children that would hit one another because they had a crush and didn't know how to deal with it. She wondered if she had been like that. She couldn't remember.


"Nisa, can you tell me anything about the brick? I confess magic isn't something I bothered to study," Michael admitted, turning so he could look at her. He hated being ignorant, however it was his own fault that he was ignorant in the first place. Well, at least he wasn't afraid to admit that he didn't know something. He refused to act smarter than he was. "What was so strange about it? If you know anything, that is." That could be why she wanted to see her old tutor. Maybe she didn't know anything about it besides the fact that it had been bespelled. He should have taken that into account before asking his questions.


At the mention of the brick, Nisa's eyes filled with a peculiar flame. This was what she lived for; investigating arcane mysteries made her feel more alive than anything else. She eagerly fished the stone out of her pack and held it up to the moonlight. Due to the way she'd extracted it, the brick had an odd shape to it. What was more striking, however, was the malevolent chill it seemed to emanate. Ma shivered involuntarily, scooting forward a bit. She didn't know what exactly was going on, but it sent chills down her spine.


"This stone was positioned at average human head height, on the righthand side of the doorway. I will assume that is where the faceless guard had been standing, as the pieces add up." She didn't seem to notice, or more probably, care about the evil feeling in the rock. Instead, it almost had the opposite reaction. She was drawn to it. "Look, if you turn the brick just so, it absorbs the moonlight. No... No, it doesn't absorb it, it destroys it. This," she breathed, bringing her sample close to her eyes, "is big. Capitol 'B' big. I've heard rumors that someone was developing a magic like this. Magic that is the manifestation of destruction at it's purest. This attacker obviously has very little control over their art, otherwise there wouldn't have been a head or brick remaining."


How pathetic. A mage that couldn't do their magic properly. Little better than a child swinging it's toys at a figment to ward it off.


Michael frowned thoughtfully. Magic that used pure destruction in its art. That was new. Wait a minute..."You said you'd heard rumors about someone making magic like that. Well, obviously, they succeeded. But if this wasn't the creator, then either they stole the practice, or paid for it. Will your tutor know who made it?" It was something to hope for, but he doubted it, to be frank. That would be too easy. If they could find the creator, however, that was a definite step forward in finding the princess. Because then they could talk to whomever it was, and see if their work was stolen or bought.


"I hope so," Mikayla piped up from the back of the cart, "I'm really good at getting people to answer questions they don't want to." There was a sort of...pride in her voice. Michael wasn't entirely certain if she meant torture or not, but he hoped it was otherwise. "Michael, don't look at me like that. I don't torture people. There's something wrong with me, but I don't stoop that low. I don't get pleasure from hurting people." Even though she wasn't looking at him, she knew her brother well enough to know what kind of look he was giving her. Horror. That's the only proper way to look at someone when one thought they were torturing answers out of people, and that's not how she was. Yes, she had killed. And yes, she had anger problems that could very easily get her thrown in with the mad ones. But torture, that was disgusting.


"I have no idea. My tutor and I have been in touch out of courtesy for one another, but as far as maintaining a strong working relationship, I haven't done so. I haven't had a reason to. His duty was to teach me theory, not train my skills. It's up to each individual mage to develop themselves. Magic isn't like writing a book or swinging a sword. You can't hold someone's hand through it. Which means that is a very good explanation for our quarry. They probably sought whomever is pioneering this field of magic and got a lesson, but without a powerful will and determination, they weren't able to utilize it to their full potential."


That thought caused Nisa's eyes to widen. She could do it... She could study this stone and pick apart the mystery of this magic, maybe add it to her own arsenal. Grinning suddenly, the elf ceased all futher conversation, withdrawing into her own mind as she examined the rock intently. It gave Markos the shivers. He feared her more than anyone else in the group, and not just for the bullying. That, he could live with. The thought of that crazy, damn elf going off the deep end and exploding their hearts or some other atrocity is what worried him. How do you defend yourself against something like that? Answer: You can't.


"Hey, everyone, we're pulling off into this clearing. It's very late and I need my beauty sleep. We'll hit Thistleden in a couple days either way," Ma announced suddenly, breaking the silence. It startled Markos a bit, to be honest. He put a hand over his heart momentarily, swearing under his breath.


Once they'd stopped, Ma set about unpacking the camping materials. "Someone be a dear and get the tents? There should be a couple strapped to the underside of the carriage. There better be a couple..." she finished ominously, muttering under her breath. If that cheapskate filched her out of extra silver again, she'd turn his damn face inside out with her gemcutting knife.


Tents? Ma said tents? This trip was looking a little better, and Mikayla actually smiled at the gnome. "Ma, you're amazing," she said happily, crawling under the cart to grab the two tents...two? Well, she had said couple, but even still, that meant sharing. Mikayla figured she might just sleep outside after all. As it was, she went ahead and grabbed them, tossing one at Markos after standing back up. "Make yourself useful," she told him, as she picked a spot and began to set the thing up.


Michael, on the other hand, didn't care about splitting with anyone, so he just meandered his way over to the nearest trees, looking for the best branches to burn. There were plenty that wouldn't give off smoke, and he was thankful for that. He returned to the others and laid the sticks in the middle of their little camp. "Guess I will get the fire going," he said to no one in particular.


The man grabbed a small spade that he carried on himself at all times; it doubled as a digging tool and weapon if needed. With that, he dug a small pit, making a pile of the dirt about a foot away from his pit. Once the hole was dug, he place the branches into the pit itself. This was his least favorite part about sleeping outside. He hated building the fire, small ones most of all. And this had to be a small one. There was no telling how many folks were out there, and the bigger the fire, the more likely they were to find out. Sighing, Michael laid a small pile of grass in the bottom center of the sticks, then piled some kindling on top of that. Grabbing his flint and stone, he proceeded to carry on to the most boring part of lighting a fire. It took a few moments for the sparks to catch, but finally they did and he sat back and admired his work.


"Hey Ma," he said, "We have anything for a small stew? I'm famished over here."


Markos paused in his flailing with the tents to look at their camp. "Hey, so...which fire are we using?" Nisa had already lit her own little campfire, but she wasn't using it for light or cooking. She was running experiments on it. "Oh...Yeah okay. Right. Michael's. Um, I don't know what the hell I'm doing with this thing. I usually just rig up a hammock." He dropped the thick canvas material in frustration, throwing his hands up into the air.


Ma put her hands on her hips, chastising Markos with a motherly disappointed look. He winced and tried to sheild himself, but it was too late. "Fiiiiine!" whined the saboteur, resuming his efforts.


"No, I don't have stewing ingredients. They go bad too quickly, and the things in the cart are for emergencies. I was planning to take some game before bed. These woods are infested with little vermin type creatures that make good morsels, not to mention the wild vegetables that grow abundantly. Give me a moment." The gnome clambered nimbly up into the cart, raising one of the benches to reveal a storage compartment. She attached her quiver to her hip and withdrew her bow, running a hand over it lovingly. True to her word, the bow was made of stone, though it did have little bands of metal running through it like a strange marbling. "Don't burn the whole camp down while I'm gone. Anyone want to join me?"


The thought of getting away from his current chore was tempting, but Markos decided against it. He'd pilfered a makeshift meal from the servants in the castle, and figured he'd rather get the tent set up, jury-rig a hammock nearby, and pass out til morning. Tents were much too stuffy for his taste. Nisa, however, didn't respond at all. Instead, she seemed to be teasing the fire with her little piece of brick and giggling under her breath. What a nutjob, Markos thought to himself, eyeing her warily.


Michael nodded, then grabbed his own weapons. "I'll come with you, Ma. I saw salt in the cart, so we can catch more, salt it, store it. It'll last us longer," he said, as he followed her. This was, after all, what he was exceptionally good at. It was why he decided to learn the art of tracking in the first place. That, and he was under the misguided notion that he could take care of his family that way. Too bad he'd been wrong on that count.


Mikayla, however, did not wish to join them. Instead, she sighed and made her way over to Markos. "You're pretty useless, you know that?" she said, though not unkindly. She took over his tent, since hers was already set up, and fixed the issues he seemed to be having. "Look here, lay the tent out, then stake the corners as good as you can. Then raise it, and stake each of the upper corners. It really isn't that difficult." She shook her head at Markos and added quietly, "Stop being afraid of Nisa. That's why she bullies you." With that, she turned away and moved back to the cart, grabbing bedrolls and any other supplies left. She set most of the bedrolls near the tent that she set up, except for one. That one, she laid a few feet from the fire and laid on it, facing the sky. With her hands behind her head, she admired the stars.


What the hell kind of advice was that? That's like saying to sprout wings and fly. Markos shot her a look that said he found her philosophy ridiculous, then snatched up one of the bedrolls. He bound it to his belt and started looking for a good pair of trees.


"Ouch!" the elf suddenly blurted, pulling her hand away from her little fire. She hissed in pain from the burn she'd suffered, though in truth the damage was minimal at most. Nisa was just unused to pain. It did interrupt her concentration, however, so she flicked her wrist at the fire, putting it out instantly. Was anyone watching that debacle? Markos was too occupied doing his best ape impression, and Mikayla seemed to be stargazing.


Seemed to be, were the keywords there. There really wasn't a way to know for sure. After all, she'd only known them all for a day. What she saw as tics or concrete dispositions could simply be facades.


Out in the woods, Ma carefully edged forward, fingers trembling slightly on the string. There was a wolf right there, between her and her kill. It wasn't eating yet, and it seemed to be waiting for something. The gnome felt confident she could take it out, but wolves didn't move alone. Where did Michael go? Or more specifically, where had she wandered off to? The frantic chase after the wounded doe disoriented her.


Mikayla groaned in annoyance. After a moment, she took her knife and threw it into a tree. A loud klunk told her she'd hit her mark well. Until she realized that she'd have to go get the stupid thing. "Dammit," she murmured. She suddenly wished she hadn't taken this job. Frankly, she didn't need the money like Michael said. She could live off of others for a long time, and at least that was fun.


Michael could just barely see Ma, and it looked as if she was getting anxious. He didn't envy being a gnome, and was suddenly very glad he was as tall as he was. He never knew it would be so nice.


Slowly, he breathed out, his bow primed and ready. When he finished, he let his arrow fly. It landed exactly where he'd meant it to, in the head of a rather large, black wolf that was creeping up on Ma. Couldn't let his comrade get killed, no matter that they were only temporary comrades. Certain the wolf was dead, he slowly crept up on Ma, and whispered, "It's Michael. You had a wolf on your ass."


She jumped at the sound of his voice, accidentally loosing her own arrow which embedded itself into the ground a foot away. The sudden explosion of noise and motion somehow spooked the wolf, which took off running. "On the honor of my ancestors, Michael, I nearly jumped out of my skin!" The gnome swatted him on the leg, slightly upset. Her heart rate had spiked through the roof when he scared her. She put two fingers against her wrist, counting her pulse in her head. "I'm too old for that sort of thing, boy. Well, we got a doe. You said there was a wolf over here? Bag it as well, we can eat it." She retrieved her arrow and grabbed the doe by the hind legs, dragging it through the underbrush back towards camp. Well, followed Michael back towards camp.


Speaking of back at camp, Nisa peeked around from behind a tree, eyeing the knife embedded in the trunk. She was in a suddenly frisky mood, pupils dialated in the firelight as she reached out to touch the knife with a giggle.


Michael chuckled softly. "Sorry about that, Ma. I was trying not to frighten you, hence the whisper. That is really my fault. But, we got quite a bit of meat to hold us for some time," he said, tying the wolf's legs together to make it easier to carry. He threw it over his shoulder, grunting as he did so. The wolf was quite large, and dead weight was intensely heavy. That was the downside to hunting, and it was the one thing about it that he hated.


Mikayla stared at Nisa with her brow furrowed. "What is wrong with you?" she asked the elf, before getting up and grabbing her knife. She almost felt like the woman would take it, and Mikayla wasn't about to lose that knife; the stupid thing was her favorite one and she always kept it sharp.


"Again!" Nisa demanded, still only peeking out from around the tree. She'd never seen anyone throw a knife before, and the preposterous nature of such an activity amused her.


Mikayla just looked at her incredulously before she obliged. If it turned out that the elf was going to get off from this she'd quit, but she really hoped that wasn't going to be the case. Once more she threw the knife, and once more it embedded in the trunk.


Hopping out from around the tree, the elf examined the blade closely. "But why?" she wondered aloud, albeit in a quiet voice. "Why would you throw the knife? How do you make it go where you want it to without magic? Explain yourself!" She suddenly stood upright, pointing at Mikayla imperiously, though the impish grin never quit her face.


Mikayla stared at the elf. Surely Nisa didn't mean that she didn't know how to throw a knife without magic... Did she know how to do anything at all without magic? She sighed, before once more retrieving her knife. "It isn't hard. You make allowances for weight, length and girth, but all I do is aim at a target, and throw," she explained tiredly. "It isn't hard. I can do a lot of things without magic, this is just one of the things I'm good at."


How mystifying. Just trusting your arm to release the blade and...what? Hoping you were correct in your prediction? It was too chaotic, too 'left-to-chance' for her taste. And yet, it fascinated her. "No magic? None? You are just throwing it? With your arm?" Nisa mimed the motion, though her form was terrible and lacked the snap that was required for a successful knife toss. Ma's arrival sent her scurrying away back around the tree to peer at them.


"...and then I had to reach up with an empty tankard I'd managed to grab and whack him right in the chestnuts. Otherwise, splat. Those kegs weigh more than you, I'd bet," she recounted to Michael. The woman had lived a very colorful life, it seemed. She tossed the end of a rope she'd fastened to the doe's legs over a low branch and hoisted the carcass up so she could begin cleaning it. As soon as she started to remove the entrails, Nisa flitted through the shadows until she was behind Ma's skinning tree, watching wide-eyed. Ma caught a glimpse of the elf and shrieked, leaping away with sudden fright. Upon realizing it was Nisa, however, she did a small war dance, threatening the elf with her skinning knife.


"I see you there, elf! You stop that right now! You nearly got a face full of knife, young lady." Hopping out from her hiding spot, Nisa grinned.


"You can throw a knife too? Without magic?" Ma blinked at her, suddenly very confused. She turned to the rest of the camp, though only Mikayla was left. She had no idea where Markos had slipped off to. Lazy bastard.


Mikayla sighed softly. Nisa suddenly reminded her of a child. "Don't mind her, Ma. For some strange reason, Nisa is fascinated that us more mundane folk can do things without magic. Primarily, throwing knives." It was adorable, in it's own way, that Nisa actually was fascinated by something Mikayla thought to be incredibly simple.


She placed her hands on her hips, then looked at the elf. "Come here. If you want, I'll teach you to throw a knife without magic," she said finally. She couldn't believe she'd even offered to, and judging by the look on her twin's face, Michael couldn't either. As it was, it was slightly annoying having someone mess with her knife, and she figured that maybe Nisa would leave it alone. With any luck, she'll decide it was too difficult to learn, and Mikayla won't have to deal with it after that.


Michael, on the other hand, saw good opportunities. "Maybe we should all learn some new skills. In case we are ever in a situation where we lack comrades whose skills we need," he said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin with his fingers.


In a moment, the elf had dashed over to Mikayla's side. Without warning, Nisa held up a hand, which suddenly contained a little whittling knife. She'd pulled it from her belt, but the way she palmed the knife made it look more like it just poofed there from nowhere. She showed the dull blade to Mikayla. "Can this be thrown?" she asked curiously.


Ma blinked at her. "What the hell? Nisa, are you a little pickpocket? I haven't seen fingers that nimble since my mining days..."


"Magic," she explained, her face saying 'dur', as if it should have been obvious.


Propping her hand on her hips, the gnome wasn't having any of that sass. "Do it without magic. That's the whole point of this exercise!" Nisa stuck her tongue out, but nevertheless snapped with her other hand, catching the whittling knife as it shot out between her fingers. "Hey! Was that magic?" Ma raised a warning finger, but Nisa shook her head.


"I met a thief who taught me tricks like that. I had to steal an enchanted emerald out of a sultan's turban and replace it with a mundane one under a silence field for them, so I had to be good." Ma's eyes shot open wide.


"You what? Nisa!" The elf giggled madly, darting behind Mikayla to hide from Ma's flabbergasted glare.


Mikayla rolled her eyes and shook her head, but held her hand out for the knife Nisa was holding. "Let me have that a minute," she said.


The elf deposited the whittling knife into her awaiting hand, though she didn't move otherwise. "I found it in Markos' things," Nisa confessed, her tone not at all abashed.


Mikayla looked the knife over, ignoring the fact that Nisa openly admitted that she'd stolen Markos' knife. She would deal with that in a minute. Instead, she simply examined the little knife, looking at it this way, and that. "Don't steal your comrades' stuff," she finally said, before pulling a sharpening stone from her pack. "This can be thrown, but it's too dull to hit the mark. The weight of it is good, though."


It took a few moments, but she finally had the stupid thing sharpened enough that it would embed in a tree, or a person. She passed it pack to Nisa. "Show me your stance," she told the elf.


Michael watched with interest as he finally got to skinning the wolf. He had never seen Mikayla try to teach anyone anything before, and it was kind of amusing. He wondered how much patience the small woman would actually have for it.


Taking what she believed to be the proper stance, Nisa faced the tree square on, feet planted firmly and her non-throwing arm's elbow cocked back. It looked absolutely preposterous. Ma had to bury her face in her elbow to keep from laughing too loudly. The gnome had to force herself to focus entirely on skinning, or else she'd mess something up.


Mikayla shook her head. "Well, it's a strong stance, but not the one you want for this," she said. Surprisingly, she didn't laugh. Apparently she was broken. Ignoring the others, she grabbed Nisa's waist, and turned it slightly, moving Nisa's body just slightly enough that she was angled so her throwing arm was further back than her non-throwing one. Then, Mikayla moved the elf's feet to match. Finally, she put Nisa's non-throwing arm down. "Your body needs to be strong in its stance, but at the same time, it should be relaxed, except for the arm you'll be using to throw the knife with," she said. Then she herself took up the stance. "Like this, see?" She raised her throwing arm up, then held it, waiting for Nisa to copy her.


When Mikayla touched Nisa's hips, the elf shivered involuntarily, making a loud whooping noise of surprise. That was certainly very unexpected. Of course, her awkwardness was forgotten the instant her teacher-for-the-night took the proper stance next to her. Nisa made the little adjustments she felt were necessary to acceptbly copy the stance, then nodded. "And now you throw the knife?"


Mikayla raised an eyebrow at her a moment, then shook her head. She'd question that in a minute. For now, though... "Tense the muscles first. You won't get much distance if you don't utilize your muscles. And be sure to aim. I don't want anyone to lose an eye because you didn't aim. Use both eyes, though. Straighten your arm and point with your knife for accuracy until you can do it blindfolded," she said, almost as an afterthought.


Guiltily, Nisa opened her other eye, glancing over at Mikayla to see if she'd noticed. Right, tense the muscles, point with the knife, both eyes, blindfold yourself. Made sense... After a second, she put her off hand over her eyes, then whipped the knife forward. It didn't go very far at all, but at least everyone still had their eyes.


Ma stopped for a minute to watch, looking thoughtful. This was very odd behavior for the elf, now that she was thinking about it. In the whole time they'd been together, Nisa hadn't shown one bit of frivolousness, yet here she was practically drizzling it over the whole camp. Something wasn't adding up. Ma whispered as much to Michael, nodding her head towards the two practicing knives. "I dunno what's scarier: the Ice Queen or this silly dope."


Michael snickered at Ma. "Not sure. Let's see where this goes. This is the most human I've seen my sister be in a very long time." He watched the two, and nearly cut his hand doing so. He didn't really care, though. He wanted to watch them. This was the sister he remembered.


Mikayla sighed, exasperated. "No, don't actually blindfold yourself. I just meant to use the knife as a means to aim until you were confident you didn't need it. Here," she said, and moved behind Nisa. She placed one hand on the woman's abdomen. "Core strong," she informed the elf. From there, she used the other hand to guide Nisa's throwing arm and pointed it at the tree. She pulled her arm back, then moved it forward again. "This is the motion you need to make. It's all in the wrist."


Whoa now, what was all this? Nisa's face flushed bright red, but she did her best to focus on the lesson at hand. Using magic, of course, the elf called her stolen knife back to her hand, then ran through the motions again. Core strong, arm motion, flick the wrist, right. She sucked in a breath and whipped the knife forward again, leaving her eyes uncovered this time. It went farther this time, and in the right direction, but still had a fair ways to go before matching Mikayla's throw.


"I got it. She's lonely. The elf is lonely! She's pestering people because she's never had friends before. It has to be," Ma whispered again. "That, or she's a secret altruist trying to make your sister less grumpy all the time..."


Michael was almost inclined to agree. That is... "Ma, look at Nisa. She's blushing. That seems more than not having a friend," he said, an odd tone to his voice. "Her face is as red as a tomato. You don't think...?"


Mikayla moved to Nisa's side, and smiled. "That's much better. However, the throw was still pretty weak." She lightly squeezed Nisa's arm, from forearm to bicep. "You're going to have to do some exercises to strengthen your arm enough to get it to land at any good distance. So what you should do, is do the throwing motion with knife in hand. But don't throw the knife. Do the motion. Preferably fifty times, but I'll let you stop at twenty. Hey...is everything okay?" she suddenly inquired. It seemed that she had just noticed the blush on Nisa's face. "You're not feverish are you?"


Suddenly defensive, the elf crossed her arms and turned her back on Mikayla. "Nonsense. I'm just not used to such rigorous physical activity," Nisa sniffed haughtily. Throwing the knife twice counted as rigorous? Ma snickered.


"Oh, I do now, Michael. And I thought that we gnomes were an odd bunch. She's acting like a smitten teenager. Is that...I mean, they're both women. Does that...happen?" Ma scrunched up her nose at the thought. She tuned back in right at the end of Nisa's little whine-rant about exercises.


"...I simply do not understand the exercise itself. Why not simply use the knife as it was intended, to melee? It seems so very backwards to rid yourself of your weapon during a life or death struggle." The elf had no idea what was happening to her, causing her to retreat into that cold shell for safety.


Mikayla threw her hands in the air. "You don't throw a knife in a life or death struggle, you ignorant woman. You throw it to keep from being in that situation. Yes, knives are typically used for melee, but when it comes right down to it, and your opponent is stronger than you, or better than you, you don't want them coming close. If you can throw a knife, and throw it well, then you can prevent them from getting to you. I mean really, if I was in an actual life or death struggle, my knife will be no use to me if I throw it. However, should I ever be in a situation where I square off against a warrior, you can be damn sure I'm going to throw it. If it doesn't kill, wound or maim them, it will at least distract them, allowing me to do something that will save my life.


"And if it's too much excercise to throw a knife twice, then I shouldn't have bothered teaching you in the first place." With that, Mikayla thumped back down onto her bedroll and turned away from Nisa.


Michael frowned. "I guess so...but, well, the poor elf will just get her heart broken," he whispered back. He assumed so, anyway. His sister had never shown interest in women in front of him before, and she had never been shy about someone she wanted in her bed before.


"Well it doesn't matter anyways, anymore. The situation handled itself..." Slowly, the gnome shrugged and turned back to skinning. "This will be one interesting trip..."


----
 
Michael stared at the village that Ma had called Thistleden, and he was in extreme awe. He had no idea how a village could sustain themselves in the middle of so many trees, but maybe its size had something to do with it? He wasn't sure. All he was certain of, was the cart was annoyingly hard and uncomfortable, and he couldn't wait to get off the stupid thing. Hopefully there was an inn they could stay at for the night; he was absolutely tired of the damned ground and rocks poking him in the back.


Mikayla, on the other hand, couldn't care less for the beauty of nature surrounding the village. All she cared about was finding somewhere to drink, if there even was such a place. "Hey, Ma," she piped up suddenly, "What kind of village is this, anyway?" She wasn't sure how these people managed without the sun on them all the time (even though she was pale as the moon herself), and she couldn't fathom the trade of this village to keep their coin going. Obviously selling the fake jewels she pocketed in the castle wasn't going to be worth it here. Not one of the places here seemed like it could have enough coin for them. Yes, they were fakes and wouldn't actually be worth a thing, but Mikayla knew they were good fakes, and only someone like Ma would be able to tell.


"They're loggers, of course!" chuckled the gnome. She steered the horse towards a stable on the edge of town, waving to the stablehand cheerfully. "I know someone here that I want to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity in the black market." With a mysterious wink, the gnome hopped down off the cart and set off into the town itself. Markos leaned over the edge of the cart and waved the stablehand over.


"Hey pal, been on the road for a couple days. Where's the inn? I need food, drink, and a nice soft bed." With a laugh, the local pointed down the street to the only two story building in sight. How convenient. Markos wondered how he hadn't considered that one first, shaking his head slightly. "Well, I'm off to get drinks. Anyone coming with?" The implied second sentence, of course, being 'except Nisa', as he had his back to the elf. That suited her just fine, however. She was more than content to explore the town alone. Perhaps there would be a book store or an apothecary. Well, a bookstore. She thought better about going into an apothecary. Those quacks always thought they could perscribe a general cure-all to swindle you out of your money, but they never failed to ruin a perfectly good herb with improper care or treatment. Hacks.


"Wait up," Mikayla told Markos, "I'm coming with you. Might even find a handsome logger," she muttered under her breath. In truth, she was a sexual woman, and used to sharing a bed nearly every night. These past few nights had been lonely, and made it very difficult for her to sleep. She hated sleeping alone, these days. Yes, she had been surrounded by comrades, but that didn't keep the shadows away, now did it?


Michael, however, shook his head. "I'm actually going to see if there's a weapons shop. I need a couple new daggers, and my bow is getting worn." Normally, he'd make it work, or at least make a new bow, but as it was, he didn't completely feel like it. And as a logger village, these people knew the best woods for bows, assuming they even sold them. He couldn't imagine they had too many customers, out in the woods as they were. If it hadn't been for Ma leading the way, he doubted that he'd even find this place without looking very hard.


As it so happened, the local bowyer was Ma's contact. As the door to the shop opened to allow Michael in, they separated hastily. Mostly on his account, though ,as Ma didn't much care one way or the other. She wore a smug grin, watching the mountain of a man stand up and straighten his clothing, a barely visible blush coloring the skin under his bushy beard. "C'n I help ye, mate?" rumbled the man, his bass practically rattling the knives on his counter. It seemed that he did more than just make bows, based on the shelves and shelves filled with various bits of woodwork. Carving, instruments, weapon parts, bows... He did it all.


Michael quirked an eyebrow at the gnome, then shook his head. He really didn't want to know. But judging by the gnome's expression, it was exactly how it looked. Whatever suited their fancy, he supposed. "I apologize for interrupting, but I'm just here for a bow. And some more arrows, if you have them," he said, winking subtly at Ma, "And a few daggers as well. A hunting or skinning knife, and two stilettos." It was all he could do not to chuckle at the man's blush. It seemed absurd that such a large man would be so embarassed, but he wasn't about to say anything. He had no doubt that this man was not to be reckoned with.


"That's fine, Michael. Udyre, you'll keep an ear to the ground, right? I need to go stock up on things I'd forgotten to pick up before we left. Love you," she added casually, blowing the big man a kiss before striding out of the shop confidently. Udyre grumbled something indecipherable as he stepped around the counter, holding a hand out expectantly. How could he judge a replacement bow if he didn't know what he was replacing?


Nevertheless, the big man ran his other hand through his beard. "Don' sell kneefen hur. G'wan see th' smithy down th' road, 'f y'wan' some steel."


Michael nodded as he handed his unstrung bow over to the giant. "I appreciate that. Oh, if you have something stronger than that bow, I would like to have it. That one doesn't get the distance it should for a long bow," he told him. It had taken him a minute to understand Udyre. The man's speech pattern didn't sound exactly..educated. Still, from what Michael saw in the shop, the man was good at what he did.


Meanwhile, at the inn, Mikayla sat in the eating room, looking into her ale grumpily. She wasn't completely surprised to find out that none of the men there were her type, but it didn't mean she was happy about it. So she decided to try and eat, and flagged over a woman serving the food. At the woman's questioning look, Mikayla ordered whatever was the special.


"Roasted rabbit and potatoes, miss," she had been informed, so she just nodded that she'd take it.


Uttering a deep, thoughtful noise, Udyre examined the bow closely, putting it through several tests for...whatever he was measuring. "Aghh, bahy, th' wood en't s'posed fer shootin'. S'rotted th' whole way tru." As if it were a small twig, Udrye snapped Michael's bow into little pieces, discarding the 'trash' into a bin of sawdust without a second look. He approached a wall lined with all sorts of bows and selected a few.


Before handing any to Michael, a demonstration of his shooting stance was demanded.Michael stood with his left foot forward, right back, both shoulder-width apart. He lifted his left arm straight, parallel to the ground, and held his right hand with his fingers curled around an imaginary string touching his chin. Another round of silent 'hmm'ing and examinations later, Udyre felt confident enough in his decision. He handed Michael a slightly 'W' shaped bow, returning the others to the wall. The bow was about the size of a shortbow, perhaps a tad bit longer. Not by much though.


"Thar bhay, perfect fer yer han's. Nice 'n shert, good fer th' brushy woods. Won' interfur with huntin'. Twen'y copper," stated the giant off-handedly.


Michael looked at the man quizzically. The bow, while not his normal choice, fit well in his hands, and the craftmanship was extraordinary. "Only twenty coppers?" he asked, confused. "Are you sure you don't want more for it? It's an amazing bow." Beautifully made, there was no question it was worth more. Michael was willing to pay five silver for it, at least.


The smile that broke out under Udyre's beard was practically swallowed by the fuzzy mass of hair, but the crinkle of his eyes couldn't be mistaken for anything else. Raising a hand, the giant shook his head. "Nah, 's only twenty fer you. Fits. I c'n tell yer a natural." He tapped his temple and winked. "Ye'll be needin' this. S'made from flaxweave. Stronger'n a normal string, special fer th' bow. G'wan, give'r a tug." Udyre handed over the proper bowstring, crossing his arms to watch.


Michael grinned in acknowledgement, and proceeded to do as he was bid. The string was harder to pull than he was used to, but then again, his bow had apparently been rotten. Still, it was definitely stronger and he had to pour more strength into pulling back than normal, but it felt really good in his hands. It was a smooth draw, and the bow itself bent perfectly as if it already knew his intentions. "It's wonderful," he breathed, slowly releasing the string and looking at the bow as if he had fallen in love. Which, truth be told, he had. This was the best bow he'd ever held, and he decided right then that he'd be damned before anything happened to it.


"At least let me pay you fifty coppers," he said soflty. "If not that, then let me show my appreciation somehow."


Stroking his beard, Udyre pondered the conundrum for a moment. It was one of his experiments, an attempt to combine the power of a longbow with the maneuverability of a shortbow. He wasn't entirely satisfied with the result, but a man of his stature had to make certain concessions for others. One of the drawbacks of being half giant. At last, he acquiesced, gesturing for Michael to get out his payment. The giant moved to the back of the shop to get a couple extra things necessary for proper maintenence. Lynseed oil for the bow, wax for the string, and some soft woolen cloth to aid the application.


He reached out suddenly, catching a monsterous contraption that he'd knocked over. It looked like a bow, but shaped very oddly and stood taller than Udyre himself. Once he was sure it wouldn't fall, the bowyer wrapped up the supplies and returned to the counter, handing them over with a grin.


Michael was smiling broadly himself, and happily handed over the coppers from his purse. He really wanted to pay more, but as it was, he knew Udyre wouldn't take it and he was certain the others would gripe on how much he had already spent, when he could have bought supplies. He didn't care. This was exquisite workmanship, and completely worth it. "I am grateful to you, Udyre. You're a man of great talent, and if ever I need a repair, or anything else regarding woodwork, you'll be the one I come to first," he said, by way of thanks. He grabbed the other items, and held them under his arm after placing the bow, carefully, with the arrows he had left in the quiver. He nodded to the great man once, and then he was gone, headed towards the inn the stablehand had pointed out earlier.


Slowly counting in his head, Udyre waited ten seconds before opening the back door to let Ma in. She put her hands on her hips, pointing at the floor imperiously. The big man quickly got to his knees and bent over to give her the demanded smooch. "I missed you, baby. Sorry I was gone so long. Mercenary work takes me all over..." He didn't even blink, simply pulling his wife into a hug and laughing with her.


In the inn, Markos carefully tiptoed between the tables as he headed towards the bar to get refills. He was already completely sloshed. Whatever they used to brew the ale in this town, they did a really good job. "Hey...Barman. S'fer..Ssss...." Scrunching his nose in confusion, Markos set his tankards down on the bar, all three of them. "I need you...to fill alllll of these. To the top." Unamused, the barman nevertheless filled the tankards from the barrel.


"You should slow down, buddy. That's nine already."


"You listen to me! You little son of a bitch... I love you. You're my best friend." Oh great, one of these drunks. Markos reached out to clap the bartender on the shoulder, but the man simply moved out of the way disdainfully.


"Okay those are your last drinks. I'm cutting you off now. Go sit by your girlfriend and make sure she watches you. I don't want you tripping and smashing your head open in my bar, got it?" Screwing up his face, Markos looked around in confusion.


"My girlfriend? Whossat? You mean I had a girlfriend this whole time an' I never knew it?" The barman pointed at Mikayla, whose table Markos had been occupying the entire night. "Oh shiiiit. You got it all wrong, man! She's not my girlfriend. I mean, not that I know. Under all the 'Bah, here's my knife in your eye 'cause you looked at me in a way I don't like', she's cool, but getting through all that other stuff is way hard. Oh, man, I got a story for you. So there's this elf, right? Well..." He started spilling all the details he'd gleaned from watching the group, though his audience had stopped listening since the beginning.


Mikayla still sat at the table, staring at the rabbit she'd ordered. Well, at least she managed to eat half of it. That was better than she'd eaten all week. Still, her glass had reached the last dregs of her ale, and she wasn't nearly drunk enough to sleep well. Unfortunately, Markos seemed to be too busy talking to the barman, so she wasn't going to be able to steal one of his tankards. Looks like she'd have to go get a refill. Sighing, she stood and carried herself to the bar.


"Markos, shut it. Let the man work," she ordered softly, "Speaking of working, I would like a refill please." Unlike her comrade, she could ask for it without slurring. All she wanted was a night that she wasn't afraid to sleep. Alcohol was the only other way she could think of. "Actually, forget the refill. Give me the strongest you've got, if you wouldn't mind."


Relieved to have someone else nearby, the bartender quickly pulled out a hand-blown glass bottle and poured out a fairly sizable amount of liquid, warning Mikayla that she had better shoot it quickly if she wanted to avoid burning her eyebrows off. Markos hadn't heeded her orders, however, and kept right on talking. "Yeah, and then that little rat bitch snuck into my bags and stole my wood knife! I swear, someone put catnip in her fuckin' tea or something, cause she was all over the place. You know how a puppy dog looks at it's person? Well that was her gooey eyeing Mikayla over there..." Markos claimed, turning to point at Mikayla, but almost falling backwards out of his seat upon spotting her closer than he'd expected.


Mikayla downed the alcohol quickly, grimacing at its flavor, before turning to Markos. "Quit bitching about your stupid knife. I'll replace it later," she had planned to continue, but frowned and blinked. That was something really strong, and she hadn't expected it. "And...and quit being an ass...okay?" She sighed slowly. Damn, this felt really good. However, talking was getting to be a little difficult. "May-maybe she's jusssss, just lonely, like me...don' be mean..."


Lonely like her? Well if so, they'd be two peas in a pod. Both anti-social, sarcastic and snippy, unpleasant most of the time. What a pair. Markos barked out a laugh at the thought of them becoming fast friends. "I don' think... I." His sentence paused, interrupted by a sickly belch. "I think she's goo goo for you-you. Sh-" Nisa slammed his face into the bar, leaning on it with her elbow.


The elf had wandered in at the beginning of his long rant, only growing more and more irate as he went on. Like hell was she 'goo goo' for anyone! She and the bartender engaged in a silent staring contest, ignoring Markos' sudden pitiful crying. The bartender, surprisingly, broke first. "Drink?" he asked, not meeting her eyes anymore.


"Mead," she replied coolly, digging into the back of the saboteur's head with her elbow. She completely ignored Mikayla's presence, accepting her drink and finding a secluded corner to occupy. Even after she'd left, Markos remained where he was, quietly staining the bartop with his tears of pain and frustration at the injustice of it all.


Mikayla sighed, and stared at the man. She was barely able to function, but... "Come on, idiot," she mumbled, speaking as carefully as she could. She didn't much like sounding like a fool. "Let's....let's get you to, um, upstairs. Bed! Sleep," she added longingly. Blissful, blissful sleep. Oblivion. "You can help...help me up there...." She really doubted it, but hey, maybe he'd try.


Mikayla pulled him upwards, grunting slightly with the effort. He was heavier than he looked. "Idiot...help..." she muttered to him, but even still, it did no good. He was still crying over his pain. Finally, after a few moments, she got him upright, one arm wrapped around his waist. Damned tall people. "Markos..." she groaned, half dragging him to the stairs; the man barely walked. They bumped into a few tables, making a few of the guests angry, but that only made her giggle and nearly fall.


Finally, the stairs. She stared up them for long moments before taking a deep breath. This wasn't going to be fun, and she was certain it'd wind up sobering her thanks to the frustration she knew she was going to feel trying to get the lazy bastard up them. "Markos, I-I sssswear if you...if you don't h-help, I'll l-let you fallll," she managed, before forcing him to put one foot in front of the other until they were up the stairs. She looked at him. "Can...you make it...the rest...of the way...?" she huffed. That had been more of a workout than she would have liked.


With a yawn, the saboteur stood of his own free will and stretched. "I s'pose. I'm tired now." Having gotten away from the bar downstairs, he dropped his overly drunken act. There were some shady characters down there, the kind that could be bad news if they thought you were a threat. Luckily, those types usually ignored drunks, hence the act. It was mostly an act, actually. With a laugh, Markos wobbled sideways into the wall. "What room did you take?" he asked.


Mikayla slid to her knees, and pointed at the door two down from them on their left. "You...could walk...that whole time?" she questioned, rather annoyed. "Idiot..."


Holding his hand out to the woman, Markos smirked. "Yeah, but you were cute trying to carry me up the stairs. C'mon, your room's waiting. I'll see if they have a coal burner near the bath so I can draw up a bit of hot water. That sounds good, right?" He looked into the middle distance a dreamy expression on his face as he thought of taking a hot bath.


Mikayla glared at him, but there was no force behind it. She couldn't muster it. She took his hand hesitantly. This was kindness, and she didn't know what to do. But then he said bath. "Oh, a bath," she moaned, standing slowly. "That sounds so wonderful..." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, however, she nearly fell on Markos. "Sorry...dizzy a moment.."


Groaning, Markos sat on his ass. He'd gotten them into the inn room and set up the bath, drawing water with the pump they'd installed. It was hard work, but the bath would be so worth it. Especially with the hot coals ready. He was just about to climb in when he stopped. Squeezing his eyes shut in frustration with himself and the decision he was about to make, Markos stepped out of the bathroom into the darkness of the bedroom.


"Okay, Mikayla. The bath's ready. Let me know when you're done so I can heat up more coals for myself..." Damn women, always guilting him into doing shit he didn't want to do with their good looks and boobs and sex appeal and such.


Mikayla giggled. "You could always join me," she teased lightly as she made her way to the bath. She wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to bathe. She hadn't had a decent cleaning in days, and relished the thought of washing her hair. She doubted he would take her seriously, so she didn't hesitate to drop her clothing in the bathroom, and slid into the tub, moaning softly. The hot water felt so good, though it woke her up some from her stupor. Still, this was absolute bliss.


Of course he didn't take her up on her offer. It was Mikayla, after all. She was just as scary as Nisa. If Ma had offered, he'd have jumped in without hesitation. Those two, however, just were too unpredictable. So instead, he rolled up his tunic as a makeshift pillow and tried to make himself comfortable on the rug at the foot of the bed. In moments, despite his best efforts, the man had slipped into a deep slumber. Booze tended to have that effect on him.


After some time, and extensive scrubbing, Mikayla finally got out of the tub. She felt like a new woman. Almost, anyway. She wrapped a towel around herself, and padded softly into her room. She sighed when she saw Markos asleep on the floor. She half-wondered if maybe he was just a child trapped in an adult's body. There was absolutely no way that was comfortable.


She kneeled down next to him and gently tapped his shoulder. "Markos," she said softly. If he woke, she'd run his bath for him, since he was kind enough to run hers. Well, give her the bath he'd run for himself. If he didn't, she'd get him a blanket or something. Ugh, why was she even bothering?


At a dead sprint, Markos wound his way through shady woods, leaping out of the way of trees that seemed to pop up out of nowhere. Behind him, an entire pack of hungry wolves pursued, dead on his heels. Just as he was about to make the clearing, they overtook him and pounced as one, rending his flesh in a dozen razor toothed jaws.


The wild, panicked scream caught in his throat, Markos jerked upright and swung a fist at nothing. Once he'd looked around to assure that there were, in fact, no wolves about to tear chunks out of his body, the man yawned casually. What, nightmares? Him? Not on your life. "What's goin' on? Is it morning?" he asked.


Mikayla had barely dodged his blow, and was now sitting in a confused mess of woman, water and towel. She had barely managed to keep the stupid thing closed trying to move away from his fist. She was staring at him wide-eyed. "Idiot...you nearly caved my face in," she breathed, once she'd gotten her heart under control. "You fell asleep while I bathed....I attempted to wake you, gently, and you very nearly tore my head off. What did you dream?" she demanded softly. She was no fool. She'd woken like that, though she was certain their demons were very different things.


"Nothing. Fluffy bunny rabbits and flowers. Oh wait, I remember now. It was Nisa, playing with fluffy bunny rabbits and picking flowers. Now that's a scary sight..." he quipped, rubbing his arm as he gained his feet. This was why booze before bed was a no-no, Markos reminded himself. "You done in there? Did you leave me any coals?" he asked, walking into the bathroom. The dim lantern light illuminated his task as he set another few coals ablaze, then leaned against the washbasin. The steam felt good on his bare chest and opened his lungs a bit. Markos closed his eyes, breathing deeply.


Mikayla grumbled under her breath. Cheeky bastard. "Don't treat me like a fool, Markos. I'm not one of those twits you keep company with," she told him. "And when you're done, I suggest you go to your own room unless you plan on sharing my bed." She was frustrated by him, and it annoyed her greatly. She left her towel in a wet pile next to her bed, and climbed in between the sheets, sighing softly. "And hurry up," she added. Idiot.


"And hurry up," imitated the saboteur, miming speech with his hand. "Markos, you're so stupid all the time. I'm sooo much better, smarter, prettier blah blah blah..." Way to ruin his calm. The man bathed quickly, not bothering to dress again. Instead, he simply gathered his clothes and tucked them under one arm. "If I wanted to share a bed with someone, it'll be with someone who doesn't constantly insult me, thanks so much. Sweet dreams," he said with mock sweetness, shutting the door to her room behind him loudly. In the hallway, one of the tavern wenches yelped in surprise, obviously having accidentally caught sight of him standing naked and unabashed.


Mikayla bit her lip, using whatever strength she had not to watch him leave her room. She had never hesitated before, yet this time she did. Odd. Although, what she did see was something to appreciate.


"Stop it, stupid girl," she berated herself. "You don't need a man in your bed every damn night." Of course, if only she really felt that way. Dammit. What a mess. Oh, but he did look nice. "Son of a damn bitch."


Rolling her eyes at herself, she opened her door, completely forgetting that she, herself, wasn't dressed and looked at Markos. "I won't insult you anymore. Just get in here."


Wait, what... Pausing mid conversation with the wench, Markos looked over his shoulder. Was she serious? What the hell prompted that? And why did it make sense? Probably because he had forgotten to rent a room and therefore had nowhere else to sleep that night. "Alright, fine." He shrugged, adopting a cocky swagger. "Sorry, whats-your-name, I guess I don't actually need a key. Thanks though." The wench slapped him across the face, still blushing fiercely, and stomped down the stairs. Of course, he was completely unphased, and walked up to the door. "Can I come in or not?"


Mikayla sighed, and opened the door wider, stepping with it as she gave him room to enter her room. If she'd known he was going to get cocky about it, then she wouldn't have made the invitation at all. Right? She didn't know. All she knew is that for tonight, at least, there wouldn't be any nightmares. Not from her, at least. There was something to be thankful for. After waiting for him to enter the room, she shut the door quietly. Not facing him, she mumbled, "Thanks...for the bath."


Shit, she just kept on zig-zagging on him, didn't she? Coughing into his fist, Markos cleared his throat and put the bundle of clothes on a nightstand. "Yeah, whatever. Ladies first, didn't anyone ever teach you that?" he sniffed, scratching the back of his head. A couple awkward seconds of pause later, he sat heavily on the edge of the bed, staring down at the floor. Truthfully, he'd never actually shared a bed with a woman, and the thought of it set his stomach rolling into knots. What if he smelled bad? What if he accidentally kicked her in the leg or something? Or pushed her out of the bed? This was a bad idea. Markos stood again, intending to leave once more.


Mikayla watched the flurry of emotions cross Markos' face in what little light there was, and again watched him stand. "Just lay down," she sighed, hands on her hips. "It's not a big deal, okay? Relax. The bed's plenty big enough for the two of us." She shook her head gently, then made her way to the comfortable thing in front of her. Climbing in, she realized that the whole time she hadn't worn a thing, and was suddenly grateful for the darkness surrounding them, as it hid the redness from her normally pale cheeks. "Just...lay down."


Since when was she awkward around males? This was all new territory for her, and she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about it. Normally, she acted with supreme confidence. Yet here she was, shy as any virgin would be, and she had no explanation for it. How utterly annoying. "I can keep Nisa from bullying you," she said abruptly, then mentally smacked her forehead. The hell did that come from?


Slowly, Markos sat again, avoiding looking in her direction. It wasn't the fact that the bed was big or small, dammit. Even more slowly, he lowered himself to a horizontal position, atop all of the covers. Better than under them, he reasoned. Every time he slept in a real bed he ended up kicking the covers off anyways. Hot blood made for uncomfortably sticky nights under blankets, after all.


With a sigh, he finally glanced over at Mikayla. "And why would you do that? Or, I suppose, how? I'm mostly acting for her. It makes her feel good when I pretend she's truly frightening. I mean, she is, but not because of her bullying. I just don't like magic. It's creepy. I don't get it." Just like Nisa was fascinated by the concept of throwing a knife using mundane means, he was repulsed by the thought of someone being able to do whatever they wanted to you without you knowing who, from where, or how.


He was acting for her? He definitely was an odd one, then. Taking the abuse like he did was definitely questionable. Mikayla rolled to her side, carefully keeping the blankets pulled up enough that only her shoulders up, including her arms, was visible. "Actually, she respects me, for whatever reason. She'd listen to me. But if you want the abuse, have at it," she said, very purposefully looking at his face. "As to why...well, we're supposed to be comrades, right? It'd be like me bullying one of the others. Of course, I'm more bloodthirsty than her, so perhaps that's what makes the difference. I wish I wasn't, but I don't know how not to be. My mother was like this, only much, much worse. I, at least, have a modicum amount of control..." she trailed off. He didn't need to know that.


"Sorry. You don't care about that," she said, and rolled over onto her back once again.


"Says...whom? You, I guess." Markos sat up, supporting himself with a hand, and glared at Mikayla, though it was borne of concern. "Listen, whatever happened in your past...this thing you have that makes you fight with everyone... Nothing's unfixable." Even as he spoke, a small part of him was encouraging him to leave it alone. Her anger was a vulnerability, just like Nisa's pride. If he just manipulated it with a little nudge, he could have as much control as he wanted. Except that was monsterous to do in this case, and he incinerated the idea.


Gently, he put his hand on her shoulder. "Mikayla, it's alright. I'm not a judgemental person. Whatever you need to say, I can listen to."


Mikayla sat quietly for some minutes. There it was. Kindness again. Well, might as well accept it. There was no telling how long it would last. "I can't control it," she finally said, closing her eyes. "One day I'm angrier than a demon, the next few I'm so happy for no reason. Back and forth. Back and forth... There's no set pattern. Some days, all I want to do is cry. Or kill. Or laugh. Healers can't fix it. I've tried. Mother..." her voice hitched mildly, and she fought to control it, "Mother was worse. On the last day, she made me promise to never hurt Michael. Never shed his blood. And then...she was gone. Just gone. Poisoned herself, because she couldn't handle whatever's wrong with us.


"Now, she haunts me. She says the cruelest things. Always in my dreams. It's why I make sure that I'm either so drunk I'm blind, or I find some random guy to share a bed with. It keeps the nightmares away." Why was she bothering to tell him anything? She doubted that he'd even understand. No one did. It was why she was broken. "I act as if I'm angry all the time, because it keeps people away from me. I can't hurt them if they're not near me, after all."


Slowly, she turned her head towards him, and opened her eyes. Some part of her, a stupid part, wanted to see what his reaction was. She hadn't told him the full story, but she couldn't. Not yet. It was too much for her to tell right then.
 
Wow. What a terrible thing to live with. No wonder she acted up all the time. Markos couldn't relate, as his childhood had been fairly normal, but he did empathize. If he'd been subjected to something like that, he probably would have 'mis-timed' a powder charge and ended it all long ago. But that was neither here nor there. At the moment, there was someone he could try to help right next to him and he needed to act.


"I see. In that case, I apologize for all the times I said mean stuff to you..." Internally, he rolled his eyes at himself. Really, that's the line you follow up with, Mr. Smooth? He rubbed her shoulder comfortingly, or at least in a manner he thought would be comforting. "I dunno what I can do to help, but if you need someone to talk to or something...Uh, yeah. I'm available."


Mikayla looked up at him, before pulling him back into a laying position and snuggling close to him. For once, she felt like she needed the comfort, and since he was there, there wasn't really a reason to deny herself it. Aside from the fact that they barely knew each other, and were naked, of course. "Don't be sorry. That bounces right off my skin. Instead," she told him, "How about you don't tell the others? I act the way I do for a reason."


Mikayla lifted herself up enough to look into his eyes, her own pleading with him. "I mean it," she iterated, "I don't want them to know." She hadn't really wanted him to know, and yet, she'd already spilled a good part of it. She had no idea why, but she couldn't seem to help herself. Maybe it was the kindness he showed her, when no one else really had before. Or maybe it was because she found him handsome, and, well, fit. She had a bit of a weakness for attractive people.


Raising his hands, the saboteur laughed a bit. "Yeah, relax, your secret's safe with me. I don't have the greatest memory, you know. I've fallen on my head a lot 'cause of my work." It was a joke, even if it was true. However, since she had basically invited him to do so, Markos wrapped an arm around her and settled into the bed, getting comfortable. This was kind of nice, actually. Really nice, if he ignored Mikayla's nudity. Didn't want to be jabbing her in the back during the night, after all. That'd be just rude.


Mikayla laid her head on his chest, and easily fell asleep to his heartbeat.


Michael, meanwhile, had just entered the inn's tavern, and made his way directly to the bar. He was in fine spirits, and bought the largest tankard of ale he could. Nothing like alcohol to celebrate a good mood. He took a long swig, looking around the tables, searching for an empty one. Instead, he saw Nisa, and mentally shrugged. Might as well join her.


And so he did. He set his drink on the table, and slid into the chair across from her. He was silent for some moments, unsure what to discuss with the elf. Unless it was about magic, he didn't really know what to talk about with her. "So...where are the others?" he asked, "Markos, and my sister anyway. I have an idea where Ma is."


Glancing up without moving her head, Nisa paused in her fiddling with the arcane device in her hands. "Fornicating, I'd assume. They left together, stumbling drunk, and went upstairs." The elf sounded a bit upset about it all, enunciating sharper than usual. She let out a breath through her nose, tapped the device a few more times with a thin crystal rod, then set it down. After a moment, she picked up her almost empty tankard and took a sip, unsure of what to do with her hands. Casual conversation was definitely not her strong suit.


"I have been in communication with my old tutor," she said suddenly. "He will arrive on the morrow near midday. I provided him with some details, and he believes he will be able to shed some light on our predicament." The device, which was constructed of several precious gemstones inlaid into a rounded rectangle of what appeared to be pure silver, lit up from within. Nisa watched the lights change color and pulsate for a moment, the tapped on it with the crystal. "He is interested to meet the rest of our little band, it seems..."


Michael gripped his tankard hard at her words, his knuckles turning white from the force of it. Who his sister slept with was her business, but he had hoped that it would stay out of their group. Whatever. There was nothing he could do about it either way, and she would no doubt make an attempt on his life should he try to do something.


"Our ragtag crew of misfits," he muttered softly. He wasn't even sure that they'd be able to really work together to find the princess. Nisa bullied Markos, Mikayla was psychotic, and the other three were such a mix it was a wonder they'd all managed so far. "Tell me about your tutor," he suggested finally, looking up at her and doing his best to hide his sudden disdain for Markos. He'd had it for his sister for ages. "Anything I need to be aware of?"


Nisa barked a laugh. "Need to be aware of? Everything. The man makes his living setting traps and ruining people's lives." Nisa gave a brief recounting of her observations regarding her tutor, Hexer Kremmlich, during the three years she was apprenticed under him. Of course, he was one of many teachers she'd had in her life, but he was the only one she harbored any amount of animosity towards. So why, then, was she seeking him out for help? Because he was a madman, and the mad tended to learn the most interesting things in their searching.


"When you introduce yourself, stand up straight, look him in the eye, and don't shake his hand. You'll regret it. Spend as little time talking with him as possible. After everyone's introduced themselves, I'd suggest you invent an excuse to move them away to safety."


Michael just grinned wryly and shook his head. "Sounds like he's a lot of fun," he said softly. He wasn't sure he even wanted to meet her teacher. He sounded like he was more like Mikayla, and if that was the case, he'd just as soon not be there at all. "Let me guess, I don't have much of a choice in whether or not I meet him, do I?" he asked, taking an extra long drink from his cup. Mikayla and Markos, a madman. This trip was shaping up to be something horrible. How many other surprises is he going to deal with?


"And traps? The only time I'm good with traps, is making them for animals. That seems more like Markos' area of expertise," he said, thoughtfully. "And what excuse would you use? I doubt we can all introduce ourselves and then decide to go to a shop. Although, I really do. I need the smithy for some new knives. And a fletcher for some arrows to go for this bow..."


Yes, it was a problem. "No, you don't have a choice. It was one of his conditions for coming all the way out to meet me. Twenty years and the bastard still can't keep his nose out of my affairs." She clenched her teeth angrily for a split second before settling back into her cold neutral disposition. "I don't care much what kind of excuse you use. You're a clever man, I have the utmost confidence in your ability to lie to a feeble old codger." Despite sounding as if she were mocking Michael, Nisa was being frank with him.


She glanced up over the tracker's shoulder, her eyes tracking the curve of the bow's limb and quirked a brow. "What manner of bow is that? It looks broken..."


Michael frowned. Udyre had never actually told him what the type of bow actually was, now that he thought about it. "I, uh, don't know. I do know that it isn't broken, it's just bent differently than what we're used to, I suppose," he told her, pulling it out for her to investigate. New style or not, he still thought it beautiful and masterful. "The man that sold it to me knows his wood, and he knows what he's doing with it, so I trust him on this. Plus, he knows Ma." At that, he winked at Nisa. He had been implying what he'd seen earlier, but he wondered if Nisa would actually catch on. He didn't think she'd had much interaction in that department, so her mind might still be innocent.


What in the world was this? Nisa reached out and touched the bow tentatively, staring at it wide-eyed. "And this is supposed to work? It's curved the wrong way. I think Ma might need different associates... Do you know how to shoot it? Could you show me?"


Michael nodded enthusiastically. He didn't care who it was that asked. He loved showing off his bows and his skill with them. "Of course. We'll have to go outside. I don't know how well it will work with the arrows that I have, though, so you'll have to bear with me," he informed her, standing up and stringing his bow as he did so. The elf followed him with great interest.


He led the way to a tree that stood some distance away from the inn. He wanted to make certain that if an arrow flew the wrong way, no one would get hurt. He checked the tightness of the string, pulling it back and slowly releasing it. It felt good in his hands. After some moments, he finally notched an arrow and drew back on the string. It still took some strength, which meant he'd have to practice with it more. Hopefully before they encountered bandits.


Michael took a deep breath, and held it for five seconds, a ritual he always had if he had the time to do it. This was one of the only times that he could practice that, and as soon as he exhaled, he let the arrow fly. It landed with a satisfying thunk into the tree.


What just happened? Nisa blinked, looking between the tree and Michael. Was that what archery looked like? She'd never been around anyone when they actually used a bow, and frankly, it frightened her. It was just like the knife throwing issue. What was the purpose of such a weapon. You could be struck by one of those arrows from anywhere and not know it had happened until it was too late.


"And...you did that without magic? Just like Mikayla? Your kind is so confusing..." The elf crossed her arms, squinting in the low light at the tree. Sure enough, there sat the arrow. "Explain the principle behind this to me. I seek to understand these bizarre activites."


Michael grinned at her, before walking away and retrieving his arrow. In truth, he was searching how to explain the 'principle' if he even could. Once he returned, he was frowning in thought. "Not all of us can use magic," he began. She seemed to not understand that part whatsoever. It almost felt like she expected everyone to be able to. "So we have to make do with what we can on our own. The 'principle', as you put it, is to take down enemies, or animals, from a distance. That is the whole purpose of a bow.


"Quite literally, drawing back on the string causes a force to shoot an arrow forward. The resistance between the strength of your arm and back, and the string trying to pull out of your hand, is what powers the force." He wasn't quite sure if he was explaining that correctly; he'd never actually had to before. "Different bows require different strengths to shoot arrows different distances. The length, width and weight of an arrow has the same affect; each one will hit its mark differently and at varying distances."


How interesting. It paralelled body magic, though she had little experience with that particular practice. It required a great deal of stamina, after all. There was no room for weaklings there. She wondered if Michael was secretly a mage, but was choosing to forsake that gift for...whatever reason.


"Can you do magic, Michael? If I were to hex you, could you undo it? No, that's preposterous, of course not. Ahem... If someone else were to hex you, could you undo it? That seems a much more reasonable expectation." Nisa propped her hands on her hips, subconsciously assuming a boastful, cocky stance.


Michael smiled and simply shook his head. "No, I wouldn't. I don't even know how. Like I said, not all of us can use magic, Nisa. Maybe it's possible to learn it, but as it stands, I've never tried. I just know that I don't have it," he told her. Silly creature. She really did think everyone could use it. What an odd woman. "The rest of us have to use mundane means to get things done. But if you ask me, I think it's better that way. You have a true appreciation for the things you do, instead of just waving your hand and there it is."


Nisa burst into surprised laughter. "Oh, is that how we are perceived? Miracle workers who simply whim things into existence? How quaint. Working any form of magic requires you to spend your strength, though different types require different fonts from within. I, as a Hexer, influence events around me subtly. An evoker would do so with substantially less...grace. Gouts of fire, great swathes of ice, the like. I require concentration and mental fortitude to do as I do. An evoker requires a strong core, good balance and the ablity to regulate their humours." She waved a hand over the ground between them to demonstrate. Almost instantly, the grass whithered and died in a ring shaped pattern.


"Like so. I caused the grass to believe it has died, and thus it has. However, my art is only as effective as my mind. I cannot truly kill unless my target is willing to be killed, and I convince them of it. Your bow, hwoever, ignores such limits. It will kill whether the target wishes it or not, whether they are aware or no, bright, dim, rich, poor... None would be safe from such a thing. In this case, I consider you the bigger threat."


"Actually," Michael informed her, "I was referring to such things as a few nights ago, when Mikayla was teaching you to throw a knife. Instead of physically moving and retrieving it, you waved your hand and it came back. The rest of us have to do it ourselves. You use your magic for mundane things, and so you lack the appreciation of having to do them."


Oh. She pursed her lips and thought about it. It was true...she did tend to default to using magic when something was even marginally challenging for her physically. But what was she supposed to do? Not? That made no sense! Tell a strong man to be weak and he will laugh at you.


"Be that as it may, I do not think I will gain any appreciation by toiling as you do. Rather, the toil itself would distract me and break my concentration on things that are actually important." As much as Nisa admired the strength it required for Michael to draw a bow or hunt game, they were cut from different cloth. Why be something they weren't?


Michael sighed. Maybe he needed to be more direct. "You're lazy," he told her bluntly, though there was the mildest hint of teasing in his voice. "You can't do for yourself, you use magic to do it." He shrugged, though he was certain that he'd offend her. If she hexed him, so be it.


"I beg your pardon?" she squawked in surprise. "How dare you! I work just as hard, if not harder than you! Just...in my mind. Hmph! The gall!" She crossed her arms and raised her head in disdain, stalking off to fume alone.


Michael shook his head. Let her be mad. It was entirely true. He used his mind often, used it for everything, but unlike her, he could still do things for himself. He doubted she knew how to do much beyond dressing herself, feeding herself, and washing herself. It was sad, really. Pitiable.


----


The following morning, Markos roused slowly. He sat up and yawned, vaguely aware that he wasn't on a hammock and was waking up in an unfamiliar room. Leaning back on his hands, the saboteur suddenly leapt out of bed and landed heavily on the floor, scrambling for anything he could use as a weapon. He'd touched a person! There was a person in that bed! And why the hell was he naked? Slowly, he got to his feet, squinting as a shaft of sunlight pierced the blinds and stabbed him in the eye.


"Mikayla?" rasped Markos. "What're you doing here? Where am I?"


Mikayla groaned as she woke, brushing mussed hair from her face. "Come back to bed," she mumbled, "it's too early..." That was, until she realized who she was actually talking to, and heard what he'd said. "Markos...you're an idiot!" Yanking the blankets with her, she climbed quickly out of bed and grabbed her clothing. She hurried to the bathroom, clearly upset. She couldn't believe he asked her such stupid questions. Had the man really still been that drunk when they'd gone to bed?


"Stupid, stupid," she berated herself quietly. "So stupid."


"Yeah, okay! I'm the stupid one! Awesome!" he shouted after her exasperatedly, throwing his hands up. Markos grabbed his clothes, struggling them on even as he left the room. Well that was the last time he drank a shitton of small town booze while travelling in a group with females.


After getting the aid of one of the serving girls, who took pity on him for getting tangled up in his own shirt, the saboteur stepped out of the inn onto the main road outside. "Why are we here again? Something about the black market?" He scratched his head for a moment before shrugging and heading down the street. Maybe there was a smithy here who would be willing to sell him some coal dust. He was running low. Markos didn't make it far, however, before running into Ma.


The gnome grabbed him by the hem of his shirt, leading the man back towards the inn. He would have argued, except she had the look of death about her. She walked stiffly, one hand on her lower back, and was swearing quietly under her breath. "Rough night?" he asked. Without missing a beat, the gnome backfisted him in his family jewels, letting Markos drop like a sack of potatoes.


"Meet us at the inn, fool. I'm in no mood for your buffoonery right now," she growled, marching off.


Why? Why did all the women have to be insane? What did it take to get a nice one who wouldn't torture him? Maybe he should have just gone with that wench last night after all.


Mikayla stayed in the bathroom even after Markos left. Her eyes filled with tears, and she swiped them angrily away. "Dammit," she muttered, "The hell is wrong with me?" She stood quickly, and made her way back to the bed, falling facedown onto the mattress. If someone wanted her, they could come get her themselves. She wasn't moving.


Michael made his way down to the tavern, yawning the whole way down the stairs. He couldn't figure out why he was up at this ungodly hour, yet there he was. He caught sight of Nisa, and sent a grin her way. He expected her to ignore him, as she did everyone else, and he found such a thing amusing. The girl needed more friends.


He made his way over to a wench, ordering a small breakfast of toast, jam and water, and sat at an empty table. No use inviting unwanted hexes his way.


"Michael," Ma commented as she popped up from seemingly nowhere and sat beside him with a mug of coffee clenched in her hands. "Seems like everyone is off to a poor start this morning. Nisa is giving everyone the eye, Markos' first words were insulting, you look exhausted, and your sister is nowhere to be found." She hid her sudden grin at Markos' enterance, watching him cradle his crotch as he gingerly sat at a table.


Michael glanced at the man, and winced in sympathy. There was no telling how hard he'd been hit, poor guy. "Hey, what about Mikayla?" he asked suddenly. "She isn't here, and I assume we need her. Anyone know where she is?" He would have figured that she'd be at least around Markos, given them spending the night together according to Nisa.


And he was asking her? Of the group, Mikayla was the one Ma spent the least amount of time interacting with. "I have no idea. I'm not her keeper. I ran into Markos out on the street, so maybe she's shopping?" She adjusted her seat, wincing in pain. Damn, Udyre really knew how to wear a girl out. It'd take a couple days of stretching to get back to normal.


Michael sighed. He highly doubted that his sister was shopping. She had a tough time with bartering; it always made her angry. She was really no good at it at all. "Markos, where's my sister?" he questioned, the face of an older brother glaring at the sabateur. "You were with her, after all, right?"


Retreating slightly, Markos looked around for a quick escape route. "Hell if I know! Last time I saw her, she was yelling at me from her bathroom. Up there, second door on the left, if you're so interested." He hunched over a bit, trying to make himself smaller. The money was starting to not look so worth it anymore.


Nisa turned around to glare. So it was true. He'd been sexing her up all night and they'd had a little spat afterwards. What a pig. Suddenly, the elf turned around again, looking confused. That was a harsh reaction for something so small. Why did it bother her as intensely as it did? She didn't even dislike Markos all that much, he was just fun to torment.


Michael narrowed his eyes at Markos. "Then go get her," he growled. If she was still in her room, she was upset, and it was his fault. If he couldn't bring her into the tavern, Michael would hit him. Harder than even Ma had. "You slept with her. Your responsibility if she's messed up because of it." And when he had a moment with Mikayla, she'd get a serious scolding. She was going to wind up pregnant if she kept it up.


Mikayla, meanwhile, was crying softly into her pillow. It seemed as if this was going to be one of her bad days. At least she wasn't willing to kill everyone. Even still, crying was just as bad. When was she going to have a good day?


That was it. "Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck her, fuck this, fuck the money!" He raised both middle fingers as he got to his feet, scowling at Michael. "I'm sick of everyone treating me like a bitch. I didn't even fuck your damn sister, asshole! I just ended up sleeping in the same room as her! So why don't you go take your godsdamned fake opinions and shove 'em up your ass!" The saboteur stormed out of the inn, still swearing emphatically.


Ma and Nisa sat frozen, staring after him. That came out of nowhere... Although, considering the way they'd treated him the whole time, it shouldn't have been surprising. "The cart!" Ma shouted, rushing out as well. She hoped that Markos wouldn't go for the cart and set it ablaze in anger. Nisa just slowly took a drink of her mead, staring unblinkingly at the door.


Michael sighed, putting his face in his hands. Dammit. In a fit of over-protection, he screwed things up. "He has to get her. She's weird like that. The one that upset her is the one she'll listen to. It's one of the things I hate about her, the stupid girl," he mumbled to no one in particular. "I should apologize for being a dick." Again, more to himself than Nisa. They needed Markos. They could make do without Mikayla; he had only brought her along to try and keep her out of trouble. Son of a bitch.


"You wanna come with?" he asked of Nisa. He thought he knew the answer, but maybe she'd surprise him. "Or something." He didn't even know what he was doing anymore. He didn't stay around people for good reason. He severly lacked the people skills necessary to handle people for long periods of time. The most practice he had was when he goes to shops, and that's just bartering. "Unless you have a spell that turns back time a few minutes?"


Nisa suddenly grinned. "No, but I can make him feel better," she said ominously. She left a couple copper on the table and casually followed Ma's trail. She and Markos could barely be seen at the edge of town, engaged in a brawl. It seemed he had indeed intended to burn the cart, but luckily Ma stopped him. Nisa crept up behind them, waiting for an opportune moment. Once her chance came, she seized it without hesitation. The elf reached around from behind the saboteur, placing her fingertips on his forehead and chest. He instantly froze, an oddly blissful look on his face.


Ma accidentally hit him again, but he showed no other reaction besides a small grunt. Nisa slowly lowered him to the ground, maintaining contact with him and shushing him quietly. "What the hell are you doing to him?" Ma asked, staring with wide eyes.


"Apologizing," she stated flatly, though Nisa wore a smug grin. "Markos, you need to go get Mikayla. Can you hear me?" A small grunt of acknowledgement escaped his lips. "Ok, I'm going to remove my hands. When I do, I promise you'll feel much better. Will you go get her for us?" Another grunt. Nodding once, Nisa let go and got to her feet, casually brushing her leggings to get dust off the knees.


Markos got to his feet, a genuine smile on his face as he shoved his hands in his pockets and strode towards the inn, whistling cheerfully. Ma waited til he was out of earshot. "Don't ever do that again... That was the freakiest thing I ever seen in my whole life."


Mikayla had stopped crying, at least for now, and stared at the ceiling unblinkingly. Today was going to be a really bad day, apparently. Damn. She was hoping that she wouldn't have to deal with it until after they'd returned the princess.


Everything was sunshine and rainbows in Markos' head as he practically hopped up the stairs. "Hey, Mikayla, you in there? Hellooo, sleepy head. Listen, the others are all awake. Come on, we've got things to do today!" Heedless, the man opened her door, closing it behind him casually. "Hey. Hi. Good morning!" He sat on the edge of her bed and attempted to tickle her, still grinning like a buffoon.


Mikayla squirmed, trying to get away from him. She grabbed his wrists trying to keep his hands from her sides. "What are you doing?" she questioned him. She nearly smiled, but at the same time, it felt like her face would crack if she did. On top of that, she was supposed to be mad at him.


"Tickling you?" he asked as if it were completely normal. "I said get up and you weren't, so I thought I'd make it a better option. Now quit squirming so I can tickle you more..." He pushed his hands under her shirt, tickling her on the stomach properly.


Mikayla groaned, trying to push away from him. Still she squirmed. This was hardly fair, after all. She was unnecessarily ticklish, not that she'd expected him to know that or try it, and she wasn't keen on it. She nearly giggled, but held her breath to stop it. "Stoooop," she half-whined.


He paused, looking down at her expectantly. "Then get up! Up, up,up! The others are out by the cart waiting for us!" Letting go, the saboteur stood up himself, humming loudly and pointedly at Mikayla while waving at her, though the grin never left his face.


Mikayla shook her head. "It's not a good day for me," she mumbled. "I'll catch up." She threw a pillow over her face and held it there. If she looked at his stupid, smiling face anymore, she might even go with him. Dammit.


"I can't just let you stay here. Your brother threatened me. Said I made you cry so now I have to fix it." Markos leapt onto the bed, preparing to 'attack' her again.


Mikayla sighed. "I did cry," she admitted, "but it wasn't necessarily because of you, okay? You don't have to feel guilty over me. I have issues, remember?" She kept the pillow over her face, trying to ignore the man. Which was hard, considering she could feel his weight in the bed. His only response was to flop onto her and resume his humming.


She grunted. "Damn, you're so much heavier than you look," she managed. "If you're going to be on top of me like that, it had better lack pants. Why won't you let me be depressed? Ignore Michael. He won't do anything. The group working together is all he cares about, so he'll apologize for anything rude he says, and try and fix it. I just insult you all the time, remember?" Even if she had said she'd stop, she knew there would be times where she'd do it anyway.


"...And the brave hero marched over the tall mountain, leading his merry band of men~!" he suddenly belted out. It was his dirty little secret. He moonlighted as a bard in shady inns. "Up, or I'll keep going in your ear," he demanded. Whatever the hell Nisa had done to him, he hadn't felt this good in a decade, at least.


Mikayla sighed. The hell was wrong with him? She was certain he wasn't normally like this. Well, sometimes the only way to get answers was to ask the questions. "Why do you care so much?" she murmured from under her pillow. Tears threatened to leak out once again.


Getting up again, he waltzed around the room with an imaginary dance partner. "Because I like youuu, and Nisa did some kind of magic in my head. I just feel SO good right now, it's crazy~." More singing, with some laughter thrown into the mix. Damn, he needed to have her ensorcell him once a week or something. This was great.


Mikayla felt a strange feeling in her chest. Was that...jealousy? She did her best to squash it. "If you're magicked, you won't like me much later," she sighed, defeated. He wasn't going to stop until she got up, she knew, so finally she stood. She wiped the tears away quickly, hoping he was too distracted with dancing to notice.


Pausing in his rotation, he noticed that Mikayla had finally gotten up. Markos dropped the song and dance, rubbing his hands together. "Yeah, you say that, but I bet you're just embarrassed to hear it. I'm an idiot, remember? Who wants an idiot fawning all over them? C'mon, the others are still waiting. Out, let's go!" He cheerfully held the door open for Mikayla, bowing from the waist.


He truly was an idiot, but it wasn't as unbearable as some of the idiots she'd come across. And fawning? Hardly, that.


Slowly, Mikayla walked out the door, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. She didn't want to face anyone, but it was too late now. She couldn't very well get passed Markos back into her room. And he'd follow anyway. Idiot. "I don't get embarassed," she mumbled, refusing to look at him. All she wanted was to lay in bed, and avoid the world. Next time, she was staying home.


Satisfied that he'd done his job correctly, he took the stairs two at a time and headed back to the group, not even bothering to check and see if she was following. In his mind, it was mission accomplished.


Out by the cart, Markos walked right up to a stranger who'd appeared in his absence. He was a tall, blonde elf, though he looked normal in comparison to Nisa. Hmm, he'd have to ask her why she was so stange looking at some point. Nevertheless, Markos budged between the newcomer and Nisa, grabbing his hand and shaking it emphatically. "Heya stranger! Welcome to the group!"


The elf calmly reached up and tapped the saboteur on the forehead once, then frowned. Once more, with still no response. He quirked a brow and turned to Nisa. "You've improved, Va'lethan." His voice glided out of his mouth like a cool breeze, but there was a sinister undertone to it. Of course, Markos failed to catch that in his current state and left again. Nisa simply tipped her head in acknowledgement. The elf, presumably her tutor, went back to examining the piece of brick she'd saved, making observations aloud. Ma edged away from the elves, following Markos down the road once she'd gotten a safe distance away.


Michael stood there awkwardly, having joined them when Markos had gone to retrieve Mikayla, unsure what to do. "Well, it was a pleasure, but I have to take my sister to the smithy," he said, grimacing inwardly. Coward. Couldn't come up with an excuse without involving his twin, but by the looks of her, it was probably a decent idea. And frankly, the animosity between Nisa and the other elf was almost palpable, and he didn't want to be around if sparks started flying. That could be rather dangerous.


So before Mikayla could actually get to the cart, Michael grabbed her arm and wrapped it with his. "Come, sister dear," he said, much to her befuddlement, "We have knives we need to get." She looked at him, frowning. Sharp objects weren't exactly her friends right then, but oh well. It had to be something important for Michael to call her 'dear'. He hadn't called her that since before their mother had died. And she had questions for him. He was a man, after all.


"So soon?" asked the elf, looking up at the new arrival. His ebony eyes traveled over Mikayla's form calculatingly, a small smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. "But we haven't been introduced yet. Yayaril Kremmlich," he said grandly, holding out a hand to Mikayla. Nisa shook her head quickly in warning, taking advantage of his turning his back to her.


Mikayla merely stared at the elf's hand. "Mikayla," she said simply. She hadn't missed the look on his face, and it disgusted her greatly. She wasn't an object. "We really must go. My blades are dull, and I need a new one. Besides, my brother and I have things to talk about that aren't meant for the ears of everyone else." Despite her depression, there was a spark in her eyes at meeting Yayaril, causing Michael to nearly grin, though he covered it just in time. No matter what mood she was in, it seemed Mikayla didn't enjoy being something to look at. If only the girl knew what she looked like. Men slept with her for a reason, after all, and it wasn't because they were drunk.


She turned her back on Nisa's tutor, and continue on her way. "I do hope you know where the smithy is," she told her brother quietly. It would be awfully embarassing if he didn't.


"Aye," he responded, just as quietly. "Nisa told me to get away from him as quickly as possible. At least you seemed to have figured that out on your own."


Yayaril watched them go, a small frown on his face. "You've made some very impolite company, Va'lethan. I don't approve."


"You don't have to, Manellan. I am capable of making my own decisions. I simply need to know about this magic. Do you know where it came from or who is developing it?" She gritted her teeth, frantically defending herself against all manner of hexes, as she had been for the past ten minutes. Damn that Markos...Now she'd have to cleanse him. No doubt he had at least a dozen hexes clinging to him.


Ma caught up to Michael and Mikayla, throwing a look over her shoulder. Despite all the distance between them, she could still feel the nasty aura that elf was projecting. The gnome didn't like it at all. "I see you found her. I hope Markos wasn't too hard on you, Mikayla. That man wouldn't know sensitivity if it kicked him in the teeth."


"He said he liked me. What does that even mean?" Mikayla blurted out. Well. That wasn't how she'd meant to do it at all. Too late now, unfortunately. Damn, damn, damn.


Michael froze and stared at his sister, brow furrowed. "Really? He said that?" The surprise was evident in his voice. Not that he didn't believe someone could like his sister, so much as it would take a very strong, very unique individual to. Unless, of course, he didn't mean it the way Michael was understanding it. "Ma, any idea?"


The gnome blurted out a laugh, then covered her mouth. "I, uh, guess it means he likes you? I don't know too many ways to interperet that. He did say that you two didn't um...Well, you didn't knock boots. If that's true, I applaud your decision. That man probably ruts like a pig and then leaves..." She shook her head slowly. "You can do better than that, Mikayla. Trust me. I only take the best, and it's worked out wonderfully so far."


Mikayla frowned at the sudden feeling she had. As if her heart was sinking into her stomach, and she was disappointed all at the same time. She didn't want that. Not one bit. "Nope. That's it. I want to go home," she announced. She was feeling things she hadn't before, and she didn't like it. It was a horrible sensation in her head.


Michael stared at her incredulously. Since when did she not want an adventure, with possibly killing someone? "Are you ill?" he asked her, feeling her forehead for a fever. "You're not warmer than usual. Did Markos break you?" Even more, but he didn't want to set her off with that. All she did, however, was shake her head. He sighed, watching his sister. He hoped they got it figured out, and quickly. He never knew that he'd miss his normal, psychotic twin.


"Please. Him? Break Mikayla? The girl's strong like an ox. If anything untoward were to happen, my money's on him finding himself staring at his own brownhole." Ma laughed again, clutching her belly. Speaking of Markos, she watched him scale a tree off in the distance, trying to catch a squirrel. After a moment, however, he let go and fell to the ground, landing in a big pile of leaves. Another moment later, there was a small pop, and bits of fur and red mist cascaded out of the treetop. What the devil? His insane giggling made her think that was on purpose... "Point."


Mikayla frowned at the sight before them, then sighed, shaking her head. "Markos," she called as they walked closer, "What are you doing?" She was still in her funk, but she couldn't help but question him. Whatever Nisa had done to him, he was losing his mind. Unless, of course, he was one of those people that enjoyed killing small animals.


Michael, on the other hand, simply stared. Everyone was losing their minds. That had to be it. Something in the water here or something made them all lose it completely. He was so done. He was almost ready to give up and go home, himself.


Approaching the group, the saboteur kept snickering. "I tried to stop it, I swear! The little rat bastard stole a cherry off my belt. They're volitile little buggers sometimes." The pop and sudden disappearence of the squirrel was too funny, though. "So what's up? What're you guys doing? Where's Nisa, still with that spooky guy?" He looked around, as if expecting the littler elf to pop out from under a rock and hex him.


Michael nodded, glancing at his sister. "Yeah, discussing the brick she found. I got Mikayla out of there quickly, so she didn't meet him for long. Especially since.." he trailed off. Did it matter that the darker elf had been staring at his sister like a prize to be won? It wasn't as if they'd see him again. At least, he hoped not. "Either way, Nisa's still there."


At the mention of Yayaril, Mikayla crossed her arms again. Did the men she look at feel the same way? She was suddenly disgusted with herself. Again.


"Wait, what happened? Did something happen? Did he poke her forehead too?" Markos pushed his already short sleeve up, playfully shaking his fist. "I'll put him in a big hole, just say the word. I got plenty of powder left for that, at least."


Ma sighed, pushing him heavily. "Calm down, 'knight in shining armor'. I bet he could kill you with a glance if he wanted to. He's an elf, remember?"


"Shit, I'm not afraid of magic. Magic can't stop a bomb if I bean him in the head with it. Pow! Just like the squirrel!" He pulled an orange sized ball of wood out from under his over shirt, cocking back a hand and taking aim down the road. "I'm a really good throw. I bet you two gold pieces I can nail him..." Ma instantly dove for cover upon seeing him produce a bomb. Where the fuck was he hiding that?!


"No, you goof, he only looked at me. It's not a big deal," Mikayla interjected softly. "That's all. The same way men look at women all over the place. And the same way women look at men. It's nothing." She sighed. The idiot was going to lob a bomb? He was crazier than he looked. "Just put that away, okay? Please?" Great. Now she was worried about him.


Michael shook his head. He, personally, didn't think it wasn't a big deal, but perhaps that was just because he was her older brother, and therefore protective. Even if she could kill anyone that tried to hurt her. Even if he didn't like her very much. She was still his sister, either way.


Slowly, Markos put the bomb away. His expression changed, as if a fog had lifted from his mind. "Yeah, alright." With a shrug, he walked away, heading towards the smithy. The high was gone, and he felt...down, now. Magic was dangerous...


"Is he gone?" Ma asked, peeking around the trunk of a tree. "Shit, I thought we were all about to die. Good job making him see reason, Mikayla. Like I said, you did the right thing." She'd missed his 'come down', so she thought he was still loopy.


Mikayla sighed softly. That's how it was, then. At least she could get back to normal. Hopefully. "Yeah," she said softly, before walking away. She wasn't headed to the smithy. Rather, one of the trees near it where she could sit and think. Compose herself.


Michael shook his head, watching her walk away. "This whole trip is getting weird," he told Ma. "And I'm beginning to think my dear, little sister was hoping for something else." He shook his head again, walking once more. He really did need knives, and the smithy was the place to get them. He looked back at Ma. "Coming?" he asked her.


The gnome jogged to keep up with Michael. "Sure thing. Got nowhere else to be." They could hear the smithy now. It seemed the blacksmith had started on a piece, as the high pitched peal of hammer striking metal pierced the quiet. "I want to see if the smith can figure out who made the fakes, anyways. I hear he's pretty good at that."


Just as the two reached the smithy, Markos left with a bulging sack, waving over his shoulder, and headed back to the cart. Inside, the smith resumed his work. Ma quirked a brow upon spotting the man. An orc? Here? That was new. "Hail, smith," she called. The orc looked up from his work and grunted, spitting a dark wad of tobacco out into the hot coals, where it spluttered angrily.


"We've got some work, if you've the time. A couple knives," she started, nodding towards Michael, "and some eyework." Heaving a dramatic sigh, the smith picked up his current piece and shoved it back into the coals, waiting for Ma to get to the point. "I'd like to know if you can identify the maker of some jewelry."


 
Stepping around his anvil, the orc held out a hand. "Knives are on the wall over there," he growled, his gutteral voice rumbling in his chest. One of the big tusks protruding from his lower jaw had been smashed, and had a decorative iron cap on it. Probably not a man to mess with, it seemed. He held up the amulet Ma had given him to the sunlight and turned it over, examining it from every angle. "It's fake," he finally concluded.


"Yes, I know. I want to know who made it." She refrained from rolling her eyes. Of course she knew it was fake, she was a gnome!


Uppity little buggers. Grumbling to himself, the orc looked closer, feeling the amulet for any identifying marks. "I don't know. Let me look in the back." He walked away into the little hut attached at the back.


Michael was looking at the daggers adorning the smithy wall, doing his best not to snigger at Ma's tone. What made it especially funny, was how the orc towered over her. She obviously had no fear. He admired that. He was sure Udyre did, too.


He glanced over all of them, and picked out two stilettos that he liked. They were a decent weight, and fit nicely in his hands. He grabbed two more just like them; Mikayla would like them to throw, and he figured she could use a pick-me-up that wasn't alcohol or a random guy. This, somehow, felt safer. And yes, there was the skinning knife he needed. Perfect.


He ambled his way back to Ma's side. "Well, hopefully he gives the information we need, I can pay him, and we can leave. As nice as this village is, I'll be thankful to be on the road again."


"You and me both, partner." Ma tapped her foot impatiently, though she quickly stood up straighter as the orc returned.


He tossed Ma her amulet back, looking Michael's selections over. "Fifty silver," he grunted. "And you, I recognize those gems. Terrible purity, but from a distance they look fine. You'll be looking for Cecil the Miser in Hightop. I suggest you keep some gold handy if you go see him. They don't call him that for nothing. You, pay and leave. I'm losing time." All business, the orc.


It took all of Michael's willpower not to make faces as the orc talked. What a grumpy creature. Still, he passed over the silver, without so much as blinking at the price. Bartering would do him no good, besides, orc work was second to none when it came right down to it. At least, in his opinion. "Thanks," he muttered, backing out of the smithy.


"Oi, Mik!" he called to his sister still sitting against her tree. "Let's go!"


The woman sighed. He hadn't used that nickname since they were children. He must think she was really upset, when she wasn't. She was just...human, for once. And she hated it. "Yeah, yeah," she muttered to herself as she stood, brushing the dirt from her rear. It's not like she was in much of a hurry to get back. She didn't want to chance seeing Yayaril; he gave her the utter creeps, and she wasn't entirely certain she really wanted to see Markos, either. At least Nisa was quiet.


---------


Back on the road again! Ma happily kicked her feet from the driver's chair, humming under her breath. They cleared the forest, heading down the road to Hightop. It was a fairly big city, with many roads leading to it. They were famous for their cooking in Hightop. Ma could almost taste the spiced meat pie and fig rolls now. "So what did your old teacher say, Nisa?"


The elf jerked in her seat, looking away from the road. "Nothing important, unfortunately. A lot of lecturing and berating, as per usual. He said he'd heard rumors, but refused to tell me anything useful. Probably pitching a fit because I warned you all ahead of time and ruined his chance to torment everyone." She sounded drained. Actually, she looked drained, sprawled on her bench like a ragdoll. Fending off her old tutor for an entire half hour was more stressful than anything she'd done in recent memory. "What about you. Did you uncover any clues?"


"Yup!" Ma said cheerfully. "We know who made the fakes. That's why we're going to Hightop."


Michael breathed in the air, enjoying the solitude of the road. Even if he had company. He wasn't completely looking forward to their next excursion into yet another town, but there was nothing for it. They had to do it in order to save the princess. That's what they were hired for, after all. What he was most unenthused over, was seeing the miser that orc blacksmith had told them about. He hated paying for information. Half the time it was unreliable.


Mikayla, however, didn't seem to care one way or another. She'd been quiet since they'd left Thistleden, and only said she was thinking whenever Michael asked if she was okay. Frankly, she didn't know how to answer that. How did one say they were okay when their head didn't work right? It was a dumb question. This whole trip was dumb. "D'you think I can sell the fake necklace I took here? Or would that be too obvious?" she asked, suddenly. She wanted money to spend. She'd heard about the gambling dens in other towns, and wanted to be able to try them out. Who knew, maybe she was lucky.


Why not? It wasn't like they needed the jewelry. Ma thought about pawning the one she'd swiped as well. "Yeah, probably. We could see if there are any jewelers who are dumb enough to take them. Oh! I know! I could enchant them. Make them look prettier than they really are. Oh, that's a great idea. Why didn't I think of that before?"


"You can enchant?" Nisa turned to look at Markos in surprise. The man had sat on the edge of the cart, facing away from everyone else, and hadn't spoken the whole time. Now, however, he turned around curiously. "I mean, you mentioned something about enchanting back in the capitol, but I didn't know if you meant you do it yourself or if you just knew about it..."


Ma snickered. "Of course I can enchant. No gnome worth their gems can't. I'm not phenomenal like my dad, but I'm pretty good."


Running a hand through his goatee, Markos thought for a moment. "Can you enchant things to explode without harming themselves?"


The gnome turned in her seat, giving him an incredulous look. "Can I what? No! And if I could, I wouldn't! What do you take me for, a fool?"


No, I just take you for someone who still thinks I'm a moron, Markos thought. He turned back around and resumed his explosive making. Some coal dust, a pinch of niter, some dried fat...and top it with a fuse. That made seven. He placed the newly made bomb in a box next to him and picked up another empty shell.


Michael sighed. This ragtag group was all kinds of a mess, and they were going to have to come together, and soon. This job wouldn't get any easier otherwise, although... "Actually," he said, "the idea has some merit to it. Mines, for instance. Only better."


Mikayla, on the otherhand, was thoroughly tired. She pulled her bedroll out, pulling the blanket well over her head. She was going to attempt to sleep. Until she realized that the cart was not going to work as something resembling comfort. She'd rather the rocks in her back. Either way, she closed her eyes, trying to ignore everyone else.


Swatting Michael on the arm, Ma leaned towards him. "Don't encourage him," she hissed quietly. To her surprise, however, Nisa spoke up.


"I can. They won't explode, but they'll make people think they'd just been hit by an explosion. I can do all kinds of nasty things with hexes." Turning in his seat, Markos blinked at her. What just happened to the world? He touched his neck, making sure he hadn't just died or something. Nope, there was a pulse there. So then what prompted that? "I'm a better hexer than my tutor," she growled quietly, glaring into the distance.


Markos finished off the last bomb and set it in the box, then pulled his legs up from where t they'd been dangling off the edge. "Um, okay? Where did that come from? Are you...alright?" Nisa glared at him and held out a hand as if to hex him, but nothing happened. Aside from him cringing reflexively, that was. She dropped her hand in exhaustion.


"Just not right now..."


Unable to ignore them like she wanted, Mikayla sat up, then climbed over the edge of the cart. She wasn't ever going on a trip like this again. Too many people for her head to deal with, and there was no telling how much longer they'd be doing this job. "I need to walk," was all she said by way of explanation. She dropped off in speed, letting the cart get a decent distance ahead of here to the point that she couldn't hear the others, and sighed a breath of relief. That was so much better. No one to confuse her, upset her, both. It may be temporary, but it was definitely nice.


Michael ignored his sister's eccentricites this time. He knew what it was, and there was nothing he could do. Instead, he focused on Nisa, and he looked at her, concerned. "Hey, you good? If you need something, just let me know, okay?" he told her. She was more drained than he would have thought possible, and it worried him.


"No, I don't need anything," she said, attempting to snap at him, but it came out as a monotone. "I'm fine. It's not like I did any real work, right?" Ma rolled her eyes. Oh the drama.


Turning around, Ma patted Nisa on the head. "There there, no need to be fiesty. It was a question borne of concern for your health." Sighing, the elf looked up at Michael.


"No, I am fine. Honestly. It was just taxing to counter all the hexes Yayaril was trying to lay on you all. As I said, he thrives on misery."


"Is that what happened to you?" Markos blurted. "I mean, why you look like that? I've never seen anyone else look the way you do."


Nisa glared at him. "No, I wasn't changed into this. I was born this way. My parents were always sickly, so I'm told, so something obviously went wrong during my growth in the womb." Markos cringed. Smooth. Without further comment, he went back to staring behind the cart, which had slowed down somewhat to allow Mikayla to keep up.


Michael couldn't help the small laugh that escaped his throat, but he managed to smother it with a coughing fit. He couldn't help it. Those two had the repetoire of a wolf and a deer. And it was easy to tell which was which in this particular relationship. It was incredibly humorous, given their situation. He was enjoying, until he looked back and saw Markos. "Why don't you go talk to her if you're going to stare like that?" he questioned. There was no malice, no 'big brother' tone, it was literally a curious question. At least, this time it was.


Markos shook his head. "I don't want to bother her anymore. She seems pretty upset with me. As in, more than her normal version of upset. I'll just stay here, next to my bombs, where it's safer." Scoffing, Nisa decided to hop down off the cart and walk next to Mikayla in his stead. She still had the bizarre desire to be near the other woman, and wanted to investigate her mysterious pull. She'd never experienced something like it in her life.


Michael shook his head. "She doesn't know where she stands with you. That's what bothers her so much right now. You did, after all, tell her you liked her without any explanation, and confused her." Then he went silent. That was all he would say on the matter.


Mikayla glanced over at Nisa. Apparently being alone really wasn't an option. Well, at least she understood the elf. There was that. "What're you doing?" she inquired softly. "You should really be resting. You look horrible."


Shooting Mikayla a slightly hurt look, Nisa didn't answer.


Mikayla sighed, and smiled at Nisa, albeit with a small one. "Here, hop on my back. You look light enough to carry, at least for a little while."


Do what now? Nisa blushed slightly, putting a little distance between herself and Mikayla. "No. I just wanted to get away from that idiot and his explosives," she said quietly, looking away. Her heart rate had picked up when Mikayla offered to carry her. Nisa wanted desperately to understand what was making her body act so oddly. Was it a sickness? Maybe she'd let one of Yayaril's hexes slip through? No, that couldn't be it. This had happened before. The albino elf wrung her hands behind her back nervously, but still didn't want to say anything about it.


Mikayla shrugged. "Suit yourself. Just know that I offered. And I'm sure his explosives are safe enough, or he wouldn't be making them in the moving cart." She didn't even realize that she was defending the man. "He offered to blow off Yayaril's head with one, actually." She said it so matter-of-factly, like she didn't care, when at the time, it was nice that he seemed to want to defend her. Until, of course, she remembered that he had been bespelled by Nisa. Remembered that it wasn't really him.


That brought a laugh to her. "Really? I feel that would have been quite cathartic to see. I wish I were an evoker sometimes, just so I could watch that vile bastard's corpse burn with wytchfire. Did he say why he wanted to do that? He was quite friendly with Yayaril upon meeting him..."


"He only offered because he thought Yayaril had touched my forehead, and you had him hexed," Mikayla said, fighting to keep her tone neutral. She found herself quite annoyed that Nisa had done it in the first place. She wouldn't be so damned confused if she hadn't. Wouldn't wonder what the hell she was feeling lately. Dammit.


"I didn't hex him..." she said softly. "I just fixed him. It was a charm to ease tension and even out his humours. He was quite irate this morning after your brother accused him of sleeping with you." She conveniently left out the fact that she'd been the one to propose the idea first the night before.


"He did sleep with me, Nisa," Mikayla sighed, "Just not how my brother seems to think. We never actually had sex. Not that I would have said no, but it was never offered. All that happened is we slept because we drank too much. That's all." No need to tell her that he'd held her, and made her feel truly human for the first time in her life. Not after she'd asked him not to say anything. "And who I sleep with isn't his business." She huffed.


He did? Hm. Nisa frowned slightly. "I see. Well... I'll leave you be, then." It was obvious that Mikayla didn't want her company, which hurt for some reason, so she sped up and got back in.


------


 
As night fell, they moved off the road to set up another campsite. Once the fire was set up, using kindling they'd purchased in Thistleden, Ma sat near it and fiddled with a little gnomish puzzle cube she'd made. She looked around, doing a re-evaluation of the group. Of all of them, only Michael stayed the same in her eyes. The others had shown more depth, and while she still felt annoyed by Markos, she understood him a little better. Mikayla had revealed that she was more than an upset shell of a woman. And Nisa turned out to care about the rest of them more than she'd let on originally. She said she'd fought off her teacher in their defense after all. That was certainly unexpected.


Markos laid out of range of the firelight on his bedroll, snoring lightly. The long trip was tiring, even if they weren't walking the whole way. As for the elf, she stood by the mule and ran her hands through its mane. She'd never taken the time to really study one of these animals up close. It was beautiful, in it's own way.


Mikayla was sitting by the fire, admiring its flames until she sighed. "I'm going to do a perimeter check," she announced, standing and brushing dirt off of her legs and rear.


"Want me to go with you?" Michael asked. He had his bow out, and was drawing and releasing the string slowly, to better get used to it. He could already feel the burn in his muscles.


"Nah," she said, pulling out one of the new stilettos he had gotten her, "I'll be fine. Just making sure there aren't any wolves or other enemies is all." She stalked off into the trees, as quietly as she could manage so she didn't wake Markos, and was gone,


"That's a good idea. We should probably start assigning sentry duties from here on," he said, though he found himself talking to Ma instead of his sister. "The more cities we're around, the more bandits and the like."


After a brief silence, Ma looked up at Michael. "Hm? Oh, I'm sorry, I was distracted." She put her puzzle away and turned to face him. "Sentry duty? I suppose that would make sense. Will it be the same rotations every time, or will we be drawing lots each night?" Personally, Ma preferred structured shifts that didn't change. It helped stave off the grumpiness that came from being woken up in the middle of the night.


"A schedule. Everyone knows their sleeping patterns and what shift would be good. There are five of us, so we could each do a two hour stint and get eight hours of sleep. It'd be broken, but still," Michael told her, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Unless they didn't want to wait ten hours all told. It might be too much time. "What do you think? Eight hours of sleep?"


Ma shrugged. It was more than she usually got anyways. "It works for me. You'll have to bring it up with the others. I'm fairly certain they look to you as the leader, even if they wouldn't admit it." She did too. Michael handled himself well, had a stable outlook and disposition, and aside from personal matters concerning his sister, didn't seem to be phased by much.


The gnome looked over at Nisa, who had come to sit by the fire at last. She still seemed incredibly tired. "Hey, are you feeling any better?" Ma asked. Nisa simply shrugged listlessly, staring into the fire with half lidded eyes.


Michael chuckled softly. Him? The leader? How the hell did that even happen? He had never meant to take charge, but some things just happened, he supposed. "We'll worry about it tomorrow night. Bomb boy's asleep, my sister is off checking around, and you, Nisa, you look like you're going to fall over from exhaustion. You need some rest to replenish yourself."


Just then, Mikayla came crashing back into camp, covered in scratches and four good gashes down her back. She was breathing hard, bent over with her hands on her knees. She held her hand up when Michael moved to help her. "It's fine," she heaved. "Just a bear. It's taken care of." She sat heavily, trying to catch her breath.


A bear?! What was she doing fighting with a bear? Did she have a death wish or something? Ma scrambled to her feet and rushed over to Mikayla's side, frantically checking her wounds. "What do you think you're doing, woman? You're not a deity, you know. Fighting a bear alone is just stupid..."


The commotion woke Markos with a start. The man rolled over onto his stomach and tried to get to his feet, thoughhis movements were still thick from sleep. "Whass all the com...cam...What happened?" His eyes snapped open as Ma explained the situation and he leapt upright. A lecture almost came out, but at the last moment, he dropped his hand. "Well, I'm glad you made it back," he said.


Mikayla laughed breathlessly, excitement still lighting her features. "I'm fine. Really. A few scratches. It was just a small, black bear. And that was all I found, thankfully. No signs of bandits or other predators, so that's good." She glanced at Markos, her eyes twinkling merrily. She felt more alive at that moment than she had in a while. Near death experiences could do that to a person. Shakily, due to mild blood loss, she made her way to her packs. Stripping her shirt off without hesitation, she pulled out a needle and some thread. "Can someone sew my back? I think it's open more than I want it to be."


Michael shook his head. Only his sister would look like that after fighting a damn bear. "You're pretty fucking reckless, sister mine," he said. He'd meant it to be a scolding, but couldn't seem to make it sound that way. His sister was happy at that moment, and he didn't really want to ruin in.


Markos and Ma exchanged looks. Hell no were they going to try that. Sure, Markos had very steady hands, but he hated being around blood up close. Ma couldn't sew. They turned to Nisa expectantly. The elf didn't even react at first, simply getting to her feet and approaching Mikayla. Aparently she hadn't realized Mikayla had taken her shirt off, as she suddenly stood up a little straighter and opened her eyes fully.


"Umm...Okay. Come sit by the fire so I can see what I'm doing." The elf took a deep breath before reaching around Mikayla and touching her forehead. She weaved the same spell she'd put over Markos to numb the pain.


Mikayla suddenly felt like she was jumping in the clouds. She didn't know she could feel more elated than she already had. It felt amazing. Maybe she should have Nisa do this to her more often. No wonder Markos had acted the way he had when the elf had done it to him. She giggled. "I'm wearing no shirt," she stated, so matter-of-factly that Michael went into a tent to, essentially, hide.


"Next time, let her feel the pain," he called out, causing Mikayla to giggle once more. She was so incredibly happy, so free, like there was nothing wrong with her mind whatsoever.


"Hey, hey Markos," she said suddenly, grinning. "I like you, too. Even if I'm crazy all the time."


The saboteur ran a hand through his hair, looking away. Dammit, that elf just loved making things complicated, didin't she. "Yeah...I'm glad. Really. I'll be out in the woods with the bears and such. Where it's safer," he finished under his breath. Nisa resisted the urge to just stab Mikayla, instead simply gritting her teeth quietly and continuing to stitch up her wounds.


"Do you have any more of that salve, or did you use it all in the castle," she asked. Nisa made a note to one day ask Ma why she felt this way around Mikaya. It was really starting to get on her nerves. The elf almost did so right then, but Ma had already left to check on the cart.


Mikayla pouted. "You should stay. Staying is fun. Oh! We should all play a game!" she exclaimed. She had no idea what game she wanted to play, but she thought it sounded like a wonderful idea. "I know! Darts with knives!" She grinned at Markos and Ma, and would have at Nisa if she could see her. It sounded like so much fun. "Or, I can think of something else that could be fun." She giggled once more.


Finishing the last of the stitches, Nisa reached out and touched Mikayla's forehead again, wiping her charm away. Nisa found she didn't much like the charmed Mikayla. Standing with a quiet huff, she walked away to the cart to sit with Ma. They sarted talking quietly, sorting supplies together.


"Hey, you feel any better?" Markos questioned cautiously as he approached Mikayla. The stitches were pretty well done, surprisingly. It still looked nasty though. He sat down near her, averting his eyes from her topless body illuminated in the firelight. It seemed too... personal. Too intimate.


Mikayla frowned, coming down from that high Nisa had her on. "Um, yeah, I guess. My back itches though," she said. She reached over, grabbing her shirt and sliding it back on. "I wish I was still bespelled though. Felt great." Until she realized everything she'd said, and then she groaned. "I'm sorry..." She covered her face with her hands, mildly embarassed at herself.


Putting his hands together, Markos sighed. "Nah, don't be sorry. Now you know how I felt. It makes you a little loopy, huh?" He was quiet for a moment, then scooted a bit closer to her. Even under bespellment, he wasn't lying. He'd hoped that she was honest with him as well. "So were you serious? About playing darts, I mean. I, uh, I could go for that." Mentally he cursed himself, but he didn't want to make her feel awkward around him. Well, moreso than she already was.


Mikayla let her hands drop from her face. "I meant it all," she said quietly, "but yes. I meant it. You won't win, either," she informed him as an afterthought. She squirmed at the mild pain in her back, then sat still. "I seriously wrestled a bear," she muttered wonderingly. A freaking bear. "And I didn't even do it on purpose. Stupid thing attacked me first."


-----


Markos dropped to his knees in defeat, holding his head in his hands. How had she beaten him? Her back had been torn open by a bear and she still made it look easy! "I don't understand!" he groaned, beating his hand on the dirt. After a few moments, the man finally took a deep breath and got to his feet. "I don't know how you did it, but I have no choice but to accept your victory." He held his hand out to her.


Mikayla laughed softly, accepting his hand. She was the victor, again. She hadn't found anyone that could throw a knife better than she could. "I'm just really good at what I do," she told him, her entire stature cocky. She couldn't help it; she was extremely confident when she could do something well.


She squirmed mildly, her back making things slightly uncomfortable. "Hey, can you do me a small favor?" she asked him.


"Depends?" Markos replied, a wary eyebrow raised.


Mikayla got into one of her packs, and pulled out a small blue vial. "Drop some of this on the gashes. I need to dull the pain a bit," she informed him, pulling the back of her shirt up, only revealing the cuts that ran from her left shoulder blade to right about her right hip. She turned her head, trying to get a look at them, then frowned. "Damn. I'm going to have scars now."


Eugh, fuck. The stitches were still oozing blood somewhat. Why? Why him? Why not Nisa? He poured a thin line along each of the stitched up wounds before stopping up the bottle again. "There, hope that helps becaue I really don't want to have to do that again. Blood is gross..."


"Sorry, I just needed something to kill the pain a bit," she said apologetically. She had grimaced while the liquid dripped onto the cuts, but now it felt almost as if there was nothing wrong with her back. "Thank you, Markos. Um, hey, about what I said earlier..." She trailed off, not really sure where she was going with it, so she just stopped. "Never mind."


He opened his mouth to request clarification when a high pitched cackle sent him diving for cover. Witches? Here? Where were they? Markos crawled along the ground towards his box of explosives when a different laugh caught his attention. That was Ma. So then what the hell was the first one? Markos cautiously got to his feet and searched for the source of it all. The cart?


As he crept closer, he could hear Nisa and Ma talking. "...fine, you know. It's okay. You don't gotta feel ashamed of that. I mean... s'weird, but I en't gonna judge. You do what you feel's right." What? What were they talking about. Ma seemed to be reassuring Nisa about something. He peeked around the edge of the cart, then quickly retreated. What the hell! Nisa had curled up with her head in Ma's lap, clutching some sort of bottle in her hand as if it were the only thing keeping her alive. The more unnerving thing was that she was giggling.


"But I don't get it. Why does it make my tummy feel weird? I...I just want it to stop. It messes with my head." Ma clucked her tongue, then took a long draught from her own bottle, gulping loudly.


"Hush, girl," she said at last. "You can't help it. Just know that's why you get that way an' then move on. Don't let it mess... mess with your head."


Nisa sat up suddenly, shaking the cart a bit. "I want to try it though! How else can I dismiss these feelings if I don't know what it leads to?"


"You what? You... Oh. Ohhh, I see." The gnome paused for a bit. "Ah what the hell. C'mere." At that point, Markos' eyes looked like saucers, they were open so wide. He moved away as quickly and quietly as possible.


He cleared his throat, trying to contain his wild imagination and avoid an embarrasing public 'display'. "Yeah, no, it wasn't witches. Um...some birds got into the cart. Ma's taking care of it." He explained quietly, clearing his throat more than necessary. "You were saying? Something about you wanted a rematch?"


Mikayla shook her head, not really in the mood to throw knives again. She laid back on her bedroll, then sat up, hissing in pain. She'd forgotten about her back already. Well. No sleep for her tonight then. "Screw it, yeah." What she had wanted to say, she didn't know how. Beating him at knives seemed like the next best thing. "Though maybe we should make a wager or something. Make it more fun."


"Four gold says I win this time," he boasted. Of course, Markos pretty much knew he wasn't going to win, but they'd both confessed (under magical influence) that they liked each other somewhat. The relief made him less attatched to his money if Mikayla was involved. And he needed to scrub his mind of what may or may not be happening in the cart...


"Oh, you're on, mate," Mikayla told him, arrogance written all over her face. "Be prepared to cough up your coins. Although, that's a high price when you know you're going to lose," she added, teasingly. She stood in front of the tree, some fifteen feet away, and threw her first knife. It hit dead center. "Maybe you should just pay up now."


Scoffing, Markos pulled his whittling knife from the belt around his waist. "Don't get so confident. I was at a disadvantage because I was using your blades. Watch this." He took a preposterous stance, as if preparing to fence with a rapier. After a moment's concentration, he flipped the knife overhead, stepped backwards once, and slung it. The knife slammed into the tree with a loud thock, right beside Mikayla's. Markos quickly covered his disbelief with a smug grin. He had improvised that entire little charade, intending to miss as a joke.


Mikayla laughed, shaking her head. "What the hell was that?" she asked him, gesturing at his person as a whole. She'd never met such a ridiculous man before. And he'd sent the knife home! Surely he couldn't have done that on purpose. That was a horrible stance for throwing. Walking up and yanking her dagger from the tree, she once more took her place, and threw her knife with supreme confidence. Instead of hitting her mark, however, it glanced off of Markos' knife and fell to the ground. She stared at it in disbelief. "What...?"


"Should have gotten mine out too while you were over there," he teased. Picking up both blades, Markos returned hers and took a serious stance. He threw, though the shot ended up on the outer ring. Furrowing his brow, the saboteur crossed his arms. Hmm...Next turn, he'd try something a little different to see if that made a difference.


Mikayla nodded her thanks as she took the knife gently from him. No sense in accendently cutting him, after all. Sighting her target, she took a slow breath, then threw her knife again. Once more, it hit snugly into the center of the trunk. She grinned smugly. "That's better."


Oh, just you wait, he thought to himself. Retrieving both blades again, he took his spot. At first it looked as if he was going to throw it normally, but then he snapped up straight and tossed the blade behind his back, catching and throwing it with the other hand. It hit next to Mikayla's again. "I have to do it fancy or I can't throw anything worth shit," he explained, though the revelation had only come to him moments prior. "You still want to pony up that gold?"


Mikayla stared at the trunk. There was no way, no possible way. He couldn't be winning against her right now. That just...didn't happen. "That's not...you don't throw that way," was all she managed to get out before taking her knife and throwing it once more. It hit off center. "It's my back," she said, pouting. "That's all. It's getting to me."


Oh is that right? Your back didn't seem to bother you before. He grinned, grabbing his knife. "Well, Mikayla, since you're out of your game due to injury, I'll call it a draw." Just to spite her, though, Markos twirled in a circle, releasing the blade as he came to a stop and sent it flying into the outer ring of the bullseye. Damn, he meant to get it in the center. "What about cards? You play cards?"


Mikayla grinned at him. "Yeah, I play cards. But I only play five card, and I only play it one way, so if that's uncomfortable for you, I don't recommend it," she informed Markos, smirking at him. She sheathed her knife back on her belt and sat down.


--------


 
Mikayla groaned as she woke, wincing as she peeled her back off of her bedroll. Damn, that bear got her good. Wait a minute...why was her back attached to her bedroll in the first place? Looking down she realized. Oh yeah. Cards with Markos. She grinned to herself, remembering her win. It was glorious. And she'd been given the excuse to admire the man without his clothes. Still, she apparently had forgotten to put hers back on before she fell asleep, and was definitely regretting it. This wasn't something she wanted to experience again. Fuck bears.


Michael climbed out of the tent, rubbing his eyes. Man, he could use a coffee. Too bad it was so damn expensive. He saw his mostly naked sister (the blanket covered hips down) and shook his head. Fuck it. He didn't even want to know. "Get dressed. You know we'll pack up soon," was all he told her while he attempted to start another small fire for breakfast. That was, if he had the patience for it.


Rousing slowly, Markos grumbled and scratched his stomach. Squinting at Michael in the light, the saboteur made sure he was wearing pants, then got out of his bedroll. He avoided looking at Mikayla, not quite ready for that so early in the day. With a mighty yawn, he pondered what would be for breakfast. He couldn't think of much that was left over. Ma had been pretty adamant about trail rations and avoided spoilable foods. Damn gnome. He wanted some eggs and sausage for breakfast! "Hey, Michael, what're you gonna cook today?" Perhaps there was hope. Maybe they'd snuck something good in under Ma's nose?


Mikayla pulled her shirt back on lazily. Markos had never managed to get her passed that, besides her socks, so at least it wasn't a completely awkward situation. She rolled up her blankets, and tossed them in the cart. Or would have, if Ma and Nisa weren't still sleeping in it. Never mind then. "Hey, you two gonna wake up or what?" she asked them. Assuming, of course, if they had even heard her.


Michael glanced at Markos. Nope, he really didn't want to know what happened after he went to bed. "Just some of the leftover wolf, I'm afraid, mate. We should be in Hightop by tonight if my math is right."


That was good news. Ma had talked about the food in Hightop at length on the road. He could go for some gourmet junkfood after all this trail ration business. With a yawn, Markos nodded and went about his routine with some early morning stretches.


Nisa jumped at the sound of Mikayla's voice, holding her hands up defensively. "What? Who? ...What?" She looked around, exammining her situation. What happened last night? All she remembered was Ma offereing a bottle and then there was Mikayla screaming at the top of her lungs. "Quiet, please," Nisa whimpered, clutching her head. Why did her lips hurt? What was on her neck? Too many questions right now. Ma, however, snored deeply, a little happy smile on her face. Nisa vary carefully climbed down out of the cart and took the fetal position on the ground, whining under her breath.


Mikayla had been admiring Markos stretching, before frowning at Nisa. Was she...hungover? She almost laughed if she hadn't felt so bad for the elf-woman. She reached in the pack that was resituated on her hip, and pulled three more vials out. She looked at the labels as carefully as possible. "Here, open your mouth. This can help. Then you need to eat something. It'll help the queasiness," she told her.


The elf got to her knees, still squeezing her eyes closed, and opened her mouth. "Aahhhh," she whispered, mouth open wide.


Mikayla let two drops fall into Nisa's mouth. "It'll take a few for it to take affect, so if you want to sit there until your headache is gone, go for it. As for Ma," she frowned at the woman asleep still in the cart, "might as well leave her until she wakes. Michael can save some breakfast for her when she wakes."


Michael slid the cooked strips of wolf meat onto a large leaf that he found, and grabbed a piece, ignoring the grease, and shoving it whole into his mouth. It wasn't the best meat he'd ever had, but he was famished and didn't care. If it was food, it got eaten. "Here, Markos. Food's done."


Markos dropped onto his haunches in front of the pan, snatching a large strip of meat and feeding it into his mouth. He'd mumbled something to Michael, but it came out as grease running down his chin instead.


Mikayla looked at Markos. What a child. Even still, there was something she wanted to do. It would at least answer her questions. She felt the first stirrings of butterflies, but she did her best to ignore it. It wouldn't do to pay attention to them right then.


She marched right up to Markos, and wiped his face. Grease was disgusting, and she didn't like it any. Then she bent down, and kissed him full on the mouth. There. She did it. With that, she pulled away, and began packing up the tents, her face incredibly red.


Michael, haviing definitely not expected that from her, sat there mid-chew, staring in shock. What the bloody hell was that?


If Michael was perplexed, Markos was downright flabbergasted. His body moved on autopilot, grabbing another strip of meat and forcing it into his mouth. The entire time, Markos watched her move around, face devoid of expression. He finished his bite and wiped his mouth with the shirt he still hadn't put on yet. Resolutely, Markos got up and approached Mikayla, grabbing her by the shoulder and spinning her around to give her another kiss. "You know, just walking up to someone while they're eating and interrupting them is rude," he teased.


Michael stayed where he was, utterly shocked, staring into the breakfast fire. What the hell? What was he supposed to do with this? Talk about awkward...


Mikayla stared at him, speechless. Well, that was a first for her. Then again, actually caring about someone was a first, too. "Yeah, well," she managed, the redness on her face spreading to her neck, "I couldn't get it into words, and...I didn't know what you meant. So...I took a risk." Without hesitation, she rested her head on his chest. Well, this was new and...nice, actually. "You know I'm crazy..."


"Feh. Crazy, I can handle. It's the normal people you have to worry about." He ignored Nisa's silent wretching in the background. She was probably just purging the alcohol from the night before. Damn, if someone put his head on the chopping block and said 'Would you ever get Mikayla to do something weird like this, yes or no', he'd have picked 'no' in a hearbeat. Shows what he knew.


Eventually, they managed to get all packed up and on the road, though Ma remained stone drunk passed out. Markos decided to sit next to Mikayla in the cart, unsure as to what was happening, but not exactly disliking it. Nisa sat in the driver's seat, holding the reins with a very uncertain look on her face. "Umm...I don't know what to do. I've never done this before."


Looking at her incredulously, Markos reached over and shoved her. "You're joking right? Is there anything you do know how to do?" His laughter was cut short in a choking gurgle as Nisa whipped around, hexing him into silence.


Michael chuckled. "Don't worry, it isn't hard," he told her kindly. He wasn't about to tell anyone that he agreed with Markos in that regard. "All you have to do is flick the reins to go, pull them to stop, pull the right one to turn right, the left to go left. Easy." He was sitting next to her, and offered his hands to take the reins for her. "I can show you if you want."


"Please don't hex him, Nisa," Mikayla added tiredly. She hadn't slept well the night before, after her game of five card with Markos. The nightmares had assaulted her again. And the pain ointment that she'd put on it had worn off before their game had been over. She wiggled uncomfortably. And soon it'd be itching. That's it. No more bears, or any other wild animals, for her.


Briefly considering handing the reins over, Nisa suddenly changed her mind and held them away from Michael. "How am I supposed to learn if I don't do it myself," she asked warily. The elf was well aware of how incapable they thought her and wanted to change that. In secret, she'd been practicing throwing knives and retrieving them by hand, as well as other exercises she'd spied them doing at various times. Nisa would be damned if she let herself remain a pathetic waste for her entire life.


That didn't mean she was going to take their ridicule, either. She turned around again and pointedly hexed Markos once more, staring blankfaced at Mikayla. "I will do as I please until this chain of disrespect is broken. I have yet to pester Markos, current hexing aside, since his vocal disapproval of our treatment of him. I expect the same in return." Raising his hands in surrender, Markos nodded quickly.


"Sorry," he coughed once she'd lifted her hex. Satisfied, she faced the road and flicked the reins, as she'd seen Ma do before. The cart lurched forward immediately, heading onto the road again. The mule mostly steered itself, Nisa found.


Mikayla glared at the back of the elf's head. She really wasn't in any mood to deal with shenanigans right at the moment, and if it was going to continue, Nisa's eyes would be the next target for her knives. She nearly said something rather insulting, but thought the better of it. Nisa was likely to hex her for it, and she wasn't willing to deal with that. Not quietly, at least.


Michael sighed to himself. "Okay, children. How about we act like adults now," he stated, rather annoyed. He was starting to get tired of the discord in their little group. It was time that it stopped. "Listen, we need to work together better than this. It's ridiculous. Set aside your differences until we get paid by the king. Dammit, guys, we don't need this right now." The more he talked, the more annoyed he got.


Was that supposed to solve things? Just 'don't fight' and thus it was so? Nisa tilted her head back haughtily, though she didn't say anything. If they could simply treat each other as adults instead of all this teasing and tomfoolery, perhaps the problems would go away. But as it stood, Michael and Markos leapt at every opportunity to tell her how pitiful she was. Sure, Nisa wasn't helping things with her constant flexing of magical prowess, but she had no other defense against the others. They could snap her in half if they wanted to.


Running a hand through his hair, Markos looked down at the cart. Michael was right. They were causing problems between each other for no reason. As far as he knew, aside from the incident in the bar, Michael was the only one that didn't antagonize any of them. Markos resolved to be more like the tracker in the future. No more petty squabbles from him. He leaned back and kicked his feet up onto the bench opposite him, a little smile on his face as he looked up at the bright blue sky.


Mikayla leaned against Markos. Screw it, she was going to try and sleep. Hopefully, despite the hardness of the cart under her ass. Maybe she'd get lucky and Nisa would try and avoid the bigger bumps in the road. She doubted it, since the woman seemed intent on being vindictive for whatever problem she had with Markos. Her brother she understood. Michael was an ass. Or maybe she was biased. Whatever. She closed her eyes, and surprisingly, she managed to fall asleep.


Michael sighed. Well, it was a start at least. Hopefully they would be in town soon and could go their seperate ways for a little while, get away from one another for a bit. He still needed to see a fletcher. He forgot to do it in Thistleden. Then again, dealing with that creepy tutor of Nisa's made for a really good distraction. "Hey, should we wake Ma? She's the one that actually knows how to get to where we're going," he said suddenly. He hoped it was just a straight shot, but there was no telling.


It took some doing, but they eventually managed to rouse the gnome. She took the reins from Nisa, patting the elf on the shoulder as a small amount of praise for not running them into a ditch. Ma didn't seem to be hungover at all. In fact, she looked more well rested than she had in a while. The secret was the drink. It was a gnomish brew called 'Stardust', meant to relax the body and put the drinker into a deep, restful sleep. Unfortunately, it only worked on gnomes. Everyone else had pounding hangovers. No one really knew why, but that's how it was. "How long have we been travelling?" she finally asked through a yawn.


Michael looked at her in wonder. Now if only he could wake that way after being that far gone in sleep after drinking. "A few hours. I'm not sure how much longer until Hightop though," he informed her dutifully. It was almost laughable that Ma had called him their unofficial leader. He was much better at defferring to someone else. Yet, who of them was better? He confessed to himself that he really was the best choice for it. "First thing I'm doing is getting a room and a bath. Then I'm going to look around. That guy the orc smith told you about can wait until tomorrow."


Ma flicked the reins. "Works for me. I have a group of friends I'd like to catch up with. Cigars and cards, just like old times." She smiled fondly at the thought. "Yeah, we'll be there by sundown at the earliest. There's a nasty patch of hills between us and Hightop that'll make for slow going. Don't want to hurt the Mule, you know."


----------


 
Mikayla stared in wonder at the buildings they were passing in Hightop. She had never seen so many buildings before. It was absolutely amazing. She could feel the smile on her face from seeing everything. It was beautiful. She would have to move to a city for sure. "I'm getting drunk," she announced suddenly. She wanted to see if the alcohol was as good as the place looked. Probably pricey, too.


Michael felt like he was enclosed, trapped. He would stay out of cities if he could help it. The princess was a lucky girl if she got him to come into one. Then again, he's more concerned about the money than he is her, so it didn't really matter. Looking around, the buildings were much taller than he wanted them to be. Some tall enough that if a person were to fall, death would be waiting on the ground for them. He hated it. "Let's not stay too long if we can help it," was all he said.


"Aw why? I bet there's easy gambling dens here. I can cheat at cards and make us all a bunch of money." Markos crossed his arms in disappointment. As soon as they pulled into the stables, he hopped down. "Whatever, you guys do what you want, I'm going to go take a look around." Ma followed suit, waving to the group with a grin and shouting something about 'see you suckers later' as she took off. Though she really didn't want to stay with Michael and Mikayla of all people, Nisa felt much too vulnerable to just wander off on her own.


"Can...may I walk with one of you?" she finally asked, toeing the dusty stable floor.


"Actually, I'm going," Mikayla said, turning and jogging after Markos. "Hey wait up! I'm better at cards than you! I'll get the money!" they could hear her calling as she left.


"Why don't we go get the rooms or something?" Michael suggested. "Or go check out what shops are open. Get some food. Whatever you want to do. I'm not big on cities, so..." He trailed off. He wasn't even sure what she would want to do. He didn't really take the time to get to know her. Maybe he should. He should know his team much better than he did, and since she was available, he'd start with Nisa. If he could, anyway.


Nisa glanced up at him. "I-I don't know. The last time I was in a city, it was the capitol, and I had a guide." She winced mentally. Way to go with admitting a weakness like that, Nisa. Let's give them another box to fill with more things you can't do on your own. "Rooms, then. I would like to know where I will be passing the night."


"Haha, I think we might need guides for this place, too," he grinned. He was absolutely certain he would get lost here. He was much better reading the stars, and nature. So much easier. Plus, in a place like this, without getting high up, it was hard to use the sun. "Yeah, rooms. Maybe it's got a tavern attached. A town like this, it's possible that there isn't. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't mind some real food." He gestured for her to lead the way.<>


Wait what? Nisa looked at Michael incredulously. "Why should I lead? You're the tracker." Of course, then the little voice inside her told her to get some damn courage and do it anyways. What about all that thinking she'd been doing on the road? Was she going to just abandon it now that the situation was frightening?


Turning tail, Nisa marched away towards the sidewalk, putting on her best imperial attitude. She tried stopping several people on the street, growing more and more frustrated. Finally, he elf had enough. She hexed a random passerby with feebleness and dragged him out of the crowd. "Inns!" she demanded, stamping one foot. The man cowered before her, pointing in the direction of several. A town this big couldn't afford to not accomodate a huge number of travellers.


Following the directions given, Nisa led Michael to a medium sized inn named The King's Jewels. The picture below the words made Nisa roll her eyes. How profane. She cracked the door open to investigate the inn itself. It seemed alright. Standard fare. Tables, a bar, wooden interior. With a shrug, the elf opened the door fully and stepped inside. Perhaps the sign just hadn't been changed in a long time. It could have been under a previous owner, perhaps one who was immature. She sat at the bar and ordered a small cup of mead. The elf liked the feeling of drinking, but hated the taste of most alcohol. 'It's like drinking piss' she explained once. Mead was nice and sweet, though, so it suited her.


Michael sat next to her, ordering a large tankard of ale. He wasn't entirely certain about the naming of the place, but it looked alright otherwise. The people didn't look disgusting, rude and crass, at least. And the ale wasn't half bad. Better than most ales he'd ever had. "Hey," he said, looking at Nisa. "I'm sorry about what I said, about you being lazy. You're not. I just have a hard time with not saying things like that. My opinions are my opinions, it doesn't make them fact. So, I'm sorry." He stuck his hand out, for her to shake, hoping to let bygones be bygones.


That is, if she would accept his apology. He wasn't entirely certain that she would. She seemed to hold onto things more than he would have thought.


The thought to hex him crossed her mind, but Nisa refrained. Can't expect the others to be kind to her if she wasn't to them. With a short nod, she shook his hand, though her grip was still fairly weak. "I accept your apology, so long as we do not make the same mistakes again." She took a sip from her cup, sighing in pleasure. It was so warm and tingly going down. After a moment, Nisa cleared her throat.


"Why do you put up with your sister? Why not put her in her place when she acts up as she is so wont to do? She may talk and act threatening, but I have seen into her mind." Nisa tapped her head. "Not all of it is faked, but some is. I can only hope this new business with the idiot...with Markos will balance her humours." The elf frowned lopsidedly. That would be a tough habit to break.


Michael laughed bitterly into his ale. Put his sister in her place? That was a good joke. "Because I'm completely afraid of her. The Mikayla you see, the Mikayla you know, is one that is much calmer than she used to be. She used to be much, much worse than she is now. There are a few places she can't go because they'll arrest her on sight for the damages she's caused and general terror.


"She isn't as bad as she acts, though, you're right. It's her defense mechanism. She doesn't like hurting people, but she can't seem to help it. I remember one time, when we were children, she took the wooden handle of an ax and broke my leg with it. She started crying, saying sorry over and over, that she couldn't help it. She didn't even know why she did it. Since then, she's thought herself a danger to everyone around her, so she acts like she hates everyone and is ready to kill them at a moment's notice. It keeps people away from her, and she doesn't have to worry about hurting them.


"As for Markos, she still has her problems. I really hope that he can handle them, so he doesn't break her heart. She may be happy right now, but there'll be a day when she's angry, or so sad that she wants to end it. I'm almost worried about it," he concluded. Well. He just became a regular chatterbox, hadn't he? "She has scars that can't be seen. Quite a few of them. And she's all sorts of broken inside. If he can't fix her, or at least handle it, there might be a lot of problems for them."


Nodding to the bartender to fill her cup again, Nisa shrugged. "I have no idea, and honestly, I don't care either way." She looked down at her cup and took another sip, reflecting on the conversation...among other things, she'd had with Ma the night before. It was like a huge weight was lifted from her shoulders. She finally understood herself and was content with it. The puppylike magnetism she'd felt for so long had dissolved with the understanding. "I mean that in as neutral a way as possible. I wish them success, but if their relationship fails, it won't bother me any. Everyone has their own problems to deal with."


Everyone has problems. She happened to be a...no, not a freak like she'd thought at first. An outlier, then. The things that appealed to her did not appeal to other women, and she was content with that. Had to be, otherwise it was right back into the pot with all the weight and stress. Nisa had a little, genuine smile on her face. "What about you? Do you have a woman waiting for you in some distant home, pining out the window day in and day out?"


Again Michael laughed, but with true feeling that time. "Oh no. No ladyloves for me. I have flings here and there, but no woman that's ultimately been worth my time and heart. I'm alone, and I like it." He was telling the truth. There'd even been a few he thought about keeping around, until he realized they were so high-maintenance for him. He didn't bother with them in the long run. He was content on his own. "Unless I can find a huntress or something, I doubt there's a woman for me."


"What about Ma? You two seem to get along well. And she hunts." Nisa quirked a brow at him.


"Aha, no. Trust me on that one. I have great respect for her though," he admitted. "She's a strong woman."


Nisa shrugged her brows in agreement. That she was... A sudden blush tinged her snow white skin. She tried to cover it up by taking another drink, but her haste caused her to almost choke on it. The elf coughed and wiped her mouth, making sure she didn't accidentally inhale the drink or something.


Michael chuckled. He'd seen the blush, but chose to ignore it. It wasn't his place to say anything, and knowing how trigger-happy she was with her hexes, he didn't want to chance it. He swigged some more of his ale. "Maybe we should have told the others which inn to go to," he said, his way of changing the subject. He didn't really want to talk about the fact that he didn't have anyone to warm his bed at night. It was starting to make him feel lonely. And that, he didn't like. "Then again, they did all take off before we could even discuss it."


------


"Yes, yes, yes! Please, two green!" Markos whiteknuckled the edge of the table as he watched the dice fall. Instead, it was a red and a yellow, which drew a cheer from everyone except Markos. He teared up instead, longingly handing over a bag full of silver and watched the other gamblers fall on it like carrion birds. "That was the last of my money..." he lamented. Perhaps Mikayla was doing better? He'd separated from her once they entered the gambling den, so it was possible. Where the hell was she?


Mikayla, meanwhile, was at a card table some places down from him. She was playing her favorite game, and doing damn well at it. That being said, she knew how to cheat, and her poker face was perfect. "Read 'em and weep, boys," she said, laying down another winning hand. She was smart about it. She made sure to lose some so that her winning didn't look miraculous. She pulled the silver pieces to her, looking at them greedily. "Well, that's it for me," she said, and she could see the visible relief on each of their faces. Even with her losing some rounds, she'd still practically cleaned them out. Cards was her game.


She placed the pieces in a bag, and frowned. It was bulging quite a bit. A wonderful target for any mugger to try for on her way back to an inn. "Markos?" she called looking around. She wanted to get a drink.


Walking up to her defeatedly, the man sighed. "Hey, Mikayla. I hope you at least did better than me. I got taken to the cleaners..." Fifteen silver he'd started with, which had doubled to thirty in a minute flat, then slowly spiraled into nothingness. It was almost depression worthy if it weren't for his inevitable ability to bounce back. Maybe it was finding that four leaf clover as a child, but he'd always been lucky. It just...came in spurts. "How much did you lose?" he asked.


Mikayla grinned and held up her bag. "I lost nothing, when it comes right down to it. I won eighty silver though. Let's get a drink, or ten, to celebrate." She wound up making a lot more than she had anticipated, but the money could get supplies for sure, and maybe some inn stays when they got to the inns in-between towns.


She linked her arm with his, leading him to the bar. "What do you want? Get anything."


"Anything? Oh man, I could kiss you right now! Barman! I want some of that chocolate liquor I've heard so much about!" The man quirked a brow at Markos, but nevertheless got ahold of the bottle requested and poured out a shot. The saboteur grabbed it, but paused. He suddenly got a devious grin and knocked back the shot, then planted a kiss on Mikayla's lips. "Or I could do it then, when it was nicer than defeat-breath." He laughed, then took a seat at the bar.


Mikayla giggled, and sat next to him. "A shot of absinthe for me, please," she told the bartender softly. She had heard of it from one of the other gamblers earlier, and told herself she'd give it a shot if she won. Which, of course, she knew she would. "I don't mind 'defeat-breath' from you. I won enough for us both," she told him, grinning. "Besides, you're cute enough that it isn't a big deal."


Well that was nice to hear. Markos winked at Mikayla, looking over her shoulder to smirk at the dice table. The big winner just lost it all, and he'd been so smug about taking Markos' money too. "I think you'll change your mind if you ever smell defeat-breath. It's pretty bad. How's that uh...'absinthe' stuff? Good?" He eyed the vaguely green liquid dubiously.


"Mmmm, very good," she breathed, though there was a nice burn going down. "It's...so strong." She licked her lips slowly, then passed her glass to the bartender for a refill. She probably shouldn't, she'd be pretty messed up from just that first shot, but it did taste real nice. "I might even be a little frissssky, later."


Oh shit. Frisky was scary. Markos very slightly leaned away from her and ordered a stout from the barman. "Well, um, you go ahead and be frisky then. I'll just make sure you get to a safe place..." After the fit that Michael pitched in Thistleden, Markos was worried about actually bedding his sister. Who knew what the man would do to him? If he could help it, Markos wanted to keep his face intact.


He took a drink from his stout, sighing in pleasure. It was like an alcoholic coffee. Well, not exactly, but the bitterness reminded him of coffee, which he enjoyed greatly. "Hey, gorgeous," came a voice from behind the two of them. "Why don't you ditch the loser and come to my table. I'm making it big over there," he boasted, as if that was a great draw. The man towered over Markos, probably at six and a half feet, and he was built like an ox. Markos didn't get the whole shaved head thing, but if that was what made the man happy, then more power to him.


The saboteur didn't say anything, though he did turn slighly, sipping from his drink while looking at the bigger man. It was Mikayla's decision in the end, after all.


Mikayla looked at the bigger man, frowning thoughtfully. So, he thought she needed a man around, then called the one that was around a loser, and expected her to be okay with it. Alrighty then. That was incredibly annoying.


She smiled at him, as she grabbed one of her stilettos, quick as anything, and held it to the bald man's throat. Granted, she had to stand to do it, but oh well. "Listen here, you giant oaf," she said, in this horrible, sickly sweet voice, "If you plan on insulting my man again, I will not hesitate to slit your disgusting throat. If you plan on insulting me by thinking I would be around a pig like you, I will slit your disgusting throat again." She smiled in a happy, albeit slightly mad, way, her eyes glittering dangerously. She didn't take kindly to people insulting people she cared about in anyway, and took it as a personal affront to her person when they did. "Now go back to your stupid table."


Baldy backed up, clearly looking confused as to what just happened. He shot a glance at Markos, sizing the other man up. Maybe if he proved he was tougher than the saboteur, she'd like him? That changed, of course, when Markos pulled a bomb out from under his coat. "I have bombs," he said simply, taking another drink with an innocent expression.


That was too much. She was a psychopath and he carried bombs on his person. What kind of idiot did that?! Baldy retreated, tail between his legs. As soon as he was gone, Markos popped a little latch on the middle of the bomb, splitting it open to reveal that it was filled with candies. "I learned how to make these from some dark skinned guy a few years back. They're not all that sweet, but they'll keep you alive in hard times. Want one?" This particular batch had been made from wild honey and pears, with a little powdered oat mixed in for consistency. It was a good thing he'd remembered to bring this thing. He'd left all his actual bombs in the cart.


Mikayla grinned at him. "Actually, the, um, idiot got my blood pumping. Howsabout you and I find a nice inn. Or a shady spot," she giggled, only half-serious. She went ahead and grabbed one of the candies, popping it into her mouth. "Oooo this is good," she said softly. It was an odd combination to her, but it was definitely nice tasting.


"You should probably get to an inn anyways. Barman, where's the closest inn?" The bartender politely advised Markos not to go to the nearest inn, as it was of ill repute. There was one on the main street that was close-ish, cheap, and clean, however. The bartender didn't remember the name, but he said the sign outside made him laugh. That was a good omen if Markos had ever heard one. "Okay, thanks friend. Ready whenever you are, Mikayla."


Mikayla, who hadn't bothered to sit back down, started heading for the door. Until she almost tripped, that was. She frowned at the floor. Was she really drunk enough for that? She shrugged inwardly. No matter. "Hey, Markos," she said, turning to him and passing the bag of coin, "You should hold onto this for me." She didn't trust that no one would try to mug them on the way, and Markos could hide it better on him than she could. She really needed to start wearing looser clothing. "Onward to the inn!"


The trip passed relatively uneventfully. It may have had something to do with Markos brandishing the fake bomb at anyone he found suspicious, a demented look on his face as he did so. They reached the inn, were Markos looked up at the sign. "Ohoho! That's rich! Look, he's grabbin' his jewels. Ahh, I get it, very clever. I wonder which king that is? Doesn't look like Stuffybritches to me."


He took a moment longer to appreciate the pun before stepping inside and approaching the clerk. "Hi. Hey. How are you? I need a room please." Eyeing Markos fearfully, the bookish young man handed him a key with the stamped metal plate identifying which room number they'd have.


"T-twelve copper, please," he stammered, wringing his hands nervously. Markos fished out a silver and handed it to the man, reaching over the counter to pat him on the shoulder.


"Take it all, kid. You deserve it." Winking at him, Markos then turned to Mikayla and showed her the key. "Go on, get up there. I'll start a bath or something," he said, handing her the key.


Mikayla took it, the thought of a bath making the trip to their room completely worth it. It sounded lovely. She turned and headed for the stairs, her hips swaying more than usual. She was attempting to entice him, not caring who saw.


She made it to the room, without tripping that time, and opened the door. It was a fairly basic room, wooden furnishings, a rug on the floor, curtains blocking the moonlight from filtering in unhindered. And it was blessedly clean. This place wasn't half-bad then. She just hoped the food would be good in the morning. If she even ate.


A rather fat, swarthy man watched Mikayla go up the stairs, then looked over to Markos and gave him a thumbs up. Markos responded by brandishing his bomb and demented expression, practically rubbing the false explosive in the other man's face. Only once he'd broken down crying sufficiently did the saboteur leave him alone. Sometimes, when he had booze in his system, Markos got substantially more odd than normal. Today was a threat day, it seemed.


He took the stairs two at a time and slipped into the room, locking it behind him. "Oookay, now that that's over, I'll see to the bath." Rolling his sleeves up, the man walked into the bathroom and set the coal stove burning, then pumped water in with the hand pump.


Mikayla leaned against the frame of the door, watching him. "Why don't you join me this time?" she asked him, while she admired his arms as he filled the tub. "It's plenty big enough, and saves work as well." The absinthe was making her even bolder than usual. Surprisingly, her speech was fine. She had expected more slurring. Maybe the bartender hadn't given her absinthe at all. Maybe he had lied, and given her something else. It wasn't treating her quite the way she had heard it would. What a disappointment.


She grabbed two towels, hanging them on the hooks on the inside of the bathroom near the door, just in case. Though the way he seemed to be evading her, she was beginning to doubt that he even wanted her.


Gulping quietly, Markos tried to just stay quiet as if he hadn't heard what she said. A thousand pairs of imaginary eyes glared at him, however, causing sweat to bead up on his brow. "I. I, um...I don't think that's a good idea. I don't mind drawing up a second bath, honestly. It's alright." He brushed his hands on his pants and tried to move past Mikayla.


Mikayla frowned. The hell was wrong with him? He hadn't acted like this before. Dammit. "Would it make you more comfortable if I got my own room?" she asked him quietly. This wasn't exactly how she had imagined the night going. Quite the opposite, in fact, and she felt a hard knot of disappointment in her stomach.


"No no! This is your room! It's your money, after all. I can't afford a room here, so I'll probably sleep in the cart. It's alright." He scratched the back of his head, brows furrowed. "I think I know where the cart is." After a moment, Markos sighed and leaned against the opposite side of the doorframe.


"Listen. I'm sorry. I really do like you. A lot. But I'm only human, and if we spend another night together, I'm going to have a tough time restraining myself again. Your brother was very clear how he felt about all this, so I'm just playing it safe."


Mikayla shook her head. "You don't have to restrain yourself. My brother just hates it when I have one night stands, and that's what he thought it was. This is different," she argued, hands on her hips. Apparently, she was going to have to have a nice, long chat with her brother and who she wanted in her bed. "Look, forget it. I'm going to get another room." She headed to the door, and stopped, leaning her forehead against it. Well. This was unpleasant.


Moving quickly, Markos slapped his hand against the door to prevent it from opening. "Um, excuse me, Mikayla. I thought I explained myself clearly. This is your room. You can't get another, you already rented one." Godsdamnit she was so close, and she smelled so good. His reservations were slipping as the seconds flew past. What the hell, right? She basically just said that she was okay with it, and he had bombs. Michael be damned, he was tired of being pushed around by that asshat.


He gently pushed her towards the bathroom. "Come on, the coals are almost ready. I'll just flip them once and then we're good. Okay?" To encourage her, he pulled his coat off and unbuckled the harness that normally held all manner of explosives, letting them drop to the floor. "You can't bathe with clothes on, even if you'd like to save time. It doesn't work that way. We don't have any lye here." Markos gestured at her in mock impatience.


Mikayla sighed. He was way more back and forth than she cared for. It was incredibly confusing, especially since feeling something for someone was on the new side for her. She hesitated a moment, he might just be trying to trick her, and pulled her shirt off. There was no point trying to hide it, he'd already seen her naked after all, so might as well. "I'm going to need you to help me with my back anyway," she mumbled, utterly defeated in that moment, "I can't wash around the stitches." At least it had stopped bleeding and oozing. She'd still wind up with scars. She didn't have anything that could get rid of them.


Turning and walking back to the bathroom, she slid off her boots, socks and pants. She shivered in the air, anticipating how good the bath was going to feel on her skin.


Letting out a breath, Markos did his best not to stare, but it was a fight. Damn, she was beautiful. He pulled his shirt off and tossed it on the pile before crouching down and sliding the coals into the heating cage under the tub. The water naturally circulated down into it, but a screen prevented the ashes from the coal from being kicked back up into the tub. Pretty ingenious stuff, in his opinion. He wanted to meet whomever had come up with that.


"Alright, you can get in now. It should be heating up." This was it, either he threw caution to the wind and joined her, or he chickened out. For a minute, it seemed like he'd go with the second, but then he looked at Mikayla again. Really looked at her. Sure, she was beautiful, but after having spent time with her, that wasn't what struck him the most about her. It was her, the person, and her power to keep going despite all the awful shit that'd happened.


"You, um...I'll get to work on those stitches." Fuck! Again! How did he manage to ruin the most delicate, perfect moments in his life?


Mikayla had noticed him looking at her, and had crossed her arms over her chest, almost as if she was trying to hide away, a faint blush creeping to her cheeks. Why did he look at her like that? It wasn't necessarily bad but...she had felt as if he was looking into her, instead of at her. It felt extremely intimate, and she had no idea how to react to it.


She nodded, slowly climbing into the tub. A small moan escaped her lips, as she felt the hot water over her skin. This felt better than the last bath she had taken. And this time, she wasn't alone for it, which meant Markos wouldn't fall asleep on her floor again. "Um, you going to get in, too?" she asked, looking into the water. What was wrong with her? She used to exude confidence, yet here she was with him, shy again.


Get in the tub. Get in the tub? Get in the tub! His mind screamed at him to stop messing around and just go for it. Still, he couldn't. Not like his urges wanted him to. She deserved better than some slavering beast that only wanted to ravage her for its own pleasure. Markos struggled out of the rest of his clothes and slipped into the bath, sitting crosslegged behind Mikayla.


"Hey, these cuts look a lot better. Which is weird, 'cause we've been on the road all day, b-but it's still good!" Moron. "Okay, I'm gonna wash some of this gunk off. Let me know if I hurt you too badly, okay?" His voice shook the slightest bit, though thankfully his hands were as steady as ever.


Mikayla moved her hair out of the way, and sat silently and as still as she could. It did hurt some, but not enough to worry about. And getting it cleaned helped a lot. When he was done cleaning her back, she reached behind her and grabbed his wrists, pulling his arms around her as she laid back against him. "Why are you so nervous?" she asked him quietly, almost so softly as to be whispering.


Freezing at first, Markos slowly adjusted his stance to allow him to hold her more comfortably. "Why? Would you believe the last time, barring our previous hotel experience, that I was this near a naked woman was when I was a younger man? She was a farm girl, very plain but boisterous. We got our shirts off, but that was as far as we made it before her dad came to run me off the land with a sword." He felt like a loser. All that effort to put on a confident, cool persona and he'd never even bedded a woman before. Hell, never been around one as stunning as Mikayla, yet here he was in a tub with her, both naked and skin pressing against skin. Who the hell wouldn't be nervous?


Mikayla chuckled softly. Was that all it was? How silly. "There was one time, a woman found me with her son. We hadn't actually done anything yet, since it was my first time. She came after me with a butcher knife," she told him, closing her eyes and enjoying the bath with him. "We all have hard times. It's okay. But you don't have to be nervous with me. If it's too fast, just say so."


She leaned forward, and turned just enough that she could face him. She wanted him to know she was serious. Did she want to sleep with him? Most definitely. But she wasn't the sort to force it on someone. It was one of her good points. One of her few good points, anyway. "I like you a lot, Markos. I won't be mad if you don't want me like that right now." That was the first time she'd ever uttered those words.


Markos barked out a laugh. "I think we're seeing different problems here. It's not that I don't, it's that I don't know how. I'm way beyond the 'should I or shouldn't I' debate." Oh great, that was rich. If they went through with this, he'd have to get a coaching lesson in the middle of what was supposed to be the most wonderous event of your life. He couldn't think of anything that would kill the mood faster than that. Except perhaps passing gas, or a fire. Or a mob. Or wild animals invading the room. Okay there were a lot of things that would kill the mood faster than inexperience. But the point still stood!


Oh. Was that all? He was worried because he hadn't been with a woman before? "Markos," she sighed, "It isn't an issue. Experience or no, you still have to learn what someone likes before you can sleep with someone well. Unless, of course, you won't see them again, in which case it doesn't matter. But it's primal. Trust me. You'll know what to do when it happens." She had leaned back against him once more, a bit happier now that she knew it was something much simpler than going too fast or slow. Experience wasn't something that had bothered her. Unless, of course, it was the wrong hole, in which case there could be a problem.


"I can show you, and I don't mind doing so."


-----------------------
 
Mikayla woke, yawning and scratching her head. Somehow, the sun had managed to creep in and shine into her eyes. It was an extremely unpleasant way to wake up, that is, until she looked next to her and saw Markos. She smiled, thinking of the night before. He had been worried over nothing. She would daresay it was the best she'd ever had.


Well, now that she was up, might as well get him up, too. The others would be heading somewhere or other. Maybe they got lucky and would see them somewhere around town. They really should have discussed a meeting place or something. That would have made the trip that much easier at least.


Gently, she rubbed Markos' shoulder, then his back. "Hey, Markos," she called quietly, "Why don't you get up? We're going to have to find the others at some point." Slowly, she continued to rub circles on his back, enjoying the feel of his skin under her fingers.


Grasping blindly, Markos grumbled under his breath. When he failed to stop whatever was kneading him, he rolled onto his other side with a whole lecture prepared. Instead, he realized it was Mikayla, who was in bed with him, and naked. Oh, that was right! They finally slept together for real. Shit, it was mind-destroyingly good.


"Do I have to get up? I like the view from here..." he slurred, taking one of her hands and kissing the back of it. "Fine, I will, but not cause you asked me to." With a small laugh, he swung his legs over the other side of the bed, sitting up and stretching to get in his morning yawn. "Shit, my legs and stomach are sore now..." The complaint sounded hollow even to Markos as he got dressed again. The best kind of complaint, in his opinion.


Mikayla chuckled, watching him admiringly. "I could make you even more sore, if you want," she teased him, sliding out of the bed. She attempted to smooth out her hair, and put it into a braid. She was going to need to buy a brush. Or cut it all off. "Although, you're not the only one sore this morning."


It was then that she noticed the bruises on her thighs. Damn, harder than she had thought. She turned slightly, hoping he didn't see. She didn't want him to feel bad for a wonderful night. Now that the barrier had been broken between them, she didn't want it to rebuild. She had loved every bit of it, and judging by the scratch marks she'd left on his back, well, she had loved it a lot.


"Don't tempt me," he growled through the shirt he was trying to pull over his head. "Hey, did I fall or something? My back feels like I got dragged across some really rough wood..." Markos moved in a little circle as he tried to look at his own back. The endeavor was cut short as he kicked the edge of the dresser at the foot of their bed, collapsing instantly from the pain. "Dammit, who puts those there? The devil?"


Still smarting, he nevertheless pulled on his woolen socks and boots, regaining his feet with wobby knees. That'd be hard to explain away if he was asked about it. Hell no was he going to just outright spill that they'd done the dirty.


Taking one last, longing look at Mikayla, Markos headed downstairs to see if there was any kind of breakfast being served. He spotted Nisa in the corner, which surprised him a bit. Did she follow them here? What caught his attention more was the small plate of food she was daintily eating off of. He approached her, though he stood a respectful distance away.


"Hey, Nisa. Is there more where that came from?" The albino simply pointed to a different room, obviously agitated that he was interrupting her meal. Waving his thanks, Markos left to go get some food himself.


After inspecting the bruises, and finding that they weren't that bad, Mikayla pulled her clothes on. She sighed longingly. Too bad they had a mission. She could have stayed in there all day. As it was, her stomach gurgled uncomfortably. Well, guess she'd have to eat.


She made her way downstairs, seeing Nisa by herself, and shrugged. If she was alone, either the others weren't there or she wanted it that way. Wait. Nisa was there? She almost had to do a double take. How the hell did they wind up at the same inn? Well, it at least made things a mite easier.


Mikayla picked an empty table, gesturing at the wench to bring her some breakfast. She ordered more than usual. Of course, she actually felt hungry for once. Maybe she'd get passed half of it this time.


Michael came down about ten minutes after his sister had, and when he saw her, he stared. There was a glow about her that she hadn't had before, as if the dark cloud over her head had split to let the sun through.


"Mikayla, you okay?" he asked as he walked up, and nearly pulled his knife when she beamed happily at him. He was almost unsure that this woman really was his sister. Whatever Markos was doing to her, apparently it was working well. "Right. Mind if I sit?"


She gestured that he could take a seat, then ordered a large breakfast for him. Now he wondered if maybe she wasn't ill. Or perhaps Nisa bespelled her again.


"Hey! Michael! You made it. Wait, did you follow me here?" Markos asked curiously, sitting at their table. He had a plate piled high with eggs and meat, not waiting for an answer as he tore into it. Immediately, someone whacked him in the back of the head, causing him to turn around with a fist raised, ready to fight. No one was there though. So what...? Out of nowhere, a paper fan swatted him in the face. Looking down, he spotted Ma with a mischevious grin on her face.


She hopped up and took a seat at the table. "You eat like an animal, Markos. Calm down. The food isn't going anywhere. I planted a gem in your bomb carrying harness that was enchanted to call to its partner gem, which I always keep on me. You can close your mouth now," she chuckled.


Markos closed his mouth and went back to eating, subtly checking himself over to try and find the supposed tracking gem. How the hell had Ma snuck it onto his person in the first place? Was she holding out on everyone? The gnome certainly had an abnormal amount of connections... Was she secretly an underworld kingpin of illegal gem trading? Possibly. Markos narrowed his eyes and watched her as he ate.


"Good morning, Ma," Mikayla told the gnome happily, as she dug into her own food. She idly wondered if all of them had the gem she referred to, or if it was just on certain people. She was one crafty woman, that was for sure, and her respect for her went directly out the window. She, herself, was sneaky, and was decent at pickpocketing if she needed to (she learned when her mother stopped providing for them), but she was nowhere near that kind of skill. It was amazing.


Michael chuckled as Ma explained about her gem. "You're no end of wonders," he told her, taking the large plate piled high with an unnecessary amount of food from the barmaid that served him. He didn't miss the wink she passed his way, but ignored it. Now wasn't the time for that, he figured.


"Oh! Before I forget," Mikayla said, pulling the sack of coins she had, "I want to divvy this out to everyone. I won pretty big last night." She looked at Markos, eyes twinkling mischievously at him.


Blinking in surprise, Ma reached out and prodded the sack, uttering a low whistle. That is, until she looked inside. "Oh, it's just silver. I thought you said you won big? This won't go very far with that Miser character. Well, I suppose we can just hope, eh? If not, we'll go back to plan A and pool our money to wiggle the information out of him. Right?" She looked around the table to get a consensus of yes or no. Markos apparently had been ignoring them, as he glanced up at Ma guiltily, half an egg still hanging out of his mouth. Growling at the saboteur, Ma slapped him upside the head with her fan again.


Mikayla pulled out the necklace she had taken from the princess' room and passed it on over. "Looks good enough for one gold if we can find a buyer, more if we can find the right one," she said, finishing her plate. Michael stared at her in surprise.


"Markos, what did you do to her? It's like she had a complete personality switch. And she's eating!" he interjected. Was this really his sister? Was this what she would have been all the time if she hadn't inherited their mother's madness?


Oh, come on! Michael just had to draw attention to it, didn't he? Markos punched the tracker in the arm, his mouth too full to chide him verbally.


"What do you mean, Michael? She looks fine to me." Ma looked Mikayla over with a raised brow. "I mean, she's bathed now, so that's good. Are you feeling okay? Did you hit your head or something?" The gnome got on the table and leaned down to put her hand on his forehead, winking over him at Mikayla. "Oh dear, you know what? I think you could be sick. What did my father call it? Blabbermouth? It's very serious. I may need to find a physician for you..."


"Ow, hey!" Michael rubbed his arm, frowning. What the hell was that? And blabbermouth? What did he blab about? His cheeks colored mildly as it finally dawned on him. Oh. Well.


Mikayla laughed. "Brother mine, it's nothing you need to worry about," she told him cheerfully. "Today is just a really, really good day, is all." She wiped her mouth daintily with a napkin, then stretched. She was pleasantly full for once. It was a nice feeling. Hopefully she'd be able to keep eating like that. Well, one day at a time. "And I slept wonderfully. No nightmares!" She beamed at them.


"That's great, Mikayla. I'm very happy for you." Smiling at the woman, Ma turned and jumped down off the table onto the floor below. "I'll go check on Nisa over there, but everyone get ready. We'll see what the Miser is charging for his information and then pony up." She walked away and pulled herself up onto a chair at Nisa's table, engaging the elf in conversation. Whatever they were talking about, it seemed to make Nisa feel much better, as she sat up a little more and got animated about it.


Having finally swallowed the mass of food in his mouth, Markos belched quietly, cleaning his goatee of egg yolk and meat grease. "So...This guy. What information is he got, and why we buyin' it?" he asked between aftershock burps.


Mikayla shook her head at him. "You're gross," she informed him teasingly. "The way I understand it, he knows who makes those," she nodded her head to the necklace, "And how we can get to them. Hopefully more." She stood, stretching once more. She checked her hips, thighs and boots, making sure her knives were all in place.


Michael stood as well, grabbing a piece of toast and sausage off his plate to take with him. He pocketed the necklace for the moment. Ma was really the one who would be able to actually sell it, but he'd give it to her when they had a chance to do it. "First things first, we gotta find the man. Of course, Ma probably either knows where to find him, or knows someone who does."


Rolling his eyes, Markos nodded. "Yeah, I bet. That gnome knows everyone. I don't know how she does it. She's like, what, forty? Forty-five at most? I think she's bluffing most of that stuff and other people go along with it because she bribes them." He crossed his arms, squinting at her suspiciously. Of course, as soon as she waved at the group, his expression changed to a forced smile, as if he wasn't just glaring.


They stepped outside into the bright sunlight, where Ma immediately began to lead the way, hollering and gesturing with her fan to get people to clear a path for her. "Someone put something in her morning coffee," Markos whispered. "I don't think I like this Ma." Nisa stuck her tongue out at him before skipping after the gnome, giggling the whole time. "Or her. What is wrong with them?"


"Are they drunk? Whatever it is, I want some," Mikayla responded. She slid her hand in Markos', though she sent him a questioning look as if to ask, 'Is this okay?'. She watched the elf skipping along and shook her head. Nisa had to be drunk. There was no way the woman was just...hyper. She hadn't been thus far, and they'd been around one another for a decent amount of time to get to know one another's habits.


Michael just shrugged. The three women were just too damned happy for his liking. He ultimately was a creature of habit, he liked routine, and this change in all of them sort of got on his nerves. He was never good with change and his sister was a big enough change as it was. He knew for a fact that her good days weren't this good, and yet, she acted as if she was high on something. He wanted to question it again, but wasn't in the mood to get hit again. He might just get angry.


The walk, which should have been hot and miserable, had been surprisingly less so. A large bank of clouds rolled over the sun just as a cool breeze drifted through the streets. A salesman even offered them free samples of a refreshing, exotic drink made from a plant called a 'cactus'. Ma stopped in front of the gates to Cecil's mansion, feeling ready to take on the world. She looked ready to take on the world, too. Feet planted firmly, hands on the hips, chest thrust out, and grinning like a madwoman. Markos did his best to avoid laughing as Nisa carefully mimicked the gnome, squeezing Mikayla's hand as he did so.


That bit, actually, was rather nice. She had soft hands that just sort of fit in his. Of course, he would never have thought to do that on his own, as any sort of displays of affection, spontaneously situation-appropriate kissing aside, were foreign to him.


The door to the mansion, a hundred feet back from the gate, cracked open to allow a figure to come running up to the gate. Michael blinked. It was an elf in a very neat, all black uniform. The poor man was breathing heavily as he bowed low from the waist, stammering and tripping over his own words. Nisa had dropped her stance upon seeing him and approached the gates cautiously.


She greeted the elf in her native tongue, which seemed to catch him by surprise. They conversed for a moment, having a bit of trouble since their native tongues came from different regions, but eventually one cracked a joke that the other recognized and they laughed. The elf looked over his shoulder at the mansion, suddenly remembering why he was there.


"I'm sorry, but the Master is not receiving guests today. He bids you farewell." Looking very apologetic, the elf bowed low again, then turned to go.


"Hoy! Elf-boy. We're not guests. I found some of Cecil's property at the scene of a crime and I've got a writ of King's Justice that allows me enterence to wherever I please if I think it'll help me find the princess. Now, then. You going to open these gates or will I have to come back with the city guard?" Ma thumbed her nose, smirking arrogantly. She'd been dying for a chance to do something like this. The elf paled, turning tail and sprinting away as soon as she'd finished her demands. "Give it a minute, I bet we'll get the geezer himself," Ma chuckled.


Mikayla giggled into Markos' shoulder at the absurdity of it all. Ma's arrogance, Nisa copying her, the poor elf stumbling over his words. It was all of it absurd. She was suddenly very glad that she had agreed to come on this little adventure, now. This was going to be a story to tell her brother's children when he had them.


Michael was standing as nonthreatening as he could. No use scaring the poor elf more than he already seemed to be. At least Nisa had managed to get him to relax.


"Ma, you're positively frightening when you want to be," he said to the gnome. He hoped it wasn't going to cause a mess that would have to be cleaned up. They couldn't really afford that right then. What he really hoped was that Cecil would give them the information they needed so they could go. Although, he wasn't sure he wanted to hit the road just yet, not with Mikayla and...Markos.


"I know, boy, I know. That's part of the training I had to get to become Matron of my clan. 'Play nice, but if someone's in your way, you crush them under your heel'." She shrugged nonchalantly, unaware of Nisa's subtle edging away. They waited a few minutes before the mansion door opened again. Not just one, but both. What the hell was that? A golem? In a suit? The huge iron being thundered slowly towards them, its face carved into a bored looking expression. It stopped suddenly at the gate, looking down at everyone assembled. The damn thing had to be nearly nine feet tall!


It's eyes, which didn't look like eyes at all, but rather baleful pricks of light floating around in the sockets of that head, examined them all independently. "You said you found something of mine?" it finally boomed. Ma blinked in surprise. Of its? Was this Cecil? It stared at them patiently, awaiting an answer.


Since no one seemed to be able to talk to this giant hunk of metal, Mikayla decided to take the reins. "Aye, something of yours. How about you let us in?" she asked, sweetly. "I'm sure you don't want certain...business of yours leaked out onto the street where just any-old-body can hear, do you?" That was a gamble on her part; Cecil could very well not care at all. Hopefully she was right.


Michael, however, just stared at it. How the bloody hell was there a golem? And it talked! That was it. No more adventures. Too many new things for him, too many new, weird things. It was all getting a mite ridiculous for his tastes. He had to admit, however, his sister was braver than he was at that moment. She didn't even seem fazed.


Cecil simply reached down and unlatched the gate, allowing the others to enter onto the premises. Once they were through, he locked the gate behind them and followed them into his mansion. "Speak, then," he commanded once they'd entered his home proper. "I would know what of mine you claim to possess and how it came to be in your possession." Still, he was a proper host and gestured for them to make themselves comfortable in the sitting area, while he elected to stand. Perhaps it wasn't a matter of choice, actually. A body like that couldn't weigh less than four oxen. There was precious little furnature that could support such bulk.


Mikayla gestured for Michael to pass her the necklace. Once she had it in hand, she held it up for the golem to see. "We have been informed that this just so happens to be yours," she said, nonchalantly, almost as if she didn't care one way or another. "If it isn't, maybe you would be kind enough to point us the right direction? And then we can be on our merry way." She smiled at him, and Michael had to look at her in awe. She didn't seem concerned whatsoever that the golem could very easily crush their skulls if it felt so inclined. She was literally acting as if she couldn't be touched. It would be mildly frightening if it weren't for the fact he was already worried about angering Cecil.


This was certainly surprising. The golem leaned down to gently take the amulet from her and held it up in front of his face. "Yes, this is mine. I make these for the poorer nobles to play pretend, as if they were the King's own family. My servant informed me that this was at the scene of a crime? Which crime?"


Ma cleared her throat, blinking rapidly. She fought to contain her racing pulse. This was huge! A living golem! One that moved and thought of its own free will! She desired the secrets to its construction more than anything she'd ever wanted before, bordering on lust for it. "It was in the princess' chambers. Whomever kidnapped her exchanged the real ones for these. I...Erm, that is, may I examine you?" The gnome had moved to the edge of her seat, her eyes darting all over the golem's form, unable to keep her focus on just one part.


"You may not. I will examine this piece closer to find the date it was made and to whom it was sold. You will receive a copy of this information when it is available. In the meantime, you may remain here, and only here, in my sitting room. I do not expect to take longer than an hour." For Cecil, that was the epitome of a rush job. It took great effort to move the humongous iron shell, but removing these vultures from his home warranted it.


Glaring at the golem as it retreated, Ma threw a silent tantrum. She could be wealthy beyond her wildest dreams with the secret he possessed! No wonder he was called Cecil the Miser...


Mikayla looked incredibly proud of herself. They hadn't had to spend anything. At least, not yet. And he had already answered one of their questions. So there was at least that. "Don't let it get to you, Ma. I'm sure you can find the answers if you want," she said lazily. She was hoping that Cecil would give the fakes back. Now that she knew he made and sold them to minor nobles, she might be able to do the same. She wouldn't mind a little extra spending money. "I want a dress," she said suddenly, her thoughts still on money.


It wasn't good enough. "It's not like I haven't been searching for the answers since I started my training under the Master-Artificer when I was a girl. I can make a golem. That is child's play. I can't make one that will act of it's own free will!"


"So what? You've been looking for...twenty? Thirty years? You've still got time, Ma. Relax." Markos yawned, leaning back in the comfortable sofa and putting his arms behind it.


Nisa made a small noise, holding up a finger. "Actually, Ma is over two hundred years old." If Markos had been drinking something, he would have sprayed it all over himself. Two hundred?! Did people live that long? She didn't look a quarter of that! He looked between Ma, who was still fuming, and Nisa, who wriggled in her seat smugly.


"Well whatever. Thirty years...a hundred eighty years. It's close. You've got time." Ma huffed at him.


"Watch your tongue, Markos. I'm actually nearly three hundred. In sixteen years, I will be. A blink of an eye for me. My mother is almost five hundred, herself. She is quite old, however. I don't have much time left. I need this! I could finally be content to have children and set up a legacy for them! Oh, they'd be so tall!" She suddenly smiled dreamily, clasping her hands to her cheek. Markos turned to Michael, completely lost.


Michael outright laughed. This group of theirs couldn't be anymore ridiculous if they tried. A gnome almost three hundred, an elf that seemed to have serious mood swings, a woman that really did have serious mood swings. He felt like he was the only one that was normal amongst them. "You are one old lady, miss Ma. It's pretty amazing for those of us who had never heard of such a thing," he said. He didn't bother explaining that he knew who she was daydreaming about. If she wanted them all to know, she would tell them. It was her business. But he had to agree with her. Her children would definitely be incredibly tall.


Huffing shortly, Ma propped her hands on her hips and pursed her lips at Michael. "Don't speak of me that way! I know I'm old. Why do you think I'm adventuring? I need to build a nest-egg for my future children! As much as I love Udyre, he's not exactly rolling in gold. And I'll tear Hell apart if I die before I have a fortune for my babies. Whenever they arrive..."


What? Hell? That was a big leap. "What makes you think you'd go straight to Hell when you die, Ma? I mean, you haven't killed anyone, have you?" She quirked an eyebrow at Markos, deadpan.


"No, Markos. It was an expression for dramatic effect. Please don't be so thick around me." Nisa giggled at that, kicking her feet quietly. She'd been watching the group, eyes darting between them all eagerly. What she'd failed to mention was that she had a Rueberry and Kip-leaf treacle for breakfast, which she'd purchased from a travelling elvish merchant. It worked like cat-nip for elves. She honestly didn't know how he managed to carry them without eating them all in one go. That man deserved an award.


"Then I suppose that means that I'm going to hell," Mikayla said forlornly. She had killed before, and as much as she liked to use it to make her seem much tougher than she was, the man had deserved it. Did that change whether or not she would go to hell? "I've killed someone before." She wasn't as sad about it as she thought she should be. Then again, she didn't feel most things the way she ought to.


"Nisa, you feeling okay?" Michael had taken notice of the elf. She seemed so...jittery or something. It was making him slightly uncomfortable, seeing her acting like that. He wasn't sure how to handle it.


Carefully, Markos put an arm around Mikayla. "Hey, relax. If you can sweet talk whichever gods really exist, I'm sure they'll let you into...uh, the 'After'. You know, up there." It was difficult for Markos to try and reassure her when he put absolutely no stock in that stuff. To him, it was birth, life, and then you're meat in the ground. Some people got a little longer to suffer than others, but in the end, everyone ended up in the same place. Nowhere.


The elf sat up straight and stared at Michael, her eyes jittering involuntarily. That wasn't the treacle, though. That was normal. It happened every once in a while, since birth. "Yes!" she finally piped up, doing her best not to squirm. "Stop looking at me or I'll hex you blind!" The words sort of tumbled out of her mouth as she reached the peak of her high. It felt like she was floating on clouds, except the clouds were moving at hundreds of miles an hour. She could see... everything, very, very quickly.


Mikayla sweet smile that she had been directing towards Markos quickly fell into a frighteningly dangerous glare. "Nisa," she said, her voice still as sweet as when she had spoken to Cecil, "If you hex my brother, I will--"


"Mik, it's fine," he interrupted her. He really didn't want a fight to break out in the golem's mansion, and frankly, he preferred his sister happy and smiling instead of her usual angry self. "I'm not worried about it. Thoughfor the record, Nisa, I looked at you once. I wasn't staring. Whatever you're on, don't take it out on me for asking after your well-being."


"Ignore her," Markos advised, looking over at Michael. "So once we get this information, you realize the job's gonna fall on you, right? You're the tracker. I hope you can work off a name."


He sighed. He knew very well it was going to come down on him. He just hoped that the person that replaced the jewels was also the person that actually took the princess. If they had a partner, or partners for that matter, it would get a lot harder and a whole lot messier. "Yeah, I know. I can do some off a name, but it depends on if they actually have her or not. That's where part of the problem lies. And there's no telling if they were warned about us or not. If they were and took off, though, I can track them down. Assuming it wasn't more than a few days and the rain has held off."


That didn't seem very encouraging. "So...what you're saying is that you're basing this all on 'I hope's and 'Maybe's? Is that how tracking normally works? Shit, I can do that." He laughed, though it wasn't intended to be derisive. Ma suddenly pitched a small pebble at him, shaking her finger.


"Don't mock. So far, you haven't done anything helpful."


"Well, excuse me! I haven't found anything that needs blowing up or destroying, you know. Point me at a siege engine or a castle gate, I'll get you in. Point me at some asshat's footprints, and I'll tell you that those are indeed footprints. I'm a specialist, okay?" She crossed her arms and laid back in her chair, not making eye contact with him.


At that moment, Cecil returned with a servant, who approached the group with a crisp white square of parchment in his hands. He seemed unsure of who to give it to until Markos pointed at Michael. "There, you have your information," Cecil rumbled. "Any other information requested will be priced accordingly..."


Mikayla looked at the golem calculatingly. "Cecil, I only had one, itty bitty question. You're absolutely fascinating to us, and I couldn't help but wonder something. All other golems I have ever even heard of isn't as amazing of you. How can you move of your own free will? It's extraordinary," she said. She was pushing her luck and she knew it. In fact, she completely expected him to tell her to mind her own business. As it was, she couldn't help herself. She wanted to know, too. And frankly, Ma's talk about Markos' seemingly uselessness (she couldn't disagree more, however) got her thinking: she hadn't done anything to help either. Maybe this would, if it worked in her favor.


Michael tucked the paper into his pack. He'd look over it later. Right then, he just wanted to get out of there. And yet, his sister seemed intent on questioning the giant, iron creature. It was all he could do not the pick her up and haul her out of there the same way that he had done the first night they'd met everyone the first time.


"Thirty gold," he said simply. He looked down at Ma, who rushed over and thrust three bags at him, an eager gleam in her eyes. Cecil took the bags from her and spilled the contents into his other hand, carefully counting each piece. Satisfied, he sorted them back into the containers. "I am Cecil Gulio. I lived in this house many years ago as a man. I had fallen ill with the wasting sickness, which has no cure. A man came to me and offered to cure me, at the expense of my fortune. I, of course, agreed. Thusly, the man pulled my soul from my feeble, weak body and transferred it to this immortal form. I have since built up my fortune twice over. I still believe that stranger got the lesser deal." There was a hint of amusement in his otherwise monotonous voice.


Ma, however, looked devastated. She couldn't believe it. He wasn't a golem at all! This was a real person placed into a shell. That was...impossible for her to do. No gnome possessed an ability like that. That was the worst thirty gold she'd ever spent in her entire life.


"What about the guy? The one who bought the necklace? What did he look like?" Nisa asked suddenly. Cecil turned his head and stared at her for a moment.


"Five silver." The elf patted herself down quickly, only coming up with seventeen copper, an acorn, some shiny buttons she'd found outside, and lint. Not letting that stop her, however, she stood on tiptoe to sprinkle her find into Cecil's iron hand, beaming up at him. The golem seemed to be processing such an insane move. At last, he simply 'hmm'ed at her and handed the handful to a servant standing nearby.


"Tall. Pale. Blonde hair, blue eyes. An elf. Black garb. Haughty." He lowered his arms, looking at the group some more. That sounded pretty familiar to Nisa. She skipped over to Michael and pestered him to read the name on the paper to her.


"Hold on, woman!" Michael glared at her, but it didn't have the force of his twin's. He pulled the paper back out, reading it silently first. He sighed, closing his eyes. Great. This was awesome. "It's Yayaril, Nisa. The man is Yayaril." He passed her the paper so that she could see for herself. "Now, can we go?"


"Hold on," Mikayla said, standing up. "Firstly, our job is now a huge bitch. Secondly, Cecil, the information you gave us about your...creation, for lack of a better word, is not worth thirty gold whatsoever. Ten, maybe, and that's pricing it high. So for the remaining twenty, why don't you tell us the process that was used?" She glared up at the golem, hands on her hips. If that much gold was going to be spent in one place, then she was going to make damn sure they got exactly what they were paying for. And a simple, "some stranger made me give him all my money to do it" just wasn't going to cut it for her.


The golem chuckled. "No. I priced it based on what it was worth to me. Your whims mean nothing. Leave my premises." There was a threatening edge to his voice. That is, until Nisa jumped up and touched his nose. The iron shell suddenly locked up, though the little balls of light that served as his eyes swirled around in agitation. "What is this? What have you done?!" he demanded. Nisa simply giggled, running to hide behind a pillar and watch the fireworks.


Mikayla laughed, although it was much colder than Nisa's giggle. "You know, I bet she will fix you if you tell me what the process was. Is the gold worth it now? If you don't want to say, I can just grab that bag right there, and be on my merry way. And you'll be stuck like that for who knows how long." She gestured at the gold pieces.


Meanwhile, while his sister was standing up to Cecil, Michael crept over to Markos. He spoke softly into the man's ear. "If things get any worse, you're going to have to forcibly get her out of here. If you don't, then I'll do it." It wasn't a threat; he was genuinely worried about the situation that was getting worse and worse. He suddenly wished that they hadn't all showed up.


Growling softly, Cecil finally relented. "The truth is that I don't know the process. I was drugged for most of it, until the release of my soul. I felt as if I had been sucked into a whirlwind for an enternity, until I awoke in this shell. It took me an entire month to move my eyes alone, and three years to gain full control over this body. That is the truth. Now undo this...this curse you've put on me and be gone!"


Markos nodded at Michael, grabbing Mikayla by the arm and whispering that they should leave now and let Nisa handle it. Ma was already at the door, holding it open. The elf sprinted by, leaping to tap the golem on the nose, and shouting 'Run!' over her shoulder as she escaped. The hex was set to disappate in ten seconds, and there was no telling what would happen when it did so.


Mikayla, not unaware of the danger, nodded her head quickly. She turned and ran with Markos and Michael, looking once over her shoulder. "Bye, Cecil! This was fun!" She couldn't help taunting him. It was in her very nature.


Once they made it out the door, and then out of the gate, she let out an exhilarated laugh. She hadn't done anything dangerous in a while, and that was quite a bit of fun. "Let's do that again," she giggled.


Michael shook his head. She obviously had a death wish. "Right. Well, that was...interesting to say the least. I never want to do that again. Next time, leave me out of it," he said, trying to catch his breath a bit. If he were being honest with himself, he had been downright terrified of Cecil. It was against nature to move a soul to an inanimate thing. To him, at least. "Let's just...go somewhere. Anywhere." Away from Cecil.


"I want to go to a...what was it called? Um...A 'brothel'? Is that where people dance for you? I want someone to dance for me." Nisa declared. Markos coughed into his fist, looking away. Normally he'd jump at the chance to see the elf in a brothel, but since he was still trying to figure out what was going on between him and Mikayla, he didn't want to chance it. And drunken night of abandon aside, Ma was married. She didn't really feel enticed to do that sort of thing.


Mikayla stared at Nisa, a small frown marring her features. "Um...Nisa. A brothel isn't exactly...dancers. Prostitutes is a more apt term." She had hesitated to even say it that way in the first place, but the elf deserved to know what they were. "You pay them to fuck you." Well, she hadn't meant to be that blunt, but it was too late. Oh well.


"I'm...just going to the inn. I'm so done with everything right now," Michael informed them, taking his leave quickly. Once they were out on the road, he'd feel better. A lot better. The confinement of a city was getting under his skin.


"Well I'm going! Goodbye!" Nisa said louder than necessary before stomping off, completely ignoring Mikayla.


"No. Wait. Please don't," Markos pretended to plead, zero emotion in his voice. "Ma, do you have one of those gem things you said you planted on me, planted on her?" The gnome fished in the pocket of her dress and pulled out a little blue gemstone. What did he take her for, an amateur? As soon as Nisa had started acting loopy, Ma had planted one on her.


Mikayla watched Nisa go, sighing. "Okay, well, it looks like we're a little down on cash. We still have what I won last night, but that isn't enough. Guess I'll have to hustle cards again," she said, forlorn. She had actually wanted to do shopping. She wanted clothes, needed a brush, and she wanted the dress that she had seen on the way to Cecil's mansion. It had been so pretty, and she knew she would have felt lovely in it.


Well now that they had their information, it shouldn't be long before they caught up to Yayaril. Hopefully, anyways. This time, Markos really would bean the elf with a bomb, as soon as they found out where the princess was. He put his arm around Mikayla comfortingly. "Hey, if you want I can help distract people at your hustle table. I'm no good at cards, but I'm great at working a crowd."


--------------------
 
Mikayla lay on the bed at the inn, sufficiently drunk. On the floor next to her lay a decent sized bag full of gold and silver. Markos and I make a damn good team, she thought to herself. With his distraction and her hustling, they had managed to bag about fifty silver, and an additional 25 gold. It didn't quite make up for the gold spent on useless information, but it was close and would definitely keep them going for a while. Not that she blamed Ma for spending that gold. Hell, she'd probably do it herself if it was something she had been obsessing over for years and years.


She sighed. She wouldn't be able to gamble again while they were there. It was unwise, and she had pushed it earlier at the gambling dens. If she did it again, they'd know for sure that she had been cheating. Not that they could prove it. Even still, she didn't want the mess that it'd cause.


"Markos," she said, slurring mildly, "Let's....orderrrr strawburries..."


Rolling onto his stomach, Markos fought to open his eyes past halfway. "W...what's a strawburry? Where wou...would you get one? Is it fancy? I like fancy." He laughed lightly, crawling forward to look at the bag of money again, but lost his balance and tumbled off the bed. "Ouch..."


Mikayla rolled to the side of the bed, giggling. Markos was ridiculous, and she enjoyed it. These past two days had been the most she'd laughed in a long time. The most her laughter was genuine. She wanted it to last, and hoped she'd be able to make that so. "Silly, it's a fruit. Buuuuuuut," she said, her voice taking on a singsong quality, "It is the wroooong season..."


From his position on the ground, he'd adopted a thoughtful pose. Or, at least, one he thought made him look thoughtful. "Man, I can't believe... No, wait, yeah I can. So Nisa's tutor is the one who bought the jewelry, huh? I wonder h...how he swapped them out. You, uh, you think he's the one? The guy?"


Hmm. Could Yayaril be the guy that they were really looking for? "Given the way he looked at me," she said, slowly becoming more and more sober as she thought about it, "I wouldn't at all be surprised. And with how Nisa described him...he's dark, my sweet, very dark indeed. He could very well have been the one. Or, he's working with someone, which wouldn't surprise me either." She leaned her hand down, offering to help Markos up. "C'mere. I'm too wide awake. And I want to be in your arms."


"Those are the magic words," laughed the saboteur as he accepted her help. No way was he going to pass up a chance to be close to her.


-----------


Michael sat at his own table in the tavern, waiting for the sun to rise so they could leave. Having gone to bed as early as he had, waking up this early had been completely inevitable. He rubbed his face tiredly, then sipped his water. It was too early to eat, and it was too early for anyone else to come down the stairs. This was definitely not the most enjoyable trip he'd ever had.


"Why can't they all be early birds?" he asked himself aloud, rubbing his face once more. There had to be a place to get the drink called coffee. He'd heard it could keep a man on his feet all day long. And he was suddenly wanting it very, very badly.


Plopping down across from Michael, a very tired, very pale elf cradled a tankard of mulled wine like it was going to shield her from harm. Nisa had bags under her eyes, her hair was disheveled, and she hadn't changed from her clothes the day before. All in all, very much 'death warmed over'. She grunted at Michael as way of greeting before taking a sip from her warm drink. The waitress eyed her warily, wondering why the elf had come into the inn with an alcoholic beverage and sat across from the cute guy she was planning to chat up.


Michael nodded to her in return, then leaned back into his chair, studying her. "Rough night?" he finally asked, his voice rough from waking not too long before. He cleared his throat, then took another sip of his water. It seemed to him as if Nisa had been out all night. And by the looks of it, the morning wasn't being especially kind to her either.


He looked to the waitress, then gestured for her to come over. "I need something greasy. With plenty of bread," he told her.


She nodded, turning around with what she hoped was a coy hip motion and tossed him a sultry look over her shoulder.


"Amateur," Nisa grumbled under her breath. "And no, it was not partcularly rough, just long and tiring. I learned to dance and play the lute, and...entertained a great many dancers. I have yet to sleep." She took another sip of her wine, almost inaudibly humming a song under her breath. It was the one she learned, which they'd played fairly often in the brothel as the women performed their dances.


Definitely not the experience she was expecting. Instead of a dance hall, it was a whore house. Well, not the kind she'd heard about, but a whore house nonetheless. Sure, the women there were charming and intelligent, well versed in all manner of entertainment from storytelling to massage, but at the end of the day, they were all whores. Selling themselves physically, mentally, and emotionally to their customers in return for gold.


Still, it was a learning experience, and Nisa was glad she'd done it. It definitely solidified her new understanding of herself. There had been a few men there that offered to spend 'time' with her, but the idea simply didn't appeal to her. Not that they were uninteresting. They just didn't spark anything within her. Her magic, however, went over very, very well. She'd put one of the girls under a very fierce pleasure charm, which the courtesan said was a 'matchless, divine experience. As if I'd been touched by an angel'. If she'd thought to charge the courtesans for it, she'd have made several hundred gold pieces that night. But no. Nisa found the experience enlighteing, but hollow.


The amount of effort it required from her to bring those women over the edge in a way they'd never forget was almost laughably small. She wanted to learn how to do it without magic. Michael's words still bounced around in her head. Nisa didn't want to be wholly dependent on her metaphysical talents. It was dangerous.


Michael looked at the waitress as he heard Nisa. Oh. Well, she was pretty, he supposed. Either way, he doubted he'd have time. He should have just gone with Nisa or something. Instead, he had chosen to spend his night alone in his room. Boring. And frankly, he was the only one that hadn't gotten any action since they'd started this trip, and he was definitely overdue for a little fun. If only he wasn't so damned responsible.


"Well, I think we're setting out today," he told her softly. "We can get you stimulants to keep you up until tonight, or you can try sleeping in the cart. I have enough money to get some pads or something to make it a little more comfortable, if you want." He shrugged as he spoke. It didn't really matter to him. Though if it was his choice, she'd sleep as they moved; there was no telling when they'd need her magic, and her being utterly exhausted as she was now would be absolutely no help at all. "I can get some really nice feather down ones." In fact, maybe he'd get them anyway. He was tired of waking up in pain on the road.


Nisa scoffed. "I appreciate the thought, but I have already drugged this wine. I just came in to tell you good morning before I went to sleep in the cart. I will see you in about ten hours." Giving one last chuckle, Nisa knocked back the rest of the cup and left it on the table. Singing audibly now, the elf swayed uncertainly on the way to the door, ignoring the oncomers. As soon as she'd left, the waitress came back with a big plate of fried pig meats and potatoes, with an entire loaf of thick bread. She placed the platter down, bending over perhaps more than was necessary, especially considering her low cut blouse. Brushing some strands of straw blonde hair from her face, she looked at Michael in the eye. "Let me know if there's anything else...anything at all, that I can get you." Sure, it wasn't subtle, but she was desperate.


Given the early hour, and the fact that Michael hadn't done his exercises, he couldn't help but smirk at the barmaid. When it came down to it, he rather enjoyed loose women. While the challenge of seducing a prude was enjoyable, a woman that knew what she was doing was much more fun in his eyes. "You know," he told her, throwing a couple of coins on the table for food that he wasn't going to eat, "There might be something. If you're going to be on break, that is." He held his hand out to her, winking at the pretty waitress. This would be something to enjoy.


Mikayla came down the stairs, stumbling thanks to her sleep-glazed eyes. Rubbing one, she caught sight of her brother, and a cute waitress. Judging by the look on his face, and hers, someone was about to get lucky. "Go big brother," she murmured to herself, heading to the table that had the food Michael had ordered previously. She sat down, eating a little, and watched the two, at the same time waiting for Markos and Ma to join her. Who knew when that would be?


Around a half hour later, it seemed. Slightly more for Markos, as the man despised waking up and leaving comfortable beds. Ma took the seat across from Mikayla, reaching over the table to steal a piece of bacon, a mischevious twinkle in her eye. It was almost as if the gnome was daring her to say anything about it. Her expression changed to a softer smile as Markos sat beside Mikayla, eyes closed and mouth open expectantly as he awaited food.


"It's rude to be such a pig, Markos," Ma chastised. "Why don't you ask if she'll share and then get some yourself?"


"Too much work," he groaned, then went back to waiting open-mouthed to be fed.


Mikayla chuckled, before sliding a bite of bread into his mouth gently. "You are awfully lazy, Markos. I'll give you one more bite, then you can feed yourself." Her eyes twinkled at Ma, before pushing the plate between the two. She'd already eaten a third of the food that had been on the plate, and was enough to fill her for the moment. She was really eating a lot lately, and she supposed she had Markos to thank for that. Her sleeping well, good mood, and the fact that she was eating was all thanks to him, when it came right down to it.


"Oh, and before I forget, it might be a little while before we get on the road. I don't know about Nisa, but Michael is about to be rather busy for a while." She grinned as she talked, and winked at the two. "And I have to say, the reason is rather pretty."


"Is that right?" queried the gnome around a bite of ham. "Well good for him. That boy is much too serious. It'll give him grey hairs before his time." She smacked Markos' hand as he tried to grab for the entire plate, then dainitly took anoter bite of ham. "And you, child, need to mind your manners! I'll stick a fork in that hand of yours, don't test me." They glared at one another for a moment before relenting with a smile.


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


They left Hightop after the sun reached its zenith, following a lead from one of Ma's contacts. They'd spotted the elf in a town to the west of Thistleden a couple weeks back. It wasn't a small town, but certainly it wasn't one that someone like a Hexer would have business in. A mining town at the base of the mountains? Certainly not. Besides, the Giant's Spine mountains had a curious property about them that made mages uncomfortable. For whatever reason, there was a particular type of stone that marbled the entire mountain range that addled the majority of them.. One described the sensation as 'the ocean constantly roaring in your head, only all over'. He was promptly driven out of town for failing to make much sense.


As the group crested a large hill, Ma broke into a big grin. Oh boy. She loved mountains. Mountains meant gems, which meant money. Perhaps not near Gravel Quarry, but deeper within, certainly. One simply needed to know how to search.


Markos nudged Mikayla, nodding his head at Nisa. The elf lay sprawled across her bench, mouth open and snoring lightly, with a little strand of drool hanging down. He wished he were a quick-sketch artist so he could capture this moment forever. "Like a big, grumpy baby..." he whispered.


Mikayla giggled sofly. That was exactly how Nisa looked right at that moment. "I like babies," she told him softly, wrapping his arm around her. "She's more like a toddler, I think. That's where they get grumpy." She laid her head on his shoulder, yawning. She was still tired and she blamed Markos.


Michael, though, was sitting next to Ma with a rather pleasant expression plastered onto his face. There was nothing like a good roll in the sack to put a man into a really good mood for a good while. His muscles were loose, his mind relaxed for once. He shouldn't wait so long next time.


"Hey, Ma. How long ago was it your contact saw him?" he asked, a thoughtful expression replacing the one he'd previously had. "If it's been too long, there's a good chance that we've lost him. And I'd like to deal with Yayaril as soon as possible."


At the mention of the elf, Mikayla looked up and shivered. Finding him was something that she would rather avoid if she possibly could. As it was, they didn't have a choice, not if they wanted to find the princess. Which, of course, they did. Then they could get paid the one hundred thousand gold pieces for bringing her back safely. Except...except for the fact that one hundred thousand gold pieces was less than this trip was worth. "Hey....hey guys, I have an idea," she said suddenly, sitting straight up and looking at the others. The ones that weren't sleeping, that is.


Looking back, Ma quirked a brow. "Yeah?"


"Well, given what we're going to have to deal with before too terribly long, the prize isn't exactly worth it. So...what if...what if we ransomed the princess when we got her?" She asked, greed lighting her eyes. "What if we ransomed her for at least twice as much?"


Jaw dropping, Markos slowly edged away from her. "You...can't be serious. Please, Mikayla, tell me you're not serious. Not only is that a terrible idea, but it's bad too! We'll be criminals, hunted down for the rest of our lives, and not only that, but how in the twelve circles of hell are we going to transport two hundred thousand gold pieces without every thief in the kingdom assaulting us for it?"


"Two hundred thousand, eh?" Ma asked, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Five way split is... forty thousand a person. That's a proper nest egg there..."


"Ma! You can't be serious!"


"You know, you keep saying that, but I don't know if you understand what 'can't' means. Hush, boy, the women are talking. So, how do you propose we do this, Mikayla? That is an awful juicy target, after all."


"And irresistible. And I don't mean like, hurt her or anything, Markos, so please calm down. All we really have to do, is have her send a letter to her father that we are more than willing to bring her home, it'll just cost him twice as much. It's really quite simple," Mikayla said, her eyes getting brighter and brighter as she thought about it.


Michael stared at his sister and Ma. They were really considering it? He knew his sister was bad, but Ma? "Markos is right. It isn't a good idea. And there isn't any way that we can transport the monies safely. Plus, as soon as we receive the gold, the king would just behead us and just take the gold back. Look, Ma, I know you want the gold for your kids and all, and Mik, I don't know what you want with this, but come on. I'm not about to risk my life over extra gold. It's stupid." How could she even consider it? It was beyond dangerous. He saw her point in asking for extra, what with Yayaril and all, but...it was too much. Way too much.


Clucking her tongue, Ma gave her companion a disappointed look. "Oh, come now, Michael. What harm is there in getting paid properly? If the king wants his darling daughter back, he'll pay. If not, then someone else will. I don't know about you, but I would like a bit more than twenty thousand gold pieces for my time."


This couldn't be happening. Markos couldn't believe his ears. The secondmost levelheaded member of their group going along with the least levelheaded member's insane suicide plan? He checked his own pulse to ensure he was still alive. "Are you two listening to yourselves? Twenty thousand gold is enough to buy a small fiefdom! And you want more? That's just...that's the greediest thing I've ever heard. If it weren't for the princess' safety at risk, I'd hop off this cart and leave right now..." The saboteur shook his head, crossing his arms resolutely. This madness would get them all killed if left unchecked. For a moment, he envied Nisa and her blissfully ignorant slumber.


Mikayla looked at Markos and kissed him. Slowly. Sensually. "Don't worry, baby, I'll keep you safe," she told him softly, her eyes half-lidded. He was worried for nothing. It was a good idea, she knew, and she thought it was worth going after. Even Ma agreed with her. "Michael will even agree when he truly thinks about it. Come on. Think. Don't you want to have your own kingdom? No one can touch you. No one can force you to do anything you don't want to. You'd have the protection of wealth."


Michael sighed. She couldn't be serious, either of them. There was no possible way they were actually thinking that this could be a good idea. "The two of you need to rest or something. You haven't been sleeping well, or you've been drinking too much. You need to clear your heads. Then you'll see this as a bad idea." He hoped, anyways.


Damn, she made it hard for him to think. Markos almost gave in there, but shook his head to clear the haze. "No! No, I don't want my own kingdom! I didn't even want a whole twenty thousand gold! I just signed on because I was worried about the princess. I'm walking. I can't be around this anymore." He threw his hands up to ward off any perceived arguments and hopped down off the back of the cart, following them at a distance.


His leaving finally roused Nisa, who sat up and rubbed her eyes sleepily. The elf looked around through a tight squint and yawned. "What is all the fuss?" she questioned.


"Markos and Michael are throwing a fit because we...Mikayla and I, that is, think we deserve more than what we were offered for finding the princess," Ma explained. Nisa's eyes opened a little wider in confusion, looking between the remaining cart occupants with a mildly concerned expression.


"What does that mean? How would you expect to get paid more than what we were offered? That is not how contracts work..."


Mikayla smiled at Nisa coldly. "Since we have to put in so much more work than what we were contracted to do, we should get paid even more. And we have no idea how much work the princess herself is going to be. We need more money for it. And Ma needs money for her children that she plans on having, and I think having money for them is a good idea as well."


Michael shook his head. He couldn't believe this. In fact, he was tempted to join Markos in walking. He wasn't sure he could listen to these women anymore, not when they were talking about... "You're seriously going to commit treason for the sake of money? What is wrong with you?"


Leaping to her feet, the elf nearly tumbled backwards over the edge of the cart. "You what? No! I won't let you!" The air around her hands shimmered like the surface of a cobblestone road on a hot summer's day. Ma immediately raised a placating hand.


"No, no! Nisa, calm down. We were definitely not thinking about committing treason," she said, glaring angrily at Michael. "We just think that since rescuing the princess from Yayaril will be dangerous, we should get paid more. Please, calm down. You don't need to threaten us with hexes."


The elf brandished one of her fists. "This isn't a hex, Ma. This is raw evocation. I can smell a lie when one wafts past me. I will not be a party to this. If I catch even a hint of this insanity again, I will not hesitate to burn the both of you to cinders. Am I understood?" Ma shot Mikayla a look, brows raised in surprise.


"Yeah, Nisa, we get it. Relax, please. No one needs to get hurt..." Slowly, the elf calmed herself, sitting on the edge of the cart. So...she lied. Ma resolved to keep a closer eye on that one. Nisa had told them in the beginning that she couldn't do evocation, yet there it was. If it came down to it, the gnome would take her out first...


Mikayla watched Nisa thoughtfully. "If you threaten me again, elf, you won't wake to make good on it. Don't forget: I'm a master of poisons." And if it comes down to it, she thought, I will not hesitate to kill her.


She sighed, looking back at Markos. She wanted everyone to be on board with her plan, but if Markos wasn't going to go along with it, it wasn't worth it. However, she might be able to convince him, though it would take a lot of convincing for him to want to be involved. She thought she could do it, even if it took weeks.


Michael glared back at the gnome. "Actually, it is. It is still considered kidnapping, which is treason. I'm not going to hang for something like that. If we get caught..."


"We won't get caught. We'll be dead," Mikayla interrupted. "The old king won't even know it was us that did it."


Nisa turned around again, her temper flaring up. "That sounded like a threat. The trouble with poisons is that you can't apply them from a grave. And it also sounded like you just ignored me." She got up to make good on her promise when Ma dropped the reins and leapt into the back of the cart, pushing Nisa out. The elf cried out in surprise, landing hard on her back, the wind knocked out of her. Ma quickly flicked the reins, urging the cart along faster.


"You couldn't just appease her and go behind her back, Mikayla?" Ma asked in exasperation, not even looking back. Markos had run to Nisa's side, looking between the elf and the cart in confusion. "Look, we don't need them. We can do it with just the three of us. That's even more per individual, alright?"


Mikayla watched Markos helping Nisa, and tried to bite down the jealous pangs that struck her heart. "I need him," she said softly. "He makes me better..."


"No, you don't," She said firmly. The gnome had come too far, was too close to the last big job she'd ever have to work, to let it go to shit now. Especially over a fling like that. "He's a bleeding heart, too goody good to ever let you live it down. Which would you prefer, a fiefdom or him dragging you down all the time?" She stared straight ahead, jaw clenched and white knuckling the reins.


She continued staring at Markos. That was the decision she had to make. Once, she knew the answer. "I can bring him around. I know I can." There was utter conviction in her voice, as if there wasn't any other answer. As if she really knew he would go along with it.


Michael shook his head. "You two...don't you realize what you're suggesting? What you're really saying? Ma, look, I know you need money. Hell, I can make you plenty of money for your children. Just please, please reconsider..."


Growling, she glanced sidelong at Michael. "Yes, Michael, of course I really know what I'm saying. I want to retire now. I'm getting into my twilight years. Too much longer and I won't be able to have children at all. I need this money now, or my family will never exist. There is no way you can make me forty thousand gold pieces within the next ten years. Not without either doing some heinous acts or killing yourself from strain. It's this. That's all. Mikayla, if you want to try to talk to him, that's your business, but I won't be stopped."


She had hardened up, very different to the usual Ma. This was almost someone else entirely, someone who had done unspeakable things in the past, and though she was haunted by them, they wouldn't stop her. As firm and resolute as the stone she was so familiar with.


Micahel sighed for what felt like the one hundredth time, and slid off the cart himself. He couldn't abide this. Let them be stupid and insane and get killed. He couldn't do it. Maybe he could get Markos to convince Mikayla to let Ma do it herself. Maybe he could get Mikayla to really think about things. She might listen to him. But Michael would have to get to the saboteur first.


"Markos, please tell me you can convince her that this is utter madness," he said, when he'd dropped behind the cart enough. He could still see Mikayla; she was staring at them, but that's all he could see of her.


"Her who? Ma? That bitch is a psychopath. I couldn't convince her that the sky was blue if she didn't feel like admitting it. Or did you mean your sister? You know, the one that started the whole crazy plan. Since when has she been receptive to advice? No, I can't, and more importantly, I won't. Nisa and I are going to go our own way and try to save the princess ourselves. You do what you have to man, but if I run across either of them, I'm considering them my enemy." Markos held one of his bombs in hand warily, eyeing Michael.


While it really hurt him to do it, he didn't see another option. Ma had pushed Nisa out of the cart and kept driving like it was nothing. They were talking about kidnapping the princess a second time and ransoming her for double! Normally the saboteur held no love for royalty, but that was inexcusable.


Michael's eyes pleaded with the man. "I'm begging you. Talk to her. She'll listen to you; you're the only one that can convince her otherwise, Markos. She practically worships you." And she would kill him for saying that, he knew, but it was the truth. "Please. Just try one time, if she won't listen the once, then fine. Do what you gotta do. And I'll owe you greatly. Whatever you want." While he hated to admit it, he loved his sister, and didn't want to see her head fly for a stupidly concocted plan.


"And...well, if Ma gets cruel with you, she'll side with you anyway." That much he was certain of. In fact, he was banking on it.


Propping his hands on his hips, Markos stared at Michael for a moment, grinding his teeth in thought. After a few long minutes, he blew out a defeated breath, putting the bomb away. "Once," was all he said before starting after the cart again. Nisa kept at his side, whispering quietly with him.
 
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