“Please, don’t leave...” he heard a weak voice say before darkness claimed him.

Pulling his cloak securely over his head Cale slowly navigated with the crowds through the corridors of the merchant quarter. Clutching his purse he estimated that he had depleted his coin to half what it was in the morning. The damn merchants where all willing to talk to and take his coin, but none had given him the likely destination of Valan’s caravan.

With a quick but nearly invisible sidestep Cale ducked into a darkened ally. Crouching low he watched the two men that had been following him since an hour past walk by the alleyway. They were both rank amateurs by Cale’s estimations but nonetheless the news did not bode well, his questioning and liberal use of coin had not gone unnoticed.

Smiling to himself he waited patiently until the two men realized that they had lost his trail. He forwent his cloak, stepping back out into the crowded streets, and slipped back into the crowd shadowing his “shadows” from mere feet away.

“Master Fion will be displeased that we lost him.” remarked a heavy muscular man. Cale’s observant eyes quickly picked up on the callouses that lined his fingers and palms, he pegged the man to be a general labourer or a dock hand.

The other, a young boy, was much more scrawny and wore a dusty cape and mud stained trousers with a matching vest in a similarly disheveled state. A street rat of the thieving guild. He almost chuckled to himself as the boy responded, “We be lucky we even caught sight of um, if the rumors be true.”

The older man turned angrily towards the young boy, raising his hand threateningly. “Stop admiring him and find him again, it’s what i paid you for damn it!”

Cale smiled as the boy stood fast his ground. Not even flinching at the towering man, he offered, “Your brains must be more mush then Miss Leiya’s porridge.” Pausing his response to gauge the labourers confusion, the boy continued, “He knew we was following um, brain mush, and be watching us now if I was him.”

The large man seem unnerved by the boy pronouncement, and Cale decided to unnerve him a bit more, slipping in behind the the the labourer. “The boy’s a smart one, you should pay him double. If either of you survive, that is.”

Before the big lug could respond Cale quickly placed the tip of his blade into the man back positioned between two vertebrae. He applied just enough force to let the man know the weapon was upon him but not enough to break skin. Then he whispered in a low tone, “Try and escape or fight and I assure you, you will never walk a day in your life again.”

It was with an odd sense of pride that he watched the young street rat charge into the labourer, knocking his already awkward balance enough to fall towards Cale’s chest. Kicking back with his own legs Cale allowed himself to fall with the mans shadow, pulling the dagger away from the man’s back at the last possible moment before he hit the cobblestone road.

Quickly rolling to the side Cale swung out his right hand, timed so that his dagger would line the mans neck as he landed. “You really must pay him more, smart and quick witted boy.”

“What do you want with me? I was just tryin’ to find ya! My boss wanted to know why you was askin’ questions! I didn’t know you was... what are you?” The man seemed frozen solid, and the reek of urine told Cale he was either scared enough to cooperate, or a very determined actor.

“I’m someone who doesn’t like to be followed. Now. Why don’t you take me to your boss, and we can all discuss in nice, civil terms what I want to know. It is your job to bring me to him?” Cale felt the man tense up as if to nod, then realize it was a bad idea with the knife at his neck.

“Can... Can I get up?” he asked with a shaky voice. Cale thought about it for a long moment, then decided lying on the street with a knife to a man’s neck in broad daylight might be a bad idea for more than a few minutes. Taking a breath, Cale released the razor edged dagger from the man’s neck leaving behind a thin line of blood as the only indicator of the blades presence. He held out a hand to help the man up, but the man looked at it dubiously.

“If I meant you to die you’d be dead. Come on, let’s go meet your boss.”

With a little prodding as they walked, Cale found his new associate was a fountain of information. Apparently his less than subtle inquiries on Valan’s whereabouts had piqued the interest of one Master Fion. The second largest whole sale marketer in Lussax, thanks in no small part to Valan’s caravan’s efforts in procuring goods at favorable prices.

Pulling the giant of man close he slipped a small purse of gold coin in the lug’s hands. “I’ll tell you this just once, and make no mistake. This is not a request, nor a suggestion, or even a demand. You will walk back to the dock, change your piss stained clothing, and for the gods’ sake take a bath as well, then forget we ever met. I don’t exist, you never ran into me, or even heard of me. This will happen.”

Releasing his grip from the man hand Cale watched him gulp heavily then stagger backwards. “Please do say we have an understanding. Otherwise I will have to kill you, and find a place to dispose of your corpse. And trust me, a man of your size is so very troublesome to hide.”

Cale watched the man nod, turn and walk away very quickly. It irked him to spend so much time explaining, but the man seemed perhaps a bit slow on the uptake and he really didn’t want to have to drag that body somewhere private.

Master Fion’s warehouse was quite impressive, one of the largest buildings in the district. It had to be, it held nearly a fourth of city’s grain, fur and silks. Fion’s political influence and power rivaled that of some of the great houses that ruled the city. He even doubted the duke himself would interfere with Fion’s affairs without good reason. This offered Cale quite the challenge, simply threatening the man was out of the question, nor could he bribe him with the mere gold coin he had available. He decided to return to his original plan.

Barging into Fion’s warehouse Cale shoved himself through the crowd in a wild daze, shouting and screaming Master Fion’s name with just the right amount of vocal tremor and deep gasping breaths to seem like a very distressed man. The crowd of traders backed away from him, leaving him alone in an empty circle. He cast about with a wild-eyed expression plastered across his face, but no one professed to being master Fion. He threw himself onto the ground, the stinging powder he tossed into his own eyes had begun to do it works as he could feel the tears roll down his cheek.

With a quavering voice he began the final act and briefly wonder if he had missed his calling in life as an actor on stage. “Please Master Fion, I must see you! By the first please, my niece...”

Fion pushed and shoved through the silent crowd. “What has happened to you man, why do you come to my home making such a racket and scaring my associates?” When he came upon Cale writhing on his knees and crying profusely, he seemed to calm down and take pity.

“Dear man, what ails you so? Come, tell me all about it in my office where we won’t disturb business.” Fion offered Cale a heavily beringed and surprisingly soft hand up, then led him to the front office. Cale made a production of snivelling and getting himself under control along the way. Once the door closed and Fion offered him a pale pink hanky, he started babbling again.

“I’m so sorry, Master Fion, I just... I’m at my wits’ end! I followed Master Valan and his caravan here to find my niece Rana, and before I could even find her he fled the city with her again! The rumors I have heard, Master Fion, they are so awful! My niece is no monster, she is just a child, and she needs to be with family! I’m going out of my mind with worry!” Cale dabbed at his eyes with the hanky, which smelled faintly of roses.

“Calm yourself, please, dear man! Wipe those tears away, for with Master Valan your niece is as safe as a babe in her mother’s arms! Now, if you calm yourself, I will gladly direct you to Valan’s caravan, if you wish to try and catch up to them. Rana seems a very sweet child, and I would dearly love to see her reunited with family who will care for her. She and Miss Greta have become quite fast friends.” Cale watched Fion’s body language, the man was a master in his own right at hiding his true feelings he could tell. Surely such was a vital skill in trade negotiations. But it seemed likely the man was sincere.

“It gladdens my heart to hear such words, Master Fion! My precious niece has had a difficult life, and I am glad to hear that she has such good friends. Please, sir, which way shall I ride to rejoin my kin? I simply must find her, and hold her safe in my own arms.” Cale opened his eyes wide, affecting an innocent look, even as he though about where to procure a horse.

“Valan travels to Windrunner, a small village in the base of Mount Erdrissar, in the Askayla mountains on the east bank of the Tessarill River.” Grabbing a parchment from his desk, Master Fion quickly began to pen a note. “It would be foolish to ride the day to catch them now, you would never make it in time to reach them before the ferry crossing.”

Handing Cale the note, he smiled warmly at the disguised assassin. “Take this to the dock master, he can direct you to a boat that will ferry you to Windrunner. You should arrive nearly half a day ahead of Valan, if he still moves as quickly as he used to.” Fion smiled again, the smile of a man gently poking fun at a good friend in his absence.

Clutching the parchment Cale nodded his thanks. “Thank you Master Fion, this means more to me than you could ever know.”

---

For a while Rall felt better. Sure he was a little worried, but he was free of the damned thing, and he wasn’t dying! He went to find Greta and apologize, now that he was free he realized what a complete and total savage he’d been the last several days.

He found her right where he left her, sitting on the back of the cart. The wooden dish still sat next to her, and she was staring out at the clouds with an unreadable expression. “Greta, I... I’m sorry. I know I’ve been insufferable, and I mean to stop it. I was so mad, but now I’m not, I’m free.” He shivered in the wind of the ferry’s passage over the water, as she slowly turned to look at him. Her eyes were ringed in red and shimmering, but she wasn’t crying.

“No, you were right. I was... am jealous. You’re my friend and I know Larenmireil is a good person, there was no reason for me to say the things I did except... Hey, the sword, it’s not in your... What did you do, Rana?” She looked somewhere between angry and worried.

“I threw it into the river. The damned thing was going to kill me, but now it can’t! No one will ever find it out there.” Greta seemed unconvinced, but he really did feel better. Before he could continue, a delicate cough caught both their attentions. Larenmireil stood not far away, obviously trying to leave them their privacy until they chose to invite her to join them.

“Larenmireil, please, sit with us.” Greta offered, gesturing for both of them to take a seat next to her, and tossing the plate into the cart. Rall ended up sandwiched between the two girls. He wasn’t sure if he should be intimidated by by this or not, but he was feeling good enough to not let it worry him much. He shivered again, and the two girls leaned closer in an odd sort of sync.

“Rana, you seem cold. Are you well?” Larenmireil asked, cupping a hand to his forehead. Her soft palm felt amazingly warm on his forehead. He looked up at her eyes, so big and brown, so concerned for someone she barely knew. The cart seemed to spin around him and suddenly he was nose to nose with her. She looked startled but not scared, but something pushed him gently from behind and then his lips touched hers. Sparks flew down his spine and fire filled his stomach, a cold fire that didn’t warm but burned nonetheless.

When Larenmireil finally pulled away, he was breathing hard. He’d never felt anything like that! The cold that replaced the thrill felt like the chill of death, in comparison to the energy of the kiss. Then he remembered the hand pushing him into Larenmireil.

“Greta, why did you...?” Rall turned to face her but she was gone. He hadn’t realized the kiss had gone on so long.

“Greta is a very intense young woman. I have known her for some time, since her father first dealt with the Windrunner people. And yet ofttimes I do not fully understand her. You, I hardly understand at all. I would get to know you, Rana of Lussax. Would you tell me of your adventures?” He looked one more time for Greta, before deciding that if she pushed him to kiss her, she must understand his feelings. Perhaps he would ask her to explain them to him later.

Rall sighed and wondered how much he should tell her, if any. He was so tired suddenly, from all of it. The whole endless adventure, days and weeks of fearing for his life. Finding their way safely to Lussax only to be driven out jut days later because of that DAMNED sword... He was about to let Larenmireil know he couldn’t tell her just yet, when the cart spun around him again. A strong, slender hand stopped him falling off the back of the cart.

“Never mind the storytelling right now, I can see you are tired. Why don’t you let me help you to rest?” He nodded absently and she led him into the cart to the small cushion where he normally slept and laid him there, pulling a light comforter over him.

“I think I must find Greta. You feel far colder than I think is healthy for you.” Suddenly scared, he gripped her wrist as she moved to stand.

“Please, don’t leave...” he heard a weak voice say before darkness claimed him.

---

Greta stared out at the water. Rana had thrown it out there somewhere, and she was right, no one would ever find it. The Tessarill was wide and deep, and the current quite strong. She hoped that Rana really was free, it had clearly hurt him so much lately, but she couldn’t help worrying it might be a terrible thing. That sword had saved their lives in the forest, possibly more than once. The cool spray off the river helped cut the growing warmth of the day. Spring was coming on and soon the heat would make her wish for the river spray.

She saw Rana sort of drift into Larenmireil’s arms but hesitate, and felt it again, that jealousy. It was a dreadful feeling, cold and visceral, and made her want to see Larenmireil, her friend of many such ferry rides, suffer. That was what made her do it, realizing she didn’t agree with any feeling that made her want to see a friend hurt. So she pushed him into her and ran. She would get over Rana eventually, and her friends should be happy.

It sure didn’t feel like she would get over her. Him. Whichever, it didn’t really matter. Rana wasn’t hers. She would accept that. She would!

Just then a slender hand took hold of her shoulder. She turned around, ready to tell Larenmireil it was okay, she really didn’t mind, but the look on the elf woman’s face froze her blood.

“Greta, you must come quick, Rana is very sick!” Greta sprinted for the cart, actually keeping up with Larenmireil, a feat she used to think was beyond human ability.

When she jumped into the cart, gasping desperately for breath, Rana looked like a ghost on her cushion. Her skin was white and cold, her lips turning bluish and her breathing short and labored. How could she have gotten so bad so quickly?

“I was simply asking her about your adventures together and she collapsed. It is as if her life’s energy is simply leaving her!” Greta paled, the description was apt. Rana was clearly dying. Quickly. Greta’s eyes filled with tears.

“The sword... She threw it in the river. I kept trying to help her but I didn’t know how, she’s been so angry... She said it hated her and she was finally free of it, but it’s bonded with her or something! I think she’s dying because it’s gone, and no one will ever find it at the bottom of the river!” Why? Why did she have to throw it away? It was such pigheaded foolishness! She wanted her to get up so she could hit her for being such a fool!

She looked from Rana to Larenmireil and only saw a bare foot as the elf girl disappeared at a silent dead run. She paused to brush a hand over Rana’s forehead. She was cold as a fish, but sweating, and shaking like a leaf under the blanket.

“Hold on, Rana, please! We need you.” Greta hopped out of the cart and followed Larenmireil, hoping she wasn’t going to do something rash too. She couldn’t bear to lose both friends in one day!

Larenmireil stood at the fore of the great raft, her voice rising and falling in a complicated song. It sounded desperate, pleading. The ferry lurched as the heavy rope went slack. Greta moved to ask her what she was doing, but Larenmireil simply kept singing, tears slowly coursing down her angular features. Greta realized she didn’t want to be disturbed, so trudged back to Rana dejectedly.

When she arrived, Rana looked even worse somehow. The blanket was soaked with sweat and her shivering had become tooth-rattling in intensity. Greta wiped her face and collected a stick and bit of leather from the supplies kept for travel, wrapping the stick and setting it between her teeth. None of them looked broken, but it wasn’t for a lack of trying.

She wiped the sweat away gently with a cloth as voices grew around her. She imagined he father might be asking Narereas about the stop. Honestly she didn’t care, clearly Larenmireil was sad about Rana and needed to let it out, and they should leave her alone to do it.

Just then, Rana shifted on her pallet, spitting out the stick. “‘ranth... dun.... oo...” Greta tried to tuck her back in as she struggled, the last thing she needed was to sleepwalk into the water after that damned sword! Why did everything have to go so wrong? She felt the sobs creep up her throat and bit them back, even as tears dripped off her nose. Rana thrashed once more and lay as still as the dead.

Greta could hold it back no longer, a low moan slipped free of her lips only to be followed by a throat wrenching scream. Rana was gone, after everything.

---

Arron clung to the treetop, a length of rope lashing him to it at the highest point that felt steady under his weight, and looked upward. The night sky was thankfully clear, and the Northern Sisters shone clearly in the sky, marking north with their triangle shape. To the west sparkled the head star of the Stricken Warrior, and to the northeast the five stars of the Dragon. He spent long moments comparing them to soggy but not ruined chart, using a notched circular tool he carried for just this purpose.

Once he ascertained their position he began the slow, cautious climb back down. Corana rested at the foot of the tree, looking rather better since they’d left Woric behind. Several days’ rest and leisurely travel, and several trips up similar trees, allowed Arron to mark their location with fair accuracy.

“Corana, by the stars’ positions I think we’re right about here.” He showed her on the map, and she nodded approvingly.

“Thank you, Arron, I don’t know what I would have done without you.” she said with a sad smile. “But if you are right, then this could be a problem.”

“The earth ritual is many leagues away, three weeks by foot. I had hoped to gain assistance from the lake god after we freed him, but it would seem we are on our own. And to compound issues, the visit from our little friend means we must be deep into the savage lands.

Arron nearly choked on a stale piece of bread. “How can we be deep into the savage lands? The map says we are still a week away from the border!”

Shaking her head with a nervous chuckle, Corana answered, “The map is simply a reference for us poor mortals, but the border of the savage land changes by the whims of the fae court.”

Arron slumped low, his face running pale as he poked the small fire. “What should we do? staying a night in the savage land is already madness, we can not walk a three weeks and expect to come out in one piece, or even the right year!”

Corana nodded her head in agreement. “I have an idea, but you will not like it... in truth I don’t like it myself.”

“By all means, tell me! It can hardly be worse than dealing with fairies for three weeks’ travel...”

Taking a deep breath Corana began, “Please hear me out... But I believe our best option is to seek an audience with the fae court.” Arron stared at her incredulously.

“Did you really just suggest that we try to meet them, intentionally? The Fairy King and the court of fools? We’ll be spirited away forever to serve as his maids, or be made to dance until the stars fall down, or-” He felt near hysterics as Corana interrupted him mid-rant.

“Arron, calm yourself. It will be dangerous, but no more so than wandering these woods. And if we ask, they will take us to him. It is their way. And once we meet the King, with luck we might be able to negotiate safe passage.”

Arron felt a bit of raw terror creep down his spine at her words. He leaned over her shoulder, looking around him with a paranoid worry, he whispered “Luck? You want to deal with the *Fools’ Court* and you hope to do it with luck?”

Corana slumped at his tone, looking strangely unsure of herself, and Arron sighed in defeat. “This is madness Corana, but this whole wild adventure has been madness. Gods, evil sorcerers, fairies... We should be dead twice over now, so I guess a bit more madness can’t hurt.”

Corana looked up at Arron, her defeated look slipping back into hopefulness. “You really think so? I believe it may be our only decent chance. The fae are usually not spiteful unless you cross them, but their idea of fun seldom matches what humans would enjoy.”

“Well, then I guess we’ll go have some ‘fun.’” Arron grinned lopsidedly, as Corana took the lead. She seemed to be concentrating as she walked, following for something Arron could not see, but which was quite visible to her.

“So how do we go about getting an audience with the fools court? I never thought I’d hear myself say that...”

Placing a finger up to her mouth to indicate quiet, Corana gestured quickly with her hand and uttered a word under her breath. An aura of blue light burst forth from her body, in every direction. Arron watched as the light radiated slowly like waves through a pond, passing through rock and tree alike. Then suddenly the wave parted around one place as if it finally hit something that it could not pass through.

A moment later a blinding flash and a sudden shriek made his heart skip a beat or two. “What is the meaning of this?”

“This is how one gains an audience with the White Court!” she said as she gestured toward the tall thin man that to Arron’s eyes looked strikingly like one of the elves. But even with his limited knowledge of the race he could see the difference. Elves were said to look much like humans, if a bit on the dainty side. This creature was tall, at least a foot taller than himself, wrapped in a shimmering iridescent gossamer robe. His proportions were exaggerated, his limbs much longer than elf or man. Yet he moved with a surety and grace at odds with those proportions. He looked quite powerful, with wiry muscles like a a great cat but moved with an enchanting elegance.

The fairy moved quickly, dancing around the two of them as if inspecting a curiosity, then spoke. “Why have you pulled him to the mortal plane? He has no business here, and much to do for the court.”

Corana stepped forward, easing Arron behind her. “We seek an audience with the White Court.”

Laying down on an old fallen log the creature seemed to ponder the request for a moment. “You ask him for guidance to the court, you do.” Tilting its head toward Arron it gave a spin crawling smile and laughed, “What will you give him for such a request? Busy he is with work to do.”

“What is your name, creature?” Arron asked to Corana’s horror.

“His name, you wish his name mortal thing... Tell him your name by your own voice, and he shall tell you his!”

Corana quickly grabbed Arron by the shoulder pulling him back then quickly covered his mouth. “Do not say your name to a fairy under any condition, unless you wish to part ways with your soul!” she whispered urgently.

Releasing Arron from her hold she nodded to him to indicate silence. “What may we call you?”

Scratching behind one long ear, the fairy grinned. “Him be called Thicket by some and others, but call him what you will, what he wishes to know is what he is to be offered for his services.”

As Corana thought for a moment, Arron remembered something from stories of the fairy folk told to him growing up, and dug into the bag he still carried. He found what he was searching for quickly, one of three remaining sweetbreads from Rall’s parents’ bakery, wrapped in waxed paper.

“Will this suffice?” He held up the treat, hoping the still slightly damp, somewhat smushed treat would still catch the fairy’s attention. Thicket sniffed the air delicately, and padded closer on tiptoes.

“Is that... honey... bread... sweet...” Thicket opened the wrapped packet delicately, ignoring Arron’s flinch as the fairy’s hand touched his own. As the packet unwrapped, the treat came into view, and Arron was amazed to find it whole and fresh, suddenly as warm as if it came right from the bakery oven, and dripping with fresh honey.

“Give it to him, please! He will lead you to the Court, if you give him the sweet!”

Corana nodded and Thicket snatched the treat. “Follow him, do not miss his turns or steps if you wish to see the Court! But if you wish to see other things, then miss his turns and steps, and you will see many wonders!”