Martimeos sighed, rubbing his temples, wincing. He had drunk more than he had meant to last night.

He was in the common room of The White Queen inn, though it was early enough that few besides him occupied it - drink had woken him up early with thirst, and he had trouble getting back to sleep after that. Dim morning light streamed through the windows, illuminating the dozens of empty tables and vacant chairs - The White Queen was a large inn, her common room could hold quite the crowd when needed. Fire in a large, red-bricked fireplace, nearly big enough to hold a bonfire, kept away the winter chill.

Before him lay a clay plate with a generous serving of sausages and a large hunk of still-warm bread. As early as he had gotten up, the inn's maids had been up before him. Madame Ro wasn't there - her flamboyant purple dress and trilling voice notably absent - and from the relaxed, happy smiles of the maids, despite the early hour, he got the impression they were glad to be able to work without her about. He could hear their voices calling to each other from the kitchen, laughing, behind a red-painted wooden door, through which a maid would occasionally exit. Though, he supposed, it was more than a mere kitchen, as he watched a pretty blond maid come through the door now with some laundered clothes, her cheeks red and suppressing a smile. He thought he recognized Elyse's dress on the top of the pile as she scurried eagerly up the stairs to the inn's upper floors.

He prodded at the sausages, uninterested, with a fork, as Flit fluttered down from his perch on his shoulder to peck cautiously at the bread. Not that the meal wasn't appetizing - as expensive as the inn was, he could not say they did not deserve the coin; Madame Ro kept fine rooms and served good food. His stomach was merely just still upset from last night. Kells drank like a madman, and Martimeos had tried to keep up with him, which was a terrible mistake. Still, he didn't exactly regret it; the soldier had been entertaining to drink with, a fiend at cards and quick with a joke or a smile, easygoing enough to let Martimeos put his guard down - even if he had gotten weepy about Nielson by the end of the night's drinking.

The maid that had brought the laundered clothes upstairs came scurrying down once more, white linen skirts sweeping around her, twin blond blaid bouncing beneath her bonnet as she blushed and laughed, running into the kitchen. Shortly after, Elyse descended the stairs, still yawning, her long dark hair tied loosely in a large, blue ribbon, holding a hand to steady her wide-brimmed hat as she descended the stairs, her tattered black robes looking about as clean as he had ever seen them. She, at least, seemed in better spirits than she had been in last night, though he thought a saw a flash of sadness as her eyes landed on him. But as she took a seat across from him, her eyes lit up at the sausages; without waiting to ask him, she snatched two from his plate, not bothering with a fork as she quickly wolfed them down. Martimeos watched this without comment. "So," he said, as she finished licking the grease from her fingers, "How is Cecil?"

"Oh, I think he should be fine, though he won't be leaving the bed for a while," she answered, snatching another sausage from the dwindling supply on his plate. She peered at him as she chewed, her words muffled from her half-full mouth. "Did you not sleep?" She sniffed. "Gah! No. Drink, wasn't it. You should have a bath and get the ale washed from your clothes. The baths here are nice."

"And expensive," Martimeos muttered under his breath. "Regardless, no time for that, I think. Kells said he would come by when Roark wanted to bring us to speak to the mayor. And I would like to try something with you in the meantime."

"Oh? And what is that?" Elyse asked.

Before he could answer, the blond maid approached them, straightening her white skirts, alternating between glancing at Elyse and staring demurely at the floor as she approached. "Would you like anything, miss?" she asked softly.

"Ah, could you bring us a candle?" Martimeos asked, then frowned as the maid ignored him, remaining staring at Elyse.

Elyse grabbed the hunk of bread from Martimeos' plate, causing Flit to bounce back and chirp angrily as he was reduced to pecking at crumbs. "Me? Some water, I suppose. Oh, and bring the wizard what he asks."

The maid backed away, bowing as she turned and ran back to the kitchen; she returned quickly enough with a large tankard of water for Elyse, almost too big for the witch to lift with one hand, and a long white candle in a polished brass candleholder which she placed at the table. She lingered after, asking Elyse if she was certain there was nothing else she wanted, going on and on about the food the kitchen had available until Elyse had had enough and snapped at her to go away. Finally the maid left, looking crestfallen and almost on the verge of tears.

"Now," Martimeos said, sliding the candle in front of him as he pushed the plate away, causing Flit to chirp in exasperation and finally flutter away to the rafters, "Watch this. With a glamour, I create a candle flame." He closed his eyes, concentrating. Elyse, in her lessons, had told him that glamour was an Art of the mind - like telling a lie to people, only a bit more complicated. The more the glamour showed people what they wanted to see, the easier it was to create. It felt a bit like that to Martimeos - but he thought of it less as telling a lie to people, and more like telling the world to lie about itself. Though the same principle applied - a candle wick was made to hold a flame, and so, it was easier to tell it to lie that it was. Soon enough, a small, steady flame rose from the candle, though it neither burned the wick nor melted the wax.

"Well, I should hope you could do that," Elyse replied. "If you could not, either I am a poor teacher, or you a poor student. Most likely the latter."

"Listen a moment," Martimeos snapped, irritated. "'Tis just the beginning. You see it is a glamour, yes?" He ran his hand through the flame. "Does not eat the candle, casts no heat, no light..."

"You could make it cast light with a little work," Elyse ran her hand through the flame. "Yes, 'tis just a glamour. What of it?"

"Now," Martimeos went on, "I try to feel the flame's hunger. But of course I cannot, 'tis a glamour, and nothing to feed." He laid his hands down at the table, giving Elyse a meaningful look. "But now, you try."

Elyse frowned at him, but did what she was told, closing her eyes and concentrating. "There won't be..." she began, then paused. "I...odd. I feel the flame's hunger." She opened her eyes and put a finger to her lips, pondering. "But...that would not make sense. Would it?"

"Try feeding it," Martimeos suggested, holding one of his hands a bit above the candle flame. "Just a bit."

Elyse stared at the flame, narrowing her dark blue eyes in concentration, biting her lip. Suddenly, the candle flame leapt up, higher than Martimeos had been expecting, licking at his palm; he hissed and drew his hand back, clutching it, as the flame returned to its original size. "Sorry!" Elyse cried, though he could see she was suppressing a small smile. "I did not mean...wait. That hurt you?"

Martimeos stared at the palm of his hand. Though it was unmarked, it felt as if there was a blister forming there - though, he noted with interest, the pain quickly began to fade. "Yes," he muttered, rubbing it. He soon ignored it, staring at the candle flame in fascination. "But-look at the flame now. It casts light, and heat - even I can feel it, even though I created it as a glamour. Can you?"

Elyse put her hand over the candle flame, her eyes going wide with wonder. "I...I can," she said. "How odd!" Suddenly, she yelped, as the flame leapt up to touch her palm as well, snatching her hand back.

"And it seems - though I could not at first - now I can sense the flame's hunger, and feed it as well," Martimeos said, scratching his chin.

"Martimeos!" Elyse snapped, her eyes flashing. "When I did that to you, 'twas an accident!"

"Sorry," Martimeos replied, his voice full of deceptive innocence, "I did not mean to." Before she could reply, he pushed on. "So - someone can create a flame as a glamour. And then someone else can feel the hunger of that flame, and feed it. And once fed, both can feel its heat, and both can feed it - though the pain itself, it seems, is a glamour too; for it makes no mark on the body. And it is not a true flame, for it still does not consume the wick or melt the wax of the candle. And whatever pain you feel from its burn, it fades quickly once away from the flame." He furrowed his brow, pondering this as he stared at the candle flame, then raised his eyes to Elyse. "Have you ever heard of this, in your studies on glamour?"

"I must admit that I have not," Elyse replied, rubbing her hand and giving him a nasty look. "But - I still had much to learn about the subject myself. Perhaps others know about it; it seems a useful trick. Put it out - I would like to try it again, but with me starting the glamour."

Martimeos nodded, concentrating upon the flame, staring at it intently as its reflection danced and twinkled in his green eyes, like a campfire in a forest. "Ah," he said, after a moment. "Hmmm. I...cannot." He drummed his fingers upon the table, squinting at the candle with one eye. "It...no longer feels like a glamour to me. Perhaps..." He tried to blow the candle out, but the flame did not react to his breath. "So strange," he murmured. Suddenly, he broke into a happy grin, glancing up at Elyse. "How odd! Let's get another candle. I want to try-"

But Elyse interrupted him. "Martimeos. Before we create more of these, perhaps we should try to put this one out. Do you not think it would be a problem if this flame simply...never went away? If we cannot put it out like a normal flame, nor a glamour...how exactly do we get rid of it?"

"Not that much of a problem, maybe," Martimeos replied, after a moment's thought. He picked a small piece of loose thread from his cloak and held it in the flame. "It does not spread on its own, see? Unless, perhaps-" he concentrated, and the candle flame shivered a bit, and suddenly the flame had spread to the thread in his fingers as well. "I see, you can spread it by feeding it with the Art. Ow!" He dropped the thread, where it lay burning on the table, neither being consumed by the flame or marking the wood.

"Stop spreading it, fool wizard!" Elyse cried. "What did I just say? Do you realize what you might have just done?" When he looked at her curiously, she pointed to the thread. "Imagine - if you had accidentally spread that flame to your fingers. A flame that does not burn the flesh, but which you still feel the heat of. That you have no way of putting out. Even a small flame, burning on your fingers - after a few hours, you would cut off your hand to be rid of the pain."

"'Tis...not so easy to spread flame to flesh..." Martimeos responded. But his eyes widened; he paled as he looked down at the thread. "I...had not thought of that," he muttered. "'Twould be torture. I was thinking it would be useful as an everburning candle, more like."

Elyse stared at him, then snorted, suppressing a smile. There was something she found a little charming about how wrapped up Martimeos got in his excitement at a new discovery with the Art. He was cautious enough - in fact sometimes moreso than her - but when it came to the Art she had noticed he would frequently throw caution to the wind, though he might know the dangers - even the book of sigils they had won from the glimmerling, that he himself said was dangerous; he'd spend his nights leafing through it regardless. "Aren't you lucky to have me around with my good sense," she said, slyly. Curiously, she picked up the burning string from the table with a fork, and placed it in her tankard of water, watching as the flame continued to burn even as it sank to the bottom.

Suddenly, the door to the inn opened, a small bell hung above giving a small tinkle to signify an arrival. Kells walked in, his grey eyes bright in his sharp-featured face, looking no worse the wear for his drink last night - though his short dark hair was slightly mussed. He wore the same slim black coat he had worn the day before, though now his flaring pants and boots were a matching black - Twin Lamps must pay its soldiers well, Martimeos mused - and he wore a mace strapped around his belt.

The soldier approached them, raising an eyebrow at the candle, shrugging it off in the end. "Good to see you two up - I was afraid I might have to wait for you, Martimeos. Or have Madame Ro go shake you out of bed." He gave the wizard a friendly wink.

Martimeos scoffed. "You got far drunker than I, last night. Have you come to fetch us for Roark's meeting with the mayor?"

"Aye, that I have. We have a little time, but best to get moving soon - Bartuk's time is short these days."

Kells took a seat, watching curiously, but not questioning, as Martimeos picked up the candle and made some small indecisive noises about what to do with it. Finally, he and Elyse settled on storing it in his room - along with the tankard of water with the burning string at the bottom - it did not seem there was much threat of the flame spreading, though Martimeos was a little uncomfrotable at leaving it alone. When they came back downstairs, he was astonished to see Kells finishing another mug of ale - they had only been gone a moment, the soldier seemed to have a limitless capacity for drink.

They followed him out the door, Martimeos leaving Flit behind - his familiar was not fond of flying through the town air, saying it smelled too heavily of chimneysmoke from all the warming fires inside the town's homes. Kells set a brisk pace at first, until Elyse cursed him probably more than was necessary and told him that not everyone had legs as long as trees.

The crowds in the streets were not nearly so bad, this early in the morning - and there seemed to be far more farmfolk out and about, more used to rising at an early hour than those who lived in the town. They gathered in small groups, muttering to each other and glaring suspiciously as Martimeos and Elyse passed by. They heard more than a few mutters of 'witch' and 'wizard' - Martimeos wondered whether or not Twin Lamp's professed tolerance for the Art extended to the farmlands that fed it.

As they progressed, following Kells as they passed over a small stone bridge over a half-frozen creek, the homes slowly grew larger, more well-tended, with iron-wrought fences enclosing stone-paved garden paths and bare-branched maple trees. "The nicer part of town," as Kells called it; though Martimeos found it funny that for all their wealth, their yards paled in comparison to the space you might have available living poor in a village like Silverfish or Pike's Green.

Eventually, houses gave way to a few mansions, large sprawling estates of red stone brick with dozens of windows, scattered here and there in the midst of large, rolling stretches of forest - though not truly wild woods, tended, with the autumn leaves swept away from the paths, some trees planted in neat rows - orchards, Martimeos supposed, that would bear fruit when the weather was warm. Snow still covered the ground here, in a thin blanket. Twin Lamps had no real nobility, Kells told them as they passed by the mansions; the houses here were owned by the wealthiest merchants. The soldier led them off the cobbled streets, onto a stone-paved path that cut through this tame forest. Elyse felt some relief, being away from the crowded buildings, as they walked down the sun-dappled path.

Though they were not alone in this wood. As they rounded a turn on the path, Martimeos spotted, through a thicket of skeletal trees - another statue to Woed, carved from dark wood, much like the one they had seen in the Farmer's Circle on their way into town. But here, the farmer-god looked a bit more grim - holding a windswept cloak to his chest with one knobbly hand, a reaping-hook clutched in his other, his face hidden in the shadows of his wide-brimmed straw hat, while his sheepherd dog companion Winston lay curled around his feet. And around the totem stood a group of two dozen farmfolk, mostly men, many of them wrapped in ragged blankets against the chill, grumbling among themselves as they stamped their rag-wrapped feet in the snow, eyes sullen and resentful beneath dirty blond hair.

Kells calmly put a hand to his mace as they approached the farmfolk, nodding politely to them, but as they passed, one farmer stepped in front of them to block their path. He was an older man, his hair gone almost entirely grey, his grey eyes bleary and bloodshot and his nose red with drink, but he was large and strong from a long life of hard work. He wore a black woolen coat, similar to the one Kells wore, but not so finely tailored, and longer, extending down to the tips of his boots, and his hat was made from black leather as well, its brim folded and pinned back. "Well," the farmer rasped, as Kells, Martimeos and Elyse came to a stop. "So." His eyes wandered unsteadily towards Elyse. "I suppose this is the witch I've heard talk about. Which would make him..." he pointed, hand trembling, at Martimeos, "The wizard."

Martimeos put his hand to his sword as the crowd that had now gathered before them began to grumble, but Kells merely smiled calmly. "Yessir," he said, his tone light. "Just on our way to bring them to the mayor. Hopefully they'll help with convincing him to send out larger patrols to the farms."

"Hah!" the old farmer replied, spittle flying from his lips. "How do we know these two aren't the ones responsible? It would have to be someone with the Art, wouldn't it? Who else could make the headless dead walk again?" The crowd rumbled skeptically; some of the farmers had actually seen the rider and doubted that either Martimeos or Elyse were he.

"Well, I know that's wrong, personally, as I escorted them into town on my last patrol," Kells replied. He tapped a sharp black boot, and shot the farmer a warning glance. "And I think that you harassing guests may be a matter for the guard."

The crowd of farmers muttered in response to this, looking uncertain, but the old man confronting Kells pushed on. "You know what I think?" he snarled, his face growing red with rage, his bleary eyes starting to focus upon the three, "I think the guard are in on it. I think Bartuk hired some bloody wizard to push us off our land so his damn merchant friends could buy it out from beneath us and turn us into renters instead of free men. I think-"

Elyse's had been listening to all this impatiently, but now her temper boiled over. "I don't give the slightest damn who owns your land, you drunkard," she scoffed, interrupting his ranting. "Get out of our way so that we may go meet with your mayor and be done with this nonsense."

"Very diplomatic," Martimeos muttered. Elyse glared at him as the wizard gave her a rueful look, blushing slightly but not bothering to take back what she had said.

The old farmer's eyes snapped open with shock; his face grew red, and with a growl, he took a step forward, only to be stopped by Kells' hand on his chest. The soldier had his mace in his other hand, held low by his side. "Another step," Kells said cheerfully, "And you'll be picking your teeth off the ground, you old goat."

The old farmer clenched his fists, the veins in his neck bulging, and the crowd gave a series of frightened, angry murmurs, until a voice called out from within it: "Alright, that's enough, ENOUGH, I say! Let me through!"

A young farmer pushed his way to the front of the crowd. He looked a bit older than Kells was, perhaps; a rough and tanned face, well-muscled, tall. He wore a thick, brown woolen tunic, and a hood around his shoulders, though that was pulled back, revealing a head of golden blonde hair, messy and short., and muddy boots that came up to his knees. His eyes were a bright clear blue, intense, sticking out sharply from a face smeared with dirt. He pulled the old man back from his confrontation with Kells, giving him a disapproving, but not unfriendly look. "C'mon, Merrick. You don't want trouble with the guard, do you?"

The old farmer blinked at him, unsteady on his feet. "I...do I know you?"

"I'm not surprised you don't recall, how drunk you are. I was talking to you not a minute past. Vincent, remember?" The young farmer gave a laugh, pushing a still confused and protesting Merrick back into the crowd. Then he turned to them all, puffing his chest out, hands on his hips. "And really, shame on you all. You think Woed would approve of this?" he asked, gesturing at the statue. "One hard season, so you start bothering folk and disrespecting the guard? Just because these folk practice the Art? You know Woed holds no grudge against that."

The crowd muttered and grumbled, chastened. "Maybe Woed could do something to help with the damned rider haunting our lands," came a voice from within.

"Woed is no god of battle," Vincent replied, "You want one of those, they're out there - though you may have to learn to swing a sword first. Now back, off the path - let these folk through."

Slowly, feet shuffling, the farmers glancing back and forth at each other, the crowd moved off the trail, gathering to the side around the statue of Woed, mumbling to themselves as they did so. Merrick was the last to depart, staring at Vincent curiously, his mouth closing and opening as if he wanted to say something; but finally he shook his head and stood aside as well, crossing his arms and turning his back to them.

"Thanks, friend," Kells said to the young farmer, looping his mace around his belt once more. "Would rather not have to go around bashing farmfolk."

Vincent turned to them, a frown on his face, blue eyes flashing. "Didn't do it for you," he replied. "Did it so these poor folk wouldn't bring more trouble down upon their heads in their anger." He sniffed. "Get on your way; you're no rider, but I still smell bad blood on you."

As he said this last, he stared pointedly at Elyse. Her eyes widened with shock. "Wh-what?" she asked. "What do you-"

But Vincent had already turned his back on them and walked away, joining the other farmers. With a shrug, Kells continued on, leading them away, back along the path. Elyse looked over her shoulder as they departed, but already she could not see the young farmer; he had disappeared in the crowd.

Elyse was quiet for a while, pondering, as they continued on. Soon enough, the path led them up a hill, through a stone and iron fence, and to a large manor, well-built from white and gray stone, with a brown-shingled roof and arched windows peeking out from every surface. The grounds, Martimeos noticed curiously, contained all sort of roaming farm animal; pig, sheep and duck grazed in rough troughs placed in the muddy snow, in pens that looked hastily constructed from whatever spare wood was available.

Kells did not stop to knock as they approached the building; he simply opened the front door and let himself in. The manor, he explained, was Bartuk's own; but he had been mayor for so long that he had offered it up as a place for town business - council was held here, and the public could enter as they pleased during the day. The interior of the manor was a shock, as well - farmfolk crowded it, many sleeping in makeshift cots on floors of fine marble, muddy boots tracking filth across the floors that servants had long ago accepted as impossible to keep clean. "Bartuk is not such a bad fellow," Kells said, as they picked their way through farmers who both slumbered and darted back and forth on errands. "He opened the manor up as a refuge to farmers; pays from his own pocket to feed them, too."

He led them up an elaborate, grand staircase, covered in soft red carpet that now, sadly, had mud ground into it. The hallway upstairs was lit by hanging chandeliers lit by dozens of candles each, with fine colored glass making their flames into a rainbow, which Elyse thought was very pretty among the otherwise ostentatious wealth that surrounded them. In the hallway, before a large, lacquered wooden door, stood Roark. He wore his full guard uniform, breastplate and all; he tapped his knee-high leather boots on the floor impatiently as he grimaced frighteningly at the ceiling. His eyes lit up as he saw them. "Martimeos. Elyse. Thanks again for coming. How has Twin Lamps treated you thus far?"

"Fine enough, I suppose," Martimeos answered, pausing before the doorway. "Though I think your farmfolk are becoming restless."

"Hopefully, we'll be able to make that a little better today-" Roark began, when muffled shouts began to sound through the doorway beside them.

"-You can't! You'll ruin me! You'll ruin this town!" The voice's shrill outrage was clear even muffled through the door.

"I can, and I will. I just did, in fact. You see me signing this? It's done." Another older, calmer voice responded.

"The burden is too high! You will drive my business - all business - from-"

"The alternative," interrupted the calmer voice, "Is that the farmfolk will eventually storm your estate, take everything you own-and you'll be lucky if they don't decide to hang you in the process. You'll make your coin back soon enough."

"That is what the guard are for-"

The older voice laughed. "With the wages you propose to pay them, the guard will be more inclined to help the farmers than defend you. We are done, Councillor. Out." There was a moment of silence, and then the older voice spoke once more, this time carrying a hint of quiet threat. "I said out."

The door burst open, nearly hitting Martimeos as it did, and a somewhat stout man, dressed in fine silk coats and lace, came storming out, red-faced. He glared at them, looking as if he were about to say something, then, eyes darting to Roark, decided against it. Muttering to himself, he ran his hand across a thin, pointed beard and stalked off, cursing the mud that got on his boots from the carpet. "Roark! You'd best be out there," cried the older, calm voice from within the room. Rolling his eyes, Roark entered, with Martimeos and Elyse following him in - Kells remained waiting outside.

The room was a fine office, spacious, though much of the room was taken up by an enormous wooden desk, polished until it gleamed in the sunlight. The walls were lined with bookshelves that rose to the ceiling, so tall you would need a small ladder to reach the top shelves, and the desk was cluttered as well with paper and book, as well as multiple inkpots holding large, feathered quills with various colors of ink. Behind the desk sat a small man - barely taller than Elyse - old, though how old it was difficult to tell exactly - older than Roark, certainly, with fine white hair swept back from a widows peak, dressed in a fine silk jacket so dark it was nearly black, with ruffled lace as an undershirt - though his jacket was not so adorned as Martimeos might have expected. Dark eyes glittered behind a pair of small spectacles, set into a wizened, olive-skinned face dominated by a strong nose. The old man scratched at a piece of paper with a plumed quill, before looking up at them. "Ah. Yes. I had forgotten you mentioned bringing along company this appointment, Roark. This would be the witch and the wizard you had mentioned, then?"

"Yes," Roark said stiffly, his face contorting as if battling to keep proper formality. "Martimeos and Elyse, their names."

The older man put down his quill, peering at the two of them over his spectacles, folding his hand across his desk. "Yes, yes. Formalities. I am Taaveti Bartuk, and I serve as Mayor of Twin Lamps. If you don't mind me asking, why does a witch and a wizard travel to our town?"

"We travel here from the village of Silverfish," Martim began. Bartuk sat and listened quietly, nodding, as Martimeos told him of the time they had spent in Silverfish, cleansing it of its curse, before setting off on the road to Twin Lamps - before meeting up with Roark, who had provided them an escort back to town, though they had been plagued by the rider along the way. He took his time in the telling of Silverfish, offering more detail than was necessary, leaning back against a bookshelf as he spoke; he gave a small smile as he finished, as if satisfied with himself.

But when the wizard was done, Bartuk snorted. "Don't think I did not notice, young man," he snapped, "That you completely avoided my question." He shook his head, light glinting off his glasses. "Fine, if you want it that way. Silverfish still has people living in it? I had thought it long abandoned. I had heard of a curse, but if it is gone as you say, perhaps we ought to send scouts out that way. I bet we could turn a coin or two off those fishermen-"

Roark cleared his throat noisily. "Mayor," he interrupted, glaring at Martimeos, "Have you read my report?"

"Ah. Yes. I have. So the attacks are getting worse, as you say." Bartuk signed, pulling a piece of paper in front of him, dark eyes scanning it quickly. "And some of these - a talking head! Fortune preserve us - astonishing, captain. But you two, you have witnessed it?"

"Aye," Martimeos confirmed, at the same time Elyse snapped angrily, "I don't know why you need us to tell you."

The room grew quiet as Bartuk set down the piece of paper, settling his dark eyes calmly upon the witch. "What?" she said, folding her arms. "You have reports from your men - do you not trust them? I don't see why Martimeos and I need to waste our time telling you what you already know. Just listen to your men!" She jabbed a finger forward at him, stepping forward; Bartuk looked at the tip of her finger quietly. "You're already getting them killed by not listening to their advice for larger patrols-you ought to be ashamed."

The silence was deafening. Roark had grown pale, eyes wide, clenching and unclenching his fists, as Bartuk stared, face unreadable, at Elyse.

"Actually, I am inclined to agree with her," Martimeos spoke into the silence, as if there was no tension whatsoever. "We could only confirm for you what your soldiers themselves saw. Surely it was all unusual, but why would the words of some traveling wizard matter more than those of the men who serve you?"

Roark had gone even paler, if that were possible; his hands grasped at his belt for a weapon that was not there, as if he was expecting to need to defend himself. Bartuk just sat, regarding the two of them quietly. Finally, he removed his spectacles, taking a small cloth from his jacket pocket to wipe them, holding them up to the sunlight. "I had forgotten," he muttered, "How...let's say, refreshing...it could be to talk to those who practice the Art. Your kind do tend to be...frank...with those who hold power." He put his spectacles back on, and blinked at them. "I have managed caravans and merchants much of my life, and traveled in them before that; I am not blind to the dangers of the road. I had thought the attacks the product of bandits, at first - when I heard of the risen dead, I thought then 'twas something darker. In my experience, in that situation, you guard what you can and hope it moves on soon. But it has been too long now, and - according to your report, Roark - you think when the...severed head, spoke to you, it was the rider leaving you a message? And it wants - its 'brethren'?"

Roark look stunned, though some of the color had gone back into his face. Surprise was yet another emotion that ill-suited his rough, scarred features. He gathered himself quickly enough, though. "Yes, sir," he growled, "At least - that was the take our wizard and witch here had on what they saw, that it was a message from the rider - and I heard myself that it called for its brethren. Saying that they deserved death."

"And I don't suppose we have any idea who, or what, its brethren are," Bartuk muttered, looking at Martimeos and Elyse. When they shook their heads, he sighed. "So. It want something, and is unlikely to leave before it gets it, or is slain."

They talked for a while longer after that; Bartuk asking them what they thought the rider might be, though Martimeos could tell him little of that - only that he did not think that it was merely a wizard - at least, not a human one. Elyse was of the strong opinon that whatever the rider was, it was some sort of Outsider. They talked too, of how to fight it - noting that while they had not been able to harm the rider himself, his horse, at least, had been injured when they fought it - though, they emphasized, it was certainly not truly a horse. And there was some hope of fighting it with larger patrols - at least when pursuing them, it had stopped before it had drawn close to the city walls and watchtowers, so perhaps it was more cautious around larger groups of men.

Bartuk had thanked them, somewhat curtly, then asked them to leave while he talked a moment further with Roark. As Martimeos and Elyse exited the room, they nearly bumped into Kells, who whistled innocently, insisting that he had not been listening at the doorway. "So," he said, clapping his hands together as they closed the door behind them, "I did not hear Cap'n losing his temper - that is a good sign."

"The mayor seems a reasonable enough man," Martimeos agreed. He had liked Bartuk - the man seemed sharp, and despite being a wealthy merchant of merchants, sensible and aware of the plight of the farmfolk. And the questions the mayor had asked had given him the impression the man had at least a little experience with the Art.

"If he was reasonable he'd not have needed this meeting, if you ask me," Elyse retorted.

They had not stood long in the hallway when Roark joined them, quietly closing the door behind him as he did, quiet and somber. He looked at them, expression blank, and walked away, heading down the stairs. Martimeos, Elyse and Kells shot a look of concern at each other, and then followed him quickly. "Cap'n? Did it go alright?" Kells called cautiously, as they reached the bottom flight of stairs, where Roark was standing with his back to them, hands on his hips, shaking his head, as the farmfolk taking shelter on the first floor wordlessly hustled and bustled by.

But when the captain turned around, he was laughing. "I thought we were in for it, for a while there," he wheezed, looking to Martimeos and Elyse. "I swear - I've never seen Bartuk look...chastened, before. That clever old fox has a way of rolling you over with his words. It was worth bringing you just to see the look on his face."

Kells grinned. "So, I take it he agreed to change the patrols?"

Roark nodded in response. "Yes. I've got to stay here - he's clearing the rest of his schedule for the next two days so we might hammer out a new patrol plan. Martimeos, Elyse - do you plan to stay in Twin Lamps for some time? There are some routes out of town that might be safer than others, but-"

"I've no plans to leave soon," Martimeos replied, interrupting him. "I have some questions I ought to ask, about town."

"Hm." Roark glared as one of the milling farmers on the first floor bumped into him, brushing his shoulder without a word of apology. "Well. Kells, boy, I know not what the new patrol schedule will be like, but I aim to give you some time off after that last one. What say you to showing these two around Twin Lamps, when you've the time?"

"I've no problem spending some of my time with them. Though Martimeos is a bit of a lightweight when it comes to drink." Kells winked at the wizard.

"And...." Roark looked awkward, for a moment, clearing his throat and looking at Elyse, who had her arms folded and was decidedly looking in any direction but his. "I, er..." he dipped a hand into one of the spacious pockets his flared pants held, retrieving a small paper-wrapped package tied with string. He looked bashful for a moment - a ridiculous look for the old soldier. "Lass," he began, haltingly, "I...wanted to apologize again. For the way I spoke to you the other day. It was...poorly done. I should have remembered you are not merely a witch, but a young woman, too. I feel badly for having made you cry, and I should not have blamed you like that. Take this, please, by way of apology."

Elyse stared at him, face burning. "You did not make me cry," she insisted. "I don't remember crying." But she took the package from the old soldier's hands, untying the string to peer within and see what it contained. "Are...are these cookies?" she asked, removing a small, brown lump from the package to hold it up for all to see.

Kells snorted at the sight of it - the cookie was a misshapen lump. "You make these yourself?" he asked Roark.

The captain grew red-faced. "Well, it's not like I've a wife to make them for me," he muttered. "And the bakery was too crowded..."

Elyse bit into the cookie, chewing thoughtfully. It might be ugly, and a little bit burnt, but it still tasted good. She thought of Roark fretting and cursing over mixing dough and stomping about a kitchen, and found herself softening a bit. There was still a part of her that thought that Roark, in his anger, had been right - she did still feel badly about Nielson - but...well, at least the man seemed sincere enough. "You're a smart man, to not leave a witch mad at you," she said, biting into another cookie, frowning as Martimeos dipped his hand into the package to retrieve one for himself.

Roark seemed relieved; he bid them farewell as they left the manor, walking back up the stairs to join in his long meetings with the mayor, quickly disappearing out of their sight as they pushed their way past farmfolk on their way to the exit. "See," Kells told Elyse, "I told you, the Cap'n's not such a bad sort. Never made me cookies, though."

"You seem close to him, for someone under his command," Martimeos said, as they stepped back out into the sunlight. His hands immediately went to his pocket to retrieve his pipe the moment they were outside.

"Well, he did practically raise me." Kells shrugged. "Now - with all that out of the way - let's get you two a proper introduction to Twin Lamps."