Kells sighed longingly as the cart he rode in clattered along the rough stone path it rolled upon, quiet, snow-topped pine trees passing by on either side of the path. It was difficult going - the path too was covered in snow, though not so much to conceal it entirely, or to make it impossible for the cart to move along. Into the clear blue sky above rose the jagged gray peaks of the Witch-Queen mountains. Behind the cart traveled the dozen men his father had brought along as a personal guard, on foot, marching in two straight lines - men in chain hauberks with blue tabards worn over them, a large white rose marking each of their chests. They carried halberds and crossbows along with the packs on their back - hard men, grey eyes peering out at the wilderness cautiously beneath burnished kettle helms. Behind them, many days of travel behind, was the Queen's castle, which Kells missed already. The cart Kells rode in was pulled by another one of these soldiers, riding a muscular brown stallion, a workhorse meant for heavy labor. And ahead of them all, a man in bright plate armor, wearing a snow-white cloak and riding a snow-white steed, his face hidden by a winged helm. A knight in the service of the Queen. Kells' father.

Kells had grown up in the court of the Queen, his father having earned a position of nobility there - though not through ownership of lands; rather through command of men in battle. For his successful campaigns, he had been granted the title of Earl by the Queen, serving directly beneath Commander Reinhast - leader of all the Queen's forces, though Kells had never met the man. He knew enough of court life, though, to know that the land-owning nobility still looked down on his father. Still, the Queen's authority meant that Kells had a place at the castle while his father was off at war - which was often. His mother had died in birth, and so he had a lonely childhood much of the time. He did not like many of the other noble's children, those of the true nobles who governed and ruled - they had seemed stuffy and dull to him, obsessed with wealth. Although, truth be told, Kells himself did enjoy the finer clothes the nobles wore; he currently wore a fine black silk jacket, woven through with silver thread and lined with fur. Still, he spent much of his time talking with the Queen's soldiers and swinging around a wooden sword - though he had just recently become old enough for the soldiers to begin offering him earnest lessons in using it.

The one noble he had liked was one of the Queen's daughters - the youngest of the seven daughters the Queen had. She was a witch, just like all her sisters - or a sorceress, as she preferred to be called - and she had grown to be his only friend in the castle. Kells had been nervous about playing with a princess, at first - but the White Queen, from what little he saw of her, had not seemed to mind; the only time she had talked to him had been to tell him that it would be his job to protect her daughter one day.

But all that was behind him now, and he wasn't sure he understood why. He knew only that his father had returned to the castle at the Queen's summons a month or so ago; and now they were on their way on - a diplomatic mission, his father called it - to the town of Twin Lamps. Kells had heard of it before - a town that lay south of the Witch-Queen's range, accessible by this lonely, winding path through the mountains that they followed. His father had told him that this time, Kells was to come with him - and to pack the things he would want to take with him, for they might not return to the Queen's castle for a very long time. The cart he rode in contained chests full of clothes, rolled rugs, even a chest filled entirely with books - and his father brought along a substantial amount of gold coin as well. He did not understand why they were moving - only that he was sad that he would not see the princess anymore.

Suddenly, he gave a start. There, among the pine trees - a woman appeared, silently watching them as they passed. She was covered in so many layers of furs and hide that he could not tell her age, but her face looked young, and her hair was a while unkempt mane of shocking red. She carried a bow of black wood in her hands, though no arrow was nocked in it. And now that he noticed her...peering through the trunks of the pines, he could see more like her - all women, it seemed - standing, or crouching, watching them as they passed.

"You see them, boy?"

Kells looked up. His father had dropped back from the lead, and was now riding beside the cart. He had taken off his helm, holding it beneath his arm; his face was thin, almost gaunt, but well-worn with deep laugh lines and crow's feet around his sharp grey eyes, his dark hair run through with streaks of silver - he was an older man, even for someone who had a child of Kells' age. "Ghostfoot clan, if I remember the markings right," his father continued, peering off into the pines.

Kells shifted as the cart bounced uncomfortably beneath him, pushing back against one of the chests as it slid into his leg. "Why are there only women, though?"

"Most of the men are away, serving the Queen in the war." His father turned back to him, offering him a small smile. Despite being away at war for much of Kells' childhood, his father had always been a kindly, soft-spoken man when he was at home. "What's the matter? You miss your princess?" It was not a question meant to mock.

"A bit," Kells replied. "And...well, I had always hoped, the first time you brought me along with you, it might be for battle. Not a...diplomatic mission."

His father laughed, his eyes twinkling, as he expertly handled the reins of his horse. "Battle, you are much too young for that, yet. Though not all fights involve blade and bloodshed. Many take place with word and secret. My hope is the fight in Twin Lamps does not go beyond that."

Kells glanced at his father curiously. "I thought Twin Lamps was loyal to the Queen."

"Supposedly. The people there are fond of her Highness. But Twin Lamps was never conquered by force of arms; in return for voluntarily declaring for the Queen, many years ago, they were given some degree of independence." His father's eyes darted forward to watch the road carefully, his mouth twisting in an amused smile. "But now their mayor, a clever little fox of a merchant named Taavetti Bartuk...now that the Queen's enemies in the east have organized a defense among the independent townships, we find Taavetti acts a little funny. The iron mines, he says, are no longer that productive. Bandits seized this year's tribute. He simply cannot spare any men from the town to join the front in the war. And it has not gone unnoticed that the Queen's enemies have been surprisingly uninterested in attacking Twin Lamps."

Kells furrowed his brow. He was young, but a childhood in a noble's court had given him at least some knowledge of politics, despite his interest lying more in the direction of swords and battles. "You think he is a traitor, then?"

His father gave an ambivalent shrug as his horse trotted along. "Perhaps. Though perhaps 'tis all coincidence. If he is a traitor, he is a smart one - he has not openly declared against the Queen, and no solid evidence can be found of him conspiring with the enemy. If the iron from the town's mines goes to our enemies instead of us, he has done a very, very good job of hiding it - though I have met Taavetti before, and I do not doubt that he's capable of it. Personally, I am quite convinced he works against us in secret."

"Perhaps he is simply a coward."

"A coward would not do what Taavetti has done," his father laughed in reply. "A coward would ingratiate himself to the stronger side; that is still Her Majesty's armies, despite our enemies organizing a stiffer defense. Remember what I said; not every man fights with blades. Taavetti fights with his words and his coin. If he did fight with blades, I would not be bringing you with me to bring the town back to her Majesty's side."

Kells glanced back at the men who marched behind them, the small company that served as their guard. "So...I suppose these men aren't for overthrowing the mayor."

His father gave a low chuckle. "No. Though if we did not need so many men for the front, I think doing just that is what Her Majesty would have preferred. I am to outmaneuver Taavetti by taking command of the town's guard - even if only in practice. Though she has told me - once the war is over, if I have done well in bringing Twin Lamps to heel, I am to be given authority over it and the surrounding countryside, so I may have the lands to match my title. I hope that it will be a good home."

Kells was quiet, as he digested this. He had said a quiet goodbye to the princess, who had been tearful at him leaving. But he had set out assuming that he may one day return, even if it were years from now. From the way his father spoke, though, it seemed that if he were ever to return to the Queen's castle, it would only be to visit, at least if things went well in Twin Lamps. He found himself secretly hoping that this Taavetti might outwit his father, and they would be sent back.

They continued on along the winding path through the pines, occasionally glimpsing Crosscraw women peering at them through the trees, brief shadows that peered at them and then disappeared into the snow. And occasionally, Kells thought he saw something else among the trees - some dark shadow, with gleaming yellow eyes, watching them - though when he tried to look closer at it, it was gone. They heard strange noises, as well - long, strange bleats of some creature that Kells could not recognize echoing off the peaks of the mountains. He had always heard that the Queen's range was full of strange and deadly creatures - not the least of which were man-eating giants. But his father said that while this was true, they had nothing to fear - the Queen had made accord with all the creatures of the mountain, even the wild ones - all acknowledged her rule. The Queen was a sorceress, after all.

Dusk came on, and they stopped for the evening along the side of the road. Kells leapt down nimbly from the cart, as his father's men brought out axes from their packs and set about felling some of the pine trees, quickly putting together a bonfire larger enough to warm them all against the frigid mountain air. Kells coughed, shivering, as he watched this - even though he was raised as nobility, he always felt awkward watching others do work while he stood by.

He had not watched for long, though, before he felt his father's gauntleted hand upon his shoulder. He turned to see his father standing above him, motioning off into the pines. "I know this spot, boy," his father whispered, giving him a smile. "Come, follow me - I can show you something I think you'll like."

His father led him through the pines, his armor clanking as they walked through the snow, though they did not go so far that the sound of axes disappeared behind them. They clambered up a rocky crest, a jagged outcropping that rose above the trees, jutting out from the side of the mountain. Kell's father led him to the edge of this, where the wind howled against the rocky outcropping, his white cloak fluttering. "Take a look," he said. "Isn't it a grand sight?"

Kells looked before him; the crest afforded a clear look above the pines of the mountain. He could see down its rocky grey slopes, stretching down far below into a valley, where the last light of day gently illuminated rolling, golden fields stretching far, far off into the distance, where the land changed again into forest - though these trees were a grand stroke of orange and red along the horizon, the leaves a brilliant blaze of autumn. He could make out roads winding through the fields, thin snaking lines in all directions, all converging on a spot at the foot of the mountains - a walled town, the buildings within looking almost like toys from this distance. "Twin Lamps," his father murmured, pointing to it.

Kells squinted at the town. It looked...small, from this distance. "We must be very close, then."

"As the bird flies, perhaps. We've still at least two days of travel by foot. Perhaps one, but I do not want to press the men too hard." His father sighed, looking down upon the view, his expression unreadable. "To think, that this may one day all be ours."

Kells was quiet, as both he and his father looked down upon the valley. But then, as they watched, a strange light bloomed outside of the town, a small flower of orange and yellow and white. Kells squinted - it was hard to tell from this distance, and in the fading light of day, but it looked as if a building outside of town was burning. Quickly, and fiercely, too - even from this distance, he could tell the flames were bright. "What...is that?" he asked, pointing to it.

His father stared grimly down at the town. "I saw no fire moments ago - now it looks like an inferno, from this distance," he said, narrowing his eyes. "It burns too bright, too quick to be a normal flame...that is either alchemist's work, or a wizard's."

"What do you suppose happened?"

His father was quiet, his eyes looking out across the valley, his hair ruffling in the wind. He did not speak for a while, watching to see if anything else happened. "No armies upon the field," he muttered finally, "And that seems to be the only blaze; perhaps an accident. We'll hear about it once we arrive, I'm sure."

But he did not move from his spot, even when Kells told him that he was going to go back and have supper. And that night, though he normally let his men keep the fire blazing through their watch, he ordered it extinguished once darkness fell. He did not say why. But Kells could not help but notice, as he settled into a pile of blankets in the back of the cart to sleep, that his father did not remove his armor that night. He stayed awake, armor glowing in the soft moonlight, his hand on his sword, his eyes watching the path.

Morning arrived, though, without incident. Kells awoke to a pale blue sky, an eagle circling lazily overhead above him. He stretched his limbs as he tossed his blankets aside - it was sore, sleeping in the back of the cart, though better than in the small hide tents his father's men had to make do with. With the night gone, his father had permitted the men to start the fire back up, to cook their breakfast - the last of a butchered deer the men had caught a couple of days before.

Kells sat next to his father, beside the fire, on a stump, listening to the sizzle of meat as the men dismantled and packed their tents. He sniffled, rubbing his nose in the frigid winter air, then coughed, unable to stop for a few moments.

"Sounds rough," his father said, poking at the fire with a stick. "You may be falling ill."

And that was the last thing his father ever said to him.

There was a hiss, and a thunk. Kells glanced upward sharply. Across the fire, one of the men had a black-fletched arrow sticking from his chest. As he watched, another sprouted from the man's head.

And then the fire before them bloomed into a massive pillar, rising high into the air; the massive blast of searing heat from it quickly burning Kells' skin. He screamed, along with the other men around the fire, stumbling back from it, falling over into the snow, which at least relieved some of the pain of his blistered flesh.

"MOVE," he heard his father roar, "THERE, DO YOU SEE-"

And then the world rang like a gong.

Kells didn't know what was happening. All he knew was that he was soaring, the ground a dizzying blur beneath him, trees were cracking, falling around him, sharp splinters shredding through the air as he crashed back towards the earth.

He landed hard, on his stomach, against a ground - pain lanced through him as he felt a rib crack. He had not even time to draw a breath when, not ten feet from him, the cart crashed, upended, its wheels and sides shattering, showering him with splintered wood. His right arm throbbed with pain - he saw that the coat he wore had been burnt away from it, and the flesh there was an angry red.

He glanced behind him, to see only chaos. The bonfire he had been seated by was a pillar of roaring flame; he saw one soldier stumble by, ablaze, howling in agony, nothing but a black shadow in the flames that engulfed him. Another fell, gurgling, with an arrow from his neck. The blade of one man's halberd hummed and then shattered in his hand, sending whistling shards of metal deep into his flesh; others whizzed by only feet above Kells' head, burying themselves into trees.

Panicking, Kells crawled and clawed his way to the upended cart, his right arm screaming pain with every movement, scrambling beneath it to take shelter. He huddled in the darkness, shivering in the snow, closing his eyes as horrified screams and other strange, terrifying sounds he could not understand echoed around him. There was a dull thud, not far from him, and a hiss of pain; Kells opened his eyes, peering through the cracked and broken boards of the cart. He could make out, not five feet from him, his father, laying on his back in the snow, groaning in pain.

Finally, the screams stopped; all noise stopped, except for the pained groans of his father.

And then - the tramping of boots approaching through the snow, and the conversation of two men.

"-should not have killed their horses. We pushed ours far too hard last night." This first voice was quiet, cold, with a dark undercurrent of rage that cut through Kells' head like a knife.

"'Tis not such a problem. We could not have kept the horses much further through the trees, anyway, I think. The forest here is too thick, we will want to avoid the road." The second voice was lighthearted, almost - full of cheer - that sent a chill through Kells' spine, to think that this person had just killed so many men and thought so little of it.

"Strange that we come across these men on our path. Were we spotted?"

"No. The blaze was a fine distraction, I am sure of it - ho, this one still lives!"

Kells' father was struggling to get up, propping himself up on an elbow, his sword in his other hand, glaring at these two men that Kells himself could not see from beneath the cart.

"I really think you ought to drop that, don't you?" called the cheerful voice, viciously mocking.

"Damn you," Kells' father growled, his face contorted with pain. And then he gasped as the sword in his hand hummed, the blade twisting in on itself, crumpling, until it was nothing but a useless, warped piece of metal. A dark, brown leather boot kicked his father in the chest, knocking him back into the snow, then stayed there, pinning him down. Kells could see nothing of the man standing above his father except the boot, tucked into a pair of mud-spattered woolen pants, and the bottom half of a long, travel-stained hide coat, the edges of it frayed and tattered.

"Tell me what you were doing here," came the second voice, though all cheer had gone out of it. Now, it was serious, dark with threat.

"I don't have to tell bandits anything," his father snarled.

There was a pause, and then the hiss of a blade being drawn from its scabbard. Kells could see the shining tip of a sword being pointed directly above his father's face. "It was your boy that crawled beneath that cart there, wasn't it," the voice said, now utterly devoid of mirth, deadly and cold. "Think very, very hard on what may happen to him if you choose not to speak, or if I find that you have lied to me."

Kells felt his blood freeze. He saw his father's face fall, as well, as he glanced at the cart. His father licked his lips, looking upward at the man, as he spoke. "We...we were traveling here as envoy to Twin Lamps, from the White Queen."

"Envoy? What for?" The voice had less threat in it now, and more curiousity. Kells' father paused for a moment, considering, and the voice snapped, "Stop. I can see the lie forming in your mind right now. Tell me the truth and you may yet live."

Kells' father slumped, sighing. "I was to take over as commander of the Twin Lamps garrison."

The sword lowered, tapping against his father's chestplate, as if the man holding it were considering something. There was silence for a long moment. "Anything interesting?" the voice called.

"No," came the first voice, sounding further away. "Chests full of clothes...books. Plenty of coin. Some rations. Not much else."

"Hmm." Long silence again. No noise, except the tap, tap, tap, of the man's sword against his father's chestplate.

"I...ask for mercy," Kells' father said, after a while, breaking the silence. "The boy - he has no mother. I am all he has. Take the coin, take anything - I will give you the armor off my back, just - wait, no, NO!"

Kells held his hands to his mouth to muffle a scream of horror as, without a word, the man drove the sword through his father's head, pinning it to the ground as the blade sank deep into the earth. Tears streamed down his face; he shook, backing away into a dark corner of the cart. He didn't want to look at his father. He couldn't. He stared at the blade, instead. Gleaming, sharp steel, a two-handed hilt wrapped in dark, worn leather. And etched into the pommel, a stag-head crest with wicked, sharp horns, like black thorns.

The man walked away, leaving his sword, calling out to his companion. The two men were talking now, but Kells could not bring himself to listen to their conversation. He should, he knew. They could be discussing killing him right now. He should crawl out from beneath the cart and flee. But he could not bring himself to move, could not bring himself to do anything but stare, frozen in terror, at that blade.

Eventually, the man returned. Kells got a glimpse of his hands as the man grasped the blade and wrenched it free - tanned, dirty hands, fingernails dark with grime. "Boy," the voice called, idly.

Kells froze, not daring to move, not daring to do anything but stare at the man's dirty boots through the shattered sides of the cart.

"Your father was traveling to Twin Lamps, so I assume you know that this is where the path leads. You are not far - perhaps two or three days of travel by foot. I think you ought to be able to make it." The voice paused, as Kells remained silent, shivering. "Give me some sign you have heard me, boy."

"Y-yes," Kells forced himself to say, his voice hoarse. He didn't know what the man wanted to hear.

"There's a good lad." Kells heard the sound of a blade being slid home into its sheath. "Oh, and when you do get to Twin Lamps," the voice called lightheartedly, "Know that any men they send after us will wish they were given deaths as quick as those you saw here."

Laughter, then. And the sound of boots walking away, padding quietly through the snow.

Kells huddled beneath the cart, glancing towards his father's corpse. He felt the first flash of anger. These men - they had killed his father, killed the men who served him. Even if he could not have hoped to fight back - he ought to at least see who they were. He ought to know the face of the man who killed his father.

He scrambled out quickly from beneath the cart, his burnt right arm still throbbing with pain, though that seemed like such a minor concern now. He looked about at the utter ruin of the camp. Trees torn and twisted, their trunks shattered, lay around him, some of them burnt and smouldering. Corpses - some burnt, some shredded, some peppered with black-fletched arrows - lay strewn everywhere, not a one of them moving. The bonfire itself looked like it had exploded at some point, still-warm logs hissing and sending up thin tendrils of smoke in the snow.

And there - Kells felt his heart freeze - disappearing into the pines, were two figures, quickly fading into the shadows.

One wore the hide coat, long and ragged - the man who had slain his father; he could see the blade at the man's side, buckled to a worn leather belt. He had a long main of dark brown hair, coarse and rough and wild, that extended well down past his shoulders, nearly to his waist. But he could not see the man's face, and he disappeared into the pines.

And the man's companion...

The man's companion wore a long, dark cloak, dark as night, hanging dead and silent from a cattle-skull helm, curling horns adorned with black streamers, and as Kells looked the figure turned back to face him, with gleaming yellow eyes that burned bright in the shade, and its teeth chattered and chattered-

Kells blinked. They were both gone. He was left alone, in the devastation they had wrought, not a sound in the forest that surrounded him.

He stood still for a very, very long time, the screaming pain in his arm slowly subsiding to a constant, dull ache.

He glanced towards his father - felt some dark terror shoot through him as he caught a glimpse of his crumpled face. Sobbing, he cast about for something, anything to cover him with. Finally, he settled on his father's own cloak, doing his best not to look as he draped it over his father's head. Anything, anything not to have to look at that. With his father's face covered it...seemed less real. Like if he waited long enough by his side, his father might stand and wake him from this nightmare.

But he couldn't. He knew he couldn't, some part of him at least. Some part of him was screaming at him that he had already spent too long here; that the men might change their minds, return to kill him. It was so difficult to move, though - everything felt flat and unreal - not one hour ago, all these men had been alive, his father had been alive -

He coughed, raggedly, into his coat, walking among the corpses, his body moving on its own as his mind retreated somewhere deep within him. He felt tears falling down his face, but he couldn't feel the terror or sadness that caused them. He searched for what he might bring with him among the ruin; it seemed like the men had taken the coin and whatever rations the soldiers had carried with them. The chest full of his books had been broken open, the books themselves tossed idly in the snow, their pages fluttering in the wind; his clothes lay strewn about as well.

In the end, he took a long dagger off of one of the dead soldiers - a man whose helmet seemed to have exploded into jagged metal fragments as he wore it, leaving his face a bloody ruin - and as many blankets as he could wrap about himself, and set on his way. Some part of him knew that he would have to move quickly if he wanted to live, especially with no food left behind for him on his journey.

Fortune, though, was not on his side; it had not even been nightfall on the first day when fever had struck him. The journey to Twin Lamps became a warped, painful dream. His arm was covered now in painful blisters that constantly throbbed and ached until he found he could barely move it; sometimes time seemed to skip forward hours - one moment daylight, the next night - his limbs seemed made of lead, agony to move them forward. The pine forest blurred around him, endless, full of dancing shadows that laughed mockingly at him in the voice of the man who had killed his father. Sometimes he found himself speaking as if his father was there by his side, only to remember that no, he was dead now - he was never going to hear his voice again. Sometimes he felt as if he were walking uphill, although he knew he should be headed down. Sometimes, he looked behind him to see a dark shadow on the road with gleaming yellow eyes, a hooked sword dripping blood in its hand, following him.

The last thing he remembered, before he had collapsed in a fever that had lasted over a month and nearly killed him, was stumbling, finally, through grassy hills, free of the mountains - he did not know for how long he had been off the mountain path - and an incredibly ugly man in the burnished breastplate and flared pants of the Twin Lamps guard, rushing to him, asking him if he was alright.

The common room was quiet as Kells finished his tale. It had emptied a bit while he spoke, the night drawing on; shadows now filled the corners of the room, the flickering flame in the fireplace sending them dancing across the walls. Except for the low mutters of a few other patrons and the crackling of the fire, there was nothing but silence.

Elyse and Martimeos were quiet for a long while after Kells had stopped talking, Martimeos puffing upon a pipe, all their eyes upon the hilt of the dagger that lay upon the worn, wooden table. Kells took another long draught from his tankard - he had long since lost count of how many he had drank during the telling of his story. His head swam - Martimeos blurred before him. "So," he asked quietly. "Does that sound like your brother?"

Martimeos didn't answer at first. He blew smoke from his nose, staring only at the stag-head crest upon the hilt of the dagger. He didn't know what to think of what he had just heard. He considered that perhaps a bandit had slain his brother, and taken his sword. But...another wizard bandit? And Kells' description of what he had seen of him - the long, wild hair - matched what he knew of his brother...he supposed it was still possible that it may have been a bandit, but..."Aye," he said quietly, chewing on the stem of his pipe. "That it does."

Kells gave a crooked smile. "So," he replied, "Your brother was the one that killed my father."

Martimeos was quiet once more for a long moment. "I think he probably had good reason to," he said finally.

Kells' eyes widened with shock. "What?"

"Wait," Elyse snapped, slapping her hand on the table, glancing back and forth between the two of them, her eyes narrowed. "This is what you're going to talk about...? Kells - you said you saw the dark rider there in your memory! You said-"

"I did? Drink must have fogged my mind," Kells replied, half-ignoring her. His grey eyes were hard and cold, his face half-cloaked in shadow, his mouth still a crooked smile as he stared at Martimeos. "I want to know what you mean by 'good reason'."

"No!" Elyse cried, pushing him - futilely, Kells barely seemed to notice. "Listen - the rider had appeared in our memories as well - it cannot be a coincidence! Martimeos, tell him-"

But Martimeos listened to her no more than Kells had. "Well," he said, bringing his eyes up to meet the soldier and shrugging. "You have said yourself you had heard over the years that the Queen's forces were not always so kind to those they encountered, did you not?" He drew on his pipe, the orange embers in its bowl glowing brightly. "I mean, I feel badly that this happened to you as a child. But your father was a Knight in the Queen's service."

"And - and that means what was done was - right, in your view?" Kells had grown very still, his fists clenched upon the table, shaking slightly. He felt an old, dark anger that he thought he had left behind long ago welling up within him. "Men like my father - they should have just been fair game to be struck down on sight?"

"Men like your father," Martimeos snapped, his voice raising slightly, his green eyes flashing, "Burned down and slaughtered half my village. Nearly carved me in two as a child. So..." he paused sounding uncertain for a moment, then scowled and slapped his hand upon the table. "If that were my brother - no - I do not hold it against him - I can understand his thought."

Kells felt the howling rage building in his head. "He begged," he hissed threw clenched teeth. "My father was disarmed and helpless before the Art - he begged for mercy for himself, and for his only son not to be made an orphan."

"And you received it, did you not? My brother left you alive and unharmed - 'twas more mercy than I got."

Kells did not even realize what he was doing until he was already halfway across the table, dragging Martimeos roughly by the clasp of his cloak, his fist pummeling again and again into the wizard's face. He only dimly heard the shouts of alarm, the cries of the other patrons, Elyse screaming at him to stop. In his dim, drunken fog, all he could see was Martimeos' face, his green eyes wide with alarm, growing bloodier and more battered with every strike. The wizard's expression changed from shock to a snarl; he spat blood and slammed his pipe into the side of Kells' face, scattering burning embers in his hair. Some part of Kells roared dimly in panic to remember the power Martimeos had over flame as the wizard brought his fingers up to snap them.

But then he was being pulled away, torn from his assault. He looked behind him to see Harald, the White Queen's dark, grim giant of a guard, his scarred face contorted in a snarl as he pinned Kells' arms behind him, while off to his side Madame Ro - nothing but a purple blur to his eyes - shouted in outrage.

He glanced before him, and his heart sank. The table they had sat at lay overturned upon the floor, having been pushed aside in his fury. And Martimeos - Martimeos sat on the floor, holding his head, his eyes blackened and swollen, blood pouring from his nose, his lips split, spitting blood. Elyse knelt by his side, examining his wounds, looking towards Kells with dark blue eyes frightened and wide, her dark hair long enough to reach the floor as she kneeled.

Kells immediately felt regret. Martimeos had been a bastard, surely, but - he had not meant to beat him so hard. Damn him, he should not have beaten him at all. He had long ago abandoned the idea that what the White Queen's armies had done to this land were anything noble or good - he had heard too many tales of horror - and it sounded like Martimeos had one of his own, it was...just the drink, and...the fact that it was his father.

Damn it, he had really liked the wizard, too. He shoud apologize - well he thought he deserved one too, but - he should not have hit Martimeos like that, he should-

But it was too late. Across the room, as he was being dragged away by Harald, he saw Martimeos look his way. The wizard held a cloth to his nose to staunch the flow of blood, and Elyse was busy telling him to tilt his head back, but as he glanced at Kells, his green eyes blazed fierce. And then he gave a rueful, resigned shrug. It was the last Kells saw before Harald threw him unceremoniously out into the darkness of the streets.