Martimeos awoke with a splitting headache, wincing against the light streaming through the window in his room.

He lay on his back, looking up blearily at the rafters, watching Flit hop back and forth among them, a small red blur fluttering to and fro, singing his song to the morning. Martimeos groaned. Even Flit's gentle burble seemed to grate on his ears. He reached up to touch his face, and winced. Despite the healing Elyse had given him last night, it still felt swollen, covered in tender lumps and bruises. Kells had certainly given him a thrashing.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, his vision blurring momentarily as he did so. He sighed and waited for the world to come back to proper order. Despite the pain and the headache, at least now he could think. Last night his skull had felt so rattled that every thought came as if through a dark, thick fog. He prodded his teeth with his tongue for a moment - at least none of those felt loose. And - wincing as he felt at it - at least his nose still felt straight. Martimeos cursed as the light touch of his fingers set his nose to bleeding again, holding a hand to his face to stop the trickle of blood.

He stood, tottering over to his desk, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath him as he walked. He took a few exploratory steps around his room. Yes. He could walk without the world swimming about him. That was good. He opened the dark wooden dresser that contained his pack, setting it on his bed, and began rolling up and stuffing his extra clothes into it.

The door creaked open, and in walked a maid - the young one, with blonde twintails, Martimeos recognized her - holding a tray with two cups of steaming tea and a plate piled high with sausages, warm bread, and a jar of honey, holding it out in front of her so as to not stain her pristine white skirts. The smell of the food caused Martimeos' mouth to water; he suddenly realized he was extremely hungry. "Madame Ro does not like food being brought to the guest's rooms," she protested softly, glancing behind her.

"Madame Ro can boil her head," snapped a voice from behind her. That was Elyse, following behind the maid, grumbling irritably as her wide-brimmed black hat was nearly knocked from her head as it bumped against the doorframe. The maid laughed excitedly at this prospect, as if she had imagined it herself before, as Elyse continued. "He's going to need - oh, of course." Elyse crossed her arms as she spotted Martimeos, as the maid crossed the room to place the cups of tea and the plate of food on the room's desk. "What are you doing? Packing? You're still addled. Perhaps you got a nastier crack to the skull than I thought. Sit, before you rattle your brains further."

She rode over Martimeos' grumbles of protest, pushing him back down on the bed. The maid watched curiously as Elyse pulled up a chair next to it and took his face in her hands, until Elyse glanced back at her. "You can go now," she said, in a tone that clearly indicated she was a bit irritated the maid hadn't gone already.

"Um," the maid said, her sky-blue eyes going wide, skirts twirling around her, "You are...going to heal him, yes...? M-may I watch...? I saw you last night in the common room, and it was...I mean, I am...interested in the Art." She whispered this last, as if it were a secret, glancing around nervously as if worried someone might hear.

Elyse softened. "Not now," she replied. "The wizard and I need to talk. But perhaps another time. He will need more healing after this." After the maid left, bowing, closing the door silently behind her, Elyse turned her attention back to Martimeos. He winced as she ran her hands over his face; it was tender even to her gentle touch. Soon enough, though a soothing warmth spread from her hands, relieving him of some of his pain. Martimeos found himself staring into Elyse's eyes, as she quietly concentrated on her Art. She really was quite pretty, he thought; he had never seen anywhere eyes so dark a blue as hers, a blue so dark and soft it could seem almost black if the light did not catch it. He found himself wondering again where she had gotten such eyes from.

"There," Elyse said quietly, after a while. "The way Kells beat you, I had been worried something might be broken that I could not fix. But it seems you've just some bruises and a rattled head." She stared back at him for a moment, as if lost in thought, then seemed to catch herself and crossed the room to pick up a cup of the tea, which she thrust into his hands. "Here. This will help with the headache I am sure you have."

The tea smelled bitter, and still seemed too hot, but he sipped from it anyway, the soothing warmth spreading deep into his chest. "Thank you," he replied, suddenly awkward. He was beginning to feel badly for how much Elyse had done for him, he realized - she had saved his life, healed him mulitple times now. He didn't like the feeling. "It seems I am in your debt once more."

"At least you give me opportunity to practice my healing," Elyse snorted, taking a seat in the chair beside his bed once more, tatters of her robes fluttering as she sat down forcefully. She crossed her arms, giving him a thoughtful look. "Though I ought to leave some bruises behind on you, to teach you a lesson. You might have avoided them altogether had you not prodded Kells so."

"I might have also avoided them had you kept quiet about the fact that I searched for my brother," Martimeos muttered.

"He did not strike you because your brother cut down his father; he struck you because you told him his father deserved it. You know that, you are not that dense."

"I think you might have done the same, were you in my boots." Martimeos gulped down the rest of the tea, eyeing the strange black dregs at the bottom of the cup, then glanced towards the tempting breakfast that lay on the desk. Flit had already fluttered down from the rafters to peck at the bread.

"Maybe," Elyse murmured. "Still..." She eyed him quietly, for a long moment, toying with her hair as she tapped her foot upon the ground - a sign Martimeos had come to recognize that meant she was thinking about something. "Martimeos," she said finally. "What...sort of man was your brother...? For someone so set on finding him, you do not speak of him much."

Martimeos was quiet for a long moment, sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes on the wooden floorboards. Finally, he raised his eyes to meet hers. "Wild," he said softly, "and fierce, and brave. And exceptionally talented with the Art."

"It seems to me," Elyse replied, "He must have also been a little cruel, to do what Kells said he had done. To strike down a helpless man before his child."

Martimeos shook his head, wincing at the jolt of pain this caused. He had thought on this, a little bit. It had been somewhat of a relief to hear that his brother actually still bore hostility to the Queen, after supposedly abandoning his post. He wondered if the man who had told him that had been wrong. Perhaps his brother had not left the war behind. Perhaps his brother was simply carrying out some mission deep in enemy territory. It would have been an appropriate use for a wizard, he thought, to go around the enemy's flank to strike deep within their lands...though what his brother's mission could have been, he had no idea. He snapped out of his reverie as he realized Elyse was still watching him. "I...perhaps could have handled things better with Kells," he admitted. "But my brother, he...watched me nearly killed by one of the Queen's knights, as a mere child. And he had been at war with them for some time...and Kells had said that his father was, before anything, also a commander of the Queen's forces...it was war. I...I will not condemn my brother for it."

"Could you have done it?"

Martimeos looked at Elyse, as the question hung in the air. She was not looking at him; she ran her hands through her long, black hair, eyes upon the ground. "Could you have?" she repeated, when he did not answer. She raised her eyes now to watch him, dark and mysterious. "In your brother's place - you were the one struck down, after all. Could you have slain a man who was powerless before you, who begged for his life, as his child watched on?"

Martimeos did not answer this for a long time. Finally, he frowned, running his hands through his shaggy, bedraggled hair. "No," he muttered quietly. "No. I do not think that I could have."

Elyse did not respond to this, merely continuing to watch him in silence, considering. Martimeos' stomach growled; he began to lift himself to go get the breakfast. Elyse blinked, as if she had forgotten, then silently pushed him back onto the bed, rising to bring to breakfast plate over to, setting it upon the sheets so they could both pick at it, though Martimeos grumbled a bit at the resulting crumbs he would have to lay in.

"At least, though," he said after a while, his mouth half-full of sausage, "Kells gave us our next direction. I know now my brother made for the mountains north. I think I should leave for them soon."

"The Witch-Queen's range, that travelers do not return from," Elyse reminded him, as she shooed Flit away so that she might break off a piece of the bread.

"I will not ask you to come, if you do not wish it."

Elyse contemplated him quietly for a long moment, her face half-hidden in the shadow of her hat. "No, wizard," she said softly, "Where you go, I will follow."

He felt indebted to Elyse, but Martimeos found himself wondering again why that was.

"But aside from that," she continued, "Martim...what Kells told us. He had the rider in his memory, too. Said it was your brother's companion." She suddenly put the bread in her hand down, as if she had lost the appetite for it.

"He was drunk as he told the tale," Martimeos replied half-heartedly. He did not really believe that was the explanation, himself. It was too much of a coincidence for the rider to have appeared in all of their memories like that. He felt his own stomach turn sour and reluctantly swallowed the sausage he chewed on.

Silence fell between them. Despite the morning light pouring in through the window, the shadows in the room seemed to stretch.

"I thought of it last night," Elyse said quietly, looking at the ground. "And...the more I think on it, the more I wonder...if I did not know the rider. He...is in other memories now. I remember glimpsing him, here and there, amongst the shadows of my swamp as a child...I tried thinking as you did, thinking that if he had been there, my mother surely would have mentioned him...but then I found myself wondering...had she mentioned him...? And...I cannot remember with certainty. I cannot remember every conversation with my mother - perhaps she had? I...cannot tell any longer what might be true memory and false..."

Martimeos did not reply. He cast his mind back, through the dim echoes of memory, to the day of the attack on Pike's Green. The rider was still there. And....as he thought more, on his childhood in the village, remembering days long past of walking through the forest, alone, or with Vivian, or his other friends...here and there, among the shadows of the trees - a flicker, a flash of yellow eyes, the flickering tail end of a fluttering black cloak disappearing behind tree trunks...had he seen the rider before...? Had he always been there, in the dark forests of his youth...? Watching them? But...how could it be? How could it be that the rider was there in his village, and also in Elyse's swamp, and also that Kells had seen it years later, at his brother's side...? Had...one of his brother's friends haunted the village of his youth in the rider's cattle-skull helm and black cloak, and then worn it once he set out on the road...? But how did that explain the rider appearing in Elyse's swamp? And how could it be that he had simply forgotten about him, until seeing him again? It made so little sense, but he could not deny that the memories were there...

A disquieting unease fell over him as he thought back on this. It was not a comfortable feeling to find himself suddenly so unsure of his own mind - as if a thick fog had fallen over part of it and hidden his own thoughts even from himself. He realized he had been quiet for quite some time, and glanced up at Elyse. She was paler than usual, and Martimeos noticed now the faint hints of bags beneath her eyes, as if she had not slept well. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if she could feel a chill. She was frightened, he realized. And truth be told, he was as well. "I don't know," he told her quietly. "I..." he shook his head. "Perhaps I should go look for Kells. Perhaps we could figure out more if we had him here to question."

"No," Elyse replied faintly. "You ought to rest." And then she sighed, rubbing her eyes. "I do hope you did not scare off Kells for good, though. I liked him. And..." she gave Martimeos a weary smile. "It was interesting, watching the two of you. Funny."

They did not leave the inn that day; in fact, they barely left Martimeos' room, except to get food. Elyse stayed with him - she wanted to spend the day studying the Art, she said, but he thought she was simply reluctant to be alone. And he could not blame her - the thought of the rider in their memories had put the both of them in a dark mood. Despite the hustle and commotion of the inn on the lower floors, the maids and patrons moving in and out of the hallways, things felt...quiet, alone, the voices of everyone else far away. Outside, the sunny morning faded soon to grey skies and heavy snowfall, fat white flakes gently drifting downward to blanket the streets and rooftops in white.

Martimeos found his head too sore to concentrate much on sigils, or meditating to try to explore his familiar's bond with Flit, but Elyse did not seem to mind that he was not much help with the Art. He laid back in his bed as she quietly practiced glamour in his room, even dragging blankets and sheets from her room to form a small bed for Cecil in the corner - the cat still wore a cast, but seemed to be recovering; he could pace around a few steps here and there, albeit awkwardly.

He watched as Elyse conjured illusion, first making the shadows dance upon the wall, and then upon herself - changing the color of her long tresses from black, to brown, then blonde, then red, then wilder colors like blue or green. She waved a hand and she wore long, black gloves that entirely covered her arms - another wave, and then she wore a black veil that concealed her face, before both disappeared into smoke. She conjured a small lady cardinal for Flit to gawk at, and then tried, though she failed, to create an illusion of herself - a mirror image of herself, made of shadow. But the shadows flowed together and fell apart, and she shook her head, weary. "I can do it sometimes," she murmured.

Martimeos felt his eyes drooping, as he watched her quietly practice. He placed an arm over his head, his mind half-thought and half-dream, the quiet murmurs of Elyse almost hypnotic as he drifted between sleep and wakefulness. He thought more and more on the rider, in the quiet woods of his home. Dream blurred together with memory. How many times had he glimpsed something, out of the corner of his eye - saw a pair of yellow eyes watching him from the shadow - heard the chatter of teeth, faintly, from somewhere among the trees?

He dreamt - remembered - walking through the murky gloom of the forest surrounding his home, the forest seeming to close around him in the dusk, walking swiftly through the pines, needles crunching underfoot, as behind him the chatter of teeth grew closer, ever closer, the terror in him rising, until he spun around to face the rider, and saw not one pair, but dozens of yellow eyes watching him from the darkness-

He woke with a start, panic coursing through him, quickly fading away, leaving a weary aftertaste in his blood. He felt a weight on his chest and glanced down; Elyse had curled up beside him while he slept, napping herself, her head resting on his side, breathing steadily in her sleep.

Martimeos contemplated her for a time. Part of his mind imagined what it would be like to kiss her; it was hard not to, with her body pressed against his, and having the memory of her bare skin before him. Imagined how she would react, whether her odd manner was truly affection for him, or her strange ways misled his mind, wondering if she would laugh at him or gasp and kiss him back-

But no, he shook those thoughts from his head. He wanted to think of something other than the temptations of her prettiness. She had proven to be a fine companion in the Art, she had healed him, saved his life, seemed to trust him, and yet - though it made Martimeos feel a little guilty to think it - he still wondered why she followed him. Was it truly, simply that she was a wanderer that found it convenient to hitch to his cloak for a time? Perhaps, but...to the extent that she would follow him down paths of danger that travelers did not return from...? He felt a little ashamed to doubt her...she had been a boon, and she seemed to be fond of him; and he had grown a bit fond of her, as well, but...as he watched her face as she slept, her dark hair falling across it, concealing her eyes, he could not help but wonder.

Sighing, he put it out of his mind, watching the shadows stretch across the walls before drifting back off to sleep.

The day passed into night like this for the both of them, in a haze of sleep and memory, quiet and subdued within their room. The light slowly died, until Martimeos lit candles so that they might see, sending shadows dancing uncomfortably along the walls. Slowly, the noise from the inn died down as night fell, and even the noise from outside the window seemed muffled by the snow. Elyse made no indication that she planned to retire to her room for the night, and Martimeos did not press her on it. He did not feel like being alone, either.

True darkness settled in, as the last of the sun's light faded from the sky. Martimeos lay upon his bed, trying to focus his mind upon one of Elyse's books of adventure stories, while Elyse stood at the window, looing outside at the snow covering the rooftops of the town, and the moon whose light shone cold and clear upon it, when a timid knock came upon the door.

Martimeos and Elyse glanced at each other. "Enter," he called.

The door swung open silently; a maid - tall and dark, with well-brushed, wavy brown hair and wearing a quietly nervous expression entered the room. "Oh," she said, almost whispering, "You're both here. I apologize for the late call, but there is a man downstairs waiting for you."

"A man?" Martimeos frowned. Perhaps it was Kells? With a groan, he rose from his bed, and he and Elyse followed the maid as she led them quietly through the inn's hallways, white skirts a quiet whisper against the wooden floor as they walked, past rooms where patrons already slept, though some of them had flickering candlelight visible within through the cracks of their doors.

But as they entered the common room, they did not see any man waiting for them - it had already emptied for the night, a few maids gathering dishes and tankards from stained and dirty wooden tables as they cleaned up for the night. "I apologize," said the maid, as she led them across the room, "But he wants to meet you out back, not here."

Martimeos furrowed his brow, glancing once more at Elyse as the maid led them through to the kitchen. But of course, the witch knew no more of what was going on than he - she simply shrugged at him. This seemed a little strange, but then again, Kells may well be banned from the White Queen now for the fight he had started last night - though Martimeos had been far too addled after that to recall exactly what Madame Ro had shouted at the soldier as he was thrown out into the streets.

The kitchen was huge, nearly half as large as the common room itself, though crowded, with three enormous clay ovens, their sides stained with the ash of constant use, lined against the wall joining it to the common room. Beside these lay shelves stacked high and haphazardly with cooking supplies, various pots and pans looking as if they might collapse in a clatter at any moment. The other walls were lined with large barrels with washboards stacked against them for scrubbing clothes, with some garments hanging damply from strings nailed across the kitchen to dry. It must be cramped to actually work in here, Martimeos thought, as the maid led them on a path through the kitchen, picking her way here and there around the drying clothes, towards the back, where a green wooden door led out to a rear exit from the inn.

The rear of the inn led not out into a street, but rather into a narrow alley adjoined by a few other dark buildings, no lights in their windows at this hour. The snow here was fresh and unmarked, and nearly a foot deep - it seemed that people rarely set foot back here. Large water-collecting barrels, too, lined up against the outside wall of the White Queen, and large icicles hung from the rooftops, some so long they were pillars of ice stretching alll the way down to the ground. The moon was the only light here, giving the freshly-fallen snow an eerie, dim glow.

As soon as Martimeos and Elyse stepped out into this, the maid shut the door swiftly behind them, leaving them alone in the alley. "I'm sorry," they heard her muffled sob cry from beyond the doorway.

Martimeos was suddenly on high alert, the haze evaporating from his mind as he put his hand on his sword. He cursed, drawing Elyse close to him; the maid had led them into a trap. Were they about to be robbed? His eyes darted rapidly across the snow in the alley, looking for footprints he might have missed that might show him where the assault was going to come from - but there was nothing. Nothing in the alley but silence, and the snow, and the dark buildings rising as silhouettes into the night sky above them.

Amd then, further down the alley, a door into one of these buildings quietly swung open, the creak of its hinges a small groan. They watched, seeing nothing but darkness from within the doorway.

And then, in that darkness, two yellow eyes shone out at them.

Martimeos felt his blood freeze as the rider stepped out of the doorway and into the snow. Elyse clung to his arm, her eyes wide, her mouth opening and closing like she was desperately trying to find something to say. The rider towered above them, its cloak bleeding into the night itself, black streamers tied to its arching horns hanging limp and dead in the windless alley, cattle-skull teeth clicking and grinding. That same feeling of dread and revulsion washed over the both of them, that feeling that merely by looking at the rider, they were seeing a grotesque, brutal murder, some sense of violent malice that oozed from it and sank into the night itself. Martimeos wanted to scream, to shout out, to run, do something, but he found himself unable to speak or move for fear.

The rider did not move toward them. It stood, perfectly still, watching them, as its cloak settled around it. No noise in the alley as it stood and watched them, except for the occasional click of the cattle-skull teeth. Just watching, those yellow eyes boring into them, as if it weighed and judged them both in silence.

And then the rider flung open its cloak, fluttering darkness that bled into shadow, but it made no move for its blade. Instead, from its belt, it removed a severed head that had been looped there by the hair. It was the head of a woman, with long, brilliant red hair now tangled and knotted, and fierce green eyes, mouth hanging slack and open. The rider placed the head on one of the rain barrels, facing the two of them. Its mouth moved, widening, opening and closing. Its eyes focused, burning intently, glancing around before settling on Martimeos and Elyse.

And then, in a low, raspy voice, like stone scraping on stone, the head said, "You..did not...obey."

Martimeos and Elyse remained frozen in fear, unable to say a word. The rider remained perfectly still as the head spoke, staring down at them as it went on.

"I bid you...to bring my brethren...to me," the head continued. "You two....and the others...who heard my message. You...did not." Fierce green eyes glared at them in anger; the head clenched its crooked teeth as it spoke. And still the rider did not move, displayed no emotion, simply towering in the night like bone and skull floating on shadow itself.

Martimeos glanced, between the speaking head and the rider who bore it, shaking, his blood feeling like ice-water in his veins. "Who are your brethren?" he managed to choke out, his voice hoarse.

No answer. And then, finally moving, the rider silently stretched out an arm, and with a hand clad in a black leather glove, pointed toward the head. The skull shifted slightly, the yellow eyes burning bright into Martimeos' own. Teeth ground against each other and clattered in reply.

"Because...you did not obey..." the woman's eyes rolled, and she gave a nasty grin, "...tonight...I will take a head."

Martimeos felt his heart sing with fear; he fumbled for his sword, clumsy, terror-numbed fingers grasping for the hilt, as Elyse gripped his arm tightly and shook like a leaf on a tree caught in a stiff breeze. He could not grip it, no matter how he tried, his hands feeling as if they were stick blocks of ice. But still the rider made no move for them, did not draw its wicked hooked sword.

The head of the red-haired woman groaned; its eyes rolling, its mouth contorting in a grimace. "Bring me my kin...or next...it will be yours," it said.

Silence filled the alley then. The rider remained motionless after the head had finished, its yellow eyes burning into them, pinning them where they stood. And then it swept up the head, concealing it beneath the swirling, inky folds of its cloak, and disappeared swiftly into the darkness of the doorway from which it had come, fading quickly into the shadow, the last thing to disappear its shining yellow eyes.