"We left him to die," Elyse said softly, thin voice carrying over the sound of their footsteps in the snow.

Kells didn't respond. With dusk coming on, he focused instead on moving himself as fast as he possibly could. Which was not very fast. With the pack on his back, and Aela lying limply in his arms, and the exhaustion already coursing through him, it was all he could force himself to do to move at a slow jog. Every step strained his sore and weary muscles to the limit. Blazing hells, he needed a bed. Look on the bright side, a sardonic little voice inside him said, as he blinked fat snowflakes out of his eyes. At least it's nice and cool. Can you imagine doing this in the heat? It could always be worse.

He and Elyse were following the trail left by the Crosscraw women who had dragged the moose away, before the Bogge-King had appeared. It was not difficult to follow; they had left a wide, flat trail of compact snow as they dragged the carcass along. It had snaked through the pine trees, weaving this way and that, and eventually led to a wide slope leading up the side of a cliff face, ascending higher and higher into the mountain's peak. It was not a naturally formed path, not entirely - here and there, broad steps were carved into the rock. Below them, the forest through which they had traveled stretched on and on, a sea of snow and pines. They were high enough on the path now that they rose well above the pointed tops of the trees. It would be a pretty sight, if this were the time to appreciate such things.

Kells looked downwards, to where Aela lay, unconscious, in his arms, as he carried her. He had had to abandon his spear, in order to lug her along. Color had returned to her hair - now a fiery red once more, instead of a dull gray - which he took as a good sign. Whatever the Bogge-King was, it seemed to drain color from the world; perhaps this meant they were far away from it now. Aela looked almost peaceful, as if she was sleeping. Of course, this was not the case. She had struggled so hard against him - screamed so maddeningly about how much she wanted to die, tried so hard to escape - that Kells had been forced to knock her unconscious. He had chosen the safest method he knew to do that - caught her neck in the crook of his arm, and squeezed firmly until she passed out. He wasn't happy about having to do that to a woman. But still, the Bogge-King had filled her with such madness that his only choices had been to subdue her somehow, and quickly, or to simply leave her behind. And it hadn't felt right to leave her. After all, Martimeos had been killed so that she might live.

"I left him to die," Elyse repeated by his side. Kells glanced at the witch. Her dark blue eyes stared, wide and unfocused, her hat knocked askew, long dark hair fluttering raggedly in the wind, Cecil slinking along by her side. She looked down at her hands, as if she couldn't quite believe that they were her own. "Perhaps mother was right about me," she murmured.

The witch still seemed pollaxed by what had happened. Not, Kells thought, that he could blame her for it. Or perhaps there was some of the madness of the Bogge-King still lingering within her mind. It lingered within his, as well. When first the Bogge-King had appeared among the dancing shadows, Kells had been overwhelmed by the sense that he was already dead. That his spirit clung to life in a corpse, and it was only his desperate, panicked clinging that kept him from being swept off into the endless darkness of death. But, he had thought, death didn't seem so bad. After all, it happened to everyone eventually. And so he had simply let go, fully expecting to die - only to find that nothing happened. He still remained within his body. There was no need to hold on so hard. After that, though fear had gripped him still, he found himself able to move, although his body still seemed strangely numb, and not his own. Even now, that numbness lingered, and he could not get rid of the dizzying sense that his body was not quite his own.

"It was what he wanted," Kells said, shifting Aela in his arms as he pushed on. "He told us to run. If we had tried to stay and help, we just would have died as well."

"He wanted it." Elyse gave an unsteady, half-mad laugh, almost frantic. "He wanted it. He wanted to be killed by some mad shadow from the Outside."

Kells gritted his teeth. Roark had told him there could be days like this. Days when you see your friends die, when it seems everyone else around you is losing their minds. Days when you felt all alone among the death, and the madness, and the horror. But the important thing to do was to listen to the steel core inside you. That hard, numb place where emotion got pushed aside. Where you did what you needed to survive. Mourning could always come later. Right now, all he could do was follow the snowy, winding path up the cliff face, and hope that some form of shelter lay at the top. Hope that Aela and Elyse hadn't been driven mad by the Bogge-King. Hope, for that matter, that he had not harmed Aela when he knocked her out. She was remaining unconscious for longer than he might have expected.

The path, fortunately, was not long. It ended at a plateau, with a sort of plaza tiled over with cracked and smoothed stone, the years of snow and ice having taken their toll. A great stone archway, taller than most buildings in Twin Lamps, somehow still standing despite the ages having worn away most features from it, framed a dark, yawning entrance into the side of the mountain. And beside this entrance lay the damned moose carcass, the three Crosscraw women who had dragged it away working at it with stone knives, butchering it.

One of these women glanced back as Kells and Elyse staggered into the plaza. She stood, holding her bloody dagger, long red hair whipping around her. "What're ye doing here?" she shouted. Her eyes widened upon seeing Aela's unconscious body in Kells' arms. "What've you done to her...? Where's Marsail?! What have you done, queensman?"

Things were already going poorly, Kells could tell. The other Crosscraw women were on their feet now, each of them holding daggers, each of them shouting at him as they approached; and he could hear yet more voices echoing from the entrance into the mountain. From there, more Crosscraw women emerged, a stream of them, young and old, shouting dozens of questions to him at once. They surged towards him, jabbing accusatory fingers, and any answer he tried to give was drowned in their shouts. He may have to fight, he realized, as they drew near him. How funny would it be, to escape the Bogge-King only to be killed by these savages, and as he tried to save one of them, no less.

But before the first Crosscraw woman could reach him, they all jumped back as a line of fire erupted from the solid stone, a thin sheet of flame dancing bright, nearly as tall as he was, between him and the Crosscraw. He looked towards Elyse. The witch had her hand outstretched, blue eyes flashing, her face contorted with a snarl, though tear tracks cut a path down her cheeks from her eyes. "Idiots," she hissed at the Crosscraw, as the women fell silent. "If you will not listen to him, perhaps you'll listen to a witch. We did not harm Aela. The Bogge-King attacked, and we saved her, and it cost us a dear friend. Your ingratitude astounds me." The flames danced higher as she spoke, as if fueled by her anger.

But at the mention of the Bogge-King, the Crosscraw gasped, murmuring frightfully among themselves. "Bogge-men never draw this close to Dun Cairn! She's lying!" someone shouted. More chatter broke out, and Kells could see some of the Crosscraw women drawing knives from beneath their furs, giving Elyse a hard stare. He prepared himself to put Aela down and draw his sword.

"SILENCE," cried a booming voice, carrying well clear of the plaza, echoing off the mountainside, far louder than any shout had a right to be.

The Crosscraw women all jumped. Kells jumped as well, nearly dropping Aela as he did so. "Outta mah way, ye daft ninnies, or Ah'll make ye strip yer furs off an' run nekkid 'round th' peak," the voice continued at a much more reasonable tone. "Git. Make way, naow."

Slowly, the Crosscraw women parted, stepping aside to clear a path on the stone plaza, revealing a tiny, unbelievably ancient woman. Her skin looked paper-thin, and she seemed to be almost more hair than flesh, a long, wild mane of silver hair floating about her head, thin and wispy, but long enough to drag on the ground behind her. Ancient as she was, her green eyes were still sharp and penetrating, as she glanced about, snorting. She wore furs and hides, like the rest of the Crosscraw women, but around her shoulders was a shawl that looked woven from brightly colored yarn into many strange interlocking shapes and patterns. She walked with the aid of a cane, little more than a gnarled stick that she grasped in kobbed, bony fingers, tapping loudly against the stone as she approached Kells and Elyse.

The old woman stopped before the flames as she drew close, eying them, and then with a dry chuckle and a wave of her hand, they were gone. "Nawt a bad glammer, fir a novice," she murmured. Kells expected that the tiny old woman would address them next, but instead of speaking to either him or Elyse, the ancient witch turned her attention to, of all things, Cecil. "'Tis an honor tae have ye here, Knight-Captain," she said to the cat, throwing up a shaky salute. Cecil simply stared at her with wide, yellow eyes, sat down, and licked his paw.

"What?" Elyse snapped. "Why are you talking to my familiar? Are you Grizel?"

The old woman seemed startled for a moment, glancing up at them. "Ach, it's ye two," she muttered, sharp eyes cutting through them. "Aye, Ah'm auld Grizel. Ah've bin waitin' fir ye. Esn't et jest like a lowlander, tae make ye wait. But hol' on, naow, there es suppose tae be three o' ye. Where's th' wizard?"

Elyse did not seem to question how Grizel might have been expecting them, or how it was known that one of them was missing. "Dead," she replied bitterly, pausing to scrub tears from her eyes with the sleeves of her dress. "Killed by the Bogge-King. Which he may not have been, had these damn fools just let us pass."

Grizel cocked her head to the side curiously. "Kilt? That one? I dinnae think so, nae, nawt yet. Well, Ah'm sure he'll turn up soon enough."

Kells wasn't so sure about that - the last he had seen of Martim, glancing back as he ran, the wizard had fallen in the snow as the Bogge-King bore down upon him. But Elyse's eyes lit up with hope. "You think Martim is alive?" she said, voice hushed but barely masking her excitement. He felt sorry for her.

Before Grizel could answer, though, one of the Crosscraw women gathered in the plaza spoke up. "Firget the lowlanders, Grizel! Tell us ef Aela es alright!"

Grizel's eyes flashed, and she whirled around, nearly tripping over her own hair as she did so, to glare at the Crosscraw. "Ye dinnae give me orders, ye wee yins," she snapped, striking her cane against the stone to emphasize her words. "Ye should respect yer aulders, ancestors ken there be few enough o' us left. An' Ah was already auld befir yer father ever even stole a peek at yer mothers arse. Aela's fine, she's a braw young lassie. Jest had a bit of a run-in wit th' Bogge-King, es all-"

"What?!" one of the Crosscraw women cried, while a great eruption of varied and flavorful curses erupted from the others.

"QUIT YER BLETHERIN'," Grizel cried, her voice booming far beyond something an old woman ought to be able to produce once more. "As fir the lowlanders, they're mah guests. Ef the Chief doesnae like et, ye can tell him Grizel says tae chew on rocks. Naow, why nae make yerselves useful, an' go git that moosemeat butchered an' stored." When none of the women moved, Grizel growled, and slammed her cane into the stone. A sudden great gale tore through the plaza, though, it seemed, only where the Crosscraw stood - Kells did not feel even the slightest touch of a breeze. He watched as long red manes flapped wildly in the wind, and the women braced themselves to resist being bowled over. "Ah wasnae lyin' tae ye," Grizen said menacingly. "Ah'll blow th' furs right off ye and have th' winds chase ye through every hall in nawt but yer skin. Git!"

Finally, muttering among themselves, the Crosscraw women began to disperse. Some of them went to the moose carcass, to help carve it up, but most simply walked back through the dark entrance into the mountainside, lingering by the archway with curious stares before disappearing into the shadow.

Sighing, Grizel turned back to Kells and Elyse, shaking her head. "Ef only Ah had mah youth agin," she murmured under her breath. "Nawt a single one o' those lassies thought tae stand up tae me." She cast an eye at Aela, wrinking her nose. "We should git her tae mah chambers."

"Do you really think she'll be alright?" Kells asked, shifting Aela in his arms once more, trying to prevent her long red hair from becoming tangled in the creases of his breastplate. He was becoming increasingly worried that he had done some damage to her. She should have woken up by now.

Grizel gave Kells a small smile, reaching up to give his helm a friendly tap with her cane. "Ye did th' right thing bah knockin' her out, laddie, dinnae worry. It's jest hearin' the Bogge-King's song warps th'mind. She'll need auld Grizel's Art, oh yes."

"Wait." Elyse shot Kells a withering glare before turning to Grizel. "You said you think Martimeos is alive. Where would he be? Old woman, if you're lying to me..."

Grizel did not respond. Instead, with a frown, she looked to the gray skies, casting her eyes about. "Ah, there he es," she muttered, and then pursed her lips, giving a sharp, rapid whistle. Kells was astounded when, after a moment, a red cardinal fluttered down from the sky, landing in the old woman's wild mane of silver hair, pecking here and there at the wispy strands that floated in the wind. "Ah wanted ye tae land on mah hand, ye wee bloodfeather, but alright," Grizel muttered, frowning as she tried to reach to the top of her head to catch the bird, who kept dodging her bony fingers.

Elyse's eyes lit up. "Flit!" she cried happily, relief plain on her face. "Tell us, where is Martim? Is he alright? Is he injured, does he need help?"

The little bird cocked its head to the side, staring at Elyse with a beady black eye, and then chirped and warbled for a long moment, pausing here and there to preen. Grizel listened to this thoughtfully, narrowing her eyes in concentration as she listened to the bird-speech, then nodded sagely. "Ach, he's fine. Jest down th' slope a bit. Havin' a smoke."

Kells was glad to hear it; happy enough to grin, in fact, even through all his exhaustion and numbness, though personally, he'd believe that Martimeos was truly alive when he actually clapped eyes on the wizard. He couldn't begin to imagine how Martim might have made his escape from the Bogge-King; and to do so uninjured, no less, unless he had some tricks with the Art he had never spoken of.

Elyse, however, seemed to be having a bit of an odd reaction. She beamed, then frowned, laughed, and then shook her head. "I can't believe it," she said with a crooked smile, her eyes looking disconcertingly wild. "I ought to kill him myself."

Flit took off from Grizel's hair, darting through the air to return to his master, as the old woman turned to shout to two of the remaining Crosscraw women who lingered by the entrance into the mountain, ordering them to take Aela from Kells' arms and bring the poor girl to her chambers. The Crosscraw gave him some nasty looks as he handed Aela over to them - they still seemed to suspect that he was responsible for her state.

But it was not long after Aela had been carried off that Martimeos appeared, stumbling into the plaza, weary, ragged and exhausted but otherwise uninjured. Though, Kells noted, the wizard had a haunted look about him, his shadowed green eyes seeming withdrawn as he approached. He still had his pipe in his mouth, blue smoke billowing about him as he puffed on it, and he held one end of his red scarf in a shaking hand, running it through his fingers distractedly.

"Martimeos," Elyse cried upon seeing him, and Kells marvelled at her ability to sound both happy and furious at the same time. She swept across the stone plaza towards Martim to meet him as he staggered forward, and Kells followed her, leaving a silent and watchful Grizel behind. "We thought you were dead, fool wizard," she snapped, jabbing an accusatory finger, "And you decided it was a good time to smoke your pipe? To leave me thinkng you had been killed? Inconsiderate..."

Her ire died off as the wizard glanced upward at them. They were both taken aback by the expression he wore, though only for a moment, a despair so bleak that it stopped them in their tracks. Then Martimeos forced a half-hearted smile, and it was gone, though the darkness lingered in his eyes. "I did send Flit ahead to tell you I was coming," he said quietly.

Kells and Elyse shared a worried glance with each other. Perhaps Martimeos had not been injured physically, Kells thought, but who knew what the Bogge-King might have done to his mind. "It's good to see you with your head still on," he said, "But how was it that you escaped?"

Martimeos opened and shut his mouth, then puffed on his pipe, giving Kells a long, hard stare. Then he ran a hand through his shaggy hair, and gave an exhausted sigh. "We can speak of it later," he replied flatly. "Did Aela make it back with you?"

"She's fine," Elyse answered tersely, crossing her arms as she looked the wizard up and down. "Martim, what happened? Did it...do something, to you? You look as if you've seen your own grave."

But the wizard's face had hardened, becoming guarded and grim; he brushed off their questions, pushing past them. "I suppose this is Grizel, then," he said, ignoring Elyse's exasperated sigh as he approached the old woman. "Flit told me he had spoken to you."

Grizel, who had remained silent, leaning on her cane, simply watching as Kells and Elyse spoke to Martim, now gave the wizard a long, slow look up and down, a small frown on her face as the snow fell silently about her, piling up on the stone tiles. "Aye, an' Ah ken who ye are as well, laddie," she said softly. Her silver hair floated around her face like a halo as she sighed, suddenly seeming weary. "Ye look so much like him."

Martimeos stopped before her, his black-furred cloak flapping in the wind, hair a ragged mess around his head. "Like who?"

Grizel shrugged. "Who else? Yer brother, o' course. The Black Stag."

Martim was quiet for a long moment, looking down on the old witch with exhausted, shadowed eyes. "I knew you had spoken to him," he said. "But why do you call him that?"

"We all hae many names," answered the witch, giving him a grin full of yellowed teeth, many of them missing, "An' many faces, laddie. Ah call him that, fir that es what he es. The face Ah knew him by. Perhaps ye knew him by another. Ah'm sure ye hae many questions tae ask, nae jest about yer brother - but what tae do about, fir example, the dark mark ye carry. Oh, aye, Ah can see that on ye, plain as day, the touch of the bogge-men. Ah dinnae ken that Ah will be able tae answer all yer questions, but Ah am sure Ah can answer many, fer Ah am the last great witch of an already dead people, an' there's knowledge tae be gained from death. But ye, all three of ye, are tired an' on th' verge o' collapse. Before anythin', let us get ye in out of th' cold, an' intae some warm beds. Ye will be findin' some o' yer answers, after all, en dreams."

With that, Grizel turned, and, cane clacking as it struck the stone, began making her way across the stone plaza, towards the archway that led into the side of the mountain, into the darkness of Dun Cairn. And after a moment, wary, but lured by the promise of a place to sleep away their exhaustion, Kells, Martimeos and Elyse followed, in out of the cold slopes of the mountain, where the Bogge-King and his bogge-men stalked.