Elyse plucked at the tatters of her robes as she sat on the floor of Grizel's chambers, glaring darkly at the old witch. In her lap, Cecil purred and pawed at his mistress, in an attempt to lighten her mood, to no avail.

Grizel had been particularly infuriating. She had...interrupted her and Martim, to tell them that they were meant to kill the Bogge-King. And then had refused to say much else. When pressed on the issue, it had become clear the old witch was out of her gourd at the moment, having smoked some of the plants and eaten some of the mushrooms that she used to commune with the dead. In between bouts of cackling and talking to spirits that neither Elyse nor Martim could see, Grizel had told them that she would elaborate once Kells was there. "Fer et concers th' three o' ye, ye ken," she had said, giving Elyse a sly wink. "Ah dinnae wish tae repeat mahself."

Which would have been fine, except that Kells had decided to take hours to return this time. All the while, Elyse's curiousity had rankled her. And her worry, too. She thought the whole thing ridiculous - whatever the Bogge-King was, Outsider, daemon, Martim's former friend - it was foul and far too powerful a creature to tangle with. It could have easily slain them had it wished to, the one time they had seen it. It was pure fortune that it had not. But when she had bought this up with Martimeos, the wizard's reply had been ambivalent. He, it seemed, was not dismissing the idea out of hand. Elyse attempted to press him on this, but all the wizard would tell her was to wait and see what Grizel meant.

Finally, Kells had returned - smelling of flowers, fresh from the baths - gray eyes widening in surprise as Elyse snapped at him for taking so long. And now they all sat in a circle around the stone fireplace set into the wall of Grizel's chambers, lounging on thick-furred hides, waiting for the old witch to speak as she stoked the flames and hummed quietly to herself.

The old witch seemed positively cheerful. A mysterious smile cut deep into the sagging wrinkes of her face, and her long, colorfully-patterned shawl spread out around her on the stone floor as she sat, along with her wild mane of silver hair. Before her she held some sort of odd instrument that she had dragged out from one of her spare rooms - animal hide stretched over a bowl of curved wood, almost like a drum, except that it had strings as well - producing an odd, twanging percussion as Grizel plucked oddly at it. She was silent a long time, and Elyse was about to shout at her to get on with it all, when she looked up, pinning the three of them with a mischievous glint in her keen green eyes. "Ah want ye tae ken," she began, "Ah dreamt o' ye, afore ye even arrived here en Dun Cairn. Afore ye even set foot upon th' mountain, Ah knew ye'd come."

"Are you saying you had a telling of us?" Martim asked quietly. He sat shrouded in the flickering shadows cast by the firelight, puffing on his pipe, his bad leg stretched out in front of him, wrapped in rough bandages woven from leaves. His eyes, though, twinkled in the darkness. "You might have sent an escort to make our trip up here easier, if you had."

"Et doesnae work tha' way, laddie. At least, nae fer me. Ye ken tha', do ye nae? Ah have already tauld ye what Ah saw o' yer brother." Elyse felt a little stab of annoyance, at that. Whatever Grizel had told Martim of his brother, she had not been around to hear of it, and Martim had not bothered to tell her. But she could not help but feel a stab of guilt, as well. Martimeos was right, after all. She could not blame him for not sharing his secrets with her. And perhaps, he would tell, if she did...absent-mindedly, she fiddled with the dark ring on her finger.

Grizel plucked at her little instrument, shaking her head as she continued. "Ah get mah tellin' through th' Dream, ye ken. An' there, et's always strange. Full o' odd signs, an' ye never ken quite what they mean. Ah couldnae tell when ye'd arrive, or how, but Ah saw th' three o' ye, aye. An' signs on all o' ye, though Ah couldnae guess at what most o' em meant." She turned to Kells, waving knobby finger at the soldier, who seemed slightly bemused. "Ye, mah braw Queensman, Ah saw wit' a white rose, curled about yer heart. An' somethin' dark, an' full o' sharp teeth, tryin' tae sink ets fangs intae et as well. En one hand, ye carried a cracked bell, an' en another, a strange sword tha' looked like glass, drippin' wit blood."

Kells frowned, the harsh angles of his face cast into deep shadowm and ran a hand through his short, dark hair. "Well," he said, "You're not the only one who has no idea what that means. The White Rose was the old standard of the White Queen, though I don't know what it would be doing curled around my heart. The rest is nonsense to me."

But Grizel did not bother listening to his reply. Instead, she turned, and Elyse found herself fidgeting uncomfortably beneath Grizel's sharp-eyed stare. The old witch smiled, gap-toothed and wicked-looking. "An' ye, witchling," she whispered, voice barely audible over the pops and crackling of the fire, "Ye, Ah saw holdin' a sickle, an' dressed nae as ye are naow, but en a fancy dress. Ye wore a crown tha' ne'er was, an' above yer head there floated a burnin' book, o' many, many pages."

Elyse gave a small start. Much of that sounded like nonsense to her, but a sickle...? Did Grizel mean the sickle that Vincent had given her, back in Twin Lamps? She had not given it much thought since; dull and useless, but oddly comforting in a way, she kept it stashed beneath her robes. She had grown so used to the weight of it that she forgot it was there half the time. She had not shown Grizel the sickle, and did not think the old witch had seen it - but what could it possibly mean in a telling? Not to mention the rest of it. "What do you mean by 'a crown that never was'? What does that even look like?"

But as with Kells, Grizel simply ignored her, and turned now to Martim. The wizard watched her silently, blowing out great curling streamers of blue smoke from his pipe, as the witch continued. "An' ye, wizard. Ah saw much o' ye, oh aye. An' even yer familiar, as well." Grizel gave a fond smile to Flit, perched upon Martim's shoulder, who cocked his head up curiously. "Upon his head, Ah saw a great an shinin' crown, burnin wit' incredible radiance."

"Please," Martim said, glancing towards Flit, who was puffed up and preening now, "He doesn't need the flattery."

"But ye, ye were strange. Fer sometimes, a tellin' doesnae ken proper what et es the future holds. Et shows ye many things that may be." Grizel's long, hooked nails plucked at the instrument before her, forming a hypnotizing, steady beat, as she stared at Martimeos. With a wave of her gnarled hand, she wafted smoke from the fire before her, and beneath her clever fingers, it was shaped and molded into dancing, distinct shapes. "En one," she murmured, "Ah saw ye holdin' a man's head, an' through th' halls of Dun Cairn ye stalked side by side wit' th' Bogge-King. Slayin' us all." The colors of the smoke dancing before her changed and swirled, until it showed a hazy, indistinct image of Martimeos floating in the air before her, sword drawn and black cloak drifting lazily in the air, while behind him loomed the massive shadow of the Bogge-King.

Martimeos was quiet for a long moment, staring at this glamour of himself. Firelight glimmered in his shadowed green eyes. His expression was unreadable, face hidden in darkness. Elyse watched him carefully, and yet again - for only a moment, before it was gone - she was suddenly taken by a vision of him not in Grizel's room, but sitting beneath the trees of an autumn forest, their bright red leaves cascading down all around him. Just a flash, a whisper, and it was gone. "I," he said quietly, "Would never have done that, witch."

"Ye're so certain about tha', are ye," Grizel replied, just as quietly. "Remember what Ah tol' ye, laddie, when first we met. We all wear different faces. No one ever knows us entire. Those ye think ye ken so well, they can always surprise ye bah slippin' intae a new face, an' ye'll ne'er see em all from one person. An' sometimes, ye've a face that even ye yerself dinnae ken." She let the glamour hang a moment more, and then raked a hand through it. The colors faded, and the smoke swirled, drifting away to the corners of the room. "But Ah also saw another vision o' ye. En that one, ye held a man's hand, not his head. An' by yer feet lay the Bogge-King, broken an' dead."

Martim answered this with nothing. He merely sat, puffing upon his pipe, as the smoke from the fireplace curled around him. "So is that it?" Kells asked, breaking the silence. The soldier shifted, pinning Grizel with a hard stare, stormy gray eyes cold. "What - because he took Torc's hand, you think this fulfills your vision? And that now he is to kill the Bogge-King?"

"Ah dinnae think et," Grizel replied. "Ah know et. Et es what he will do."

"But this is ridiculous," Elyse snapped. She jabbed a finger in Martim's direction. "The Bogge-King - how is Martim meant to kill him? Where your entire people - where you, who has more knowledge of the Art than us - have failed? The one time we saw him, we lay helpless. Damn you, Martimeos, tell her how foolish this is."

But Martim did no such thing. Instead, he slowly took the pipe from his mouth, tapping the ashes of it out on the stone floor beside him. "Tell me," he said softly, lifting his eyes slowly to look at Grizel, "If I had taken Torc's head, instead of his hand, what would you have done?"

"Ah would hae tol' Maol-Manos tae hae ye kilt," Grizel replied unhesitatingly. "An' if he refused..." Here, the old which reached beneath her colorful shawl, and drew out a long, thin needle that gleamed in the firelight. "Ah would hae done et mahself, in yer sleep."

"So it seems you do not think these visions mean that the outcome is written in stone." Martim seemed oddly unperturbed by just how readily the old witch had declared she would have killed him. "Given that you would have tried to save yourself and your folk, had the situation gone differently. So what makes you think I will succeed here?"

Grizel gave a dusty chuckle, tucking away the needle once more. "Ah would hae tried tae prevent et, wizard. Ye cannae help but struggle against death, nae matter how surely et comes. Et doesnae mean Ah would hae succeeded." She shrugged, and plucked a few odd notes from her instrument. "Although Ah cannae say tha' a tellin' means fer certain et will happen, either. As Ah said, it doesnae always ken th' true future. Et could be ye would fail."

Martim did not answer this for a long moment. And then, with a weary sigh, he said, "It does not leave me with much idea of how it might be done."

"You mean to actually do it, don't you," Elyse said, voice full of an amused wonder, before Grizel could answer this. "Or at least make the attempt." When Martimeos merely stared at her in return, she leapt to her feet, startling Cecil so badly that he yelped and dashed to a corner of the room. "You've done some foolish things, in the time I've known you, wizard," she hissed as she advanced on him, shadows darkening as she stalked across the room, "But this is truly stupid. I will not allow it."

"By what right do you suppose," Martim replied, raising his eyes to meet hers as she bore down on him, "That you allow me to do anything?"

Elyse stared at him, fists clenched, a dark anger boiling in her blood. But as he merely gazed back, green eyes mysterious and weighing, waiting for an answer, she realized he was right. What was she doing? Why did she feel so strongly that she had some right of permission over what he did...? There was simply some part of her that shouted that of course she had such a right. She stood, trying to think of what to say, face burning as Martim calmly stared at her.

"She has a point," Kells said quietly, after a while. "I am not even certain such a creature could be killed. Why throw your life away?"

"Well," Martim replied, finally breaking his stare from Elyse to glance at the soldier, "I have a curiousity. And, I feel, a...responsibility, to stop this if I can. My hope is that I would not be throwing it away. That some way could be found. Not," he muttered beneath his breath, "that I currently have any idea what that may be."

"Ah might hae a clue fer ye," Grizel spoke up, grinning as the three turned their eyes back to her. "Ye see, years ago, back afore all o' this began, Ah were on a walk en th' woods wit' Mors. There're ogres that dwell upon these mountains, ye ken - great big beasts o' men. They will eat a Crosscraw, ef they get their hands on 'em, but they ken better than tae trifle wit' a witch such as me. So Ah were en their lands." She paused, eyes growing dim as she cast her mind back in memory. "Et were en these woods tha' Ah came across one o' the ogres, wounded an' near death. He begged me tae save him. He said tha' he an' his kin had seen a great shadow, a daemon, come crawlin' out o' th' caves, an' they had tried tae attack et. Mah Art was nae able tae heal him, fer he had been wounded wit' Dolmec iron." Seeing Martim give a start, she glanced toward the wizard. "Ye hae heard o' th' stuff?"

"Dark metal, that can pierce even good steel," Martim answered. "Yes, I have seen it."

"Et es nae jest that et's sharp. Though 'tis nae surprisin' that ye dinnae ken what else et can do. Nae many do, rare as et es, an' when folk use et they usually do th' killin quickly." Grizel's voice lowered, and she leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. "Ef ye are cut bah et, ye're doomed. Fer slowly, et turns ye intae stone. Th' more yer cut, th' more quickly it does so, but even th' slightest scratch will damn ye. Only if ye yet live after bein' cut, though. An' nae Art nor medicine exists that can save ye." She leaned back, and her tone darkened. "Et were nae long after tha', the bogge-men began tae appear, an' th' killin began."

"So you think this...ogre, saw the Bogge-King first?" Kells asked.

"Ah do," Grizel replied. The old witch gave Martim a knowing glance. "Ye hae seen th' great black blade th' Bogge-King wields. Nae hae lived long enough against him tae see, but et could be Dolmec iron. Et could be tha' th' ogres could point ye tae th' hole en th' earth from which the Bogge-King first crawled entae our world. An' mayhap ye would learn somethin' of him there."

"I would think that they'd be long killed by now, unless they had holed up in Dun Cairn." Martimeos, far too calmly, was busy packing his pipe bowl with more tobacco. Elyse fought the urge to grab him by his shirt and shake some sense into him. "Not much use to me dead."

"Mors has seen them, still, en their woods - Ah dinnae think the Bogge-King cares tae kill 'em ef they leave him alone. Ye would hae tae be careful wit' them, though. But they hae become more suspicious. The last they saw Mors, they threw rocks at him - an Ah think ye ken how dangerous et would be tae earn mah familiar's ire."

"Hold a moment," Elyse said, as Martim paused to light his pipe. She still stood, her anger burning hot within her, but she did her best to keep her tone civil, tugging fretfully at her long, dark hair. "I...cannot say that I have a right to disallow you. But you do see how foolish this is, wizard. Don't you? You have no responsibility, here, and your curiousity's satisfaction is not worth the risk. You have your brother's trail, and we might just make our way off the mountain."

When Martim simply ignored this, she fought back the urge to scream. "How is it that I might make my way to the ogre's lands?" he asked of Grizel, steadfastly refusing to look at Elyse.

The old witch nodded, as if the matter was settled. "Et will nae be an easy path. Tae reach th' ogres, ye must travel through th' killin' fields, where all th' Crosscraw tribes used tae make their home, an' where th' bogge-men slaughtered much o' us. En a place o' so much death, the world grows thinner, an' this world es already thin enough as et es. Strange things from the lands o' death make their way through. Ye would need a guide."

"Ah'll do et!" a voice cried, and all four of them whipped their heads around to find its source.

There, melting from the shadows by the doorway to Grizel's chambers, stood Aela. Her long red hair was matted and knotted, and her furs dirty, but a frantic light burned in her green eyes as she stared at Martimeos. "Ah can do et!" she cried again, trembling slightly as she stepped forward. "Ah can guide ye! Ye must let me!"

Grizel hissed, and spat into the fire. "Ent et jest like a Ghostfoot, tae skulk and eavesdrop on what ye shouldnae hear," she snarled. "What es et tha' seized ye, child, tha' made yet think et would be a good idea tae spy on me?"

But Aela did not answer her. She rushed forward into the room, so quickly and blindly that Elyse nearly had to dive out of the way to avoid being bowled over. Kneeling by Martim's side, Aela took his hand in hers. The wizard's eyes widened in alarm, and he looked as if he desperately wanted to move away, if it were not for his bad leg. "Ah can guide ye," Aela whispered feverishly. "Ah owe et tae ye. Ah must do et. Et's the only way Ah can begin tae pay off mah debt tae ye."

Martimeos yanked his hand from hers as if her grip was hot iron, upon hearing that. "You do not owe me anything," he said warily.

"But Ah do!" Aela reached out, as if trying to grab him again, and then stopped herself. "Ah owe et tae ye! Fer what Torc did tae yer home - an' fer me askin' ye tae spare him, and receivin' yer mercy - Ah hae a debt tae ye, an - please, ye must, Ah must hae a way tae settle et -"

"Stop it," Martimeos snapped at her, his glare going wild and fierce, looking almost like an animal for a moment with those fiery eyes beneath his shaggy mane. "You owe me nothing for what your brother did - he did it, not you."

"Ah do!" Aela nearly wailed. Her breath had become shallow and rapid, and she reached out for Martim once more. "Th' guilt - ye must let me do somethin' about et-"

With a growl, Martimeos slapped her hand away. "If you feel you owe me for what your brother did, then I already owe you much more," he snarled, and then slammed his mouth shut, shaking his head in frustration.

Taken aback, Aela leaned away from Martimeos, confused. She looked around slowly, as a hush fell over the room. Kells had risen from his seat on the floor, stepping forward cautiously, as if to restrain her, as if the soldier was uncertain of what she might do. Elyse stood nearby as well, her every muscle tense, curled in the shadows and ready to spring should the Crosscraw woman do something strange. Only Grizel watched all this with calm, keen eyes observing the lowlanders curiously. "What....what d'ye mean bah that...?" Aela asked, looking back towards Martim. "How could ye owe me...?"

Martimeos sighed, and let the silence linger for a moment, as if he were considering giving her an honest answer. But finally, he spoke, his voice weary. "Aela," he said quietly, "The Bogge-King, it was once a man. A man I knew. A man from my village. A friend of mine, named Hadley. Do you understand? If you owe me for what your brother did, then I owe you for what he has done."

Aela gasped in shock, and then scrambled backwards, into the corner of the room, curling herself up in the shadows there, staring out with wild, unfocused eyes. But her reaction was not what Martimeos had been expecting. A great look of horror and dawning realization slowly spread across her face. "Ah...Ah did this," she said, her voice wavering. "Mah blood - mah blood es what brought this doom upon mah people." With a moan, she clasped her head in her hands, and then began to shake violently, like a leaf in the wind.

Grizel rose, and with the clack of her gnarled walking stick upon the stone floor, crossed the room to Aela, her hair and shawl dragging along the ground as she did so. The old witch gave the Crosscraw woman a sharp look, standing over her, but then her wizened and crafty face turned surprisingly gentle. "Calm yerself, child," she whispered, as she placed a soothing hand on Aela's head. As she did so, Elyse could feel some working of the Art, something subtle and quiet that Grizel was doing, though she was not quite certain what it was.

But whatever had been done, it worked. Slowly, Aela's shaking stopped, and she loosened, almost seeming to melt, until she was no longer curled about herself. Instead, she leaned back against the stone wall, arms dangling limply by her sides. Elyse could see now, for the first time, just how gaunt and tired the woman looked. Her cheeks were hollow, and great dark creases ran beneath her eyes. She yawned, and then shook her head, as if trying to fight off sleep. "Ancestors damn and curse me," she murmured, looking at Martim. "Ah was livin' wit' all this shame en mah blood this whole time and Ah didnae even ken. Why did it nae set my heart aflame?"

Martimeos threw his hands up n frustration. "Didn't you hear me? I do not know your Crosscraw ways, but you should feel no shame for what your brother did. I do not hold you responsible. I do not feel guilt for what Hadley did, after all. His actions are not a burden on me."

"Ef that's so," Aela replied, "Why did ye say ye felt a responsibility tae face the Bogge-King?"

Martim's eyes widened, and he fell silent, staring quietly back at the Crosscraw woman.

"Besides, ye shouldnae." Aela shook her head, her long red mane falling about her shoulders. "Ye are nae kin o' this...Hadley. Ye dinnae hae his blood, or his shame. An' Ah cannae let th' man who Ah so wronged be th' one tae go an' face the Bogge-King witout a guide. Et would be more shame, an I cannae take any more. I cannae."

"Ye wouldnae need tae do et," Grizel said, softly, reaching out to gently stroke Aela's hair. It was odd to see the old witch looking at her with something like affection. "Ah could hae Mors guide him, girl. An he's right, ye ken. Ye shouldnae feel shame, fer ye were honest wit' yerself about what Torc had done. Ye didnae try tae excuse it."

"Mors es a bear," Aela replied, never taking her eyes off Martimeos. "He would ken th' woods well enough, aye. But Ah would ken th' places o' th' Crosscraw. All th' nooks an' crannies where we once made our homes, before et all came tae ruin. Ah could show ye where we hid from th' snow, an' where we hid from danger. I could take ye down paths Mors may nae be able tae. Ah dinnae beg ye fer jest an opportunity tae be useless. Ah could be o' great help. None could sneak about th' forest like Ghostfoot could."

Martimeos took a long pull from his pipe, blowing out a great, billowing cloud of smoke, regarding her quietly. He whistled something to Flit, on his shoulder, and his familiar burbled something back. And then he nodded. "Very well," he said. "You may guide me."

Aela clapped her hands together, and the look of desperate misery on her face was replaced with one of relief and happiness, which looked much more natural on her. But Elyse felt an odd stab of fear in her heart. She was certain Martim would have been more skeptical; would have refused, or at least not thrown himself so headlong into danger. But there had never seemed to be any question at all of whether he was to do this thing. "Wait," she said, uncertainly. "Wait. I have not agreed to - to any of this."

Martimeos turned his head to regard both her and Kells. There was something in his eyes, Elyse realized. Some weary acceptance of the way things must be. "You would not need to go," he said quietly. "In fact, I would prefer it if you didn't."

Kells gave a dry chuckle. The soldier put his thumbs in the loop of his belt; standing in front of the fireplace, he was a dark silhouette in his slim black jacket, a shadow against the flames. "I think we have less choice in the matter than you're making it seem, wizard. For as I told you before, if you die, our way off the mountain dies with you."

Martimeos chewed on the stem of his pipe fretfully, and then blushed. "I don't mean to hold you hostage, here. I could escort you off the mountain and back to Twin Lamps before we undertake this thing."

"Well, now." Kells sucked on his teeth, and made a popping sound with his mouth, rocking back and forth on his boots. "I didn't say all that. That would make for a sorry story for the grandchildren, I think. To tell them the tale of the time I faced a dread creature, responsible for slaughter, and that given the chance to stop it, I turned and fled instead." His tone was light-hearted, and he gave a lackadaisical shrug. "I would feel guilty, I think. I am a soldier, after all. Born to die, as they say. 'Twould make me a very poor one to slink away. No, wizard, I am with you in this, at least. 'Tis what Roark would have done."

Though Martimeos had said he would have preferred if Kells did not come, he looked happy and somewhat relieved upon hearing these words. And then Elyse felt the wizard's eyes turn to her. "You, Elyse," Martim said softly. "I especially think you should not come. You have followed me for a good while, now, for your own reasons. We could bring you back to Twin Lamps."

Elyse folded her arms across her chest, bit her tongue and stowed her anger. She stood over Martim, looking down at the wizard, dark blue eyes gleaming beneath the brim of her hat. "And why me, especially?" she asked quietly. "Why should I especially not go? Have I not been useful to you?"

"You have," Martim answered. "But more than that, I have grown fond of you in our time together, witch. I would have always been sorry to see you hurt. But it would pain me much more to see it happen now. And all because you followed me on some whim."

Elyse stared at him, and she could feel her heart beating faster as he stared back, the shadows dancing in his dark green eyes seeming to grow ever-deeper. She fiddled with the dark ring on her finger, feeling the anger within her dance and twist together with something else. "And I suppose," she replied, "It would be just fine for me to worry about you, and wonder whether you lived. No, Martim, you will just have to learn to deal with that. I have told you before. Where you go, wizard, I will follow."

She felt like a fool for saying this. She was not shy of danger, certainly. But this was not like things had been in Silverfish, where they had some knowledge of the glimmerling and how to face it. Or even as how it had been in Twin Lamps, where they did not have a choice but to face the bogge-man there. No, here, they walked headlong into a danger they might avoid, against an Outsider so foul it strained the very world to bear its presence. She could just wait for Martim to return, and avoid the danger.

But there was something in the wizard's eyes, something that had been there ever since they had first seen the Bogge-King. Martim was breaking. All of this, it was too much for him - seeing his friend so fallen, and facing up to one of the killers who had attacked his village - it was straining him, though fool he was, he ignored it. He needed friendly faces about him. He needed her. Of that she was certain. She couldn't just let him wander off to get broken, because -

Because, a dark voice whispered somewhere deep within her, he belongs to you.

Elyse did not have much time to ponder this strange thought. Martimeos nodded at her reply, and did not protest. He had learned that much of her, in their time together, at least. He looked about the room, at the others gathered here. Kells, slim and dark, wearing a small, half-amused smile, looking barely concerned at all about what they were meant to do. Aela, gaunt and with a desperate hope in her eyes, whether for her redemption or for the killing of the Bogge-King, he could not say. And Grizel, her colorful cloak seeming to shift and move in the flickering light of the fire, sharp eyes watching him keenly. "I suppose it's settled, then," he said. "We will try to stop Hadley."