Martimeos lay by the stone fireplace in Grizel's chambers, stretched out on a pile of furs, the heat of it slowly drying out the damp from his long hair, wet from the baths. Flit sat upon the ledge above the fireplace, softly whistling now and then in his slumber upon the warm stone. Aside from Flit, though he was alone now - it was very late at night, and all the others were asleep; he had snuck off at this dark hour so that he might bathe without running into any of the Crosscraw. He scratched at the wound on his leg - nearly healed now, it itched - and frowned as he stared into the fire, lost in thought.

It had been a little over two weeks since Grizel had told them of their dread task of killing the Bogge-King. Though they had settled on their course, leaving right away had not been an option. His leg still needed to heal - though it did so much faster than it might have, tended to by both Grizel and Elyse. It was just as well, though, for Aela had needed time to recover from nearly a week of starving herself. And they had needed time to plan - to go over maps of charcoal sketched on animal hide, to pick out their best route through the 'Killing Grounds', as both Aela and Grizel had called them.

They had kept their intentions secret, from the rest of the Crosscraw - Martim still did not want them finding out that the Bogge-King was a man from his village, and did not like the idea of the uncomfortable questions that may be raised if they learned that he intended to hunt the creature. It had not been a sure thing, keeping it secret - he had wondered if they might be able to offer aid of some sort - but in the end he decided against it, even going so far as to swear Aela to secrecy. Truth told, he was not even certain if bringing Aela along was a good idea. His hope was that Hadley's recognition of him would keep the bogge-men from attacking; he could not say for certain it would stay their hand when it came to a Crosscraw.

All their planning was done now, however. Though his leg had not yet fully healed, tomorrow, they would leave. They could not afford to wait much longer; Grizel had said that soon the true depths of winter would be upon the crags, and they'd be struck by blizzards so fierce it would be a fool's errand to travel through them. The only alternative to that was to wait long months until spring.

The fire cracked and popped, sending up a flurry of sparks, and Martim sighed, looking away from it, to the sword that lay by his side, scabbarded, hilt gleaming in the orange glow. Hadley had made that sword. One of the last smithworks he had made, before he had gone off to fight in the Queen's War. His family had kept it as a memento. When Hadley's father had given the sword to him before heading off on his own journey, Martim had been very surprised. He had not expected Hadley's family to give up such a precious memory, especially to him, who they had never been fond of.

But he could still remember the words of Hadley's father, a gruff and broad-shouldered man, but gray and worn down the last time Martim had seen him, with no son any more to take over the smithy now that his strength was leaving him. "If you find him living," the man had told Martim, "Show him this sword, and tell him to come back to where he belongs. If you find him dead, bury it with him."

A sharp pang of guilt roiled through Martim, and he buried his face in his hands. Some part of him knew that killing Hadley was the right thing to do, if it could be done. But another part of him desperately did not want to. It seemed so unjust, that a good man like Hadley might have fallen under - under whatever curse it was, that had turned him into the Bogge-King, and had to be killed for things he would never have done otherwise. And Vivian - poor Vivian. Martim had broken her heart, and now his goal was to kill her only remaining brother. What could he possibly say to her, when he saw her again? Did it truly have to be like this? Was there not some way, against all hope, that Hadley might be saved? What was it that had happened to him?

From behind him he heard a soft rustling. His head shot up, and he turned, to see Elyse standing by the dark entrance to one of the adjoining rooms, watching him, a heavy blanket of furs wrapped around her shoulders, and her dark hair falling long and free of her hat. Around her feet, Cecil curled and purred, until with a gentle word she dismissed her familiar, and he retreated back into the darkness of the room she had come from. "You're awake," she said quietly.

"I am," he agreed, warily. She nodded, absent-mindedly, and crossed the room, bare feet softly slapping against the cold stone floor. She sat by his side, fur blanket wrapped tightly around herself, never taking her strange, dark blue eyes off him.

These past weeks had given them the chance to study the Art together for a while, something they had not had the opportunity to do much since leaving Twin Lamps. He was very nearly as good with glamour as Elyse was, now, though healing still eluded him. And the witch had likewise become nearly as good as he at manipulating flame. But between their practice, Elyse had always bought up the idea of simply leaving without facing the Bogge-King. She might have agreed to follow him - and refused to consider letting him go without her - but she constantly attempted to sow doubts in his mind about their course. It was far too dangerous, she said, and with not enough reward at the end - though Martim had extracted a promise from Grizel that the old witch would teach them of the Art should they succeed. That all he would be doing is satisfying his curiousity of what had happened to his friend, or fulfilling some foolish sense of responsibility he felt.

And he could tell that this was what was on her mind now, as she sat, staring at him, eyes wide and unreadable, the shadows of the fire dancing across her face as she settled down next to it, wrapped in her fur blanket. "Well, Martim," she said, "I would have thought you would want some sleep, tonight. Are you ready for tomorrow? Or have you decided to listen to me? There is still time to change course."

"My course," he replied, weary, "Is set, witch. There is no turning back."

She remained staring at him, and Martimeos braced himself for her reply. He half-expected her to admit that she was goin to remain, and plead with him. His mind drifted back to Vivian, when he had left Pike's Green; another pretty girl, begging him not to go. But instead she just gave an exasperated sigh, and said, "Well, you certainly are stubborn. No point now in trying to convince you to see sense, I suppose. You'll do as you wish." She shifted beneath her blanket, letting slip a bare leg from beneath it as she changed position, and Martim could not stop himself from wondering whether she was naked under there. She broke her gaze from him and stared into the fire, frowning. "But are you not afraid of what may happen? The Bogge-King, Martim, he - he may be your friend, but he is something else now, as well. An Outsider, and a powerful one. I must admit I do not think much of our chances."

"Are you frightened?" Martim asked in reply. When Elyse did not respond except to grimace at him, he shrugged. "Well, we do have some advantages, I think. Hadley does not seem to bear any hostility towards me, for one." He paused, his heart rankling. Even twisted as the man was, Hadley still recognized him. And here he was, considering how best to use that to kill his old friend. He pushed down the feelings of guilt and continued. "And...well, I do put some stock in a telling."

"Nothing about Grizel's telling, I noticed," Elyse replied wryly, "Mentioned you surviving the attempt, even if you are successful." She frowned down at the blanket she wore, and then loosened it, letting it slip down to reveal bare, pale shoulders. Martimeos found his face blushing, which he thought was absurd; he had seen her unclothed before, why did her shoulders alone bother him so? "There is something else that I have been pondering," she continued, fortunately not looking his way to see his blush. "If your friend Hadley is alive, then it seems possible that your brother is, as well."

"I suppose."

She glanced towards him, raising a curious eyebrow. The wizard stared calmly into the flames, firelight twinkling in his eyes. "I had thought you'd be heartened, by that."

Martimeos gave a small frown, and then a shrug. "I am not getting my hopes up. Just because Hadley lives, does not mean my brother does. I still believe he is most likely dead."

Elyse let this answer linger for a while, the only sound between them that of the crackling fire. "Your brother," she said eventually, "Seems quite the strange man." When Martimeos did not answer, she lifted a hand, and began ticking points off on her fingers. "From what I have heard of him, he could travel Outside easily. He healed a wound of yours that ought to have slain you; something far beyond what even my mother could accomplish, and she was very learned indeed. He slew scores of men with the Art. He easily bested Grizel, a witch much older and experienced than he. And all this he did while barely older than you are now." She looked at the wizard expectantly. "He sounds a master of the Art, at a time when he should still have been a novice," she said quietly. "Martimeos. Is there something you are not telling me about your brother?"

Martimeos sighed, and shifted, wincing as he put too much weight on his wounded leg. Elyse tsked irritably at that; she wished they had the time to wait for the wizard to fully heal. "When my brother left," he began, "I was very young. A child. I thought of him as simply exceptionally talented, certainly much more so than I. In the years since, I came to realize that exceptional would not begin to describe it. Legendary, might be more appropriate." He paused, and lifted his eyes from the fire to gaze at her. His face was hidden in shadow, and the firelight danced along his long hair, making him look almost like some strange beast with a great, glowing mane. "The Art came naturally to him," he murmured. "I can look back and remember him learning things in a few hours that it would take me weeks to grasp, and only with his tutelage. So yes. You are right that he is unusual. If he had lived, he might have grown so great that I do not know there are any to compare him to."

Elyse felt a chill run through her, staring into the shadows of Martim's face. There was something wild about the wizard's eyes, just now. "He taught you," she said. "But who was it who taught him?"

Martimeos tilted his head, reminding Elyse disconcertingly of a cat considering its prey. "I never met the man," he said simply.

"Alright, but who was he?" she pressed. When Martimeos did not answer her, she gave a small sigh. "More secrets, I see." She considered the wizard for a moment, and then leaned forward. "If you find him - find him still alive - what is it you plan to do?"

Martimeos remained staring at her, silently, for a moment, and then turned to look back into the flames. "I'll ask him," the wizard replied, his voice hoarse and suddenly small, "Why he never came home."

Elyse was shocked to see, glinting in the firelight, a tear rolling down the cheek of the wizard's face. But suddenly, it struck her. Growing up along in the swamp, how dearly, at times, she would wish for a friend, or a sister, or a brother. Martimeos had these things, and then in one fell swoop, had them torn away. His friends to the flames, and his brother to the war. And here he was, amongst the folk that had killed his, and with the grim task of putting down the monster that one of his friends had become. She had the strange sensation a chord humming deep within her, like a string plucked, and she thought as if she must know precisely how the wizard felt. The hum spread through her entire body, and left her with a strange, soft sadness that she had never felt before. "Martimeos," she murmured quietly.

"Damn ash got into my eye," the wizard muttered, rubbing at his face. He glanced down in surprise as Elyse curled her arm around his, and leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Such a terrible excuse," she said softly. She hummed to herself in satisfaction as, after a moment, Martimeos drew an arm around her shoulders. "If your brother is as great as you say, I certainly hope we find him still living. Imagine what we might learn of the Art from him. I am glad I followed you."

Martimeos glanced at her, lingering for a long moment, and then looked back into the fire. "Why did you follow me, Elyse?" he asked. "Why follow me into such danger?"

Elyse was silent, for a while, before squeezing his arm. "I have told you this. I have my secrets, wizard, but you know this one. I wanted to see the world, and you seemed a fine companion." She felt a pang of guilt roil through her, and added, "And besides. You need me there to watch after you, I think. I would not like it if you were hurt. For I have grown fond of you as well." She gave a dark chuckle. "I am sure mother would not have approved."

Martimeos snorted. "You're fond of taking up space in my bed." He gave her a curious glance, and added, "Though I notice you have not been there, of late."

Elyse paused. She had been avoiding Martim's bed, lately. And she had found herself more shy about going unclothed before him, as well. Not because she did not enjoy it; rather, she had found herself enjoying it too much. It was a strange feeling to have, having grown up going without clothes so often, but of late, feeling the wizard's eyes upon her body filled her with a dark hunger she found increasingly difficult to resist. If she shared Martim's bed, she was no longer certain she'd be able to stop herself. And she could not help but remember her mother's warning of what would happen to men she cared for. The image of a bloody, headless corpse slumped against a tree flashed through her mind. And the last warning her mother had given, as well...

Still, Martim's words had struck a cord with something wicked in her. "Do you miss me there, wizard?" she asked, her tone light and mocking. "Do you miss me warming your blankets?"

She had expected Martim to blush. Instead, he said quietly, "If I said yes, would you join me there again?" He paused for a moment, and then looked at her, steady and calm. "I would like it if you did so tonight."

Elyse gave a start. This was becoming dangerous, she thought. She could feel a dark fire beginning to course its way through her blood, and the ring upon her finger was growing very warm. But as Martim caught her eyes with his, green and mysterious and deep with shadow, she found herself uncertain of what to say. She struggled to not let her caution dissolve. "I...not...we need our sleep, tonight," she managed to force out.

Martim's mouth quirked upward in a small smile. "Why, Elyse. Are you implying that we might do something other than sleep if we shared a bed together?"

Elyse's face burned as she realized what her mind had leapt to. The wizard was staring at her, and just the touch of his hand upon her bare shoulder was sending waves of hunger through her. She knew, if he asked again, she would say yes. But he merely shrugged, turning away back to the fire. "Very well, witch. As you wish it."

Elyse tried to calm herself, to slow her breathing and soothe her thoughts. But so filled with dark, wild urges was she, that she gave into the first impulse that sparked in her mind. She turned her head and, leaning over, bit the shoulder of the arm Martimeos had draped over her.

"Ow!" the wizard cried, drawing back from her with a jolt. "What are you - your teeth are sharp!" Frowning, he rubbed at his shoulder, and then glared at her. "What do you think you're doing? What was that bite for?"

Elyse had scrambled back from him, crouching in the shadows, staring with eyes wild and strange back at the wizard. She laughed wickedly at him, grateful for the darkness hiding her burning face. Her mind danced frantically between the impish impulses to bite him and kiss him. The longer she looked at him, she realized the less she was able to resist the urge to do both. Legs trembling, she got to her feet, blanket wrapped tightly around herself, and looked away from him, staring at the wall. She wanted to say something clever, or cunning, or teasing to set Martim's blood aflame. Instead, she blurted, "You taste good."

She heard a rustling sound behind her as the wizard stirred. "If...I offended with the invitation-" he began, muttering.

"No!" Elyse shook her head, and then lowered her voice. "No. 'Tis just...you surprise me sometimes, wizard." She turned her head to look at him once more. He sat by the fire still, a silhouette against it, hair glowing softly in its light, and those dark green eyes of his seeming almost hypnotic. "And frighten me," she added, in a whisper too low for him to hear. Whipping her head around before the dark voices whispering wild things to her as she stared at him could grow too loud, she shivered and straightened her back. "Goodnight, Martimeos."

And with that, she retreated to her room, taking care to not move too quickly, leaving Martimeos confused and alone in the dark.

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

Aela breathed out slowly, watching her breath trail away in spirals of mist in the cold mountain air, dancing on the wind, whipping upwards towards a pale gray sky. Finally, she thought to herself. Finally time to leave.

She stood on the small stone plaza that served as an entrance into Dun Cairn, the flattened ledge carved into the slope of the mountain. Down beneath her stretched an endless green sea of pines, snowcapped and calm. She could not help but feel some happiness that she might be back among those, despite the task ahead of her, and the dangers that lurked in their shadows. Beneath the free sky was how a life should be lived. To be holed up inside a mountain for too long, that was no place for a Crosscraw. Though, she reflected ruefully, she knew from long experience that she may well soon find those feelings foolish. The damned bogge-men had poisoned even the freedom of the sky with terror.

She turned to look back over the plaza, Martimeos, Kells and Elyse stood gathered around Grizel, the old seer giving them their last advice. All three were far less wrapped up against the cold than she, though Kells, at least, had taken a thick bearfur cloak to protect himself against the chill. She supposed it was not as necessary for them. Martimeos had shown her how he could heat clothing with the Art; how with a touch and a word, his simple black-furred cloak could keep him warmer than all her layers of hides. Elyse, in particular, made the fewest concessions to the cold - she wore a woolen cloak and covered her arms in long black gloves, but both were so thin. But the witch, small and delicate as she was, displayed an astounding hardiness against the cold, enough to shame even the roughest Crosscraw warrior, seeming the least perturbed of them all by the biting winds, casting odd glances in Martim's direction as her familiar Cecil curled about her feet.

With a sigh, she stretched her limbs until they trembled, feeling the weakness that stillr an deep within them. Truth be told, Aela still did not feel fully recovered. While she had sat alone in the dark, her head feeling as if it were full of swirling fog, and her heart a constant dull ache in her chest, the rest of her body had seemed numb to her. Food seemed to taste like ash, and besides, she had barely felt hunger, and only the most dim pangs of thirst. She had felt nothing, even when she had visions of the Bogge-King standing over her, whispering to her of the wickedness of her people, half-dream and half-delirium. But now, with a way to at least begin to pay Martimeos back for her blood debt to him, she found her appetite came roaring back. The Chief was kind enough to see that she got extra rations, but even that was barely enough to sate her. She found herself, to her embarrassment, relying on the food the lowlanders had packed with them to supplement her meals.

She wished she could have refused, but she was just so hungry. So she accepted their food, although it did nothing but put her further in debt to them. The seemingly endless kindness and bravery of these lowlanders was a marvel to her; she sometimes still found her heart beating faster and her face burning when she looked at them. They had done so much for her, when she and her damned blood deserved so little. They had acted so nobly, where her own folk had been so craven, so base as to offer up excuses for her brother, the damned childkiller whose blood ran in her veins-

Aela found her breathing becoming rapid and shallow, and a sharp pain stabbed through her heart. She did her best to chase thoughts of her brother away. She had not seen him since he fought with Martim, though she had heard tale from some of the men that he lived. To even think of him was to feel a dark poison spread through her mind. She should not have begged for his life, except - except that he was her brother, and she had a lifetime of memories of her love for him. It had been Torc who had saved her from the bogge-men, when finally the damned creatures turned their burning eyes to Ghostfoot clan. Torc, who had held her as she wailed in mindless grief when they realized the rest of their clan was gone.

She knew too, that once, her folk had not been like this. She had memories, fading ones, of a time when the Crosscraw were free, and kindness and life that these lowlanders showed was not unheard of among them. But long years of slaughter had made even those who lived less than they once were. The flame of life had been driven out of them, though they yet lived. And even the ones who still had it in them thought of little more than survival. Aela had always wanted so badly to remind them, to show them that life could be a beautiful thing, that they should not forget that. But she didn't know if she had it in her to do that anymore.

It was why, though it was the Bogge-King they hunted - something she could not quite wrap her mind around, even now - she felt an odd sort of relief at being out of Dun Cairn. She could no longer bring herself to offer smiles to her folk, not now. Odd as it was, she could be more honest with herself with these lowlanders. Although...

Kells was a good and solid lad, and Elyse, beneath her barbed tongue, had a kindness to her. But there was something about Martimeos that frightened her, and she did not think it was merely that she felt so indebted to him. She could not forget how he had looked, when he had shouted at her in the sand pits of the arena when he had fought her brother, or the terror she felt when his wild eyes blazed into her. The wizard seemed calm, if a bit irritable, much of the time - but there was a fierceness to him that made her mouth go dry.

With a start, she realized those wild eyes of his were staring at her right now. "Aela," Martim called to her over the biting wind, his shout muffled slightly by the red scarf he wore wrapped tightly about his face. "We must leave soon. Last chance to stay, if you wish."

Aela tugged her furs tight about her as she approached him, stamping her feet to get the blood flowing in her legs. "Ah hae tol' ye, Ah am wit ye," she replied. Uncomfortable, she broke away from his gaze, and stared up at the sky, narrowing her eyes at the weak light of the sun behind the clouds. "Et es time tae be movin', though."

Martimeos had sworn her to secrecy, both about the identity of the Bogge-King, and about the hunt they were about to undertake. They had chosen a time to leave, early in the morning, when they knew no other Crosscraw would be up and about, and shortly after the return of a hunting party, so that they would run into no others on their path. The wizard had been worried about what the reaction of the other Crosscraw would have been, had they discovered that the Bogge-King had been someone from his village. Aela, not long ago, would have told him he was being foolish - that none would have held him responsible for the actions of one not of his blood. But ever since her brother's crimes had been revealed, she had wondered whether she knew her own folk as well as she thought she did. And besides, what good would have come of telling them? Her folk had already fought a war against the bogge-men, and lost.

Grizel stood leaning on her gnarled walking stick, long hair and colorful shawl drifting off to trail in the snow that lay in windswept drifts across the plaza. She hummed an odd tune to herself, tapping her stick with her fingers in time to it. "Mors'll meet ye before ye cross intae th' killin' fields," she said, squinting into the sky as if unused to even the dim morning light. The old witch had been full of cryptic nonsense these past couple of weeks, eating mushrooms and babbling on about the Land of Dim, though she had, in her more clear-headed moments, given the lowlanders some advice. And right now seemed to be one of her more lucid moments. "Et ent a long journey, but th' Chief an' th' others will notice ye and Aela hae gone after a while. Ah'll do mah best tae keep 'em from sendin' out others after ye."

Martimeos nodded, and then, with a groan, and still nursing his freshly-healed leg, he hoisted a pack that lay at his feet onto his back. Flit chirped and jumped, with a quiet flutter, from the wizard's shoulder to his hair. "My thanks, witch," he said, "For your hospitality and your help. Remember well the reward we talked about."

"Aye, aye," the old witch said dismissively, waving idly. But as they turned to leave, she reached out lightning-quick with one bony, gnarled hand and grabbed Aela by the wrist. "Afore ye go, child," she said quietly, "Ah hae words fer ye." When Martimeos, Kells and Elyse paused, glancing curiously among each other, the old witch frowned fiercely at them. "Et's words fer Aela alone, ye ken. Crosscraw tae Crosscraw."

Martimeos narrowed his eyes and frowned, but the lowlanders obliged, walking away a distance, so that Grizel's words could not be heard over the howling wind. Aela, left alone with the old witch, felt herself growing slightly nervous. Grizel had always been an odd one - before the bogge-men had come, she had lived clanless and alone, with her familiar. And right now, the strange old woman was leaning on her cane, giving her a curious, concerned look, long silver hair whipping in the breeze. "Child," she said quietly. "Ah'm...glad that a Crosscraw es goin' along on this task, ye ken. But Ah wish ye were nae th' one tae do et."

"Ah must," Aela answered, glancing in the direction of the lowlanders. She shrugged, adjusting the pack upon her back. "Mah blood, th' shame en et - tae make things right wit' th' Ancestors, I hae tae do somethin'."

Grizel grimaced, and spat onto the stones of the plaza. "That fer th' Ancestors," she snapped, cackling at Aela's shocked look. "What? Ah talk tae th' Ancestors, such as the ones Ah can even understand - many o' them dinnae even hae our tongue anymore. They ain't so great, child. D'ye think what yer brother did terrible? Ah can tell ye, many o' our ancestors would hae approved o' his actions. Ye got more kindness and sense in ye than many o' them do."

Aela gave a dubious snort. "Daft nonsense. Why do ye flatter me, seer?"

Grizel gave a long, weary sigh, as if she had been expecting this response. She paused, biting her lip, keen eyes sharp enough that Aela felt as if they were cutting through her as the witch stared. "Ah...didnae hae a tellin' o' ye doin this, at first," Grizel whispered quietly, her eyes darting towards the lowlanders. "But Ah hae, since. Ah hae seen what will happen tae ye ef ye go."

Aela shivered, feeling her skin crawl. She did not like tellings, especially not ones about her. "An' what es et ye saw?"

"Yer blood," Grizel replied, quietly and deliberately, "Will stain th' ground o' the Land o' Dim." She was quiet, and then looked up at Aela, wizened face grave and certain. "Yer goin' tae die, ef ye do this."

There was silence between them, except for the howling of the biting wind, for a long moment. "Are...are ye certain?" Aela asked quietly.

"'Twas as certain a tellin' as Ah hae ever had," Grizel replied. She sighed once more, leaning heavily on her walking stick, as she gave Aela one last, long look. "Yer brother's shame es nae yers. Ye dinnae hae tae do this."

Aela was quiet for a long time, considering what she had heard. And she felt a strange joy welling in her heart. Fear, true, but joy as well.

Grizel, the strange one, did not understand. But this - dire as it was, it was good news. If she died helping Martimeos, then it would do much to erase the shame in her blood. The legacy her family left behind wouldn't have to be one of such terrible, utter guilt. She couldn't stop a happy smile from spreading across her face, even as the old witch gave her a strange look. "Ah do," she answered simply. "Ah must. Goodbye, Grizel. Tell th' Chief Ah'm sorry et had tae be like this."

And with that, she walked away, joining the lowlanders. And together, they descended into the ocean of pines that lay down the mountainside.