The trial was over and sentence passed. Crispian partook of some ale and left Castle Sauvage, feeling oddly wounded.


And there he stood. Arguyle MacFadden. Highlander, Lord General of the Red Lions.


Out of reflex, Crispian salute. The gruff old highlander returned it, a smile on his face.

"Hail Sir Crispain!" he said, burr undercutting the words.


"General," Crispian said with a brisk nod of his head. He motioned the highlander to step outside the gates of the keep where fewer people would hear them.


"Well, if you insist," Arguyle said, watching the lad closely. There was a strange air about him, very un-Crispian.


"Long time since I have seen you last," Crispian said, turning away as they walked.


Recalling his time spent in Snowdonia, Arguyle smiled lazily. "Aye, I have been on Sabbitical in Snowdonia."


"I trust Snowdonia treated you well?" Crispian almost snapped, bile rising in his throat.


"It was rather - helpful," Arguyle said with an almost sly grin.


"Indeed?" Crispian asked archly. "Well, things have been - different- down here."


"How so?" Arguyle ventured cautiously.


Gritting his teeth, for the very aceent of the man seemed to hurt, Crispian replied through clenched jaw, "The D'Vena matter seems unfinished."


Gravely Arguyle nodded, thinking he saw now what bothered this earnest young warrior. An incomplete task could eat at a heart like his. "As long as the wench lives, it is not finished," he said gravely.


"Indeed not, Lord General," Crispian said lowly, "and I tell you this, highlander. You have work to finish with her." The chattering laughter at the edge of his mind was pushing inward. Crispian's face contorted into a sneer.


Concerned, Arguyle put forth his hand, resting on the shorter lad's shoulder. "Me? What work do I have with her lad?"


Crispian grabbed his head in his hands as the laughter roared louder, then looked at Argulye, eyes filled with anguish. "She feels your affairs are not compelete with her."


Arguyle's face was grave. "I have no affairs with that witch other than to light the torch that shall burn her." He watched Crispian closel as he burst out in mad laughter.


"SHE feels otherwise towards YOU!" he bellowed around laughter.


"How do you know so much about what she feels lad?" Arguyle said, moving toward Crispian. Concern was foremost in his mind but his eyes flicked to the dirk in his boot.


"I" he gasped, pain wracking him, "I - I must leave you now, Arguyle," he gasped around tears and turning fled to a horse, riding with speed south.

 

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Tobyas surveyed the room at Ye Mug for some minutes, nursing a tankard of ale. This was not the place he wanted to be, was not somewhere that he could feel at ease with al the he knew from the past day. He sipped and thought. And thought some more.


A young Lord, a Knight. More than he had hoped for ever. Well, at least since his youth, and the fields of his home. But those days, and that boy, were beyond him now, forever. But this new man... It gave pause for thought.


After a while, and a tankard, Tobyas wandered out and into the streets of Camelot, letting his feet take him where they may. The city was alive for him as it had not been before. The sights, the smells, the people - no longer were these the inflicters of a misery he must live with. Now, they were the life of the city, the very fiber of the world that surrounded him. And all this from one single act of kindness.


At length, he found himself in the great cathederal of the city. The saints of the realm depicting in fine stained glass, the glory of the Almighty shown in work after work. He gazed about at the works, taking them in. The splendor of it all was more than his mind and heart could absorb.


"My child, what troubles thee?" a quiet voice sounded behind him. He turned, seeing a kindly face turned toward him. A elder woman, of fine bearing he noted, stood in simple whimple and habit. Her blue eyes peered almost through him.


"Sister," he said quietly, in awe of the place and her serenity, "I am troubled with the world, but wondering at the might of the Almighty, and the majesty," he said, feeling odd to be in so holy a place after the life he had but recently led.


"What troubles thee, my son?" she asked, sympathy and understanding so evident that it made Tobyas's heart ache.


"I have found - a love, but one of which the law," he paused, his voice dropping off, "nor the church would approve of." He felt an unaccomstomed flush spreading over his cheeks. "And in a qunadry I am, sister."


"My son, if such are your problems, surely the Almighty," she said, making a holy sign on her breast, "may give ye answer, as he did me." Her smile was of one who had found a course and meaning in life that met the needs of all manners of her person.


"Perhaps," Tobyas allowed. "et, I know the station of this other is higher than mine, and the means of their life greater than I could aspire to."


"But the Almighty," she said, again making the sign but not impiously, "can provide ye with guidance and a course, my son."


"If it can be so," Tobyas said, a spontaneous urge coming over him, "then let me seek it out!"


She smiled, offering him a hand, and led him into the chapter house of the catherdal.

Ayslyn sat back in his chair, brooding. The crystal on the table next to him was now dark, but moments ago it had flared with light. The charm that he had given Crispian, activated by the power of the curse, had sent an image of everything that had happened. "Arguyle," he mused. He nodded slowly. "es. It makes sense. Through the lad, she means to get revenge on those responsible for her fall." Secaran sat on the stairs opposite him, and Luaiel lounged against one wall.


"Watchu gunna do now Ays?" Luaiel rummbled.


Ayslyn didn't answer. He just sat there, tapping his chin with a single, slender finger. "Indeed," he wondered aloud. He took up the lapdesk that sat next to his chair and began to write a letter. Penning the words quickly, in his neat, precise hand, he folded the note and lit a candle. Using the candle to melt some green wax onto the fold, he pressed his willow marked ring into the seal. He held it out to Secaran. "Get this to Arguyle."


The next day, Arguyle Macfadden found a letter sitting on his desk. Breaking the green sealing wax with his thumb, he opened it and read.


Lord General.

You seem to be the focus of the trouble that young Crispian faces. D'vena is not finished with any of you. Take care around the lad and do not blame him for his actions. Help him as he has helped you in the past.


A Friend.

 

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Awaking with a head that pounded wrse than the war-drums of Migard, Crispian rolled off the cot and vomited loudly into the chamber pot. Grabbing a ewer of water, he drank, rinsing his mouth and spat, placing the chamber pot cover back on. Gingerly, he climbed back onto the small cot in Cornwall station and rolled to face the wall.


The light slapping of hands brought him back around a short time later. He rolled over and squinted into the semi-darkness of the room. There was a figure leaning against the wall. Slowly, Crispian reached for his blade as the person continued to clap softly.


"What will you do next cousin? Drink until you can vomit on horseback?" Lynis said, turning the wick up on the oil lamp shieled behind his back. Lynis, Brother Lynis now, Crispian reminded himself, looked well for his travels, as much as Crispian could tell.


"whaduwant," Crispian muttered, the pain stabbng behind his eyes like a pygmy goblin's thrust. "comebacklader," he croaked again, throat rebelling against even that effort. He closed his eyes, hoping Lynis would just go.


"Well, before I leave you to your complete dyfilement, cousin, I bring you some news. First, here is the roll of membership additions. Tannir insisted I bring it. And word has it Carrrington Whitethorne is back in Albion." The meticulous friar set the scroll neatly atop the heap of Crispian's discarded clothing, now all folded and neat he noticed.


"Carrington?" Cris squinted up. "What's he doing back?" he gasped, levering himself off the bed and snatching the scroll up. His head pounded from ale and cheap wine- gods, what a thing to drink he had, but this word of Carrington chilled him.


With a languid shrug, Lynis continued, "I know not, Lord Seneschal. Oh, and Glavian has word for you to - clean your life up." He smiled, "I thought you would like to hear that one."


Crispian looked at Lynis sharply, and regretted moving his head so quickly. He looked back at the list, to give him something to do, and finally scribbld his name at the bottom. Four new additions was good for the League.


Yoji

Throdian

Jethinz

Tobyas


"Get me some water, would ye Lynis, and arrange for a horse. I think I need to go to Castle Sauvage and talk to someone," Crispian said quietly. "This Carrington should not be about in the Realm." The hangover pain was slowly subsiding, as a hint of laughter flowed up and into Crispian's mind.


As the door closed behind Lynis, Crispian stood and pulled on a gambeson. Lacing the ties up, he smirked, "No, the Lady does not want this Carrington about!"


His fingers froze on the ties and he grabbed for the crystal on the stand - he KNEW he had not removed it! - and shaking it pulled it over his head. As the sphere touched his bare chest, he cried out and collapsed, lying whimpering on the floor until Lynis found him some minutes later.


"Don't," he said weakly, "don' laugh anymore." As Lynis held him, Crispian wept.

 

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Arguyle watched Crispian as he ran off and mounted a horse. Something was very odd about the lad. He did not remember him being some jumpy and so distracted all the time.


As Crispian rode off Arguyle thought to himself, "What have you done now D'Vena?"


With a firm and steadfast resolution Arguyle MacFadden committed himself to putting an end to D'Vena once and for all. He would see her burned at the stake for her witchery. He would also see Crispian act like himself again.


With that he turned and strode into Castle Sauvage to purchase his writ of passage to Hibernia. As he turned toward the Mage Circle he saw his friend Glavian and he called out to him, "Hail Glavian! How are you old friend?"

Tobyas knelt before Lady Winchell. His coppery hair gleamed in the light as she sworn the tonsure of an acolyte into the top of it. He had been examined by the Master of Acolytes most of the evening and had proved his knowledge well enough to enter into the service of the church. Perhaps this was his answer, devotion to the Almighty.


Following his sacring, he wandered out to Cotswold and met three fellows about to set out and battle the evil that filled the land. He journeyed with them, seeing horrors that even made him quiver with some fear, but he learned much.


The following day he received from Winchell the blessing and consecration of a cleric to the Church, and made his vows.


This new life was shaping well for him, but still he thought often of the blond-haired knight who had fled south, from what he learned.

Crispian pulled himself up short at the sight of her. Moryan Tanriel positively beamed.


"ou and Glavian must be very happy," he said quietly. The after-effects of last nights bout with ale still had him fuzzy and slightly unfocused.


"Aye, I lo'e him vera much," she purred, a grin tugging at her lips.


"ou know Carrington is back?" he asked, controlling a wince against the sharp stab of pain that the name brought.


"Aye, but 'e nae been seem about te realm yet, just courtin' it seem," came her offhanded response.


"And?" Crispian asked archly.


"I'm married to Glavian, an' vera in lo'e. Caer is not my worra anymore," she said firmly, the smile at the mention of Glavian's name barely fading.


"ou should worry about him. Because of him, D'Vena has marked you," Crispian said quietly, his voice cut with tension.


Moryan snorted, tossing her head. "Te King should hang the wench. I spoke ta Dru about your problem," she offered, as reigns to a horse were handed to her by the stable boy.


"Burn her," Crispian muttered as the mercenary wench rode off for Castle Sauvage and then Emain, to meet her beloved knight. As he watched her ride, Crispian was unsure if he meant D'Vena or Morayn should burn. A shudder passed through him as he paled.


Turning on heel, he stumbled toward the tavern in Cotswold, coin purse already much lighter from last night but able to support a few more draughts.

 

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Jashen walked across the bridge under the midday sun. Cotswold was it's usual burr of activity. He nodded and smiled at some people he recognized. A journey out to Mithra's Tomb last eve had helped to clear his mind and ease some of his tension, but he still was worried about his brother.


Pulling the door open to the tavern, it was easy to spot Crispian. Slumped against the wall in the back, his mail still gleaming and shined, a tankard clenched firmly in hand. His slid in across from his twin and lifted the tankard away.


"Time to come home, Cris," he said quietly, watching the crowd mill about them. "Don't you think you've had enough?"


Red-shot grey eyes, once matches to Jashen's own, opened. A wicked malice danced in them for a moment, then Crispian shook his head. "Whadya mean, Jashie? I ain't had near to enough," he belched the last couple of words. "Madder if fact, I'm gonna haf some more now, thank you." He started to signal the wench who made her way around when he noticed a ring on Jashen's finger. Willow...willow...something familiar.


"Crispian Michael Pontiff," Jashen hissed, grabbing the upraised wrist of his brother, "you have had ENOUGH!" He held Crispian's arm, wondering when his brother had gotten so strong and tried to avoid a commotion. Crispian looked at the hand encasing his wrist.


"Where'd you get that?" he asked, a sudden sobriety coloring his voice. "That ring. Where did you get that?"


Jashen considered the ring for a moment. "Tannir asked me to wear it in case I ran into you." He released his grip and took the ring off, offering up to Crispian. "Mean something to you?"


He snatched the ring from Jashen, a kind of greed-filled relief filling his eyes. Willow...ash...no..Ays...Ayslyn...ring...agents...know he needs...


Stumbling, Crispian rose from his seat. "I haf to get to Emain. Need an elf," he muttered, swaying his way toward the door. His sword smacked a mercenary nursing a drink but Jashen stilled the man's reaction with a gold piece.


"Crispian, you are in no shape to ride! Never mind fighting an elf." Jashen grabbed at Crispian, who just shook off his hand.


"LEAVE ME ALONE!" he barked, causing heads to turn. "ou're just a little brother!" He wheeled, continuing out. "It's not like your Auntie or someone. I don't need babysitting!"


Staggering on, he continued to the stables and paid for his horse. Jashen stood mutely watching as his brother rode off, lurching in the saddle. A look of deep hurt was on his face as he saw the last glint of sunlight off burnished mail.


He pivoted precisely on heel and headed for the Laughing Lion.

 

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Sitting on the edge of the Salisbury Plains, a huge expanse Tobyas had never thought to explore. He had been battling here for nearly two days with a trio of guild mates from St. Crispin's League and had just accepted the offer of membership from Achou, a young cabalist.


They had all drifted off to sleep following a long day of trying to check the encroachment of the brownie gossamers and grassrunners. The battle had been furious and at times deadly. Brother Lynis, a pious friar, had called Tobyas back to life more than once.


"So, who is Crispian?" Tobyas had asked during a pause in the fighting. He sluiced water into his leather jerkin in an attempt to cool off some. "I had heard mention of him at the Defender's."


Lynis, stretched out upon the grass, gazed up from his breviery. "Crispian is my cousin, and Seneschal to the League," he said in his quiet tenor.


Tobyas had gown a little pale at that. "Senescal?"


"Aye, he is the leader of the League, with Toorc, each taking East and West as responsilbities."


"Oh," Tobyas had said quietly and let the matter drop. A Guild Leader, a knight, and apparently a drunkard. He felt more conflicted the more he learned of the man responsible for his freedom and change of life.


Now, with the evening cool settling in, Tobyas sat, looking at the stars of Salisbury and pondered what to do next.

Ayslyn sat on the branch of a tree, resting agianst the trunk. A squirrel, perched on his knees, was chittering at him excitedly. Ayslyn nodded at him periodically. "Of course. How terrible. Your tree?" He fought hard to conceal a grin. Talking with a squirrel was not unlike talking to an excited 4 year-old. It was hard to get a word in. He heard a something crashing through the underbrush. Looking down he saw Crispian dashing through the trees, and looking none to steady. He frowned in sympathy. What the boy was going through was not easy. He held up a hand to the squirrel. "I am sorry my friend. Something very important has just come up." He closed his fingers, making a fist and then opened it again. Wedged his fore and middle finger was a brazilnut. The squirrel chittered happily as Ayslyn handed it to him. "Go now, quickly. I shall find you again and you can finish." The squirrel scampered away.


Crispian stopped underneath Ayslyn's perch to rest. He bent, hands on his knees, and breathed heavily. Ayslyn grinned mischeaviously. He took one of his waterskins out. He had just filled them from one of the streams in the mountains so it should still be cold. He opened the skin and upended it over the young armsman. Shock, as the cold stream of water struck him, almost drove Crispian to his knees. He shook water from his eyes and glared up into the tree. Ayslyn smiled innocently down at him. "I thought you might like something to help clear your head," he called down. "ou should be careful. Your brother has been wearing my ring about town. Luckily some of my agents can tell you two apart." He grinned with amusement. "So. What can I do for you?"

 

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