Shadows in Methryn

Once everything is settled in Avalon, Brennan readies himself to depart.

Mental review of what he's learned about Avalon and the environs: Check.
Some nondescript but highly functional light armor taken from Benedict's armory: Check.
Armor artificially weathered, scuffed, dinged and then artificially repaired: Check.
Scant pack of Trumps inventoried and secured on his person: Check.
Benedict's Trump of Llewella returned to Benedict: Check.
Provisions and mount appropriate to his task gathered up: Check.
Skiaza gathered up and set to posing as part of Brennan's own shadow: Check.
Cousins informed of Brennan's initial direction: Check.

There doesn't seem to be much else to do beyond that checklist, so in short order, Brennan heads out. Initially, the goal is simple-- clear the vicinity of the castle without making too much of a ruckus or interacting with the locals, and then head in a direction that Brennan and his cousins have determined to be promising for information.

Brennan heads North and West, across the island to a village he has been told can provide him with a boat to reach the other islands where the attack might come from. By evening, it's become overcast, although not cold. He doesn't know how much further the coast is from where he is, and it's getting too dark to travel without a clear sky.

There is a farmhouse off the side of the road, and there are light on inside, if Brennan wishes to stop.

Brennan keeps Skiaza close and out of sight, which should be fairly easy to do in the deepening gloom. No eating, he warms Skiaza quietly.

He approaches the farmhouse, but doesn't do so particularly quietly. He lets his mount's hooves strike the earth in way that makes enough noise to be heard. They may be sitting down to a meal, but if no one comes out to see what's going on, he'll call out from a reasonable distance, "Hello, the farmhouse!"

"Hello, the traveller, " replies a woman's voice. "Are you alone? Come forward, then."

The door opens and Brennan can see a nice fire inside and a woman holding the door open. She seems to be alone, but there's no telling who might be inside, other than her cats. She seems young and relatively open, although Brennan can tell from her posture and his experience that she's carrying some sort of weapon for defense.

Brennan affects not to notice her posture-- it's unlikely she's a threat to him, but the opposite is not obviously true. So, let her keep it for her peace of mind. He does dismount and step forward, enough that she can get a better look, but not so close she'll think he's angling to rush the house. He doesn't bother to unbuckle his sword belt. He has no insignia or marks that would tie him to Avalon, or Benedict's service, or any group in particular.

"I'm told if I keep heading in that direction, I'll come to a village," he waves in the direction he'd been travelling, "But I'm not told how far it is."

She nods. "It's a days' walk, so half that on your horse, mayhap 3 hours if he's good and rested."

"If you're looking to stay the night, the barn's around back. Come up to the house when you've settled your horse. I've some stew in the kettle."

She doesn't seem to be concerned about what errand he's on, or which side he represents.

"Much obliged, ma'am," he says. "Horse ain't rested, anymore, and I'm not keen on laming him in the dark anyways."

This all seems a bit pat, to Brennan-- unless Benedict's decided that the local culture supports itinerant warriors, which may not strictly be impossible-- so he does exercise some caution. As he's tending to Greyfoot, he takes at least a more-than-casual glace around the barn looking for anything out of place... and looking to get an idea of how many people live and work here if he can.

Once done, he hesitates, the decides that the lesser risk is to keep Skiaza with him. Greyfoot wasn't chosen to look magnificent (quite the opposite, really) but he was taken from Benedict's stables and Brennan trusts him to make some noise if a horse thief tries to remove him. It's not like he wouldn't be able to track anyone down who dared, anyway, and there's nothing that Brennan leaves there to tie him to Benedict's service.

That done, he heads back around to the house, gives a knock of warning and enters.

When he's inside and sees the girl again, he draws out a cheese, still sealed in wax, saying, "All I got that's fit for a table, unless you fancy salt pork and hard tack. They call me Walker."

She smiles at the bounty, and takes it from him. "I've bread and soup that will go with that nicely, Sir Walker, if you don't mind eating with the common folk." She assumes he does not and begins preparing the meal.

"My husband provided his full duty to The Protector, but I care not for such things. I can tell you something, Sir Walker. If you wish not to create a stir, you would do well not to ride a horse into Briarton Village." She looks up from the chopping block, over the root vegetables she has cut. "It marks you as a solder of rank--either in the service of a Lord or a Lord yourself."

That sounds uncomfortably like a euphemism for, "Died in foreign wars," or some such, to Brennan's ears.

He doesn't confirm or deny that he's a Sir, not because he's above lying, but because she's already made up her mind and denials will only settle the issue further in her mind. "This Briarton Village that excitable, then? Never seen a man on a horse before?"

The stew preparations continue, although Brennan finds a plate with his cheese before him as a first course. "Wars and rumors of wars travel faster than horses, Sir Walker. One man on a horse is a harbinger of more, whether he be a scout or a messenger. The men who live here are men of war. Their trade is the trade of warriors, their leisure is the leisure of warriors. We make ships and weapons and raise horses and sell food to march upon. Thus it ever has been."

She pauses. "For many, this is all life here is."

Not for the first time, Brennan thinks that the Klybesians... might not be entirely wrong in their outlook.

Out loud, Brennan grunts as he converts the cheese into a pile of slices. "You reckon it's different somewhere else?" he asks, evidently not picturing what or where such a place would be.

She laughs and matches the cheese slices to apple slices. "It's different here, but not all partake of the deeper levels. Avalon is not so simple as it appears."

"Ah," Brennan says around a mouthful of cheese and apples. "You reckon it's different for someone else, then." There is a trace of genial skepticism in his voice, again evidently not able to picture such people. "Never met 'em. What else is there for 'em, then?"

She laughs. "You just don't know you have. There were people on this island before there was a Protector, and there were those who lived here before that. And those auld folk have there own legends, of times and peoples before them. A farmer may claim to know the earth, to have ten generations of ancestors who turned the same plot, but he has not idea what the apple tree's roots reach, or what is under that.

"How many levels deep into Avalon do you intend to look, Sir Walker?" She puts two bowls of stew in front of them, and takes a spoonful from hers.

Walker doesn't think much of the question as phrased, and gives an answer that she won't think much of in return: "I dunno, five, is my lucky number. Seems to me, if I was lookin' into Avalon like you says, I'd have to know how many levels there are to answer. Have to know what I was lookin' for, even."

She looks at him, "Do you think it was an accident that you came here tonight? Choose not to listen if you wish. You will find what you seek, but not what you need, if you blindly follow your path. Avalon itsel' would speak to you, were you to listen. And how deep does it go, you ask? Do you think that is an answer with a number to it? Mayhap, but it's beyond my kenning, and perhaps that of any man."

She turns back to her stew, without eating any of it. "I know you are not of this world, Sir Walker, nor do you seem to be one of the Protector's mercenaries. I can promise you that whatever you were told behind the high stones, there is a land here that is more complex than you know. Mayhap it is not your concern, but it will be there, and do what it will. If you wish to influence what happens on this island, treat with those below."

Walker gives a sardonic grin. "So you do reckon there's other places," he says. Was that so hard? The grin vanishes, at least from his eyes. "So I reckon I'm listening close after all. As deep as the roots of the Silver Towers, then."

She sighs. "I am sorry. I have not spent much time recently with intelligent men and solitude does not make me good company. Yes, I do ken other places. You can only go so far in Avalon without leaving it, you know. It is a place with ragged edges. And the Fair Folk had their own ways and their own paths before the Silver Towers were raised. You only need towers if you are intent on fighting. Thus it was."

He holds the expression for a moment longer, then relaxes it and nods his head. She is not forgiven, as such, but he will overlook it. "Who'd they fight, then?"

"The men who found this land? They fought the Fair Folk, in the First Age of Heroes. The Fair Folk fought the Giants before that. The Giants fought the Gods. No one knows who the Gods fought, because the Giants killed them all 'ere a man first saw this place.

"After that, the men fought each other, through ages of history, until the present. The Silver Towers fell with the end of the Witch-King and the start of the Interregnum."

"Well I meant," Walker says, "who'd the Silver Tower fight? Who'd they raise the towers against and who finally brought 'em low? This Witch-King?"

"Nearly," she replies. "The Fair Folk raised them, the Witch-King captured them and made them his. When he was defeated by other men, the towers collapsed, lacking his magic to keep them standing."

"Huh," he says. "They had no magic, then? How'd they manage to defeat a witch without it?"

"No one knows. Perhaps he became entrapped in one of his own spells. Perhaps he died of old age before the final assault. I have always speculated that he was stabbed in the kidneys by a jealous lover or husband. I do not mean to mythologize him. He was a power for ill in these lands, at least for those who came before.

"He is not much considered these days, and is far on his way to being beyond the ken of mortal men. He is a tale of a wicked King of the distant past and few people think his time is relevant to the present. What stirs your interest in it, Sir Walker?"

"The silver towers were fallen, into a sea of blood. How many miles to Avalon? None, I say, and all. The silver towers are fallen," he recites.

"Only line I remember of a poem I heard," he says. "But it left a mark. And the conversation was walking this way, anyway. I'm just listenin'."

She sings the preceding line, slowly and in a minor key: "Beyond the River of the Blessed, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Avalon. Our swords were shattered in our hands and we hung our shields on the oak tree." Her singing voice is surprisingly low.

"It is the song of the Avalonian Captivity, during the interregnum between the Witch King and the Protector. It's a variation of an older piece." She clears her throat and sings again.

"King and Queen of Caledon,
How many miles to Avalon?
Eight and eight, and other eight.
Will I get there by candle-light?
If your horse be good and your spurs be bright.
How mony men have ye?
May not ye dare to come and see

"Caledonia was what the witch-king's people called the lands of the Fair Folk."

He nods, slowly, "Yeah, that was it," he says. Then, "Captivity. Was that better or worse than the Witch-King, I wonder? Captivity by who?"

She shrugs. "The Captivity refers to the men and women abandoned by the Witch-King, who were captive to new lords. I'm sure it was worse for them, but little or nothing changed for the people of Avalon. Just who was at the top."

Walker gives a grunt which might passably mean assent, or dissent, or disinterest in her political philosophies. "Are there ruins, then? Seems like they'd a good place to listen to Avalon, as you say, being part of it so long."

She nods. "There is a cave you can enter, and return to an older world. Would you listen to the Fair Folk, Walker? They will want to know why they should speak to you."

Brennan Brandson, nephew of Witch-Kings and Protectors, nods to himself. It was not what he expected, but it is not in itself surprising. Nor does he seriously entertain the notion that they won't speak to him. Dropping some of the affectations of the simple country lord, but not entirely the persona, he says, "So that I might carry with me memories of them when I walk to a newer world."

She pauses, considering. "That might well be a thing they would accept. They have an odd sense of time, the Fair Folk. Imagine cycles, each preceding the next, and within them, countercycles where time runs forwards. What you and I would consider the next world, they consider the prior one, and vice-versa.

"I admit it makes no sense to me, but to them it is as obvious as the ley lines that weave across all the lands of the Fair."

He makes no comment concerning the Fair Folks' understanding of time, or his own, but he nods-- he expects even more than this woman does, that they will accept this. "Ley lines?" he asks, simply.

She nods in agreement. "You are aware, i presume, that Magic tends to work more effectively in some places than in others, I assume? Imagine invisible lines of energy, connecting these places of power. Along those, there is also increased strength, although not as much as at the nodes. They are useful for marginal magics, or to boost exceptional magics to new heights."

The woman pauses. "No one knows if the Fair Folk made them, found them and used them, or if they were spontaneously generated by their cities."

"Connecting place to place?" His eyes narrow. "Or time to time?"

She shakes her head. "Time is the most difficult of magics, and those who practice it are often unaware of the dangers they pose to themselves, or others, or everything. The Fair Folk know of it, but do not consider it right to practice. Others disagree, and may hear or see or learn of snatches of things true and untrue that may have happened or may be, but it is not a study for the wise."

"But their cave leads to an elder world," he says, with a certain touch of cynicism. "So. Where's this cave, then, and when I go there, who do I say sent me?"

She ignores his cynical tone and answers as if he were merely a student needing more reinforcement. "Their cave leads to their world. They say that what we call "the future" is but a temporary anomaly, and it is merely an artifact of the process of the world becoming younger. They are an older people, but they live in this time and are the decedents of those who lived in the times of the witch king. And, if they believe what they tell me, they are the ancestors of the people in the prior cycle.

"When we speak of the magic related to time, we deal with the smaller cycles of generations and not the epicycles of Great Turnings. I have never needed to know what came before, or perhaps after." She shrugs.

"Ride north along the treeline, to a path that leads into the forest from here; it's no more than a mile. About the same distance in is a mound, enter on the long axis, and climb down. Tell them your name when they ask it, and they will ask what you seek. Once you are inside, I cannot say what it will be like for you. I have heard different descriptions of their place from others, so I do not think I can tell you anything that will help you.

"That may be true of everything I've said, of course. If that is your course tomorrow, I suggest getting a good night's sleep. You'll want to be alert in the Cave."

Brennan ignores her ducking the other question-- her name-- since he hasn't been on the level about his own. He lets it pass with the same slightly cynical expression he wore while noting that the Fair Folk cave may lead to a different time. Since it is the same expression, she may not note the change of its application.

Nevertheless, she's been a veritable fountain of interesting information, if none that will be useful immediate, so he thanks her: "I've no doubt I will, when I get there," he says. "You've my thanks, then. For the roof, for the barn, for the conversation."

"We are a hospitable people, Sir Walker, as well as a curious one. I thought I would be learning instead of explaining tonight. I'm not sorry it turned out otherwise."

With that, Walker bids his good evenings and either makes his way or allows himself to be shown back to the barn where he'll be bedding down for the night. Assuming that Skiaza and his horse are unmolested by the environment and by each other, he does not sleep immediately, but does spend some time in meditation. He does not perform active Sorcery, and though he does use the Third Eye his intent is not to search for anything unusual, but simply to meditate more effectively on the precise Time and Space of this place. He will be returning here, eventually.

In the morning, he sets out, following the woman's advice-- on foot.

Brennan leaves the farm in the morning. The woman is not to be found. Perhaps she's out in the orchards. The sun is blazing down on him, making the apples grow fat and juicy around him. When he gets to the place the woman mentioned, he sees a seldom-traveled path leading North. Had he not known to look, he would not have seen it.

When he reaches it, Brennan takes a long, lingering look at the track north, balancing.

In the one hand, he holds his native Redheaded curiosity for matters arcane, his instinct that learning more of the Fair Folk will uncover some long-hidden Family business, and his gut hunch that whatever he learns will be both useful and important for the long run. Annais' paraphrase of their view of time is too similar to what he's heard of the Paresh, and these ley lines sound entirely too similar to the Faiella-Bionin to ignore.

In the other, he holds his promises to Celina and Benedict to assist their respective realms, and his conviction that Moire is not only close, but that she might even-- just possibly-- be unaware that Brennan is even here, much less as Rebma's agent.

It is a reluctant decision, but when balanced out like that, not a difficult one. Brennan spends a long moment-- a very long moment-- extending his senses to mark this place in his memory: not just the route he took from Benedict's castle to the farmhouse to here, not just the visual impression of the place, but the feel of it, the distance and position with respect to the metaphysical landmarks, the strength of Benedict's Pattern. Does he see or sense anything that indicates he is on a ley line?

It's hard to say. Real sorcery is so much more powerful than the shadow stuff that it tends to overwhelm it. There's clearly magic here, but it's like looking for the Failella Bionin in Rebma.

Brennan expected as much. He even has a plan to deal with that... but not here and not now.

When he's satisfied himself in that way, he looks around for a suitable symbol of the place to take with him and to help him find his way back. He has in mind a lump of native rock, but when he sees one lying on the ground, he decides that an apple seed will do better.

[Assuming nothing exciting or toward happens]

With that, he resumes his trip to the coast, working for Benedict.

Several hours later, Brennan comes to the top of a ridge from which he can see the coast. At the road he is on leads directly into a port. Based on what Brennan can see from here, it's partly a fishing center, but mostly a trading port. It's surrounded by a wooden palisade.

The ships are small, and do not look oceanworthy. Between the ridge and the port, the road has orchards on either side of it.

If Brennan is far enough from Avalon's Pattern to let the shadows lie for him, he'll do so. If not, he'll make sure he looks sufficiently down on his luck to be a wandering sellsword, a fighter bereft of a warband, or something of the sort. It seems that, while Avalon might not have a trade surplus in those, there ought to be a few wandering around now and then.

If it's a trading port, then even if they aren't here now, there should be some local infrastructure to support at least a few decent ships-- a dock area, and all the fascinating nightlife opportunities (taverns, run-down taverns, and cut-throat run-down taverns) that implies. But first he has to get there, through the pallisade. Brennan tries the direct approach-- walking along the road to whatever entrance the pallisade might have.

The palisade has an entrance, with watchtowers the act as gates on either side. The entrance is actually near the docks; Brennan will have to go walk along the outside wall for distance to reach the gateway to the town. The entrance is open, but looks as if it could be closed. The guards on the platform seem to be alert, and due to the height of the towers, they have a good view all around. Brennan can see that they're watching the sea more carefully than the land.

Through the open gateway, Brennan can see the docks and warehouses he seeks. A second glance suggests that that the ships, while not ocean-worthy, may be suitable for trading within the local islands.

And that, really, is all anyone needs, if Brennan understands the geography of the place. Benedict seems to have several reasons to actively avoid the ocean-faring trade empire motif of his father. But if raiding happens island to island, there have to be navies to support it, and some small amounts of trade will surely happen. Or if not trade, then the transport of plunder.

As Brennan approaches, he's hailed from the entry and a man starts walking over. He's in armor, but he looks more like an aging sergeant than a strong fighter.

"Ho, Stranger, what brings you to Port Idun?" He looks as if he knows, but has to ask anyway.

"Passin' through, I hope. News, trade, and travel," Walker says, as if to add-- what other reasons would there be?

He waves Brennan in. "If you're needing an Inn," he says, sizing Brennan up to determine his net worth, "I'd recommend the Cloven Hoof down by the docks. Lots of sell-swords go through there. Tell 'em Wolf sent you."

Walker notices the eye, and lets it pass as though he's gotten used to it-- the armor he's got is old and even a little dinged but still very serviceable, and the clothing is travel worn but not filthy or degenerated to rags. Several days growth of stubble adds to the overall effect.

"Much obliged, friend. I'll do that," he says. And he does.

He's either made the right impression and gotten a good tip, or he hasn't and he's being set up to get rolled. The only way to find out is to go see.

Brennan passes two better-appointed inns before he reaches the Cloven Hoof. Under a large and graphic image of the namesake of the place, there is an unassuming door. The inn is clean and not well lit, and doesn't have more advanced amenities like a stables or a courtyard, but it seems to be be focused on cheap sleeping and cheap eating and drinking. Brennan finds himself under scrutiny when he walks in. Some of it from the corners, some from a man sitting in the middle at the only well-lit table. He is the only one who smiles when Brennan enters. He seems approachable. The bar is unmanned at the moment.

Walker doesn't smile. He stands in the doorway to give his eyes a chance to adjust to the gloom, surveys the room and eyeballs back some of the tables that are eyeballing him. He walks up to the man at the table and says, "Man name of Wolf sent me. Name's Walker."

His smile grows. "My Wife's Cousin's boy! A sharp eye, that one. Are you seeking work, and passage? I am looking for soldiers for hire. I am Cledwin."

The man guestures to a seat. "Sit, and we can discuss terms. I pay well."

Walker does indeed sit down, with a smile on the socially acceptable side of thin. "Good pay for high risks, I reckon," he says, quoting an aphorism from a vastly distant time and place that is probably just as applicable here. "What offer for what job?"

The man's laugh is easy. "The client is far more nervous than I am and therefore inclined to pay well. It actually should be mostly sitting and riding. If we see any bandits, having a strong visible presence will deter them.

"We sail to Methryn's Isle to act as guards for a man transporting his bride-price to his future father-in-law. Then we take her to him. Easy escort work."

He leans in. "Don't think we may not need to fight. It's more important to project that we can, and then we usually don't have to."

He leans back. "Now, you. I see the sword, and you wear it like you can use it. What else? Can you fire a bow and can you ride?"

Walker nods curtly to each separate question. "Both at the same time, if need calls. Else-- I've a good bit of woodscraft. I can move quietly, and at night." But he grimaces a bit, too. "Not much worse than an easy job gone bad, though. Your client know something he ain't telling, maybe?"

The recruiter nods. Brennan suspects that he's held command in the past, at least of small units. "Maybe. He's rich and stupid, and he may do something dumb. I'm getting paid in advance. You're getting paid by the day, so if it falls apart, at least you'll have been paid for what you did do. It's better terms than you'd get from most, but I like men to be glad to sign on with me a second time.

"Best case, we get horses, but most of the troop won't be riders. If we need to, it's good to know you can." He pauses. "This isn't a war. At best it may have some skirmishes. I don't need someone who can't not fight."

Again, the thin smile: "We all know how often easy money comes around," Walker says, excusing his mild skepticism. "I'll enjoy it while it's here. If I like your offer, when and where do we ship out?"

Negotiations continue to a mutually satisfying conclusion: the price is not so much that Walker was at risk of not getting the job and not so little that he is suspiciously underpriced.

Cledwin hands him a coin to seal the bargain. It has Benedict's face on the obverse and Castle Avalon on the reverse. "We sail as soon as they finish loading The Lynx, which will hopefully be this evening." Cledwin grins. "I'm glad you came along, I was about to have to tell Lord Lotar that I was not ready. If there's anything you need to do in town, you should take care of it now."

Walker turns the coin over in his hand with some satisfaction. "Done, then," he says.

Brennan leaves. The town is small, but lively. A half-dozen ships are in port, The Lynx being the nicest of the lot. Stevedores are loading cargo aboard. Brennan's best bet is that it's some sort of fermented apple beverage. There are other taverns, and people around them, but Brennan does not find much of interest. No one seems, for instance, to be talking about invasions, either outbound or inbound. There is a small fishing pier with children playing on it, several smithys, and oddly, a miliner's shop.

The town is remarkably unremarkable.

Walker does not see fit to create rumors of war while he is investigating the same; he listens only, and does not prompt anyone by asking directly.

Brennan goes aboard ship at the appointed hour and is introduced to the Owner, Crisp. The man is short, with wispy white hair and is by no means young. If he is seeking a wife, it's likely not his first. Crisp seems to like 'Walker', a fact that Cledwin later attributes to Walker's Amber-style name. Crisp came here as a child from Amber, with his parents, who were servants of the Protector.

Brennan has few other opportunities to talk to Crisp, but does meet his fellow guards. There are four, and they are very like Walker, without Brennan's skills to back them up. Two are brothers, Gregor and Peitr, and the other two are not from the same racial stock as the Avalonians. Kim and Chiu are their names, and they seem to have a long-term partnership that pre-dates The Lynx. Cledwin appoints Walker the Sergeant. Cledwin is, naturally, Captain of the Guard. "The savages of Methryn respond best to impressive-sounding tities, or so I was told."

Scout would have suited him more than sergeant, but Walker is not a complainer.

The others seem to need leadership.

Assuming that Walker and the rest of Cledwin's Crew are not part of the Lynx's crew, there probably isn't much else to do on the ship other than get to know the other four. Walker is not a chatty type, but he's not inherently unfriendly-- he suggests a few card and dice games he used to play in Reme: Dead Man's Dice, Red Card Shuffle, and the like. They may know them by other names. There are some elements of skill to the games, but they are largely designed to keep money and markers flowing, rather to have one player end up with everyone else's money.

Between the table talk and the play styles, hopefully he can get a sense of which ones are the risk takers, which ones are disciplined, and which ones get sore over a run of bad luck. If any of them are paying attention in that way, they will learn that Walker is on the disciplined side, and not much inclined to sweat a temporary loss.

Cledwin plays rarely, but his style is extremely conservative. He seems to regularly lose small amounts, and does so with equanimity.

The brothers seem to work naturally as partners. Gregor is Mr. Offense and Pietr is Mr. Defense. They don't seem to work against each other, even in solo games, or where it would actually help them. Kim and Chiu are more balanced and more willing to win against each other. Still, they seem to team up naturally when teams are required.

The Lynx arrives after several days at sea at Methryn's Isle, which has a small port remarkably similar to the one from which The Lynx departed. Crisp wants Cledwin near him as his negotiate with the harbormaster. Cledwin nods and tells Brennan to take the lads into town, and to keep them out of trouble.

If Cledwin knows the place well enough to suggest a meeting place, so much the better. If not, Walker will have to arrange to send word back on where to meet. Either way, Walker gathers the other four up with a by-the-by reminder that they've still got a job to do, so let's make sure we all keep getting paid by the day.

They set out, and Walker looks for a place not unlike the one he left behind-- near the water front, of a sort that won't blink too hard at a group of notionally well-behaved men carrying steel, peaceful enough that no one is being propelled out the door as part of a bar fight at that very moment.

A good place to listen while they wait.

The tavern is not very busy, and reminds Brennan of the place Cledwin recruited him. No one pays them obvious attention, but no one approaches them. Gregor notices some men towards the back playing dice games. "Pietr, let's see if they'll teach us to play," he's got a glint in his eye.

When Kim and Chiu head up to the bar to get a drink, a pretty young woman, or at least as near as passes for one in this light in this bar, comes up and asks Brennan if he wants company.

Walker considers giving the brothers a warning as they go to gamble, but decides against it. He does, however, take up a position at a table where he can keep a weather eye on the two of them, and on the doorway. His best bet is that if trouble comes-- and it might not-- it'll come because they lost too much or won too much.

When the girl approaches, he allows as to how he's been stuck on a boat for a while. He doesn't hide that he's part of the mercenary band, or that he's never been to Methryn's Isle before.

"Yeah, the ship that just came from Avalon, right? I've always wanted to go to Avalon, it sounds so exciting compared to Methryn. This place is soo boring. My name's Danbol, by the way."

A waitress wanders over. "Do you two want anything?"

Danbol waits to see if Brennan orders her a drink.

Walker does buy her a drink-- anything she wants, within reason, and everything in this bar is likely to be within reason-- and something for himself that he nurses sparingly. And while Danbol can try to turn the conversation back to Avalon, she's not going to have much luck there, since Walker was there only briefly and found the place too quiet to find any work.

The woman is talkative and interesting, but seems to always steer the conversation back to Brennan and Avalon.

Brennan's weather eye picks up that the brothers seem to have new girlfriends as well.

Although he hadn't anticipated it, per se, he is not surprised. There is no hurry, but when an opportune moment presents itself, he'll take a non-obvious glance at Kim and Chiu as well, to see if they have fascinating new companions, as well.

Chiu and Kim have also attracted a pair of new friends, with whom they are happily chatting at the bar.

Of course they do.

Mostly, though, his attention stays on Danbol since she is right in front of him, and on Gregor and Pietr since he's already positioned in a way he can keep an eye on them without making it obvious and craning his neck every few minutes. It is possible that Methryn's Isle is as boring as the girl says, and the Methryni so impressed by titles as Cledwin says, that they're all natural magnets for attention. Or they're good targets to get rolled, one way or the other. Or something else, but those are the main contenders.

Walker keeps a close eye on what he's drinking, his coins, and the brothers, and for the moment lets things develop. He's got little to say about Avalon, but he can spin an entertaining, if somewhat taciturn, line of patter based on real events that happened decades or centuries ago, adapted to the situation.

She's enthralled, especially with the stories that have 'Walker' inserted into them.

Of course she is.

Sometime into about her third drink (however many that is for Brennan), he notices two things. Pietr and Gregor seem to be arguing with their fellow gamers, and Chiu and Kim are slipping out the side door into the alley with their dates.

Of course they are. A well-timed operation.

"Kim. Chiu," Walker says sharply enough to carry. It's not a battlefield bellow-- because this is a bar, not even a bar fight-- but it's clearly a command voice. "A little help, here."

He stands, and jerks his chin over toward the gambling corner.

Kim and Chiu look up and over, and begin to push through the sparse crowd towards the brothers. Kim shouts, "Hey, Piggy, leave muh friends alone!" His slurred words and their lurching suggests that they've been drinking more than Brennan realized.

Chiu stumbles into and through a table of locals, whose upturned noses and pink complexions meant they were already inclined to take offense at Kim's slur.

If there wasn't going to be a fight before, there's gonna be one now.

Brennan is seized by a brief but powerful urge to use the distraction of the impending bar brawl as cover to just walk away. He's gotten what he wanted, after all-- closer to his destination. But he wants more. And simply winning the fight, also within his abilities, probably won't help given Cledwyn's rather sensible desire for a contingent of men who can hold their wrath when necessary.

Which leaves trying stop the fight before it begins.

The only ways Brennan knows to do that are to remove the motivation-- usually removing the primary idiot in the room-- or providing a massive distraction.

The bar room is, by its nature, a swirling vortex of unrealized possibilities, decisions, and random chances. Brennan reaches out and grabs the most useful one he can find on such short notice and strengthens it, moving it as far from random occurrence to inevitable certainty as he can, solidifying every contributing factor on the path from now to a few seconds hence. It becomes near certain that loud-mouthed, already drunken Kim slips and falls in a puddle of beer, knocking himself senseless, hopefully unconscious. It would take a room of stone-cold killers to further beat up on a man in that condition, and might just provide enough of a distraction to keep Chiu intact for a few more seconds.

At the same time, Brennan moves as quickly as he reasonably can toward Chiu with the intent of collaring him if he tries to fight-- especially if he thinks Kim went down because someone clocked him. If he can contain Chiu long enough to buy that table a round of drinks, this might not explode.

Kim goes down as expected, leaving Chiu looking to do something about his partner. Brennan's timely arrival and loud, immediate intervention makes him the focus of the local 'Piggies'. Since he's more sober and better armed than the group, they seem content to start with complaining. "He knocked over all our drinks!" Brennan's solution will, in fact, mollify them, although they do all claim to have been drinking expensive brandies when Kim stumbled through them.

Walker lets the serving staff, such as it is, sort it out. It's not likely these guys are sober enough to tell expensive brandy from mid-range swill, and he's going to put it on Cledwyn's account, anyway.

Chiu is standing over Kim, looking sheepish. "Walker, what about Pietr?"

"Get this sorry sack of doorknobs upstairs," Walker says, and then turns his attention to the other two idiots.

Chiu reaches under his friend's armpits and starts pulling him up.

Pietr is apparently not one to take a hint. He's swinging at the face of one of his fellow players. "Yer Cheating!" can be heard clearly in one of those momentary lulls that happen in all conversations.

Chairs are scraping back across the room.

Brennan knows full well the two brothers work as a team-- where's the other one and what's he doing?

Gregor isn't in sight. To be fair, he was kneeling down when the fight started, throwing dice. Maybe he's collecting his winnings.

He starts to move in that direction, but before he can make a plan he wants to know where both of them are.

Pietr's blow lands and the man he hit roars. The Methryn swings back with a mighty haymaker, which Pietr dodges. His opponent stumbles and there's a femine giggle when he does so. "Nobody hits a Maghee!", the man shouts.

Apparently there are lots of Maghees in the room. They're also headed for Pietr.

Brennan has a feeling he's going to be proving a lot of Maghees very, very wrong... but he hasn't resigned himself to that, yet.

Walker keeps moving in that direction, sparing a bit of attention for Gregor (if and when he comes into view) and the whole tableaux-- the source of the giggle, the status of the money on the floor, etc-- if he can. Walker moves fast, dodging and weaving between people just getting started so he can practically throw himself between Pietr and Mister Maghee.

Walker is not above shoving Pietr back (to satisfy himself as well as the Maghee) but handles the Maghee a bit more gently if possible. "And no one cheats one of my boys." To Pietr: "Explain yourself!" Louder: "And where's Gregor!!"

Pietr's eyes dart to the left, where Gregor is kneeling. He's just finishing scooping up the stakes and scuttling towards the rear.

The hope is that separating the two idiots by sheer force of personality, channeled through a notional authority figure, will be enough to pull things back from the brink. And while he hasn't drawn it, Walker is still wearing his sword-- the implicit threat of drastic escalation is always present.

Brennan feels the wind and sees the focus of Pietr's gaze just in time to duck a bit, softening the blow of the glass beer bottle against the back of his head. He's still standing, but his head stings and his hair and the back of his neck are covered in bad beer and broken glass. Someone, probably another Maghee, thought they'd take him out of the fight.

Pietr's person Maghee is trying to dodge under Brennan to get a swing at the Avalonian. Brennan can tell the fight has started in earnest. It's still too small to call a riot.

Unheard over the sounds of the brawl, most likely, is the dangerous sound of Brennan's patience snapping like an icicle. Fortunately for the brawlers, it is merely his patience and not-- yet-- his temper. So far his priorities have only shifted far enough to keep Pietr and Gregor from getting killed, not to causing as much mayhem as he can.

He identifies the one with the broken bottle in his hand, grabs and locks the offending arm and uses it as a level to throw him into the nearest idiots who are surely heading his way to assist their friends. This is nothing more than sound tactical thinking. Breaking the man's arms in the bargain is not; it's merely a mild penalty for striking a scion of Amber.

The Maghee goes down in a pile of Maghees. He's yelling about his arm, and someone has picked up a broken table leg and is circling towards Brennan more warily.

"Gregor!" he bellows, "Get over here!" That may not be possible given Gregor's status, but hopefully at least one of the brothers will be free enough to be mobile by the time he bellows.

Gregor pauses in his escape attempt and is immediately clobbered by a Maghee. He is too embroiled in his node of the brawl to rally to Brennan's call.

Pietr bellows as well. "Gregor!" and starts clearing a path to his brother.

Well, that's the other way to collect all three of them in the same place-- follow Pietr to Gregor. Although there will in the future be a full and frank exchange of opinions on the notion of squad tactics.

Brennan invites the almost clever one with the chair leg to take a swing, then steps aside and lets him-- helps him, if necessary-- stumble into a knot of non-Maghees who can explain to him why waving a chair leg and stumbling into people is a bad idea. Brennan is not interested in the details of that discussion and leaves them to it.

Pietr probably hasn't the sense to watch his back while lumbering toward Gregor, so Brennan will do that for him, according to a simple rule: bare hands and booted feet gets an assailant redirected to some other part of the fray and into someone else's way; weapons, even improvised ones, gets an assailant injured before the redirection. Injured, but not killed, yet: Brennan has lost his patience, but not his temper or his pride.

With Brennan at his back, Pietr gets to Gregor and Brennan and his two minions are reunited, in the center of a circle of those too cautious or too busy with other fights to bother them. Brennan hears the sound of whistles. It's likely someone has summoned whatever passes for authority, or riot control.

There exists a probability that the notional authorities will not respond, at least not in time to complicate Brennan's life, therefore they do not appear. The why's of such a situation are as unimportant as they are hypothetically varied, but the simplest is that they're already dealing with another brawl somewhere else. Given the nature of Benedict's unrelenting crucible, that's plausible enough even without Brennan's background probability manipulation.

"Stay close, boys," Walker growls. "And get to the stairs."

His goal is simple-- get the two idiots down here reunited with the two idiots upstairs. Since it's a general riot and only a fraction of the brawlers are particularly focused on Pietr and Gregor, this might not be impossible. The strategy is to make for the stairs, hold the stairs while Pietr and Gregor go up, and throw anyone who tries to follow him back down the stairs to be sucked back into the melee. Out of sight, out of mind.

Brennan moves in the direction of stairs. Knowing that the circle surrounding them will try to stop him, he does not hesitate to thin their numbers quickly as he goes.

Brennan arrives at the stairs, and soon finds himself in the relative calm of a hallway above a riot, with a complete set of his guards. Gregor is groggy and it might not be wise to move Kim, who is still out cold.

As for the riot, it seems to be getting worse. A look out the window suggests it has spilled out into the alley and people are starting to arrive to see the fight in progress.

As long as the tavern doesn't burn down and the riot doesn't come upstairs, the five of you are at least together.

Chiu points to the window. "Cledwin's coming. I think we're in trouble."

"And why's that," Walker asks, without taking his attention from the fight. "Did we start the riot?" There is enough acid in his voice to cut glass.

Chiu looks at Gregor and opens his mouth to say something.

"Does it matter?", interrupts Pietr. "The foreigners are always to blame. We are the foreigners, the piggies will say we started it and the others will just nod along."

Now Walker turns around, and just about shanks Pietr with a glance.

"It matters to me," Walker says, in a dangerously soft tone, "or I wouldn't ask. I ain't expect you boys to be professional soldiers, but I ain't expect you to be a pile of bent clowns, either," he says, using an expression from his lawyering days in Reme whose meaning should be clear enough. "I expect you'll know when to start a fight, when to finish it, when to assist, when you need assist, and when to answer my question.

Walker's voice never raises, it only becomes more controlled. If Pietr comes to believe that Cledwyn is the least of his troubles right now, he would be unambiguously correct for the first time since he's met Walker.

"Now, I'm going to pretend you didn't hear me right, give you a chance to scratch the mud out of your ears. Going to remind you that I sat there in that bar the whole time watching you all. And I'm going to ask again: Did we. Or did we not. Start. That. Riot." As he gives those reminders, Walker invades Pietr's personal space and backs him up against the nearest wall by personal presence alone.

Brennan isn't too worried about the fight below spilling up here: There is a probability that it won't happen, which Brennan amplifies into a certainty.

Pietr looks at Gregor, then back at Brennan. "We didn't start nuffin, Sir. We wasn't gonna let them cheat us, is all." For all that Pietr is a grown man, he sounds like a surly teenage boy."

Gregor glances down into the courtyard. "Son of a..! Cledwyn just went in the side door."

Walker reaches out and pats Pietr on the cheek, and says, "But I watched you start it," before sliding his hand around to grab him by the back of the neck and propel him with some force down the stairs and into a throng of angry Maghees. "So now, you can finish it." He's not cold enough to insist a man stand and watch his brother take a good measure of bar room justice, so if Gregor wants to go help he can pass unmolested.

Once it's clear that the beating is well underway-- which all things considered ought not to take very long at all-- Brennan drops the probability manipulation that was preventing the authorities from arriving. Perhaps, at some future date, once they've recovered, they will consider the merits of threat assessment and team work in a new light. But they won't do it serving under Brennan.

Brennan hears whistles and running feet over the sounds if the riot below.

Chiu sits up and blinks, blearily. "Yeah, I saw him start it, too. Wonder what he's got against the Piggies?"

"Maybe they called him names as a child," Walker says, acidly.

Kim nods, not getting the applicability of said comment to his own choices.

"And maybe you missed it-- passed out as you was after slipping in that beer," Walker does not actually roll his eyes, but even a groggy Kim ought to be able to infer it, "but you almost started it before he did, with nothing but your mouth. I don't give a brass damn what you say or think on your own time, but as long as you're in my crew, you watch yourself. Cledwin and I will tell you when to fight. Do you understand me?" he asks in the same tone of voice that presaged Pietr getting thrown to the Maghee wolves below.

"Yes," says Kim. It's not 100% clear if he does, or if he just doesn't want to follow Pietr.

"Good," Walker says.

And, it's a nice place you've got here, Ben, Brennan thinks to himself. Roving warbands, impermanent kingdoms, casual clan-hatred to keep everything from cooling down past the point of casual warfare. I suddenly have more insight into the constant siege of so-called barbarians against places like Reme.

When Cledwin makes it up the stairs, Walker says to him without preamble, "Pietr and Gregor are fired."

Cledwin takes in the room, including Kim's state. "I see. Makes it easier, then. What happened?"

For someone who walked into a riot, even on the periphery, Cledwin is astonishingly un-mussed.

"Pietr took it on himself to start a brawl, while I was looking after this one," he gestures to Kim, whose head he is inspecting for lasting damage. Not seeing any, he continues, "Took a nasty slip and hit his head. Toughest part of him, though." He swats Kim lightly on the back of the head, which will probably draw a wince, but not do any damage.

"Time I got there, brawl'd already started and Gregor was scooping the stakes off the ground. I pulled 'em out, safe. They backsassed me. I sent 'em back down." Walker doesn't bother to specify that he threw Pietr bodily down the stairs into a crowd of his assailants. "They can deal with it, then-- they ain't part of us."

After a moment, "I reckon we'll need some more boys, before we leave. This place makes my feet itch."

Cledwin nods. "You're in luck,then. The owner wants us to leave tomorrow. If those boys are still here when we get back, we can cart 'em back to Avalon. We can either hire sailors for the duration, if you have any you want, or we can make hiring noises here. Downside of that is that my best place to recruit is downstairs."

He steps to the window. "The owner owes me a favor. She won't tell the patrol that we're up here. We can wait until the riot below dies down. If we didn't have to recruit replacements for those two, I'd be tempted to let you get arrested and then just pay your fine out of the bosses' money."

There was never any chance that Walker was going to get arrested, but there's no need to push the issue. Or to openly question why they'd bother to do any favors for Pietr and Gregor.

Cledwin looks down into the courtyard. "The whole place is wound up, straining like a catapult ready to be fired. Something's in the air here."

Once he's done with Kim, Walker takes a look for himself out the window. "Reckoned maybe it was just me," he mutters, scrubbing a hand back through his hair and leaving it there to rub his own neck. "Sailors? Even less discipline." He sucks on his teeth for a bit, then says, "Maybe I can scare something up. Have to know who we're moving through where, though-- no sense taking boys from a clan that'll draw trouble."

As far as Brennan is concerned, that idea has many merits: Cledwin can babysit the Mouths, for one. Brennan has a firm notion of what sort will make a good addition to this crew, for another. And most importantly, it will give him the chance to hit the streets and gather some information, which is the point of slumming it with this crew in the first place.

Cledwin shakes his head. "Whole island is riled, from what I've been hearing. It's like everybody decided to move south at once, and that pushed the next set along. Like someone picked up a crate full of bottles and dropped it.

"I've no idea who will be where we're going through on our way to Holy Mountain."

Walker grunts at that, and says, "All right, I'll see what scrounges up."

He does take a few minutes to clean the stale beer and glass fragments from that smashed bottle off the back of his head, change his shirt, and generally look as respectable as a mercenary recruiter needs to look... which in this case is like someone who did not just get caught in a riot. Or even a bar fight.

Brennan makes his way out through side passages, through advanced skulkery, and through basic Pattern manipulation if absolutely necessary. Once he's out and got some distance between himself and the riots, he slows down and spends some time taking in the atmosphere, the feel of the settlement, and thinking about the type of mercenaries he's looking for. Not coincidentally, he's looking for people not unlike the person he's posing as-- a displaced or semi-retired soldier or member of a war-band. There's at least two types of those-- the types that got out because they liked the killing more than the discipline, and the types that understand why the discipline is enforced. Brennan-- and Walker-- is looking for the latter. Not men who will march in step and salute, because with Kim and Chiu, there will only be half a dozen of them or so. But men who can follow a lead, who will take out swords when Walker says to, kill who he says to, and put them away when he says to.

That's Walker's job. Brennan's job is to scout for Benedict, for which mercenary recruiting is a near-perfect cover.

There's probably two places to look for such men. One, where Walker is coming from, would be a bar by the docks picking up soldiers on their way in or out of town by sea. The other, where Walker is heading, is a bar near the city gates, and for Brennan's purpose that's even better. The men on their way in from the countryside will have the best and freshest news of what's happening in other places on Methryn's Isle. Likewise the barkeeps. So that is where he heads. When it comes down to which bar to pick, Brennan trusts his gut and picks the likeliest looking place-- this isn't remotely the first time Brennan has had to do this.

Brennan's gut leads him to The Shattered Axe, a tavern near the gate. Said Axe is behind the bar on the wall, and it looks like it shattered on someone's head.

The bartender may be the proprietor. He looks like he could use an axe in combat. Or two, if it came to that.

The bar has a collection of drinkers and drunkards in it, perhaps a dozen of them. Many of them look capable of violence. Walker has been observed, but no one approaches him. To Brennan's eye, this is a pretty varied group. They carry themselves like they're from different cultures or tribes, and their clothing is also pretty different. There aren't any Maghees here, or groups of similar size.

Then this is a definite step in the right direction, if the common interest of the various tribesmen is anything other than commonly killing each other.

Walker moves up to the bar and orders himself a drink, which he intends to aggressively nurse. He also orders "one for the axe-holder," making clear that it is the customary way of his people to start the evening off with a tip to the bar-- the bar, or its proxy, the barkeep, can either drink with Walker or pocket the tip under the pretext of drinking it later.

The man smiles and pockets the extra coin. He provides excellent service, perhaps in hopes of more largesse and seems inclined to chat with Brennan. None of the others seem to be as talkative.

Walker is somewhat free with his coin-- not enough to be taken as a wastrel, a lord, or a target, but enough to keep the barkeep in a good mood and, for further down the road, as a pre-demonstration that he (through Cledwin) will be able to pay what they promise.

A bit of surreptitious conjuring-away will keep him from over-indulging.

From there, Walker's more pressing interest is what's going on beyond the settlement walls, although he is not so crude as to simply ask outright. He guides the conversation with tales of other times of rough travel he's experienced, and lets the talk circle back around to the hazardous conditions closer at hand.

The barman is friendly and knowledgeable. He's a local, and lost half his foot defending the settlement a few years back. The axe, which took his foot, belonged to a border reaver. He bought the bar with the pension, and kept the axe as a souvenir.

Times are rough, but men who can fight have their pick of jobs. The hill-people are on the move, which is not normal. Children and flocks are at risk, and if there's a big push there'll be fighting in the streets. The new lord isn't as strong or confident as his father was, bless him. The hill-folks are the big concern.

Many of Walker's stories contain the phrase, "so no shite, there we was..." as a tell for when he's going to get to the good part or the funny part of a story. Walker himself has a lot of stories from places that are not these, and he shifts to tales of border forts and frontier protections precisely to encouarge others around him to add their own... which given the circumstances will probably relate to what's going on locally in the here-and-now.

There's a fine line to be trod, here: Harrowing, but not excessively heroic; close scrapes dodged with level thinking and quick teamwork, not superhuman swordsmanship. Brennan's spent long enough on the road-- longer than anyone he's talking to has been alive-- to have ample stock of stories with the ring of truth to them, especially from his younger days.

But his goal isn't to amuse himself or entertain the others, it's to get them telling their own stories about what's going on. This, Walker subtly encourages by buying a drink for someone after they give a good-- and believable-- story. Once that's going, he can occasionally interject a few of his own questions for clarification: Who's this tribe, never heard of them; why'd this happen, d'you think? He's got a keen ear for names of tribes, and he's hoping for details on these hill folks-- and why they're on the move-- without having to ask much directly.

Of course, at the same time, he's getting a feel for who's employed, and who's employable. But he'll deal with that later.

They're not as organized as the coastal people, but they are fierce fighters who normally stay put. That's why they're not part of anyone's county. Everyone thinks something happened on the far side of the island, but nobody what. The Count has just offered a reward for any hill-folks who are killed while raiding his lands.

The mercenaries are pretty sure a war is about to start, but they don't know if it's gonna hit this island.

Brennan's choices seem to be farm boys freshly come to the city, a couple of mercenaries who are headed for Avalon, a caravan guard who got separated from his caravan, and someone who looks like he might be a soldier who is off duty.

The farm boys are eliminated from consideration almost immediately.

The best outcome to Walker's mind is probably the longer shot of getting the soldier and the separated caravan guard to come along. They're closer to what he's looking for, at least in template. But while Walker isn't above luring someone away from a soldiering job, he's not entirely sure if he wants someone who can be lured, so to speak.

The pair of mercenaries might be an acceptable pick, though, depending on the stories they've been volunteering, if any.

And so Walker moves to the next phase of the plan, which is to let it be known that he is himself part of a band that is currently shorthanded, although he does not initially say why. He is interested in everyone's reaction, but the soldier's in particular.

It goes about as expected, which is to say that they want to know about the job and the pay. The caravan guard is the most enthusiastic, and the local soldier the least. The soldier, Lime, is worried about leaving the walls when there's obviously trouble out there. The mercenaries don't seem to share his concern.

Of the mercenaries, Hunter is the talkative one and Kenner doesn't speak as much. An escort job seems right up Hunter's alley. He's been in fights, but he's a long way from home.

Walker gives some details away-- it is an escort and guard mission, along with the expected length of time things will take-- but not all of them. In particular, there is no need for anyone who has not hired on to know Crisp's name or their exact destination. Those things, Walker regards as being at Cledwin's discretion.

Walker asks a few targeted questions if he hasn't ferreted out the answers in the course of the evening, such as their ability to ride and shoot (as Cledwin asked him, earlier) and so forth, before discussing price. Also, are the mercenaries a package deal, or can they be hired individually; and how did the caravan guard get separated from his caravan?

The mercenaries seem like a package deal. They can both ride, shoot, and swim. The caravang guard shakes his head at the last one. He got separated when he broke his leg and couldn't go on the last mission. He's fine now, and itching to get out of this town.

When he does get around to price, he'll start somewhat low, but not insultingly low, since he has three (maybe four) decent candidates. He's got the band's current pay scale to work off of, banked against a shorter journey on their part than the rest of the band made.

The caravan guard seems the most eager to take the job, the mercenaries are reasonable bargainers, and the city guard seems like he's just window shopping.

Brennan dithers a bit, internally, weighing what he sees as his two main options:

The two mercenaries have exactly the skillset he requires, and by virtue of having done mercenary work in the past will certainly know what's expected of them. On the other hand, Brennan has had nothing but bad luck when setting out with pairs of underlings: Two dvarts turned treacherous, two brother mercs were sulky hothead idiots, and two partner mercs couldn't keep 'em in their pants. One would think partners would keep each other out of trouble, but for Brennan, it never works that way. On balance, he is happy that there is no twin-themed Fortune card, as it would no doubt be a hound of ill-omen through all his readings.

The caravan guard and the soldier, at least, break that cycle so Brennan might move on to new and more interesting forms of idiocy. The caravan guard's lack of swimming experience, now that they're already here on Methryn's Isle, is probably not critical, and certainly he'll have as much a notion of what's expected as the mercenaries-- maybe more, since in some ways this is just a very small caravan. And the soldier should at least understand the concept of staying out of trouble, although he's still not entirely thrilled with the idea of a soldier who can be bought away that quickly.

On the whole, pretty balanced choice.

What decides him in the end is diversity-- the two mercs, as a package deal, have been travelling extensively together, and the only good gossip and rumor he'll get from them is from that one single viewpoint. With the caravan guard and the soldier, he'll get two viewpoints for the same price-- one from the stable point of the town he's been in, and one roving the countryside with a caravan.

Walker tells the soldier, effectively, to shit or get off the pot, and makes him and the caravan guard respectable offers, conditional on Cledwin's approval. He'll take them back to the scene of the (hopefully former) riot, if they agree.

In the end the soldier decides that he can help at least as well if he heads out and reports back after a turn with Walker. Having rationalized what he wanted to do, he and the caravaneer follow Walker back to the mostly empty bar.

Cledwin is sitting out front, on the porch, smoking. There's no sign of the rest of the group. Some of the furniture looks like it was repaired and some was replaced. He waves, clearly taking in the two newcomers with Walker.

Walker waves back, and looks around enough to let Cledwin know that he's looking around and noticing the apparent calm, without calling attention to it for the benefit of his new recruits. "These're them," he says, without preamble. He proceeds to introduce them and run down the outward reasons he thought they were good picks: The one for his experience in moving things from place to place while keeping them from getting stolen; the other for the sake of discipline. He doesn't bother to mention the mercs or the farm boys.

From here, it's Cledwin's job to decide if he wants them or not. If he asks them questions, they're going to sink or swim on their own; Walker's not going to help them. If he does decide he wants them, they can set the final price, although Walker is not inclined to be any more generous than his offer at the bar.

After perfunctory questioning, Cledwin signs the two men up. The guard is named Radish and the caravaneer is named Burl. Cledwin sends them to the ship to get provisioned. "If they can't find the docks on their own, we don't want them."

When he's alone with Walker, Cledwin wants to know how soon Walker would be ready to move out. He outlines a trek through three separate clan enclaves, with suitable gifts and greetings to keep the locals happy, and a turn to the mountains to meet the betrothed. It seems almost boring as he describes it. He answers any questions Walker has (within reason) and asks his lieutenant what else he needs prior to departing.

"Yesterday, if we're walking," Walker says, without hesitation. He's got no ties to this place and no interest in it and wishes to scrape the mud of it from the soles of his boots. "Morning, if we need horses."

"Morning it is. You can stay upstairs if you want. Kale has the place cleaned up and Kim will be fine, but a night's sleep in a bed will help, especially since he already paid for the room out of his earnings."

He'll also want to see a map, if Cledwin's got one, and will want him to sketch a map if he doesn't. It sounds as though Cledwin has this planned effectively, but even as Walker, Brennan is mentally incapable of not looking for holes in the plan. If Cledwin gives details about the clans and gifts, he'll commit them to memory, although not obtrusively. He does ask about Kim's head. He pointedly does not ask about Gregor or Pietr, having decided that it is likely that they were beaten to pulps by their Maghee co-tagonists. As far as he is concerned, Gregor and Pietr no longer exist.

Barring further disaster, Walker is ready to move.

Cledwin sketches out a map, and Burl helps. Burl points out a few borders between tribes where there is often conflict and Cledwin redraws the map to visit tribes without causing international incidents. He doesn't elaborate on the gifts, but it's clear from the route that there's more to this than just the trip through foreign territory. The owner is clearly building contacts and trust with many tribes on this route.

After answering any questions about the route, Cledwin tells Walker to have the troup meet him at these stables at sunup.

Walker himself will be there before anyone else. He didn't arrange for the horses himself, so he'll feel obligated to inspect them himself. It's what he does.

Brennan feels that it's very likely Cledwin will be the last to arrive, which will give Walker the chance to take a look at Kim's head before they set out. It will also give him a chance to reinforce two ideas to Kim and Chiu: First, that their job is to make sure they get where they're going with their passengers and cargo intact, not to mow down everything in their paths; and second, that if fighting is necessary, it will be Cledwin and Walker who make that call, not them.

Burl probably understands this instinctively, based on his help drawing the map before, but if Radish overhears that conversation, so much the better. Kim and Chiu have already seen Walker throw a grown and armed man down the stairs for violating that. He'll let them gossip about it to Burl and Radish later.

When Cledwin arrives, Walker will ensure that they're all ready to proceed without delay.

Cledwin nods, approvingly. "Crisp will meet us at the gates, with the wagons. Move out smartly, lads. We're here to make an impression."

Cledwin mounts and leads the six of them out. "Walker, when we get out of sight of the city, I want you to do some scouting, ahead and to the sides of the trail. Do you recall the map from last night?"

Eidetically, Brennan doesn't say. "Well enough," Walker says.

The troop is waiting at the gate for no more than a few minutes when Crisp comes riding up on a magnificent stallion, clearly meant to impress. There are also 4 wagons, heavily loaded and tightly wrapped in tarps. Those are the gifts, presumably. The drafthorses are not overworked, but it's clear there's a load on them. There are also a few of the Lynx's sailors and her cook. Crisp nods and Cledwin. "Walker, move out when you're ready. Put someone at the rear, please."

"Radish, you're at the rear. Burl, you're up front. Kim, Chiu, you stick with Cledwin and Crisp." Let Cledwin take direct responsibility for his own picks, is the reasoning, and keep Burl and Radish as screens between them and the rest of the world. Walker hesitates only long enough to see that his orders are being followed before moving out himself. He doesn't allow himself to roll his eyes at Crisp's horse until he is far enough ahead-- and pointing away from everyone-- that no one can possibly see it.

He is more than happy to scout, since that is what he's supposed to be doing for Benedict in the first place.

When he's put some reasonable distance between himself and the rest of the group, he'll augment his scouting in two ways: First, a nearly reflexive glimpse into the Astral. He doesn't expect to see anything untoward, but it is nearly a hard-wired reflex. If he's lucky, anyone hiding in the scrub will be more visible, although the heavier the scrub, the less likely that is.

Second, and more usefully, a minor working of Space to shift his perspective from land-bound to overhead for a few moments. That he expects to be far more useful, not only because it will let him see farther, but also because hiding from someone you're going to ambush is a different thing from hiding from a hawk's eye view.

Astrally, the land is pretty mundane. The territory on the first day is home to herders and vintners and growers of fruit and the people and animals look as expected Astrally and literally. Brennan finds no ambushes or even any good spots for ambushes that are not currently manned.

The only notable thing that Brennan observes is that the land seems to be occupied, which is to say that he doesn't really see any gaps where someone could march an army without it being noticed. And the shepherds and farmers all seem to stay within shouting distance of someone else, as if they are intentionally forming a network.

Interesting. It's certain, then, that they're seeing the caravan itself, since that is not a thing that can be hidden. Brennan is idly curious as to whether they are seeing him scouting or not-- probably only the overhead views would give him any insight into that, unless all concerned (Brennan as well as the networkers) are terribly clumsy.

What is of more practical interest is this: What sort of information, even what volume of information, is travelling along that network, and in what directions? Is it just a potential network that could be used to transmit by shout? Or is there actual communication happening?

Brennan's best guess is that it's something of an emergency communication network. It would be almost impossible to invade without word spreading rapidly.

Also, just for kicks, on the way back, Brennan makes sure to get an astral glimpse at the caravan wagons themselves.

Nothing special. In fact, since they are impermanent, they are effectively not there. Crisp seems a bit brighter than the run-of-the-mill Avalonian.

The first day passes uneventfully and Cledwin thinks the first steading will be reached before sunset the next day. The group stops for the night. Cledwin starts to give orders to Kim about the watch, but stops himself and delegates the task to Walker.

Walker reports as much of what he's learned as is prudent, which is to say, anything he could reasonably have learned without Sorcery. He nominates himself for first watch, because he doesn't want to get up early or in the middle of the night. The other two watches are Kim and Burl; and Radish and Chiu.

On the assumption that nothing profound or important happens, the next day, Walker confers with Cledwin-- if the steading they're approaching is like the rest of the isle, it'll be fully alert and expecting trouble because everyone else is. Possibly they'll be under watch or under attack from a neighbor. Possibly even they will be part of whatever attack everyone is expecting. What are Cledwin's thoughts on making contact? Should Walker do that alone, or simply scout, return, and let Cledwin and Crisp do it?

However he decides, that's the plan Walker will intend to execute.

Cledwin thinks that if they wanted to attack the caravan, they'd've done it already. Most attacks are raids, sometimes steadings might have raiders who they can disavow, but mostly they won't attack a caravan coming towards them. There's no way to do commerce if you don't let anyone in. The real risk is when you're in no-man's land.

Crisp suggests that Walker go forward and announce them. He wishes to meet the lord of the keep and pass through his lands.

Walker nods, asks for the name of the local lord, and makes arrangements for the rest of the crew-- Burl the caravaneer out in front waiting for Walker's shout is the primary concern-- before heading off. He is cautious, but not overly so, based on what he saw the previous day.

Walker takes the road forward and sees a wooden castle complex ahead. A mounted knight in light armor is coming towards him, at an easy pace and while he is armed and armored, he is not immediately threatening. He asks Walker to identify himself and the caravan he came from.

Since Walker's role today seems less to be 'scout,' and more to be 'herald,' he also is mounted, armed and armored. But, as the opposing knight, Walker makes no threatening moves and keeps a courteous attitude. "Call me Walker," he says, "in service of Crisp of the caravan," which he indicates with a jerk of his chin is somewhere behind him. "Hisself asks to speak with the Lord of the Keep, and seeks to travel peaceful through his lands." If Crisp and Cledwin gave the lord's name up, he'll use that in the greeting.

The steading of the Bannions allows them in, and passage, and meets with Crisp. It must have been a pleasant meeting full of promises, because the locals leave it seeming very happy.

If Walker's read on the situation is right, this knight will be nearly as eager for news of the countryside as Walker is himself. If he allows Walker to give the signal for the caravan to approach, Walker will be more than happy to get that conversation, with gossip about the road. With any luck, that conversation will continue on the way to the fort. Walker's hope is that Crisp's plan for these steadings is to spend just long enough-- a meal or an evening-- at each one to allow the opportunity for exactly that sort of gossip. It's only prudent. If it's not, Walker will very quietly whisper in Crisp's ear that the best source of new information they have about where they're going is the people they meet along the way.

Walker's plan and Crisp's plan seem to agree and he's easily swayed to Walker's ideas. Crisp becomes much more engaged in the business of the scouting, asking Walker questions about what he's seen. Some seems to be with an eye towards trade, but he also seems interested in the military state of the steadings.

Crisp orders Cledwin to allow any travelers who wish to do so to shelter with them, for the price of the tale of their travels.

If that happens, then at least for the first steading, Walker will stick close to his own crew, Kim and Chiu especially to make sure they don't do something incredibly stupid again, and to clamp down on it quickly if necessary. He doesn't want to have to drag someone all the way up to the top of that fort only to throw them off to appease the local lord.

Walker's discipline is well-established. Cledwin wants someone to stay with the caravan all night, and a guard on Crisp as well.

Brennan spends time talking to people in the steading. They don't anticipate trouble immediately, but expect it during campaign season in a few months. They have little regard for their neighbors' trustworthiness, but a high regard for their martial skills.

Walker supports Cledwin's view of the situation, for what it's worth, and assigns Burl and one other rotating member to remain with the caravan at all times. Burl is chosen for the obvious reason that he's done exactly this before and knows how to do it. As Crisp's personal guard while they're in a steadding, Walker assigns himself. While they're not in a stead, it shouldn't be an issue, but Radish will get that job on the assumption that Walker will be continuing his scouting job.

One consequence of that, Walker hopes, is that he will have access both to the lower level gossip of the soldiers and now, through Crisp, to the higher level gossip of the lords of the various steads. No telling, a priori, which will be better, but he's sure they will be different and equally interesting. Also, Crisp's idea of bartering shelter for stories is absolutely inspired and when possible, Walker wants to hear those, too-- this seems plausible since Crisp obviously wants to hear the stories and Walker will be staying close to Crisp.

His goals in information gathering are as follows:

First, and highest priority, he is alert for information that will aid Benedict's campaign. He seems to be in an optimal position to do this without arousing anyone's suspicions whatsoever: While on the road, he will be off on his own, literally scouting, and augmenting that from time to time with low intensity tricks of Sorcery like shifting his perspective, etc. While in steaddings, he has Crisp primed to ask questions and attract other travellers and all Walker needs to do is sit back and listen. Occasionally he might ask a guiding question, but he is interested in the things Benedict is interested in: Who, when, where and how. He is alert for tales of this underwater fire chemical that Benedict spoke of.

Second, his personal suspicion still remains that Moire is involved here, somehow. He probably cannot do anything overt about it, but again with Crisp primed to ask questions, he can simply stand and listen. Here especially is where Crisp's idea is a gift that might keep on giving-- Walker is particularly alert to anything that might indicate a truly foreign presence, meaning not Thule, Hirulea or any of the names he's familiarized himself with, but Rebma. So he is alert to (obviously) the name Rebma, which he himself will never under any circumstance bring up himself. And other things, like rumors of mythic treasure, bands being paid or recruited with promises of mythic treasure gotten in mythic lands, green-haired warriors, green haired witchy women, and the like... these are what he keeps an ear out for.

And finally... Crisp has caught Brennan's attention, just a little bit. Being a little bit brighter to Brennan's astral sight would not ordinarily be a red flag. He has Amber descent and could easily just be some cousin fourth removed down the generational tree with a little lingering Reality about him. And he isn't likely smuggling anything too terribly mystical in those caravans, or they'd have stood out to Brennan's sight as well. And his interest in the military state of the steadings could be simple prudence, trying to understand the road ahead based on the postures of those he encounters. Or he could be interested in their military states for their own sake, for example, to invade. This is the other reason Brennan assigned himself, as Walker, to be Crisp's bodyguard. The situation could be entirely on the up and up, or, in the sort of irony routine only to Amberites, Crisp could be engaged in the same mission as Brennan but in reverse. So Walker stays close. It is only a nagging thought, but it shouldn't take long to determine if Crisp is after information that will help a merchant trader, or information that will help a foreign invader.

And in all of these observations, of course, Walker's role is a mostly silent one. He's spent considerable effort putting himself in a position where information comes to him, rather than the other way around. And moreover, he does not want to overtly ask questions about his real subjects of interest-- that would serve either to give him away, or to plant some of the rumors he is trying to gather reliable intelligence about in the first place. Neither of those are acceptable outcomes.

It's hard to tell Crisp's interest because he asks such broad questions and seems equally interested in answers that lead down either path. Questions about who is trading with whom and what borders are closed are equally useful to both the soldier and the trader.

It's clear from the dealing where Brennan acts as Crisp's bodyguard that a significant part of his trade plans involve selling weapons to the various steadlings. He is lavish with presents of high-quality weapons to the chieftains of each locale they visit. The meandering trip provides Brennan (and Crisp) with an excellent overview of the topology and political and martial landscape of Methryn. It seems to be a tinderbox ready to explode. About a third of the steadings would probably join with an Enemy if it allowed them to stomp on another foe.

Crisp wants to know if Walker has any titles or rank in his foreign past, because it will impress the mountain people. If not he will offer to make up titles for him.

Well, if he's a spy, then it's an inspired cover, since a weapons merchant would have reason to poke and prod at his customer's defenses so he knows what to sell them. Unless something egregious happens, it's somewhere between an idle thought and a minor concern, at best.

As for titles, Walker answers rather archly that as a former sergeant, the highest title he ever claimed was Sir-Works-For-A-Livin'. He allows as to how he can live with some ruse or other if that isn't sufficient.

Crisp just nods at Walker's comment and begins concocting titles and mentioning his past to people. Although Crisp was never at any of the sessions Walker conducted with the troops, he seems to have a working grasp of Walker's more heroic "No sh*t, there we were..." stories. Perhaps he heard them from Cledwin.

Crisp's title set for Walker changes nearly nightly, and is heavier on earned titles and heroic deeds: "He is the legendary Wyrmslayer of Mount Arthur and the Savior of Blackplains..."

The mountain is a different place, when they reach it. The character of the people changes and Cledwin pulls Walker back to the front of the caravan, to avoid misunderstandings.

The people in the mountain steading are different from those in the foothills and plains. They are darker complexioned and hairier, and few of them are tall. It's not out of the question that there is some hint of Rebman ancestry in their coloration. It's not the striking green of Rebma, but it could be described as olive.

[OOC: Clarify, please-- olive like the things you put in martinis? Or olive like Mediterranean complexion?]

[OOC: Let's go with the latter. Relatively more greenish, rather than very green. Also, they don't look like they have Maghee ancestry at all.]

Their leader is called the Prince and it is clearly a hereditary position. Crisp is welcomed among them and they are greeted at the open gates by the Prince himself, Maibock of Montparnasse. He and Crisp hug like brothers and Crisp tells the Prince he has the bride-price agreed-upon. The Princess comes out on a balcony, on cue. She's striking, moreso because she alone of her people is blonde. Her sister beside her is beautiful, but Princess Mayness is exotically beautiful.

Walker mutters to Burl that in his next life, he'll be born rich instead of rangy.

Burl looks at the second princess and says "I think she likes you. She's givin' you the eye."

Walker, new title in hand, is invited to dinner with Crisp and the Prince's family. Cledwin just smiles and uses Walker's orders for the guards on the goods. It seems unnecessary, but prudent.

Walker would insist on it if Cledwin didn't.

[ooc: any prep before dinner?]

Mainly to let the shadows continue to lie through their unsubstantial teeth for him... or in this case, intimidating them into supportive silence through sheer force of will.

He's been doing that since he left Avalon, of course, but he is careful to reinforce it here-- wrapping himself in the stretched-thin substance of the place, letting the universe itself fill in the details that people expect to see and hiding anything that would surprise them. The universe, it must be admitted, has a pretty easy job here, since Brennan has inhabited his Walker persona for weeks. And before he left, he carefully scrubbed himself for mundane details. But between the mundane details of Brennan's own acting and disguise, and the shadows lying for him, there should be nothing left to see except what Brennan wants people to see: a grizzled, trail-dusty, somewhat nondescript mercenary guard sergeant.

Crisp is working against this, and while the grizzled and trail-dusty part are there, it's not as easy to hide his prowess. Brennan is clearly very competent.

Well, there is only so far Crisp can go in this vein before he is no longer the center of attention, and more importantly, before people start wondering what this superhuman leader of men is doing guarding caravans in the middle of relative nowhere. (Although Brennan has some answers worked up for that if push comes to shove.) As long as Walker's perceived competence is in human ranges, and he is not associated with any particular place-- least of all, Avalon proper or Amber, words Walker studiously avoids even speaking if he can help it-- Brennan can live with it.

If Crisp starts to go completely over the top, he may begin to roll his eyes at important junctures. Walker does feel compelled to correct him on at least one account, though: It's not "Savior of the Blackplains," it's "Savior of the Backpains," after he threw one particularly incompetent combat engineer off a palisade and into a trench that he, the engineer, kept trying to dig too deep. Walker did it to keep the palisade from coming down, but the end result was a lot less digging for the sapper crew, the name stuck and (he shrugs) what are you gonna do?

Walker is one hundred and ten percent deadpan serious through that correction.

If he sees what he considers to be an excess of mirrors, he'll count that as more evidence of a Rebman connection.

Mirrors are in use, in a typical pre-electric light-conserving fashion. Crystals are similarly hung to diffuse and contain the light in the room.

Burl may have been right. While Princess Mayness only has time or attention for Crisp, the younger daughter seems much more interested in talking to Walker. Or it's possible that her dislike of her sister extends to her future brother-in-law as well.

From the general conversation, Brennan understands that these people generally expect war within weeks, starting with a landing on the North shore. If it hasn't happened already, it's not far away. They've heard from other islands and expect an early spring attack.

Princess Balen is clever and steers the conversation to the war, and to Brennan's experience of war. Crisp keeps providing more heroic exploits, some of which are self-contradictory, but all of which are amusing. The respect of the company for Brennan and indirectly for Crisp rises as the night continues.

If Walker wanted a position in the court, it would be his to take.

Well, Walker has a by-design antipathy for titles, and Brennan isn't terribly impressed by a Shadow title gained primarily on the strength of Crisp's gossip, so they'll both just let that lie for the moment. Walker is cordial enough with Balen not to offer her insult by ignoring her; not so friendly as to let Maibock think he's going to be collecting two dowries for the effort of one.

If she's smitten, she's smart about it. It's hard to decide if she's interested in what he has to say or interested in him.

Under the cover of planning for the immediate future, Walker is curious about this war that everyone is expecting: Is Crisp expecting to stay here so long they might get caught in the middle of it, or are they expecting to be gone before it manifests? That question to Crisp, at some point. But more at large-- perhaps to the talkative Balen-- what exactly do they expect if they're caught in the middle of it? He's got an estimate of a Where and a When, at least in the context of Methryn's Isle.

The mountain people's goal is to be dangerous and out of the way, so there is no value in attacking them, but not such a threat that they must be removed before the invaders leave Methryn. They've fought the corsairs and the nomads who they'll drive before them already. This island is likely to be a staging and reprovisioning stop for an invasion of Avalon.

Now he's looking for Who and if there is anything unusual about it, How. Not to mention, the Mountain's response to it. Walker allows as to how fortifying such a place would be a positive joy, compared to some of his past jobs.

He'll certainly keep an ear out for a Why, but that's not his goal at the moment.

The consensus seems to be to prevent Methryn from threatening to attack the supply lines of an invasion of Avalon. They don't even have to take Methryn, just keep it from coming to Avalon's aid.

Brennan finds all this to be useful and interesting, and probably the sort of thing that Benedict will be interested in. Better if he can get actual movement and numbers, though, so although he is mentally updating the report he anticipates making, he is also weighing the pros and cons of finding a way to either remain here alone or delay the departure-- having the high ground of a mountain combined with a little simple sorcery will aid his efforts considerably.

The visit continues for a week. The next day, the caravan is to leave, with the new bride and minus the dowry. There will be a feast and then the group will head down the mountain.

Belan seems increasingly agitated at dinner, and hardly herself at the table. As the group is leaving the table, she hands Walker a folded note. No one seems to have noticed it.

[Assuming Brennan chooses to read it later.]

When he gets alone, Brennan examines it.

"Meet me in the 3rd room off the main passageway at midnight. I have important news for you about your mission."

It's unsigned, and the handwriting is not particularly distinctive.

Brennan heroically does not roll his eyes when he reads that. Is she (he wonders) talking about Brennan's scouting mission for Benedict, Brennan's Moire-watch for Celina, Walker's mission of delivering her sister (whom she doesn't like anyway) back to Crisp's home, or some other thing she's concocted in her head? He will be fascinated to see just exactly what news she has about any of those (probably the sister-delivery, he decides) that can't be given to Crisp, or Cledwin, or discussed out loud.

He takes some reasonable precautions-- minor Pattern manipulation-- shows up early to see who arrives, and unless something extraordinary happens, shows up for the meeting.

Balen shows up and takes Walker's hand and (if he allows) pulls him into an otherwise nondescript chamber. It's long and dark and only the part near the front is lit by a lone oil lamp, dimly burning.

He does so allow, or he wouldn't have shown up. He does also make a searching glance through the darkness to see if anyone else is there.

She lets him go as they come into the room and closes the door. She steps back towards him in the echoing space and comes close enough that no-one should be able to hear her speak. She is calm but speaks quietly and urgently. "You're the Protector of Avalon's man, aren't you? I can see auras, and yours looks just like his. Fear not, I am in his service as well.

"Someone in your group will betray you. I don't know who, but someone is in the corsair's pay. And something significant is about to happen, tonight or tomorrow. You need to look out for yourself, Walker."

Brennan wears Walker's confused expression, and says, "Cledwin's my boss," which is at least a statement that contains no strict, material untruths.

He lets the look of confusion deepen: "If your sis' in danger, why ain't you told her, or your Pa?" The confusion deepens to a scowl, "Or ain't they believe you?"

She pulls back and looks at him reassessing. "Well, either you are the man I think you are and you're keeping it close and you've now been warned, or you're not. If you're not, then you're just going to die. I hope I'm right, the man you're hiding behind your disguise seems too interesting to die for someone else's goals. If you find you need to run, go over the north or west wall and head north. There's no road, so it's easy for a man on foot to evade patrols.

Balen's teeth show bright white in the darkness. "As for my half-sister, the biggest danger she's in is that I'll find proof that she's working for the corsairs and then I'll cut her throat myself.

"Now, I'm convinced the agent is either Crisp or Cledwin. Crisp makes a lot of sense. He rode of the valley arming petty border lords and probably convincing them to attack each other before the corsairs come over the hills. But so does Cledwin, who could be using Crisp as a cover. What I hear about them is that Crisp spent a lot of time talking to Chieftains on the way here, but Cledwin talked to soldiers.

She pauses. "Anything you want to say to that, Walker?"

Yes, Brennan thinks-- That Kim and Chiu aren't remotely smart enough and aren't faking that. Likewise the departed Pietr and Gregor. That Burl and Radish are his own picks. That Crisp had already had him suspicious. That a corsair comes ready equipped with a ship, just as Crisp does.

But, after making a mild show of thinking it over, all Walker says is, "If one's good, two's better. Why not both?"

She pauses again. "Good question. Intercepted Corsair messages indicated that there was an agent, but it's possible that there were two and one was subordinate to the other, or one was recruited in Avalon or some such. Or they could be working for different Corsairs, and one is here to observe and scout and the other is the agent I have been looking for.

She smiles. "It helps me, somewhat, to know that you don't discount either of them out of hand. They've both been here before, of course. You don't just gen up a marriage in one trip. Cledwin had your role, until he got crosswise with my brother. If he were here, I'm not even sure Crisp would've brought Cledwin."

Walker shrugs, as if to say that the vagaries of Montparnassian politics are above his pay grade. "I see your problem. If it's Crisp, that marries the Mountain to the Corsair, aye? I seen Maibock the man and Crisp stand like brothers, but what's Maibock the Prince say to that?" Assuming she's told him. He waits for an answer.

He grimaces, as though another thought occurred to him: "And what's this all about them betrayin' me? How's that figure into this..." he waves a hand in the air to define the shape of something "...scheme you're sayin'?"

Brennan can connect the dots a few different ways, but for Walker's sake he wants to hear her connect them at least one way out loud.

She looks impatient. "If I knew, I'd tell you. My sister is up to something, and she doesn't expect to leave with you tomorrow, and I suspect it's because someone's going to end up dead. Maybe you, maybe me, maybe Crisp, if he's not the spy. Something, and something big, and in the next half day.

"By Lir, I hope you're not as dumb as you're playing, because it's going to go badly if you are.

"I've got to go, good luck. Save yourself if you can. And tell the Protector what I told you." She moves to open the door.

Brennan never moved away from the door, and he is not moving just because she disapproves his rustic style. She'll have to move him before she can move much closer to the exit.

"Someone's to die, you reckon?" His voice is still low, but he does not hide his annoyance-- he spits on the floor to emphasize it. "I asked after your Pa twice. Crisp's married your sister, now. If Crisp's the agent, what suits the corsairs better? Your Pa alive? Or your Pa dead? 'Cause I ain't feel like taking the fall for it." He would have preferred that she reach that hypothesis with less forceful guidance, but some people just won't be led gently.

Brennan doubts she'll scream to press for the exit, but he is mindful of the possibility and banks on the fact that he's fast enough to prevent it if it comes to that.

She leans in and speaks quickly. "Walker! Don't get us caught. It might paint more of a target on either of us. My father's heir is my brother, who doesn't like Crisp much. Father sent Trippel away so he could get Mayness safely married off, but he can't disinherit him; it's not the way the Mountain works. And Tripp is as anti-Corsair as anyone this side of the Protector."

She pauses. "Unless they've also captured him in the hill-forts. Then they could kill father and hold Tripp for ransom. That would be very, very bad."

Walker glares at her during her answer and for two beats past, before softening his expression... somewhat.

"All right, then. No sense worrying after your brother. Aint' nothin' you can do about that right now, and it'd be a damn dicey plot anyway. But maybe you keep with your pa, and some people you trust, just in case," Walker says. And maybe have someone taste your food, he doesn't add. And maybe if you're the target, that'll protect you, too.

"Mean time..." he gives a disgruntled sigh, the consummate NCO dragged into yet another officer cat fight, "I'll take your warning how its meant and keep my eyes open. But I can only be in one place at a time."

Balen pulls him back into the hallway by his hand and leans close. "This is in case anyone's looking. And for luck." She kisses him on the cheek and darts away, into the darkness of the corridors of her ancestral home.

Brennan is left alone, standing in the corridors of the Hill-Fort, at midnight.

Brennan's scowl and Walker's are identical, but unseen after she darts away into the dark.