The Renegades were looking for new recruits...? Adanil stared in confusion at Kendath's back as the man walked away. Were the two Dragonriders not Renegades then? Kendath did refer to them a lot the way people would talk about a group with a separate purpose, but Adanil had assumed that that came from Kendath having been Meiltha. What was going on?

With a sigh, Adanil pushed himself to his feet, aware that his ruminations were over, cut short far sooner than he would have liked. Judging by Kendath's mannerisms, he was tired, which meant that Adanil probably was more tired than he felt. How long had he been sitting there? He had barely walked into the village before leaving--the sights and sounds there were things that he did not want. They forced his memories upon him too fast for him to handle them. His da had always told him that rushing anything would probably ruin it, too. From experience, Adanil knew that it would at least make a mess of things.

Trudging across the sand behind Kendath, Adanil turned his gaze from the sea towards land, and caught his breath. The sun had set long since, as he sat on the rock and the feasters ate and danced in the village, and the moon had risen. That in itself was nothing surprising. There was no fiery glow where the village should be, no shouts and screams of fear. Instead, there was nothing.

There was nothing. Nothing veiling the stars, nothing darkening the night, nothing weighing down his heart. Nothing. The sky was filled with the bright points of stars, shining brighter than he thought he had ever seen. The moon caster a clearer beam, illuminating everything sharply. There was nothing to dim it. It was as if, for this brief hour, all shadow had been removed from the world, a sign to show the Shadowers that the gods still had power.

Breathing fresh air in deeply, Adanil smiled, for what seemed like the first time in days. Maybe tomorrow would be dark and dismal, as other days had been, but for now, everything was fine.

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The hulls of many ships clustered more or less amiably in the harbor. Torches from the many patrols danced on Port Dragonhelm's winding streets. It reflected on the city's gilded majesty that the sentries patrolled only in the wealthy district. For beneath the shining gold lay the black underworld, a ubiquitous network of spies and cutthroats that worked for Port Dragonhelm's shadier guilds.

The tavern was lewdly dubbed 'The Queen's Bedchamber.' Its less than inviting exterior perfectly complemented the thugs that frequented its greasy tables and brackish ale. Most interesting still was that the tavern was run by a woman, an ugly hag rumored to have poisoned her husband and eaten him for supper. The fact that she didn't bother denying the notion was more than a little disturbing.

With his assassin's leather and his cowl shadowing his features, Kendath inherently lost himself in the common mercenaries and cutthroats. Merrin's silver cloak would have been a bit more conspicuous, but she'd stowed it away with Wyvern upon their entrance to Port Dragonhelm. Towing her along may have been a mistake he'd sorely regret, he noted, watching her progress through the leering ruffians. More than a few threw out lewd jibes and reached out for her.

In fact, they wouldn't have walked in here at all if not for one variable - The Phoenix's captain was said to be an avid patron.

Kendath shot a glare that could have frozen a hot spring at the ruffians surrounding Merrin. He motioned for her and Adanil to remain behind while he waded through the disreputable throng. Familiar with the ways of these taverns, he propped his elbow up on the bar. With a single glance he told the barkeeper that - firstly, he was in no congenial mood. Secondly, the rules in this game were his. And thirdly, should the barkeeper fail to acknowledge those rules, he'd find himself in woeful lack of an appendage.

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Merrin unwittingly shrank closer to Adanil, entirely unused to these surroundings. Her dragonrider's garb and unfortunately obvious naive mien could have easily made her a target for a dozen pickpockets right then, not to mention another couple dozen of the inn's patrons with more sinister intentions. She found herself anxiously watching Kendath where he sat, and realized with an unpleasant jolt how alike he was to these men of doubtful morality - and how starkly contrasting she must be.

A particularly crude comment made her flush and Merrin stared determinedly at the floor, twisting a strand of hair about her finger.

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The city had looked grand at first sight, with massive columnades and gargantuan ships in the port, guards wearing brightly-burnished mail marching in ordered and grand formations, and over all an air of power and strength. By the time that they reached The Queen's Bedchamber, though, Adanil's opinion had changed. A lot.

Shouldering his way through the grimy throng of people, most of whom looked as though they could stay in the sea all day and still look filthy, Adanil felt his face heating. It was not in embarrassment, the way Merrin's likely was--well, not entirely in embarassment, at any rate--but rather in anger. That a man would say such a thing to a girl was disgusting. As he felt Merrin shrinking closer, it merely doubled his awareness of the coarse humor and desires of the thieves and drunkards around him. It was only when his hand started hurting that he realized he was gripping the hilt of his scimitar hard enough that his knuckles were white.

Forcing himself to loosen his grip, he worked his fingers a bit to get the blood flowing back into the places he had just cut it off from. With his hand no longer holding his sword, it clenched right into a fist. Adanil gritted his teeth. A fight in here would likely result in the death of both him and Kendath, and probably worse for Merrin. He could not let his anger at the rabble land them in a spot they couldn't get out of. For some reason, they needed a Mage to repair a portal which they hadn't told him about, and whatever the Mage wanted in payment was somewhere here. In the city, at least.

Reaching the bar, he made sure that Merrin was safely between him and Kendath, then turned to lean casually against the rough wood. If Kendath was watching the bartender, someone needed to watch the throng. He made sure his cloak was back far enough for his sword to be visible, and swept the room with his eye, no touch of warmth in his eyes. As his gaze passed over the greasy, vermin-ridden crowd, he felt his anger building, growing steadily as he watched them. Kendath had warned them about showing too much emotion--a person was easier to take advantage of if they were controlled by strong emotions--so he put some effort into keep it from showing on his face, or in his posture. He didn't know that it was showing in eyes, as his gaze grew harder and harder, so he was baffled when his gaze was returned with nervous, almost fearful ones. He just watched.

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Kendath was keeping an eye on the general crowd in his peripheral vision, but he nonetheless acknowledged Adanil's vigilance with a curt nod. He resisted the urge to reassuringly touch Merrin's forearm - such a move would only invite more japing. Neither could he simply order her outside, where she'd likely be jumped by any manner of night lurkers. The only solace he found was in Merrin's rapier belted securely around her hip.

At last the barkeep threw his rag on the counter and lurched over. "Yeah. Whaddya want?" he demanded, blinking through bleary eyes, a perpetual scowl etched on his ugly features.

Kendath returned the scowl tenfold. His gaze, hidden under his cowl, darted over the barkeep's shoulder to a stout gray-haired woman working the other end of the counter. He really couldn't blame her for her rumored crime if her husband resembled this imbecile.

Imbecile in question grunted his impatience. "I said, whaddya want?"

"My sincerest apologies. I was ignoring you," Kendath replied tactfully. He knew well the universal code in these places, so he slammed the last of his copper pieces on the table. There went a meal and lodging for a night. He didn't miss the hungry light flaring in The Imbecile's swollen eyes. "I'm told you're well-informed," he began in low tones, intent enough to draw the barkeep in but nonchalant enough for the barkeep to forget him by tomorrow - not a difficult task, for when tomorrow dawned, he'd likely be happily barricaded in his filthy chambers with a throbbing headache and no memory whatsoever.

The Imbecile snorted. "Ye die if yer not well-informed," he retorted, unsuccessfully masking his intrigue. "Getter on with it, ye sneaky sneak."

Kendath willingly obliged, as he was in no mood to extend this conversation beyond what was strictly necessary. "The Phoenix," he said, fingering one copper coin and eyeing the barkeep's hungry stare the entire time. "When does it anchor?"

"A'morn. Firs' light tomorrow."

One shiny token slid across the counter. Kendath had never in his life seen a coin disappear so fast. A frown line marring his forehead, he continued, "What do you know of the captain's association with... the sigil of the hawk?"

The Imbecile came up blank. Scowling again, he glanced up irritably from where he'd been polishing his shiny and newly acquired prize. "What in hell is that s'possed to mean?"

"Very well." He swept up the rest of the copper and turned to depart, leaving the barkeep staring after him in abject dismay. Having no wish to extend their misery in this abyss, he gestured at Adanil and Merrin. A deft glare perfected by many circumstances of experience effectively warned away an aspiring pickpocket.

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Adanil took the rear again as they navigated through the filthy streets in mud up to their ankles. It was worse than any mountain path he had ever been on. Of course, the mountain paths he had been on weren't nearly so close to a large body of water, and the air was practically dripping water, as this seemed to do. There didn't seem to be anything he could do except plod on, though.

He was puzzled when Kendath led them past several perfectly respectable inns in a more respectable section of the city than that which they had just left. His confusion grew when they passed more. Then he remembered the coins that Kendath had given the bartender. He hadn't seen them, but coins that light had to be coppers, and he hadn't heard any jingling when the last coppers were stuck back in, either. Apparently, they were low on funds.

Catching up to the Dragonrider, which was a little easier now that the mud was slowly giving way to firmer streets, he pulled out his own purse of money. In it was what was left of the gold he had found with the gems he had had put in his scimitar. "We can afford a better place than a dark alley," he said, handing the purse to Kendath. He himself had no judge of what was a fair price and what was outrageous, so the funds were best left to the more experienced male.

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Kendath had indeed been considering a trek to the abandoned warehouses at the edge of Port Dragonhelm. He didn't think much of it. It was only for a night, and they'd slept in worse places. But he couldn't deny his surprise when Adanil held out the purse to him. He considered the offer but turned it down with a shake of his head. It could be put to better cause for the bereft former farmer's benefit. In truth he could think of a million other ways to use the money, including as a last resort if they never found this sigil of the hawk.

He wasn't familiar with this particular port, but all ports in general had the same layout. He led the way towards the docks, where a line of decrepit storehouses ran parallel to the piers. They'd offer some concealment at least, along with a close lookout for The Phoenix's arrival at daybreak.

Kendath signaled for Adanil and Merrin to stay back. He waited for the patrol to pass before stalking out and halting at the warehouse with the best vantage of the harbor. He glanced around to see if anyone was watching before peering through the dusty windows. Darkness punctuated only by vague outlines of overturned crates. He gave the door an experimental push. Locked. Not deterred in the least, he fished around in his pockets and found the handy lockpick no cutthroat ever went without. He was forced to duck back into the shadows when he heard the sound of booted footsteps again. But presently the sentries walked away in ignorance, and within moments the warehouse door was open.

He signaled his companions before stepping across the threshold. Faint scent of rotten fish. Antique incense. Old ale barrels, more overturned crates... "Feels like home," Kendath muttered, quietly shutting the door after the others had entered.

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Adanil hesitated a minute before taking the purse back, but once it was in his hand, he hastily stuffed it away. It wasn't something he wanted every cutpurse in this section of the city going after. They attracted enough attention as it was: Kendath in his dark, commonplace clothing--common if you were used to sellswords--Merrin in her less-than-commonplace clothes, and himself, in his itchy wool. With a jeweled scimitar. They certainly attracted their fair share of attention.

The warehouse Kendath led them to was dark inside, and Adanil's first reaction was to wrinkle his nose. He was familiar with the smell of fish, but not in such....quantities. It was somewhat overwhelming, at first. Thankfully, he adjusted to it quickly.

"What side of the port will the ship likely sail in at?" Adanil asked, glancing at Kendath. They hadn't had much use for large ships in his village, and the result was that he probably knew less about them than he did about Dragonriders, which was certainly more than he used to.

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"I don't think there's much way of knowing," said Merrin where she still stood by the door, eyes roving over the dim interior of the warehouse. She ventured further in, carefully avoiding sacks of some unnamed fishy substance, and unconsciously still found herself gripping the hilt of her rapier. Obviously the doubtful patrons of The Queen's Bedchamber had made her rather more nervous than she cared to admit.

Having let go her death grip, Merrin rubbed her sweaty palm on her trousers and cast a glance through one of the grimy windows. Faint torchlight, but otherwise they seemed entirely alone. She sat down upon an upturned crate, the darkness making Kendath and Adanil dim outlines only murkily visible.

Something underneath her cracked and Merrin hastily stood as the decrepit crate collapsed upon itself. "Home indeed," she muttered.

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The darkness suited Kendath just fine. He doubtfully studied the door for a moment, then began dragging over crates to dump in front of it. Unless an intruder was particularly observant, he'd either trip over said crates or make enough noise to give himself away.

"I'll take first watch," Kendath volunteered. It was unnecessary, he knew. They weren't in considerable danger, and sleeping the miserable night away in an abandoned warehouse would hardly get them arrested. But he needed to ask Merrin something, and it'd make him feel better if Adanil wasn't listening. All innocence, he settled against the wall and pulled out a whetstone. He was on his fourth dagger when he determined Adanil to appear properly asleep. Tucking his blades into his bandolier and the whetstone into his pocket, he stood and glanced over at the curled form in the corner. A tell-tale stirring told him she wasn't asleep yet, to his relief.

Approaching the corner, he sat down beside her and gently touched her shoulder. "It was a mistake bringing you to the tavern," he commented by way of greeting.

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Merrin sat up, and wrapped her arms around her knees, which were drawn up to her chest. Even in the dim light she did not look as though she'd been anywhere near asleep. Glancing up at him, she attempted a half-smile and responded quietly, with a glance at sleeping Adanil. "No...it's fine. My inexperience shouldn't dictate where we can and cannot go."

Aye, she wished she'd never gone within a mile of The Queen's Bedchamber. But he must think her hopelessly naive, and Merrin cringed to think how obvious she must have been in her discomfort. "Nothing happened, anyway," she hastened to add, wishing for her cloak in the chill breezes that crept in from the ocean, even into their current doubtful shelter. Merrin examined her boots with something resembling great interest.

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Merrin's slight shiver didn't pass Kendath's notice. The night was chilly, and her tunic and breeches hardly sufficed. He unclasped his dark cloak and spread it over her shoulders. Stifling a sigh he glanced from her to the wall to the floor and back, wondering how to make himself sound relatively nonchalant.

"Adanil has the skill and resolve of a dragonrider," he opined at last, with a small shrug. He glanced obliquely Adanil's way and hoped he hadn't heard. He didn't need the farmer strutting about with an inflated head.

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Merrin couldn't help but tense almost imperceptibly at the sudden weight of his cloak around her shoulders - at his touch in general. Against her will she thought the gesture very sweet. She hadn't meant to show that she was cold. But the abrupt change of subject caught her off guard, and again she looked sharply at their companion, who was to all appearances asleep. "Aye, he does," she concurred, examining this new thought. Adanil a dragonrider - it didn't seem far-fetched at all, almost natural.

"He's loyal, too," she commented in a murmur, and in a moment wished she hadn't said it. The statement contrasted starkly with Kendath's almost neutral affiliation, Renegade in name alone.

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The last remark did elicit a wry look from Kendath. Loyal by honor or resolve for vengeance? he caught himself inexorably wondering. In any case, Adanil was far more Renegade than Kendath could ever hope or not hope to be - their last conversation by the sea had proved that. He was a bit too old for a dragonrider page, but perhaps a bit of persuasion could elevate him to squire.

He cleared his throat and shrugged again. "Perhaps a side trip to Vryngard after this is over..."

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This time Merrin did look up at him, and kept her gaze there, searching his face. "But Adanil can't come back with us to Vryngard," she said. "Who knows how his disappearance would alter history?"

With a sharp jolt she realized she was reluctant to leave him behind. Adanil had become as much a part of their group as any of them. "Can he?" she added uncertainly. "Sage said we were only to observe, and bringing Adanil back...well, it's not observing."

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"I didn't mean bring him back," Kendath intervened, the old impatience creeping back in. "I meant... wherever Renegades get knighted dragonriders." He was hardly conscious of his own word choice, how he made it sound as though he was still Meiltha.

But Merrin's words about observation did strike a warning note. How many events had they already affected because of this sojourn in time? Or was it meant to be, like his interruption of the Meiltha sacrifice ritual after the first battle, how he'd been inadvertently chronicled as an anonymous dragonrider...? He shook his misgivings away. There was no method of knowing for certain, and concerning himself over it would avail little.

Which brought them to the question of Adanil's ignorance. The young man had remained impressively mindless of others' affairs, but it likely wouldn't hold.

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