[sorry going fast. trying to move this along here.]
As Merrin burrowed against his chest, Kendath stiffened before he could acknowledge his own reflex. He didn't push her away, but, recalling his vow, neither did he return the gesture beyond an awkward pat on the back. Typical of her to make matters so difficult.

The sea dragon's abrupt swerve to the right distracted him, and he glanced up to see the sun clinging not to glittering azure, but to a black silhouette of land. The sun's groping fingers set ablaze the white spires and distant mountains beyond with rosy halos. The sea dragon slowed, flowing parallel to the shoreline, with its gently rolling dunes. A few miles down the coast, the breeze bloated small white sails and equally humble skiffs tied beside what appeared to be a fishing village.

Wind, chillier with the onset of nightfall, skipped over the ocean. Wishing he still had his cloak, Kendath threw a stare back over his shoulder at the city, rapidly fading out of sight. He craned his neck further to face Pundy, seated a few spikes behind him. "Do you recognize it?"

"Eh?" Jaw taut, the grizzled mariner looked over Kiril's head at him, through him, before snapping out of it. A scowl replaced the stony-eyed glare. "Recognize what?"

"The city. Do you recognize - ? Nevermind." Bemused, Kendath turned away. And acquaintances used to accuse him of being temperamental.

The sea dragon shoaled herself far enough from the village that the cooking fires were merely orange specks in the twilight. By way of her clawing forelegs, she managed to brace herself against a sandbar, where the water was sufficiently shallow for the humans to wade to shore. "No anchovies on this side of the pond," she grumbled, as they slid down her scales to plop unceremoniously in the sand. Her lashing tail swung irritably around, and Kendath dropped flat just in time. "Blasted water's too cold. And whales take hours to properly chew."

"Right," muttered Kendath. Diplomacy first. Then, in the event of her departure, he would compile a list of all the retorts he'd missed in the interest of How to Live a Longer Life. Eager to be on dry land again, he turned and waded into the surf.

Three things happened in the next three seconds. And he spun around on the third second just in time to infer what he'd missed.

The sea dragon, scales on her face gleaming scarlet with blood, screamed and flung her head back. A figure went flying into the air, steel glinting in its hand. A flash of turquoise, and the sea dragon's tail whipped around, impaling that same figure on its spiked end.

For one frozen instant, no one moved.

Kiril's shriek shattered the silence. "Uncle Pumfoot!"

Heart hammering in his ears, Kendath overtook the girl and leaped into the breakers, plowing straight through toward the growing pool of murky crimson. He seized the body by the collar and shook it. Be alive... be alive... A grunt in response. The old mariner's eyes flickered; his head bobbed onto his bloody chest. Curse it, what just happened? Sea dragon - betrayal - ? Encircling his arms under Pundy's shoulders, he began dragging the limp body back toward the sandbar.

The sea dragon found him halfway there. Swift as a striking viper. Mouthful of fangs, rushing his way - Crying out, he dropped Pundy and whipped out his falchion. Scarlet erupted, accompanied by an earsplitting roar. She recoiled, and he jumped aside but not quick enough to evade -

The claw closed around his torso. Another claw clenched around Pundy. Lifted them both up. Squeezed. Agony exploding in his chest, Kendath stared into the dragon's emerald eyes. Eye. Singular. The other was lost in a pool of blood and jelly. If Pundy’s cutlass had pierced a bit deeper, it might have entered her brain. A fantastic feat, really, if not for the damned stupidity. "My daughter was right," she hissed. "Filthy traitors. I am merciful. I am generous. And what a just boon you have repayed me with."

But Pundy! Why would he - ? The claws squeezed tighter still, dug into his chest until he writhed, writhed like the defenseless worm he was. No aid would come. Had to reach his dagger, a blade, anything. His boot. Just... a little... farther... He tasted blood in his mouth. Liquid iron. Bittersweet. Yet he wanted to laugh, wanted to laugh and never stop laughing at the irony of it all. Should he, among all people, wonder why Pundy sought vengeance?

[if Merrin's out of ideas, recall the villagers ]

_________________

Merrin froze. She couldn't think - she couldn't think - all she could see was the furious dragon, and Kendath, and somehow there was no way out - she wasn't sure, later, if she cried out or not, but for one infinitesimal second the dragon turned, its one intact emerald eye chillingly alight with anger, and then Kiril did scream.

Somehow, in Merrin's mind, that one sound triggered a series of events so fast she could hardly follow what they were. One moment there was Kendath, writhing in the grip of the leviathan, and the next everything was flashing scales and bursts of crimson and shouts and reptilian screams, and water - everywhere -

She didn't know how, but somehow her saber was out and she was shouting, too, mostly incoherently but every so often Kendath's name. Very suddenly that gaping maw of teeth was before her and the dragon lunged - so close Merrin felt the rush of air as it suddenly recoiled with a keening screech and was gone, leaving a trail of crimson water.

Dizzy, Merrin gulped a breath and swiveled to look for Kendath and Kiril. She had a confused impression of quite a few men, armed with varying types of weapon, before her spinning head quite stilled itself and she could assimilate who on earth was suddenly present to help them. "Thank you," she managed, a little dazed. Villagers, that's who they must be.

"No trouble," said the one, shrugging. "Cursed dragon's a bloody nuisance is what it -" he stopped, very suddenly, staring at her. "Merrin?"

He'd spoken like a villager, and Merrin hadn't been paying enough attention to look closer. He was extremely broad-shouldered like a blacksmith, and holding his weapon like he knew how to use it, and so much taller than the last time she'd seen him - oh, stars!

"T'mor!" she gasped, and found herself completely lifted off the ground in a hug that made her ribs screech with pain. She wriggled, half laughing and half trying not to cry. "That hurts - T'mor -"

He put her down. "Gods, you look horrible."

Merrin couldn't help but laugh then, which made them hurt more. The momentary rush of happiness ebbed swiftly when she rapidly recollected herself and remembered - "Kendath - where's Kendath - Pundy, Kiril?"

_________________

Kiril didn't understand.

She hadn't understood when the first tremor struck the Albatross and sent her hurtling out of Mama's arms. She hadn't understood when she'd woken up in a cold and damp and dark place, with everyone save Uncle Pumfoot gone, and Merrin had told her that everything would be all right. She hadn't understood, because everything had not been all right, and Mama hadn't come back, and neither had Papa or Kavyn or anyone else she'd thought she'd find waiting for her someplace on the island.

She didn't understand now. She didn't want to, not when the man who never smiled was panting and dragging Uncle Pumfoot onto the beach. Not when Uncle Pumfoot's face and chest were flooded with crimson, and she had to blink at it a full ten seconds before realizing that she'd seen that before - blood that looked like that. It was what Mama had looked like, before wood splinters and dragon's fangs crushed her.

It was what Mama had looked like. Mama, who had never come back.

No tears blurred her eyes when she dropped to her knees beside Pundy and took the old mariner's hand in her own. She spread her fingers over his palm, felt the calluses there, and marveled for perhaps the last time... how tiny her hand seemed... but someday it would have grown bigger, and Uncle would have ruffled her hair and called her "mighty lass, she is, growing faster than a li'l whale." She wondered if she would ever hear him say it again.

"Little gull..." Pundy breathed, so softly that Kiril had to lean in to feel his lips on her ear. Rough lips. Rough hands. Would he ever again pick her up and spin her around so fast she felt as though she were flying? "Little gull... Kiril... I'm sorry. Understand why... for them, Kiril. For them."

She looked at him. Simply looked at him. And when she spoke, her voice did not waver. "You promised you'd never leave. You promised."

"Broken, Kiril, broken... I'm sorry..."

His hand grew heavy in hers, until it finally slipped from her grasp. Then Uncle Pumfoot sighed and was gone. Like Mama. Like Papa. Like the rest.

Kavyn was better than her in a lot of games, but he could never catch her when she ran. No one could. The man who never smiled couldn't, though he didn't try very hard. Merrin couldn't, though she didn't try much harder. They said they cared. They said that they'd look for her. But Mama had cared too. Not enough, it seemed.

Kiril ran and ran and never once looked over her shoulder. Maybe she wouldn't come back either.

_________________

Merrin started forward as Pundy took one last, ragged breath, her heart twisting painfully for Kiril...she was so little, so little, to watch as life left the one person left to her in this world. Tears blurred Merrin's vision momentarily and Kiril was gone without a sound, flying as if she could run away, run from everything.

So little...Merrin shook off T'mor's hand and ran, too, hardly knowing why but wanting more than anything to hold Kiril so she could cry for everything she'd lost...hold her and promise that the world was not always so cruel. She couldn't help but remember Wyvern, Vryngard...ah, Kiril, and I thought I knew loss...

She tripped and fell, hard, barely catching herself on hands and knees. The world blurred, not just from tears, and Merrin felt pain dully claw its way through her. The sensation was too familiar. She got to her feet,shakily, and stood staring after Kiril, aching to comfort her. Why - gods, why, Kiril did nothing to deserve this!

How everything turned bittersweet, now. The joy Merrin had felt at leaving that island behind seemed dulled, lackluster, next to Kiril's unimaginable grief. She closed her eyes to keep back the tears, wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off the numbing sadness.

It was strangely perceptive of T'mor - or perhaps he'd changed more than she thought - to put an arm silently around her shoulders, and not try to say anything. Merrin leaned against him, feeling the tears spilling over.

"Jayen always knows what to do with crying girls," he said thoughtfully, and she smiled even through the tears. "Merrin, you look like you're going to faint."

"I have to find Kiril," said Merrin, but she was weary beyond any exhaustion she'd thought she could ever know. "T'mor..."

"She can't be far. Just to the healer's, and then I'll go. Fellow who's with you doesn't look much better, he'll need the healer, too."

Somehow it seemed like a betrayal to Kiril, but Merrin couldn't think how to do anything else - she was so tired...

She had very little memory, later, of how they made it, but eventually Merrin was standing - or rather, leaning on T'mor - in front of what must be the healer's house. There was really nothing else it could be. A collection of climbing plants curled up over the peaked roof, but that was hardly the only instance of greenery where it normally wasn't. Various types of dried plants were dangling in front of the windows, which also held a mismatched collection of candles, half of them lit. In fact, one might well wonder why there were windows at all - with the hanging herbs, varied strings of brightly colored beads and glass, and candles adorning every available space, it was highly debatable as to whether anyone could see out.

T'mor stopped to give the pair of them an appraising look, and paused with a pained look, as though he weren't quite sure how to phrase something. "This healer," he began, eying Kendath particularly, "she's a tad...unorthodox."

_________________

"Come in, come in!" a voice called brightly from inside. Apparently one could see through the windows, to a degree. A small crash ensued, and moments later the door swung open to reveal a smiling middle-aged woman. Her robes were simple and white, but they had been adorned with so many colorful scraps of fabric and mismatched pieces of jewelry that hardly any of the original fabric was actually visible. Long, platinum-blonde hair had been pulled into a haphazard sort of braid, only contributing to the somewhat thrown-together appearance.

"I thought there might be more," she said in a tone that suggested that she'd received a few unexpected guests for tea, rather than a group of patients with potentially life-threatening injuries. Appraising them briefly with bright blue eyes, she motioned them all inside. "Come in, dears," she repeated. "There are still several empty cots right over there. I'll be with you in half a moment."

Without ever actually stopping, she spun around and hurried over to where two wounded villagers had already been receiving treatment and resumed binding the younger one's arm. "Now, you won't be wanting to get this wet for another week, except when you change the dressing. And be sure to do so every day, dear, or we'll have another infection on our hands," she chided gently. "And once you've - Oh, I nearly forgot! There's hot tea on the table beside you," she called over to the group of newcomers. "Not much medicinal value, but I've always found that a cup of tea can do the heart a world of good. No sense in healing the physical wounds if we can't mend the spirit, is there?" She turned back to her present subjects and quickly finished tending to their various maladies and giving them instructions, then saw them out the door with many well-wishes and last-minute pieces of advice.

As soon as the two villagers were out of sight, the healer whirled around to face the group. "Young master T'mor, am I to believe it?" she inquired in a teasing tone. "You've actually come to visit me without possessing some life-threatening condition or another! Is your finger quite mended yet?" Without waiting for an actual response, she began to look over T'mor's companions again. "I suppose some form of introduction is in order. I am Mistress Adeila, or simply Adeila," she said, dipping a slight curtsey. "You are friends of T'mor's, I assume?"

"Merrin Dragonrider," said Merrin quietly, sinking onto one of the cots. "This is Kendath, Jhoran - T'mor, please, Kiril -"

"In a minute. Adeila, this is my sister, and she's going to faint if she doesn't -"

Gods above, five years and still he was insufferably stubborn! Merrin jerked upright, all patience gone. "T'mor Tanner, if you don't go right now I'll show you just how much weapons training a dragonrider gets, and I don't care how many swords you've made!" Her voice rose, near hysterically, and Merrin subsided with a glare, swallowing tears.

"- get some of whatever it is you've got to do for that sort of thing. Don't let her tell you she's fine. I'm going, Merrin!" T'mor finished hastily as she half-drew her saber to make the point entirely clear, and muttered "Good luck," to Adeila before exiting.

Merrin sank back down onto the cot, turning to look at Kendath and Jhoran, and for a moment saw the three of them as they must look to this woman - dirty, tired, footsore...covered in blood...she swallowed a rush of disheartenment and stood a little unsteadily, holding out a hand. "I...aye, I'm Merrin. We...we haven't anything to pay you with...Kendath and Jhoran are hurt more than me, T'mor's just...T'mor..." Merrin stopped, realizing she was hardly making sense. "I would be forever grateful for your help."

_________________

"Of course, dear, of course," Adeila replied airily, already starting to think about what all needed to be done. These three were far worse off than the previous pair, and they were terribly tense besides. She prepared three cups of tea, then poured some of the remaining hot water into three bowls containing dried, pungent herbs. Handing a cup and a bowl to each of three adventurers, she instructed, "Drink from the cup, breathe the steam from the bowl, but not vice-versa. Those herbs do have a terrible taste, and I can't imagine that tea up one's nose is a particularly pleasant experience. And for goodness sake, dear, do lie down. Healing works best when the patient is relaxed."

While the three did as instructed, Adeila scurried about and gathered various supplies - clean bandages, a few rags, a bowl of fresh water, a pinch of this herb, a sprig of that, and anything else that seemed potentially useful. When she finally returned, she simply stood there for a moment and stared at them. "Now, whom shall I see to first?" she mused out loud, before finally settling on the one who seemed to be the most eminently in need of treatment. Kneeling beside Kendath's cot, she began looking him over more carefully, her expression mildly concerned. "Svit," she suddenly called across the room, "be a sweet and bring mummy some of the dried pyrethrum, hmm?"

A strange chirping noise came from the adjacent room, and moments later a small reptilian creature - presumably Svit - scampered into the room. It almost resembled a dragon, except that its body was much longer proportionately, its wings were far too short to grant actual flight, and it was much smaller - no more than two feet in length. "Ah, there's a good boy," Adeila crooned as Svit clambered up onto her shoulder and dropped the pouch he had been carrying into her waiting hand. As Adeila stroked his head gently, Svit chirped inquiringly and jumped onto the bed to begin examining Kendath. Adeila allowed it for a moment, then shooed him toward Merrin.

"Now," she said, looking over at Kendath, "I'm going to need that shirt removed if I'm to properly tend to this cut."

"Uhh?" came Kendath's intelligent response. Then his eyes widened. Was that a lizard running errands? Now it was looking at him. And blinking. And smiling. Next thing he knew, he had tea up his nose. Not a particularly pleasant experience, he had to admit. But it wasn't his fault. The lizard made him do it.

Grimacing, he shrugged his tunic off. He was beginning to wonder if he'd been born with a fear of healers, or if it'd developed over time.

_________________

"Svit," Adeila scolded softly as she dipped one of the rags in water and wrung it out. "Leave the poor man alone." Gently, she began to clean around the wound, keeping her expression neutral as she tried to determine the extent of the rest of the damage. Stars above, the man's torso was nearly as colorful as her robes! "The gods favor you," she observed as she sprinkled a bit of the dried plant over the worst of the wound and began carefully wrapping it. "All of you." She'd not yet even examined the other two, but she could tell that not all of their wounds were fresh. This wasn't just the work of a sea dragon, she was certain. "I'll see to the rest of your injuries in a bit; I want a better look at those ribs, but not until I'm certain your companions aren't in any real danger."

Moving over to Merrin, she casually inquired, "If I may ask, how does one come to acquire so many injuries?"

Merrin sucked in a sharp breath as Adeila's fingers probed her ribs, clumsily bandaged as they still were. A wave of exhaustion and pain lancing up her midsection made her momentarily dizzy, and when the room stopped spinning, the little lizard-like creature was clicking inquisitively at her, its head on one side. Merrin reached to run her fingers gently down the iridescent green scales, reminded painfully of Wyvern.

"Our ship sank," she said quietly in response to Adeila. "Attacked by that sea dragon." It hardly explained the sea dragon's subsequent assistance in their return to land, but Merrin was so tired...so tired...she blinked, warding off the overwhelming desire to sleep, and realized the healer still looked expectant. "We had...a hard time of it."

That was an understatement. Merrin dimly recalled the sirens...the dragon...and reached to clumsily assist Adeila in removing the remains of Kendath's cloak, simply to keep herself from falling asleep then and there.

_________________

Jhoran stood despondently, looking regretfully at Kendath and Merrin. Most assuredly he had been more of a dead-weight than anything in the last two days. Since the sea dragon had sent them to kill Mistress Ssmalysx, his wounds had been troubling him more and more--as a result, he hadn't been able to do anything to aid in their quest to return to the mainland.

When Pundy had turned on the dragon, he had already been nearly onto the beach; when he turned to help, though, his increasingly unsteady legs betrayed him, and he found himself choking on an unhealthy amount of saltwater. He had managed to regain his footing, but not before the sea dragon fled and his two companions were being pulled out of the water as well.

Now, he felt miserable. Not since before he had gone to Vryngard had he felt so utterly useless. He wasn't used to traveling with people, let alone to not pulling his weight.

Then Merrin said something that caused him to lift his head. "More hurt than you?" he asked dubiously. "Merrin, mayhaps I have more injuries, but that does not make them worse--I've survived them for several days now, and a few minutes more won't kill me. You, however, look to be half-dead from exhaustion, let alone from your other injuries. It's you who needs to be tended first."

He stepped back a pace, to show that he would not go before the lady, and nearly stumbled over the little dragon-like creature that was scampering around intelligently.

Watching it with interest, he spoke again. "If I may ask, Miss Adeila, what is Svit? I've never seen his kind before."

_________________

( I hope this one is fine with you people, but I just saw an opening in this situation, but I can easily edit, if you had something else in mind... )

Ah the small comfort`s of this miserable experience called life, Garthag thought as he sat before the pond fire he had put up in order to dry his robes after the long journey over the water, which unfortunately had not gone as planned. He had thought he could have levitated with more ease, but the journey had been far more longer and his powers more diminished than he had wanted to believe.

Leaving the others behind had not brought any guilty conscience or disruption to his plans as he knew that they would somehow manage escape the island. The gods wouldn`t let their chosen be killed now would they? Or then again had he actually gained faith in their skills and abilities along the way? Perhaps, despite being insignificant compared his magical prowess, they showed undeniable talent for slipping out of tight spots.

Whatever the truth or his opinion, the fact was that he was convinced that they would meet again and besides he hadn`t straight away abandoned them since they left from the sirens lair. Oh no, Garthag had decided to let Merrin and Kendath do the dirty work of distracting the sea dragon whilst he slipped away. He had waited for a suitable moment when he was certain the dragon was not out prowling the sea and with a levitation spell he had slipped above the icy waters towards this place. After arriving he had remained, hiding, near the shore and examining the situation from afar.

He had spotted the sea dragon sometime ago moving nearby, but had not dared to approach as there had been an unfriendly confrontation and was satisfied with the knowledge that his `dear friends` had made it ashore somewhat safely. Afterwards he had gathered some fallen branches and anything that may have been called decent firewood, a small burst of magic and he had set up a camp for himself. Of course the weak human body couldn`t deal without food and hunting for one was not an idea he favored, thus he had to rely on the very few rations he had been carrying around from the wreckage of the ship.

Quietly he gazed around at the area where he had camped, there were some tree`s and a few bushes that provided small cover, nothing more. It wouldn`t be wise to stay around in one spot for long as he had also seen some villagers moving around here. He didn`t know what they might think when they would find a mage alone out in the wilds, but he had never come across as your friend wandering mage.

Yet he was suddenly pulled out of his thoughts and feelings of paranoia as he heard the sound of something approaching. He suspected it to be a human of course, a villager no doubt, one who had seen the fire and had sprang to see whether there were more survivors. Garthag grinned at the thought of being discovered, he preferred to show his face when he wanted, not when some gullible fool stumbled upon his resting place. He quickly covered himself with magic and disappeared out of sight, he sneaked towards the sound of the feet that approached.

The approaching human was small, a child perhaps? Yes, definitely a youngster, an oddly familiar one and no wonder, it was the brat from aboard the ship. Whatever her reasons for running about, Garthag didn`t give a damn, but what he did care was what she knew about condition of the others. Garthag had realized that they had sustained some injuries, but how grievous they were, he was not quite sure so this brat, whose name he hadn`t cared to learn, might provide him with the proper answers. His right hand sprung out like a snake from the darkness of his robe sleeve and grabbed Kiril by the hair.

As painfully obvious as it was, Kiril would find herself laying on her back with a man dressed in white robes keeping her down with his right hand whilst the left slammed before her mouth. Garthag made pretentiously friendly smile to Kiril whilst holding her down.

"A child such as yourself shouldn`t be allowed to run loose like this, I thought Merrin would have had more discipline than this, but apparently not... So.. where is she? And how is she?"

Garthag inquired before releasing his hold on Kiril, but his right hand re grabbed her by the back of her neck as he forced her up.

_________________

Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!

Adeila nodded absently in response to Merrin's explanation, waving the girl away. "Rest, Miss Merrin," she repeated gently before glancing in Jhoran's direction. "And you as well, young man. Surviving an injury for several days means only that fever's had a few days to set in, you know. And it's just Adeila, dear. Titles are such a bother."

"I haven't a clue what Svit is, to be honest," she commented cheerfully as she began the more rountine treatments - clean this scrape, rub some salve on that bruise, touch here and there and ask if it hurts (which earned a rather colorful response from one unnamed party member). "I simply found his egg one day, some twenty years ago, and he's been mummy's little helper ever since. Quite a curious little thing, isn't he? He's quite harmless, if a bit mischievous. I've never seen another like quite like him, though I suppose he's of some relation to the dragon. Now hold still, dear, while I have a look at that cut...."

Only once she was confident that none of her patients were in danger of death or severe discomfort did Adeila step back to survey her work. "You'll let me know if anything - even the most niggling little ache - begins to bother you, dears, won't you? You've all been most wonderful patients, if a tad stubborn, though I suppose I can't blame you."

Wiping her hands on her skirt, Adeila moved over to the fireplace. "Now," she said. "I imagine you're all quite hungry. I'm afraid that I'm far more adept as a healer than as a cook, but if you can tolerate broth and perhaps a bit of bread, then I can have that ready in no time."

There were many advantages of being small, and speed was one of them. Kiril flew, her toes digging into the sand and launching her forward in bounds that rapidly left her pursuers behind. A few villagers persisted, but one by one they lagged off with scowls and muttered imprecations. "She's a feisty 'un," they said. "Will fly back just as fast, she will." Consciences wiped clean, they straggled back to the village.

Kiril would prove them wrong.

Why go back? Warm fires, familiar faces. Maybe Merrin would hold her again and tell her everything would be all right. Oh, she wanted to go back. She wanted to, and maybe she didn't care how many questions the strangers asked, or how they ruffled her hair and told her eat more and sleep more and heavens, what a cute, quiet little lass. How old are you again? She used to enjoy the attention. But when she got tired of it, she could always retreat, nestle in Papa's lap or run off with Kavyn. But now they were gone, and all she had left was...

Merrin had laughed. The big man had hugged Merrin, and Merrin had laughed. She didn't care about Uncle Pumfoot. No, Kiril would never go back. Let them worry. Let them look for her. At least then they'd know what it felt like. Would they miss her as much as she missed Mama and Papa and...

In the west, the sun clung by its fingertips to distant shadows of mountains. The shadows seemed to reach farther than that, consolidate and take shape against the sand dunes. But that was silly. Only babes believed in monsters, right? Kiril was no babe. She would scoff at the monsters. But they grew bigger, and suddenly the roar of the ocean was not soothing but threatening. Breath grating in her throat, she ran harder, faster, wanting to outdistance them as she outdistanced the villagers.

Was that... fire? Uncle Pumfoot had built a campfire on the island. Maybe Uncle Pumfoot would have supper ready. He was good at cooking fish stew - even Mama said so, and Kavyn said Mama was the best cook in the world. Leaning against the wind, she stumbled right into the circle of firelight just as -

Pain exploded in her scalp. With a stifled scream, she went sprawling, pinned down by someone who was not Uncle Pumfoot. Robes glowing orange against the firelight, he smiled at her. It was not a nice smile, not a real smile. It scared her. Merrin's friend never smiled, but at least he didn't look like this. The stranger was demanding something of her, but she couldn't understand the words. He lifted her up, and she emitted a whimper that escalated into a shrill squeak. He was familiar, this stranger. Her memories of him were not pleasant.

-----

Among all the healers in the bloody world, they had to get landed with this one? She poked his ribs for the fourth bloody time, and Kendath tried to mask his muffled yelp behind a scowl that could curdle milk. A truth had to be grudgingly admitted though - the treatment was working. The stab in his torso had mitigated to a superficial throb. Too tired to keep the scowl up for long, he plopped down on the cot and shooed Svit away with a wave of his hand.

Not surprisingly, the lizard didn't budge. Instead it cocked its scaled head and stared at him. Simply stared at him. And smiled.

Kendath's head hurt. It didn't hurt for long, though, because suddenly a bowl of broth appeared in his hand without quite telling him how it'd gotten there. Or how it managed to disappear in the next three minutes. He had barely gulped down the last chunks of meat - chicken, it looked like, but he couldn't be certain, from the way his mouth engulfed it so quickly - before Adeila refilled the bowl. Three bowls later, he managed to announce, through a mouthful of mushy potatoes, that this was the best broth he'd tasted in his life.

The last rays of sunlight peaked through the windows, as though contemplating whether or not to linger. As they slipped away, retreating before the lengthening shadows, Kendath set his bowl down and glanced askance at Merrin. Though sustenance had tinted her cheeks with a tinge of scarlet, they still looked chillingly pale, no matter how the candlelight aspired to warm them. He lowered himself on the cot beside her. "That man," he said quietly, by way of beginning a conversation. "He's your brother?"

_________________

T'mor absently loosened his sword in its sheath, purely as a precaution, as he trudged after the girl Merrin had been so worried about. He was no tracker, but he didn't need to be - she'd left a trail a blind man could follow. Lucky, too, because the sun was dipping low behind a horizon made jagged by distant mountains. Belatedly, he wished he'd had the forethought to take a lantern, but no matter. She'd get tired somewhere, the girl - Kiril, he thought he'd heard her called - and then he could assuage Merrin's worries.

Merrin. T'mor grinned to himself - wouldn't Jayen wish he'd come along now, he worried about Merrin even after the years she'd been gone, and especially in these last few months when she'd ceased to write at all rather than infrequently. She'd hardly grown at all, and it was a strange sensation when they'd been of a height five years ago to find her now below his shoulder. And pale as a ghost, obviously worn from some ordeal. Briefly he wondered about the men with her. The one looked the part of a noble, but the other decidedly did not. And it was that one Merrin looked at - even T'mor could see it, and he was notorious for missing such things completely. He'd have to mention it to Jayen.

Where had she been, though? And her dragon, Wyvern who she'd written so much of - the dragon practically glowed through her letters - was obviously not in company with her. She was different, though five years could explain that somewhat. There was a look in her eyes...

A little surprised, T'mor examined this new protective instinct that seemed to be surfacing. Jayen had always been the one who worried for Merrin, not he - why be worried? She could protect herself, that much was certain, and he wouldn't mind sparring with her either. She'd looked like she could use that saber. Perhaps it was that look in her eyes, or how light she'd been when he lifted her, or how suddenly very small she seemed. Merrin, who not three weeks before she left had been angry at him for breaking one of her precious little carved dragons - angry enough to give him a bloody nose when he scoffed at her dismay that lasted quite some time. Merrin had never seemed small before, quite the opposite. She'd been quite the little mother, as he recalled - it'd irritated him to no end.

But he couldn't say with much honesty that he'd thought of Merrin very much since she'd left. Life had gone on, and besides the occasional time he caught one of the twins telling little Rhie a wildly exaggerated story about her sister Merrin the dragonrider, her absence had become just a fact of life.

T'mor made a resolution to find out what had happened to her in those months with no letters, admittedly because he was worried as well as he knew Jayen would demand to know, and turned his attention to that glimmer of firelight in the trees ahead. He stopped, listening. Silence...silence...and then a little shrilling squeak that died out into the night almost at once. But the sound of it was decidedly unsettling.

Advancing, one hand on the hilt of his weapon, T'mor carefully slipped through the trees that were beginning to form the edge of the forest, carefully lingering just beyond the edge of the firelight.

He only needed a glimpse to decide his course of action then and there. Two strides and he was there, blade out with a ring to stop just at the edge of the robed figure's throat. Mage, it looked like, and not friendly by the way he had Kiril pinned. The girl's eyes were terrified. "Right. Drop the girl, I know how to use this thing and I'm frankly not especially impressed by any little magic tricks you happen to know."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Merrin set down her bowl, which was clean of even the slightest remnants. She hadn't even realized how ravenously hungry she was - it had been hard to think of anything so ordinary lately. Now that there was no threat to their lives around the next corner, it was hard to keep her eyes open even to satisfy her hunger. She could have slept for days.

She shifted a little to make room as Kendath sat down. He looked worn as well, even with his characteristically expressionless mien. "Aye," she responded, smiling wanly. "That's T'mor." There was silence for a moment, and then she added, "He's a smith. It never occurred to me he might be a journeyman - da's a tanner, and he's hardly been a day's travel from home in his life."

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The child struggled, and whimpered, too bad for her yet not bad enough as he was going to keep her alive. The shrimp in his grasp didn`t seem to understand his questions, but no wonder, children usually tended to get so very confused. When she didn`t answer, Garthag grinned slightly and was prepared to slap her across the face, not a thing he greatly admired, but he hated it when anyone proved difficult. Then again he could try to convince her with friendly words, but unfortunately Garthag had never been the type that was able to persuade people to his side. He had come to see that with people like Merrin, who had refused his friendly offer of help just because he had been after power. Garthag prepared to drag the girl near the fire and make her sit down near it, but the sword tip suddenly lingered very near the edge of his throat forced him into other thoughts. He turned his gaze at the man holding the sword and his eyes showed that the man`s appearance did little to frighten or convince him.

Neither did the harsh command of the man force him to obey, but the steel of his sword was another factor Garthag did account for. Yet the words of the man showed clear hesitation, obviously this man had not killed anyone in his life. He himself telling about his minor sword skills and looking down at magic told very much about the man, not to mention his methods. He was like the rest of the mob perhaps, they feared magic and other things beyond their grasp. No doubt he was a simple man without greater knowledge of whom had stumbled upon his humble villages outskirts.

"Tricks? Some nerve you have there peasant, but very well, I shall do ask you ask"

Garthag said as he let go of Kiril and turned to look at the man face to face. The sword still gleamed about his throat, too close, but then again Garthag had some options left to him yet none of them were none too peaceful. Instead of disappearing into the thin air or trying to scorch the man in a sea of flames, Garthag decided to turn to diplomacy and find out something about this place. It was obvious that the man didn`t have a very good impression based on what he had seen. Yet perhaps mentioning Merrin and the others might have some effect.

"I apologize for that, I am on a bad mood and the rough handling of that child was merely because she seemed rather... hysterical and partially due to my frustration about losing my friends... You haven`t seen any travelers nearby? A rather rugged looking fellow and a woman, who might have gone trough a lot? Merrin the dragonrider people tend to call her, is there any chance you have met anyone by that name?"

Garthag inquired, but he didn`t appear, he didn`t need to nor did he want to. Yet the way he spoke was simply enough to hint that he was interested in what was going on in the nearby area or had there been any other strangers near the village.

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Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!