The Daughters of Krull Chapter 2, a krull fanfic

The dragons looked upon the boy with neither malice nor fear. They thought him beneath their notice. So when he came to seek Behal, the queen of dragons, they let him pass through their ranks. What was one boy to the boundless power and grandeur of dragonkin?

The boy found Behal in her great fiery chamber, slumbering but restless.

He had come with a sword (his grandfather's) and a shield (his father's), but these would not prove useful against Behal's strength and scale. So he put them away, and approached her, unarmed but unafraid.

And then she woke.

"Good morning, little one."

Titch rubbed at his eyes and sat up. For a moment, he could not remember where he was. The room was round, made of stone, not unlike his room at the castle but much smaller. There were four beds (he was sitting in one of these) spaced around the room, and a fireplace built into one wall, but otherwise it was unremarkable. Save, of course, for the charming woman who sat on the edge of his bed.

She looked to be about Colwyn's age, perhaps a year or two older. She did not have the pristine prettiness of the girls in the castle; rather, she had a happy if unkempt look about her, like one who receives great pleasure from her work even if her work is not particularly clean.

"Your name is Titch, right?"

The boy nodded.

She sat back and smiled. "I am Praneth. I'm sorry for the accommodations; we weren't expecting anyone last night."

Titch blinked. He couldn't recall much of anything from the night before. He remembered the ride on Damma, but he must have fallen into a doze at some point. Upon reflection, he did recall arriving at the tower, and Torquil saying something about the lateness of their arrival, and then being hustled inside.

"You need not apologize. It was very comfortable," he assured her. "And I guess I needed the sleep."

She seemed happy with his reply. "You can wash downstairs, then join us for some breakfast." She handed over a stack of coarse but clean towels and stood up to leave.

"Thank you," Titch called after her.

Praneth turned back to him at the top of the spiral staircase. "You're very welcome," she said haltingly, as if she hadn't expected thanks for simply performing her duty.

Titch collected his satchel and hurried down the stairs. Upon reaching the bottom floor, he could smell the enticing aromas of baked breads and syrupy fruits. He peeked out beyond the arch of the stairs and saw Torquil, Oswyn, and another man sitting at a simple table and partaking of both food and some kind of steaming drink. He glanced the other way and saw Praneth coming toward him with a kettle.

She tossed her head in the direction from which she had come. "There's a basin with some water and soap that way."

Titch thanked her again, and she smiled.

Quickly, he set about the morning necessity of relieving himself, and then he gave himself a rather rushed wash-down. The basin water was still relatively warm, but he could only rinse his skin with it - not dunk or lay in it like a proper tub - so he was immediately chilled. Still, it was a nice feeling, if brisk. It certainly made him more awake than he had been.

He pulled on his jerkin and pants, stuffing his grimy underclothes from the day before in the bottom of the satchel, and hurried out to the table. Praneth had a metal plate of bread and fruit chunks waiting for him. He set to eating right away, partly because he didn't want to make anyone wait on him and partly because he was suddenly very hungry.

There was a round of raucous laughter - Torquil's basso guffaw was dominating - as Titch came to the table and started in on his breakfast.

Praneth giggled as she filled a short cup with tea and set it before Titch. "He never told you that?" She asked the Lord-Marshall.

Torquil shook his head, still laughing. "No," he said, looking Oswyn up and down, and Titch figured that they must have been talking about the younger ex-thief.

Praneth rolled her eyes and leaned against the edge of the table. "Oh, gods. He must have jumped half the rooftops in town for that stupid bird."

"At least we ate," Oswyn offered in his own defense.

Praneth had no comeback except to slap him in the shoulder with the rag dangling from her apron. Then she leaned down and kissed him briefly on the cheek.

The third man at the table raised his mug to his lips, but not before saying, "I've told Praneth more than once that she's lucky to have found you again."

Oswyn nodded. "I was glad to know that she was all right."

Titch looked from one adult to the next in this conversation, keeping quiet while he ate. He had learned in his time with his Master that it was often more advantageous to listen than to speak in conversations. Whatever else was going on, Oswyn seemed to have a more interesting past than he had at first thought. Of course, he thought, any past with a woman as endearing as Praneth was more interesting than the alternative.

At the moment, she stood over Oswyn, rubbing one of his shoulders. "Tarro is right - I had no idea where you would end up. I feared prison, or worse."

Torquil's amused demeanor faded to a thoughtful quiescence. "Fate was not overly unkind to our Oswyn, I think."

"Not overly so," the younger man agreed quietly, rubbing absently at his wrists, where once there had been manacles.

In the reflective silence that followed, only Titch made any noise, as he finished up the remnants of breakfast. He downed the last of his now only mildly warm tea and started to stack his dishes together.

Praneth shooed him away. "Oh, don't you bother with that now. I'll take care of it."

Tarro stood up and piled the dishes and cups together. "I think I had better get used to this, love. You sit and rest a while."

She pursed her lips in mock-disapproval, but she did take his seat as he bustled the stack of crockery into the kitchen area. "Don't be pampering me, Tarro," she called after him. "It's still a few months yet before I'll even show."

Torquil smiled knowingly at her. "Ah! Congratulations then to you, Missus."

Oswyn turned to look at her, blinking. He looked surprised, even mildly hurt. "Pran. You didn't say anything."

She lowered her eyes, blushing, and Titch noticed that beneath her scattered bangs and element-weathered skin, she was quite pretty. "I thought perhaps to surprise you one day with a little niece or nephew."

"That would have been a surprise," Oswyn agreed with a smile.

Praneth chuckled. She seemed uncomfortable beneath the men's scrutiny, so she changed the subject. "Well. As lovely as this has been, you don't need me taking up your time." She stood and made a fuss over setting the table to rights once again. "If you want to reach the Hyrwyn River country before nightfall, you'll have to ride hard."

Torquil stood, as well, grimacing at the creaking in his knees. "All right, then. You heard her. Let's prep the horses." He tapped Titch on the shoulder. "I think you'll take Damma today, lad; she's an easier disposition than Arno. You should be able to press her without much trouble."

Titch nodded and followed Torquil's commands, but surreptitiously he watched Oswyn and Praneth exchange a few quiet words and a quick embrace. He felt a distinct emptiness inside of him; since he had no family himself, it had never consciously occurred to him that the others with whom he traveled did. He realized that he had more to learn on this journey than simply the nature of a mysterious artifact.

Torquil tapped him on the shoulder again. "Leave them be a moment," he whispered. "Someday, you'll want a private goodbye, as well."

Titch agreed silently. Neither his old Master nor Colwyn would have been proud of that. He scolded himself for being so nosy and inconsiderate, and turned his concentration to preparing his things for another day's travel.

It didn't take long to make sure that their supplies were replenished and that their mounts were ready, although Titch was fairly certain that Oswyn would have liked a bit more time with Praneth. As it was, he lingered longer than Titch would have thought, until Torquil - already astride Arno - prodded him gently:

"We need to be moving on, Oswyn."

The youth nodded wordlessly, and hugged Praneth again.

"Be safe, Os," she muttered into the side of his neck. When they parted, she looked up at both Titch and Torquil. "And you, as well. The Hyrwyn isn't that far, but we've heard rumors of roaming bandits."

Oswyn smiled. "I don't think passing rogues should give us much trouble."

She squinted with obvious disapproval at such bravado, but then gave him a more affectionate smile.

Torquil bowed his head in deference to her. "Thank you, Praneth. And thank Tarro, as well. The King is in your debt."

Praneth grinned. "The King, eh?"

Torquil returned her grin in kind. "I am in your debt, and I speak for him."

She patted Oswyn's leg as he swung into Isthmene's saddle. "You are in good company, indeed, then."

"Be well, Pran," Oswyn replied. Then he clapped Isthmene to a canter.

Torquil and Titch followed, the boy waving an enthusiastic farewell to the young woman. She returned the wave, watched the trio for a moment longer, then returned into the tower.

Titch kept looking back toward the tower as they rode, until its spire was lost behind the cover of a copse of trees. He thought that even though they could no longer see the riders, that Praneth and Tarro's good feelings came with them. He hoped so.

As the day wore on, Titch found that the Lord-Marshall had been correct: Damma was easier to ride and control than Arno had been, although neither horse still was as swift or intuitive as Isthmene. Even so, Titch was beginning to enjoy riding. There was a strange sort of solitude about it, despite the close presence of other riders. At speed, there was little possibility for meaningful conversation, so he had the opportunity to think.

Before Colwyn had entered his life, he had never traveled much. He knew that he was born in Anva on the coast - he had been told that much about his past - but he could barely remember a time before living with his Master in the Emerald Sanctuary in the mountains. And travel with his Master consisted mostly of weekly outings in the close area around the Sanctuary, and an annual pilgrimage to the Emerald Temple in the swamps of the Wyn'Nah Mabrug. Even after he accompanied Colwyn to the White Castle, he spent most of his time indoors, certainly inside the castle proper. Wanderlust had never really appealed to him. Now, though, he understood why it struck some folk.

They stopped at a small stream for a short duration, to let the horses rest and drink. Titch drew a little in the journal given to him by Queen Lyssa, his imagination captured by a particularly oddly-shaped tree along the stream's edge. Oswyn made a half-hearted, almost bored attempt to catch some small game, but after being outrun and outmaneuvered by the same rabbit twice, he gave up and settled for a handful of sugar reeds that grew along the bank. Torquil was the only one of them who seemed anxious. He kept staring into the distance, as if troubled by something unseen.

Finally, Oswyn couldn't take the undercurrent of unease any longer. "What is it?" He asked his leader with a measure of concern.

"Lona," Torquil muttered in a low voice.

Titch looked up from his sketching. "Where is Lona?" The place didn't sound familiar to him, although he would be the first to admit that he wasn't very familiar with most names outside of his studies.

Oswyn didn't know, either, though. He could only look at Titch and shrug his shoulders silently. He looked at Torquil again and waited. When it seemed as though no more information would be forthcoming, he addressed the Lord-Marshall again.

Torquil breathed sharply and kicked at some dirt with the toe of his boot. "Lona is not a place. She's a woman. She lives near the Hyrwyn."

"Women are good," Oswyn ventured lightly.

"Not this one," Torquil replied. "I've been avoiding this one."

"Why?"

Titch thought for sure that Torquil would tell Oswyn simply to mind his own business, but he didn't. Rather, he gave his answer:

"Lona was Kegan's wife. One of them, anyway. She lives in Lameksis."

Both boys fell silent of a sudden, reminded of cocksure and charming Kegan. He had been a thief in Torquil's band of merry crooks, just like Oswyn, but Kegan had also been a fine friend, the closest friend that Torquil had found once he claimed leadership of the thieves, until Colwyn. Both boys knew that Colwyn had gone a distance toward healing the emptiness in Torquil's soul that had been there since Kegan's death, but still Kegan and his unfortunate fate weighed heavily on Torquil's conscience.

The Lord-Marshall nodded, noticing that they remembered the name and the man to go with it. "Yes, so you see why I am in no hurry to tell a widow about her husband."

After a while spent in silence, during which time the few shadows that managed to penetrate the trees began to lengthen, Torquil called them to mount up again. They were wasting the light sitting in their melancholy malaise, and they had a duty to perform, Lona or no Lona.

"We could find another way," Oswyn suggested as they started on their way again. "There has to be another route to Bellan."

Torquil seemed to consider this option for a moment, but then he shook his head. "No. Fate brought us this way, I think. I've been avoiding this for too long." He urged Arno ahead, through the edge of the treeline and into the great expanse of plain that was Hyrwyn River country.

They didn't reach the Hyrwyn port of Lameksis before nightfall, a fact which seemed to ease Torquil's mind a bit. Rather, they stopped in a thicket shelter that reminded Titch very much of the Emerald Sanctuary, where he had spent many days and nights studying with and aiding his Master. They built a fire and ate cured meat and drank watered-down liquor that was nonetheless quite warming.

Titch pulled his travel blanket around him and huddled close to the fire, which made the skin on his face feel delightfully hot. He began to doze, his head nodding down to his chest, as the crackling of the fire lulled his mind and his muscles.

He had just begun to nightdream - the flames before his face transformed into a great blazing chamber, and the white heart of the fire a colossal scarlet dragon, her eyes pinpoint-sharp and staring straight into him - when one of the horses snorted, and he woke with a fierce start.

From where he stood near Isthmene, Oswyn looked across the fire at him. "Go back to sleep," he told the younger boy in a whisper.

Titch looked about him and saw Torquil lying nearby, his head resting on one of the satchels. He was also snoring audibly. Still, Titch didn't want to wake him, so he whispered back, "If you're tired, I think I can watch for a while."

Oswyn finished securing Isthmene's tether to one of the stronger bushes and came to sit nearer the fire. He tossed an errant twig into the flames and shook his head. "That's all right. I'm used to it."

Titch pulled his blanket closer around him and looked at the older youth for a long while. At last, he said, "May I ask you something?"

Oswyn shrugged, disinterested. "I suppose."

Without the scrutiny that came with daylight, Titch found that he could be more forthright with Oswyn than usual. "Why did you leave Praneth? When you were younger, I mean."

The other boy made a face. "I didn't 'leave.' I was sold."

Titch couldn't fathom the idea. Things - possessions - were sold, not people. "What do you mean?"

Oswyn tossed another twig into the fire, and it snapped and burst. "We were sold, to whomever would pay for us. Pran was lucky; she was a maidservant."

"You didn't go with her?"

"Don't be daft," he said. He didn't sound particularly angry, merely annoyed at the question. "No one buys two children."

The cold indifference with which Oswyn spoke of the auction of himself and his sister was both sobering and sad. It made Titch reflect on his own childhood. He had had neither friends his own age nor much contact with the outside world; but his Master had been kind and had taught him many things. It had not been a life of leisure, to be sure...but it had not been hardship, either.

"So then," Titch asked haltingly, "where did you go?"

Oswyn averted his gaze from the other boy and started poking at the edges of the fire with a stick. His eyes watched the embers on the tip of the stick pop and smoke for several long moments. Then he said, simply, "Not with her."

Titch wasn't sure if he was merely projecting his own misery onto Oswyn, or if the older youth really did feel as wretched as he looked, but he thought that there was much more to the story than what he was being told. It was all he could do to say, "I'm sorry."

Oswyn stared into the flames for one moment longer, and then he shook his head, his bangs falling into his face. "You have no need to be sorry. It's none of your concern." He tossed the stick into the fire and stood up. "Get some rest. We still have far to travel in the morning."

Titch considered saying something more, but Oswyn didn't seem to be in the mood for conversation any longer. So, he pulled his blanket up around his neck and lay down on his side. He watched the fire for a while longer, and after a time he fell asleep again, but this time he did not dream. At least, what he did dream he did not remember come the day.

Everyone would have agreed that the White Castle was a splendid place in which to live. There were hundreds of rooms and hidden chambers to explore; its libraries and ballrooms alike were splendidly designed, their walls adorned with luscious tapestries and fine paintings; welcoming fires were always burning; and with the exception of when he had first arrived, the castle always seemed to be full of people. But even the White Castle had not prepared Titch for the bustle of a city like Lameksis.

The trio of riders could see the outline of the city from nearly a full league off. There were two parapets on either side of the main gate, each lit with a blazing watch beacon. Dots moved along the top of the walls, no doubt soldiers or militiamen keeping lookout. The smoke from several fires billowed out over the center of the city, and there was the distinct smell of ironworking even at this distance.

Even Torquil - who had done more traveling across the lands of Krull and had seen more towns and cities than Oswyn and Titch combined - was impressed by the sight.

"Steady on, lads," the Lord-Marshall murmured after a long look at the city's massive walls. "It'll not fare us well if we enter looking like a pack of country bumpkins. We're here on a mission for the King, after all."

So they spurred on their horses and covered the final distance to the port city in somewhat awed silence. While there were indeed archers and spearmen along the outer wall, they let the riders enter without question.

As he passed beneath the arch of the main gates, Titch looked up at the two archers standing closest to the opening and smiled. The one on the left continued his lookout without even really noticing him, but the one on the right spared the boy a friendly wave.

Once inside the city walls, riding down the main thoroughfare with the regular walking, mounted and carriage traffic, there were all manner of sights and sounds to amaze. Titch was particularly interested in a large Keshi blacksmith working at his anvil, until a show of squawky starlings interrupted his attention.

A small crowd of children ran in front of their horses, and all three mounts stomped and snorted, unaccustomed to the presence of rowdy children. Titch thought for a moment that the tots might be frightened or hurt, but they laughed and kept running, except for one. A tiny girl - no more than five or six, with her dark red hair done in braids - giggled at him.

"You have funny hair!" She exclaimed. There was no malice in her laughter or her words, though, so Titch smiled. Then he puffed his cheeks out and crossed his eyes, which made the girl giggle even more vociferously. After a moment, she was away, having effectively disappeared among the other children on the street.

They approached a mid-sized establishment that seemed to be some sort of inn, and Torquil took Titch inside while Oswyn went to secure the horses in the stable area behind the building.

Where the street had been a confusing, almost overwhelming conglomeration of sights and sounds, the inside of the inn seemed merely to be in a state of mostly-controlled chaos. No less than four attractive young women were moving among the tables laying out food and drink for patrons, while an older woman oversaw the comings and goings from behind a heavy oak-constructed bar.

The manager waved at Torquil as they came up to the bar. "We've got an age requirement, love," she said in a friendly-enough manner, indicating Titch with a nod of her head. "Your boy's going to have to wait a few years yet."

Torquil raised a hand, as if to say that the suspension of some of their guest privileges was all right. "We're not looking for service, just a room and some information." He also didn't contradict her on her assumption of Titch being his son, but the boy figured there was probably a good reason for that.

The woman shrugged. "Well, some words are worth more than others. What's it you're looking for?"

Torquil laid his hand on the smooth bar, then shifted his palm away to show her the coin he'd put there. "A woman. Her name's Lona. She's from up in the-"

The manager waved at him with the cloth she had been using to wash down the bar. "Oh, Lona!" She said the name as if they were close relatives. "She's not working tonight, but you'll find her abouts later, I'm sure. She usually gets dinner before the late crowd comes in." She looked down at the coin. "Now, is there anything else I can help you tired souls with?"

Torquil smiled at her and put down another handful of currency. "Much obliged, madam. We'll be settling in, now."

She took the money from the bar, pocketed it, and grinned. "Top of the stairs, first on the left. There's a bath at the end of that hall, but full service for it costs extra."

The Lord-Marshall nodded in understanding. "Just the basics, thank you."

She shrugged again. "Suit yourself," she said, then turned to another customer.

Torquil picked up his satchel and turned Titch away from the bar. "Come on," he said in a low voice. They met Oswyn at the bottom of the stairs, where he was talking with one of the pretty serving maids. Torquil took him by the arm and directed him up the stairs. "Forget her, Oswyn," he muttered. "You can't afford it."

Titch considered asking what all of that was about, but he eventually decided that Torquil probably wouldn't tell him, anyway.

The room was tiny, smaller even than the tower room at Andelmar, with two mid-size beds and a low-backed chaise that Titch immediately claimed for his own by bouncing on the worn cushions. The walls were solid and bare, save for one square window that looked out onto the stable area below. The wooden floor was relatively clean, although it was thin enough to hear the revelers downstairs with ease.

"This is depressing," Oswyn remarked from the doorway.

Torquil stopped in mid-motion as he was setting his bags down and turned to the youth. "It's better than nothing," he said pointedly. "And you can do with the rest; you're practically falling over."

Oswyn stumbled over to one of the beds, giving weight to his leader's words. "I'm not usually away from the castle for more than a day or two." He started to lie down, when Torquil threw a coarse towel at him.

"You need a bath first. I don't want to meet Lona with you smelling like a wild animal."

Oswyn sat up and smiled languorously. "I could do with a hot bath." He stood, grabbing a change of clean clothes from his satchel, and headed out the door.

As the younger man left, Torquil looked at Titch. "And what of you, young master? What are your plans for the evening?"

"I can choose?" Titch asked, surprised at this option. It had not occurred to him that there would come a time during this journey before its end when he would be free to make his own decisions.

Torquil laughed. "Of course. Though you probably shouldn't wander too far. A city this size can be deceptively dangerous."

Titch wasn't sure what he wanted. He suddenly felt pressured, and he didn't much care for the feeling. "Can I come with you? I would like to meet Lona." That wasn't entirely true - he had no vested interest in meeting the woman - but he liked Torquil and felt safe with him.

Torquil shrugged. "If that's what you'd like. I'm sure she wouldn't mind another man at the table."

Like most of the discussions since they had arrived in Lameksis, Titch didn't quite understand exactly what was being said. But he was glad that Torquil was willing to let him tag along for the evening.

As soon as Oswyn returned (smelling sweeter but still unabashedly wet), Torquil left to wash up, and the two boys were once more left to their own devices. Titch had already busied himself with writing in Lyssa's journal, trying to capture in words the look and feel of the city. He had never been to a city before - there were so many people! And he still had no idea what to expect of this Lona person. He looked over to the second bed, where Oswyn had begun to doze.

"Did Kegan have many wives?" Titch asked of a sudden. He had no good reason for asking the question; just his curiosity getting the better of his sense of decorum.

Oswyn opened his eyes. "I don't know." He thought for a long moment, then changed his answer: "A few, I suppose."

"You don't have any wives, do you?"

"Hmf. Never found any woman to satisfy me that much."

Titch considered the prospect of a female companion, although his only experience of one was Queen Lyssa. "I think I should like to have a wife."

That made Oswyn sit up and laugh. "Do you even know what you would do with a wife?"

Titch felt an inexplicable blush rise into his face. "I think I would like the company, that's all. Someone to talk to, who would understand me."

Oswyn looked at him, a little smile on his lips, then shrugged and lay back down. "I suppose that's as good a reason as any."

"Why? What would you do?"

"Talking would not be my first choice."

"Lyssa likes talking with me," Titch offered in support of his opinion.

"You speak about the Queen like she is some common peasant-girl." Oswyn opened his eyes and turned his head. "She isn't."

For some reason, Titch felt a twinge of defensiveness, toward both Lyssa and himself. "You tell me that she is not like other women, but how can you say that? You don't even know her. At least I have spent time with her."

Titch sat back, recalling the way that Lyssa had first invited him to investigate the tomes in the royal library. He had not been in the castle for a week when she had asked him if he would be interested in reading some of the old manuscripts; perhaps he had seen parts of some of them before, in his studies with his Master. He recalled in particular the way that the sun shone through the red-gold curls that framed her head, like a celestial halo, and the way that her pale, delicate fingers played along the spines of the books against the wall as if they were strings on an instrument.

"She is intelligent and thoughtful, wise and kind," he mused, still basking in the glow of her memory. "And so beautiful."

"You sound like you're in love with her," the outrider muttered. He glanced over at Titch, then stared more thoughtfully; the look on the boy's face was unmistakable. He sat halfway up, leaning on one elbow. "You are in love with her," he said softly.

Titch looked down at his hands, which were still holding the Queen's gift to him. "Everyone loves Queen Lyssa," he stated in a quiet voice. After a moment's contemplation, he turned to the other youth. "Don't you?"

Oswyn's expression was one that Titch couldn't read. Finally, he said, "She is my Queen, and I will follow her as such." Then he lay down again, his head cupped in his hands, and would say no more on the subject.

After a while, Titch resumed writing in his little journal, making certain to include several unfavorable phrases about the convoluted, complicated opinions about women held by both of his companions. After reading over what he had just wrote, though, he decided that perhaps those thoughts were best left private to his own counsel. So he tore the sheet with the offending words on it from the journal and pushed it through a decayed knothole in one of the floor boards next to the chaise. Someone might find it someday (he wagered it would not be Oswyn or Torquil) but even if that were to happen, it would no longer be of any consequence to him.

He was still leaning over the side of the chaise when Torquil returned, dressed only in his shirt and pants; he tossed the more formal vestments to the unoccupied bed.

Titch pulled himself upright. "Are we going to meet Lona now?" He asked expectantly.

Torquil snickered. "We shall soon see." He prodded Oswyn's prone form. "Come on. You can sleep after we eat."

The older youth forced himself up from the bed and sighed as he pulled on his boots. "I thought you didn't want to see this woman."

Torquil grunted. "Be that as it may, I made a promise to a friend. I fully intend to keep it." He reached for his axe, thought better of it, and instead slipped his dagger into his belt. He nodded at Oswyn's sword belt. "Better to bring those, I think," he muttered.

"Do you expect trouble?"

Torquil grinned, a note of malice hidden between the edges of his teeth. "I always expect trouble."

The crowd in the inn had turned noisy, almost as if there were some celebration of which the three visitors from the White Castle were ignorant. A group of swordsmen in one corner were warbling some terribly out-of-tune hymn to the virtues of bloody battle, while a mix of young men and women on the other side of the room were screaming laughter over something apparently very amusing. In the midst of this, girls with high-laden trays of food and drink waded between drunken revelers and disgruntled customers asking for this or that service.

Titch was surprised that anyone could hear themselves think in all of the cacophony; he was more accustomed to quiet evenings spent munching on his meals while poring over a book or map. Even when he joined the others for dinner in the main dining hall, there was usually only one conversation going on, and it was always a civil one.

Not so, here. One particularly inebriated fellow groped blindly at a pretty young woman as she passed, and she tumbled down into his lap. She made an attempt to get up, but he circled an arm around her shoulders and leaned in to kiss her. With a toss of her blonde head and a heave of her shapely hips, she got back on her feet and planted her heel directly into the fellow's shin, which made Titch nearly spit up his dinner from laughter.

"I told ye, I'm not working tonight!" She said, and turned, her skirts following the motion of her hips in the most interesting way. She looked straight at Titch and winked, which made her freckled nose wrinkle as if she were sniffing for something. Then she glanced at the other men at the table and stopped in her tracks. "Torquil? By the gods, it is you!" She nearly collapsed into the Lord-Marshall's lap as she gave him a great hug around his neck.

Torquil went both white and speechless from surprise, but only for a moment. He had not earned his title by being unprepared, so he stood and pulled out the extra chair at their table. "Lona," he said, his voice cracking ever-so-slightly. "Join us." He made a round of introductions for his companions.

Lona sat opposite the two boys, and she eyed them both squarely. She squinted at Oswyn first, then at Titch. "That one looks a bit old to be one of yours," she said as an audible aside to Torquil, "but what about the little one?"

"I share no kinship with either," Torquil replied with a wistful smile. "We're merely...traveling together." He had warned the boys earlier about not making known the true purpose of their journey; political strife was still not unheard of, even in the lands so close to the White Castle.

He had no reason to have worried, as it turned out. Lona seemed neither concerned about nor interested in the reasons that had brought Torquil to her doorstep. She looked around the room, her loosely-kept hair flying about her pretty face. "And where's Kegan, now?" She asked. "He'd better not have gotten himself another girl while he was off causing trouble with you."

Torquil's expression turned serious. "Lona. We should talk."

Titch would have given much at that moment not to have seen the change in her face. Suddenly, the sparkle in her blue eyes was gone, and her lips fell from their graceful smile. She looked as if she were about to cry. "Oh, gods," she whispered, and by some trick of the room - a lull in all conversations, a break in all singing, a stillness of all clattering of crockery - Titch heard every painful nuance in her voice perfectly.

"It was not my intention to tell you in this way," Torquil said in as soft a voice as he could while still being heard.

Lona turned her face away from the table, blinking furiously. "Oh, damn your intentions, Torquil," she told him curtly. When she looked back his way, her eyes were slightly redder than before, but she forced a wry smile to her lips. "I should have known you wouldn't come to find me to spread good news. How did it happen?"

Torquil opened his mouth to speak; he had obviously prepared his story and was ready for this.

However, Lona was not. She shook her head quickly. "No, I have changed my mind. I don't want to know. I would rather remember him in my own way, if you don't mind."

Torquil bowed his head. "I don't." He added, almost as an afterthought, "I am sorry."

She slapped her hands down on the table and stood up. "Well! This crowd has ceased to amuse me. Why don't you gentlemen join me someplace more agreeable?"

"If you would like," Torquil said, rising from his seat.

Lona offered them a gentle smile. "I would."

"May I come, as well?" Titch asked, pushing in his chair as he stood.

Only Oswyn declined. "I'm going to get some sleep," he said, palming the last crust of bread before heading for the stairs.

"Fair enough," Torquil said, nodding to Oswyn. Then he put a hand behind Titch's back and the two of them went after Lona into the darkening night.

Once outside, they followed her down the main street for a few minutes, until they came to a side alley bordered on either side by several low-rise buildings. She opened the door to one of the smaller dwellings and ushered Torquil and Titch inside.

Within was a large room that seemed to occupy nearly the entire first floor. There was an archway near the back that Lona said led to the washroom, but the rest of the room was open. In the center of the room there was a small wooden table with three mismatched chairs; against one wall was a tiny hutch and fireplace, where an iron pot gave off the tantalizing smell of vegetables and broth; against the other wall was a large bed, its blankets piled in a haphazard fashion on one side.

As Lona closed the door, the blankets on the bed moved, startling both Titch and Torquil. A muffled voice called, "Mama?" A very young girl poked her head out from under the blankets.

Titch smiled; it was the same girl from before, the one who had spoken to him in the street. "Hello there," he said cordially.

Lona seemed surprised that Titch recognized the girl. "How do you know Kela?"

"We met earlier today," Titch informed her. "Along the main street, as we entered the city." He offered the little girl a friendly wave.

Lona scolded: "Kela! You know that you are not supposed to go out into the city without me!"

The little girl pulled the blankets up to her chin. "I am sorry, Mama." Then she scampered out of the bed and ran to Lona, hugging her skirts.

Lona lifted the girl into her arms and kissed her cheek. "Ah, child, you are willful. Just like your father." She looked pointedly at Torquil.

The Lord-Marshall stood agape at the woman and child. "Kegan?" He whispered.

Lona nodded furtively. She set Kela down on the floor. "Why don't you bring out some cups?" She said, putting her hands on her knees to look the girl directly in the eyes.

Kela smiled and hurried to the hutch by the fireplace. She pulled open one of the doors and brought out four cups, trying to balance all of them in her tiny hands.

Titch bent down next to her, taking two of the cups from her. "Let me help," he said softly.

Kela nodded. "All right."

"What do you say?" Lona asked the girl.

Kela smiled again and giggled at Titch. "Thank you," she said, and Titch decided that he very much liked the sound of her high-pitched laugh.

As the children set the cups on the table and Kela clambered up into one of the seats, Lona walked over to the hutch and pulled two bottles from inside - one squat and plain and the other tall and slightly ornamented. She uncorked the shorter bottle and filled the children's cups with some tea-colored liquid. She set the taller bottle in front of Torquil. "Do pour me some of that, will you?" She picked Kela up into her lap and sat down in the girl's chair.

Titch took a sip of the drink - it was a tea of some kind, though very weak and quite well-honeyed - and traded smiles with Kela. He had spent only a short time with Kegan, all things considered, but even he could see that the girl bore a striking resemblance to her father.

Kela was studying Torquil with intensity. Even from over the rim of her cup (which she had to hold with both hands to keep steady, a mannerism that Titch found adorable), she peered at him with great contemplation. Finally, she grinned at him and asked, "Are you my father?"

Torquil sputtered his drink. With some concentration, he managed to regain some composure. He shook his head. "I'm afraid not. But I did know your father."

"Where is he?" Kela asked. "When is he coming for us?"

Lona bounced the girl on her knee. "Ah, love. Let's talk about that later."

Apparently, Kela had heard that excuse before, because she stopped pursuing the subject. "All right," she said casually. She brought her cup to her lips again and took a large gulp.

Lona put her arms around the girl and hugged her and kissed her head. Then she looked at Torquil. "When do we leave?"

Torquil raised an eyebrow at her. "What is this, now?"

Lona fingered her own cup, but she didn't touch the drink. "There is no longer any reason for us to wait here in Lameksis. So we're coming with you."

"I don't think that's a wise idea," Torquil objected.

Lona was unyielding, though. "There is nothing for us here besides misery." She waved an arm over their tiny dwelling. "You didn't bring me a husband, so you can find me a future." She fixed Torquil with an adamant stare that would have been almost frightening if it was not from one so beautiful. "You owe me that."

There were protestations aplenty, but in the end Torquil stood no chance against Lona's resolve. She promised to meet them at daylight at the main gates, and she swore that hell would come to Torquil and his sons (and his sons' sons) if he left her behind.

At length they left Lona and Kela to prepare for the journey, and made their way back to the inn. Torquil left Titch to make his way up to the room by himself; they would need at least one extra horse, and he was going to try and arrange for one from the innkeeper madam.

Titch entered the tiny room on tiptoe, trying his best to be quiet. Oswyn was stretched out on one of the two beds and seemingly fast asleep, although he had left a single candle guttering near the window, presumably for his companions. By that faint light Titch could see that the other youth had left out blankets on both the chaise and the open bed.

Titch crawled onto the chaise, removed his boots and outer pants, and curled up beneath the blanket. Huddled thus beneath the coarse cloth, he thought about the turn their journey had taken here in Lameksis.

Despite Torquil's misgivings, he was glad that Lona and Kela would be coming with them. The journey so far had not been unpleasant, but he was looking forward to having more entertaining company (he missed Ergo terribly in this regard), as well as no longer being the youngest traveler on this quest. It occurred to him that he might be a boon to them, as well. Kela in particular seemed to desire someone on which to focus her boundless energy.

He considered writing more in his journal, but before he could focus on finding it from his belongings, he was asleep.