It felt so unusual to be out in the town without a blade - practice or otherwise - at her side. Paranoia settled over her, and every now and then she shot a glance over her shoulder. Bevil and Amie didn't understand, of course - they didn't spend every free hour indoors, trying to hide. As much as it hurt, Kinthea had to admit that she was a coward, the bane of every strong militia.

"Where do we go first?" Bevil asked suddenly, over the bustle and excitement of the Fair. Kinthea jumped, startled, reaching for her weapons that weren't there. He raised an eyebrow, and she immediately felt foolish.

"Sorry, what?" she asked sheepishly.

He blinked, confused. "Which event should we try first?"

"Ah..." Kinthea gazed nervously around the immediate area, trying to pick out the people supervising the tents. "I think we ought to stop by the merchant - Daeghun wants something traded."

She pulled the coarse, wild furs from her pack, marching over to Galen's tent dutifully. It was a matter of business, something they both ought to have known about.

"Ah, you're Daeghun's ward - isn't that right?" He looked her over, furrowing his brow. "Seems like years since the last time I saw you."

"It probably was," she sighed, gesturing to the furs slung on her arm. "You wanted Daeghun's furs, he wants your Duskwood Bow. Here's one end of the deal."

Galen nodded, the familiar smile of a fat-pursed merchant playing on his lips. "Good, good. He's a reliable sort, you know... always has furs of the highest quality. And don't you worry about the bow - I always come through."

Of course you do, Kinthea thought sardonically as he took the furs from her. He pressed a sizable pile of gold coins into her outstretched palm, and she turned to count them out, handing most of them back in exchange for a sleek, dark wooden bow.

"It's a bit pricey," he said, "but it's fine workmanship. Sneaked it across the Luskan border."

"Hm," she mumbled, dropping the rest of the gold into her coin purse.

"You bought the bow in Luskan?" Bevil asked incredulously.

Galen raised a hand, shaking his head. "No, no, no! From a village called Ember. They're good folk, just ended up on the wrong side when the maps got drawn. Fine bowyers, too."

"We're leaving," Kinthea announced, whirling around and motioning for her friends to follow.

"I've never heard of Ember," Bevil said, puzzled as they walked away.

"You haven't?" Amie looked mildly surprised. "Well, I suppose it isn't in many books around here, but..."

Kinthea paid the conversation no mind as she headed for the archery competition. One thing she knew was that Galen hadn't cheated her - she'd gotten what she'd paid for. Kinthea was no archer, but the quality of the bow was apparent as she held it in her arms. Daeghun would be pleased - well, as close to pleased as he could get.

"I brought you the Duskwood bow," she declared, holding it out to him. He took it in his hands, and for a moment, a flicker of a smile crossed his face.

"A fine bow. A fine one. Made by one who loves his craft," he marveled, still managing to sound dry. "You may keep the rest of the gold as your allowance for the season."

Kinthea shrugged. "I may as well get the archery competition over with, Daeghun."

"The rules are the same as last year," he nodded. "Ten shots, ten targets. Your targets will be old bottles, set atop the crates, yonder." Kinthea looked over at the pile of neatly stacked crates - the bottles standing there looked so small. How could she hit one, let alone ten?

"Five is the best score so far. If you still remember what little I have tried to teach you, you may be able to best that." Daeghun stepped back, and Bevil and Amie exchanged worried glances.

"Kinthea, didn't you say Daeghun had been teaching you archery for--" Amie was cut off by a warning glance from the half-elf in question.

"We'll discuss it later," she muttered, lifting a crossbow from the barrel. To her surprise, it was one she recognized - the weapon she had used to train with once upon a time. The notches and marks were all too familiar. She stared at her foster father, wondering if this was intentional. He glanced towards the shooting range, requesting that she move forward.

She breathed a heavy sigh, walking up to what she thought was an acceptable distance. Daeghun cleared his throat. "This is an archery contest. Keep your distance from the targets."

Hesitantly, she stepped backward until he finally nodded for her to continue. Taking careful aim at one of the dusty bottles, Kinthea let a quarrel fly.

The bolt sailed straight into the bottle's center, and it shattered noisily. She smiled slightly - perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. The next bolt flew as effortlessly as the first, further elevating her hopes.

On the third firing, however, her fingers slipped, and the bolt whistled past the bottle's neck. Biting her lip, she fired once again - her aim was off by two inches.

By the time the ammunition had been exhausted, only four bottles had been destroyed, along with Kinthea's confidence in archery. Her skill lay with the blade, not with the bowstring - and as her friends looked at her in disappointment, she felt that they should understand that. She would have liked to see Amie with a crossbow.

Her foster father had no words for her, just a knowing look of slight disdain.

"What was that?" Bevil asked angrily as Kinthea strolled away. "Do you mean to tell us you can't use a crossbow? Even Ward is a better shot than that, Kinthea!"

"I never meant to tell you anything," she whispered, avoiding their eyes.

He stammered blindly as she continued to walk, towards Tarmas and the Knaves' Challenge. This was an area better suited to her skills, and everyone in West Harbor would have agreed.

"Enjoying the Fair?" Tarmas asked dourly. "Packs of feral children set loose to find trinkets, grown men braining one another with clubs... Did you know they're actually granting prizes for the fattest pig? As if the creatures needed encouragement."

"We're here for the Knaves' Challenge," she stated, "not pig contests."

"Well, of course you are," he remarked coldly. "I imagine this event won't be too troublesome for you. Before you begin, I suppose you'll want to hear the rhyme?"

"Not really," she mumbled.

"Well, Georg asked for a rhyme this year. That's what wizards do - compose rhymes." He rolled his eyes almost imperceptibly. "I've hidden three feathers, scattered them wide. Placed White in a box, and locked it inside. Blue followed termite-tracks, down where they ran. Green in the pocket of same-colored man."

Kinthea nodded quickly. "I see. This shouldn't be very difficult... farewell."

Even if her wisdom and tact were both questionable, Kinthea could be deductive and logical when it counted - especially when it came to deciphering riddles. For starters, she felt it was fairly obvious that they were to find three feathers; one white, one blue, and one green.

She walked slowly down the path, deciding to search for the white one first. Kinthea would stop every now and then and scan the area for anything that could be called a box. Eventually, she came across a large wooden chest, complete with an awestruck child who stood in front of it.

"Tarmas locked a feather in that chest!" the child shrieked, pointing at it as she bounced on her heels. "I saw him do it!"

Kneeling in front of the strongbox, Kinthea fetched her picks from her pack and set about studying the lock's inner workings. She had experience with locks, considering the many times she'd broken into various rooms - most famously, the room of Wyl Mossfeld, an incident that had left them both scarred and wary.

The lock possessed a relatively simple mechanism, and after a few moments of painstakingly precise fiddling, it clicked in surrender. Throwing open the lid, Kinthea reached inside and drew out her prize: a long, white feather. The little girl was bubbling over with excitement.

"Show me how you did that!" she begged, glancing back and forth between the broken lock and Kinthea. "Please!"

Flashing the child a baleful glance, Kinthea continued to saunter down the path, tailed by her - still slightly angry - friends.

"She's just a kid, Kinthea," Bevil sighed. "Just because we have things to do doesn't mean you should just brush her off like that."

"You know, this isn't helping your reputation at all," Amie pointed out. "Just a few years ago you wished people wouldn't act so defensive and paranoid around you - didn't you ever think there was a reason why?"

Kinthea came to a gradual stop, just in front of a stray pile of logs. They'd been stacked into a curious formation - and just under one of them was a flash of blue. Reaching for it, she asked quietly, "What does it matter to you if my reputation isn't so honorable?"

Amie folded her arms, exhaling sharply. "This isn't about me, Kinthea--"

Suddenly, as Kinthea tugged on the blue feather, a small flash of light erupted from the woodpile, an invisible wave of force knocking her over. It continued to try and drive her into the ground for several moments until it faded.

"What in the..." Bevil stepped forward, indignant. "Someone trapped those logs? Why would they do that?"

"It's part of the challenge," Amie said, helping her friend up. "Right, Kinthea?"

She nodded, plucking bits of grass out of her hair as she stood. "It has to be. 'Blue followed termite-tracks, down where they ran.' Obviously, this means wood, and it wouldn't be a challenge if all I had to do was pull a feather out of some logs."

Kinthea tucked a loose strand of hair into her ponytail, now seeing the partially hidden components of the trap. "I think I should be able to disarm it, given what I've read. Give me a moment."

It didn't take long for her to understand how it had been set, but actually disabling it took a few attempts. At last, she was successful, and she plucked the blue plume from the pile with no further problems.

"Where do you think the final feather is?" Bevil asked. Kinthea shrugged.

"Green in the pocket of same-colored man," she murmured under her breath.

Amie suddenly pointed at a young man by an old house, who was jovally chatting with a villager. "I'll bet that's him - he's dressed in green, see? The feather's in his pocket, it's got to be."

Bevil rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "How do we get the feather?"

"I don't think he'll just let us take it," Kinthea replied. "No... I think this last one requires some sleight of hand."

With that, she slid onto the porch of a nearby house, slowly creeping towards the man. Her footsteps made only the slightest of sounds as she skulked across the wood boards, and as she slipped her fingers inside his back pocket, he made no motion to catch her. She escaped successfully with her loot, a short green feather.

"How in the world did you learn to do that?" Bevil demanded, amazed. "It was like you weren't even there!"

Kinthea held up all three feathers, already walking back to Tarmas's tent. "Practice. And if Ward's been asking about the pellets for his slingshot, tell him to quit carrying them in his pockets."

They hurried after her, catching up just in time to see her hand the three feathers over to the wizard. "Here they are, Tarmas. I believe we've won."

"So you have," he said, pocketing the feathers. "Thank the gods. The Knaves' Challenge is won, and I can go someplace dry. I'd kiss all of you, but no one respects an affectionate wizard."

"Right." Kinthea's eyes wandered over to Amie, who promptly flushed.

"What?" she asked, suddenly sounding guarded.

"Nothing. I just remembered something that happened at last year's Fair that involved a very affectionate wizard."

"You were there for that?" Amie stammered, eyes widening.

Kinthea swung around the tent, looking for the nearest event. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"She's the one that bought you the Harvest Mead," Bevil intoned quietly.

"That was you? I thought it was Vera!"

"What? I don't look a thing like Vera."

"Well... she was pretty drunk, Kinthea."

Amie opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to say something and coming up with nothing. She remained silent as Kinthea led the group over to Retta Starling and the Tourney of Talent.