Lethe hissed and nearly attacked the shadow looming over her before her semi-conscious mind recognized it to be Mordecai.

"You'd better have a darned good reason for this," she grunted, sitting up in bed. What in the blazes was he doing here at whatever hour of the night this must be? And couldn't he have knocked?

"I knocked for some time. You did not answer," he explained, as if reading her mind.

"I don't have many callers in the middle of the night."

"Ah, hrmmm, yes, I know that."

She frowned. "So why are you here?" Mordecai never intruded on her without reason. A good reason. Whatever brought him must have been important.

"Ranulf, he…" Mordecai trailed off in thought. The big man sighed. "Come with me."

Worry from two days before—or was it still yesterday?—resurged in Lethe's chest as she bolted out of bed. "What? What's going on?"

Mordecai's fierce features twisted into an impressive scowl. "The boy is, grrrr…irrational? You must speak with him."

"He's not worse, is he?" she prodded, fumbling around her drawers for her day-clothes and throwing intermittent glances over her shoulder to judge her friend's expressions.

When she had dropped into the healing ward to visit Ranulf yesterday, he had been sleeping soundly under the influence of heavy medication. She had spoken with the herbalist, who noted that while the gash was healing rapidly, she still was at a loss concerning the poison. She had sent a messenger to an acquaintance of hers who had more knowledge of such concoctions, but would have to wait on any reply for a few days yet. Until then, she would keep a careful eye on the progression of the injury and keep Ranulf medicated so that overexertion would not cause the poison to spread quicker.

"Not yet." The big man looked tired and unhappy.

"Not yet?" Lethe repeated dumbly. She held a pair of shorts in one hand, ready to slip them under her chemise.

Now he looked uncomfortable. "I will wait downstairs for you to get dressed. We can talk more on our way."

"Oh, right."

Lethe dressed as quickly as she could and made her way down the stairs in the process of tying a knot in the laces of her shirt. She motioned toward the door with a free elbow. "After you."

Mordecai led her at a brisk pace through twisting, overgrown back roads towards the palace. Although Lethe had been offered apartments deep in the capitol city near the castle as her rank in the army increased, she had declined the proposition in favor of a home with more privacy. That had been the intent, at least, though Lyre's highly outgoing nature subjected their shared quarters to so much social activity that the decision seemed almost silly now.

Lethe followed her hulking friend out of the dense forest and into the sparser growth of younger trees and thinner shrubbery that marked the beginning of the heart of the capitol. The path became more distinct and paved, houses cropped up just off of the trail, and their trail grew steeper as it approached the hill-bound fortress. Familiar territory for the lieutenant. Her mind processed most of her surroundings with an indistinction bred from that familiarity—crossing the creaky bridge over the creek, passing under the stone archway that spanned the distance between two rocky outcroppings that were part of a higher tier of the city, turning past the bakery that coupled as a home to an elderly cat laguz who often sent her to work with a free pastry because she was unaccountably one of his favorites.

The big tiger laguz took an unexpected turn and Lethe halted in the middle of the cobblestone walk before an inactive neighborhood. Nearby, her sharp ears picked up the sounds of slowing revelry at what must have been a tavern. "Where are you going?"

"His house." Mordecai rumbled into the quiet night, pausing to look back at her.

Lethe blanched, rooted into the stone beneath her thin shoes. "He's not supposed to be there, is he?"

"Grrrrr, no." He looked concerned again.

Lethe sighed and followed her friend down the street once more. This part of the capitol was not so well-known to the lieutenant, as it was mostly residential and of therefore lesser concern to her. The relative novelty of this trail pricked her senses, and she inadvertently paid more attention now to the big homes that passed between the ever-present trees and an increasing number of thin, white streams that accented the pristine surroundings of an upper-class neighborhood. Although the homes were not mansions in any beorc sense, the attention to prime location and extensive architecture classified them as such to a beast laguz. The path itself reflected the dignity of the locality, sporting intermittent, detailed lampposts that shone warm light onto the colored mosaics of the trail.

A few houses in, Mordecai turned off of the trail and made his way up a planked path to Ranulf's residence. Compared to the neighboring residences, his was simple and practical. Faint light flickered in a few of the windows both upstairs and down.

Lethe grumbled and rolled her eyes when Mordecai knocked at the door, the memory of how she had woken up all to clear still in her mind.

A few seconds later, the door opened to an annoyed captain.

"Hello Mr. Sunshine," Lethe growled, peeved at the greeting considering the sleep she had sacrificed for his wellbeing. "And what if it hadn't been us at the front door?"

Ranulf leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms with a smirk. "I could smell you through the door. Mordecai, when you said you'd be 'right back,' I assumed you needed to take a trip to the little boy's room."

Mordecai's expression darkened. "Grrrr, you are being foolish, Ranulf."

"What's going on?" Lethe pressed.

Ranulf looked her over thoughtfully. "Well, I was bound to face your wrath sooner or later, I suppose. You'd better step inside before someone notices you." He pushed himself off of the doorframe to allow them room to do so. He closed the door soundly behind them.

Lethe did not often visit Ranulf's home. Its floor-level was mostly tidy due to disuse more than anything else. Except for the kitchen area, which looked as if it had been raided by bandits. Food littered the table, along with some water skins and a knapsack. Amongst the mess were wrapped packages. She frowned and leveled a questioning look first at the captain then at Mordecai, crossing her arms. "One of you had better start talking."

Mordecai's deep voice was laced with concern. "He says he's going to Crimea."

Lethe's eyes widened in disbelief as she wheeled on the captain. "You're what?"

Ranulf seemed genuinely peeved. "Cute, Mordecai. Very tactful. Now I sound insane."

"If this isn't some sick joke, you are insane!" Lethe hissed. "Somebody's been on too many meds!"

Mordecai tipped his head toward the shorter man. "You see?"

Ranulf crossed his arms. "Contrary to popular belief, I have very good reasons behind my decision."

"Can't be good enough that they can't wait." Lethe shook her head in disbelief of what she was hearing. "You shouldn't even be walking right now."

Ranulf closed his eyes, brows furrowed. "Mordecai…"

"You would not listen to me!" Mordecai spread his hands. "You are not well enough to be traveling."

"That's the whole point," Ranulf grunted. "I won't be going anywhere if I don't go to Crimea now."

Lethe stiffened at the odd strain in his voice. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ranulf's eyes snapped open and he met her fierce gaze with one that was equally determined but now collected. His anger had either vanished or been carefully tucked away and he spoke now with little emotion. "My flesh wound is healing rapidly, although it is true that it's still not mended enough for me to be safely out of bed."

"So here you are."

The smile he flashed her was hollow. "Yes, well, it's not just a flesh wound." He stepped over to his cluttered table and picked up a knife. Its blade was tightly wrapped in black leather. "This is the blade Vinx stabbed me with. It's coated in a poison foreign to Gallian healers, our resident herbalist included."

Lethe thought she understood. "If you're worried about that, I visited yesterday while you were konked out on drugs. The healer said she had sent a currier to an associate who specializes in obscure poisons. You should have your cure within a few days."

"Maybe. If there's a cure to be found, which is another concern that I am not interested in considering right now. But I may have waited if I hadn't gotten a look at the damage a few hours ago." He grimaced, and then laughed depreciatingly. "And then it occurred to me: where better to look for the cure to a beorc poison then amongst the beorc themselves?"

Ranulf studied the wrapping on the knife thoughtfully, still coming to full terms with his decision. "I have connections in Crimea, people I trust. I'll find Ike and enlist the help of some of the healers in his company. If they aren't familiar with the poison, Bastian would undoubtedly have connections with a trustworthy and specialized healer. I might even be able to contact Volke, who no doubt has written the book on obscure methods of murder." He paused in his inspection of the weapon and looked up, again meeting her still incredulous gaze. "Perhaps most importantly, the responsibility of my health will rest on my own shoulders. I'm confident I have more of a vested interest in it than some unknown Gallian healer." Besides the fact that although he had been unconscious for most of the experience, his being bed-ridden was already chaffing incredibly.

He replaced the knife on the table and watched Lethe's expression as she considered what he'd just dumped on her. She was past the stage of outright skepticism of his plan and now seemed to believe it had enough merit to warrant some thought. A wave of fatigue washed over him in the wake of the burst of activity. With it, a throbbing pain from his abdomen began to nag at his senses over the heavy dose of drugs that still flowed through his blood stream.

He ignored both.

"There's still the question of how wise it is for you to travel with a shredded stomach," she noted.

"'Shredded,' thankfully, is a bit of an exaggeration." He smiled, glad he hadn't let the pain show on his face. It would have made for a poor supporting argument. "I'll manage with Mordecai's help, assuming he's still agreed to accompany me despite his obvious reservations."

Mordecai, who, until this point, had been silent during Lethe's debriefing, nodded slowly. "I will not break my word: I will still go with you. I have said my piece. Though I may not believe this to be the wisest choice, you are my friend and I will support you to the best of my ability."

"Have I told you recently what an awesome guy you are, Mordecai?"

Some flicker of relief must have crossed his face—when his eyes turned toward Lethe, she was studying him intently. "Sit down, Ranulf. If you pass out now there's no way I'm letting you go through with this addle-brained scheme."

For all of her icy bravado, she could be surprisingly, annoyingly intuitive. He nonetheless thumbed at the staircase. "I'm not infirmed—and besides, there's no time for sitting if I want to get loaded up and out of here without anyone else getting involved in time to stop me."

"Let me handle that."

He frowned. "Really, I—"

To his and Mordecai's surprise, Lethe wheeled on him and grabbed his shoulders, roughly pushing him into a nearby couch. The consequential pain made him exhale sharply and swear. "Dangit, Lethe!"

Mordecai had crossed the room and now placed a large, firm hand on her arm. "Lethe…"

"Will you stop killing yourself trying to do everything on your own?" She glared forcefully at the seated man. "Let us handle this, okay?"

Sweeping soreness, irritation, and an acute awareness of her proximity swam about the captain's sensory system. His brain struggled to compute all three for the briefest second before a faint smile played at the edges of his mouth and he found himself saying: "Okay." It wasn't worth arguing now.

Her fingers tightened on his shoulders and he could feel the shiver that ran through her body before she abruptly released him and advanced on the staircase to his bedroom. Mordecai's hand hovered uncertainly in the air where her arm had been as he and Ranulf both watched her departure.

"Pick clothing that flatters my figure!" Ranulf called after her with a big grin, emotions and pain again pushed safely into the back of his mind. Although she ignored the comment, he could almost feel her annoyance.

Mordecai appeared to be deep in thought, and he glanced down at Ranulf in question. The captain shrugged nonchalantly and Mordecai dropped whatever it was that was nagging at him to begin packing the supplies scattered about the kitchen. The big man hummed a deep, rumbling folk tune. Upstairs, soft footfalls and the occasional slammed drawer could be heard. Ranulf let the sounds wash over him and concentrated on experimentally stretching his limbs and wondering what he had gotten himself into.

He was only half surprised when Lethe returned downstairs about ten minutes later, dumped his now stuffed pack onto the floor, and stated, "I'm coming with you."

He laughed and shook his head. "Ohhh no you're not."

"Maybe she should," Mordecai rumbled from where he was re-shelving unnecessary items in the other room.

"You'll be safer with me along," she noted blandly, hands on hips.

"I'm still sore from the last time you tried to make me safer. Besides, with Skrimir and me gone, someone needs to stay here and man the fort."

She crossed her arms defensively and glanced sidelong. "Sorry. It was the only way I could think to make you slow down. And we have plenty of decent leadership to cover for you here and you know it."

Her sincere apology came as another surprise and he raked a hand through his ice blue hair. She had a point—with her aid, not only would they likely make better time but the inherent dangers of traveling diminished greatly as well.

"Fine." He pushed himself carefully up from his seat. There was one last order of business to be taken care of before they departed. "I'll need to write a note letting everyone know we're MIA purposefully."


The easiest way to the Greil Mercenaries' base of operations was by boat from the new harbor that Gallia sported in the wake of the Mad King's War, and so it was to there the small party set its sights. It had the added bonus of not intersecting with the rout of Skrimir and his companions.

Travel was slow. Despite his resolve to appear fit for hard travel, Ranulf needed frequent rests because of his injury, which was steadily worsening. Lethe and Mordecai made sure these breaks were observed. Their progress was further hampered because he demanded that they avoid main roads and utilize rivers and other natural resources to leave as little evidence of their passage as possible. It was likely a search party had been composed upon the herbalist's return to his quarters in the healing hall the morning of that first day, and Ranulf was determined to avoid that as well.

They camped on a rocky outcropping that boasted the natural defenses of surrounding rock walls on two sides and a thirty foot drop into trees and bushes below on a third. The weather shifted from partly cloudy and cool to totally cloudy and humid by evening—by the time they began to think about setting up tarps, sporadic droplets of rain were nicking faces and arms and peppering their rock ledge in dark dots. Ranulf insisted on helping set up the tarps to the chagrin of Lethe and Mordecai, but thankfully fell quickly into a deep sleep on his still-rolled supplies before he could do further damage to himself. This was mostly due to the heavy dosage of drugs she had administered to his drinking water, Lethe supposed as she and her large companion finished setting up camp.

The next day heralded similar gloomy weather, the rain falling steadily in first torrents then a light drizzle. All of the party knew this to mean that they were nearing the ocean—the rain was more pervasive on the coastal side of the mountains. They all donned thick, woolen cloaks in anticipation of continued poor weather. By nightfall or early next morning, Lethe guessed they would reach the harbor town, which was built at the heart of the large gulf near the center of the Gallian sea border. From there, as long as good sea-faring weather held, they would have no trouble procuring a boat even without a reservation.

It was around midday when she heard movement in the nearby forest over the presently subtle drizzle of rain. Their party had taken a break at a clearing and Mordecai had used the opportunity to go fishing in a nearby pond for a late meal. Ranulf had fallen into a drugged cat-nap against a nearby tree, arms crossed and face blank.

Lethe's gaze fixed on the source of the sound. The clearing she and the captain presently occupied was blanketed in a thick covering of short, twiggy brush and flowering bushes. Except for Ranulf's stalwart napping-tree that jutted from its center, the patch of land was relatively open. The sound had emanated from deeper within the murky grey woodland, rather than in the direction of the river and Mordecai. After a few moments of listening and watching without result, her vision roved the trees and fell on the captain. Although he had not moved, his eyes were open and expression alertly trained on the surrounding trees. She felt, more than saw, the tension in his body.

Forcing herself to relax, Lethe rolled her shoulders and settled into an apathetic position, twining her fingers through her cloak idly. Most likely, the movement had come from a wild deer or boar that would discover their presence and move on. If not, her affected unawareness would bait anything that hunted them. In other circumstances, she would have leapt into the trees and done some hunting herself, but abandoning an injured and groggy Ranulf would only invite trouble. She mentally cursed the uselessness of her nose and ears in the rainy weather.

Ranulf apparently shared her idea of luring whatever was in the forest into a sense of false security—though his methodology of doing so was somewhat different.

After waiting a few more minutes without results, he shifted his weight and yawned largely from beneath his cowl, speaking through the yawn. "Wonder how Mordecai's doing."

"Look who's up," Lethe grunted in response, recovering quickly from the clarity of the sound amidst the muted patter of rain.

"I don't sleep well when I'm soggy." He grinned a little too widely, eyes still somewhat glazed. "Can't imagine that river'll make Mordecai any more wetter than he must have been already."

"More wetter, hmm?" Lethe wondered fleetingly how much of Ranulf's wooziness was affected, and pushed that troubling inquiry out of her mind.

"More wetter," Ranulf repeated thoughtfully, liking the sound of his botched grammar in his half-inebriated state. "Yup, it's a regular ol' rainforest this side of the mountains. It's no wonder that delegation from Ophrem was so violet. Weather like this would make anyone ill-tempered."

"You don't sound that ill-tempered yourself," Lethe noted. Regardless of its origins, his mood was disarmingly amusing.

"I'm not usually the ill-tempered type," he agreed whimsically. "I'm quite political that way."

Lethe studied him with a mockingly critical squint. "You? Quite political?"

"And why not, pray tell?"

Something moved in the trees. "You're just not scummy enough."

"How dare you."

"It's true. People actually like you and we just can't have that from a serious politician." It was easy to banter with Ranulf, even with her senses focused on the woods behind him. How many were there…?

"They do?" He sounded horrified, his expressions amplified by the drugs. "I'll have my work cut out from me when we get back, I guess."

Lethe shrugged apologetically, the motion somewhat tight.

Snap!

Ranulf's eyes flickered and he laughed lowly. "You know… you should try to be funny more often."

"Is that an order, sir?"


"Don't move; we have you surrounded!"

Ziska leapt from the forest into the scrubby underbrush of the clearing, flattening a handful of little white flowers with his entrance. He could sense his three other companions nearby, still concealed amongst the trees. He watched the startled expression of the man with some satisfaction—he had wondered briefly if the travelers had been alerted to his presence earlier, but now that trepidation was eased. The boy may be a politician, but he certainly was no watchful warrior. The girl was no better, although both apparently had gall in that they had flagrantly disregarded his demand and now stood.

"What do you want?" The male demanded coolly.

"I said don't move!" Ziska barked, blood pounding still from the sneak attack as he approached him, leaving a trail of flowery destruction in his wake. "I'll ask the questions. What are you doing here?"

"I didn't know that travel was restricted anywhere on Gallia," the young man noted with a raised eyebrow.

"Answer the question!"

"We're vacationing to Crimea."

"You seem to be headed in the wrong direction."

"…By boat. We want to visit the capitol first and that's the quickest way."

Ziska grunted. The answer was sound. "Why don't you use more well-traveled trails?"

"That's awfully boring, don't you think?" the young man laughed

Spoiled noble politicians. "The woods can be dangerous, boy."

The other shrugged.

That attitude of his was grating on Ziska's nerves, and he motioned for his men in the woods to make their way into the clearing. The girl watched with some interest. Good. "If you don't want to get hurt, you'll answer one more question and I might let you off easy."

"Shoot," the younger man said with a cocky grin. The girl turned toward him sharply.

Ziska fought the urge to strangle him. "You said something about Ophrem earlier. What was it?"

The other man gave him a curious look that seemed somehow familiar to him. "About the delegates being pissy?"

"'Ill-tempered' and 'violent' were the terms you used." Ziska grunted with some distaste.

Grin. "Ah, yes. Apparently there was a brawl between the Ophrem delegates and some of the castle guards. It sounded pretty exciting."

"Sounded? You weren't there?"

"Nope, though I know a few people who were." He tapped his head with a smile. "Connections, you see."

Idiot pup.

He'd teach that boy some manners.

He aimed a sharp blow at the boy's face, but to his surprise, his target blocked his thrust easily, eyes flashing. The movement, however, caused the younger man's hood to be jarred from his head, revealing pale blue hair and a familiar orange bandana. Ziska suddenly realized he was staring squarely into the heterochromatic eyes of the king's right-hand man. All stupidity and grogginess was gone from that hard face.

"Shades!" He cursed. He noted belatedly that the girl had thrown her cloak—she looked familiar as well—and was gleaming as she shifted forms. "Seize them!" he yelped frantically, though his men were already in action.

A cold grin crossed Ranulf's face as he and Ziska leaped backward, both shifting. Ziska was a powerful tiger laguz, but he had heard stories about the captain that were enough to temper his battle-lust. Both now felines, they circled each other, looking for an opening.

He noted with surprise that the blue cat was bandaged tightly about his middle, but he had little time to ponder this before the other took advantage of his distraction and charged with a roar. He was dimly aware of the sounds of his comrades scrambling with the girl amidst hissing and yelps of pain as he was brought to the ground by the force of the cat's attack. They fell hard in a tangled jumble of paws and tails, and he bit wildly as they rolled in the wet undergrowth, smacking at each other with strong paws.

His forepaw connected with his assailant's chest and he heard the cat hiss in pain. There was no respite for Ziska, however, as the damage only seemed to infuriate his opponent further. Ranulf went straight for his neck, ignoring continued battering to his smaller frame. Ziska's vision began to dance and his attacks became more intense—fear rippled in dark waves through his body as he choked for air.

And then he was suddenly free, his attacker forced to jump back as one of Ziska's cat companions clobbered the captain from the rear and sent him to the ground. Nearby, he heard the girl yowl as she disengaged, bloodied, from the downed Belan to cover for Ranulf before he suffered further damage. Ziska pushed himself to his feet and crouched, vision still fuzzy but determined to end this before he blacked out.

"GRAAAAWWWRRR!"

Frig, the other tiger laguz of his party and a man larger than Ziska himself, uttered a strangled hiss of surprise as the bulk of a new assailant knocked him to the ground. Ziska had only the briefest heartbeat of time to recall "Mordecai" from Ranulf and the girl's conversation earlier before he barely managed to block a blow to his eyes from Ranulf. He battered back, felt his talons connect with skin and heard the other man's grunt before fiery pain lanced from his shoulder to his gut—his underside had been left briefly unprotected.

Briefly was enough.

His focus now was simple: survival. Desperately he tried to push himself to his feet again and put distance between himself and the opponent that swam blearily in his vision. The cacophony of yelps, roars, scuffling, falling bodies, snapping undergrowth, increasing rainy downpour mixed into a confusing roar of noise, and he was dimly aware of a blow to his head that must have made his brain swim in his cranium before sounds, sights, and feeling began to fade.

"Traitors!" He accused in a roar without hearing himself before blackness enfolded him entirely.


Ranulf steadied his beorc form with a hand on the ground, breathing heavily. With a grimace, he pushed himself into a standing position as the adrenaline still pumping in his blood prevented him from being overcome by pain and blacking out. He surveyed the secured bodies of their assailants with a critical eye and noticed the bigger of the two enemy tiger laguz, now in unshifted form, begin to stir.

Lethe, bruised and scratched but otherwise not critically injured form the brawl, wheeled instinctively on the sturdy man and swung a foot back to send him again into painless oblivion.

"Wait!"

She paused and saw Ranulf limp clumsily in her direction. Before she could protest anything, he knocked the man face-first into the ground with a well-placed kick in the back and kneeled on top of him, constricting his breathing. The big man tried to speak, but the words were garbled.

"You'll talk or I will maul you beyond recognition!" Ranulf hissed darkly, his face void all traces of goodness.

"Wha d'you want?" The scarred man grunted, blood dripping from his mouth as he spoke. He appeared to be about middle-aged, scruffy stubble dotting his tan face. His hair was tangled with grass and dirt, his body covered in grime and scratches from the fight. Lethe watched without expression. Mordecai stood nearby, obviously uncomfortable with Ranulf's behavior but determined to trust the battered captain.

"Why was that envoy sent to the capitol?"

"Our village… was ravaged by storms—"

Ranulf fiercely grasped his hair and slammed his face into the ground, sending a shudder of pain through the man's helpless body. He brought his mouth close to the man's furry ear and yelled: "WHY WAS THE ENVOY SENT TO THE—"

"ARRGH! TO STOP THE KING!"

Ranulf froze where he sat on the prone man, whose nose now appeared to be broken. Lethe and Mordecai exchanged quick glances. Beneath Ranulf, the man began to shudder as he gasped for air. The captain eased into a position that still pinned the big man but allowed him to breathe.

"To stop him?" He repeated coolly.

"Yes!" The tiger laguz wheezed. "I don't know anything else."

"Why did he want to stop him?" Ranulf demanded, voice still intent although he shuddered now from suppressed pain.

"I don't—"

Ranulf readjusted his position and grabbed the other man's hair again.

"THE HUMANS!" the big man yelled before further damage could be done. "The bloody, cursed humans!"

"Tell me more," Ranulf insisted, face close to his victim. The color had drained from his features, though he kept a firm handle on his unwavering voice.

The ground-bound man shook his head. "What's to tell? The way that man fraternizes with humans is contemptible. Dishonorable." He laughed, the blood dripping from his mouth as he did so. "I don't care if you kill me for saying so, sir, because someone had to say something." He moaned and when Ranulf shook him again, this time more gently, he was unresponsive.

The captain stood up shakily, staring down at the ruin of a man below him in thought. "We just might, you know." When he turned towards Lethe and Mordecai, the hardness of the interrogation no longer masked his features, though his eyes remained hollow. "I guess I really will have my work cut out for me when we get back."


Author's Note: YES. ACTION. FINALLY. GAH. Now we just need some more Lyre and Kyza and everything'll be all dandy.

And can I just say that people sure "black out" a lot in this story? Haha, I think that must be, like, officially a literary tool of mine now. :D