Author's Note: Onward and upward, and the stakes continue to rise. Do you think Killian's handling this well? Have any bets on what happens from here on out? Stay tuned to find out! I appreciate hearing the good, the bad and the ugly, so please review.

Killian spun around, a sick feeling stealing over him, and before he knew it, he'd weaved back through the trees until he drew even with the stretcher. It had been placed on the ground, the bearers having moved to comfort their comrade, dripping water from a canteen to the man' s lips. The man himself was white, his eyes wide and rolling, and his body strained against itself in violent twists and jerks.

"Hold him down!" the lieutenant bellowed. Yanking off his coat, he knelt down beside the man and tore the bandages off until he could see the wound on the man's leg, and the sight rocked him back on his heels. There was no stench as there should have been for a festering wound. It wasn't yellow. There was no puss or other foul fluids boiling to the surface. Rather, there was a web of inky black spreading out from the wound, crawling upward and, upon further investigation, toward the man's heart. Now Killian wore a pallor that nearly matched. "Poison," he breathed.

The others had gathered around by now and Killian rose shakily to his feet. Without so much as a word, he turned and reached into one of the boys' quivers, drawing out an arrow and looking at the tip. "You bloody demons poisoned him!" His hand wrapped into the boy's collar and the arrow in his hand shook, but then there were hands on his shoulders and his sense returned and he dropped the arrow to the ground.

"Killian," came the captain's cautious voice. "It's not their fault..." He graciously kept the rest from his words, but still the thought hung plainly in the air between them: Killian had fired the arrow. The man was still screaming behind him.

"But why the bloody hell do they poison their arrows?! For hunting? And spoil the meat?"

"Killian..." Liam's voice was low and soft.

The younger officer turned his gaze to Pan and tried to communicate his vow of retribution without a word. Then he allowed his shoulders to sag and he turned to his brother and his men, discovering their tense postures and weapons quietly slipping to less threatening positions. "Is there a cure?" he asked.

"Only one," Pan said quietly. "And we're already heading toward it."

Killian stooped over and pulled his jacket back on. The other sailors were already seeing to their comrade, rebinding his wounds and attempting to make him as comfortable as possible. Killian's eyes set on them for a time, before he turned to regard his brother. "Pan, how much further to the flower?" he asked.

"Three... four leagues...," the boy replied.

"Sir, I respectfully suggest that we press. At the rate the poison's effecting him, I fear he won't last three leagues at the usual pace."

"Lead on," Liam said with a nod.

"Gentlemen, ensure you keep an eye on each other and trade out when the load grows too heavy for your fellows." To a chorus of, "Aye, Sir," Killian started off at an even brisker walk.

Hours ticked by in mutual agony. The wounded man continued to wail and scream with astounding endurance, making the forest echo with his cries, before finally, some hours in, fading to low moans and whimpers. Those around him streamed sweat, lungs and limbs burning with the effort, ankles twisting on the uneven footing. When the first individual collapsed to the ground in exhaustion, the captain finally called a halt, allowing the men and boys to regain their wind and guzzle water. A moment later the officers were ripping canteens from the men's hands, ordering them to slow down, lest they make themselves sick. Slowly, the little company recovered, and as soon as the leaders could justify it, they were on the march again.

The sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the world in warm, gold tones when they finally came to the bottom of the cliff. The wounded seaman had subsided into silence and unconsciousness by that time, quickening the men's motions and lighting their eyes with fear. "He's still..." Killian asked hesitantly.

"He's breathing, for now," one of his men responded from where he knelt over the stretcher.

"Then we'd better hurry. You two, stay with him. Sir, may I pursue the climb in your stead?" Liam had always been shy of heights, and even in the heat of the moment, he spared a thought to protecting his brother's image.

Liam considered the situation for a moment, fingers tapping the hilt of his sword as he eyed the face of the cliff. "The flower's just at the top?" he asked.

"Right there," Pan confirmed with a nod.

"Then, Lieutenant, take your men up and come directly down. I'll stay here with the others."

"Aye, Sir. Pan, I'll need you with me to identify it." He wasn't going to give the boy a choice. He wasn't about to leave the devil alone with Liam.

Pan grinned, knowingly. "Yes, Sir."

"If you'll lead the way..."

Killian followed closely behind Peter, and his men followed as near as they dared. Part of him had wanted to leave the other two men behind, but he'd quickly come to realize that Pan, whatever his true motivations, was so set on playing the game according to his own rules that he wouldn't lash out obviously with others there. Keeping others nearby was the surest way of keeping Pan in line, and so Killian brought them along as a shield. Still, digging his fingers into the rocks, struggling to continue dredging up strength after the trying day, he noticed Pan glancing down now and then to leer at him.

"Eyes forward, Lad," the lieutenant barked. "We wouldn't want you slipping and falling to your death now, would we?" He couldn't quite keep the viciousness out of his voice that belied his words.

"I'm just fascinated," the boy replied keeping his eyes on the jagged granite. "Choosing honor over your men, I hadn't thought you'd take that course."

A hundred different retorts flew through the lieutenant's mind, and he checked them, but it did no good. He didn't see any movement from the boy outside of simple climbing, but suddenly the reedy notes of his pipe filled the air followed by a quiet crack. Killian felt his throat close and stared at the stone his hand was clenched on before realizing the sound had come from below. Looking down, he saw on of the trailing seamen move his hand, loose rocks falling out from underneath. He scrabbled at the wall, trying to find a new purchase, and before he knew it, Killian heard himself shout, "Hold on!" He started trying to climb back down, knowing it was pure foolishness but unable to keep himself from trying to aid the man.

In a blink, the man's feet went out from underneath him. For a bare moment, he swung on the rock face by one hand. Then he plummeted.

Killian snapped his eyes shut and slammed his forehead into the stone, teeth gritted and breath struggling out; that last image of the man suspended in midair filling his mind even as he heard the hard slap drifting up from below.

"Halverson!" the remaining seaman shouted and the scratching of swift climbing reached Killian's ears. With an effort, he forced his eyes open.

"Don't you dare start climbing down, Beckett!" the Lieutenant snarled, glaring furiously at the pale and shaking man.

"But, Sir!"

"I'll none of it! Whatever Halverson's fate, the best way we can help him and the other is to finish this climb and get that cure-"

"But, Sir, he's my mate!"

"I don't care if you're bloody brothers! Keep climbing or I'll have you flogged, understood?"

"Aye, Sir," came the resigned response. Killian kept him under hawkish scrutiny until he gained some feet in the climb, then turned his attention to his own progress.

The rest of the climb took a long while, with both sailors carefully checking their holds along the way, despite the fact that the lieutenant knew full well that Halverson's fall hadn't been an accident. When Killian finally pulled his feet over the edge and stood on shaking legs, he saw Pan standing a few feet away from him, smirking. Part of the young officer wondered if Pan would simply kick him over the edge, but nothing happened and indeed, the villainous boy had ample opportunity to murder him before then. Part of him wanted to lunge forward and strangle the demon, but he controlled himself with an iron will and cast his eyes down to a golden flower that bobbed gracefully in the breeze and gilded all the brush around it with ochre light.