Author Note: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far; I didn't spellcheck this chapter before posting it and it showed; it's fixed now, though. I'm hoping more of my regular readers will review and tell me if they enjoyed it. *nudge nudge* ;)

~oOoOo~

Grimy oil lamps bathed the entryway of the Running Wolf Inn in a dull yellow glow. Two wooden tables were pushed together in front of the stone fireplace, where a roaring fire burned in the grate. On the tables lay Cyril - bundled in layers of woolen blankets - awaiting his final journey back to Innail. To a passerby, the inn would seem as it did any other winter night, but Cadvan knew the difference. He could smell in the smoke-tinged air the stench of his own doom, of what awaited him when he left Nenn.

He stared at his cousin's lifeless body. Cyril was lean to the point of gauntness, and still fairly youthful despite his age, though stringy hair fell across his brow. Cadvan tried to wipe away the black mark from Cyril's forehead, to conceal the wound that he had inflicted, but it stood out vividly against Cyril's ashen face in the gloom. He gave up completely when he noticed blood dripping from his injured arm and spread the last blanket corner over the dead man's face.

He checked the strip of fabric he'd used as a pressure dressing; it was soaked. I'm losing too much blood, he thought. Adian had managed to slice deep into muscle with his sword, enough so that each heartbeat produced fresh crimson blood. Cadvan fumbled around in his cloak pocket and produced a fresh bandage. Though Adian had been relatively easy to fight, he had let his greatest surge of anger leave him vulnerable to Adian's attack. Apparently he knows enough to notice a weakness when he sees one. Cadvan instantly thought of Maerad's weaknesses and brushed it aside. He had to focus.

I should sit a moment. I have taken care of Cyril. I must rest. He sat in a nearby chair and wished for his arm to stop throbbing, to wake up to find the entire evening had just been a horrible dream. His wish wasn't granted. Visions sifted across his mind – he was falling unconscious – but he didn't notice. He could only hear a voice begging for mercy.

He woke suddenly, his eyes flickering. He staggered to his feet. Am I losing my mind now? He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't move any more. He couldn't even close his eyes against the sight of his dead cousin in front of him. Painful visions of having seen this before overlaid themselves on the reality before him. He clutched at his face; tears streamed down his cheeks again. Cyril is dead. Like Ceredin. And it is my fault. Panic overcame him again. He couldn't breathe with the pain of those memories. He would have given his life to free himself had it not been for Maerad. He had to fight for her; he couldn't give up now. But what he had he knew would not be enough. He would have to atone for his crime, and because of his dark past, he knew the First Circle of Innail would not suffer his guilt to pass. He would have to leave Maerad again, and this time it would be permanent. He had succeeded in nothing.

Something inside him died.

Three days. Three short days had slipped away like water through his fingers. He stared into the lamp closest to him. An insect drawn to the warmth of the building droned past his ear towards the flame. Three days since she told me what that bastard had done to her. Cadvan remembered Adian lying on the ground outside in the freezing storm, bound and gagged. He was still unconscious. Good riddance. Cadvan's anger flared; it would be much easier to kill him…

But something within him pitied the man, and had it not been for the pain, he would have brought him inside after the fight had ended. He cannot die until he is punished for what he did, Cadvan responded to the prompting of his conscience. I must stay focused, if only for Maerad.

He massaged his aching hand and, when he was once again master of himself, summoned a mage light. He doused the fire with water and blew out the lanterns. Picking up his cousin's dead weight proved to be challenging, both physically and mentally. The pain in his arm heightened with each step. Memories assailed him as he neared the doorway. All the times he had spent with his cousin playing music had come to an abrupt halt. There was no future that involved his family; they had all passed beyond the Gates. Cyril's flute, which sat in a leather case near the foot of the stairwell, would remain silent forevermore.

Cadvan was grateful when he had stepped outside and left the inn behind. It was cold, but the sky had cleared. The stars, hard and bright, glittered in a deep black sky. He walked through the fresh snowfall, and gazed up into the blanket of darkness in search of Illion. He wondered if Cyril had made his way to the Paths of the Dead, and if the swathe of stars he watched were the same that most of his childhood friends traversed. He also thought of Maerad, the woman who didn't know where he was, or what he had done, and he sighed. It would be a long journey back.

~oOoOo~

Adian awakened to a throbbing headache. He felt something surrounding him, and realized with a start that he was moving; he opened his eyes in alarm. Cyril's stiff, cold body sat upright on the horse in a gruesome embrace with him, bound by magery so neither would move. He coughed in disgust, drawing Cadvan's attention. "Release me, now, Bard."

Cadvan continued walking but, in a monotone voice, called back, "You are bound by magery, worm. Nothing you say will free you now. Should you try to escape, I would have to kill you."

He's bluffing, Adian thought. He can't kill me…if he does, there is no proof, and he becomes the murderer of two instead of one. He found it somewhat difficult to believe that Cadvan would actually harm him further. Because?

Because he looks too intelligent. He looks too intelligent for commonplace violence.

A naïve delusion, he reminded himself. Look how quickly he killed his cousin, and how he jumped at you when you mentioned Maerad. Remember who he is and what he is.

He made no noise as he tried loosening the physical restraints of rope around his wrists. He didn't dare to try breaking the spell Cadvan had placed upon him; not yet anyway. He was still hurt from the fight, however long ago that had been. He guessed by the sun in the west that he'd been unaware for at least a day, if not more. He had to find another way to free himself.

He inspected Cadvan with full attention, and ignored the dead body clinging to him. His gaze rested briefly upon the Bard's arm, and then returned to the back of his head. "Not difficult to recognize," he commented, "the fault you made while fighting. A Bard as well taught as you should know that anger allows one's weaknesses to show."

Cadvan kept leading the stallion onward and didn't respond.

"...But it was skilled fighting nonetheless. This wound you gave me in my leg will have crippled me, I'm sure. It was kind of you to stop the blood flow, but why did you do it?" he asked, and then added, "am I truly worthy of life?" Perhaps it will make the Bard think twice on his actions and forget mine.

"Do not test me," Cadvan warned.

"We have both committed crimes, Cadvan. Perhaps we could come to an arrangement of sorts," he suggested. "One that would benefit both of us."

Cadvan stopped.

Adian continued his case. "Release me, and I swear never to tell a soul of what you have done. You would be free to do as you wish, who you wish..." he snickered under his breath. "For all the Bards know, it was you who bedded her, not I. No one knows, Cadvan...let it remain that way and retain your honor."

Adian watched his captor carefully for signs of acquiescence. A flicker of thought passed over Cadvan's face as he turned to look at him. Cadvan's expression hardened, however, into a look of utter hatred, and Adian knew at that moment all was lost.

"I would like nothing better than to drive this steel into your vitals. So don't tempt me with your lies. You are going back to Innail, and you will tell the Circle that in accord with the laws of this land, you deserve punishment for your hideous crime. I will make sure that whatever punishment meted out to you is one equivalent to the suffering which you subjected Maerad to. Understood?"

Adian retorted quickly, "What of your crime, Cadvan? I did not kill as you have. You think that your fellow Bards will forgive you again, and let you live peacefully with her, but you think wrong. They will judge you just as they judge me; without her testimony, you stand alone." He continued. "I've only had the pleasure of meeting her once, but it was enough to know that that will never happen. She is too weak, and you know it."

Without so much as a warning, Cadvan walked up beside Darsor and began untying Adian.

"What are you doing?" Adian attempted to hide the fear in his voice. What if he leaves me out here to die?

The rope fell away. Cadvan bound Cyril to Darsor with it and then threw Adian down onto the snowy ground. He hit with a thud, and tried scrambling to his feet; the magery held him firmly in place. "Think twice of what you might do, Cadvan. Everything and everyone serves a purpose," Adian pleaded, trying to appeal to Cadvan's rational side.

"Every bone and every fiber within my body yearns to see your blood spill onto the earth. You don't deserve life. You don't have a purpose," he replied with disdain, the hatred spilling out of his mouth.

"Then why not kill me and release your frustration? Do it, Cadvan," Adian dared.

Cadvan sensed the man struggling beneath the powerful charm he had set upon him. It didn't falter, but it was draining his energy.

"Do it," Adian urdged

Cadvan kicked the man hard in the groin. Adian doubled and groaned in pain. "But neither do you deserve the release of death."

He threw the man back onto the horse and continued onward.

~oOoOo~

It was dark before he reached the shadow of firs. A boreal breeze stirred the boughs, but Cadvan didn't feel the cold. His flesh burned, and his lips were parched. From time to time he paused to rub a handful of snow across his forearm, but he didn't dare linger. He had to make it to Innail before he collapsed. On into the silent plains, he had to keep reminding himself, lest it slip from his mental grasp, that he needed to be prepared for questioning. They would not think of ill of him until Adian spoke, which gave him time to find Maerad and explain what had happened. It would give him time to convince her that he had meant well, and that the entire series of events could have been avoided. But what if he wasn't granted such luck? If they looked upon Cyril's body and saw his wound before he reached Maerad, he would have no such chance. He would have to be quick. Either way, he would be arrested. He needed Maerad on his side, if only for moral support.

The next morning came early. He paused, shaky and confused at the top of a knoll, where the sudden dazzle of sunlight made him blink. For a moment he stood squinting; it was too bright, too harsh. He felt intolerably exposed. The shadows of the firs he had long since left called him back to their reverie. Adian lay sideways across the saddle, unconscious; Cadvan had put another spell over him to keep him quiet while entering Innail.

Push forward, a voice told him. He would die from hypothermia if he fell asleep here.

It gave him an adrenal rush he much needed and he forced himself over the next handful of hills until Innail was within sight. It was only then that he let out a sigh of relief and breathed anxiety in to replace it.

"Here we are, old friend," he stroked Darsor's muzzle. "Forgive me, now, for what I have asked you to do this day, and for what I have done."

"I know you meant well," his horse replied. "I will speak for you."

Cadvan frowned and clicked his tongue. Darsor started forward.

"I'm afraid it isn't so simple, friend. It is not you I need to speak on my behalf. I need Maerad to speak on her own behalf and tell them what this man has done."

"Will she?"

Cadvan could hear someone yell in the watchtower, and watched as the gates began to slowly open. They had recognized him.

"I can only hope."