Unlike in the Chief Magistrate's mansion in Nanza, Jyrian had no difficulty in being admitted to the presence of the Carras household in Meribia. Part of that was, of course, that Deane didn't generally do anything so important that he wasn't to be disturbed, but the quality of servant was also considerably better--probably since the concept of upper-crust society was rooted in Meribia so there had been more time for training and practice. The ornate decor didn't fit well with the impression she'd gotten of Halan Carras, so she wondered if it had been his late wife or his ancestors that had furnished the house.

The majordomo himself escorted Jyrian to the parlor where, he said, Deane and his guests were waiting. Usually that would be a footman's job, so Jyrian wondered if the head servant had recognized her name and wanted to gawk--or, more likely, didn't want the footman gawking. Whatever his reasons, he escorted Jyrian with the utmost courtesy, announced her presence, and slipped away silently before she could thank him.

"Jyrian!" Elia exclaimed, her face lighting up as soon as the adventuress entered the parlor.

Tabren was grinning, too. "Morhault said you probably wouldn't be coming back."

"This is definitely one of the few times I've been glad to be proven wrong," the renegade said. "It's good to see you, Jyrian."

"Well," she admitted, "I wasn't actually planning on coming in person, but I thought I should at least have the guts to say goodbye to your faces. I brought your payment from the Magic Guild," she added, holding up a fair-sized sack which clinked appealingly.

"Can you stay a bit?" Morhault asked. "We've got a few questions about magical theory that you might be able to help answer, or at least aim at someone who can. Plus, there's another little problem we've stumbled into."

Regretfully, she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Morhault, but I can't. I've been given a new mission by the Guild which I need to return to."

Her eyes were drawn to the fifth person in the room, a bearded man whose leathers were decorated with the fringes and beadwork unique to the Prairie Tribe, and who had a strange, tight expression on his face. Jyrian had more or less ignored him until then, being more concerned with her reunion with the others and the curious way her heart seemed to be lodged in her throat. Once she saw the tribesman, though, his features began to fill her attention, clicking into place as she compared them to the description that she'd been given.

"You couldn't possibly be Alynd, could you?" she groaned.

-X X X-

Explanations were clearly in order, Morhault thought; conveniently, they themselves had only just arrived and hadn't begun yet, so Jyrian was just in time to participate.

"My name is indeed Alynd," the priest told her.

"Jyrian, of the Magic Guild of Vane. Jyrian Mageborn, if you're fond of badly-done minstrels' epics."

That was odd, Morhault thought. Usually, Jyrian ducked her theatrical epithet, not tossed it into self-introductions.

"A pleasure. We hadn't yet reached the stage of formal introductions, which brings us to another point." He turned to the fallen knight. "Just now, both the boy and Master Jyrian called you Morhault."

I'd figured this was coming sooner or later.

"Perhaps I am doing you an injustice, but I have to ask. Are you the same Morhault, the former Lion Knight, who is commonly referred to as 'The Fallen'?" His voice was clipped, his phrasing formalistic, as if he was keeping his temper in check by focusing on his speech.

"I am."

He gave a sharp, wordless cry of rage and anguish. "Goddess Althena, why do you test me so?" he exclaimed. "To bring me face-to-face with this devil in this way?"

"It must be nice to be so popular."

"Quiet, Tabren. Alynd has his reasons," Morhault shushed the boy. To Alynd, he said, "Who did you lose?"

"My uncle and two cousins died in the war you started," the priest said. "More than that, I owe you my vocation."

Morhault didn't quite follow, but he was sure he wasn't going to like the explanation.

"As a young man, I was torn between the priesthood and life as a warrior of the tribe. I felt the call to serve Althena, but the thought of going away to study and be ordained at the main Shrine here at the Katarina Zone repelled me, not because of any great fear of the outside world, but because I did not wish to leave Sophia, my fiancee. No, the priestly life does not forbid love and marriage, but the thought of being separated from her for so long was unbearable to me."

Morhault sighed with genuine regret.

"Yes, sigh, why don't you? It's clear where my story is going, is it not? The war was but a month old when a Tamur raid attacked the encampment of Sophia's clan. She was killed fighting to defend our people, and I...had nothing to hold me to the Prairie. I couldn't even be there when she died!"

"Um..." Deane put in hesitantly, "if there's going to be a duel, would you mind terribly taking it outside to the garden? Honor is honor, but m'father always kicks up a row when my friends do something to ruin the carpets."

For once, no one laughed at one of Deane's absurd comments, or even cracked a smile.

"You don't have to worry about the carpets, milord," Alynd said bitterly. "Among other vows, when a member of the Prairie Tribe joins the priesthood, they are required to give up all blood feuds. A priest has no place crying vengeance on a man for actions the law has already punished. Moreover, there would be no duel in any event, for I now owe Morhault a blood-debt for selflessly and heroically saving my life!" He laughed bitterly, and Morhault could sympathize, for it truly did seem as if Althena was playing a cruel joke on the priest by bringing him face-to-face with Morhault in this way.

The Prairie Tribe had always been his worst accusers. They were unlike the people of the west, who only knew the stories, or the people of Tamur and their allies, who'd had their own squabbles since and did not see him in quite the iconic light that some did. Traders, merchants, and politicians could be...flexible...in their word and understood how a man might change his mind in a moral crisis, even if their idea of a moral crisis was between honor and silver.

The Prairie Tribe was different. The nomadic warriors were devoutly honorable. To them, a liar was someone who couldn't be trusted, an active danger to clan and tribe. The punishment for oathbreaking on the Prairie was a rope around the neck.

Deane's concern for violence breaking out might have been misplaced this time, but it was by no means a given. Morhault actually had been forced to fight Prairie-born warriors before; there was scarcely anyone among the tribe who hadn't lost kin, which combined with Morhault's oathbreaking gave them grounds in their customs for a blood-feud.

He'd never felt worse about himself and his past than the four times he'd stood over a man and twice over a woman who'd insisted on spending their life in an attempt to take his. He was glad that at least it wouldn't come to that.

"Maybe it's best we leave it there, then. I'll go my way and you go yours, before either of us does something we'll regret later."

"Perhaps so. I have regrets enough."

"Perhaps not," Jyrian snapped.

Everyone turned to look at her.

"I told you I had a mission from the Magic Guild. I've been given the assignment of finding you, Alynd, and giving you whatever assistance you need--and if Morhault has already saved your life once, it's clear the Guild isn't sending me off chasing dreams. The Vile Tribe is apparently up to more evil than any time since the Magic Emporer, and this is not the time to start squabbling amongst ourselves. We're supposed to be the good guys here, right?"

"Nice speech," Deane said.

"If one ignores the fact that she includes one of Lunar's more notable villains among the heroes."

"That isn't fair," Elia protested.

"Tell that to the dead."

Morhault took a deep breath.

"You know what?" he said. "I was going to let it drop because I didn't want to provoke a fight now, whether at arms or just with words, but I'm not going to sit here and take this, either. I'm sorry for your losses, more sorry than you know, because I've had ten years of most of the world putting every death in that war on my head, but I didn't kill them! I didn't fight in the war, I wasn't on anybody's side, and the only thing I got out of it was the loss of my place in the Lion Knights and ten years of being the most reviled man on Lunar."

"It's no more than you deserve, oathbreaker."

"Is it? All right, yes, I did break my vows of obedience to the Lion Knights. They had a right to retribution against me, and they took it. You don't. Yes, I put the happiness of two people in love over a peace treaty. Forgive me for thinking that just maybe people who really wanted peace would actually find it without having to force other people into marriage.. Yes, the consequences were horrible, but others were involved in that. There were plenty of people among the Tamur-folk and the Prairie Tribe alike who were happy to go to war. Why put the full blame on my shoulders just because I couldn't help but do the right thing for the people who were actually in front of me at the time?"

He finished sharply, almost accusingly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Where had that come from? he wondered in amazement. Morhault hadn't defended himself like that since...no, in truth he'd never spoken up that boldly about it, not even when the Lion Knights had stripped him of his shield. But he knew the answer; he'd found it the night before. It came from Jyrian, from Elia, Tabren, Edric, Deane, Halan, Ailera, and everyone else who'd shown either directly or indirectly that he was more to them than once choice that had gone badly wrong.

Alynd looked at him thoughtfully. Everyone else watched both of them. Deane glanced at the carpet again.

"I expected defiance from you," the priest said at last. "I did not expect defense."

Morhault ran his hand through his hair as the tension eased a bit.

"Yes, well, it sort of surprised me, too."

"Regardless of your past deeds, I still owe you my life. I cannot hold your actions against you and yet forget that. Therefore I will accede to our original plan. However, should you betray us to the Burning Hand I will deal with you as justice demands."

"There'll probably be a line at that point, but I understand."

"So," Deane said, rubbing his hands together, "if we've worked out where and when you're allowed to kill each other, shall I ring for refreshments?"