Nasty icky exams done. For now. Now I get to go home and see the new puppy! :D And of course my family x3

~38~ Unveiling Conspiracy

"Ah ha! There he is!"

Oslave the Bear greeted Will with such enthusiasm, he nearly sent the Ranger sprawling into the fire as he pounded him on the back.

"The best archer the world has ever seen! Here, a drink!"

More of Oslave's enthusiasm spilled down Will's front in the form of wine, a tankard of which the Skandian had shoved into his hands.

"Whoops, all hands on deck! Sorry 'bout that." Oslave's booming laughter turned more than a few heads in the dining hall, which was packed with people all enjoying the evening banquet. It was a traditional meal laid out after the opening ceremonies, which, by the way people talked excitedly, had been a huge success. Will had only come because he wanted to thank Oslave for helping him as he did in the arena.

"Think none of it, my friend!" Oslave bellowed after Will told him, once more pounding him on the back. "You'd've done the same for me! More wine?"

Will danced out of the way of the pitcher the Skandian was swinging about.

"That's quite all right," he said.

"Ah!" crowed the Skandian, tapping a finger on his nose and winking. "Gotta keep a head clear. I mean, a clear head. Clever one, you are." He tipped his tankard to Will and then downed its contents, scarlet rivulets spilling down either side of his mouth and staining his beard.

It would seem Oslave handled pressure a little different than Will, not that the Ranger held it against him. He had never been drunk before, but he wondered if the situation deemed it prudent...

The Skandian finished and smacked his lips. "Now, food!"

Throwing a beefy arm around Will's shoulders, Oslave steered him towards the table burdened with a vast variety of delicacies. He selected a leg of pheasant and bit into it heartily. He groaned at the taste, succulent juices dribbling down his beard with the wine.

"Uh, here, Oslave. Maybe you should use a plate." Will tried to pass him a platter, not taking one himself. He had little appetite.

"Ah, William, the world is my plate!" Oslave boomed, spreading his arms wide and nearly taking out a passing servant with the pheasant leg. "And this is my napkin!" He seized the edge of the tablecloth and brought it up to his face, pulling several dishes of food off the table and sending them crashing to the floor.

The noise attracted most of the room's attention. Will felt his cheeks burn beneath his hood.

"Oslave, hey, Oslave? I think that's enough there. Put it down now, that's it. Very good. Now maybe you should come sit."

Taking another pheasant leg with him, the Skandian let Will lead him over to a place to sit near the wall. The chair creaked ominously beneath his weight, but held, much to the Ranger's relief.

"Will, my boy, yer a good friend," Oslave slurred, wavering back and forth and wagging a finger at him. "When we get outta here, I'm gonna name my wolfship after yeh. Oh wait, I don't have a wolfship. I'm gonna buy a wolfship, and then I'm gonna name it after yeh. Yeah, tha's what I'm gonna do."

Will smiled. "Someone's already done that, I'm afraid."

Oslave squinted at him, as though trying to see him from a great distance. He wavered dangerously. "Have they? Well then, I'll just hafta..."

Will never found out what he had to do. Oslave slumped back against the wall, pheasant leg falling from limp fingers, thunderous snores rattling the silverware.

Shaking his head, Will left him to slumber, slipping in and out of the clusters of excited Toscans. Some tried to stop him to speak with him, but Will did his best to avoid or ignore them, feigning deafness or else indicating that he had somewhere important to be. He almost made it out the door when a figure materialized from the floor in front of him.

Muriel clearly hadn't been expecting him either, for she looked surprised for a moment before scowling. Her fiery red hair rippled like the blazes in the braziers.

"Get out of my way, Ranger," she said.

"I should think you are in his way just as much as he is in yours, signora."

Will turned his head minutely, barely acknowledging Rodrigo as he stood behind the Ranger. Will saw Muriel flush, with anger or embarrassment he didn't know.

"Evening, Rodrigo," he said monotonously.

"Well isn't that interesting."

Will blinked at the floating words, waiting for Rodrigo to elaborate. When he didn't, he finally turned, to see the Genovesan staring off to another exit. Will followed his gaze and spotted Julius Merlino, the man who had kidnapped him, following Lord Septimus out of the banquet hall. They looked like they didn't want to be followed. Interesting indeed.

"Oh, don't mind me," Muriel snapped, shoving past Will as though there wasn't ample space on either side of him. She cast one last marauding look over her shoulder before vanishing into the thick of the crowd.

But Will paid her no heed. He wove through the edges of the clusters of people until he reached the other exit, where Julius and Septimus had departed. His spiked senses told him Rodrigo was on his heels.

There were a few people loitering in the corridors, escaping the stuffy atmosphere of the dining hall. None of them so much as glanced Will's way as he slipped past them. Around the corner, he saw two shadows vanish behind the next bend, and followed on ghost feet.

"...Swore you would do your utmost to keep him alive as long as you could. And you go and let that happen! What if he didn't..."

Will had caught up to hear part of Julius' words, but then they were lost. Creeping forward, Will glanced around the corner and realized that both Toscans had entered a room. He edged around the bend and sidled up as close to the doorway as he dared. A whisper of cloth told him Rodrigo was still with him. Silent, they both listened as Septimus spoke.

"...Never told me. Had I known, I could have at least warned them both. This was the Aetius' doing, not mine. What is it to you, anyway? You were paid. Your duty is done."

"It is not done, Septimus. Someone is betting a lot of gold in favour of the Hibernian getting speared by the fourth day. Another wants to see the Ranger's head stuck on a pike before the final rounds. A third 'expects' the Seryson to live until the very end, to die beneath the blade of the winning Champion. If none of them get the respect they deserve and fall before when it's required, the Aetius will have me thrown to the—"

"Why? What do you have to do with it?"

"Don't you know?"

"Idiota, I wouldn't be asking if I did, now would I?"

There was a slight pause, just to let Septimus know that Julius was relishing the moment.

"Our good lord has asked me to convince as many special spectators as I can to make wagers on Champions. I can be very persuasive, you know. I did, after all, outfox an Araluan Ranger. The Aetius' closest and most valuable friends will be curiously...lucky most of the time."

"Ah, he means to...Wait, did you hear that?"

A pair of wraiths ghosted back around the corner before Septimus and Julius could poke their heads out of the door.

"These walls have ears," Julius whispered.

"If you're quite done chastising me," said Septimus, "I have some business to attend to—"

"The Aetius mentioned you too, Septimus."

Silence.

"And...?"

"And nothing. He just told me to keep an eye on you."

Septimus snorted. "Watch too closely and you'll find that eye rolling around on the floor."

"I consider myself warned," Julius said coolly.

Will pressed deeper into the shadows of an alcove even though he could hear Septimus striding off the other way. His mouth was like sandpaper. He glanced over at Rodrigo, similarly crammed into the darkest shadow he could find, but Will could still make out his face. It was cold and calculating, the most emotion the Ranger had ever seen him reveal. That was not reassuring.

What? Will thought to himself as he paced his private chambers, the sky outside molten steel. What is Aetius Opus planning? Why make such efforts to convince the wealthy to bid?

Julius had mentioned that the Aetius' closest and most valuable friends—'friends' likely to mean fellow lords who do what they can to keep the Games a secret from the Toscan Senate—would be the most lucky in their wagering. That would definitely be tied in with the rigged opening ceremonies. But why this encouragement? Surely there would be no need to urge the wealthy to bid.

Perhaps not all had planned to, and that's what the lord feared. Perhaps there were many nobles who were not within the Aetius' circle, and he wanted them to pool their gold into a larger pot. Will could assume that it was they who were in line for the Aetius' scam. So the lord of House Opus wants all the gold he could muster for himself and his closest accomplices...That could mean a whole manner of things. Will just wasn't sure which was the true motivation.

This sort of trickery would have documents involved, he thought abruptly. If I could sneak into the lord's chambers...

Will had his hand on the door before he even finished the thought. He hesitated.

I don't even know where his chambers are. And if I'm caught, no special status as Gladius Champion would save me from being punished or even executed...

He pulled away from the door and began pacing again.

There must be a clear reason for this, he pondered inwardly. There must be. Why have the Games resumed in the first place? If they had been banned decades ago for their barbaric spectacles, why would House Opus risk the Senate's wrath by reviving them? Surely there is more to this than gold...though there is no doubt gold has a prime role in this. But what is it for? These men have all the riches they need, surely...No, this is not a matter of financial security...What could a small number of men do with a vast amount of wealth?

Overthrow the Senate?

The last five syllables of Will's thoughts were in the voice of his old mentor. He stopped, staring at the pillars of dust glowing in the rays of the setting sun.

Would he do that? Would the Aetius dare to attempt to gain enough wealth to defy the order of Toscana?

To defy. Or defeat. With the accumulated riches of the highest nobles and lords, as well as the revenue of the Munerian Games, Aetius Opus could muster an army worthy of a king. He could even become a king.

Will sat on the edge of a chair, staring at his hands.

Could it be true? He may be letting his imagination run and squeal like a wild pig. He distrusted Julius and Septimus, and their words may amount to nothing...But somehow Will felt there was something going on, something beyond wages and blood. And he meant to find out what.

He slumped back in the chair, closing his eyes against the blazing sunset. His whole body felt so very weary...

What are we, Will Treaty, but pawns in a greater game?

Will's eyes snapped open and glanced around, searching for the source of Rodrigo Salvini's words. He must have dozed off, for it was now twilight and he was stiff in his chair.

What are we but pawns in a greater game?

Again the voice echoed in his head, and he realized that he hadn't heard them. At least, not just then. He was remembering them, remembering them from earlier that day when Will had just learned that he was to be facing the Genovesan exile in the Arena, not a challenger.

I'd said, I hate being toyed with, he recalled. And then he replied, what are we but pawns...He knows.

Will stood up at his revelation.

He knows something. Why didn't he tell me? Is he involved somehow? Or was it a coincidence? It was a fitting response...

"Ugh."

Will shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes, groaning. The pressure of the suspicion was a nail being driven into his skull. If he didn't get to the bottom of this, to snip it at the roots, it may very well blossom into a sequence of events no one could stop. If a bloodthirsty warlord like the Aetius seized control of the entire country...

Araluen and Toscana were allies. The former certainly wouldn't abide any friendly ties with a false king who claims lordship by such trickery. The result, war. As a Ranger, it was Will's duty to prevent such a catastrophe, and that meant suspicion, discretion, and interrogation, not necessarily in that order.

One thing was for sure, he could count Oslave the Bear as an ally, and could confer his hunch with him – once he sobered up. And Razeen Jamike, perhaps, with a little more inspection. Muriel, unlikely. Sir Piere, definitely not. Will had never spoken to Amarr Ibn Mahmud, but Razeen had said he didn't trust bowmen, for reasons unknown. As for Rodrigo...

Niccolò's warning rung in Will's head. The Genovesan exile was cunning, eager for glory. He had saved the Ranger from Antoni Ferrigo, true, but that did not make him Will's friend. In fact, that made him even more dangerous.

I owe him my life, and he knows it, Will thought, suddenly nauseous. When will he exploit that?

Ϯ Ϯ Ϯ

Horace glanced between the two reunited Rangers before him, then opened his hands in a display of indignation and defence. "What? Yes, I lit a fire, but only because he would have died otherwise!"

"I am grateful for your concern, but it could have led Vieri and his hunters straight to us!" said Halt, who concealed his amusement behind a mask of iron displeasure.

"Well, it didn't, did it?" Horace replied mulishly. He flicked his head at Gilan. "It led him to us. I was under the impression that this was a good thing."

"You didn't intend that to happen though," said Gilan, eyebrow arched in vexation, similar to that of his former mentor. Inside, he was burbling with happiness of the reunion. "It could have condemned you both."

Horace finally threw up his hands. "Fine! Next time I won't light a fire and I'll let you freeze to death, sound good? Good!"

He marched away in front of the other two, who shared a look. Gilan cleared his throat.

"Hey, Horace?"

The knight paused.

"I'm glad you lit that fire. I would not have found you otherwise, and Halt would have died. Thank you."

Horace muttered something incoherent but fell back to walk with the Rangers.

"Are you sure you don't want to rest?" he asked Gilan. "If you trekked all that way to find us—"

"If anyone needs to rest, it's you," Gilan replied, though he looked awfully worn himself. "But as you seem to be adamant in continuing..."

"I could use some rest, if anyone would care to know," said Halt.

Both of his companions stared incredulously at him.

"Says the one who demanded that we continue until we find his son!" said Horace.

Gilan smiled, enjoying the bantering he was never really able to initiate between himself and Alyss on their long journey to Toscana. He barely wasted any time sparking a flame once he found Horace and Halt stumbling through the trees like blind bears. How grateful he was to have found them.

The evening before, once he was sure he had left Villa Albani and the guards completely behind, Gilan had curved south and then west until he came across what was obviously the tracks of a hunting party. Following them at a steady jog, night had fallen by the time he came across a brook, which led to a river. The tracks then turned to follow it, as did Gilan. When the river plunged over a cliff, the Ranger had felt his heart shatter, but he persevered. It would seem that the hunters had given up on their quarry, for they turned away from the river completely at that point. Well, most of them. Gilan had spotted a set of horse tracks and those of two dogs weaving their way down a path to the bottom of the cliff. Someone was still looking for the Ranger and the knight.

At the bottom, Gilan had continued for less than a mile, wary for the last pursuing hunter, which no doubt was Vieri himself. He came across a log that stretched over much of the river, like an incomplete bridge. At its end he had taken off his boots and waded the last few meters to the other side. Exhausted, he took refuge in a tree to wait until morning.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the dying wisps of Horace's fire, and from then on, followed their aimless wanderings until he had the chance to sneak up on them as they rested. He had not seen any sign of Vieri, but wondered if that was such a good thing after all.

Now, back with his friends, he realized with a start that they were staring at him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Did you say something?"

Horace and Halt exchanged a glance.

"You're both tired," said Halt. "We should find a place to sleep for a few hours."

It was Horace's turn to cock an eyebrow, though it wasn't nearly as impressive as Halt's signature display.

"All right, Halt, he of eternal strength and endurance. You say rest, so we rest."

All three of them practically sat where they stood, resting against a log or tree, or else using a mound of moss as a pillow. The silence that followed was clear sign of their relief.

"I can't believe it," whispered Halt, after several minutes of quiet. "Crowley...after all this time, gallivanting with a gang of orphan thieves on the streets of Ostia."

Gilan grinned as he lay staring up at the canopy above. "And you two, chased by a mad huntsman who wanted to mount your skulls on his mantelpiece."

Horace turned his head to stare at Gilan in revulsion. "He wanted to mount our skulls on his mantelpiece?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I leave that part out?" Despite himself, Gilan laughed, sounding slightly mad himself.

Halt shook his head, his hands unconsciously clenching around his longbow. Gilan had returned it to him, saying that his cloak was with Alyss but his blades and quiver had not been recovered from Villa Albani. Halt didn't mind. He was just relieved that Gilan and Alyss had made it out of there alive.

"This Nico fellow," said Horace, shifting to a more comfortable position. "What's his story?"

"Niccolò," Gilan corrected. "He's the half brother of Julius, the man who kidnapped Will. And until we arrived, he was Will's greatest ally."

"I have complete faith your judgement, Gilan," said Halt. "I just hope you felt you had no other choice in leaving my son in the care of this Niccolò."

"I trust him. I don't know what it is, but somehow, he just seems..." Gilan trailed off.

"Trustworthy," Horace finished with a shrug. "The man owes Will his life, you say. That's a vow as strong as any."

Halt grunted, then rolled until his back was to the others. It didn't take long until his breathing slowed and he fell into a deep slumber.

All three of them dozed until dusk's light poked Horace in the eyelid, and he awoke with a jolt. Sitting up, he realized that they had snored half the day away, none of them conscious to keep watch.

He rolled over and shook the nearest Ranger's shoulder.

"Gilan! Rise and shine, lazy daisy!"

Gilan snorted awake, blinking owlishly. "What the devil—? Oh, I'd forgotten."

"That you were bumbling around the Toscan countryside?" asked Horace airily. "Yeah, I keep doing that too." He nudged Halt in the back, but the Ranger simply muttered and waved a sluggish hand.

"Five more minutes, Pauline."

Gilan snorted into his hands as Horace glowed a pale crimson. Then he grinned, leaning over Halt, cooing like a lover.

"Wake up, Halt, the baron wishes to see you."

"Hmm, good for him..."

"He says it is urgent, and you must see him right away."

"Tell him to go mhmph himemph..."

Gilan was clutching his stomach with one arm, his free hand covering the silent laughter wreaking havoc on his insides. Horace managed to keep his voice feminine as he purred, "Now now, Halt, that is not very respectful."

"He c'n confer with my horse f'r all I phem memph..."

Horace could not smother a snort, and stuttered with laughter before he could say another word. Halt sat up so quickly he nearly butted heads with Horace.

"You great lummox!" he roared, reaching for the knight, who rolled away with a laugh. "No respect for your elders!"

"You're not an elder, Halt, you're an ancient!" Gilan hooted, tearing up too much to notice the icy fire his old mentor was shooting from his eyes.

"Hey, Gilan," Halt said calmly. "There's a spider on your shoulder."

Horace had never seen anyone's face drain of colour so quickly. Nor leap to his feet so fast. Gilan swatted at either shoulder as though they were on fire, dancing away from where he had sat. Horace thought he would piss himself with laughter, and it took some time before Gilan realized that there was, in fact, no spider.

"That was below the belt, Halt," he growled witheringly.

Halt wore a crocodile grin. "Well what can I say? A Ranger never misses."

There, a little bit of fluff x3 I didn't find it necessary to give Gilan's journey to find them much detail. Wouldn't have helped the storyline much...

Happy December, all. Hanukkah, Solstice, Christmas, whatever you feel like ;) May it be filled with candles and...eggnog.