54. Upper Hand

As towns go, Markham is thoroughly average. Considering it's one of the few deemed worthy of being on maps of the Free Marches, I find this more than a little surprising. It does sprawl; covering just over half the area of Ostwick, but it still has the aura of a town, not a major city. This makes it easier to blend in; large enough population that a few strangers at an inn hardly warrants notice-even if two of them are dwarves with branded faces.

We spend one night only there-Aenya is adamant we not linger anywhere longer than we have to-before moving on. It's going to take a week to reach Ansburg; maybe longer if we have trouble finding passage across the Minater River. At least the road is still clear, given my rubbish sense of direction and how easily I get lost.

I'm following Jowan's advice about not worrying as best I can. His suggestion works far better than I thought it would, and I'm left wondering how often he implemented this particular mental tool to be so confident-so right-about it working. Knowing him, quite frequently.

"So, what's the plan once we reach An... Angburg?" Sigrun asks our second day out from Markham.

"Ansburg," Aenya corrects. "We dig for a few days, see if we can learn anything about the Crows that might help us, and follow any leads we pick up. If we don't learn anything there, we'll go to Bastion. Nothin' there, we'll just work our way up the bleedin' Antivan coast 'til we do find something. The Crows are good, but even they can't vanish someone into thin air without leavin' clues of some kind. 'Specially if Rahna's right and he's bait for her." Something dark flickers in the redhead's eyes and I wonder if she blames me for him being captured.

Given that the alternative is dead, I can't imagine any anger she feels will last too long. "That's the only reason I can think of that they wouldn't just kill him."

"Who says they haven't?" she snaps. "Maybe they just left enough clues to make us think he's alive so they can get you come charging to his rescue an' kill you, too?"

"I'd like to see them try," Jowan mutters darkly.

Warmed as I am by his confidence-not to mention the protective streak wider than the Frostback Mountains-I am realistic enough to acknowledge defeat and an oh-so-painful death as a possibility. "Even if that's the case, I'm not willin' to risk abandoning Zev to potential torture and probable death out of fear for my own safety. I value him far too much as a friend to ever give up on him like that."

She sighs, a forlorn sound that hurts my heart, and pinches the bridge of her nose. "No, I know. I'm not... sayin' we should give up or anything. I just don't know what I'll do if he's... gone."

"Okay, ya know what?" I glance at Jowan, who's smiling that lopsided half-grin of his. Bastard probably already knows what I'm about to say. "We're not gonna think like that. Just promise yourself that you won't let those thoughts in until we reach Ansburg. Once we're there, change the until. I know it works; Jowan's had me doin' it since Ostwick. Paranoia will either make us sloppy or overly jumpy. We are going to find him, Aenya, I swear. I can't promise he'll be okay, or that everything's gonna be alright, but we will find him." I make myself believe it so I can make her believe it.

"I'll... I'll try..." she mutters. "But no promises. I get obsessive about the things that really matter to me, and he's at the top of that incredibly short list."

"Which is fine. Honestly, I'd be worried about you if you didn't worry about him," I assure her. "But letting that cloud your head is no good. It makes you no good and I need your help. I know zilch about this area and even less about Antiva. We need you. All of you."

She opens her mouth, closes it, and then nods. "Okay."

"So, then, fills us in on Ansburg..."

oOo

My worries about a delay crossing the river prove happily to be for naught; there's a ferry leaving just over an hour after we reach the banks. Just enough time to get food.

"I'm not much for surfacer grub," Aenya comments as she leads the way to a tavern, "But there's this one dish they got from Starkhaven that's soddin' amazing."

"Zev's still in the process of getting you used to Antivan cooking, huh?" I laugh.

"Yep. All the different sauces an' meats an' breads..." She shakes her head. "Gimme slow-roasted nug an' a mug a' duster swill any day."

"Duster swill?" I can't resist asking.

"Th' watery, week-old dregs from Tapster's," Sigrun chips in. "All they'd serve our kind, less'n you leaned on 'em a bit."

"I was tempted, believe me," Aenya chuckles wryly. "Workin' for Beraht gave me some pull with th' middle castes, even if it was fear, not kindness or respect. But I figured tossin' his name out t' get a booze upgrade mighta got me a beat-down-sick bastard would prob'ly a' made Leske do it, too-an' so I never tried."

"Well, up here, your brand means pretty much nothing and your coin means everything," I comment. "My ears are more likely to cause a fuss than anything." I tug my hood forward a bit more. Easiest way to avoid drama is just to keep them covered. The way Aenya described this dish is making my mouth water and I want very much to taste it.

Once we reach the tavern, Aenya heads for a table that's back a ways, but not entirely hidden in the corner. A serving girl is over in short order to seewhat she can get us.

"Four mugs a' yer best an' six servin's of fish na' egg pie," Aenya requests breezily.

"Six?" the girl frowns slightly, eyes darting between the four of us.

"Six," the redhead confirms, glancing at me and Jowan. "Trust me, they'll get eaten."

The waitress shrugs. "Wotever you say, luv. You're the one payin' I'll bring ya wot ya like." She turns and heads back to the kitchen.

"Fish nad egg pie?" I raise an eyebrow at the dwarf.

She shrugs. "Ignore the name an' trust me, Rahna. It's good. Better'n that lamb an' pea stew you Fereldans make. Food should not be grey."

I take the friendly ribbing in stride. "I like my comfort food, thank you very much." I nudge Jowan with my elbow. "You alright? You've been awful quiet the past few days."

"You three have been awful chatty," he counters with a small smile.

"Point," I laugh, conceding with a nod. He doesn't seem like anything's bothering him; no dark circles under his eyes, no haunted look, none of those fidgety things he does with his hands when something's wrong, so I drop it. "You are allowed to participate in our conversation."

"Yes, because I have so many interesting things to say."

"I'm interested in what you have to say," I point out, squeezing his hand under the table.

"Here they go again," Sigrun teases.

I glare, and would kick her under the table except there's too many legs and I'm afraid I'll kick Aenya or Jowan instead.

The fish and egg pie must be a standing favorite, because the girl is back out in short order with six golden crusted, piping hot, individually sized pies and four mugs of ale. "Enjoy," she instructs cheerfully before moving off to wait wait on other tables.

Aenya pokes her spoon through the crust of her pie and whistles at the steam that escapes. "Okay, I'd let them cool a bit before you dig in..."

"You think?" Jowan chuckles, following her example.

I poke enough holes in mine that it roughly resembles a smiling face. Jowan shakes his head and laughs when he notices. But it's a good laugh; more You are amazingly one of a kind and I love you for it than laughing at the weird elf playing with her food.

Aenya and Sigrun, of course, have to peek then. They both giggle at the lopsided grin decorating my food. I ride out the good-natured teasing until the food is sufficiently cooled and we dig in.

After the first bite, I do have to admit, this is good. Really, really good. The name may have mde me balk a little, but I'm so glad I tried it anyway. "Mmm... I might possibly want to go live in Starkhaven now..." I mumble around my food.

"Told ya," Aenya grins triumphantly, shoveling down her own food with the voracity of a starving animal.

We all have to concur that she was so very right.

oOo

We're halfway through our meal-Sigrun challenging me to arm wrestle over one of the extra pies-when Aenya happens to glance toward the bar and stiffens.

"I'll be right back," she mutters, and slides away from the table.

"Where's she goin'?" Sigrun frowns, following her friend's progress.

"Beats me," I mumble, frowning slightly myself.

The redhead walks straight to a dark-haired man lounging against the bar and punches him in the stomach. And then the nose when he doubles over.

It speaks to either the type of place this or Aenya's reputation-my money's on the former-that no one so much as bats an eye, even when she pins the man to the rough floorboards, twists his arm behind his back, and whispers ferociously in his ear.

The three of us watch with greatly increased interest as the man squirms and Aenya digs her knee into his back until he finally relents and mumbles a reply. She nods once, apparently satisfied, and pushes off his back. The man doesn't move until she's halfway back to our table.

"Alright, salroka, explain?" Sigrun demands as her fellow duster rejoins us.

"Aldous was a... source in Ansburg," Aenya replies. "He's th' one who tipped us off 'bout the Crows leavin' early. Seein' as he's the type whose loyalties belong to the highest bidder... well, it's not too hard to put the pieces together." She glares at the man's back as he scuttles out the front door.

"So you broke his nose because you thought he turned traitor?" I surmise.

"Please, the only thing I seriously injured was his dignity," she scoffs and then meets my gaze, dark grey eyes dead serious. "And what would you do if you thought someone was responsible for Jowan gettin' captured, tortured, and possibly killed?"

She has me there, I concede, flicking a glance toward the mage in question before answering. "Fair point. So did... Aldous have anything useful to say?"

Aenya seems to deflate. "No. Except the people paid him three sovereigns to feed us false information, and tossed it at 'im like it was pocket change."

"Sorry," I say, and mean it.

The serious air refuses to dissipate for the rest of our meal.

oOo

He had figured being intimately familiar with their methods would give him the upper hand. A way to resist breaking. While that belief wasn't exactly wrong, per se, it hadn't been entirely true either. They lost the extra bite of terror the unknown carried to their victims-and that was one thing he'd never thought he would be; a victim-but that was only part of their power. Alone was still alone, dark was still dark, the whisper-thin cuts they traced against his skin still bled. Whether he knew they were coming or not. And a backhand across the face could still reopen a previously split lip.

"Such poor manners, Zevran," the lithe man standing between him and the door chided, clicking his tongue. "Attempting to leave without thanking your hosts. I thought we trained you better."

The assassin glared out of the eye that wasn't swollen shut and didn't even bother wiping away the blood that trickled down his chin. "My apologies, Vittorio. Truly, the hospitality of the Crows is exactly the way I remember it."

That earned him another slap, this one hard enough to knock him off his feet. Vittorio grinned savagely as he watched the elf work his way back upright with his hands bound. "Only the best for traitors, yes?"

"Indeed, the hope of these lovely accommodations was the reason I decided to turn my back on our fine organization," Zevran replied dryly, bracing for a blow that never came.

Instead, Vittorio laughed. "We know exactly why you left, fratello. You were trying to save your own skin, yes? And you kept running because you were trying to save someone else's. We never leave a job unfinished, Zevran. You know that."

"You are in the wrong place to be hunting her, fratello. She is far away from here."

The savage grin returned, Vittorio's golden eyes giving him a feral look. "Not anymore, she's not."

And with that he walked away, leaving Zevran alone in the dark with only stinging cuts and a terrible mix of fear and hope for company.

"Stay away, minx," the elf whispered, breathing the words like a prayer.

It appeared they did have the upper hand after all.

A/N: Aenya is one tough cookie. And I love her. I love them all, really. xD Oh, and Fratello = brother (No, not actual, literal brother. Not in this case)