Author's Note: My, my, where did all this fluff come from? I must have forgotten to clean out the dryer. Bad me! Oh well.... ;) Well, time to lighten up after all that serious stuff and business with monsters! Enjoy.... Oh yeah, and I've bumped up the rating, to be safe. Come on, it's no more than what you'll find in the books.
Oh BTW, one thing I've discovered about the digital facilities of ff.n is that they don't consistently transcribe properties of M Word, which leads to occasional punctuation and presentation foibles that AREN'T MY FAULT!
Thanks: to Rasha. Look, I took your advice... ;)
Guys, be nice. Review.

Chapter 3

Shortly after noon they topped a final rise, giving them a panoramic view of Ravenpeak. The fief and its lands were backed against a ragged line of foothills hemming a mountain range of towering peaks, and seemed to lie in the protective shadow of a particularly salient peak - too steep, Daine suspected, for human conquest. The sandstone bluff was furnished sparsely with scraggly vegetation along its slopes; the flat summit was completely bare and brought to mind the surface of an altar.

"Raven Peak itself," Numair remarked, seeing Daine's glance. "Legend has it the first settlers here were guided by a raven sent by the gods, who flew to the peak and settled on the summit - so they knew the fief was meant to be built here."

"Or at least, the raven's nest was," she put in. He grinned in reply. "Well - there are quite a few ravens here," she added earnestly. "And they're fair... respected here, among the People. Like leaders, almost." This was in fact strange; she'd rarely seen animals dominating others outside their own kind, and certainly not prey over predator! Yet she'd gotten the sense that here, ravens were in fact regarded by species they would normally have to be wary of. She had to wonder if the legend had some truth behind it.

The fief was circled by high sandstone walls that, unlike those of most Tortallan castles she'd seen, were topped at intervals by decorative pillars rising several feet above the rest of the wall, with vertical lines cut into them, thrusting a sharp but elegant point into the air. The style looked distantly exotic; she couldn't quite place where it reminded her of. They descended into the plain the fief was built in.

As they neared the castle gates - these too graced by elegantly exotic designs - a guard called out for them to identify themselves. He spoke with an accent, and Daine noticed the style of his uniform was unfamiliar as well.

"Master Salmalín and Mistress Sarrasri, sent on His Majesty's command, summoned by Lord Gregory," Numair announced. The guard turned to bark a command, and the gates swung slowly open to reveal a cobblestoned and bustling main square. They started in the direction of the castle, clearly visible from anywhere in the fief.

As they made their way through the busy streets, Daine tried not to stare like a country girl seeing the big city for the first time. Ravenpeak had a feel altogether different from that she'd thought ubiquitous in Tortall. It was like stepping into a new world; the very air had the spice of a faraway place to it. One of the first things she noticed were the fashions the people wore. Women's skirts were shorter than was traditional in Tortall, and loose enough - as well as unsuspended by countless petticoats - to swirl around their feet as they turned. Blouses were cut lower, particularly in the back, as well. Most clothes were in delightfully bright colors. Men's clothes as well seemed less strictly pressed, and in brighter colors as well. The people themselves didn't look completely Tortallan as she thought of the country; most were golden-skinned from the climate, dark- haired, and with deep-set features. The sunlight that saturated the streets was relieved occasionally by the shade of the silver-green foliage she recognized as olive trees. The people passing on the street called out to one another both in Common and a zesty yet graceful tongue Daine didn't recognize. Snatches of songs she heard flitting through the air were merry and quick, with layered, intriguing rhythms. She mentioned her observations to Numair.

"It's the Tyran influence," he explained. "As Ravenpeak's so close to the border. Many Tyrans live here, as you can see, and they bring their culture with them. The fief is often used as a standpoint for negotiations with Tyra - ambassadors are often hosted here, and I believe, in fact, that Lord Gregory and his family have considerable connections at the Tyran court."

"It's wondrous." The feel of the village was so vibrant, so lively, it brought a smile to Daine's face. The people's spirit seemed to sparkle under the open azure sky. "I hope it stays that way here, instead of just becoming like the rest of Tortall."

"Doubtless it will," Numair remarked. "Many Tyran immigrants find work - and community - here."

Even without the influx, she couldn't imagine such a robust spirit fading into the general Tortallan ways. Ravenpeak, she noticed, was also quite large as Tortallan fiefs went; she imagined it was virtually self- sufficient what with ample crops and livestock as well as artisan guilds of every kind. Daine tried not to laugh as a young girl with red ribbons in her hair fought to keep the goats she was herding in place. The girl lost the battle as her charges broke away and approached Daine eagerly, ignoring Cloud's flattened ears.

Daine reached down a hand for them to smell. "You're a lovely crowd, aren't you?" she remarked warmly. "But shouldn't you stay with your mistress?"

She's not really our mistress, explained their leader, a notably wooly nanny goat with a notch in one ear. She just herds us around sometimes. Besides, visitors are rare - especially ones like you.

"Lady, I'm so sorry," the girl gasped, curtseying and struggling to simultaneously return her flock to order. Angular vowels and a roll to her r's suggested a first language other than Common. "These beasts just don't listen when you tell them when's the proper time to -"

Daine held up a hand. "Oh, they're good creatures," she protested, smiling. "And they like you. Nana here says you slip them treats when your mother's not looking." Nana's herd-mates chorused consent.

The young girl's jaw dropped. She stepped back to get a better look at Daine, heedless of her freely roving flock. "How -? But you -" Her bright dark eyes widened. "You must be - the Wildmage! The one who can talk to animals, and turn into them! *Are* you?"

"That's me, sweetling," Daine admitted. "But you shouldn't believe everything you hear about me." Tales of her magic were often blown far out of reasonable proportion.

"But - everyone knows about you!" cried the girl. "How you always battle monsters, and your parents are *gods*, and you defeated the evil Carthaki emperor when you were just a girl, and you fight to protect the realm with the great mage, your lov-" She fell silent, as though abashed, though her bright eyes still ate up the sight of the mages.

Daine blushed and looked back at Numair, who shrugged, grinning. "You can hardly deny it, magelet."

A small crowd had gathered at the young girl's heraldry. Lively whispers were exchanged, largely in Tyran, though Daine had an idea what they were saying. Happily, an older girl in a frilly green skirt came to their rescue, grabbing the young goatherd by the arm and scolding in Tyran. She turned to Daine and Numair. "Sir, lady, I apologize for my sister's behavior," she said graciously, curtseying deeply. "Young Tilena does not know any better." She glared at the younger girl and hissed something further in Tyran. Tilena moved to collect her unruly flock.

Go with her, Daine urged them. We'll talk later if you're good. The goats obeyed.

A young boy piped up. "Master Salmalín? Couldn't you show us some magic? Please?" Children around him regarded the mages eagerly.

Numair looked at once harried and amused. Daine nudged him encouragingly. "Go on, show them something," she urged, infected by the children's attitude.

"Just one spell!" added another boy.

Numair relented. "Very well. Just one." He adopted a mock-grave, dramatic air. Raising a hand, the glittering black fire of his Gift gathered around it, then twisted into a serpentine column which wound into the air, high above their heads. At its zenith, the coil condensed upon itself, as though preparing to spring, then exploded into a shower of sparkling flecks of color which swirled around the street. The children squealed their delight; some ducked, some tried to catch the many-colored sparks.

"What about the Wildmage?" demanded a girl of about six. "Can you turn into -"

"Children!" a commanding voice reprimanded. Behind Daine and Numair's audience stood a maternal-looking woman with dark hair tightly braided and pinned up. She was holding a basket of vegetables braced against one hip and her expression could have made the strongest wither with shame. "You should be ashamed of yourself," she declared. "Master Salmalín and Mistress Sarrasri were sent by His Majesty at our lord's request to defend the fief - not to entertain you. Ravenpeak is in *danger*, and you should have some respect for those that came here to fight the monsters. Now stop dawdling and go about your tasks before your parents see fit to punish you." She succeeded where Tilena's sister had failed: the children dispersed, shamefaced. The woman curtsied to Daine and Numair, then went on her way as well.

Daine smiled at Numair. "That was fair impressive," she told him. "I don't think I've seen it before." The episode had lifted her heart from the grim task before them, at least momentarily.

"Always a crowd-pleaser," he admitted. "Particularly with the children. Though I'd be curious to see *you* perform something for them." He grinned mischievously.

"I wouldn't," she told him flatly. "No matter how much they begged, you won't see me giving children a show, Master Salmalín. That's *your* specialty, as I recall."

"Oh, but I'd pay good money to see their faces when you shape- shifted," he teased. "Though it might not be so, ah, appropriate when you changed back -"

She gasped indignantly and swung at him. He caught her wrist in a strong grip. "Violence!" he protested, feigning shock.

"Watch yourself, mage," she said sternly, though she let him keep her hand. Her eyes danced. "Or I just might turn into something big and fierce when you don't want it."

He kissed her fingers graciously in a show of humility. "I never forget it, sweet."

They continued through the village without interruption. Daine merely enjoyed the sights and the welcome of the local People. She decided not to begin questioning them about the hurroks just yet; investigation could wait until she had all the news from Lord Gregory himself.

"These people don't particularly looks like they've seen monsters recently," Numair remarked as they rode. It was true: the businesses of the fief seemed to carry on as usual, and the people went merrily about their day. It was not at all the status quo Daine would expect in the wake of hurrok attacks, and she said as much to Numair. "I don't see the damage, either."

"Let us take it as a blessing, for the moment," he replied. "I take it you haven't sensed the hurroks yet?"

She shook her head. "Nothing." Her brow creased ever so slightly; something about the fact was bothering her. She pushed it from her mind.

The approached the castle, a majestic edifice whose architecture spoke clearly of the Tyran influence in Ravenpeak. The main entrance was framed by ranks of stately marble pillars, more of which supported lofty balconies on higher stories. The castle's lofty towers rose on elaborately designed constructions, many capped with domes and themselves surrounded by railings of pillars.

Apparently the mages were expected and recognized by the guards posted along the front of the castle. Hostlers took their horses, house servants their packs. A steward appeared and ushered them inside to a baroque parlor, where Gregory and his lady, Elise, sat with a young noblewoman whose coloring and features spoke of Tyran background.

A servant announced their presence: "Numair Salmalín and Veralidaine Sarrasri, sent on His Majesty's command." Daine and Numair stepped forward and bowed to their hosts. Ravenpeak's lord looked to be in his fifties, fairly tall and well-built, with greying hair and a direct, even gaze. He stood at Daine and Numair's arrival.

"Only the most powerful mages in the realm," he commented, smiling in welcome. "It's an honor. Please, sit." They did, taking seats opposite the nobles on a plush couch piled with silken cushions. The finery made Daine self-conscious of her travel-worn clothes, though surely Lord Gregory would know they'd just arrived.

"Thank you, my lord," Numair said graciously. "You flatter us. The honor is ours."

"The great Numair Salmalín," the young Tyran noblewoman noted, "and the Wildmage." Her bright eyes held a spark of mischief, and they hung onto Daine and Numair - *particularly* Numair, Daine noticed with irritation. It was rare that ladies showed overt interest in Numair - or men in Daine - anymore, given the mages' reputation. The lady looked to be in her late twenties, and Daine had to wonder why she wasn't married.

"Don't gawp at them, my dear," ordered Elise. She turned to Daine and Numair. "May I present Lady Roselda of Tyra?" She smiled at the younger lady. "Her dear mother and I were like sisters, and we are always pleased to have Roselda grace our home." Daine could indeed tell that Roselda was used to favor and well-tuned praise. The lady was dressed in the flamboyant styles of Tyra, and wore the self-confident expression of a highborn flirt. She was indeed very pretty, with finely carved features and sparkling dark eyes. She continued to eye Numair.

"My lady," Daine said coolly, "are you sure this is the safest time for a visit? Surely you know Ravenpeak has been suffering hurrok attacks?"

"Such is the matter we must discuss," Lord Gregory put in. Daine and Numair shifted their attention to him. "It's strange, you see - the beasts haven't returned since they first slaughtered my men last week, and I sent a runner to Corus. Not a single sight of them. It's as if they just disappeared - or they're hiding, waiting for something."

Daine and Numair exchanged glances with some apprehension. This explained the carefree manner of the people they'd observed, but again Daine got the feeling that something was terribly wrong with these particular hurroks. A small knot formed in her stomach.

"It is indeed unexpected behavior, my lord," Numair said aloud. "As was the strategic nature of their attack. We suspect that another mage was indeed directing them, though your mages detected no such magical activity. I would certainly like to speak to them at some point, and to scry for other mages myself."

"Another possibility," Daine explained, "is that the hurroks harassing the fief are not typical of their species. Perhaps they are indeed more intelligent than their kind is known to be. I will try to contact them magically, and to examine their minds to determine if this is the case." She didn't add that thus far, the hurroks had proved to be out of her range completely, and she knew nothing more of their whereabouts than anyone else on the fief. It made her *very* uneasy.

"Excellent," said Gregory. "The two of you seem to have arrived thoroughly prepared for the task. We shall leave it to the experts." He smiled.

"In the meantime -" Elise beckoned forth a maid. "Yuni will show you to your rooms. You must be tired from the journey."

Numair nodded politely. "Thank you, my lady." At the moment, Daine couldn't imagine anything more tempting than a hot bath and a soft bed. "May I meet with your mages," he added to Gregory, "in... an hour's time?"

Gregory nodded. "They will be assembled in the south wing."

"Very good, my lord." He and Daine stood as the maid Yuni stepped forward. With a last bow, the mages took leave of Ravenpeak's overlords.

The maid led them through airy halls and grand spiral staircases, impressing Daine further with Ravenpeak's wealth. The rugs underfoot were of the finest textiles and woven in intricate designs; large, arched windows lined every wall, draped with silken curtains; the castle's structure was supported everywhere by tall, stately pillars that seemed as much for decorative purposes as architectural. The finery, she decided, was inferential of a fief in excellent favor with two royal courts.

Yuni stopped in front of a finely carved door at the end of a hall, across from a large window with a view of the courtyard. She handed them a large key, assumably to their rooms. Daine thanked her with a smile and a copper noble; the girl curtsied and fled, apparently unnerved by any tales she'd heard of them. Daine sighed, watching the girl's retreat.

Numair noticed. "It must be you, magelet," he quipped, working the lock on the door. "Perhaps she's heard that particular narrative in which you confront all the gods in Mithros's court."

"No, it must be you," she argued playfully. "I'm not the one who can move mountains with a word of magic."

He chuckled and swung open the door; they entered. The spacious, high- ceilinged suite of rooms was all one might expect for widely renowned mages, and as refined and elegant as anything they'd seen in the castle. Large windows that looked out over the village filled the room with buttery sunlight. Their packs were already in the room, and looked conspicuously humble and worn in comparison. Daine dropped her cloak on the back of an elaborately carved chair and flopped onto the huge, four-poster bed with exaggerated relief, sinking into the silky pillows. She giggled as Numair followed suit, sprawling beside her.

"I'm fair tempted to stay here the rest of the day," she sighed. "Never mind that the fief is under attack by nastily intelligent monsters."

"I'd be happy to encourage the temptation," he teased, turning over on one elbow to face her.

She scoffed, and he adopted a look of mock hurt. "Pray don't laugh at me, O lovely Wildmage." As if to demonstrate earnest intentions, he drew closer, until their noses nearly touched, and brought up a hand to brush Daine's cheek. Suddenly she found it hard to breathe. "Daughter of gods...." He kissed her gently, then pulled away, teasing, until she turned up her face for more. He kissed her nose tenderly, then found her lips again, venturing deeper, roving, until she was smoldering through and through. She sank a hand into his hair to keep him close, as though he'd escape her otherwise.

With an act of will, she pulled away, gasping. He looked at her with concern, asking a silent question. "Not now," she breathed. "Really... we've work to do." Her eyes took on a sparkle. "I'll... I'll make it up to you, I promise."

He smiled warmly and shifted away, keeping an arm around her. "Well, then, I suppose I have no other choice than to stop molesting you." He turned for a last kiss, this time quick and light, and she snuggled happily against him. They lay for a moment in silence, gazing up at the lofty, vaulted ceiling.

"Ah, the joys of civilization," he murmured. "More than welcome after a week on the road."

"Too right." She looked around the sumptuous room. "His lordship spared little hospitality, I see."

He grinned. "It must be you."

"No, no, it must be *you*."