I borrowed the lyrics of an old Welsh folk song for this.

After they had eaten in merciful, if stony silence, Casavir went back to sleep. While Bishop put out the fire, Chantal went outside and looked up into the sky. Still a couple of daylight hours to pass, before they could expect Vince to bring Neeshka. And she had absolutely nothing to do but stay awake and keep her eyes open. And try to keep as far away from a certain ranger as possible.

Sighing, she went back inside and took out her beautiful lute, the one she had won from that arrogant bard in Neverwinter so long ago. She carefully unwrapped it from the soft cloth she used to protect the instrument.

It's a long time since I played you.

It was true. Since she had decided to pursue her draconic heritage, she seldom played or sang anymore. But somehow, now she felt the urge. And it would help pass the time.

Her hands caressed the gleaming, smoothly lacquered wood. Then she went outside, sat down in the same spot as Casavir the last night, closed her eyes for a moment and let her fingers wander over the chords. Then she opened them again and started to play one of her favourite tunes, softly singing to herself.

xxx

Bishop sat in front of the doused fire, thinking of the strange turn things had taken during the last hours. He had brought her the rats, more as payback as anything else, fully expecting her to be all prissy about the skinning and eating rat business and looking forward to seeing her squirm. He was well aware she did not know how to skin an animal. She had been clearly disgusted, but she also had been determined not to let him see.

The sight of her, looking down at the rats, at a loss what to do with them, but at the same time grimly resolved to get the job done had struck a chord in him, pun not intended. Somehow he was reminded of that first time he had seen her, when he thought that this woman would just take everything you threw at her and somehow cope with it.

It moved him to go to her and help her. So he showed her how to do it, and somehow, suddenly, things had seemed different between them, in spite of the... events of the last evening. Not as strained as before. Companionable, even. It was strange. And for him, completely new. He had never felt this way with her before. Hells, he had nearly never felt this way with anyone before.

Nearly.

Stop it!

But it had been a nice feeling. The light jokes, the laughter... he had enjoyed it, could not deny that.

Just one of her tricks again.

And then she had to go and fetch the paladin. Wake him from his sleep, even. As if eating rat could not wait. He snorted.

She just did not want to be alone with you.

Well, fine by him. She could go and hide behind the paladin for all he cared.

He saw her enter the building again, but she just wordlessly passed him by, avoiding his gaze, and started to sort through her backpack, taking out a carefully wrapped bundle. When she took away the cloth, he realised that she had taken out her lute.

I can't even remember the last time I heard her play.

He saw her reverently running her hands over the polished wood, then she took the instrument outside. A couple of moments later, he heard some soft chords, and her smooth, velvety voice accompanied the sad tune she was playing.

Over the stone, the old gray stone,

Let me ponder here alone,

Through all weather we go together

Ancient stone, thou good old stone.

Of the many friends I've seen,

Thou the truest friend have been.

Some forget me, some have fled,

Some are false, and some are dead,

Changing never, constant ever,

Still I find thee, dear old stone.

Standing here, thou silent stone,

What a world thou must have known!

Deeds of glory, lost to story,

Hast thou witness'd, ancient stone.

Here beneath the grass, 'tis said,

Many warriors bones are laid,

Fighting for their land they fell,

None but thou can truly tell.

Secrets keeping, ever sleeping,

Dream'st thou of the past, old stone?

He leaned back against the cot, closing his eyes, listening. The mournful song, so perfectly reflected in the sad tone of her beautiful voice touched something inside him, something he would have preferred to remain undisturbed. A knot seemed to build in his stomach, and there was an ache in his heart, painful and bittersweet. He just longed to let her voice envelop him, wrap himself into that warm blanket and let it take away the hurt.

What the...?

He sat up, shaking his head to get it clear. Then he growled, got up and threw himself onto the cot, hands over his ears. He would sleep the rest of the day away. This was beyond all bearing!

Damn those bards and their emotion crap magic!

xxx

Chantal put down the lute again, sadness filling her heart. The song always reminded her of the friends she had lost, those that had not survived their final confrontation with the King of Shadows. Sand, Khelgar, Grobnar, Zhjaeve... and Qara, who had turned against them. She had to admit, she had never liked the girl, spoiled little brat, so arrogant it bordered on stupidity – but for her to turn on them like this had been a nasty surprise. And a mistake the girl had paid for with her life.

But she dearly missed the others. Grobnar, who could always make her laugh. Khelgar with his good-natured rumbling, and Sand with his sharp wit and sharper tongue. Even Zhjaeve, though the Githzerai's lectures often drove her mad. Sometimes she thought if the cleric started one more sentence with "Know that..." she would just strangle her. But still... they had followed her, and they had died. She sighed. They had known what they were up to, but that did not ease the guilt she felt, thinking of them.

Elanee and Ammon had made it, but Ammon had left soon afterwards. Their task completed, he had seen no reason to stick around. And Elanee... she had wandered off eventually, trying to found a new circle of druids in the Mere. Sometimes, she had stopped by, visiting Chantal, but those visits had been few.

So the only two real friends she had left were Neeshka and Casavir. She prayed to the gods that their rescue mission would be successful. She just could not bear losing more of her friends.

The afternoon passed in leaden slowness. Chantal sat, her back against the rough stone wall, staring up into an equally leaden sky. Casavir was still sleeping. Bishop had not emerged from his little hideout. She told herself she should be glad about that. The less contact she had with Bishop, the better.

But she was bored out of her mind after a couple of hours. She just was not used to sitting around with nothing to do. Her lute was lying next to her, untouched since she played that one tune. She just could not take the memories and the sadness playing or singing brought up. Maybe after Neeshka was restored to them, she would feel better about it. But now, with the threat of losing even more of her friends looming, she could not bear thinking of the ones she missed.

To her immense relief, at last the light in the sky began to dwindle. Just as she got up, Bishop came out of the doorway. He looked up at the darkening sky, then to her.

"I don't know when Vince might be along. Could still be a long wait."

She looked over to Casavir who had started to stir in his sleep.

"I honestly hope not. This waiting is unbearable."

He shrugged. "Let's move out of here."

"What? Why? Won't he come here with Neeshka?"

He shrugged again. "He'll come here. Whether he comes with the demon, that's another matter. Anyway, I prefer not to sit here like a duck."

"You think he'll betray us?"

He gave her a sardonic glance. "Not likely. If he had, they would have come already. Besides, as he said, he owes me. And he's not too keen on Luskan's authorities." Something flickered on Bishop's face, but it was gone before Chantal could identify the emotion. "But he might be followed. Or something else might have gone wrong. So you'll wait at the entrance to the stairs. I'll stay here and watch."

"You'll not stay here alone."

He actually rolled his eyes. "This is getting old, bard! Just like Vince, if I had wanted to rat you out, I would have done already. I had ample opportunities."

"How do I know you have not ratted us out, as you so poetically put it?"

He smiled without humour. "Because you are still alive. And free."

She shook her head. "No. We'll all stay nearby. Assuming you are telling the truth, someone might have followed Vince. There might be a fight. Neeshka's life might be at stake. We'll stay as close as possible."

He snorted and pointed his thumb at the sleeping paladin. "With him in tow, and all that clanging metal, we might as well stay right here."

It was her time to shrug. "He'll move as little as possible."

He sneered. "Fine. Do what you will. Just don't blame me afterwards."

She gave him a sweet smile. "I'm going to do that anyway."

He barked out a short, surprised laughter. "Ain't that the truth." He shook his head. "So, go then, wake you lover over there and get moving."

xxx

Chantal went and kneeled down next to Casavir. She softly touched his shoulder. He murmured something unintelligible, but did not open his eyes. She grabbed his shoulder a bit harder.

"Casavir!", she called out softly.

His eyelids fluttered. "Neeshka...?", he said, opening his eyes. When they found Chantal, they showed confusion for a moment, then realisation dawned and sorrow, mixed with hope, appeared. He sat up quickly.

"What? Are they here?", he asked.

"Not yet", she said. "Bishop thinks they still might take a while. But he also thinks it's best to move camp."

Distrust was written all over the Casavir's face. "Why does he think that?"

"Because V... his contact might be followed. We are going to observe from nearby, so we do not make ourselves too easy targets."

His lips compressed, but he only said "Very well", and got up, starting to collect his stuff.

Chantal did the same, and after a couple of minutes they were ready to move. Bishop led them to another nearby building, so collapsed Chantal would never have gone near it. But he went around a corner and ducked though a part of broken wall. He looked back at them and said:

"It's perfect for observing, but try not to run into the walls."

Chantal eyed the building with mistrust. "Is it safe?"

He shrugged. "Well, it's been standing like this since I first came her, so let's hope it does not choose tonight to collapse completely."

"Very reassuring", she murmured, but followed him inside.

Casavir also followed, more slowly, since he had trouble squeezing through narrow openings with his plate mail. Inside, they found that indeed through one of the windows, they could observe Bishop's hideout perfectly.

Bishop turned to Chantal. "Since you think there might be a fight later, is there the remotest possibility of me getting my weapons back?"

She stared at him for a second, then said bluntly: "No."

Anger darkened his face. "I think I have proved that I don't plan on "something funny". And I would feel a lot better if I had my weapons back."

She shook her head. "It takes more than that to make me trust you again. Be grateful your hands are not tied up anymore."

He made a growling noise. "Gods, you are driving me insane!"

"I don't think anyone is going to notice the difference", Casavir's deep voice came from behind.

Bishop threw him a poisonous glance, but did not answer. Instead, he dropped his backpack, took out some dried meat, sat down and started to chew on it.

Chantal studiously ignored him and kept looking out of the window. Nothing moved outside. Absolutely nothing.

For hours. Absolutely nothing had moved. Her eyes were starting to water from staring intently out into the darkness. Casavir diverted his alertness between the window and the ranger, who still sat, his back to the wall, sulking.

Well, let him.

There – what was that?

Had she imagined movement, like the thousands of times before? No... this time, someone was coming. More undead? Or Vince?

Without looking down, she touched Bishop's shoulder, then pointed out of the window. Graceful, nearly without noise, he stood up and gazed out of the window himself.

"What is it?", Casavir whispered from behind. "Are they coming?"

Bishop's eyes narrowed, while he intently stared outside. "I can see two figures", he said, voice very low. "The first one... yes, it's Vince. The second... a man. I think he is wearing a Luskan uniform."

How can he tell? He must have eyes like a cat.

"What?", Chantal whispered back. "A Luskan uniform? Did he betray us in the end?"

"And where is Neeshka?", Casavir voiced his most pressing concerns.

Bishop observed a bit longer, then he said: "Don't know. Don't think Vince would betray me, and if he had, the Luskan guy would not be standing in plain sight. We'll best go and see what this is about." He glowered at her. "Probably of no use to tell you I best sniff out the situation alone?"

She shook her head. "Nope."

"Whatever." He turned and started out the way they had come in.

Chantal and Casavir followed him. She had a nagging feeling of unease in her stomach. Was this a trap after all?