There were flashes of forest, trees branches and sky slowly moving past in fog both real and imagined. The fever dreams came and went, filled with demons and Tohri on one hand, friends long forgotten on the other. Winstin tried to look left or right, but movement brought pain and nausea. There was a jolt as one of the people carrying him shifted their grip, and he slipped backwards into the fog in his mind.

Winstin awoke again, listening to Dar arguing with someone in the doorway of whatever room he was in. His dreams had taken a brighter turn lately and his returns to reality lasted more than brief moments sometimes. “I'm out. Tell the Duke or General or Emperess or whoever you want. I'm not coming back.” Dar said in a hushed growl.

There was a long pause, then Talbert replied “This doorkeeper thing, Dar... can't you help....?”

“NO”, Dar interrupted. “You don't get it! We had to join an organization in order to get our appreticeship in the Mage's Guild! I didn't join the cursed doorkeepers because I believed in them, they were the easiest choice! They never DID anything! They didn't require me to do anything in return!”

Talbert started to respond, but there was only the sound of Dar crying for a few seconds, then Winstin heard footsteps down the stone hallway. Winstin sighed and rolled over, the crashing noises in his head blotted out the rest of the argument and he was out, dreaming of Dar.. She had been in his watch team for nearly three years and while they'd never been very close, she was still a constant in his life, a life that was rapidly running out of consistantancy.

Winstin woke again and reached over to his right shoulder and felt the empty stump where his right arm had once been. He knew it would be gone. He couldn't remember them doing it, but he remembered the healers explaining that they had cut it off at the shoulder to prevent the gangrene from reaching his heart. It was a small bit of light in the darkness.. They told him that he had been largely unconcious for six days after jumping out of Mattahs' Tower, and was blasted lucky the rest of the party had even found him, moaning in the grass. Even if they had saved the arm, he had been told, what little remained after his fall from the roof would have been useless.

Ren and Vallen had left to find a school of his order somewhere in town. The idea of a school of monks in Sartull would have made Winstin laugh at one time. He knew now that the city was slightly less of a pit of evil than he had once believed, another lesson learned over the last few weeks. They had at least said goodbye, sitting with him as he faded in and out of reality.

Tegg had never resurfaced. Winstin was still at a loss as to when they had split up. He distinctly remembered hearing Tegg on the stairs, running up behind him. But nothing was truly clear in his memories after all the potions and poltuces... nothing except hitting the roof and falling. He could describe every second of that, time dragging out in silence, every thought, every crack of tile, every cloud that rolled past his vision on the way down. He could have described the clean, sharp smell of the grass where he landed in perfect detail. The party had been shocked when he told them he didn't know, couldn't explain where Tegg had gone after they reached the top of the staircase.

Talbert and Jenk had argued about going back. He'd heard them once in the hallway outside his room before the priests shushed them and pushed them down the hallway. They wouldn't go, he knew. They were in the abbey somewhere, wondering and waiting, packing for their trip back to Tivar. A trip Winstin knew he wouldn't be making. They were leaving in two days on a ship bound for Ro'Kressin or Cattras or somewhere, he couldn't remember. But he knew he wouldn't be on it.

Arasen had come in and apologised. Twice. The first time Winstin had been dozing, dopey from the green potion he called "Rum and Death" that dulled the pain and made the world a foggy place. He could hear Arasen crying, saying he'd tried and that he was sorry about being so slow. Winstin felt a pang of anger and frustration, but faded off into uneasy sleep before he could respond. When Arasen returned, Winstin was struggling with the itching that had started in his stump, a deep and untouchable itch that ranged from distracting to maddening. Arasen entered and sat on a small stool next to the low bed and started to speak, losing his words after a moment. Winstin reached over and punched him in the leg, just hard enough to shut him up. His anger was barely embers anymore, and the grief and remorse on Arasen's face dampened it further.

“Not your fault..” Winstin mumbled, and he was almost entirely honest about it. Some small pangs of frustration and anger remained, but he knew Arasen wasn't holding back in the tower and yelling at him wasn't going to do anyone any good.

Arasen paused, rubbing his leg a little and nodded. “I'm sorry about your arm.”

Winstin frowned. “Guess I'll have to learn to fight lefty from now on.” he said sadly, flexing his left arm a little. Sword motions that had seemed so easy were clumsy when he tried to mirror them, and he gave up after a few waves.

Arasen stayed and chatted for a few minutes until a healer entered to change Winstin's dressing. He came back the next two days to check in, and then they were gone.

Ren paced the deck of the small ship "Foamdancer" despite the rain and spray soaking him. They had managed to charter a fast ship in Sartull, one that did not seem to have any smuggling connections, but they had to wait for it to arrive and it exhausted most of their remaining funds. Initially they had planned on returning to Cattras, but the Foamdancer sailed counterclockwise around the bay, and had just come from Cattras. Instead they would sail to Ro Kressin, a port city north of Port Redcap that the Captain and Dockmaster assured them was still untroubled by the attacks in Bridgetown.

Ren and Vallen had visited the school, where Ren had hoped to hear news of his old masters and where they had gone to after Bridgetown. The news was mixed, of Master Tonpen there was no news, although the monks seemed rather bemused by his expressions of concern. Two other masters had made their way to Cattras, others were known to be in Avendoor or further south in Huntsdelve. Some were unaccounted for, but the monks of Sartull seemed to think that they could take care of themselves. Although there were concerns about Vallen's age and history, they readily agreed to instruct her once she was tested. Ren had sat with her in a tavern nearby to say their farewells.

“I'm sure we'll be back before the end of the season”, he said in a reasuring tone. Vallen smiled and he searched for something else to say. As they sat, a bard was making the rounds singing some sea shanty. Vallen seemed to be listening to it and smiling, but Ren was ignoring it.

“The brothers will be harsh, but fair. It really is better for ...” He stopped, catching the words of the song. The bard was singing about a ship under attack by the Cattras navy. With a start, he realized it was the Grey Rat, with some distinct embelleshment!

He started to speak, and lost his words when Vallen smiled and took his hands. “You're worried about me, and that's very nice. But I think I can take care of myself, Ren.”

Ren smiled and nodded. “You're right. I'm treating you like a daughter going off to join a guild.”

Vallen laughed and tossed a coin to the bard, who caught it with barely a pause between notes. Then he gave Vallen a fancy bow and continued playing. “If my deeds were going to be remembered in song, at least they could include my name.” she said to Ren with a chuckle.

Ren turned on the deck to face Sartull, searching for the tiny connection he had with Vallen, but it was long gone. Jenk and Talbert appeared on deck, arguing about something. Behind them, Two's illusionary form followed, looking like a young boy, a young boy who never got wet and who had raindrops falling through him if you looked too carefully. Jenk and Talbert had been arguing a lot since Tegg had vanished, something Ren could do little about. They stopped when they reached him and leaned on the rails.

“If we get off at Ro Kressin, it'll be a long walk back to Tivar.” Talbert started.

Ren nodded and was about to respond when Jenk added “We can get off near Cattras and it won't be nearly as far”

“It will be more dangerous” Talbert growled.

Ren realized they were trying to draw him in to their debate and sighed. “Do we need anything in Ro Kressin?” he asked.

The pair blinked at him, and Talbert finally admitted “No, I suppose not.”

Ren nodded and looked around the boat. “I wonder if we could convince the Captain to sail upriver to Tivar itself?”

Talbert and Vallen looked at each other and devilish grins appeared. “We did pay a great deal of coin” Talbert started.

“And we have some connections with the Duke, who is surely desperate for some trade”, Jenk added.

Ren agreed and the pair started aft, hands moving rapidly as they laid out a plan to persuade the Captain to make an unscheduled stop. Watching them, Ren sighed and considered their mission, wondering where Tegg was.

In'Tet Ponsin finally reached the fortress northwest of Tivar after uncounted days in the wilderness and on the dusty Tohri road. He ran for days, taking water off of morning dew or streams he passed, eating nothing. Between the late summer sun and rough cut road, it was a brutal journey of heat and dirt. He believed he was sick with fever, and barely remembered several days of staggering forward on the road in a fog. When he reached the Western gates, he expected to find Dom guards to berate and scream at, but no one seemed to be on duty there. Screaming out about this further betrayal, he stumbled up the hill to the main tower and burst through the doors. Although there should have been Dom on duty here as well, he was no longer surprised to find their posts abandoned. Climbing the stairs to his office, his fury mounted and pushed back the fog of his fever. He had devised a number of suitable punishments for the legions of traitors at Tivar, and grinned at the idea of overseeing them personally. There would be problems with the Siv commanders, he realized, but a betrayal of this size could not possibly be his fault alone.

Ponsin kicked the door open to his office and strode over to the low table where he kept papers and ink. He had formed much of the opening letter to his superiors already, and simply needed to further insulate himself from repercussions. As he reached for the bone nub a huge claw grabbed him by the back of the throat, and he found himself lifted up and slammed against the wall, shaking the very tower. His nose was crushed, and blood poured down his face and into his mouth, causing him to sputter for breath. He was forcefully and slowly rotated to come face to face with fury encompassing the face of his daemonic ally.

“We.. can... still...” Ponsin croaked, grabbing the daemon's claw and trying to free his throat.

The demon flexed his arm, closing Ponsin's windpipe. On his huge shoulder a tattoo of the number five came in and out of view as the demon shifted his grip. Huge amounts of blood and gore covered the demon's forearms and was splattered on his chest. “I am no longer sure that I am interested in dealing with you or your miserable kind. I knew you would come back here, although you certainly took a long time. I had to amuse myself with your guards while I waited... and I ran out two days ago.”

Ponsin struggled to breathe, kicking his feet against the wall behind him. The edges of his vision were blurring and he pulled feebly at the creature's arm. “The sword... we can get you...” he whispered.

Five growled and grabbed Ponsin's head with his other hand, causing Ponsin to yelp softly. “Did you really think I would forget about the sword? No, In'Tet Ponsin. Commander General of the armies of the Tohri.” With each sarcastic word Five slammed Ponsin's head backwards against the wall. “I am quite aware of the sword. You see, while you have failed to do your job completely and have therefore negated our contract, your attempt was not a complete loss. I believe that we can now take care of things on our own.”

With that, Five turned and flung Ponsin out the window of the tower. There was a satisfying snap as his legs hit the bottom of the window, and a soft crunch from the ground below shortly after. Five grunted in satisfaction and walked toward the door and the stairs to make sure the job was finished. His ridiculous wings were good for posing and frightening the stupid guards, but useless for actually flying. He had no more magical items to get him to Seven and would have to walk.

The Duke and his advisor generals had spent the night on top of the Eastern Gate staring in disbelief at the spectacle below. The army, a seemingly unstoppable tide of soldiers that had washed over the outer walls without pause, had simply stopped at the inner gates. While that was a reason to breathe easier, what happened next defied all logic. They had started howling, like madmen or wolves, howling for minutes on end. The sound had flowed and crested, from one side of the army to the other, sometimes stopping almost entirely. The Duke had been convinced it was a battle cry, a call to demolish the city down to its very foundation, except that no attack followed. In fact, they had started singing! It sounded like a cry of pain, a horrible song of loss and despair and it had built up to deafening levels. Every soldier in the army seemed to know the words, and the timing had been uncanny. Never before had the men of Tivar heard such singing, in such perfect rhythm, with such haunting and unknowable purpose.

After the singing, the orderly lines of the attacking army broke and they seemed to crowd together. Pockets appeared at different locations, but neither the Duke nor his generals could speculate on why. As dawn broke, more sporatic singing had arisen in pockets and sections, but never with the clarity and unity of that first, horribly beautiful song. The only signs of normalicy for a battle were the smoking ruins of the shanty town, now smoldering under a dewy and drizzling dawn.

It seemed impossible, but at noon a clutch of soldiers with a single banner approached the Eastern gate and stopped. The armies behind them had slowly been moving back, looking like a tide moving out from the beach. The Duke marvelled, and gave Kenv a desperate look.

“Do you think they wish to demand our surrender?” he asked in disbelief.

Kenv surveyed the armies below and rubbed his temple. “As a sworn defender of this city I cannot sugguest we consider an offer to surrender.”, he said softly. “But I am also your friend. We cannot fight that.” he said grimly.

The Duke nodded. “Tell Yomotshi to prepare to flee the city with every soldier he can find. If this goes poorly... he's to make a stand at Avendoor.”

The Foamdancer crawled carefully up the Novinan river, using sweeps to keep her moving and clear of the often narrow sides. The captain had finally relented, agreeing that establishing trade with Tivar could, in fact, make him a very rich man. He seemed less sure of this arrangement as the ship passed ruined watchtowers and fire ravaged shoreline, and probably would have abandoned the plan if he could have safely turned the ship around. His mood improved as they entered the lake. Finally able to unfurl her sails and tack, the ship jumped forward and started to live up to her name. The party assembled on deck on the second day to catch their first sight of Tivar. As the day brightened, a thick haze covered the water. Haze that seemed less like fog, and started to look and smell more like smoke. Late that afternoon, distant towers of smoke appeared on the horizon and gasps rose from the crew.

“Tivar... she's burning!” Ren gasped.