"Not a bad idea," Cyrus agreed. "I'll be shaking you awake before you know it; get it while you can."

"Yes. Well, goodnight."

"Sweet dreams, Vara."

He turned away from her and began to scan the horizon. Silence fell, broken only by the sounds of owls in the night. Cyrus put his back against a tree, watching the road a few hundred feet away, and looked to his side ever so often, just to be sure that the beautiful, golden-haired elf was, in fact, still there.

Chapter 8.

She awoke as the first rays of sunlight broke through the trees. He watched her blink the bleariness from her eyes as she assessed the situation. "It's morning," she said, a look of puzzlement on her fine, chiseled features.

"Yes."

"You were supposed to awaken me in the night." She stood and he joined her, aided by support from the tree he had been leaning against. "Did you fall asleep?"

"No." He wore a tight smile.

"You didn't get any sleep?" Her face fell. "At all?" He shook his head. "You daft bastard. That was as ill-conceived an idea as any you've ever had."

"What?" He jerked from smiling to confused in the space of seconds. She looked at him with an irritation that sent unsettling feelings through him. "I was trying to be nice and give you a full night of sleep."

"You've jeopardized everything with your idiotic gallantry." She rolled her bedroll into a tight wad and wrapped it with leather fastenings. "You'll be tired all day and of less use watching for foes." She threw the bedroll over her shoulder, then snatched up her knapsack and strode toward her horse. "If you fall asleep, I'm leaving you behind."

Cyrus's hand reached under his helm and massaged at his scalp, fingers working through the locks of his hair. "Thank you, for reminding me what married life is like."

She paused, bristling, and rounded on him. "Excuse me?" Her voice contained more chill than the morning air.

"You just caused me to remember why I got divorced," he replied, anger beneath the surface of his words. "Leave it to a woman to take something nice that's done for her and turn it into a life or death situation."

She glared at him, contemptuous. "In case you've quite forgotten, it is a life or death situation."

"I haven't forgotten." He shook his head. "I thought I was doing something nice for you, yet somehow you got mad at me for it." He threw the saddlebags back over his horse. "Couldn't you just have been grateful and trust me to figure out a way to stay awake? It's hardly the end of all things."

"Perhaps I overreacted," she said. "But should you ever compare me to a former wife of yours again, you will see quite a different reaction, something akin to the feeling you might have should Fortin step on you." She turned away as she placed a foot in the stirrup and lifted herself onto the back of the horse. "Prehorta is still a few days' ride, but we'll start running into more and more villages as we get closer to human-well, what was human territory."

They rode on with few words exchanged. Cyrus spent most of his attention on the roads, keeping an eye on anyone who approached, interposing himself between them and Vara if they got closer than he deemed prudent.

After the third time he had placed himself between her and a group of refugees she favored him with an amused smile. "Are you concerned that a band of broken down old women are plotting my demise?"

"Someone is plotting your demise, and twice they've disguised themselves as refugees. I wouldn't put it past them to have an old woman in their ranks; what better way to sneak up on a person unsuspecting?"

"I suppose you're right, but it feels a bit odd to let you protect me, feeble as those efforts might be."

He let the comment pass as they approached a village. No more than fifteen structures stood clustered on either side of the road. Huts with thatched roofs accounted for all but three of the buildings; two of the last three appeared to be houses of worship; shrines to the gods of Arkaria. The last was a small wooden building that had a signpost out front with the word "Inn" written in large letters across it. Below was another shingle, this one less crafted than the first. It read, "Beggars Begone."

Cyrus started to remark on the sign, but a grunt from Vara turned his attention to the nearest house. On the front door hung a sign with "No beggars!" spelled in bold script. Similar signs hung on every door in the village, even the houses of worship.

"I've never seen the Goddess of Love turn anyone away," Vara said after seeing one of the signs hanging from the door to the shrine to Levembre. "One of her virtues is charity-or so I thought."

"We all have our hypocrisies," Cyrus said.

"Speak for yourself."

After inquiring at the inn, Cyrus learned that there were no spell casters in the village, so they rode on, finding the same in the next town, though it was larger and had even more signs telling refugees to not to bother stopping. They settled later that night, hidden from the road in another copse of trees, and Vara forced him to sleep first this time.

The days went quickly. It was on the fourth day and past the tenth village that it began to rain. It was a cold downpour, the deluge tapping against his helm and his armor, soaking him. For her part, Vara said little, but weathered the damp and cold with little reaction. They continued to pass refugees every hour or so, misbegotten souls with forsaken looks upon their faces. They cried out in hunger, for any help or assistance. The smell of smoke, blood, sweat and terror was heavy on them from the loss of their homes, their family members, their lives.

The rain ceased after a few days and the Plains of Perdamun became more uneven the further north they went, turning from flat lands into rolling hills broken by small forests. Cyrus had traveled this road before; in spring and summer it was a green and verdant land, filled to the horizon with wheat, corn, potatoes and countless other crops. As it was, the grasses had turned brown and the fields were all fallow for the coming winter, which would bring cold but little or no snow.

Vara remained stoic and silent for long periods of the journey. She initiated conversation only out of necessity, but would break her silence if Cyrus asked her an engaging question, which he spent a good portion of his time attempting to craft. It came to his great surprise when Vara broke the silence with a question of her own.

"I have wondered," she began as she pulled back on the reins of her horse, allowing him to come alongside her. The road stretched in a flat line in front of them with no one in sight. "What do you do in your spare time?"

He thought about her question before replying. "What spare time?" He looked at her with a sly grin that he saw returned, even as she rolled her eyes. "We don't have much, what with running the guild and planning expeditions."

"Surely you must find some time to do something other than hack at monsters with your sword."

"Not much, I suppose, but..." He hesitated.

She raised an eyebrow at him, waiting.

"I read."

A giggle escaped her lips, truncated as she covered her mouth with a hand. After composing herself, she pulled it away. "I apologize. Of course, I know you are literate, but I was expecting your answer to be something a bit more..."

"Fitting for a blunt instrument such as myself?" He smiled, trying to disguise the sting he felt inside. "It was brought to my attention after I joined Sanctuary that there was a large gap between what the Society of Arms taught and what I needed to know to be an effective general. So I started reading."

"And what do you read?" She studied him with fierce intelligence; she seemed curious.

"I read about explorations of ancient temples, on the known history of the dragons and the titans. I've read more recent tomes about elven, uh...language and customs..." He paused, wondering what inference she would draw from his admission.

She rode on without reaction. "It is fitting that a general does their best to improve their knowledge. I am not surprised, as you are quite adroit at what you do, and of course competence is not the easiest thing to come by if you aren't working at it."

"What about you?" He drew a curious stare from her. "I've seen you in your spare time; you always park yourself in the same seat in the lounge, always with a different volume."

"You watch me?" She raised an eyebrow but the rest of her expression stayed flat, giving him a moment of unease before the hint of a smile played across her face. "I have noticed. I suspect you know what sort of books I read."

"Always fiction," he said. "Stories of far-off places. I've seen you read one more than most-The Crusader and the Champion."

"Ah, yes. A guilty pleasure, that one," she said with a nod and a smile that was reserved, yet sheepish. "It's about-"

"-A story of love and adventure involving a warrior and a paladin."

Silence filled the air, and Cyrus wondered if the plains had gone quiet or if he had gone deaf. Vara's look was guarded. "Have you read it?"

Fire crept across his face, starting with his cheeks, sending a burning feeling all the way to the tips of his ears. "I have."

She looked to the road, any hint of emotion washed from her next words. "I see. And how did you come by a copy of it?"

"I asked for one from the library in Reikonos." He cleared his throat. "After seeing you read it so many times I assumed it must be good."

"What did you think of it?"

"It's...good. I rarely read fiction, but it was interesting. A very different sort of book than I would have expected you'd enjoy."

"How do you mean?" She cocked her head, a quizzical look on her face.

"Well...uh..." He felt a tightness in his chest. "Let's put it this way-it's not allowed on the shelves of the Reikonos library because elves have a different standard when it comes to what's controversial..."

She laughed. "You're quite the prude, you know that? Dancing around what you mean to say-which is that there are quite a few steamy passages, and you didn't imagine I'd go for that. Let me tell you something, Cyrus Davidon." She leaned toward him even though they were alone on the road, as though whispering a secret she wanted no one else to hear. "I'm quite fond of those parts of the book; I think they're actually my favorite bits. Just because you and your pet rock giant think me a bloodless Ice Princess," she said with a grin, "doesn't mean that I don't carry any fleshly desires."

"I-I-I." He stammered, not sure which of her accusations to respond to first. "I never called you an 'Ice Princess', except to ask clarification from Fortin about what he meant." His cheeks were still flush with the heat as her last statement sank in and he realized what she had said. The words "fleshly desires" rolled around in his head.

"Why not? I am," she said, indifferent. "It's by my own design and efforts that I keep others-including yourself-at arm's length. That doesn't mean that I don't crave the same things you do."

"I don't- I mean-" he stuttered, his mind whirling as he tried to decide what to say next.

"My goodness, I've flustered the great and mighty General of Sanctuary-Hero of the Battle of the Nartanis Mountains, Conqueror of the Goblins of Enterra." A smile threatened to turn into a grin on her lips. "Had I known it was this easy to turn you into a stuttering mess, I'd have started each Council meeting where I expected an argument by whispering a filthy suggestion in your ear."

"You wouldn't have had the market cornered on that. Your friend Aisling-" he said it with sarcasm but it still drew a look of disdain from Vara-"has done all she can to push the bounds of bad taste in that regard. Nyad also gave me a fascinating glimpse into the sex lives of Terminan elves when I was traveling with her a couple years ago."

"Did she?" Vara's voice cooled. "I suppose this explains the sickness and exhaustion you were suffering from."

"Nothing like that," Cyrus said in alarm. "She just...opened my eyes to the fact that I led a sheltered life." He coughed. "I believe she also called me a prude. Repeatedly."

"Finally an area where the Princess and I-" she put mocking emphasis on Nyad's title-"can agree. Likely the last time, as well as the first." Her face twisted back to the look of mischief. "Now that I know how to torture you-"

"Wait," Cyrus breathed an internal sigh of not-quite-relief. "There's a village ahead with some activity. Maybe we can find a wizard."

Vara's gaze shifted back to the road. "Yes, we'll plumb the depths of your race's secret disdain for biological imperatives later." With a slap of the reins, she urged her horse forward.

Cyrus followed with Windrider a few paces behind her. I was about to have a discussion about sex with the single most prim and proper elf I've ever met, he thought. And one that I have deep feelings for. That could either be incredibly good or insanely torturous, and I doubt I'd know which until it was too late.

They galloped along the road toward the village. Maybe I should have waited another minute or so. She might have opened up to me again...or she might have opened up on me, and left me in an even worse mess. A memory of Nyad's not-so-gentle probing, of her constant badgering until he had admitted that the last woman he'd been with was his wife-now almost four years ago-crossed his mind. Not sure I want Vara to know that about me.

Ahead, the village swarmed. It was not much bigger than the others they'd visited, but hundreds of refugees surrounded a series of wagons where food was being handed out. Cyrus caught a whiff as they reached the edge of town and his nose conveyed a message to his stomach, which roared approval after over a week of dry loaves and salted meat.

The scent was lovely; spices and fresh cooked beef, and a smell of fresh bread. The clamor of crowds of refugees, not pleading but squealing in joy and relief from their hunger, filled the air. There was a festive atmosphere and Cyrus cast a look through the crowds of ragged humans and settled on Vara, who wore a smile.

He caught her attention. "Ice Princess indeed. You're smiling at hungry people being given a meal."

She composed herself. "We should be careful. These relief efforts could be a distraction to allow an assassin to close in on us."

Cyrus looked ahead, his eyes fixated on a face in the crowd. Discomfort twisted his insides. "We let them draw us in."

As Vara looked at him in puzzlement, he eased his horse closer to hers and pointed. She saw, but did not react beyond her words. "There's no way we'll be able to outrun them. Not after so many days on the road."

"No." Cyrus cursed under his breath. This is not going to be pleasant...

A figure cut through the crowd, taking the utmost care not to knock anyone over, touching weary and downtrodden refugees as he passed, whispering an encouraging word here and there as he went. Upon reaching the edge of the throng he crossed the distance to Cyrus and Vara, the clinking of his aged armor lost beneath the roar of people behind him. His words, however, were not.

Cy turned to Vara, who looked stricken. Before them stood Alaric Garaunt, the Ghost of Sanctuary, his shoulders broad, back straight, and his lone gray eye staring up at his wayward officers. His words came out hard as the armor worn by the man himself, in a phrase that implied suggestion, though his tone carried no hint that it was anything other than a command.

"Let us...have a discussion."

Chapter 9.

Alaric led them into the village inn, the door creaking as it swung shut, leaving the noise from the mob outside. Cyrus's eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimness; all the windows had heavy curtains drawn. Wood walls, dark and spotted with age, were illuminated by the light of torches and from a few places where the boards, warped from years of use, didn't quite meet any longer. The air was still but held a faded aroma of old stew.

A long bar stretched in front of the far wall, a row of seats lined up before it. Behind it, leaning on an elbow, was a human woman, her lips curled in a sour expression until Alaric reached into his purse and placed three shining silver coins before her. "I'll take a bottle of your finest mead."

Her expression melted from harshness into something approaching hunger as she snatched them up, nodding. She busied herself with glasses while Cyrus and Vara followed their Guildmaster to a table in the corner. He extended his hand in a gesture for them to be seated, which they did, followed by the Ghost himself.

Alaric studied them, his mouth unmoving, his eye giving away less than usual. He waited, watching them, the silence unbroken until the innkeeper bustled over with three tankards of mead, busying herself with a much more pleasant demeanor than she had exhibited when they first entered. "So nice to have paying customers rather than that rabble outside! Anything else I can get for you? Room for the night? Hot bath?"

"I expect I'm about to be scalded well enough without any aid from your boiling water," Vara muttered under her breath.

"Some privacy, if we could." Alaric looked up at the innkeeper with a smile.

"Don't expect you'll be disturbed by other customers, seeing as we ain't got any," the innkeeper said with a laugh. "If any of that rabble comes through the door, just call me and I'll sort 'em out." She nodded her head again, clutching at the ragged seams of her dress, then backed away and disappeared into a door behind the bar.

"But for this woodpile she calls an inn, she'd be hard pressed to differentiate herself from any of the refugees," Vara said after the innkeeper had left.

"And but for my skill in magic and practice with a sword, I would be nothing but a simple farmer," Alaric said. "Just because this woman has elevated herself above others in her mind is no reason for us to lose perspective." He leveled his gaze on them. "Nor should we become distracted, because a tavernkeeper is not the reason we are here."

Vara cast a quick look at Cyrus before turning back to Alaric. "I won't justify my decision to go-"

With a squeak, the door opened and interrupted her. Curatio swept in, white robes trailing behind him, a serene smile resting upon his face. "Sorry to interrupt, but I am pleased to see you here." He moved toward them, pulling out the remaining chair and seating himself at the table. "By all means, continue."

"I won't-" Vara began.

"I am not here to argue with you," Alaric cut her off.