For only his second time riding a horse, Fiepet felt that he was doing quite well. The Counsel did not. But despite the exasperated glares he threw in Fiepet's direction, he wasn't faring all that better himself.

After riding to the Sirrup House the previous night, and failing to adequately replenish the energy it had taken, the Warlock's right hand man was struggling with the distance they needed to cover. The race to find Ursa was all that was keeping him upright on the horse.

"Might you not have been more comfortable in Master Pie's curricle?" asked Fiepet, "Perhaps if it arrives not long after us we can borrow it for the remainder of our search." 

His concern was far from touching, and only signaled his own displeasure at the necessity of having to ride. The Counsel endured the aching of his legs and straightened his back to face him in more dignified a manner.

"This way is faster," he said, "Stealthier too, should subtlety be our goal. But if you really cannot keep up, you can stay at the theater and await my return."

"Stay behind? I could never sit idly by and do nothing!" protested Fiepet, "Not while Delph is out there alone."

His declaration may have been all the more credible had he not been sliding so far in the saddle that he appeared to be on the brink of falling out of it. His noble intentions were in danger of exceeding his limited abilities.

"The man who took my brother," Fiepet began, "Is he likely to harm him? Is that why speed and stealth are a requirement?"

Ursa got into as many brawls as his brother before him, but despite his hatred of the witch and the Protectorate, he'd never been particularly dangerous; Min had never given him the chance. While the Warlock continued to search for his bride, and the enforcers lay dead, for the time that Ursa disappeared, the Counsel had no reason to suspect there was anyone left that he would wish to harm.

Of course, the day would come when the Warlock found his way to the other world, and the return of the witch would likely bring new challenges in keeping Ursa out of trouble. That much, the Counsel was prepared for; to beg him to live a life apart from them, that he and the Warlock could taste some kind of happiness. Even one built on a tenuous compromise.

But that the witch was dead, and that its child had crossed paths with Ursa, was a variable he could not have considered.

"The sooner we reach them, the less of a problem we can hope to expect," said the Counsel, "So please, for the love of Canphis, dig in your heels and pick up your pace!"

"You're one to talk..." Fiepet muttered.

"What did you say..?"

"Well, forgive my having noticed," said Fiepet, "But you're not exactly 'fighting fit', nor riding much faster than myself. If it was Delph in a similar state as your own, I'd never have let him mount the horse. Every step of the way you've looked to be in agony! Why you wouldn't allow yourself the comfort of a padded seat and a blanket to warm you, I do not understand."

The Counsel failed to remember the last time he was spoken to with such directness by anyone but Ursa. Had he doubted that Fiepet had come from another world, his reckless words were proof enough. No one who'd heard his name would ever have dared to question his power.

"Let me enlighten you," he said, "The Warlock's Counsel is not weak. I am only going so slowly that you might keep up with me! I am not accustomed to comfort, nor do I have to answer for my constitution. It is perfectly fine, and will not keep me from ripping apart those that seek to offend me!" 

"There isn't much I can recall about that awful play," Fiepet mused, "But weren't you on the side of the hero? I shouldn't think you'd go around 'ripping' people apart for the sake of an insult. Even now, here you are helping me. If I can do the same for you, I will. And I think we can start with finding a more comfortable means of transport."

The Counsel looked down at his pale hands. The reins were twined about his scratched and scarred fingers, his knuckles numb from the cold. The cloak he wore to hide his shrinking frame was all the protection his carefully constructed edifice would allow. The Warlock's Counsel had to be strong, remaining by his master's side as the bodies fell and the Protector's system crumbled.

For the sake of retribution; for the sake of Ursa, Rel... and for his own pitiable mother, he could not afford to be weak. Even when the will to survive had left him, the need to be feared did not abate. And yet here was this plaintive young man, his misplaced compassion reminding the Counsel, that there was a time when others thought to care for him before he learned to forget.

"As much as I wish to find my brother," Fiepet continued, "I cannot be the cause of your ill health. And I'm sure your friend wouldn't thank me for it when at last we catch up with them. There is a chance, isn't there, that they might have returned to the theater on their own?"

Unlikely. But the Counsel allowed Fiepet Strahl to console himself with the possibility.

"Who did you play..?" he asked out of curiosity.

"Hm?" Fiepet replied, "Oh, in the performance? Some sort of soldier I think it was. My brother and I followed the witch around, and towards the end of the first act I had to stab someone. You weren't the one getting stabbed, were you? I didn't really see how things turned out for everyone, but Lyre explained the plot a little on the drive to the palace."

"You were no one important then," stated the Counsel, "Just another of the villains. It didn't turn out well for the villains."

"I'd say it didn't turn out too well for the heroes either," said Fiepet, "Given how little appreciation you seem to have for the luxuries of palace living. All those trays in your room piled high, and not one delicacy eaten. Such a waste to see them spoil..."

"I don't ask for the food they bring," the Counsel told him in defense of his ingratitude.

"But if you ate some of it, I'm sure they wouldn't need to send so many things to tempt you with."

"They do not need to send anything at all!"

"And let you starve?!" cried Fiepet, "Surely not!"

The Counsel wanted to tell him he had every right to starve himself, when he realized just how stupid it sounded; like telling his mother he had every right to throw mud in his eyes, just because he could. And yet Fiepet was not his mother, he was a stranger, or worse even still; the witch's son. Why should he care if he thought him a fool? Why did it matter that he felt ashamed of his self-inflicted self destruction?

"I mean, I am capable of fetching food for myself," the Counsel lied, "Simple food. Nothing so complicated as the dishes they bring me."

"You can try my cooking soon enough," offered Fiepet, "In thanks for your help, I'll keep you fed until we find them. Should you manage to send my brother and I back to Grunterbad at the end of this, there's more besides that I can do to repay you. Our life is more prosperous than my appearance here might lead you to believe."

The Counsel had often wondered about Grunterbad. Pike had planned to escape there, before the fall of Hofingrad, when only Rel's murder had yet to be avenged. He'd told Min countless times, that once he found the way, all would be well. Fool. He hadn't counted on how far the Protectorate would go, or what it would cost to shift the velvet water.

Now the world was at its end, Min finally found the answer as to which side he would have taken had the witch returned. He hadn't informed the Warlock of his plan, of where he was going or who he hoped to see. Just as Min had been overlooked for a century, he didn't care that only a stranger was beside him at the brink of Madning's destruction; so long as he was on his way to finding Ursa.

He hadn't realized before, just how desperately he wanted to find him.

"Is it cold there, in Grunterbad?" asked the Counsel.

"In the winter of course," Fiepet replied, "But there's a backburning stove that keeps the house toasty, and fires lit in every room that needs them. With father gone, there'll be one less lit in the coming season... He never did like the cold."

"And wine? Have you wine there?"

"Of course! There are vineyards aplenty on the mountainsides. Should you wish to be compensated thusly, I would be more than happy to accommodate you at the Printworks. It would do you well to rest and eat your fill, and the mountain air works wonders in improving vitality."

If Ursa would agree to it, then the Counsel would send him back with the brothers. If he wouldn't agree, then the Counsel was not above killing the brothers and sending Ursa to the safety of their world regardless. For the first time since the fall of the Protectorate, the Counsel had a purpose. Let Pike swallow the world in grief, himself with it; but let Ursa choose his own path, his own world should he wish it.

"We're losing time," said the Counsel, "We should hurry onwards to the Sirrup House before the trail turns cold."

"What is it you're hoping to find there?" asked Fiepet, "I asked around and no one knew where Ursa might have been heading... you were my only lead..." A lead that came to nothing.

"There are finding spells," the Counsel told him, "The most powerful of all was how the Warlock came to find the witch. When Ursa left the Velvet Palace, he cleansed all vestiges of himself to better hide from us, but there may yet be a trace of him lingering at that wretched theater. A cup, a cloak, something he touched on which his energy remains."

"What of something my brother might have touched?" Fiepet asked.

"That would work too," the Counsel replied, "Assuming there is something of his at the Sirrup House."

Fiepet grasped the pommel firmly with both hands and extended his foot in the Counsel's direction.

"What about his shoes..?" he asked, waggling his toes emphatically.

The Counsel came to a stop. "You should have told me," he said, dismounting and snatching the shoe from Fiepet's stockinged foot.

"In my defense, I didn't know it would help," said Fiepet, hopping awkwardly down from his dappled steed and suddenly cursing the pain in his thighs. "Is this where you do your magic bit..?" he asked the Counsel, "Your spell to find its owner?"

"I don't do magic," the Counsel confessed, "In fact I usually do the opposite. But this one we learned from the Witling Woman herself."

Placing the shoe on the ground, the Counsel used a stick to draw a circle around it, and marked the points of the compass. A string of words from his lips and a drop from a bottle he kept tied at his waist, and the westernmost point was scorched into the ground.

"Due west?" asked Fiepet, "Wouldn't that take us further south of the Sirrup House? Nearer that big mountain too, I should think. You know, my father told tales of a mountain that looked like a drum. I've half a mind to believe it's the one he spoke of climbing."

"Climbing..?" When had the witch climbed Velmund Drum? He was sure Pike would have mentioned it in the years that followed, where talk was of little else but the man carved into his heart.

"Maybe if there's time after collecting Delph, we could think about climbing it ourselves," suggested Fiepet, "Have you ever reached its summit?"

The Counsel shook his head. That night swimming with Pike in the lake, Rel sat by the shore and watched them. Three village boys with a plan to return, and no thought of never making it back again. To the west lay Velmund Drum... the Witling Forest, and further still, the ashes of Hofingrad. How far was Ursa taking the witch's child?

The Counsel's face turned paler.

"Oh! You mustn't like heights," reasoned Rel at his complexion, "Think no more of it! It was a silly thought in the midst of all that's happening. But, there is something I would like to ask before we set out again."

The Counsel gave a solemn nod.

"Do you think I could have my shoe back?"