"Explain it to me again. Slower this time."

"So, the Warlock found his way to the other world, but the witch was already dead. Upon his return, a maid overheard him planning to end it all and take us with him. That's when she reached out unexpectedly to Master Brecke..."

"And that's why he's been so adamant to meet. We're none of us dead yet though; so what happened next?"

"This is where things get complicated," said the squire, "For the Warlock brought something back with him from the other world; a stack of journals penned by the witch. This much Mistress Hen informed them of. His plans depend on a completed study of these books, one of which the maid is said to have squirreled away. A book that Brecke means to get his hands on."

"Why?" asked the knight, "What does it say?"

"No one can be sure except the girl who's seen it, and Lyre's already taken her out of the city. One thing we do know, is that the Velvet Palace is vacant at present. The Warlock and Counsel are both absent from its gilded halls."

"Are they after the maid and the stolen journal..?"

"No," the squire replied, "But perhaps in search of what it contained. Two men appeared out of nowhere quite recently, and while one was spirited away from the Sirrup House, the other went to Relmund in search of him."

"This," said the knight, "this is where you lost me before. What do these men have to do with anything? The Warlock means to kill us all after reading some books - the book goes missing - so he finds it and finishes the job. That or Brecke tries to stop him."

"The strange men," explained the squire, "Are mentioned in the journal. The maid recognized their names as those written by the witch. They have come from the other world... and appear to have been his children."

"Children?" asked the knight, "But in the span of a hundred years they would be infants at most; not two grown men."

"Time," the squire reminded, "We had heard it said that years in the other world do not match our own. It seems the witch succumbed to the ravages of old age in only the short time it took for the Warlock to find him."

"So, the Warlock means to find the children and then the book... and after that he intends to destroy the Madning Isle..?"

The squire wished there was a simpler explanation to things; or that Lyre hadn't made such a mess of it, that it was hard to keep track of what was true. All he could do was state the facts as he knew them.

"The Warlock was sent in search of a thief," he told the knight.

"The maid?"

"No!" cried the squire in exasperation, "Sire, please. Just listen until I am done and perhaps it will not become so confusing."

The knight held a finger to his lips and nodded his silent compliance.

"Lyre sent the Warlock in search of a fabricated thief. She informed him that the witch's ring had been stolen, and that the thief had since absconded with the Counsel."

The knight's mouth began to open and was quickly closed again.

 "But in truth, the Counsel is helping one of the witch's children find the other. For what reason, we still cannot be sure. Lyre and Ramun, too, have taken the maid in search of the missing child. From the little the palace informant has told them, the youngest may be the key to finding a way out of this. All that remains is to keep the Warlock busy in the meantime."

"Ah, I think I'm beginning to understand," said the knight, "All eyes are on this missing child. And what of the Warlock then? Are there distractions enough to engage him? Or if he finds himself bored will we face the fate of Hofingrad overnight?! Who? Who is watching him?"

"Lyre felt it best... given the history... that she not get too close to the Warlock."

"And yet she'd follow the Counsel's route?"

"She takes great stock in Mistress Hen's word. If the youngest princeward has a part to play in all this, then surely acquiring him should be our greatest priority."

"Buck!" cried the knight, "Our greatest priority should be ensuring the Warlock doesn't kill us all. And how are we supposed to do that with no eyes on him? I'll go myself if there's no better choice."

"You could make a deal with Master Brecke..?" suggested Buck.

The Innate were best kept at a distance; close enough that they could understand their strategies, but far enough that they weren't caught up in them. A time would come when they'd know who best to align themselves with.

"Where did Lyre send him?" asked the knight.

"Fintersbahn. But Sire, will you really go yourself? I'm not sure your mother would be pleased, and it's been so long since you last crossed paths."

"Mother will forgive me," said the knight, "She can have the understudy take my place."

Removing his helmet and the large metal bracers he wore on his forearms, the knight transformed into another unassuming actor. He passed his costume to Buck and quickly changed his clothes. A cloak of travel was fastened about his neck, but fearing he hadn't the magic to reach as far as Fintersbahn, he elected to borrow a horse from the stables.

"What will you do when you find him, Sire?" asked Buck, "The bodies of the Protectorate can attest to how pointless it is to try pleading."

"I am not of the Protectorate," said the actor, "And after the Warlock's bloody rise, there's been surprisingly less violence than we might have expected. I'll do what I can to keep him stable while Lyre and Ramun continue whatever foolish plan they've come up with. Just tell them to be quick about it."

"And what of Master Brecke?" asked Buck.

"Unless he comes to us in panic that the world's about to end, then there's no sense in dealing with him. The Innate will have some tricks up their sleeve I'm sure... even without magic, they seem to find their way."
 
The reluctant rider ordered Buck to keep him abreast of Lyre and Ramun's progress, before taking the south road towards Fintersbahn. Purposely going in search of the Warlock was not a position he ever thought to find himself in. He'd barely escaped the punishments endured by his fellows, and only because he'd shown them mercy that day by the water's edge.

He'd pitied them the loss of their friend. And as much as it pained him to admit it, Rel had been a good man that he'd treated badly. Maybe fate decreed that Elion had yet to atone for the follies of his youth, since peace was always just beyond his reach.

Returning to Velmund, as it was then, without the witch or with those that set it free; he and the other soldiers he'd served with were granted no reward for their efforts. The failure of the Cimbran Army infuriated the demanding Protector, and if it hadn't been for Elion's connections, he'd have been flogged in public with the rest of them.

Connections had protected him on more than one occasion; and although their foundations were often built in the sand, he learned very quickly it was better to maintain them all than choose one above another. You never could tell who was worth knowing; even a monster could have its uses should the situation call for it. The fact he still lived was proof enough.

True, life was not what he'd anticipated. As an illegitimate son he would never have reached the heights of his father, but at least in the time of the Protector there were riches enough that life was tolerable. His mother was only a dancer, and when he had no choice but to knock on her door and beg for her help, there were conditions involved that he hadn't accounted for.

Fine, yes! He was still alive, there was food on the table, and things could have been worse. Much worse. But there were days when he regretted it, letting them go, and in turn, losing the privilege that came with his father's power. How was he to know those yokels would take over the world?

And yet, since they had done it... then why not him? His mother had nothing to offer but her network of performers, and all the trappings that came with her life as a favored mistress; but it was certainly a better start than the traitors of Hofingrad had begun with. Biding his time in the shadows, Elion cast his net across the Madning Isle, extending his reach to every corner and waiting for an opportunity to present itself.

Given his parentage, it was only a matter of time before the Innate made contact with a plan to draw him to their cause. By using his mother's magical leanings as his excuse not to join with them, he'd retained a tentative allyship. Fingers in every pie, friends in every port. Only the Velvet Palace had proven impenetrable; but after Master Brecke somehow wormed his way inside, Elion was only too happy to share in the spoils of his efforts.

Knowing Brecke's intentions were not aligned entirely with his own, he paid close attention to what dealings he had with Mistress Hen. A hastily scribbled letter from the palace, was a matter demanding of Elion's urgent intervention. And had Lyre not acted so quickly, the Innate might have been left holding all the cards.

Racing onwards to play out his 'chance encounter' with the Warlock, he could only trust that two of his strongest agents were playing the parts assigned to them.

Three miles from the Sirrup House, the horses pulling Ramun's carriage vanished without a trace; the sudden stop nearly throwing the passengers from their seats.

"What happened?!" asked Hen.

"Utterance of dispersion," Lyre explained, "With such range and effect it could only have been the Counsel. It's possible he met with some danger on the road and spoke without thinking. Had we been halfway up a mountain, it could have been a great deal worse."

"He may bear a lot of the blame for the Protectorate's end," said Ramun, "But by Jophis they would have loved him! A handful of words and every kind of magic is cleanly stripped away. Not even the Protector had that kind of power."

"That kind of power takes magic to forge it," Lyre rebutted, climbing down from the carriage and holding out her hand for Hen to make use of.

"And you can understand why he has it," said Hen, hitching her skirts and preparing to walk the remainder of the journey, "The Warlock would be much too powerful without the Counsel to temper him. He's always been the master's failsafe. Had he wanted to save the world, he'd have been our strongest ally."

"But we don't need him, do we?" asked Lyre, "There's something about the prettier Strahl that could save us, isn't there? I'd hate to put all our eggs in one basket and find them to be rotten."

"We should find him first and ascertain a few things," Hen said mysteriously, "Then we may have valuable information to share with Master Brecke."

Ramun was dissatisfied, but Lyre was surprisingly patient regarding Mistress Hen's plan. Her roaming hands on the carriage ride had already discerned that the journal was not on her person. It was better to earn her trust, rather than push her back into the arms of the Innate.

"Onwards then, to the Sirrup House!" cried Lyre.

"How long until the magic comes back?" asked Hen.

"As long as it would take to walk," said Ramun, "But there's no guarantee. One wrong word from the Counsel's lips and we'd be forced to stop again."

"The horses you made..." whispered Hen, "They were very impressive. Can you make people too, like Mistress Lyre?"

"I wouldn't want another one of her," said Ramun, "But no... there's something special about that one. There are things she can do that I wonder if even the Warlock could manage."

"And is that why she was chosen by the Innate?" asked Hen.

For a second he almost forgot. His smile affixed, he nodded his head. "Mn, that's right! We were all of us chosen for our talents. Yourself included of course."

"I haven't talents like yours," protested Hen, "In fact, I wonder if I've any at all."

"Your judge of character for one," said Ramun, "You've put your trust in the right people. Not to mention, your talent for making others jealous is a lesson to us all."

Ahead of them on the road, Lyre was standing with her hands on her hips.

"Ramun!" she called, "You're much too slow! Mistress Hen! It's better to keep pace at my side!" 

"Hurry along dear," Ramun told Hen, "If I hold you back who knows what retaliation she'll have planned. She's more dangerous than she looks."

Lyre batted her dark and innocent lashes at them as though to prove him wrong.

"But you've nothing to fear," he whispered in the ear of the pretty maid, "I'm sure she plans to save the world before she comes for you."