Unaware that he was fast becoming the most interesting man on the Madning Isle, or that anyone other than Fiepet may be after him, Delph was sitting restlessly beside Ursa as they continued their journey west in silence. He'd been thinking for some time about the practicalities involved in getting home, and just how impossible it would be to convince the mad Warlock to help him.

"He must have some compassion," reasoned Delph, "Some humanity that we can appeal to?"

"No," Ursa replied simply, "Nothing like that."

"But... if he has loved once before, surely that proves he has the capacity to love? To care for others beyond himself? And should Fiepet speak to him, then-"

"You rely too greatly on this brother of yours," Ursa pointed out, "Have you never thought about managing your own affairs?"

Delph was not ashamed to admit he trusted Fiepet's abilities far above his own; he hadn't even managed to stray from Ursa's side out of fear of getting lost while searching for his brother. As they ambled closer to the edge of the Witling Forest, Delph could only hope his travel companion would stay true to his word, and drive him back to the theater once his business was complete.

The silent response to his question confirmed what Ursa already knew; that Delph was helplessly dependent.

"It's clear you were the favored child," he told Delph, "Never having to lift a finger. After your outburst earlier, I'd almost begun to believe you had a backbone. But it's no wonder you'd defend your family so vehemently; since they must have been the ones that crowned you as their spoiled little prince."

Bile rose to Delphin's throat. He had always felt it, and always resented it. Their father was never as kind to Fiepet as he should have been, and often overlooked the flaws of his youngest, rather than seek to correct them.  It had never been fair.

"Then tell me more about the Warlock," he said, "That I might learn how best to entreat him myself; one prince to another."

"He's no prince, no king either; despite the throne room remaining at the Velvet Palace. It's all of it for show, the power was only a means to an end."

"He does not wish to rule?" asked Delph.

Ursa wasn't entirely sure on that front. "I don't know what else he would have done if he hadn't led a rebellion," he admitted, "Ruling this isle is probably a step up from tending to his mother's livestock, and causing mischief with Rel and Min. But it was never his goal."

Delph tried to remember what he could of the terrible play. He'd been so distracted by the floating lights and furniture that he hadn't made out much of what was said.

"Then how did it happen?" he asked, "How did a guard from the country come to rule the Madning Isle?"

The name still grated when he heard it.

"You mean, how did Pike become the Warlock? Or how did the Warlock usurp the Protector?"

"Pike?" Delph confirmed.

"As he was then. Back when the three of them would run around the village like they owned it. Pike was good at fighting but not much else. I admired him all the same. Rel told me once he thought him a decent kind of man; but that he feared one day it would get him in trouble. He wasn't wrong. Though no one could have guessed where it would lead him. Either of them..." he corrected.

Delph snapped his fingers. "The Counsel!" he cried, delighted that his memory had not failed him.

"The Counsel," Ursa repeated. "Min. He and Pike were my brother's closest friends in those days, when I was barely past one hundred and begging them to let me tag along. I can't even remember now, what they said to me on the day they left. On the last day I heard Rel's voice. No doubt my brother bragged about their mission, while Min cried at having to leave his mother behind." 

Delph pressed his hands beneath his legs, his chin falling to his chest as he struggled to find any words of consolation.

"When we met again, they dragged me away from the care of Merit Fox. I was already a man in the eyes of the world, and yet they continued to treat me like a child."

"What age would that be?" asked Delph, "Here, I mean. I've heard people talk of centuries as though they were nothing. But in Grunterbad, if you're lucky, you might live to be a hundred before your time runs out completely."

Ursa chuckled to himself. "Not even time enough for most men's balls to drop," he remarked, "Add another eighty years and then you'd be old enough to buy cattle. Or get yourself a wife."

"It's interesting," said Delph, "That you'd put them in that order."

"It's not like I've done either of them anyway," Ursa confessed. "The Counsel barely let me breathe in the years they kept me 'safe'. They said they were protecting me for Rel's sake, but Rel would not have made me live like that."

"Was the Warlock cruel..?"

"Obsessed?" Ursa ventured, "Intent on mastering the magic he believed would lead him to the demon witch. Learning from whoever would teach him, no matter how dark their methods. He didn't care what cost it had on his soul, or how many bodies he tore apart in the process; his pursuit of knowledge drove him beyond man's limitations."

"But, wasn't it also for justice..?" asked Delph, "That he could make the men who hurt your families pay for their crimes?"

"Aye, that too."

Pike had done just that; tearing apart the Protectorate with every fatal spell that fell from his lips. The Protector had been foolish, thinking fear to be the most dangerous weapon. Pike proved him wrong. Blood magic, as the Cimbran Isle discovered, was far more lethal.

"Have you ever seen a man turn red with blood, as all the liquid in his body is commanded to escape it..?" Ursa's eyes glanced from the road to the pale young man beside him.

"No." Delph told him quietly.

"The Counsel confined me to try and keep me out of view. But he did not succeed... it is a sight I am unlikely to forget."

"You're smiling," said Delph, unnerved by the contrast between his words and his expression.

"My mother was pregnant when she died," Ursa told him, "And each and every enforcer complicit in the evils that transpired, deserved the agonizing deaths that Pike gave them. But just because I stand by what he did, it does not mitigate the Warlock's brutality. He is a man without mercy. And believe me when I tell you, he will show you none."

"What if I really am the child of his beloved? Would that not hold me in a higher stead?"

"You think he'd be willing to accept that his darling witch had lain with another..? That his bride was waltzing horizontal while he'd been starving himself of human companionship? Not fucking likely."

Delph thought of his father and the life he lived devoid of intimate relationships. At least in the years he knew him, he had never seen a hint of desire from Hekse Strahl. He'd always put it down to the man's old age and low opinion of the Grunterbad maidens, but maybe he'd been harboring an ever greater longing.

Shaking his head, Delph brushed the thought aside as soon as it had formed. His father was not the witch. It was pointless entertaining the idea. What mattered now was the Warlock.

"You've known him better than most," said Delph, "So you'd know if there's a weakness to exploit. What must we do to stop him? And how can we convince him to send my brother and I back home? Think, please! You are the only one who can help us. This is your chance to be the hero."

It had been a long time since Ursa's ego had been stroked. And even then it had cost him a pretty penny; lip service went beyond what the working girls were used to.

"Yeah well," Ursa replied, stretching his neck as his chin subconsciously tilted to the heavens, "It's not like I can abandon what I've started here, just to save your skins. I promised Merit Fox I'd pay my respects, and that's the least of what needs to be done."

Delph winced as he spoke, aware of the impropriety of what he was asking. "Can it be done quickly..?"

"Should take two days," Ursa conceded, "But only if we maintain our speed. And then another two days back again if we hurry... I can't guarantee we'll still be alive by then."

Nodding his head and accepting his choices, Delph was on the verge of jumping down from the moving cart and starting back towards the theater on foot. But he had no food, no money, and no sense of direction. He thought he could maybe make it to Merit Fox's house, but how was Fiepet supposed to find him there? 

When faced with such an impossible dilemma, Delph reverted to his usual habit. Loosening the knot at his waist, he pulled the fabric of the silk robe up above his head and hid in the semi-darkness.

"Do you think you'll find a solution in there?" asked Ursa.

"Yes," came Delphin's muffled reply.

In gratitude of Delph's ability to keep him amused despite his distinct lack of wine, Ursa opted to make a more useful suggestion.

"If, if what you say is true, and that your now deceased father was not the witch; it means that there is doubt. If the Warlock were to believe the witch was still living, then the world would be safe. He might even grant you clemency enough to send you home."

"And how would we go about convincing him?" asked Delph from underneath the robe, "That his witch is still alive?"

"Start a rumor?" ventured Ursa, "Give him reason to think he made a mistake."

Delph's braided hair began to emerge. "Are you really going to help me..?" he asked, "Won't it be too late by the time we make it back?"

"Come out of your burrow little rabbit," said Ursa, "Can't you see the answer's right ahead of us?"

Pulling the robe to his chin, Delph could just about make out a group of men on the horizon. With unnatural speed they were bounding across the landscape as though carried on the wind towards them.

"Gentlemen!" cried Ursa, raising his hand in salute.

The man in front outstretched his arms on either side and slowed the cloak he was riding. Since the Warlock reinstated the legal use of magic, the Traveling Men had seen a decrease in their popularity. For anyone willing to spend a coin, they were willing to adjust their schedule.

"Good day sir to you and your charming wife," he said.

Delph hurriedly threw back the robe that they might better see his face, cleared his throat and squared his shoulders.

"Ah!" said the man, his bow extended with a flourish, "My mistake sirs."

Ursa laughed.

"There's a tidings spell I'm after," he said, leaning forward to rest his elbow on his knee, "But I'm not sure if you've one with enough reach. Maybe I'm better asking in Eristad, sorry to bother you, I'll let you be on your way."

The Traveling Man recognized the art of the haggle all too well.

"What spell?" he asked, obediently taking the bait.

"This isn't merely conjecture mind you," Ursa told him, "The tidings I bring have come from a reputable source. They need sharing far and wide to do them justice."

"From Forinstad to Innsfeld I can send them for a decent price. Beyond the limits of the Isle and I'd have to charge you double."

Ursa felt an irritating prodding from his left.

"Can you send messages across a distance?" asked Delph in wonder.

A pair of narrowed eyes glared back at him.

"Could you tell Fiepet where to find me?" he continued, "If Fiepet were to help us, there shouldn't be any problem at all with getting the Warlock to believe us."

The Traveling Man couldn't help but overhear him.

"You're trying to send a message to the Warlock?" he asked, "Even if you tried at Eristad or Relmund, you still couldn't find a spell that would reach inside the Velvet Palace."

"It doesn't need to," said Ursa, "News as big as this transcends the limits of magical intervention. We're on our way now to confirm it, but the people should know to ready themselves for the day we feared would not arrive."

Removing a purse of money from his shoe and throwing it to the Traveling Man, Ursa said it twice through in his head before speaking it aloud. It needed to sound plausible enough that Pike would buy it. To use a name that only he should recognize.

"The Witling Woman is said to have found the witch. The real witch. And brought him back from the land of Grunterbad."