The road between Relmund and Fintersbahn had never before been graced with the presence of such a prestigious traveler twice in one day. The mightly Warlock had ridden down it for the best part, only to turn around and ride back the way he came. No attendants flanked him, and no procession followed, just the leader of the Madning Isle, alone on his stout black steed.

Elion intercepted him not far from the capital. 

He first made the mistake of passing right by him, before realizing the target had seemingly abandoned his mission to Fintersbahn and was on his way home. The dazzling figure cutting through the landscape on the far side of the road was none other than the Warlock. Elion hadn't remembered seeing him decked out in glimmering baubles and brocade when they'd last had occasion to cross each other's path.

The pretense of a chance encounter was ruined somewhat by Elion suddenly needing to turn his horse around and give chase; but fortune smiled when an object slipped from the Warlock's coat and landed roughly on the road below. 

"I say!" cried Elion, attempting to alert the Warlock without raising his defenses. "It appears-"

The 'double take' required all the years spent perfecting his art that Elion's time on the stage had allowed.

"By Jophis! It is the Warlock! Forgive me Master, it has been too long since last I paid my respects and humble gratitude!"

The Warlock watched from his mount as Elion retrieved the fallen book and passed it to his hands. It was only when he came closer that he suspected they may have met before.

"Elion, Master," said the helpful stranger, "In case it may have slipped your mind. Ours was an... unfortunate beginning in the ranks of the Cimbran army. But I have never forgotten your mercy in sparing my life."

The deep bow he enacted was a far cry from the hostile shoulder he'd previously offered Pike in greeting; but there were no depths to which he would not sink if it meant he could garner the Warlock's favor. Without close eyes on the leader, it would prove somewhat difficult to prevent his ending the world.

"It appears that fate must have brought me to you," Elion decreed, "For it has long troubled my conscience that I have never repaid the debt you are owed. Master, I see you are without an escort. Allow me! Allow me to see you safely to your destination."

The Warlock's horse stepped closer, the rider's suspicious eyes cast down the length of his upturned nose to the obsequious toad but a hoof's width away.

"Have you confused me with some defenseless damsel you were attempting to fuck?" asked the Warlock, "Why would I have need for an escort?"

The smile froze in Elion's eyes. Even power had not curbed the Warlock's barbarous tongue, or softened him to flattery. It was clear another approach was in order. 

"I only noticed the Counsel was not with you," said Elion, "Since I was given to believe you often ride out together I thought you would likely lead me to him. In truth... it was he I was hoping to speak with regarding some news I have heard. There was rumor he might have headed this way."

Those Hofingrad fools had been nothing if not loyal to one another. Even if the Warlock intended to kill them all, he would hardly subject his friend to earthly torment before the agony of the everlasting afterlife consumed them. Surely he would want the Counsel's final days to afford him some comfort.

"A princeward has recently arrived from abroad," Elion declared, "Perhaps, Master, it has already reached your ears?"

It was for the very same issue that he'd begun this fool's errand in search of a missing ring.

"Make your report at the palace," the Warlock replied, "If there is intelligence you wish to share."

Elion was not prepared to be dismissed so easily. Just as Lyre's puppet before him, he was unwilling to let the Warlock leave without a fight. While Lyre created a common thief for him to pursue, Elion created something much, much worse.

"But! It is no common prince, Master!" he cried, "He is suspected to be an illegitimate son of the Protector, returned from his exile in another world! There's no telling what he could have planned for the Counsel if left to his machinations. It is imperative we warn him before it is too late! There are rumors afoot that floating dregs of the Protectorate are close to taking action."

There was more truth in Elion's words than he would have cared to reveal, but it was the easiest way to lend an air of credibility to his dubious claims.

"The Protectorate are dead," the Warlock told him flatly, "All of them."

It mattered little anyway. As soon as he confirmed there would be no impediment to his final, fatal spell, any dregs would be clean washed away with the rest of humanity.

Elion was forced to play another card from his deck.

"But this son," he divulged, "Has learned how to harness the velvet water."

Pike had near sold his soul to learn the art of shifting the velvet water. The ancient teachings were hard won, the years of training took their toll, and yet by the skin of his teeth he had survived it. Learned in part by piecemeal; every step had cost him dearly in coin and suffering, but it was a price he was content to pay.

Having drunk the well of knowledge dry, when the Warlock came to power and restored the use of magic; it came with a caveat. Water spells and incantations were strictly prohibited until the witch was found. The Warlock was unwilling to let someone else win in the race to find his bride.

The words of the second journal began to plague him. 'At last, the velvet water came once more to Grunterbad'. Had someone chanced to beat him to that mythical land? As the look of consternation was worn on the Warlock's face, Elion delighted at how well it suited him.

"You don't think he's looking for the witch, do you?" Elion baited, "I still remember that day, when the prisoner disappeared into the water. We searched for a week but he was never found..."

"Where did you get this information?" asked the Warlock.

"An acquaintance of mine from the theater," Elion explained, "Happened to meet the princeward last night at a showing of the Zauber Play. A strange man, said to have traveled here from another land by stowing away on someone else's coattails."

The portal once closed, could not be reopened in Grunterbad. Had the Protector's rumored son been trapped there, waiting for an opportunity? The man he'd met at the house; he was not mute as the witch's child was said to have been. And with the Warlock so out of sorts when he left, should anyone have followed him, it was unlikely he'd have taken notice.

As though fastening a jerkin with every hook off by one; the Warlock was putting together a working theory of the situation, built on the lies he'd been fed.

"Whatever business you had in Relmund," said Elion, "Should locating this man and the Counsel not take precedence? What if he finds the witch before you? What if he found him already..?"

The Warlock was firmly on Elion's hook.

"Aren't you worried?" he asked as he began to reel him in, "What he might do if he found him? It was the Divine Witch's escape that led to his father's demise... What if he means to kill him..?"

The briefest of conversations, and Elion had brought purpose once more to the Warlock's life. He took great pride in his accomplishment; having made from scratch a murderer that could never be caught. Let him look. Let the search for a specter consume him. Distraction fared better than destruction.

The Warlock seemed lost in thought, shaking his head, and shaking Elion's assurance with it. It made no sense that the princeward had taken the ring and left with the Counsel for Fintersbahn. The nearest body of water was closer to Remund. He'd wanted to clear his head so badly, he hadn't thought to use it when he left. He should have pressed the maid for confirmation; to determine the truth of their destination.

"Perhaps we can think things over on the road, Master," pressed Elion, urgent to pull his attention away from the capital, "But first we should speak with the Counsel, and discover if the princeward has caused him harm..."

The Warlock nodded, only to dismount in the moment that Elion raced towards his horse.

"Wha... What are you doing, Master? Should we not hurry towards Fintersbahn?"

From the saddle bag of his fine black steed, the Warlock pulled out a wooden cup and drew a circle and four points in the dirt with his foot. Placing the cup in its center, he opened the locket about his neck and guided a drop of green liquid down to join it.

Fuck, thought Elion, as the Counsel's true location was scorched into the earth for all to see. He shouldn't have underestimated the Warlock's sense of caution, or its ability to ruin his otherwise decent plan.

"One point disproven then," said the Warlock, "And if the others are too, how do you think I should thank you for wasting my time?"

Elion remembered that dangerous look.

"I can only share the information I have been privy to," he said, "And trust that it has been delivered to me in the name of righteousness; as I now pass it on to you."

The Warlock cared as little for Elion's rhetoric as the man who spoke it. "Don't bother making conversation on the road," he told Elion, "There's enough horseshit around as it is."

"But I may accompany you?" asked Elion, getting to the most pertinent point.

"Of course," the Warlock replied, "If I find there is no foreign princeward I can tear to pieces, then you will serve as substitute to ease my frustration. For your sake, I hope this intelligence you've brought me is correct."  

Swallowing hard, Elion mounted his horse, following behind the Warlock towards the Witling Forest, and praying that Lyre and Ramun were having better luck. Whichever of the witch's children they were able to produce, Elion was quite willing to sacrifice their life if it meant saving his own.

On the road to Velmund Drum, the eldest of Hekse Strahl's sons had already courted death once that day. No sooner had Fiepet's shoe been returned to his foot, than he found himself almost trampled under another. Something had spooked his horse; and rearing up with a distressed whinny, it suddenly bolted between the trees.

"After it!" cried the Counsel, feebly mounting his own in pursuit.

Fiepet had heard tales of the Happenstance, but there was an even greater threat that lurked in the wilds of the Madning Isle. For riders without a magical escort, and without the wherewithal to keep hold of their reins, there was a chance the Knurren would enchant their beasts out from under them.

The imperceptible cries were unheard by man; but horses, dogs, and even flocks on their way to slaughter had been known to follow the sound. The Knurren's call echoed in the ears of every unsuspecting creature; Here boy, hurry. Come to me. Faster.

The Counsel had not traveled more than a tenth of a mile when he realized he lacked the speed to catch Remora's horse. A man that had served him well for half a century deserved better, than for his favored mount to meet its end in a savage's stewpot. The words left his mouth before he understood the futility of them.

"Still your beasts! Make dumb your incantations!"

The Counsel's powerful cadence surged across the landscape; deadening the potency of every spell. Fiepet sensed a change in the air. An unnerving quiet proceeding the resonance of the Counsel's voice. Catching up to him, he could just make out the dappled horse waiting patiently ahead.

"Fetch him," the Counsel ordered, "And do not let loose his reins until I give you leave to do so."

Fiepet nodded and did as he was told.

The Counsel could not escape the hypocrisy of his actions. He was prepared to let Remora die with the rest, and yet he could not bear that he should first lose his horse. He wondered if it was possible; if he could send him with Ursa to the safety of the other world.

"Does your voice work like that on everyone?" Fiepet asked him.

"Only to stop magic," the Counsel confessed, "It has no effect on those that do not use it."

"Then I'll deal with any other trouble we encounter," said Fiepet, "Should I need to. Though-"

"What?"

"I was a little surprised you left your bodyguard behind in the first place."

"I am capable," the Counsel vowed, "Of protecting myself!"

Fiepet foolishly thought to test a theory. Walking over to the Counsel's horse, he reached up and pushed the Counsel out of his saddle.

"You're weaker than Delph," Fiepet chided. "From now on, you take care of the magic, and I'll take care of the rest."

Batting Fiepet's hands away as he was repositioned into place, the Counsel regretted that Remora wasn't there to break his arm.

"Now," said Fiepet, confidently waving the reins in his hand, as proof he'd kept hold of them in the midst of manhandling his irritated companion, "Let us go meet Delph and Ursa!"