Word spread like a forest fire; the Warlock and his contingent were in the western woods and headed towards the capital. With him was the Counsel, and a bizarre assortment of groomsmen, giving rise to all manner of speculation.

The actor Elion had been spared when the Protectorate's men were massacred, so clearly the Warlock favored him enough that he kept his now recognizable head. But having lived his life largely in isolation, Ursa was a relative unknown. Even those that had heard the Warlock call his name, had failed to place him as the brother of Rel the Martyr and Survivor of Hofingrad. The servant driving him dressed in palace livery would also have been a footnote, if not for his outspoken antics.

Tales of their number trickled down through the gathered crowds.

"This fellow the loud one's got tied up, Mose reckons it's in honor of the Divine first meeting the Warlock on the road from Hofingrad; he's playing the part of the prisoner as they retrace their steps to Velmund Drum. They'll most likely throw him in the water when they reach the river."

"What?!" cried Delph, overhearing the villagers' idle gossip as he waited to board the cart with the others.

"Symbolic, like," the stranger assured him, "Some kind of sacrifice before the wedding. It's not the real witch he's going to drown."

Delph's wide and panicked eyes flashed at Hen.

"The Warlock wouldn't be so cruel as to kill a man to honor his intended, would he?!" he asked.

"He might," Lyre conceded, "It wouldn't be the worst he'd done. His rise to power was drenched in the blood of his enemies."

"Probably a bad'un in any case," the stranger offered, "Seeing as the Counsel picked him up from the Catary. Likely an unsavory sort they'd already planned to get rid of."

"Rumor has it, he's a notorious drunk, caught cozying up to the witch," his friend chimed in, "So once he's done playing his part he's got to go."

The horrifying notion that Ursa could have been captured was far too tangible. Had Fiepet been there, he would have marched right up to the Warlock and put paid to his evil plans; but this time, Delph was on his own to play hero.

"Come," said Hen, offering her hand to pull him onto the cart, "There's no sense in worrying over something that has not happened. When we get to Velmund Drum we can ask after your friend, but we mustn't remain in this madness. There are too many people, and too much nonsense they are bound to speak."

To the rear of the Warlock's party, more nonsense was being spoken.

"Would I not be a far better choice to play the witch on their wedding march?" Cuttle asked Ramun, "I've heard the man they've got for the part isn't even an actor; it's just that drunkard the Counsel picked up. Wouldn't surprise me if he was chosen for something other than his talents."

"The best person to play the witch," Ramun replied, "Would be the witch himself. Keep your eyes peeled, or Fiepet Strahl will have no cause to thank you."

Having returned to the clearing and finding no sign of Lyre or Hen, Ramun started asking questions in the western woods. With so many people flocking to the Witling Forest, seeking out two strange women among the hoarde had proven impossible, and they'd found themselves joining the parade in the hopes of running into them.

Little did they know that Lyre was so far out in front, and about to reveal herself in a rather public manner. A safe enough distance ahead that the Warlock would not see her, Lyre helped Hen and Delph to their seats on the floor of the buckboard before straightening her bodice and hitching her skirts to her waist.

Delph instinctively looked away, but could not convince Mistress Hen to follow his lead in counting the clouds through the treetops.

"She's getting ready to dance," Hen told him, watching the lithe and graceful stretches of Lyre's enviously long and shapely legs. "The female form is by no means indecent. It is beautiful to behold..."

A seductive smile in the maid's direction, and as the drumbeat pounded from the troupe of musicians following behind, Lyre began her performance. Even without her luminous silks and her sisters dancing beside her in unison, her solitary form marked the space with its elegant lines; arms unfurling like flower petals, and nimble feet landing on the buckboard as she leapt into the air.

From behind his fingers, Delph watched her. Hen had no such care for concealment; beaming with open admiration as Lyre twirled and dazzled on the back of the moving carriage.

"She is beautiful," Hen confessed.

The crowd clapped in time to the rhythm of her dance, cheering and marveling at each of her tricks. Lyre paid no mind to the crowd, her eyes were watching Hen.

"I suppose she is a talented dancer," said Delph, upset in part that he lacked the talent required to bathe in others' adoration, "Though I'm not sure what my brother would have to say on the matter. Some of those movements are quite-"

"Enchanting."

"Mistress Hen..?"

"Ah, yes. Have you dancers in Grunterbad?" she asked him, attempting to pull her gaze away lest her ravenous eyes betray her, "Can you dance yourself?"

"What? Oh goodness no! I mean, yes there is dancing; I think even Fiepet has been once or twice to the town hall to make up the numbers, but it is not something I have ever had cause to practice."

"I think you would do well," considered Hen, "When I first saw you beneath the moonlight I was struck by the grace of your movements; almost like water."

Beneath the cowl of the cloak, Delphin blushed.

"Had we not the need to keep you from view, I might have suggested you join Lyre up there in her frolicking. You have to admit, Master Strahl, it looks like terribly good fun."

It did. So much so that between the smiles and the cheers of the excited crowd, he had almost forgotten that somewhere far behind them, Ursa was being held captive.

"I need a piss," the prisoner declared above the din of revelers surrounding them, "Without my hands there isn't much I can do about it."

Elion gave Fiepet a look that was quickly thrown back along with a question.

"Why should that duty fall to me?! I would rather release him."

"But you're the one driving the carriage," Elion reasoned, "So therefore, he is in your charge."

"Just let him piss himself," said the Warlock.

"And that won't do either!" cried Fiepet, "Counsel, could you be prevailed upon to allow this man the dignity of relieving himself with his own two hands? You already admitted he is bound for his own safety; surely he poses no risk to others, and deserves no such punishment as the stripping of his human liberties!"

The Counsel's hardened resolve immediately softened when he turned to face Fiepet and was met with Ursa's pleading gaze.

"I will assist him," he said.

The crowd held their breaths as the Warlock's men came to a stop.

"Turn your backs!" the leader ordered.

Hemmed in on either side of the road, there was little privacy afforded to them. Only the Warlock's decree could shield them from unwanted eyes.

"Haven't you any magic for this sort of thing?" asked Fiepet, "Some sort of smoke curtain perhaps?"

"I could set the forest on fire?" offered the Warlock.

Fiepet ignored him, gettting down from his horse to help the Counsel dismount.

"He doesn't need your help," the Warlock determined.

"Does power make you blind?!" asked Fiepet, "Can't you see how close to collapse this man has become? He does not eat nor rest, his body is failing him."

As though to further prove his point, when the Counsel refused Fiepet's arm, he fell to the ground.

"Min! Fucking untie me! Min!"

Ursa thrashed his body against the ropes, as Fiepet supported the Counsel to his feet; the Warlock's shame-ridden complexion burning beneath Fiepet's scrutiny. At the side of the road, a foolishly curious face began to turn.

"Nobody fucking move!" the Warlock cried, jumping down from his horse to assess the situation.

"I'm fine," the Counsel lied.

"Is this your doing Pike? You fucking prick! You were so wrapped up in searching for the demon witch you failed to notice Min was destroying himself?"

Elion thought it prudent that Ursa shut his mouth, swiftly shoving his glove into it before any more vitriol could come spewing out. Given his standing within the group, he feared that he would end up bearing the brunt of any punishment intended for Ursa.

"Don't touch him!" warned the Counsel.

"Min, are you okay?" The Warlock placed an unwanted hand on Min's fragile arm. He tried to shake it off as he cried for Ursa, whose body was near to rocking the carriage on its side, despite Elion shouting for him to stop.

"Enough!" barked Fiepet, "Call me a fool for making a stand when I fear injustice, but I cannot sit idle and watch as you all delight in hurting one another."

Three of the men fell silent. The way he spoke was all too familiar.

"Your people are watching-"

"No we're not!" assured a man from the crowd.

"You should be ashamed that you let your decency die with your loved ones. You cannot see the forest for the fucking trees!"

Short of bashing their heads all together, Fiepet's only remaining option was to put things in order. Once more, Elion was left baffled as the lions turned to sheep in the presence of the stranger from another world. He wondered how strong his magic must be, and why it was that he had yet to be affected by it.

Fiepet no longer cared for the Counsel's protestations, "Take his other arm," he ordered the Warlock, "He'll continue on in the carriage. And you," addressing Elion, "Remove your glove."

Ursa stretched his mouth, now dry from the suede of Elion's ruined glove.

"I will loose your hands that you may feed and care for him," Fiepet explained, "But in light of the Counsel's order, I cannot free you. Soon we will settle things, and I pray that you will meet whatever justice or reprieve the fates discern. For now, please, tend to this man; there's no sense in dragging a corpse to Velmund."

"Relmund..." Elion corrected.

"That's what I said."

He could only hope to assume that Fiepet Strahl had been confused; a man newly arrived from Grunterbad should not have known the capital by its former name. Someone else's tongue must have slipped. 

"I can see why he trusted that you'd find him," said Ursa.

Fiepet smiled as he loosened the knots on Ursa's restraints; "Who? Piglet..?" he asked.

"You must never have seen him drunk then," noted Ursa, "Or you would see how well it suits him."

"See my little brother drunk? I wouldn't let him touch a drop! When he was small he tried to sneak a bottle of father's brandy out to the older boys."

"What?"

"Hm? Oh... nothing," he said, furrowing his brow and passing over a husk of bread and a flagon of water from the Counsel's saddlebag, "Moisten it before feeding it to him."

Fiepet hitched the Counsel's horse before mounting Remora's dappled gray. Was his mind playing tricks on him? The child in his memory was so small. Behind him in the carriage, the Counsel was on the precipice of passing out. "I'm fine, I'm... fine..." he mumbled beneath his labored breaths.

"Am I missing something?" asked Elion, watching as Ursa's eyes filled with tears.

"They said they'd give me cakes if I brought them father's brandy... but Rel... he caught me."

"Yes, well, you're clearly not the only child who thought to pilfer from his father," Elion replied, "My own had a golden deck of cards I always had my eye on. You should hurry and give that bread while he's conscious enough to eat it."

"Oh... yes," said Ursa, returning to his senses, "Here Min, just a bite before you sleep..."

"He keeps to himself," the Warlock told Fiepet, "It is not my place to interfere with how a grown man lives his life."

"And if I said the same of Delphin," Fie challenged, "Then I'd have already abandoned the search to find him. It does not matter if our loved ones are grown; there should be nothing we cannot do if it means to keep them safe. Even from themselves."

The Warlock nodded, unable to escape the authority of his words. He seldom felt guilt for the things he had done, but looking at Min's weakened state, he regretted the things that he had not. How long had it been since a mirror was held up to his cruel reflection? His only friend had reached his breaking point, so desperate a creature, that he'd even come to fabricate the story of the witch. Min deserved better.

"Onwards!" cried the Warlock.

"And... may we turn around...?" a voice ventured from the crowd.

"Yes, do!" pleaded Fiepet, "If only that your leader might see your faces. That he may look into your eyes and understand the duty owed to the people he governs!"

Not a soul turned to face them.

"As he said!" demanded the Warlock, the hestitant subjects following at their master's command, as timid eyes gazed up in fear upon them.

"Well!" shouted Elion with a clap of his hands, "Shall we carry on to Relmund then? A mile or two down the road and the atmosphere should pick right up again!"