The Warlock's arrival put paid to the Hermit's musings about which powerful magic elder may have beaten him to the lake. The rumor said the Witling Woman had returned with the witch, but he could not fathom that she would have the power to do so, or why she would then be playing so carelessly by Velmund Drum. It did not matter, for now there was a promise to collect upon.

The Warlock had not expected to find the Hermit of Innsbad Cave waiting for him. When refusing to drink with him until the day his bride came home, he'd always assumed his joy at reuniting with the witch would outweigh his unwillingness to taste the Hermit's liquor; that on that honored day, he'd happily accept a drink from anyone.

The mood was much too sour to contemplate rejoicing.

"Warlock!" cried the Hermit, "I have come to make good on what I am owed."

"Hermit," the Warlock nodded in return, "I see you have taken to listening to gossip thrown carelessly on the wind."

The Hermit smiled and clasped his hands behind his back.

"It came in darkness," he said, "The night told me that a stranger had come. And now I see from the company you keep, that the night did not lie. Nor did the Traveling Men; though they may have confused the method that brought your bride home."

"The Hermit of Innsbad Cave was said to have been a teacher of the Warlock," Elion explained to Fiepet, "In the time before he came to power, he sought out knowledge from every great master. It is rare for this one to be seen so out in the open though, he usually lurks in the shadows."

"Do you see my bride among my number?" the Warlock asked the Hermit.

"You mean to invent an excuse that you may refuse me again?" the elder replied, "When last we met, you gave me your word!"

"Hermit-"

"A man's word is bond!" Fiepet declared.

"Right so!" said the Hermit, "And this Warlock of ours has promised me a drink! I would not have dragged these old bones and this heavy flagon so far, had I not believed he would honor the vow he made to join me in draining it dry."

Olm rolled his eyes in the manner of his master at the mention of the flagon.

"This drink," cried Ursa from the rear, "Would you mean to share it amongst the rest of our party?"

The Hermit spotted the telltale redness of the youth's cheeks, and the eager eyes directed at his liquor.

"I should think there is plenty for all," said the Hermit. "So long as the Warlock does not deny me, I would be glad to permit your joining in the celebration. Your sleeping friend too, should you care to wake him."

The Counsel had slept soundly on Ursa's shoulder, basking in the warmth of another that he had long since forgotten. There was a time when friends were plentiful, and human connection did not seem so far out of reach; but Min had come to accept that all he had left to embrace was loneliness.

Ursa smoothed the hair from his brow and touched a hand to his face. His skin was cold, but unfathomably soft. In his eyes, Min had not aged since the day he left Hofingrad, yet Ursa had somehow caught up to him. They were both grown men, and there would be no more talk of brotherly duty. Ursa could protect him now in return.

"The Counsel should not partake," he declared, "He is of ill health at present, and would not enjoy the benefits. But I'll happily drink in his stead."

"Why am I not surprised?" asked Elion.

"Ursa is right to leave him to his rest," said Fiepet, unaware of what Elion was referring to, "It is best that he should drink in place of his friend. But Warlock, you have made a promise to this man that must not be broken."

The Warlock turned in his saddle to face him.

"You have a great many opinions for one that knows so little," he said, "I have retained my focus throughout the years, precisely because I have refused all vices."

"But-"

"Really?" interjected Elion, "All vices?"

The Warlock's glower helped to confirm what Elion had begun to suspect; that their leader's obsession with the witch boiled down to a lack of fufillment. His needs were not being met, as they were all hung upon the shoulders of a man he'd never even had.

"Which is it?" asked the Hermit, loud enough that the crowds might hear him, "You refuse to drink because you fail to keep to your word? Or because you feel guilt that your bride has been lost? Indeed, he is not among your number, but why might that be? Did the Divine run from you as soon as he returned? Are you now in a rush to find him?"

The people shared in cautious whispers. Many had yet to lay eyes on the witch, had the Warlock been so careless with his one true love? 

"The groom is traveling with his groomsmen," Elion offered, "As should be expected. The Warlock would not ride shamelessly through his cheering populous, all the while harboring a secret truth that his bride would never follow. How could he? Only a monster would be cruel enough to make mockery of the people's happiness."

That word again. Monster.

"Ah!" said the Hermit, "Then there should be no excuse not to join me! Ease, Olm, prepare the cups and pour the drink. Distilled in Innsbad Cave, and the most potent batch to date!"

Fiepet and Elion were first to dismount, with the latter's words still rattling in the Warlock's mind. They were his people now, but how many of them had thrived beneath the Protectorate? How many had seen the enforcers take this very road to Hofingrad on the day its citizens were slaughtered? What did he care, that they thought him a monster? They had thought the same of the witch. 

With watchful eyes surrounding him on every side, the Warlock got down from his horse, and took the cup he was given with both hands.

"To your health..?" suggested the Hermit, "No, no, you are clearly healthy enough already. What else should we toast to but your wedding? And an end to all our torment."

"An end to our torment," echoed the Warlock, raising his cup before downing its contents. Within his hollow stare, the satisfied smirk of the Hermit was reflected back.

"And what of the rest of us?!" cried Ursa from the bonds of his carriage.

"Fear not," came the man's reply, "The celebrations are just beginning."

When news reached the revelers down the road that the Warlock had stopped at the lake rather than the river, those tired of waiting for the parade returned to meet it at Velmund Drum. The crowds had swelled so much that even those present at the far side of the lake, could not make out the figures that were drawing so much attention.

Lyre was thankful for the cover. After a short break sunning themselves, and enjoying the refreshments that her dolls had found for them; experiments had begun anew. Word had yet to reach Delph's ears that the Warlock was so close at hand, busy as he'd been playing out in the water, and opening every door that he could 'find'.

"Should we retreat to the mountain?" asked Hen, "It seems the parade has stopped. I don't think they're continuing on yet to the capital, and it wouldn't be wise for Master Strahl to be seen before a plan can be devised."

"It's better to blend in with the crowd," Lyre reasoned, "And Delph is discovering a great many things thought forgotten. If we stop now it could ruin his momentum."

"Do you often live on the edge, Mistress Lyre?" asked Hen.

Lyre laughed, burying her hands her behind her as she leaned back into the grass. "When you were running around stealing journals for the Innate, were you not too living on the edge? I have a feeling you take even greater risks than I would myself."

"That was different," said Hen, "It was for the good of the people that I played my part."

"And not for the thrill of it? There had to have been a sense of exhilaration, knowing how close you were to being caught in the act."

Mistress Hen pursed her lips but could not deny it. An errant finger curled into the hem of her skirt; the fabric twisting as a knot formed in her throat.

"Look!" cried Delph, wading out from the water to join them, his hand out-stretched with a curious statue in his palm; "It wasn't from the bottom of the lake, I found it in a realm beyond! An actual treasure!"

It looked to be carved from a piece of white stone; a small effigy of the Prince from the West, lost no doubt in a shipwreck from the Ahben Strait.

"And did you close the door you found it behind?" asked Lyre, somewhat regretting they'd adopted a fully grown man intent on interrupting them.

"As I had been told to," Delph assured her, "But what of your sisters? Were they able to find out anything regarding my friend?"

Since resting her magic as she danced from the forest village, Lyre had been making full use of her dolls again. Dispatching them in search of food and clothes, she had even agreed to help Delphin Strahl satisfy his curiosity, and sent them to find out what happened to Ursa.

"He is alive and well," she told him, "So you've nothing to fear on that account; and no reason to run off and look for yourself either! He'll probably drink his way back to the Sirrup House by the time we've finished here."

Delph smiled, and bowed in gratitude. 

"Will we remain here much longer then?" he asked, "I would like to see Fiepet and Ursa as soon as we are able, and my fingers are beginning to prune."

"You wish to stop?" asked Lyre, "Just as you are starting to find the treasures you've been searching for? I'm sure this statue is not all that's left to find there. Wouldn't you like to surprise your brother with an even greater gift when next you meet? Keep at it while there's still the sun to light your way."

Delph assented and returned to the lake, before Hen could interject.

"Aren't you worried anymore? That the witch will drain his powers?"

"I had misjudged his capabilities. Playing with portals within this world is but a drop in the ocean to the Maddening Witch. And besides, it is better to keep him busy if we intend to change our clothes in private. The sun can only dry so much when there are things beneath still soaked, and I'd rather not invite his attention to the fact."

"What of every other soul in attendance?" asked Hen, "Would their attention not be invited if we were to suddenly strip our gowns away?"

"My dear, while I care not a fig who should see me naked, I would never subject your supple form to scrutiny. We'll head into the trees to protect your modesty."

"And if another wayward traveler should chance upon us?"

"That is what my lookouts are for," said Lyre, four violet-clad figures appearing from nowhere to inhabit the space beside them.

"Very well," Mistress Hen agreed, her cheeks turning a charming shade of crimson, "Then we should hurry and change before the sun sets."

When Delph looked back, the two women were missing.

As much as he liked the idea of finding a present for Fie, he'd grown bored of playing alone in the water. Checking once more that there was no one to chide him, and believing the lake to be safe from those that might recognize his face; he allowed his body to float, and kicked his legs out behind him in the water.

Barring the incident with the Warlock in Grunterbad, it had been too long since last he'd swum. Gliding silently through the water, no magical doors blocked his path. So long as his secret words remained unspoken, except for its size, this lake was not so different from the one he'd left behind. Closing his eyes, he could almost believe that he was home.

"The Survivor of Hofingrad? Are you sure?"

A stranger's words broke the silence.

"They've got him tied up though. Didn't you see him there beside the Counsel? The one they've got bound in the carriage."

Delph followed his finger to the direction in which it was pointed.

Ursa?

Swimming closer beneath the dying rays of the sun, it was hard to make out the situation on the shore. But above the cheers and chants that rang out to greet the dusk, Delph was sure he could hear his friend; Ursa was crying.