Grace stiffened. When guilt is evident!? She grit her teeth and pressed her pink lips into a tight, hard line.
The king asked a question, but continued speaking as if it were a rhetorical question, his eyes looking at her as though he would divine her thoughts with his gaze. Grace returned the look, eyelids dropped slightly. She was aiming for an expression that showed she was unafraid yet not uncompliant, but the angry glint in her eyes simply could not be covered and lent an air of defiance to her manner.

"You must remember him. Describe him to me. Is he not the one on the poster?" No, thought Grace, No he isn't. She gazed down at the parchment and bit her lower lip. The face of the man in the picture wore a rather generic expression. The artist had simply sketched out his features and done nothing to give any hints as to his personality- except, that is, to draw his eyebrows pointing down slightly. There was no creasing in the man's forehead, so he didn't really look angry or cruel, as one might expect from a man condemned for the various crimes indicated on the poster. However, in spite of the lame attempt at expression, the artist had truly done an amazing job capturing Liam's face.
The king was right. If she had really spoken with the man on that poster enough to earn that letter, then she would remember his face and recognize it right away. She realized that the King was giving her a second chance at telling him what he wanted to know without threatening her- verbally, that is. His dark gaze bespoke of things to come if she did not give him what he wanted. Though the threat was not spoken aloud, she sensed it nonetheless. But what if she did tell the truth, admitting she had been lying up until now? If she said, "yes, the man who wrote that letter and the man in the poster are one and the same but I don't know any more about him than you do", would the king even believe her? Probably, he would think she was lying again. What then? Then, she was a liar by her own admission who still wouldn't tell him what he wanted to know. And if she stuck to her story? Then she was an innocent innkeeper by her own admission who wouldn't and couldn't tell him what he wanted to know. Either way, the end result was the same- except-! Wait. So far, thanks to her stubborn persistence that she knew nothing of Liam, the king did not know if Liam had been through her town. If she admitted that he had been through, more soldiers would be sent to her village and the search for Liam would be concentrated in that area, upping the chances of them finding him...

This thought made up her mind and set her mouth to moving before she was quite aware that she had made her decision. "No. No, he doesn't look like the man who wrote that letter. The man who wrote the letter had a gentle face, far less stern and cruel. His features... His features were different too. More handsome, less chiseled. No. No, I have never seen this man before in my life. As I said to your captain, I would remember if I had." God forgive me for this lie. My heart is in the right place and I believe You'll honor that, but please. Please forgive me.

There was a long silence, and for a minute only breathing echoed through-out the throne room. Xavier knew not what to answer. To any other king, it would have been clear that she was telling the truth and that releasing her was the only logical action, but to him her words only further pressed in the fact she was lying. He wasn't sure why or how, but he could sense that she knew where the out-law was. He was convinced the man who had written the letter was the same, Liam, who was on the poster.

He stared down at her for a moment, frustration clearly seen in his air. It wasn't often anyone could render him speech-less. Xavier new what he was about to do tore every piece of logic in half, but after all who said a king had to be logical? "Guards!" he called, in an authoritative voice laced with cruelty. He took a glance down at Grace, something within him boiling. This outlaw Liam was a severe thorn in his side,though not a risk of up-rising, still a large nuisance and he needed to be caught and hung. He knew Grace knew something about him, and even very possibly where he was. "Young Lady, I'm afraid I didn't completely catch what you just last said." he knelt down close for a minute. "Did you say something like, 'Yes, that is he, the same man on the poster'?" His jaw set and he stood back up as his guards entered.

"Captain Jarrad, this woman has confessed to having seen and housed the outlaw, but she refused to tell us his whereabouts now, which I am convinced she knows. Deliver her to the dungeon masters below. We need to locate this outlaw, and she holds the key. Tell them to, persuade her to tell us." Xavier said, feeling his adrenaline run. What a lie....

"Yes, your Majesty!" Jarrad said from the door, and walked forward, his two men following.

Xavier stepped back and sat in his throne, watching as Jarrad's two men picked Grace up off the floor and took her away.

"I'm sure there are many appealing things there." Vincent said, taking a breath. "Captain, I do hope you won't mind that I borrow one of your maps."

The Captain grumbled. "I suppose..."

"Thank you." Vincent smiled. He walked toward the cabin, but stopped near Evewen. "Evewen....if I do find Isla out there....and marry her." he whispered to her. "I hope you won't be too upset for missing the wedding"

Evewen's eyes darkened as Vincent spoke. "I would never attend a traitor's wedding." She ground the words out. "And you're only proving yourself to be more of a fool than I thought by considering to marry one."

~~~

Shyanne moved downstream and removed her slippers and knee-length stockings. With an exhale, she stepped into the cool water. Blisters and bruises covered her feet and she had never seen them look so dirty. The cool water was a welcome to her aching feet.

Susanne looked up, surprised slightly by Micah's voice, and his question. She glanced down at her arm, and then put a hand over it, shaking her head. "I'm fine." she said softly, but only halfheartedly, bending down to the stream and cupping her hand in the water. She brought the cold liquid up to bathe the scratch and winced, as it seeped into the bloody slit. She sighed, and knelt down beside the stream, repeating what she had just done in attempt to clean it.

Micah sighed, unconvinced by her claim to be 'fine'. "That scratch looks painful." He looked up for a moment and searched the area until his eyes found the one whom he was seeking. "Telwyn, do you have any more of the Triliphas paste you made last night?" The stuff had obviously worked well for Susanne's feet, so Micah expected it would work well for her arm as well.

Grace kept her eyes glued to the poster on the floor as the air around her crackled with anger and frustration. Her own breath was coming in unreliable hitches and the adrenaline pulsed through her body at a furious rate. Why doesn't he say something? The red of the carpet seemed to lick the edges of the parchment as the lines blurred and wavered slightly before her eyes. A quick rub across her face resulted in the lines steadying and falling back into their rightful places.
The sudden sound of the king summoning his guards caused her to start slightly. She didn't glance up until the king addressed her and then her eyes slid up to meet his, gazing out from under lowered lashes, brows drawn slightly down and together.
His words, though they struck as like a dagger through the heart, were somehow or other, not entirely unanticipated.
"What!? No..."
The snake came back in and gave her a quick sideways glance with the faintest smirk on his lips before coming to a complete halt before the king. At the word, "confessed", the sound of her blood rushing in her ears began to drown out most of the rest of the king's command. But she heard enough. His whereabouts... She knows... Dungeon... Persuade her to tell us.
She knew this was coming. She knew it! But it didn't stop the throne room from suddenly spinning like a top and her limbs from refusing to cooperate with her. Again, those rough hands caught her bruised arms and yanked her upright by them. Again, she was practically dragged away because her feet would not move of their own accord. But this time, through the dark haze that shifted before her eyes and obscured her vision to a degree, hot rage roiled within. She was lightheaded with anger, trembling with indignation and weak with fear. Things were going rather badly, she contemplated in an oddly detached sort of way. And if that- that snake says one thing to me...

-----------------------

Telwyn turned her head suddenly towards Micah when he said her name. She had moved upstream and in her cupped hand was an untasted pool of shimmering water, which she promptly dropped back into the stream when Micah finished his question. Standing up, the water that dripped off her fingers caught on a slant of sunlight and glittered as though she scattered diamonds and not droplets to the lush grass on the bank. Keenly, she gazed at Micah, then quickly slid her eyes around the group. The bright scrutiny paused at the thin trickle of blood filtering into the eddies of the stream from Susanne's arm. Suddenly her lips twitched into that grin of hers.
"Of course! You know the old saying, Waste not, want not!" She laughed silently as she slipped her hand under her cloak and brought it out momentarily with the leather pouch that held the healing balm. Tossing it to Micah to catch, she glanced from him to Susanne then back again and winked teasingly before turning back to the stream.

The evening was dark; cloudy and wind-blown do to a storm forming and moving in as the hours had waned toward night. The landscape had turned from warm, to cold and shadowed. The rumblings of thunder and the distant cracks of lightening could be heard and seen from miles away, as the brunt of the storm, and it's eye, slowly approached.

A small village, all it's residents scurrying to prepare for the tempest. Farmers had secured their sheds and barns, family town-folk had locked their doors and windows and lit extra candles. Those who weren't overly concerned, or were unmarried or young, had congregated into the Inn for supper. The atmosphere in this establishment, un-like the tavern with it's more rowdy nature, usually always had a cheering affect in it's costumers, but tonight seemed different. Grace, the lovely young girl who had used to run it, was gone. Many of the older men folk had liked Grace, as a niece or daughter, and had enjoyed carrying on conversations and having her serve them with a smile. But tonight, the owners of the Inn had had to come and serve the people. Though still a secure and calm place, it's happiness had gone somewhat.

Outside, the violent weather drew near, and finally struck, unleashing it's furry. Sheets of pouring ran pelted the buildings, crashed into the road turning dirt into mud, and seeped through every small crack in any structure. The thunder boomed and the lightening flashed every few seconds, frightening anyone out in these conditions.

Frightening all....excepting one. Two riders ripped down a road and plunged into the center of this small village. The sounds of their gasping horses, and splattering from the water, wasn't heard due to the gale of the storm. They led their horses through the slop, that was the street, to a sheltered place beneath the eave of the building. The younger of the two spoke above the wind.

"He'll be in there I know; celebrating his traitorous ways. I shall return." He clapped a hand on the older man's shoulder and pulled his cloak tighter about himself, rushing around toward the door of the Inn.

The merriment within the Inn was still going on, when the door flew open with a mighty crash; allowing in the sounds of thunder, wind, and rain. Lighting flashed and silhouetted the figure of the being who stood in the door way, his cloak fluttering and snapping, his body dripping. He strode in slowly, piercing eyes searching the room with a hot and livid gaze.

Jack, the arrogant farm boy who had turned Grace in and was now boasting about the incident to his friends, stopped and stared in frozen terror. The young men crowded around the table with him fled, retreating to the corners of the room, and whispering "Its him! He came back!". From the lips of some of the older gentleman was heard "The Hero! He has returned! He's come back, again!"

Liam, who was this hero, this man whom everyone now whispered of, caught sight of Jack who was cowering in his chair. He took a quick step forward, to Jack's table, and sat in the seat nearest him. "So...." he breathed, staring at the boy from under his black hood. "You turned her in. You betrayed her." he leaned a bit closer, gritting his teeth. "You framed her in every possible way you could....you lowly snake...." he tried to keep his anger from rising, but it was like an ugly head of a beast raising up, unstoppable. "What did you hope to gain!? The reward for my capture will never be yours! And I'm not about to stand and let you revel in satisfaction of turning Grace into the king!" he stood, abruptly, knocking his chair over with the force. "You are a dog, Jack! A coward, a traitor, and so many other things I won't name! I should run you through...." he touched the handle of his sword, his eye glinting, hard like silver or steel.

Jack stuttered, paralyzed. At Liam's final threat he almost squealed. "NO! No you wouldn't! Tha-Tha-That's murder!" he stuttered, trying to grope away from Liam.

The proprietor of the inn would have normally have stopped this, but this time he silently let it continue. He was angry at Jack....as angry as all the other towns folk.

"What an unfortunate guess on your part, Jack! Running you through would be a pleasure, at this point, But I won't. Not now...not yet." Liam picked Jack up by the front of his shirt and set him down on his wobbling legs. "Giving Grace to the King is as good as murder!" he hissed. "Yes, I know I speak treason, but I often speak it fluently, and with ease. The King won't let her return here Jack....Grace will die." his voice shook, but no one was sure if it was with emotion or anger. "If you held any faint hopes of ever seeing her again....forget them!"

Jack was speechless, quaking with fear and shock. He might have fainted, but Liam's cold hard expression stopped him. "I-I.....I never wanted to see her again!" he spat out, choking on his own words. "I hate her now! She gave up me, for you! She betrayed me! She was mine!"

"She was never yours!" Liam snarled, curling his hands into fists. "Never! You are so arrogant and swollen you didn't see she always loathed you! I saw!" he growled. "I saw how you pestered her! But I didn't think you were so twisted as to do this....I must admit I sorely underestimated you." He grabbed a hunk of Jack's shirt and dragged him toward the door.

The people just stared, watching with mixed feelings, not daring to stop Liam. Liam brought Jack to the door and pitched him out into the street, amid the rain, crashing thunder and lighting, face first into the mud. Jack let out a cry of fear, frustration, and disgust, still shaking but coming to his feet, dripping brown mud. Liam rushed from the door way and landed a solid punch to Jack's face, sending him flying back down to the ground, clutching his nose and whimpering.

"Just remember Jack!" Liam yelled over the howling wind, the strands of his wet hair flying around his face. "The next time we meet...the next time you do something traitorous...the next time you hurt someone... the next time....I will kill you." he then whirled around and went to Stendar and the horses, quickly mounting. With a last look, and a cry, he spurred his horse, and with Stendar, went flying from the town the hooves of his steed pounding mercilessly in the ground.

Micah caught the pouch deftly, ignoring Telwyn's teasing wink. He pulled the pouch open; the heady scent of the stuff inside still lingered faintly, though not nearly as strong as it had been while boiling the night before. He put two fingers in and scooped out some of the green paste. "Here, let me see your arm," he said as he knelt beside Susanne. "This will help heal the cut, and prevent infection."

"Isla is hardly a fool." Vincent said, stopping in the door way of the cabin. "and neither am I. I think you are the fool, Evewen, for wishing that when I meet her I will cease to love her because she has changed. Well, let me inform you of something; true love lasts, even if one person has changed." he glared, then turned on his heal and went into the cabin.

Captain William reached up, and patted Evewen's shoulder. "He'll realize his mistake someday." he said, then turned and walked into the center of the deck to bark a few orders.

****

Susanne let out a little breath when she saw Telwyn's wink, and looked away. She instead watched as Micah knelt near her. She offered him her arm, and smiled a little. "Thank you, Micah." she said, glad that the paste didn't sting as she had expected.

Evewen fumed. Her eyes darkened and she stomped after Vincent, leaning up against the ship's wall has be made his way down the gangplank. "I am far from being a fool!" she shouted after Vincent, letting out an exasperated growl.

She spun on her heels, went back to the Captain's quarters and slammed the door behind her. She dropped into a chair and exhaled, trying to calm herself.

~~~

Shyanne glanced at Micah and Susanne. She looked away with a lift of her chin. Her feet were sinking in the silty sand that made up the river's bed and for a moment, she wanted to just stay there instead of moving on.

A sudden thought hit her. What do I care? She looked at Susanne and Micah again, studying them. Have I ever really loved him? Micah's good looks had always drawn her in, but now she realized that she didn't actually love him. It was obvious that Susanne had feelings for him, though.

Susanne had done nothing to wound Shyanne in any way. Shyanne frowned as she realized her jealous and hostile feelings were ungrounded and petty. There was no reason why she should dislike the girl. She was much worse off than herself, after all.

Shyanne gingerly stepped up the bank, grabbed her belongings and waded back upstream, towards Micah and Susanne. She kneeled down on the other side of Susanne and asked, "Would you like to wear my slippers? They are muddy, but they will keep your feet safe. I think we wear about the same size."

Susanne looked over as Shyanne came and sat near her. She glanced down at her slippers, and smiled. "I wouldn't want to take them from you. You need them." she responded, giving Shyanne a kind smile. "I'm more used to walking with, well, let's say, less fine attire." She sighed, then looked back at her arm which Micah was working on.

Shyanne nodded, setting the slippers down beside her. "If you change your mind, let me know."

"Do you know if we are almost there, Micah?" Shyanne asked, glancing at him.

Micah gently smoothed the herbal paste over Susanne's wound. "Your welcome," he said simply in response to her thanks.

When Shyanne approached, Micah inwardly cringed, expecting the young woman to cause trouble. He had witnessed a certain animosity from her toward Susanne, and he knew the reason. Just as he was preparing himself to deal with whatever situation Shyanne would cause, however, he was shocked by her gracious offering of her slippers to Susanne. He couldn't help the confused look that crossed his face as he studied Shyanne's features, trying to discern if her generosity was genuine: he'd never known her to do such a thing before. Yet, as far as he could tell, there was not a speck of insincerity in her demeanor.

Micah didn't think on the curious subject much longer, because Shyanne asked him a question. Micah shrugged in response, glancing about the unfamiliar area as if to emphasize his ignorance of their location. "I don't know. I've only made this trip to the capital once, but that was by the highway, not through hidden paths of the forest like this. Telwyn would be able to answer your question much more adequately than I." He spoke the last sentence loud enough for Telwyn to hear, and nodded toward the guide. He also closed the pouch of healing balm and rinsed his fingers in the river, having finished applying the balm to Susanne's arm. "That should help," he told her with a small reassuring smile.

Telwyn rose from the stream and dried her fingers on her cloak. "We're about halfway to Dravon, with two and a half days of travel left to go. Which will stretch into three days if we don't get a move on swiftly." She grinned, softening away any possible reproach in the latter statement. Taking the bag of salve from Micah, she glanced around the little group and waved a hand cheerily, "Time to go! Break's over!" With that, she plunged straight into the stream at a certain point that came up to her knees. A few strides and she was on the other side, glancing back at them and laughing. So they followed her.

All the rest of that day, she led them through thick undergrowth, drooping boughs and mossy patches, in sun and shadow, and out of the way of any other travelers. If there was human life anywhere about other than themselves, they never saw or heard it.
When the sun was ready to vanish and the shadows were longer than the lines of the Fates, Telwyn brought them to a very large rock, seeming to sit in the middle of nowhere, geologically. No other stones sat near this one; it seemed to have been dropped straight from the sky. If it had come hurtling down from the heavens, it had done so a long time ago. A grove of trees formed a sheltered ring around one side of the rock, shielding that area from wind, some amount of rain and every amount of scrutiny. When Telwyn first skipped cheerily through the thick, dark and clinging undergrowth, heavily covered by the overhanging boughs, she vanished almost right before their eyes, so quickly did the flora swallow her up. They might have hesitated longer in following her, had Telwyn not poked her head back out again and laughed at them. She said nothing, but they got the picture and took the plunge.

A brief shove through impossibly thick vines, small brush and huge low branches, and suddenly they were tumbling into a small area covered in smooth grass, soft and so tall it was up to their knees. Telwyn was standing in the center, hands on hips, feet spread apart, laughing at the wonder on their faces.

------------------------

"Where is he?"

Grace twisted her wrists slightly, feeling the rough ropes scrape across her skin.

"We know you know where he is. Tell us now."

She leaned her forehead against the stake and wriggled her wrists again. The stake the rope was tied to was driven deep in the mortar of the stone floor. It had probably been there for many years. It was not going to move for her now.

"I'm not going to ask you again. Where. Is. He."

She sucked in a deep breath and scuffed her light boot across the filthy straw littering the floor beneath her. Why had they even bothered trying to cover it? The effort was useless.

Suddenly a hand snapped up from below her down-turned face and struck her full on the nose and mouth. It flung her head back sharply and caused her to gasp in surprise and pain. She found herself staring into the eyes of the man assigned with her... Dealings.

"Now, you can be difficult, or you can be nice and simple and both of us will be the better off for it. I can go home at a decent hour and you can actually sleep tonight in relative comfort." He had a deep and rough voice, not just harsh in tone, but harsh in nature.

She tasted blood. The unmistakeable irony flavor trickled into her mouth and she ran her tongue over her quickly swelling lips, picking up more of the unsettling liquid in the process. How much more of it would be spilt tonight?

The man snarled, "Stupid wench..." and jerked away from her.

Am I doing the right thing? Oh, but of course I am. Instead I should be asking, am I strong enough to keep doing the right thing when the going gets tough? There was a sharp sound behind her, an evil, snapping sound that echoed in her ears. She knew what it was. She knew what was coming. But she wasn't prepared for the shock of the whip snaking across her lower back, curling around her side and the post in front of her, then snapping harshly across her face on the opposite side. It made her suck her breath in sharply and bite her tongue to keep back the scream that threatened to rip out of her throat. The draw back of the whip dragged through the raw ruts made by the first strike and tore them open further. The agony and the suddenness of the attack kept her from regaining her breath and she leant forward to press herself against the stake as the whip came across her a second time.

Then the man came around to look at her face again. She closed her eyes.

"Are you going to be easy, or are you going to be hard? Now that you've had a taste of this, I doubt you'll think I'm lying when I say that another hour of this will leave you in a very undesirable state of existence. If, that is, you exist at all anymore."

He spoke with pretty good vocabulary for a man with such a brutal job. Was he once something better? Perhaps a man fallen from grace? Was his business-like way of dealing with pain and death a result of the harsh hand life had dealt him?

She kept her eyes closed as the whip fell across her back a third time.

Darkness was everywhere; engulfing the halls of the Dravon dungeon like a wave of pitch-black water. The torches were silenced; no merry flame danced upon them. Blackness had invaded these lower regions, choking away the what faltering light had once remained. The air was heavy, and wreaked of an earthy-scent mixed with several more unpleasant smells, and moisture clung, like a child to a mother, to the walls. This humid atmosphere was what rotted away the hay, needlessly covering the inches of floor space in several large chambers, and the lack of sun also further deteriorated it's condition.

There were few prisoners here, currently. What ones that were there hid in the dark of their cells, dreading the appearance of anyone except the guard bringing them their pittance of food. Once such condemned person probably wished she could be locked away...but the lies and will of the king had spoken otherwise.

Except for one low-smoldering torch, the chamber in which Grace was tied was very dark. The post which she was bound to, was somewhat in the middle of the room, and the man behind her stood several feet away. The whip in his hand had just fallen back to his side, after delivering the third strike to the young woman's back. Answers that were demanded were not being delivered, so he had, had to resort to further persuasion.

As the whip was raised to fly for the fourth hit, the shadows, which laid across the wall, shifted moving as fast as lightening. From them a figure leaped, coming in the way of the raw-hide cord. There was a loud snap as the whip curled around his arm, biting in his skin. But he barely felt the stinging pain...

Liam clutched the cord with his hand and gave a vicious yank, slipping the instrument from the interrogator's hand. Then, in a flash, his blade was out and the whip was clattering masterless to the floor. The glinting edge of his sword now pressed firmly against the man's neck. "I doubt you will be returning at any hour tonight!" the young rescuer snapped, his eyes glinting with a fueled rage. "I do not let men who harm innocent ladies simply walk away from what they have done!" He stepped away, grabbing the man by the shirt and tossing him toward Stendar, who had accompanied him on this venture. "I have not time to squander dealing with such refuse."

Liam sheathed his sword then, and moved to Grace, who was still bound. "Grace..." he whispered to her compassionately, slipping one arm gently, carefully about her waist. With his other hand he pulled out his dagger and sliced the ropes which ruthlessly bound her wrists. "I'm so sorry..."

Grace vaguely heard a commotion behind her, but she didn't turn around. She kept her forehead leaned against the post, her eyes closed, quivering with the raw pain searing her back, sides and face. But suddenly a familiar voice sliced through her defensive barriers, and her heart began to pound, her mouth went dry and her head began to spin. No... It couldn't be! He was miles away from here now...

But when the arm went around her waist (sensitively avoiding the three bleeding welts neatly distributed in the area) and the voice murmured in her ear, there could be no doubt.
"Li- Liam?"
She wanted to kiss him in pure grateful relief. She wanted to slap him for getting her in so much trouble. But what she actually did was not what she wanted at all. She passed out.