e reflected that light would be welcome. Any light at all. He shuffled on to the straw in a dry corner, feeling the damp wall with his hand to guide himself to it. He had expected a cell in an ordinary prison, not this tiny enclosing space beneath a grate. Gared curled up again and listened to water dripping into the shallow pool at the other end of the tiny chamber. Sometimes there was more water and he would wake up shivering and wet. Those days he would stuff the straw into crevices in the rock to dry out a little and hang the blanket from the grate. Then he would pace back and forth to stay warm until the water retreated.

Other than a beating he had received for trying to escape when they made landfall at Kaineng, his captors had not been overly abusive. They had put iron bands on his wrists and ankles so he could be easily secured, but had not chained him; he was free to pace six steps and four steps with his head stooped for the low ceiling. He had water from the pool, but he found the Twistwood rather sporadic with food. He had eaten three days ago and that had been some stale bread. They also did not bother to clean his cell, the stink was unbearable, as much as he tried to limit where he went and not get it in the water. They had basically thrown him in and were ignoring him.

He heard the jailer coming down into the mostly abandoned hallway where they had put him. The man shone a lantern through the grate. Gared blinked and looked away then moved away when the jailer prodded at him with his cane.

“Still alive, I see.”

The jailer tossed down a cloth wrapped package followed by a ceramic jar that Gared caught before it hit the floor. The jailer clucked at his reflexes; the expression on the jailer’s face told him that he would have been much more entertained by it breaking. He unwrapped a half a loaf of bread and a whole sausage. He turned to the jug and peeled away the wax seal. The scent of sweet wine greeted him and he smiled just a little.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Lady Halsphire asked me to bring you a proper meal.”

“She’s a necromancer as I recall. Why would she care?”

“She also binds and tortures prisoners. She has always had a weak spot for rangers. I think she is just getting you into trim.”

“Can you explain weak spot?”

“Who can explain her ladyship? I simply can’t. She was just delighted to hear that we had you.”

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

He woke from a wine inspired sleep to discover that someone had just opened the grate. The rolled over and saw the jailer come in with a length of chain. He sat up and let the man fasten the chain and then followed him from the cell via a slippery ladder that the jailer had lowered. Once in the hallway he stretched luxuriantly; first time in weeks he had been able to stand up properly. He moved at the jerk of his chain, following with a resigned shuffle.

He was surprised to be led out of the dungeons and straight into a room where a hot bath had been drawn. Two men scrubbed him and when he was clean his hair and beard were groomed neatly. They took off his chains and clothed him plainly before replacing them again. Smelling much more decent and feeling almost human, he padded after the pair of men. This was at first rather awkward since he was wearing sandals; for him it had always been barefoot or boots.

They led him across the guildhall, through a garden boasting hedges with midnight black leaves. Stained glass lit hallways with gloomy colors; bringing to mind the shattered light of oily water. All around there was masonry of the same dead grey stone; the bones of the ancient forest frozen in the Jade Wind. Outside once again he could smell the rot of deep forest as they paused at a filigreed iron gate. A footman opened it from within and received the end of his chain. The pale young man pulled him towards a stone cottage that was tiny among the huge petrified boles of the forest. As they approached, the door of the cottage opened and he recognized Lady Halsphire.

The first thing he noticed about her was the vast size of her hair; pins and jewels adorned its raven black locks like the inventory of a gold smith’s shop on display. A black damask ribbon bound most of it in place and a black veil dripped down her back from behind. Her pale face had been painted with tin powder, her lips were bright vermillion and highlights of bright green malachite dust ringed her eyes. Her armor was formed by melting and twisting the carapaces of mantids and its odd facets shone and glimmered in the forest filtered light. Lady Halsphire was impossible to forget.

“Lady Halsphire.” Gared said carefully. She nodded to him and beckoned them inside. He entered a comfortable room with a fire roaring in the grate. He stood near its welcome warmth for a moment before the footman dragged his chain and had him sit. The lady smiled at him from across a polished table.

“I thought we would get acquainted since the leader has seen fit to make me your guardian once we have won back the Isle of Fog. I asked after you this morning and found out they had you in one of the holes. Simply would not do, not such a glorious man as yourself.”

The footman returned with tea, bread, olives and sliced ham. Gared found his mouth watering despite himself. He kept his hands on his lap, not wanting to offend. The lady observed his expression and giggled. “Go ahead and eat…Martin can get more.”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“You seem compliant now and I see no reason to ruin it. I suppose that wretched Driden told you I torture people?”

“He did.” Gared speared olives with a little fork and popped them in his mouth.

“Well I cannot deny that my skills do run that way, but I do not love suffering for no reason. I was raised as a proper lady. No blood until someone has truly offended.” She poured them both tea and sipped along with nibbling daintily at a piece of ham and bread. “Now you simply must tell me how you got here.”

“I got drugged and thrown on a ship.”

“I see you tend towards the brief. What I heard is that you had a companion that escaped? A mousy little ranger girl…we are looking for her and I wonder where you think she would go?”

“You are asking about Dale? She’s just a kid that I picked up on the caravan route in the Shiverpeaks. I think its enough that Pegard broke her wrist…”

“She’s given us the slip a couple times now. Our trackers wanted me to see if you had any insight.”

“Well, I am proud that she finally learned to cover her trail…because she wasn’t that good at it when I knew her.” Gared grinned. “I don’t know where she might go. She has no guild affiliation, her master is dying and I am surmising that Kouric abandoned her, otherwise you would ask me about him as well.”

“Kouric bolted.” The lady took a long sip of tea. “Do you think she would go back to Ascalon?”

“I’m not going to help you find her. If I hear she has been harmed, I will refuse to lead you to the vaults.”

“You will find out how, Mister Temisko?” The lady laughed again, a dry almost coughing noise.

Gared ran a hand over the iron band on his wrist. “I don’t know. However she is a good person and I regret the day she blundered into my life. It isn’t fair.”

“Honey, you of all people should know about fair in this life. I recall your wife…beautiful woman. Ah and what a marvelous fire that guild hall made.”

Gared could feel heat in his cheeks, but he checked himself from striking out at Halsphire. He would do well to remember he was defenseless while the footman was armed and gods only knew what curses the lady had at her command. He clenched his fists and released the fury in his heart. He must abide and be calm. If an opportunity for revenge came about, he would have it then.

“Balthazar will not judge you kindly for your cowardice.”

“Why? He glories in carnage, just as the vulture does not care if it was the lowly dog or the noble tiger that killed its dinner. Does he not wear the skulls of the unworthy as jewels?”

“Your guild disgusts me.”

“I am so hurt.” She showed her jagged teeth in a smile that revealed anything but hurt. “Martin, more ham and bread, our guest seems famished.”

“I want to go back to my cell. I’d rather have darkness than genteel cruelty.”

“Oh no, you are staying here. Of course I understand that as a ranger you would rather sleep in your own excrement. Really you are an animal…look at all the crumbs on your shirt and you spilled tea…I guess table manners are too much for you?”

“I am not sorry…you know what I am and courtly manners are not my calling.” Despite his stated desire to go back to his cell, he ate more bread and ham when Martin brought it.

“Martin, take him to his room.”

“Lady. He is a dangerous man and would prefer if we put him back in the hole.” Martin responded. “He has no love of you.”

“Love?” Halsphire cackled loudly. “He can’t hurt me, Martin. A ranger has so few powers outside of his hands…he’d be dead before he touched me.”

He obediently followed Martin to a small room at the back of the cottage. It had a single barred window that let in the dull light of the petrified forest. There was a bed that proved comfortable, but once alone he noticed that a small rug on the floor had blood stains that were recent. A few more spots were on the ceiling. Swallowing bile he leaned against the wall and watched the door for awhile. He tried to relax on the bed but this was difficult with the knowledge that the previous tenant was likely dead.

In the days that followed he hardly saw the lady and what he did see of her was coupled with Martin clutching at his sword hilt; the footman was very protective of her. He found much of his strength returning, and he helped this along by pacing incessantly. It was easy to be stir crazy; he was used to being constantly on the move and had never been given to meditation that was not followed by action.

He was unable to sleep again, so he was pacing in the moonlit gloom. He paused when he thought he heard distant thunder. The ground shook and the empty lantern hanging near the door rattled on its hook. He heard distant shouts and then a closer concussion that caused plaster to loosen between the ceiling beams. Was the guild under attack? He heard Martin rousing the lady and her snapping voice as they wrestled with armor and weapons. He heard doors slam and the whine of the iron gate’s hinges as they left.

The world became quiet again and he waited, listening. The full moon’s light was shining into the grated window when he saw a shadow move across it. At first he imagined it was a bat or a night owl, but presently there was a scraping noise. A pane of glass fell neatly outwards like a flower petal. He saw the glint of someone’s eye through the opened window now. Another pane fell away and then the bars were dismantled with amazing rapidity. It was still a tiny opening and he wondered why the person bothered.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Shhh. Take this string.”

Gared grabbed a coarse cord from a black gloved hand. He pulled and something heavy fell at his feet.

“Now put it against the wall.”

“What is it?”

“I think there are thirteen Delightful Blossoms in there.”

“What?”

“Take this other one…”

He pulled in and placed another bag.

“That one is Divine Butterflies Dancing. About ten I think.”

“Can you please tell me what you are doing?”

“Ok. Now get under the mattress on your bed.” The soft and decidedly feminine voice behind the wall commanded.

“What the…”

“I’ve lit the fuses…get down!” The voice was urgent and retreating now.

He could smell something sulfurous. Gared still had no idea what the strange woman with the black gloves was doing. He dove under the bed and watched sparks running down the cords he had just threaded through the window. It was a truly curious thing and he was tempted to get a closer look. Abruptly there was a loud boom, falling masonry, a shriek like the deaths of a hundred tea kettles and drifts of blue smoke.

Someone grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the gaping hole in the wall. He swung over open space for a moment and realized that the cottage stood on the edge of the cliff, he scrabbled for a grip as the amazingly strong and wiry woman pulled him after her. Illusionary butterflies and sweet scented peach blossoms constructed of soft pink light drifted around them. Gared blinked at everything, stunned and rather puzzled at the whole affair.

“Come on! Run! I have some ropes here…I am assuming that you can climb.” He followed her fleeing figure until he came to the base of a wall. He finally saw a rope shaking in the slight breeze and figured she must have climbed it. He grappled with the rope and climbed as quickly as he could. At the top of the wall the woman waited for him. He remarked on the spindly grace of her figure as she pulled up the rope and draped it down the other side.

“So why are you doing this?”

“Reni won’t shut up about you.”

“Reni?” He felt a gentle stab in his chest at the sound of her name. She had not forsaken him, even when he had been forced to refuse Sky Gate’s invitation. Perhaps she understood that it had not been his own free will, or she loved him despite everything. “Isn’t this rather dangerous?”

“Yes, but I have it …”

At that moment there was a huge explosion of color and light within the guild hall. He saw flocks of butterflies rise in a great wave and flutter down towards the dark gardens. Little sparks of drifting flame lit banners afire until the compound was awash in a fiery light. A moment later another explosion lit the night magenta, gold and green. The odor of smoke stung his nostrils as old dry timbers caught fire.

“…handled..they will be busy putting out fires for awhile.”