ael lay still on his pallet. Across the room a few rays of dull sunshine crept through the cracks in the shutters. He shifted under the down quilt and cried out involuntarily when his muscles and nerves responded with a burst of cramped agony. A hand touched his brow. Energy flowed into his flesh and eased him just enough to end his cries.

“Good morning.” Isida was there and he could smell the insipid tea, his mouth watered with desire. “You screamed most of the night, but through whatever mercy you seemed asleep.”

Jael could vaguely remember the dreams; darkness and twisted figures and the pain. Pain in the last few weeks had been his constant companion despite Isida’s continual care. Jael turned his head to look at the monk; he could look upon her graceful figure and at least feel some comfort. Would she pray for him when he died? Would the prayers be enough to avert what he was certain awaited him at Grenth’s hands?

“Thank you for sitting by me. I knew you were there…when I was dreaming.”

“Gratitude from you. You must be hurting.” Isida said as she held the tea to his lips. He drank several long gulps, then gripped her hand; it felt afire in the cold almost dead embrace of his fingers. She held his hand while he finished drinking. He could taste the strength of the brew and almost immediately some of the edge of the creeping agony was gone, but so was most of the clear thought that came to him in the morning. Blurrily he continued to hold her hand and was aware he was weeping.

“I’ll wake you in a few hours to see if you are hungry.” Isida said as his eyes began to close. “Its early and there is nothing in the refectory yet.”

He woke from a grey, dreamless sleep to a sudden burst of bird song. Orange light glowed through the shutters. Again the song rose, ebullient and unbroken by the ruined land. Jael’s heart thundered for a moment as he recognized the very pitch and tenor of the bird. It was Sidya. The little bird had returned from following Dale, his muzzy thoughts snapped to full wakefulness. Little wings battered against the shutters. He tried to call out but his voice came as a wordless moan that spoke only of helplessness; the drugs of the tea had him in their grip. He kicked at the quilt and bore the responding pain as he rolled out of the cot. He wriggled on his belly to his walking stick.

Laboriously, he levered himself to his feet using the cot and the stick. He had not stood in over a week, and his last walk of any length had been on the day he’d spoken to Isida about the curse. He had to look down to see where his feet were to be sure he was standing. He shunted his thighs forward to walk, gritting his teeth as muscles and bone ground together complainingly.
His hands slid on the cane, so he held it double fisted as he walked.

Somehow he moved the few yards to the window. Fumbling, he tried to open the latch on the shutter and found he could not feel the hook sufficiently to open it. Containing his anger at his helplessness, he shuffled to the door. Another latch. He rolled his eyes; despite his illness he was still a heavy man. He let himself fall shoulder first against the wood and grinned in satisfaction as wood and hinges parted. The door fell outwards with a satisfying crash with him on top of it.

Wings fluttered around his head. Tiny feet settled on his cheek and an intense dark eye filled his field of vision as Sidya investigated his curious position. The wren plucked one of his eyelashes and then hopped off of him, dancing back and forth on the door with his stub of a tail upright, chattering madly.

"Sidya I am quite sick." He responded to the unspoken question. "What news do you have?"

“Jael!”

The wren fluttered to his shoulder as Isida came running across the courtyard. Jael imagined that the sound of the door falling had probably carried well. The monk made a sound of annoyance and stopped to stare at him spread eagled on the unhinged door, the little brown bird scolding her with his wings outspread defensively. Suddenly she laughed until she started hiccoughing.

“Oh Dwayna. You really try my patience. At least I don’t have to tell you to stay there while I get some help. You can keep your little friend as well, or I fear I shall be pecked to death.”

Sidya chattered something rude from his shoulder. Utter bird filth. Jael smiled up at Isida. “He needs something to eat…he’s my messenger and has come a long ways.”

“What does he eat?”

“Well bugs…I imagine if we give him some of the dried biscuits he’ll find the weevils.”

“There are no bugs in our food.”

“Ah, Dwayna prevents you from seeing so many little details.”

“You mean?”

“Those aren’t currants, no matter what the cook says.”

“Oh.”

Isida ran across the yard, her hands hitching up her pale robe. Jael shifted uncomfortably on the door as Sidya continued prating about how much he disliked people.

“Shhh. You like me well enough. You like Dale.”

“Big dumb noisy humans! Oafs! Nest robbers! Worse than crows! Worse than weasels!” Sidya continued as he hopped up and down at Isida’s retreating figure. To outside ears it came out as continual harsh creaking and chirps, but to Jael it was as clear as day. It was extremely annoying and very hard to get Sidya to stop once he was on one of his rants. A stream of unpleasant references to intimate acts followed for several moments.

“What happened to Dale?”

“Weasels! That mage. Worse than weasel. Up on slope, he kill Akanu. Akanu friend of Dale. Kill her.”

Jael blinked at this news. “He killed the apprentice?”

“Ice imps near Borlis. They attack. All injured. Calou, fledgling love of Dale died there. Akanu weak…your mage kill her…fire in the pass. Weasel, bad nestling killing weasel.”

“Why?”

“Sidya not know. Sidya see him do it. Sidya follow Dale. Galyew is cruel to her, threaten kill. I see and hear. One morning she is left dying on ice. Other ranger save her…but I see Galyew and he is bad inside. Changed like snow to rain.”

“Oh Melandru.” Jael sighed, listening as the bird recounted between swear words and rants the journey of his student. She wasn’t even ready to go alone into the world, let alone be abused and battered by people he had once trusted. A knot of grief settled in his chest as the tale only grew worse for his student.

“Sidya found Kouric and Dale. Kouric threw away your letter. Master, he did not honor you. When they had trouble in Lion’s Arch…Dale was captured…sold and I saw no more of her. I came home after a week…I lost her.” Sidya’s speech was formal in these last words. The little brown figure fluttered down to the door and was visibly drooping; the passion of his reaction to Isida had vanished and now the exhaustion of his flight was apparent. “I lost her.”

“You don’t know if she is dead though.”

“Sidya cannot tell. I am sorry. Sorry master. I failed.”

“No. I thought it would be a simple journey. She should have been safe. I will always love you Sidya.”

The bird’s plumage fluffed up, transforming its scrawny figure to a ball of feathers. Jael found himself smiling at the ridiculous sight. Sidya returned to his shoulder when Isida and two of the bigger male monks arrived. They picked him up on the door and bore him across the yard. The wren was silent as they entered the refectory. One of the monks helped him on to a bench; Isida brought him a bowl of soup and a plate of the suspect biscuits, sat beside him and began feeding him. He could no longer hold a spoon. He resented this part of his daily routine most of all, being fed like a baby.

“Sidya. Do you know where Galyew is?”

“I saw him in Ascalon bare days go…three days as I fly.”

“Isida, there is a man I wish to see before I die. You heard his name. He is Galyew Pasel. Can you have someone find him in Ascalon and bring him here? I wish to speak to him.”

“I can do that.” Isida agreed.

“Isida…I also need someone to go get my chest from my house. There is money in it. I will donate it to the temple, but I need some of the things that are in it. I had promised it to Dale, but my friend here bears only ill news of her.”

“I am sorry to hear that. She was dear to you.”

“She is not dead…but I fear a captive.”

Jael waited impatiently the week it took for the chest to be found and delivered to the temple. When it was at last dragged into his room, he had Isida open it and help him inventory the items while he was propped up on the cot.

“So many things for killing.” She commented as she put another vial of poison aside. She lifted out a few small boxes that rattled threateningly and quickly put those beside the vials as if they would bite. “What are you up to?”

“A quick end.”

“I could just give you a very large dose of tea…ranger poison is barbaric…it takes so long to kill…it is a miserable death.”

“I am not speaking of my end.”

“You are going to kill this Galyew person?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t murder someone in a temple! Jael! You pain me so! We cannot kill guests.”

“He betrayed my student. He murdered a young woman who was under his protection. I will try to do it myself, but my hands have so little feeling…if you could help me…I could go to my death content, even if Grenth torments me for my folly.”

Isida was silent for several long moments. “Tell me what he did.”

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

Galyew stepped off of the litter and flipped a few gold coins to the bearers. Around him the guards were finishing off a few last storm kin that had dared to follow them after the rest of their pack had perished in fire. He looked up the narrow canyon to where a few crumbled walls marked the location of Serenity temple. Frowning, Galyew strode up the dusty path; he resented the summons and even more the fact he would be lying to the old man.

What was left of his memories of youth and the joy he had once possessed were with the one he had once called his best friend. Here in the ashen remains of Ascalon he would betray the last shard of any loyalty that he knew. Dale was probably dead. Certainly if not dead, then the Twistwood would take care of it shortly. Little he cared, for the girl lacked strength and it had only been the capricious breath of Lyssa herself that had preserved her. Death was the deserved reward for mediocrity and weakness.

Time had changed him. Destitution, battle and harshness had transformed his light spirit from loyal to selfish. He had traveled with Jael in the sunrise of his life, but the ranger had settled into a sedentary path while he had moved on and fought in the halls, earned glory and held court with the best. He had been betrayed, slandered and fallen from favor. In short, Galyew had given up on his fellow human beings, choosing to hate those he could not control. If some had to die in order to further his own power, he had learned not to regret it.

He bowed to a priestess as he passed the gate of the temple. A young woman came down the stairs from the sanctum of the temple. Galyew’s eyes lingered on her, for her robes were black in contrast to the pale robes of the acolytes who were moving around the temple on various errands. He was reminded strangely of a ghost or even of wraiths that lurked in dark places.

“I am Isida. Jael is waiting for you.” She pressed her hands together and bowed to him stiffly. Galyew took in the green tint of her fingers, as well as a few reddish burns. He tried to recall where he had seen such marks and then dismissed his puzzling. Likely the monk was a maker of medicines, for she did smell of herbs. He tried to sense her thoughts, but like many in holy orders, her mind was deep and calm. Galyew nodded to her and followed her up the steps and past the ruins of the round courtyard. He passed a gate where the housing for the remnants of the order stood in tenuous repair.

She led him down a narrow alley to a small white washed cottage. The door was open and he saw Jael sitting up in his bed. He had a short bow across his lap, a red lacquered beauty that Galyew remembered the old ranger had always loved. An arrow was knocked on the string, but he was not alarmed by this. The old man looked awful; his thin face gaunt and terrible. His clear eyes had a hard expression and his lips were set sad and haggard. Surely he was in his last days. Galyew wavered at the door, feeling a hint of guilt at the lie he was about to tell.

“Jael.”

“Hello Gally.” He said. “How is my girl?”

“She reached Kouric just fine.”

“Did she?” Jael’s voice was strained and soft. “I heard you left her for dead in the back of a Dolyak wagon. That she nearly froze to death. I heard she had bruises on her face and a cut on her chest. She was your prisoner and you desired not her well being but only the reward. I heard you killed Akanu. Come closer Galyew. I want you to hear me…”

“I did no such thing.” Galyew blinked in anger, wondering how in the world Jael could possibly know. He was a stupid old man, as naive in his own way as the student he had loved. He had never risen once to glory, preferring instead the insipid peace of the forest and the filthy poverty of his old cottage. “She is in Kryta.”

“You lie to me.” Jael shifted in his cot. “Why do you lie, Galyew?”

“Someone told you falsely. I have many enemies.”

“The source I have is incorruptible. Now come to me, so I may look you in the eye for being a betrayer. Do this last thing for me.”

“Fine then! I had my reasons. She was not the best of your students and she was willful and refused my advice and protection.”

“She was a child! You knew that when you agreed to take her. The old and wise forgive the foolishness of youth. You have no wisdom.”

Tiring of the tirade and wishing the meeting to be over, Galyew stepped past the doorstop and into the little room. Jael’s sharp eyes were on him. The mage watched him pull a little on the string. There was no way Jael possibly had the strength in those twisted limbs to draw it, but he felt threatened now. Galyew stepped forward to reach over and snatch the arrow. As he stooped there was a horribly familiar noise; all too familiar from his days in the halls and guild battles. He tried to dance backwards but as he turned to escape he saw the black clad monk slam the door. A latch slid home with a condemning finality. The earth warped beneath his feet.

The horror of it transfixed him as the wrath of nature burned and envenomed him, cutting veins, slicing sinews and assaulting his senses. He lunged at the door and pounded on it. Smoke and dirt blinded him as he struggled to free his legs from the barbs and spikes that had sprouted around him. The fiery blackness enveloped him, until there was nothingness and a dying shriek into the mists.