031

Years went by and Darius' friends gradually moved on, but Darius stayed, arming himself with the cudgel, sword, and badge of the town guard. The cudgel was needed since it was now generally a one on one encounter, the sword was there just in case things got our of hand, and the badge stopped the furoo from speaking with the law. Orphic actually thought it softened Darius, the fear of getting caught ending the most savage acts of humiliation. Others disagreed with Orphic, and perhaps they were right, the cracked rib of three moons ago would lend credence to their argument.

Orphic still had an outstanding issue to settle with Lours, Kaplan, and the others from Cook-Crow Street. It seems some furoo had forgotten the beatings of years past in exchange for the benefits of today. With their help Orphic had been chased down an alley and cornered. These days he usually avoided Darius, at leas when he was awake, but with seven furoo and Darius he was unable to avoid the ambush.

He shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his head, and looked at the merchants who were now almost finished unloaded. He needed to keep his mind on the task at hand. A lifetime spent on the streets almost made it easy to forget indignations suffered in the past. Almost.

030

Orphic shifted his body, making his seat on the box more comfortable as he continued to watch the merchants. Those he saw that recognized him would give him no food today, and those that he did not recognize were not very lucky to give any wares to a furoo. Orphic scratched his chin, stubble. Perhaps he would visit the Sakpatian Sisters tonight, he did far better begging when people still thought him a child.

It had been two years since he became a man in the eyes of the law. Two years on the streets had changed very little for Orphic. If anything things had gotten worse, Darius had used his adulthood as an excuse to further harass him and increase the violence of his beatings. Orphic guessed that it was his fear at getting caught that stopped him from going any further. Darius had always been a coward.

Ten years Orphic's senior, Orphic remembers first meeting Darius and his group of followers as they trolled the back streets of Cap-Sebastian looking for the street livers, the furoo to prey on. In the beginning it was only fists and feet, there was no real threat of death. Only games of power and humiliation. The elderly and the addicts always received the wort of Darius' attention, something innate seemed to save the youngest on the streets. Some unconscious thought left those lucky onces with only bruises or faces pressed into the still warm manure of horses. For unlucky others, some hatred of the old drove Darius and his fellows to further acts of humiliation. Forcing the weakest, and those most broken by a long life on the streets to degrade themselves for Darius' pleasure. Urine, feces, and garbage were the most common implements. Forcing those fearful ones to eat or drink of their own accord seemed to bring about the most pleasure, giving Darius the most power.

029

Orphic turned off the beach near Cooper's Row and headed North until her got to the market. It was still early enough that shop keepers were still setting up their stalls. He watched them as they worked from the shade of an alley. Most were locals who chatted amongst themselves as they prepared their wares. There were a few merchants that Orphic did not recognize most likely they were on their way to the capital. Goods came to Cap-Sebastian because of it's natural port. They were unloaded and usually made their way to Ayrillac, the capital.

Some of the smaller merchants would spend a day or two trying to sell their goods here to hopefully fund their journey into the continent. If it was their first time in Cap-Sebastian they would be amazed at the size of the port and the size of the market square, both bigger then a city the size of Cap-Sebastian would normally warrant. The port grew as the needs of Ayrillac grew, and the square told of Cap-Sebastian's more prosperous past as the capital of the tyrant emperors. When the tyrant's were overthrown the electorate moved the capital almost as quickly as they could.

The population from around Ayrillac was forced to move to the capital, creating a city whose size dwarfed Cap-Sebastian in under ten years. Then the exodus began, further draining Cap-Sebastian and leaving a market square barely a quarter full three hundred years after the tyrants fell.

Few of those new merchants would see much aside from the port and the market square during their time in Orphic's home. Few would gaze in awe at the one magnificent churches and temples. And almost none would enter in. Orphic did. There were times when he would spend a full day wandering the old temples wondering who taken the hammer and chisel to statues, gouging their features away, and what they had originally represented.

028

*3*

He felt the sunlight on his eyes. He had been ignoring it for the last while, an unknown amount of time. He wasn't ready to awaken.

A swift kick to his ribs sent him scrambling against the low brick wall blinking into the sun above him. The figure above him was shadow to his still sleepy eyes.

"On your way."

He looked up into the shadow that carried a familiar cudgel but did not move.

"I said on your way Orphic!"

The scrap of boot leather against sand sent Orphic scrambling to his left avoiding the kick from the guard.

"I don't want to see you sleeping here anymore. You're lucky all you got was a kick." The guard said as Orphic got to his and, shielding his eyes, recognized Darius.

"What's this?" A voice asked from up on top of the wall.

"Nothing Sir." Darius replied with a salute. "Just a street furoo Sir."

"Very well then. Remind him of the mission on Post street. There are beds there for people like him. The worshipers of Sakpata will see that he is fed."

"Yes sir. I would recommend the mission on Post street." Darius' hand rested on his cudgel. "The Sakpatians welcome all furoo. Sleeping on this beach is forbidden by electorate decree."

"Mission on Post steet?" Orphic said as a smile slowly slid onto his face. "I'll be sure to look into that. Thank you for the information."

Orphic turned and began to walk away, the smile on his face falling away as soon as his back was towards Darius. He needed to find food to break his fast, and the copper he earned last night was buried in the sand somewhere behind him.

027

The riders were exceptionally fast, as they saw the lictors ride off into different directions, riders peeled off of the main pack to follow suite. The main group continued in a straight line, riding after Gregor. The gap between him and the riders closed quickly.

He looked over his shoulder and began to angle back towards the road and the entrance to the forest. For the first time he got a full look at the riders that were chasing him. They looked like demons. Their heads were long animal skulls with horns protruding most with two, one with three. He could hear them howling. One of them raised a bow.

Gregor's horse seemed to drop away beneath him. He felt time slow down as he fought to free his feet. The horses heads continues to bend down towards the earth, leaving Gregor as he felt himself rise slowly into the air. His body turned slowly in the air as he began to arc towards the ground his right shoulder leading the way. He thought of twisting in the air a moment before his hit the ground.

The air rushed out of his lungs and he opened his mouth to scream in pain but there was no breath. He gasped, one, twice, and the air came. Screaming he rolled to his right and tried to lift himself off of the ground but his arm folded beneath him sending lightening bolts of pain arcing though his body. The world fell away.

026

"Defense!" Gregor shouted. "Defensive position." 'Baran's balls what was the position? Too many years at a desk!' "What do we have?"

"Nothing Sir!" Antio shouted. "If they want it we will go to the crows!"

"Culus!" Years streamed by Gregor, he searched his mind to find something from his training of twenty years ago, but his sons and his wife would not let his mind roam freely. Their existence and his now obvious absence from it made any remembrance impossible. Halar. His father. 'Baran.' "To the crows then, we fight!"

Gregor milked the reigns, an unconscious reaction to years of self-teaching, his horse Hungry Ghost spun. His lictors reacted, their arc wide and the time it took for them to fall back in line left Gregor out in front.

His sword was in his left hand and his right held the reigns in his fighting stance, awkward, but a curse of birth. He struggled to empty his mind to ready himself for what was to come. Twenty years was a long time for any training to remain, not matter how rigorous.

Barath flew from his saddle, a red notched arrow as thick as Gregor's thumb pireced his neck just above his breast-plate. Gregor screamed to urge his horse further as he saw the riders in front of him raise more bows. They wore skulls as faces and their bows bent in unnatural forms. Two more lictors fell.

"Frontem allargate!" Gregor screamed at the top of his lungs. His lictors broke away in an instant. 'To the wind.' All was lost.

025

Moments passed in silence, with no sounds except for the creaking of saddle leather and the breath of men. Gregor could feel his heart beating in his chest. It was the sound of a woman screaming but he had no idea from where. They were in the open, but would someone attack a Censor and his lictors? It had happened before, men were known to do worse when desperation took hold. But that was when the Censors were carrying large sums of money. It was obvious from the lack of a coach that they were not collecting tax. Besides, they were not being attacked, it was the woman that had screamed.

"Censor?" Antio asked.

"Could anyone tell where the screams came from?" Gregor's hand still held the hilt of his sword.

Barath shook his head. "The woods Sir, they mask the sound. They send it all around us. I...I couldn't tell."

"All right. We head on then, slowly. Everyone keep their swords loose and at the ready. I want eyes in every direction."

"Could be that they're in the woods Sir." Antio said flatly, sill scanning the tree line.

"Could be that they're behind us, or beside is, or planning to attack us if we stay here much longer. Or it could be one man, who's long gone. I don't know what happened. If we had seen anything, anything," Gregor added emphasizing the word, "where we could have helped we would. But I have order, and so do you. Let's move."

The Censor and his six lictors slowly began moving down the road. They road nervously, but as the road passed beneath them, the men began to relax. They kept they eyes on all directions, their training was too good for that to stop as quickly.

The roar of men erupted behind the group. All heads turned to the North-West as riders burst from the trees of Moss-Head.

"Ride!" Gregor yelled. "Make for the trees."

They were outnumbered, three to one, Gregor looked to the riders as his horse lurched forward into a gallop. "Beran's cup!" He swore, it was closer to four to one. If they could make the trees they might have a chance, but out here in the open if the riders wanted it none would survive.

"If we make the trees we separate."

"Censor!"

The riders were gaining on the. Gregor watched as the riders closed the gap between him and his men. By all that was holy they were traveling at unnatural speeds, they would never make the trees in time. Something was wrong, the horses the riders rode were massive, half again as large as the horse beneath Gregor, and their clothes. They were like nothing Gregor had ever seen before.

024

"What about the wisdom?"

Gregor looked at Barath for a moment, seriously considering the question. He nodded. "Ture. Very true. There is that, and," he shrugged, "I guess it's better then the alternative."

His lictors laughed to themselves as they began to re-pack their water skins all recognizing the unspoken signal that the break was over. The mounted their horses and began down the dirt road at a leisurely pace. The sun was high and warm in the skin, giving the harvest air an unseasonal warmth. They road ran between two farms, both showing recent planting of winter rye. The rye would protect the soil through winter and provide food for the livestock during the winter.

Ahead of them the farmland ended and the eastern tip of the Moss-Head forest covered the road. They would spend little time in the forest, making it through in less then a day if all goes well, the bulk of the forest laying to the west. Gregor had not been looking forward to the forest, but the sun of the last two days has changed that. The sweat pooling on his chest and lower back would dry, and the chance of a sun-burn would decrease. 'Imagine a sun burn at harvest!' Gregor shook his head with a smile.

"Something funny Censor?" Antio.

"Nothing Antio, just thinking how wise I..."

Gregor's words died in this throat as a woman's scream ripped through the air. Hand's flew to their sword hilts. Even Gregor drummed his hilt nervously as his stood in his stirrups scanning the country side. The scream faded.

"I see no farm houses. Lictors do you see anything?" The jovial tone that Gregor had been using earlier was gone, replaced by the authoritative tone of a representative of the Electorate.

"Nothing Censor."

"I see nothing to the east."

"Nothing."

The air grew still. The men remained on edge scanning all the way to the horizon looking for any movement other then the winter rye lazily blowing in the slight breeze.

The air was torn again by the same woman's shriek. There was something different about it this time, a heightened edge, as though someone was repeating the previous scream but using less air for effect. Then the scream ended, cut off before it fade as it had done moments earlier.

023

Gregor was awake before the sun was above the horizon. He lay where he was, keeping his eyes closed trying to steal a little more sleep. The problem was his lower back, sleeping for any length of time on the ground meant waking up with a sore back. Even his down mattress didn't help all that much, but it did mean that he could sleep longer before his back started to interrupt his sleep. The doctors said that it was too much time at his counting desk. Gregor thought that it was old age and nothing more, or perhaps old age and a counting desk.

The censor and his men ate broke their fast quickly and continued their journey towards the capital. near mid morning they stopped to stretch their legs and water the horses. Gregor stepped away from his horses stretching his hands high above his head and rocking gently from left to right.

"The back?" Asked Barath.

"Aye. Don't get old Barath."

"Oh?" Barath laughed.

"Trust me it's highly overrated."

022

"It depends upon what you mean by 'worked out'. The boy survived, the doctor's purse was full and I performed extra duties for a year, but my wife was happy. So: did it work out?"

"It sounds like it."

"Aye it worked out so well we had another." Gregor laughed with a grunt. "Family life is an interesting life is it not? We punish our selves, regroup, and then go running back for more. There's something there, something we humans look for I think."

"Try telling that to my friends without a mate."

"They will learn in time I think, or they will find it elsewhere, in the job, in the public, and sometimes down at the Inn. But we all reach for it in some ways I think."

"Aye."

"Now you were correct, I should get some rest. It's almost time for the second watch and I'm still awake. In the morrow Antio."

"In the morrow Censor." Antio said as he faded off into the darkness untouched by the fire.

021

Life as Censor had been good to Gregor, and he was able to provide well for his family. But there were costs associated with the job. Being censor was often a solitary profession. While his lictors accompanied him on his business few in his employ or otherwise wanted to be a Censor's friend. On good terms with and friendly, but not friends. People had difficulty letting down their guard around the man who collected taxes for the Electorate.

Gregor now knew why Halar was the way he was, and why Gregor and his family were the sole beneficiaries to his estate: there was no one else. It made him happy to have met his wife before becoming Censor and he felt closer to his lictors because of the time he spent in the legion, but none would play cards with him.

The sound of shuffling feet to Gregor's left brought him out of his reverie.

"Censor?"

"Yes Antio?"

"Should you not get some rest? We have a great distance still to cover tommorrow."

"Did you know I covered this same distance twenty years ago, as a Legionnaire?"

"Of course I did. Of course I did." Gregor said with a laugh, his chin falling slightly into his chest. He looked up at Antio, the fire sending an orange glow across the front of his face, his eyes hidden in pockets of shadow. "How is young Paulinus? I understand the doctor said he had the croup a few days before he left."

"Aye, he seemed well before we left. This is the third time he's had it. I told my wife not to call the doctor and that it would go away on it's own in a few days, but she needs the doctor to look at her baby."

"I understand more then you think. When I was a lictor my son Brand was ill at least once a moon. Earache's for him." Gregor gestured at his ear with his left hand. "Lana insisted that we call the doctor every time the boy so much as touched his ears. I swear I thought those ears would bankrupt me."

Antio laughed. "It worked out though?"

020

After that Gregor's knack with numbers saw him gain increasing favour with the then Censor Halar, until the day that he became Halar's full time assistant and bean spending more of his time in a counting room and less time training with the other lictors. From that point his life followed a rather straight path, he served Halar well, met a woman, married her after two years of courtship.

Gregor and his wife Lana had two boys, one was born while Gregor was Halar's assistant and the second was born when Gregor became Censor. He remembered the transition well, as it was punctuated by Halar's death. The work remained the same as Halar's health in those final years deteriorated to the point where Gregor was Censor in all but name. He could have approached the electorate to have had Halar remove and himself appointed Censor, but Gregor remained loyal to the man who had pulled him from the legions and given him this life. Halar repaid the respect by leaving Gregor his house and all other assets upon his death. In his will Halar referred to Gregor as 'the son he never had', the warmest thing Gregor had ever heard from Halar. Halar even went so far as to leave a little something for Lana and Gregor's first son Brand.

019

*2*

Censor Gregor sat by the glow of while four of his men slept around him. Two others were positioned outside the fire's light keeping the first watch of the night. So far the trip to Ayrillac from Merrybrook had been uneventful. The full moon had begun to wax and travelling through the night had become unfeasible.

The censor brushed his curly brown hair away from his eyes and then scratched his salt-and-pepper beard. He was too old for this, he should be at home with his wife enjoying a glass of wine by the fire. Travelling to towns within his province was one thing, and he excepted that as part of the positioned that allowed him to own the house that drank his wine in. But pulling the censor's back to the capital? All of them? It was a drastic step to tack during the harvest.

He was nervous. Not if the traveling, but of going home. Twenty years had passed since he marched away from Ayrillac as an infantry man in the Empire's legion. The electorate then was some nameless monster that his father railed at as he stumbled around their house. A beast who cruelly crushed his father and forced him to endure the hardship that was his own family.

His skill at the sword was passable, it kept him alive, but with numbers he was deadly. The game of Emperor's Towers that changes his life was still fresh in his memory. He held three cars in his hand, two of them were paired ladies, not an impressive round since the fourth tower had not yet been dealt, but he bet the farm and won. The censor, who had been watching took note, he exposed his card counting, which gave Gregor a cracked rib and a black eye during the night, but before matters could get any worse he pulled him from the infantry and put him into service as one of the censor's lictors.

018

"So." Perun said flatly.

"Cheers." Reynard said lifting his glass into the air. "First cheers. You've always been to eager to work. There is more in what on this earth then that. When was the last time we were all together, here? Now that Kwyn is here I think that we deserve a cheers."

"Cheers." Cytheria said.

"Cheers." Kwyn said.

"Cheers." Perun said with a shrug of his shoulders. "For you this might be something, but not for me. I haven't forgotten the old ways, I didn't let them fade. How long has it been for the rest of you? And this year Reynard? What makes it so special? Why summon us back to this place and recreate that journey? I do not know what you hope to find at the end. You will all come to a place that you will no longer recognize. Your absence has left it's mark."

"You remained behind? You continued?" Kwan asked.

"I remembered."

"What is special about this year?" Reynard laughed. He shrugged his shoulders, mimicking Perun's gesture from moments before. "This year is different, things are at work that require our attention."

"What is different?" Perun finished off his mug of ale.

"We have a long journey a head of us, and we leave tomorrow. There will be much to describe the details while we travel. Many things have happened, but tonight," Reynard's mood brightened as he waved at Nail who stood behind the bar. "Another round kind sir."

"I've not even have half." Kywn said.

"No matter, no matter. As I was saying, tonight we celebrate the journey ahead of us. We toast to the journey as a reflection of this same journey we started on long ago. We remember the past and what we felt then, and we prepare for the future."

"It has been a long time Reynard." Perun said with a shake of his head.

"Has it?"

"Ten thousand years is a long time," Perun sighed, "for anyone." He buried his face deep within his mug and swallowed the last of his ale as Nial brought four more mugs to the table.

017

Sirah poked her head out of the kitchen and watched her husband walk towards the door. She shook her head, another guest? At this time of the year.

"Let me know if we'll be needing another supper Nial."

Nial nodded and waved absently behind him as he opened the front door. Perun was the only one from the table to glance towards Sirah. He gave her a warm smile, and an almost imperceptible nod of the head.

Taking a deep breath Nial opened the front door. He was about to welcome this next guest and then paused mouth hanging open. He looked at the table where the three guests sat and then back at the woman standing outside his Inn. The woman standing in front of him looked identical to Cytheria who was sitting at the table. Only her attire seemed different, her hair, he eyes, her mouth, the supple curve of her body, all seemed to mirror that of the woman sitting inside Nial's Inn.

After a moment Nail roused himself from his explorations and looked the woman back in the eyes. She smiled back at him with a slight tilt to her head.

"From your look I can only assume that my friends have preceded me."

"Yes, yes." Nial cleared his throat. "Yes they have. Please come in they are sitting right over here by the fire. Do you have any horses or bags that you would like brought in? I have a boy who can carry that for you."

"I have a wagon parked outside. In it are two packs, please have your boy bring the wagon into your stable and the packs into my room. I will need oats and water for the horses, plus a rubdown. We have traveled far to be here tonight, and we will travel far tomorrow."

Nial looked at the woman and nodded his head slowly.

"I will pay the cost,of that there is no worry. But please let us not speak of it tonight, food and a bed is what I need, tomorrow we will discuss the costs."

Without waiting for a reply or Nial acknowledgment the woman walk towards her three companions seated at the table. Even still Nial could not work up and anger over what had happened, something about the way that she spoke, made him feel as if she was doing him a favour. He remembered the Harvest ale that Perun had asked saved for him and quickly made his way behind the bar to fetch it.

016

Nial and Sirah cooked a small meal for the Inn's three guests and served it to them. The guests sat at the table eating their food and slowly drinking their beer. The talked, but often Nail would catch them simply sitting at the table looking at each other for long periods of time.

After a time he cleared away their plates noticing that they had not been touched for a while.

"Another round of Ale?" Nial asked.

"Is there any more of the holiday brew?" Reynard asked with a smile.

"Sadly sir, we I would approximate that we only have enough for one mug left, and Master Perun here asked me to save it for the next guest from your party to arrive."

"Well, he is a very nice fellow, isn't he Cytheria? He just gives and gives."

Nial wasn't sure what what happening in the silence that fell over the table after Reynard's comment. "I do have another fine ale, it's just the house ale. Although I probably shouldn't say just, this that gives it a 'lesser' feel. It's not the Harvest Ale, but it's still pretty good."

"That will do then." Perun said. "I think we'll all have another?"

"I think I'll have my third." Cytheria said, he heart melting Nial, but he wished that she hadn't let it slip that he had given her an extra Harvest Ale earlier in the evening.

There was a knock at the door.

"Oh this is too glorious!" Reynard laughed. "She was always one for timing. We should have done this ages ago!"

"We did." Perun said simply. "I have." He added, his eyes scanning towards the door.

015

"Perun" Reynard said with a smile. He gestured at the table, offering Perun a seat.

"Cytheria. Reynard." Perun said, acknowledging both. "It is good that you are here."

"You weren't sure?" Cytheria asked. She looked deeply into Perun's eyes and took a deep breath. For a moment it seemed as though something passed between then. Reynard, seemed oblivious, as he was looking up at Perun waiting for him to respond.

"No, it's not that. I thought that you would be here, and now that I see you here I'm happy."

"Ever the optimist." Reynard laughed.

Perun sat himself down on the bench across form Cytheria and beside Reynard. He dropped his pack beneath the table and looked Reynard and Cytheria. The firelight played with the slight smile on his face giving him a warm and happy appearance. His eyes, though, were shielded. What warmth his face and postured gave him was lost as soon as anyone in the bar looked into his eyes.

"That's a wild one there." Nial's wife Sirah said.

"Who? Master Perun?" Nial asked. "Nah, a gentleman he was, very polite. You wouldn't know it from the clothes but the man has traveled. And," He added, "he knows how to do it with style."

"Always the way."

"What's that?"

"Nothing." Sirah said shaking her head. "Just watch him, that's all I'm saying. Now hurry with his ale, and try to figure out how many rooms we'll be renting out tonight and who's sleeping with whom."

"Who's sleeping with whom? Why I assume that we'll need three room, and perhaps a fourth for this next mystery guest?"

"Always the way." Sirah shook her head and made her way back into the kitchen.

014

Nial walked toward the front door. His legs still ached from the night before, but his head and his stomach had been calmed by his second Holiday Ale. Hoping to see a villager searching for a lost belonging Nial opened the front door. Instead of a villager he met an unknown face. A man stood before him in brown leggings and a green tunic covered in the soft dust of lengthly travel. His face wore a slow smile that spread backwards across his face, but did not touch his eyes.

"Master of the house." The stranger said in the formal greeting bowing his head slightly.

"Enter of my house and we will each share what we have." Nial responded kindling a spark of pride at the words taught to him by his father. Words of honour to a profession that he had no son to pass on to.

"I have friends within."

"Aye." Nial responded. "You will find them the only guests within. The day after the harvest is a slow day for Merrybrook. My Harvest ale is almost done, should I pour you a mug, sir?"

"Perun, Master of the house, Perun. I will find warmth within these walls."

"I am Master Nial, I light the fire withing these walls." Nial nodded as the stranger walked toward the table, the eyes of his other two guests watched his arrival. "Oh the ale sir? Should I pour you a mug?"

The stranger paused for a moment before nodding over his right shoulder. "Save a mug please, I think we wait for one more."

013

Cytheria laughed and took another sip of her ale before setting it on the table. "Apparently not long enough. I saw no other horses in the stable? Did you travel by foot?"

"Oh", Reynard leaned back, hands pushing against his thighs, and took a deep breath. "I traveled here slowly. By foot in the backs of farmers wagons. The harvest always provides adequate wagons on the road. I wanted to enjoy it this time, to take it into myself and really remember it."

"That doesn't fit with the Reynard that I remember, perhaps it has been longer then I thought."

"I don't know." Reynard slapped his hand lightly against the table to and then lifted it to reveal two gold coins. He waved his right hand over the coins, obscuring them momentarily, and then held his hand up in the air showing two coppers resting on the table. "Do any of us really change?" He touched the coins with the tips of his fingers from both hands, covering both coins, and then lifted his hands in the air showing empty palms and no coins on the table. "Or do we always change? We have both traveled far I the river of time since we last saw each other, is there anything left of who we once were? What is the essence of me if you separate it from that river of time? Am I not different each day? Each moment I am a different person." Reynard's voice became slightly louder, and his eyes would not look away from Cytheria's. "When are we ever the same? The past is gone and the future is unknown, yet we expect the past to give us clues as to what the future holds."

There was a knock at the front door. Nial and his wife exchanged looks at each other briefly before Nial began walking to the front door.

"I don't know," Cytheria smiled, "sometimes the past has a way of catching up on us."

Reynard let out a robust laughed that showed it's truth in his face and eyes. He slapped the table and smiled. There were four gold coins on the table when he took another sip of his ale.

012

"In that," Reynard continued, "I'm not sure I share your faith. Things are...in flux. I have not been consistent." Cytheria raised her eyes. "An admission." Reynard held his hands up in the air. "Rare I know, but I doubt that you have either so I don't lose very much."

With a flourish Reynard produced a gold coin between the index finger and thumb on his right hand. He glanced at it casually and continued to rub it as he spoke. "Pacts were made, some broken we know. You were there, you witnessed the first, but threads still hold."

"Are you sure? Do you have proof of this? More empty words from Reynard? Yes I was there and yes I remember the pacts. I have what you say, but what do you know of broken pacts? I was there when your word broke. You think your admission binds us? It does not. My memory is long."

"Were we the only two?"

Nial returned with the two mugs of Harvest ale, but set them on the table silently after seeing the looks on both guests faces.

"If we were the only two," Cytheria and Reynard raised their mugs in a practices cheers, both keeping their eyes locked on each other. "things would be different." Cytheria took a long drink of her ale. "It has been a long time."

Reynard mimicked her, "Too long."

011

"Reynard."

"Cytheria." Reynard looked at her with the corners of his mouth curling upwards.

Cytheria coolly dropped her gaze down to her riding dress and slowly smoothed a few of the creases. On most woman the act would have been a simple cleansing gesture, but on Cytheria it was an act of cool sensuality. Nial's wife, who couldn't take her eyes off of this new woman now that she had stolen Reynard's attention, was convinced that Cytheria made sure that each crease started at her breasts and made their way down her foolishly slender waist.

"I wasn't sure you'd come." Reynard said idling rubbing the black stubble on his cheek. "It's been a long time."

"It has. The time was right. In this I think we can all agree."

010

Nial walked over to the table where Reynard and the woman were seated. The both looked up at his as he approached.

"Your guest?"

"One of them." Reynard answered.

"Will she be requiring a separate room?"

"I'll answer that." The woman laughed. "I will require a separate room, and in the future if you want to speak to me, speak to me. This man does not speak for me."

"I'm sorry Madam, I did not mean to offend."

"Of course not." The woman cut Nial off. "I will require a separate room, and I will be paying my own way. Do not mention the cost," She waved her right hand in front of her body, "it does not matter, I have the coin to pay for it. Your best room and your best food."

"All right."

"And ale. It's your harvest correct?"

"Yes Madam, we celebrated just last night."

"The sent of your harvest ale still hangs in the air. I'd like an ale for myself and..."

"Reynard."

"And Reynard here."

"Yes Madam." Nial answered.

"Of course since you only just got here you can be forgiven for thinking that there may be Harvest Ale left. Master Nial here had a bit to much to drink last night and the poor man doesn't remember if there is any ale left. An honest mistake given the time of the year." Reynard said looking intently at the woman's eyes.

"Master Reynard, your embarrass me by air my faults for the public."

"Do not fret Master Nial. Reynard here has a habit of such things, in this instance the fault is his and not yours." The woman responded, here eyes staring straight at Reynard though she spoke to Nial.

"She is right." Reynard laughed, clapping his hands against the tale. "The fault is mine, and. And. And! I will pay for the ale if any is left. Two harvest ale's Master Nial. Cytheria and I both appear to be thirsty." Cytheria continued to stare at Reynard, who pointedly ignored here gaze.

"Of course. I must look in the back to see what if anything remains." Nial answered excusing himself to the back of the Inn, relieved to be away from the table.

009

Nial opened the door to his Inn to see the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was almost as tall as Nial with dark brown hair that fell loosely to her shoulders. She wore a pale brown riding dress that held close to her curves without reveling too much. Nial caught himself admiring those curves, held there by the soft riding dress, nothing revealed yet a promise hinted at.

He heard the scrap of the kitchen door behind him, and was reminded again of his wife and what he was doing.

"Welcome Madam, please come in." Nial winced internally at his formality, hopefully his wife had not overheard.

"Thank you." The woman smiled. She walked into the Inn passed Nial letting her hand briefly brush his chest as she entered.

Internally Nial melted and needed an extra second looking out into the evening light before he was able to close the door and re-enter his Inn. By the time Nial had turned around and re-entered his Inn he saw the woman sitting across from Reynard. The two appeared to be looking at each other intently without talking.

'Old lovers.' Nial sighed to himself. 'Now slow down.' Nial thought 'this is a good thing, you can stop being a moon-eyed fool and do your job. The days when you could compete for a woman like that are long gone. If they were ever here at all.' Nial admitted to himself.

008

"Yes yes, your tea. I'll have your tea in just a moment. We have a fine breakfast tea." Nial stammered as he walked towards the kitched.

"I'm sure that would be fine Master..."

"Nial, Master Nail, and how should I address you?"

The stranger looked at him and smiled. "Reynard."

"Good good. I will be back soon with your tea Reynard."

Reynard nodded and then turned back to his table and began to look into his pack.

Master Nail watched Nial throughout the day as he resurrected his Inn. The man was content to read his book for most of the day letting Nail and his staff clean around him until it was the appropriate time for him to move to allow further cleaning.

A few simple coin tricks had impressed Wylam and Nial's wife Ayleen. Nial wasn't sure but he was pretty sure that he kept catching his wife making moon eyes at Reynard when she thought Nial wasn't looking. 'Typical' Nial thought. 'I'm as clean as clean can be in this Inn, and it's not as though I don't have to serve pretty women. Well it was just last year when the winter storm his and the lady and her serving women with the low cut dresses had to stay...'

There was a knock at the front door.

Nial shook his head and looked out the window. The sun was a deep read in the sky and getting ready to dip below the horizon. On any other day the Inn would be preparing for travelers stopping for the night and locals stopping by for tonight. But not today, not the day after the harvest festival.

007

The man was dressed in brown leggings with a simple coarse white tunic covering his upper body. He made his way through some of the debris from last nights festivities and sat down at close to the cold fireplace at a relatively clean spot. He set his simple pack down beside his as he smiled at Nial again.

Rubbing his face Nial walked up to the tabled and leaned forward gripping the table's edge.

"What can I do for you? It might take a while, things went late last night and most of the folks around here are still in bed."

"I'd be ready to break my fast whenever something can be prepared, but waiting with a cup of tea would be no trouble."

"Tea. Tea I can do."

"I've woken you." The stranger reached over and grabbed a half-full mug of ale and smelt the contents. "Ahh my guess is this is the reason why so many folks are still in bed. Cinnamon?"

"Aye."

"Smells like a nice brew. If some remains I'd love to try some this evening."

"I might have some in reserve, but the pickings will probably be slim."

"At least you remember having some in reserve, who knows what happened after your memory ends." The stranger laughed.

"Aye." Nial laughed, relaxing slightly. "How many days will you be staying with us? Oh, excuse my manners, my head as you know isn't where it should be right now. Where have you left your horse? Wylam wouldn't be up yet, but I could open the stable for you..."

"No need." The stranger said, cutting Nial off. "I'll be staying for one night and I'm traveling on foot. I know what your thinking. I've friends joining me here later on, and I'll be able to hitch a ride with them."

"Good good. One night's seven silvers, nine if you need supper. Additional guests are a silver a head plus whatever they eat. You seem nice, but I've got a business to run and people that depend on me so I'd need to see four silver up front."

"Only prudent." The stranger said, reaching into his pack. He brought forth a small leather purse and opened it. He counted a few coins into his palm and then handed them to Nail. "Eight silvers." He said before Nail could begin to count them. Then with a flourish he rolled a ninth silver out from his downward facing palm and onto his knuckles. The coin rolled left and right over the back of knuckles a few times before he flicked it high into the air towards Nial.

Startled, and somewhat slowly, Nial opened his hand and let the silver drop into it.

"Nine. Now about that tea?"

006

The Censor and his men slowly road through the quiet streets of Merrybrook. He could still hear the revelers in Gentle Night Inn and passed the occasional villager that was late to the festivities. The would travel through the night, the Electorate had silenced the pigeons and recalled the Censors to Ayrillac. The capital was still a weeks away and while the moon was full they would need the night.

Nial groaned loudly as put his feet to the floor. The knocking at the front door of his Inn continued as he shuffled his way towards the closet. He stopped halfway when he realized that he was still in his clothes from the night before. The red stain on the front of his shirt was new, but the rest was familiar enough.

"Coming" He croaked.

He took the stairs one at a time, pausing once to steady himself. A few deep breaths through his mouth eased his belly enough to allow Nial to continue to the bottom of the stairs and towards the locked front door.

"Coming!" Nial said, as loudly as he could manage. "Please stop knocking, we will go through whatever was leftover and return it later in the day. Nothing could be this important. Please stop knocking!" Nial swung the door open, he did not recognize the face of the man who stood before him.

It was the face of a man, a young man, a warm smile spread across the man's face as Nial backed away from the door slightly and gestured for the man to enter.

"I'm in need of a room for the night."

Nial glanced at the morning sun before shutting the door and shaking his head.

005

"We should go Master Nial, the hour is getting late." The censor's men put down their drinks. "Good evening and enjoy your harvest."

"Good evening to you Censor. A safe journey."

"I'm sure that it will be." With that the censor and his men left the Inn. Master Nial took a slow sip from his Harvest Ale and watched the men leave his Inn.

"What was that all about?" His wife asked as she dried a wet mug.

"I don't know."

"He's not staying the night?"

"He didn't ask."

004

"Master Nial, it seems you are enjoying the harvest."

Nial put down his drink and shook the Censor's hand. "Good evening Censor." The Censor leaned in close to catch all of the innkeepers words. "What news brings you to Merrybrook for the Harvest?"

"Oh, work. Work. Work." Censor Gregor shook his head and sighed. He rubbed his forehead with his fingertips affecting fatigue. He half-turned and scanned the crown of people in the Inn. A large fire burned in at the far side of the eating room. The kitchen was on the other side of the fireplace with rooms above both the main eating room and the kitchen to help heat the Inn during the winter.

The eating room was full of long tables with bench seating and a few small round tables near the windows that could seat two or three. Revelers filled the seats now, with many standing or leaning as they sang with the others.

"Any news Master Nial? I've been on the road so much this moon that I feel cut off from what is happening in this province."

"Oh nothing really." Nial took three mugs of Harvest Ale from Wylam and handed them to the Censor's men. The fourth mug, for the Censor, Nial ported himself. "We've been so busy preparing the the harvest that there really hasn't been much time for gossip."

"Oh?"

"Aye, folks tend not to travel as much this time of year. Things need tending to at home, and those that don't have one a farm to harvest tend to find enough work from those that do. We've been quiet the last moon at least."

The censor nodded as he took a sip from his mug of ale, his men followed shortly thereafter. "Things seem to be picking up though. A fine ale." The censor put his mug of ale back on the bar.

003

Wylam laughed and poured another ale at the nod of a village woman. If things kept up they would need a fourth keg very shortly. Nial wondered how long it would be until the harvest meal was ready. He turned to head towards he kitched but was stopped short by the palm of his wives hand.

"Back to your seat." Saraph said. "Wylam, pour him a drink. He frets so much about the harvest ale each year that i think he forgets to drink it."

Nial smiled and backed towards his seat, palms in the air. Wylam turned and gave Nial a full mug of Harvest ale.

"Bosses order." Wylam said.

"Respect! Did you hear what I said? No body respects the harvest these days." Nial inhaled the scent of his harvest ale deeply through his nose. "Something as beautiful as the harvest needs to be respected properly." He took a long drink from his mug and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "This is something to be respected." He lifted his mug into the air, gazed at it for a moment and then looked at the full room in front of him.

"What's that?"

"Respect! Serve the customers I said!"

Nial was mid song, holding his fourth Harvest ale, when the censor and his men walked into the inn.

002

There were claps on backs and smiles on faces as the village of Merrybrook celebrated the harvest. The eyes of many of the farmers were already glassy when the third cask of Harvest ale was rolled into the Gentle Night Inn. The Harvest ale was breded once a year by the Gentle Night's proprietor Nial Greenfurrow. He selected all of the grains himself and ensured that the right amounts were used to fortify each cask to proper harvest levels. The day after the festival many would be cursing Nial and his Harvest ale, but few would remember that pain come the next harvest.

Nial looked out from his bar at his crowded eating room. He always enjoyed watching the young ones celebrate their first harvest the most. It was the way at which they attacked the Harvest ale, the postures they held, seeking to show the old timers that those few nights with stolen ale had prepared them to drink at the table. It wouldn't be long until most of those boastful faces were either sleeping on the tables or paying a visit to the bushed behind the Inn.

"Respect" Nial said alout.

"What's that?" Wylam asked as he poured another mug of all.

"Respect!" Nial shouted. "You've got to respect the Harvest!"

001

*1*

The toddler made his way down the dark hallway with a piece of bread held tightly in his left hand. He talked to himself as he walked, asking himself where his toy horse was. He couldn't hear himself over the shouts of the men above and the screams of the women, but he knew what he was saying. The torches in the wall scones flickered in unison as the castle walls shuddered. The toddler was knocked off of his feet as the floor jumped with the impact. The bread fell from his hands and topples just out of reach.

Shaking his head the boy sat up. He looked for the bread with his hands groping the floor in the unsteady light. Another impact above sent dust raining down upon his head.

"Bread. Bread. Bread." He said aloud, shaking slightly, his toy horse forgotten. "No man. No man." He rose to his feet, hands empty, eyes still scanning the floor. Another impact from above shook the entire hallway sending him into the inner wall and back to the floor. More dust and the occasional stone fell.

The hollow ringing sounds of the large boulders striking the castle grew in frequency until the young boy believed that it was one long rumble. He was crying as the walls fell in around him.