[Brion]

The sun was working its way towards the west and Brion recommended that
Bog Antlon, the notary, head on back to the City Hall with the statements.
They had been at the work since early light - and the newly-appointed
bailiff could tell that Mr. Antlon was beginning to flag, though Brion had
tried to adjust his long stride for the convenience of the shorter, and
older, man.

The Envoy's and Miss Dyer's statements had held no new recollections of
Menagrem's capture. Lawrence Ournel, the Royal Envoy, had been gracious -
and had been willing to speak with the Council's representatives, but had
only been able to spare fifteen or twenty minutes. The fact that he looked
tired and harried came as no surprise, and the warpiper had no doubts that
the envoy was being pressed to his limits with the events of the week.
Miss Dyer had been her usually cool, cordial self. And while her
participation in the capture of the accused murderer revealed more of her
Refuser past she made no comment on that - neither confirming or denying.
As always, when dealing with the young woman, Brion was left with the same
sad impression - that she had fought her war so long that her soul had
died, leaving only honed instinct and sharp intelligence. He had seen too
many others like that not to recognize the signs.

The shanty town had yielded far more interesting results.

Brion was well-received there; partially because many knew him from the
tent city out at the Paevel Ranch, but more recently because of a gift his
brother, Chief of the Hillrovers, had sent along. This "little" gift had
included not only a generous purse of coin, but ten shaggy goats, and five
mountain ponies. Enough, according to Clan standards, for Brion to
"retire" comfortably. The livestock, particularly the goats, were of the
greatest use, and Brion had set about making arrangements. Quitha, one of
the refugee women who had returned to Montfort, and the five other
refugees, were to care for the goats. In exchange they would have the
income from the wool, and since they had two cows to provide milk it was
agreed that the goat milk and cheese would go to the folks of the shanty
town. As for the ponies - a herd of the hardy beasts could be profitable
in such an active town, and he was still pondering the details of how
Serun and the blacksmith might also profit from the animals' arrival.

The piper knew he had been forgiven for "deserting" as Clan warpiper. The
note had said something about him being recompensed for watching out for
the Chief's daughter, Laurelyn. As _if_ he needed pay to watch out for his
niece!! But it was a peace-offering and he knew to let it lie.

And it was an offering that would do a world of good in the long-run, and
in the short-run too - for he and Bog were made welcome at the small
communal fires.

They had come specifically to speak with Gwit - the old fisher who had
found Netit's body in the Augustana, but they were regaled with tales from
Frannie (Gwit's "daughter") and the other women. Since the night of the
fire - that had taken Fillip and Denlira's shack - speculation had run
rampant. But so had a comparing of notes amongst the shanty town's
inhabitants. Frannie had taken the lead in the telling, and from her they
gained a rough picture of Fillip and Denlira's life.

The young pair had built their shanty about a month and a half ago, and
for the most part kept to themselves. None liked Fillip - he had always
carried himself with a haughty attitude and just about spit upon his
neighbors, though they knew that he only brought in coppers from
performing flashy magic tricks at one of the local dives. As for the girl
- that had the women shaking their heads - she was too frightened to speak
to them, and always looked at them with the gaze of a cornered bunny. And
if that wasn't evidence enough that the spirit had been beaten out of her
- then there was always the black bruises on her jaw, or the way she held
herself on some days.

And when the lass (may the Gods let her rest!) wasn't out buying some of
the half-rotted vegetables, or at the local water trough, she stayed in.

The Guard had come to question about the night that the envoy's secretary
had died. Asking if any had heard any weird noises in the night? And even
now the folk were shaking their heads - sounds of violence in that little
shanty were the norm on many a night. Some had even thought of helping the
lass - but a penny mage or not Menagrem was still a mage and one to be
feared. Particularly with his temper.

When the questions came around to the night the shack burned - then Brion
had gained some new insights into events.

Folks had been working hard to put out the fire...Then, out of nowhere,
came some hunters. There was a true lady - in her blue gown and midnight
silk hair, but with eyes like chilled blue water; a torn up older gent -
probably that Envoy everyone was talking about; a round, brightly-dressed,
clown - though he had cast a spell - so he probably was a mage; and a
knife tough. The knife tough hadn't wanted to ask questions polite-like -
and would have been cutting Gard's throat before the others could stop him
if a fine gent (who must have been helping with the fire since he was all
sooty) hadn't stepped in. And right about that time Yals, the woodcarver,
had stepped in to aid the locals too.

Then the lot of them had just stepped into nothing and disappeared.

After the shanty town and at least two cups of precious, but bitter, tea
Brion had sent Bog on back and had set out towards the woods. And though
he still needed to talk to Lucc he knew that it would be better with the
notary at hand - so it wasn't Lucc he sought, but Yals and Alexandrin who
answered to far higher powers and who might be able to shed some light on
that night.

[Alexandrin]

        Perhaps it was only one or two turns through the woods, or perhaps
a half dozen, but the bailiff stepped around one thick stand of tree to
find the blonde elf sitting on an oaken stump, waiting.  Brown cloak and
leggings, and plain tunic to match ... and over and under them, just the
faintest glimmer of absent armor.  His hands were both wrapped around a
knotted yew staff.  "Yals," he explained, when he saw Brion's eyes drift
to the wood. "I haven't yet thought of what to give in return."

[Brion]

Brion smiled and said, "I don't think that he seeks a return. Or at least
not a material one...." He remembered the gifts Kit had brought back - one
for Allenel, one for Kallin, and one for Linnell. Little rosewood
statuettes that were representative of the old spirits. But not a coin had
left her hand for them.

The bailiff sat down on a fallen trunk and stretched out his long legs.
"There is little quiet in this town.....," he said by way of an opening.

[Alexandrin]

        "I have never known it to be quiet," Alexandrin answered with a
rueful smile.  His green eyes -- so like his wayward sister's -- drifted
over Brion's shoulder, looking in the direction that the shanty-town lay.
After a moment more, he turned his gaze back to the other, taller man,
considering.  "But I know there are those who hoped it would become quiet.
Or at least quieter."  Something about the tone of his voice, or perhaps
the tilt of his head, spoke of his uncertainty.  "It might be easier," he
added slowly, "to keep it that way if you don't ask your questions."
Alexandrin could not say that he knew Allenel Gilford well, but he
suspected that the answers he would give would present the lawyer with a
dilemma he would rather not have.

[Brion]

"Aye, I know," Brion said, "Tis a fine line we walk - though hasn't that
always been the way?"

He shook his head, his auburn hair seeming to catch fire when sunlight hit
it, and said, "Truth and necessity again pull against one another. On one
hand I suspect that necessity may bind Lucc - but to heal the spirit of
this town Truth must regain its strength. Which is why I suspect the lad
told Elektra of your presence and asked her to give word to Allenel and
myself. You are outside this mortal game and so this news breaches no code
of law."

He took a pull of water from his waterskin and said, "What is the truth of
this tale?"

[Alexandrin]

        "What part of it?" Alexandrin parried.  A slight breeze swept over
them, setting the sunlight into a moving pattern over him.  The image of
armor, and the ghost of a sword, became more focused.  "Has anyone ever
thought to ask Elektra, or Lucc or any of them what they might confess to
under the knife?"  The question was asked evenly, but there were shadows
in his green eyes.  "It is that thought which so troubles Lucc, I
suspect."  Not that he had ever asked, or ever would ask, that of Lucc. "I
honestly cannot answer the question myself," he admitted.  "I was never
given the chance, before the fire."

        His gaze fell to his own hands, wrapped around the rough yew
staff.  "It is true that the man -- this Fillip -- killed that girl.  But
it is also true," he continued slowly, as he looked back up, "that the
admission was forced from him by the blade."  One hand released the staff,
to touch first one side of his nose, and then the other.  "Truth or lie
can come from that method, and this time it was truth.  But I question
whether it is one that Gilford would care to build on."

[Brion]

"He wouldn't," Brion said grimly, "Nor would I. Nor will Allenel have to
rest on it since a more ethical questioning was done by the Guard, with
all forms observed. But I think what also troubles Lucc and is danced
around within the statements - are the identities of the two
'adventurers.' From what I have heard in the shanty town they were already
fast with the knife."

He leaned forward and said, "The statements dance mainly around those men
- who played such a vital role in this - and by their absence will be the
weak link in the case. I suspect that honor binds Lucc and Ournel, though
I'm not sure its chains are fast on Batista - she plays her own game, to
keep these men out of it. And while this won't be reaching the record - at
least Allenel can be fully prepared for the problems ahead."

[Alexandrin]

        "He has weathered worst.  We all have.  The man with the knife was
called Eric.  A dangerous one, and no ordinary adventurer.  The mage, with
the colorful robes and longing for ale, was called Lovvorn.  Neither would
make comfortable enemies." He stood, and for a moment the armor, and the
sword were fully visible.  "If you need more -- if you need anything --
you need only ask."  Alexandrin drew the cloak closed and flipped the hood
up over his golden hair and pointed ears. "Watch yourself, and be safe."
With a thought, he stepped into the woods; not as smoothly as Yals, nor
with as quick a disappearance.  But gone nonetheless.

[Brion]

"I will," Brion murmured, as he wondered what had brought these two to the
hunt, and how dangerous this information could be to Allenel.