The Phantom cast Kjan an oblique look that meant he was wondering what the real reason was for his sidekick's sudden urge to go scouting was - certainly not an especial affinity for Dante. "I hope you haven't developed a tendency towards wandering off," he commented, tossing a bedroll at Kjan's head. "The rest of the party is hard enough to keep track of."

Despite several incidences of lost items, wet items, and in one very special case a curiously perforated item - the Phantom cast a very innocent-looking Eledhe a suspicious look and wondered if it was a hobby of hers to shred useful pieces of clothing - they were eventually moving slowly through the uneven rocky paths.

The Phantom eyed his train of glum companions, and casually fell in besides Ayden, who looked a little dazed. He couldn't help but feel slightly flattered still that his presence had gotten quite so violent a reaction. "So," he began casually, putting his hands in his pockets. "I'm Phantom Grey."

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Running a hand through his still damp hair, Dante glowered in Kjan's direction, and muttered something under his breath about, "...that incorrigible scoundrel." But he wasn't about to go picking an argument again, indeed, the very least he had to do today with that incorrigible scoundrel, the better it would inevitably be.

Although being hauled around with a group of outlaws, - no, <i>rebels</i> the Phantom had said - wasn't exactly his idea of a nice quiet winter. And why, for the earth's sake, must the sky always be so bleary and tearful?

Abruptly, he noticed that a girl was standing beside him. The same girl who was with Phae- <i>The Phantom</i> last night at the fire. Interesting.

"So," he remarked without turning to her, his eyes still on the horizon, "...were you bought, abducted, captured, or just bored and needed something to do?"

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<center>
"The piano is able to communicate the subtlest universal truths by means of wood, metal and vibrating air."

Silvryn cast him a sidelong glance, clearly debating whether or not it was acceptable to ignore him completely. He had, after all, created quite a scene the night before, and she couldn't say that she was ecstatic about the addition of yet another party member who was little more than a liability. "I was killed," she deadpanned.

Before Dante could respond or inquire further, Kjan discreetly slipped up on the other side of him. It wasn't that he was very protective of the Princess-- she'd proven more than capable of defending herself, physically or verbally. But, nonetheless, there were certain things that Dante didn't need to know yet, or even at all.

"So, tell me, Dante," he began amiably. "How did you get to be....here?" He waved a hand expansively at the area around them, at a loss for a more proper name to apply to the region. "I never knew you had a knack for cartography."

Turning round to stare Kjan in the eyes, Dante heaved a rather loathing sigh. "And since when have <i>you</i> - an adventuring young rebel - been interested in the history of a cartographer."

He frowned a little, and raised an eyebrow in Kjan's direction. "And if you must know - I'm not interested in maps. Have a knack for them, but they are the dullest things on earth. I never wanted to be a mapmaker. Never would have been," he added bitterly, "...if the nobles hadn't kicked me out of their world when your sister did."

He turned away for a moment, feigning a strong interest in the back of Silvryn's neck, and clenching his jaw as though cracking an iron bar between it.

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<center>
"The piano is able to communicate the subtlest universal truths by means of wood, metal and vibrating air."

Jate trailed after Kjan and Dante, yawning so widely he thought his jaw might break. He really just wasn't cut out for all this up at the crack of dawn stuff. Noting with interest the dialogue between the two, Jate stepped to the other side of Kjan.

"So," he murmured carelessly. "What exactly did this young Kjan do to get the anger of a poor cartographer?"

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going on a journey through my old claims

Kjan kept his gaze on Dante for a moment longer, then shugged and gave up on formulating a retort. "I saved him from a fate worse than death, once," he said insouciantly in response to Jate's query. Upon seeing the younger man's confused expresion, he clarified, "He tried to marry my sister. All I did was speed up the inevitable process of it not happening. I don't know why he's so terribly ungrateful about it all - Celeste was, is, and will always be a spoiled brat. Dante would've regretted it within a week."

The irony of it was, that was the truth. Or at least, Kjan felt that it was. At the time, admittedly, his only real intent had been annoying his older sister in as many ways as possible. But really, now that he was older, Kjan realized that the noble world would have been no kinder to Dante - behind his back, for certain, and likely to his face - had he married Celeste. For one, the Armadurs simply weren't a family that one married into for their reputation. They were lower-end, just influential enough to be considered advantageous acquaintances. And Dante, despite his impeccable manners, was very obviously a commoner. So the only prestige he might have gained from the marriage would have been as the peasant whom that Armadur girl married because she couldn't do any better.

Besides, the intricacies of socializing with nobles alone were reason enough to want to hang oneself. Kjan hated it, and he'd been raised that way. He couldn't see how anyone would willingly subject himself to it.

"Should be there before nightfall," the Phantom called from the head of the party, sounding pleased (perhaps at the thought of some ale and a real bed in the inn). The little town - he couldn't recall the name, just that it was located conveniently right at the foot of Kingfisher Pass - was just visible from their vantage point, and only grew closer as the day wore on.

Frankly, the Phantom had been expecting a lot more of 'you're Phantom Grey?!' and 'alert the nearest authorities!' kind of thing when they picked up Ayden and Dante. Should he think of it as somehow flattering that they were quite so calm about it? As long as they didn't run through town yelling his name at the top of their voices, he supposed...

Roughly six hours later, they had congregated just out of sight of the town - Sixpeaks, the Phantom had recalled it went by - and he was handing out last-minute instructions. "...right. So no mentioning Phantom Grey, no casting looks at the figure with the hood in the corner" - here he gave Kjan a look - "and we should be out by morning. Everybody clear?"

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"Eledhe could always make sure they don't talk," Kjan suggested quietly, casting a pointed look in the direction of said homicidal mercenary. "She's rather adept at that, as I recall."

"And what if this town already had posters up?" Silvryn inquired, pulling her makeshift cloak - fashioned out of a blanket - more tightly around herself. She'd determined a while ago that such a thing would be useful in keeping the rain out of her face and her face more or less out of view. The rain had subsided for the moment, but the latter need remained, especially now that they were entering a town. "Do we have a way to escape?"

"Why of course, milady," Kjan replied before the Phantom could, grinning almost imperceptibly. "Run very, very fast." Pulling his own hood up, he turned to face the Phantom once more. "As much as I am looking forward to real food and an actual roof over my head, the princess does make a compelling point. What if we encounter resistance?"

(Ooookay .. so I'm waiting for a turn to do laundry and wanted to post.... so here. btw, I do *not* filk )

"... And the princess closed her eyes for the final time, whispering as she died - 'Avenge me, my knight; avenge my kingdom. End injustice and let my people live in peace. Let the rightful ruler reign!'"

As the bard finished the ancient tragedy, drawing out a final, sorrowful cascade of notes on her harp, a deep hush fell over the common room of the Kingfisher's Roost, the only inn in Sixpeaks. Tavern, hostel, and center of community life, it had been Haiyya's domain for the past three nights. The contemplative atmosphere was of her orchestration; heavy-set mountain men stared into the amber depths of their ales, silently memorializing the princess of old.

"Aye, now," Haiyya announced brightly, sliding into the local dialect as she always did. It made them feel as if she were one of them - beneficial to one who thrived off of audience response, as she did. "Lemme wet ma throat, and we'll have a song or two, shall we? Or another tale; whatever you wish, or perhaps news from the kingdom without."

"Aye, news!" one man called, as the singer poured a pint of water down her throat. Wine was for later - right now it would only roughen her voice.

"What news of the Regent?" another cried, only to be interrupted by, "No, what news of the Phantom?" "Aye, the Phantom!"

She grinned round the room at its occupants - mountain men, mainly, with one or two elusive dwarves and a small complement of travellers. "The Phantom, is it? Aye, the Phantom. It's not news you're wantin', friends, it's tales, for tales are all that be." She took up her harp again, picking out a running background rhythm on the middle strings. Her speaking voice, giving the introduction, lapsed into the same rhythm. "Aye, the Phantom. I was in Marenon last week; heard a new song from a fellow bard there. A tale of adventure and derring-do; a tale of a noble, stranger, robber. The Phantom. Phantom Grey.

"Oh, a fine young lad with hair so black
Gave all his gold away;
Slipped into the mists with the clothes on his back
The Phantom, Phantom Grey.

"Came to a river, a river so wide
'Twas deep, and runnin' fast;
There was no boat to the other side
And so - alack ... alas.

"For the High Lord's men was a-runnin' him down
Runnin', by night and day
What could he do, for no-one was aroun' -?
The Phantom, Phantom Grey."

Haiyya let the pace of the music increase, adding her left hand to the strings, filling out the rustic, lilting melody.

"The fog was risin', risin' so high
As up from the river it came;
And the Phantom, he shimmered, elf-blood in the bye
An' the moon was on the wane.

"The soldiers, they came, an' looked for him there
On the bank where the mist gathers, faye;
But he never was there, and never did care
The Phantom, Phantom Grey.

"And then swords did ring out 'gainst invisible foe
An' blows came from right and from left;
But who the man was, they never did know,
For he beat them, cryin' welcome to death.

"And if ever you see a shift or a shimmer
Slidin' through the mists on your way
Just count yoursel' blest that you got a glimmer
Of Phantom, Phantom Grey."

Some of the men cheered as she finished, loosened by drink. Haiyya smiled and bowed from her seat on the rough table, making sure to nod at the surly few who had merely tolerated her song. There was a tankard being passed round, collecting spare coins for her; she'd better keep them happy.

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<center>Nothing but the Rain</center>

((That...was amazing. I'm grinning about as much as the Phantom is))

"Oh," said the Phantom, as they were collecting themselves to move in (generally by the pulling up of hoods in three or four cases), "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm afraid force might have to be used if there was, say, an attempt to quit my company. It's not that I'd be a bit offended - though I might - but precautions, you know." He winked in the direction of Ayden and Dante, cheerily, and tugged his hood up in order to proceed, a last few words floating back. "And Jate, I'd rather begun to think you were above escape attempts...I'll be most disappointed if you prove me wrong..."

This might have been taken less seriously if Eledhe hadn't remained behind for a moment, to give the pair a positively chilling wink, and twirl a throwing star between her fingers. Both were calculated to make escape look about as attractive as wearing a live bear for a cloak.

As it happened, they entered said inn unobtrusively perhaps fifteen minutes later, to be regaled by the very end of the current song. This had a direct relationship to the fact that the Phantom began grinning fit to kill, and when he took up his customary post in a corner, accompanied by a pint of ale, you could almost suspect that he was whistling a tune. Apparently the resident bard had managed to make a good impression quite remarkably fast.

Eledhe drew a few looks, quite intentionally (perhaps it was the black leather armor, which fit a touch snugly in places), until happening to catch the Phantom's eye. He managed to convey in a glance that she was doing exactly what he'd just lectured them all about - that being to avoid drawing attention when at all possible - and she subsided with a suppressed roll of her eyes, and sat down with a pint of her own next to Kjan. "Pity you don't have a song."

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"Oh, I have songs," Kjan replied through a mouthful of bread, waving a hand expressively. He washed it down with a gulp of ale before continuing. "Lots of songs. I'm just typically the only one who sings them." Nodding with an air of finality, he dug back into his meal with great fervor. Sure, the bread was slightly burnt, and the meat too heavily salted, and the ale obviously watered a bit, but when one's past meals had consisted of dry bread, nothing, cold stolen rations, and burnt rabbit, one could hardly be particular about that sort of thing. He imagined Clarence would be turning in his grave if he caught wind of such a poorly prepared meal receiving such acclaim from his young master.

"Anyway," he commented with a discreet glance in the Phantom's direction, "I think I much prefer general anonymity. Means I can at least sit somewhat out in the open. And I have more original material for dazzling young maidens with tales of my death-defying feats."

Eledhe's only response to that was a derisive snort, and silence. Draining her ale, she wandered over to the broad counter, where drinks were being regularly shoved over the polished wood, and idly took a seat. Toying with the mug, she swiveled to lean her elbows on the countertop and survey the room. Mostly miners, a few farmers, undoubtedly a blacksmith over that way...the Phantom in his corner...out of habit she took a count of their present party members and (luckily for said members) could account for them all. How tame. Inns were so much more interesting with a good brawl.

She took a few moments to contemplate, and wonder if it would upset their plans especially if she happened to start one (entirely by accident, of course). The princess would very likely object strenuously. All the more reason to -

"More ale, there, miss?" the innkeeper inquired, and she twirled the stool to hand him her mug and slide a few copper pieces across the counter, propping her chin on an elbow and drumming her fingers idly.

The patron to her right shoved his mug likewise forward for a refill, and shifted to sit in a more comfortable position around the weapon hanging from his belt. Out of habit, Eledhe examined it. Worn sheath, probably jewel-studded at one time...the blade was slightly curved and lighter than she'd expect from one of his build, which was rather tall and a bit broad through the shoulders. There was an embossed L in the leather of the sheath near where the wire-wrapped hilt of the weapon protruded.

Very suddenly, Eledhe suspected and whipped back around to pretend to be examining the opposite wall. She glanced upward once, casually, out of the corner of her eye. Curse it.

Last she'd seen Liell Dagonneire, he'd been twenty-one and excessively cocky. Last she'd seen him they'd parted less than companionably, and Eledhe had been chagrined at losing several of her throwing stars. She couldn't say in any honesty that she'd ever felt an urge to meet him again. It did, however, provide her with a measure of satisfaction that whereas she still looked less than half her forty-six years, he decidedly looked his.

Eledhe debated for a moment. Perhaps this wasn't so bad. She could walk away...or she could talk...or she could instigate that brawl she'd been thinking of...so many options, really. Abandoning the decision-making process entirely, she fixed on what took the least effort and turned lazily, tossing black hair curling around her face over her shoulder. "Quiet evening."

He grunted. Dark gods, he looked older than he was, thought Eledhe in delight. Still staring into that drink, though, and she did rather want to see his reaction. "Have we met somewhere?"

She saw recognition the moment their eyes met, and had to suppress mirth at his horrified expression. Eledhe leaned forward. "Youth evading you a little, there?"

He shoved the drink away and made to grab for his weapon. Dear dear, couldn't start the brawl just yet. Eledhe's hand shot out to stop his progress toward that hilt. "My, temper hasn't improved with age, has it?"

"You should talk of temper," he growled.

"I will, thank you."

There was a moment in which he glared and she smiled infuriatingly. This was going to be more entertaining than she'd thought.

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Ayden sat glumly at a table on the opposite side of the room from the Phantom. With that woman keeping an eye on him and the cartographer--Dante, he'd learned his name was--there was no way for him to escape without it being synonomous with suicide.

Idly tapping his stein on the hard wooden surface of the tabletop, he glanced around the room, hoping to see someone from whom he might garner assistance. He had to give up with a sigh; besides Dante, everyone in the room looked either drunk or completely apathetic. He was fairly certain that the Phantom was faking, though--after all, to have a large price on one's head and then get drunk was not smart. Eledhe actually took the word 'apathetic' further--she looked positively unconscionable.

Wait a minute--it seemed her disruptive tendencies might give him a chance. At least, he didn't know any other way to explain the man she was talking to start to draw his sword. Even after having spent just the last day in her company, he had a strong feeling that she wouldn't let that pass.

As long as she kept her attention directed towards him, he was free from her surveillance. With luck, he would soon be permanently so. In a good way.

Rising from his seat, he began threading his way between the tables, keeping a wary eye on Eledhe, while searching with the other for all other members of the Phantom's group, to make sure that none of them were in a position to stop him. He'd passed through this town once before, and should be able to find his way from here. Hopefully while avoiding pursuit.

As long as the doorway was empty when he bolted...

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"Oh, come now. You're not thinking of leaving us, are you?" Ash looked towards the doorway just in time to see Ayden making for it. He jumped up and hurried to join the man, clapping a friendly arm around his shoulders. No need to draw attention from other eyes in the tavern. "I was just thinking of stepping outside for a breath of air myself. Care to come?"

Without waiting for an answer, Ash steered Ayen out the door, still with his arm around his shoulder. They could stay outside, just for a minute or two, then go back in the bar. Hopefully no one would have noticed. They'd probably be more focused on Eledhe and her 'friend'.

As Haiyya picked up the silver flute next to her on the table, prepatory to a jig she'd picked up a few months ago, she became aware of one of the men's voices in the crowd, directly addressing her.

"I'd be mighty careful, were I you, Mistress. Some folk could take offense at your choice of hero."

"Aye, and why's that?" She looked at him, her eyes laughing. Sure, she knew how vitrolic the very name of the Phantom was; it was her business as a traveler and news-bringer to know, for news was very much a form of entertainment. But if her opinions were just a tad dissident, it was her own outlook. "I wan't born yesterday, you know."

His hand dropped to his belt, a casual but clear message. "Just be careful, is all I'm saying." The tension in the room went up several notches; one was careful even breathing.

"I'm thinkin' it's someone else should be careful," a grizzled old miner growled in undertone, and the first man spun. He'd been meant to hear that.

"Aye, aye, now, let's calm down a bit -" Haiyya knew the warning signs, and the pure body language of others in the common room was more than foreboding. The subject of the Phantom - more, the ideas behind the Phantom - was like a clutch of dry wood; a spark, and it would all go straight to the eighth circle of hell. The only thing she could do now was to stand back and let the storm blow over.

It was a good plan - or seemed to be, until the first man, who was now in a raging argument with two others, shot an accusatory arm in her direction, with a "She's an instigator! She's stirring up the populace -" and the miner smashed a convenient bottle over his forehead. But it was too late. Half of the room took the breaking of glass as their license to lay into each other with fists, chairs, bottles, and whatever else happened to be convenient, while another quarter pressed themselves against the walls, and everybody who was left advanced on the bard.

Bad.

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<center>Nothing but the Rain</center>

Eledhe's head snapped around in the direction of the rapidly escalating commotion, nearly synchronous with the Phantom's half-leap to his feet. The less than happy mercenary opposite her forgotten, she swiftly took stock of the situation. All members of their party were present - not accounting for Ayden and Ash, who she'd seen step outside a moment ago - but that could change if the confusion was allowed to grow enough to facilitate slipping away.

She caught the Phantom's eye, arching an eyebrow. Quick escape? This certainly wasn't proving to be what they'd hoped for in an inn. He jerked his head toward the bard, and began to elbow his way through the brawl. Eledhe gave an expressive roll of her eyes. Of course.

The Phantom elbowed his way through the press of people, hoping briefly that he wasn't familiar enough here to be recognized on sight and thus further the already roused condition of the general populous. Was it really very complimentary to his reputation that his very name could start a brawl?

"Filthy rebel!" someone was shouting. The Phantom edged past the pair of men grappling and shouting insults at the tops of their lungs - "Noble's lap dog!" "Pig spleen!" "Traitor!"

"Hey," put in the Phantom in passing. "A traitor is all in the perception. See, the Phantom isn't a traitor at all, because -"

"We're all honest men, 'ere," growled a voice alarmingly elevated about his head. The Phantom looked up. Blast, miners were burly. "Wasn't my intention to imply anything otherwise, sir, I -"

He abandoned diplomacy when a fist exploded into the air very narrowly to the side of his head, and that only due to a quick dodge.

This could prove less than helpful.

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