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Chapter Eighteen

"My lord! My lord! Thank the benevolent gods --"

Ven struggled through the press of riders, using the force of his condescending gaze when his narrow presence was not enough to make men and horses move out of his way. Two days beyond the border and they were met with a harried and obviously quickly put together reception out of Rhu. Imperial guard not regular army rode escort to a handful of courtiers, a few noble sons of Ashe's acquaintance and his faithful and surprisingly rugged, man servant.

Ashe swung down off his horse and grasped the man's arm, as happy to see him as he was the safe lands of Aldania. Ven had been with him for longer than he could remember. Ven had been a nursemaid and an advisor, a steward and a chamberlain for the prince heir. And one of the few people Ashe trusted. Truly and without reservation, trusted.

"Oh, my lord Ashe, I thought you were dead. I thought fate had finally decided to call in all her favors. When they killed Avahine -- I thought for certain there was no hope for you."

"You know I'm too stubborn to die so easily, Ven. I'm glad to see you survived that fiasco at the river."

"And leave you without proper attendance? Never, my lord."

Ashe patted a narrow shoulder fondly, looking over his old friend's head at the riders that had accompanied him. No Lurene or Davad, but he had not really expected them, neither of the two being much for hurried travel on horseback. Lurene had never sat a horse in her life, and Davad only rode in the short, attended hunts the court liked to undertake. Young lord Eibli, the grandson of the Duke of Thule was there. He was more Davad's friend than Ashe's, but a genial, likable young man, nonetheless, who sought favor more for the boon of companionship than political power. He was after all second in line for the dukeship of Thule, which was a position second only to the throne itself. A few other casual acquaintances. Hanger's on of lower rank than Eibli, whom Ashe had no doubts about the reasons for their attendance.

He was tired, and they had met on the road towards Rhu, so he had little patience for prolonged niceties. His own escort had been reduced drastically. A handful of rangers and thirty fit calvarymen. The majority of the force he had crossed the border with was still at the boarder garrison. The wounded were being treated, the dead sent to their respective homes with the proper escort due men killed protecting their prince heir.

There was a road house two hours back down the road the party from Rhu had ridden. By the time they reached it, evening would be upon them. And though he might have been tempted to ride straight through and camp on the road, the addition of Ven and his entourage of courtiers made the inn seem preferable.

Ven rode beside him, telling of the forced retreat after the Seganny double cross at the river. At the frenzied regrouping, and the realization that the Prince Knight was missing. Ven had wanted to stay. Had argued vehemently against being sent to safety with the rest of the non combatants, but had been overruled by both the remaining commanding officers and word from Rhu itself.

"There were rumors that the ranger you were so taken with had a hand in your capture." Ven leaned close to disclose privately.

"Hummm. No." Ashe said, glancing around to spy the ranger in question towards the rear of the procession riding in company with his comrades. "Make sure those rumors are squashed for me, would you, Ven?"

Ven lifted a brow, following his lord's gaze. "Oh my lord, you're not bringing him to Rhu?"

Ashe tore his eyes away from Illya and fixed them on Ven. One supposed he would be forced to release Illya from the position of manservant now that his official one was back. Tragic really. The mere service of helping him dress had never been so intriguing when Ven had seen to it.

"He saved my life. Performed a great service for the kingdom. Why shouldn't I bring him to Rhu in recognition?"

Ven's narrow mouth twitched in a frown. "Might I hazard a guess as to what other services he's performed?"

"Not nearly so many as I might prefer." Ashe said, still holding onto his fair mood, though the beginnings of a frown twitched at the corner of his mouth. "And its not for you to commend or not, so get that look off your face, old man."

"Taking a lover of such low rank on the field and in privacy, is one thing, my lord -- but flaunting such in the face of your father ---?"

"I'll flaunt nothing and I don't wish to speak of it further, Ven!"

Ven did not wish to let it go, but he wisely snapped his mouth shut and after a moment pursued another line of conversation, asking about the state of Ashe's health and what wounds he had taken in the course of his adventure. And by the time they reached the road house, Ven knew the majority of what had transpired since they had last been in each other's company.

It was an imperial road, and as such saw a great deal of traffic, both military and merchant. The inn had accommodations for a large company of men. The stables were large and well aired and had space for servants and common soldiers to make pallets. The elite took rooms in the spacious, two storied road house. The lower level was dedicated to dining room and kitchen, and with the appearance of Ashe's engorged company, the staff went into a frenzy of preparing rooms and food.

Of course the prince of Aldania received the best accommodations and the fawning service of the inn keep and his extended family. He found himself at a long table with young lord Eibli and the courtiers, the center of an excited conversation about his recent exploits and the lamentable disagreement with the Seganny, who before this had been a relatively good trade alliance. There was great unhappiness over the stain on certain goods coming into Aldania. Ashe kept his opinions and his irritations to himself. This was not a crowd in which one vented frustrations. Not if one did not wish to later hear exaggerated versions thereof bounding around court.

He drank the not too deplorable wine, and ate the plain, but excellent fair the innkeep's blushing daughters brought in platters to the table. Chunks of roasted beef and vegetables, covered with a well seasoned broth. A flaky cheese pie with young onions and sliced, roasted nuts. Bread as fine as any out of the royal ovens.

They asked him predictable questions. He gave predictable answers. The answers he wished to circulate. Nothing of the details that still made him cringe in anger. Nothing that would rouse speculation over his unfathomable relationship with Illya. They were appeased. They had a full stock of information to spread about the various circles they moved in.

"Davad would have come." Young lord Eibli was saying, waving a three pronged fork about as he spoke. "But he was suffering from a bout of the seasonal sinuses. He'd have been a wreck if he'd had to travel in the wilds for days on end. He would have come otherwise."

Ashe shrugged indifferently, the wine making him somewhat less than tactful. "He's more suited to indoor activities. I take no offense. He'll wish to make it up post haste, I'm sure."

Eibli laughed uncertainly, some of the other young nobles did.

"Is Rhu ready for the Fall Festival?"

The question served well enough to divert attention to a subject that no one could be offended by. The Festival was a paramount concern of every young person in Rhu. A month of celebration and entertainment that would fill the city to overflowing with merchants, musicians and actors. People would come from all over Aldania to see the wonders of Fall Festival. Ashe's birthing day fell within the bounds of it, so it had always held special meaning for him. And the people were more than happy to celebrate the birth of the prince heir as well as the coming of Fall.

He listened only vaguely to the talk, mind wondering to more agitating issues, such as the not too far off meeting with his father. To the mindset of these young men, who echoed the opinions of their lords and fathers, that Seganny's betrayal was more of an inconvenience than any real threat. Economic sanctums. Bloody hell, but they were becoming as ineffectual as the Segannys had always been. He rose suddenly, tired of the prattle and the company. A dozen sets of eyes fixed on him.

"I'll not linger in the morning, so anyone who wishes to ride with me would do well to take what sleep they can." He stated flatly, and stalk through the crowded dining room towards the stairs leading to the second floor and the room that Ven no doubt had in impeccable order for him. Ven was a fine sight more reliable than Illya ever would be in such matters, but gods, he had a craving to see the young ranger in his room tonight, even if it were in nothing more than a servile capacity.

But there was only Ven there. Thinning hair with more gray in it than Ashe recalled. With a narrow, lined face that seemed to hold perpetual distaste with the world. The bed was turned down, night clothes that he did not recall having in his pack laid out, and a fire crackling in the hearth. There was a basin of water warming by it and a neatly folded wash cloth. Ven saw to everything.

Ashe sighed and closed the door. His armor, shed earlier in the evening was neatly polished and stacked in a corner.

"Did you have a pleasant dinner, my prince?" Ven asked, appearing at the door way with a tray bearing a goblet of wine and a selection of small pastries.

"Passable." Ashe tossed his tunic onto the back of a chair.

"I took the liberty of informing your --- previous attendant -- that you've no longer need of his services."

Previous attendant? Ah, one supposed it was bound to happen. Ven was jealous of his duties.

"I imagine he was relieved to hear of it."

"I wouldn't know. I take little stock in the opinions of common soldiers."

Ashe couldn't help but grin. "Jealous, Ven? Believe me no one sees to my comfort as thoroughly as you."

The man made a disdainful sound. He sat the tray on the bedside table.

"I took the liberty of bringing along decent clothing for you. I had a notion you would have need of them."

"So." He pulled the sleeping shirt over his head and sat there, staring into the entrancing dance of the fire. "Was my esteemed father overjoyed at the news of my return?"

Ven turned to look at him, brows drawn, familiar enough with him to recognize the bitter taint in his voice. "My lord -- Ashe. There are a great many concerns pressing upon the King. Decisions that were not easy to make. I'm sure he did only what he thought was best."

"Best for who? For Aldania? For his own sense of justice? For continued good trade concerns? How many political backers are urging him to let the little disagreement with Seganny slide because they import such good trade? Gods know it wasn't for my benefit."

"Ashe, you are tired. You've had a trying experience. You've seen a good friend die. Please, for your own good, do not return to Rhu with blame and accusation in your thoughts."

Ashe gave him a look, wondering how much Ven suspected of just what accusations he held. He wondered how much Ven might have picked up all those years ago, when the king had been carrying on a supposed affair with a woman not his wife. But he didn't ask. Ven was too set at the moment in discouraging his hostilities to admit anything he might have known. Ven sounded annoyingly like Illya had a few nights past. Trying to make him see practical reason when he was dead set against it.

He let it rest for the night.

Early morning and the horses were looking longingly back to the warm stalls and oats they had been deprived of in favor of starting out at dawn. Illya didn't mind. Illya hadn't been able to sleep well anyway, with scratchy straw at his back and a stable full of snoring soldiers chasing away the night's quietude. His dreams had been full of agitation. He felt as if someone had been hovering over him the night long, whispering desperate things into his ear that he had no recollection of. All he had was a vague sense of unease and displacement.

He thought about ghosts and spiritly things, peering into the quiet shadows where such creatures might dwell with so many men about. But of course there was nothing there. No vision, no prickly sense that made the hairs stand up on the backs of his arms. No waking whispery dialogue that he alone could perceive. He sighed and called himself a fool for looking, and forced his attention back to his horse where it belonged. He ran a quick curry comb through thickening horse hair, then threw the saddle blanket over the animal's back and turned to get the heavy calvary saddle.

And collided with a presence only slightly less immovable than the horse he was saddling. He took a step back and blinked up in accusation at the Prince Knight, who had no right to be so quiet in walking up on a body when he was outfitted in armor that ought to make a racket to wake the dead.

Ashe smiled at him, amused by his ability to fluster. Illya moved around him to heft the saddle, muttering as he did. "Shouldn't you be entertaining your lordly friends? Won't they miss your?"

It was clear none of them would deign to enter the stables and saddle their own horses. They had been bossing about the soldiers as if the lot of them were servants there for their own benefit. The tones they used held as much respect as they might have for the lowest of churls, the looks they passed over everyone but themselves, uncaring and contemptuous. They reminded him of his older cousins, the ones who did stand to inherit, when they were in the fits of one of their numerous moments of preeminence over the rest of the keep.

"Is this a tone of dissent, I hear? About your betters?"

Illya canted him a look, fingers hesitating on the buckles of the saddle. Ashe had that sardonic, faintly superior look on his face that made it hard to tell if he were jesting or serious. Illya decided it was early enough, and he'd had little enough sleep, for it not to matter. He scowled and retorted.

"I'd have nothing to do with any of them were it up to me."

"How fortunate that it is not."

Illya sniffed, tightened the cinch and patted the horse's side in appreciation of its good manners.

"I rather missed you last night."

That took him off guard. Made him suddenly interested in rechecking the tightness of the cinch. "I don't know why. I was told in no uncertain terms that I was dismissed of the duty of attending you."

"You were heartbroken, I'm sure."

"I don't like your manservant." Illya finally turned and hissed, looking about to see what attentive ears might be close enough to hear his complaint. There was no one within easy range and the men present were occupied with tack and horses. "Did you tell him that we were ---- were --- you know?"

"No. What?" Ashe asked innocently, tilting his head in concern that Illya just knew was not real.

"Sleeping together." He hissed.

Ashe's eyed widened in mock shock. "My goodness. Why would I spread such fiction?"

"Well he seems to think it so. And he commented about it in no uncertain terms and I wish you'd set him straight on the matter."

"Hummm. Go fetch my horse would you."

Illya pressed his lips together and went to get the big gelding the prince had been riding since they'd come upon the Aldanian troops. Ashe took up the curry comb Illya had discarded and ran it down a muscled flank. The horse twitched its ears in pleasure. Illya lugged over the tack while Ashe curried the horse. No one gave them a second look. Why should they? Unless of course, the prince's condescending manservant took it upon himself to spread his suppositions.

"I'll speak with him." Ashe said, after a prolonged silence. And the promise sounded sincere enough that Illya could only nod in thanks. The prince hefted the heavy saddle into place and tightened the girth himself.

Out into the gray light of early morning, with a groggy bunch of young nobles gathered outside the inn, waiting for their horses to be brought to them. The soldiers were used to rising at dawn, and waited patiently for their commander to signal departure.

They still had to wait for various noble attendants to sort out which horse belonged to whom, and for personal baggage to be loaded upon the pack horses that had been brought from Rhu. Illya was surprised they hadn't brought coaches and wagons full of all the niceties they were used to. They were a pompous enough lot, and them not even the full blooded nobles who migrated around the king. So said Kenthy, who knew the master sergeant of the imperial guard who had escorted the lot of them to meet the prince.

"Excepting for that one," Kenthy had pointed discreetly at a tousleheaded, sleepy eyed young man standing with the rest. "who's in line for the Dukeship of Thule."

Kenthy rode next the Master sergeant and Illya rode next to Kenthy, so he was privy to the gossip the older men passed among themselves. There were quite a lot of ruffled feathers in Rhu it seemed. Quite a few folk who had expected the prince heir to never survive his captivity in Gunthar. Shifts in power and shifts in alliance as the blue bloods decided which of king Herval's distant relatives to back in a bid for heir apparent. All of that plotting dashed now that Ashe had proved himself more than resilient.

It didn't make Illya like them any more, the lot of brightly dressed, pampered, superior courtiers who rode to the fore of the company with their prince. That they would turn on their own so quickly was despicable. That they would just as quickly return their favors was alarming. That Ashe was a pivotal member of their crooked society -- well that was unfathomable -- for no matter what his ever shifting opinion of the prince might be -- disloyalty and treachery were not things that came naturally to him.

"And the king let them do such a thing?" he had to interrupt Kenthy and the sergeant's conversation, indignation rearing up and having its way with his tongue. "To run about and act as if the prince were good as dead. To seek to put another in his place?"

Kenthy lifted a thick brow. The sergeant laughed sourly. "Boy, the king was too busy seeing what second nephew or third cousin could most thoroughly kiss his royal posterior, to care much what the high-born's were doing. Who do you think started the furor to begin with? None other than his majesty, lamenting the capture of his son on the one hand and withdrawing the troops that might take him back on the other."

"But didn't he care that Ashe --- Prince Ashe was in danger of his life? His own son?"

"Mind you, I'm only a master sergeant in his majesty's imperial guard, but I've held station in Rhu for more than twenty years and far as I could ever tell, there wasn't much love lost between king and prince heir. Not that the prince ever went to much trouble to bend to his papa's wishes. Went to a damn bit of effort to go against them. But I'm not one to be talking about the doings of the royals."

The man certainly seemed to have little problem talking about anything else. But Illya did not pursue it further. He chewed on his lip, recalling a good many tales told him during long days in the tower prison. Stories about the abundant escapades of the young prince Ashe. One might imagine such things were done especially to irritate a parent. One might imagine that an especially willful and an especially sharp child might make said parent's life rather difficult.

The road gradually became broader and better maintained, the inns flanking it more numerous and more prosperous, the closer they came to Rhu. There was very little in the way of undeveloped forest. The fields were cultivated and small farms and towns began appearing at regular intervals. There were a fair number of intersection roadways now, with road signs indicating what towns lay along the way in each direction. There were almost always hamlets at each of these cross roads, centered about inns and taverns and liveries that took advantage of the increased traffic this close to the capital. The prince avoided stopping at most of these small communities, having no wish to be detained by the stir recognition of his royal personage would undoubtedly cause.

None of his blooded companions seemed to mind, being young and of an adventurous nature. And to them coming out on such short notice to meet their prince seemed a great adventure. The most of them were in high spirits and one heard snippets of their conversation drift back into the ranks of common men occasionally. Talk of hunts and parties and gambling houses that were in fashion this season, as opposed to the ones that were no longer in vogue for some inane reason or another. There was talk of mistresses and horses and fashion, of the upcoming festival and what parties who would attend and what adventures might be had at the various decadent entertainment's to be had during the month of Fall Celebration. One would think the lot of them had nothing else to do in all their lives but find ways to relieve the boredom of their no doubt aimless existence.

Which made a body wonder what the Prince did, when he wasn't out leading armies. Did the title come with responsibilities or did he spend his time at home pursuing the same meaningless entertainment that his contemporaries did. Ashe had never quite said. All his tales had been much along the same lines of what he heard now, the only difference being, the prince heir had a taste for the martial arts. Swordplay and all that, spending a great deal of time in the practice yard with military companions and the few young nobles of his acquaintance that had an interest in such things.

They stopped about dusk, in a town Kenthy called Cruger's Field. Kenthy apparently knew the little hamlet well, for he pointed out the few locale landmarks with pride. There was a woman, he claimed that might hold a warm welcome for an old ranger straight from the vigor's of war and he had hopes of spending the night in that soft bed rather than in the stables where the rest of the company was likely to sleep.

Illya was left in the company of the other soldiers, waiting for direction from the captain where to stable the horses and lay down their gear. The prince, who had made himself scarce all the day long, keeping company with his friends, rode up and dismounted next to Illya. He was almost circumspect in his activity, patting the thick neck of his horse fondly, shaking the reins over the beast's head sliding the thick bit out of its mouth, while waiting for someone of lesser standing to take it in hand. But he grinned over his shoulder at Illya as he was doing all this, dark eyes literally glittering with excitement. "Tomorrow night we'll spend in Rhu, little ranger. It's been a damn long time since I slept in my own bed."

Kenthy had said as much. They had made good time, even traveling in the company of nobility. Illya's hand slid up under the cropped mane of his horse, fingers scratching at the coarse, sweaty horse hair.

"How long?" he asked, because Ashe was looking at him from under his dark lashes, as if he expected a response. He thought they had been in the field half a year at least, but time had become somewhat meaningless of late. He wasn't even sure how long he and the prince had languished in Drane's care.

"Almost a year. We set out for Seganny just after last Fall Festival."

"Oh. That long."

"Milord," Ashe's narrow faced manservant walked primly through mulling horses and men, his eyes lingering disapprovingly for a moment on Illya, his thin lips tightening as if he thought Illya were in the midst of soliciting his lord's favors. "We've rooms in the Flying Goose. Your regular suite. I've arranged supper in the private dining room for your and a few of your peers. The one's you can tolerate fairly well. If you wish some other entertainment, please inform me and I'll see that something proper is arranged."

He gave Illya a pointedly cool look before inclining his head and moving away.

Ashe chuckled. Illya drew in an offended breath and glared at the manservant's back then at the prince. .

"I explained." Ashe said, still laughing. "I swear I did. He's just hard headed sometimes."

A boy ran up then, to take the prince's horse, and the captain was yelling orders in his usual ground shaking voice of where to stable the horses and where men were to bunk. They were free, to find their dinner where they would. There was certainly enough variety in this bustling little hamlet to cater to them all.

Ashe laid a hand on the reins of Illya's horse as he started to lead it into the activity filled livery stable, leaned close enough to speak quietly, and proposed. "I'd forgo supper with those popinjays for a private one with you."

Illya straightened, his back against saddle and stirrup, his hand on the reins almost touching Ashe's. There was, in the prince's eyes, a certain flushed anticipation that Illya thought had more to do with the prospect of reaching home than anything else.

"Your manservant," Illya said dryly. "would disapprove."

"I'll send him to eat with the bloods. I'll have you."

"To dinner." Illya corrected.

"Of course." Ashe's lips turned up in his on the prowl smile. And Illya, like any smart prey, slipped out from between him and the horse where there was more room for flight.

"I'll find supper elsewhere, milord." He said carefully.

Ashe sighed, shrugged as if he'd expected the answer and said. "But, of course you're honored by the invitation."

Almost Illya smiled. A pair of young nobles rode up then, laughing, dismounting with a flourish and calling out greetings to Ashe. Illya might have taken the opportunity to retreat, had the prince not had his hand still on the reins of his horse.

"They've opened a new gaming parlor in town. Care to take a look see with us, Ashe?" The grandson of the Duke of Thule announced, even as he tossed the reins of his horse at Illya. The other one let his reins drop and ordered without so much as a look in Illya's direction. "See to my horse, boy."

Ashe cast a sideways look at Illya, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. As if it were funny. As if anyone had ever mistaken him for a churl, ranger's colors or not.

"Here's one more." The prince said cheerfully, and tossed the reins of Illya's horse back to him. He snatched the leather and kept the glare of distaste from his face.

Ashe went off with them. Companionably, sharing in their dubious humor. Illya stared darkly at their backs, then shook off the irritation and lead the three horses into the stable. He looked for a stableboy and found the lot of them busy with other horses and had little choice, if one had a care for tired animals at all, but to strip down all three of tack, and give well deserved rub downs.

The horses were very appreciative. One could tell by the blustery sighs and the listing eyelids. A boy came finally and helped him stow the tack and portion out grain and with that done he was released to his own recognizance. The first time he'd been loose on his own since --- gods, he couldn't even recall the last time.

He stood outside the stable, in the dark, staring down the building lined cobbled street and wondered what to do with himself. He did not quite feel comfortable in towns, much less cities, where hundreds of people were always about this important business or that and himself never seeming to have a single truly legitimate thing to claim. The forest was by far a more pleasant place to be. He always knew what he was about in the woods. His skills there far outshone his city skills. And this wasn't even a true city. This was merely a hamlet on the outskirts of a real city. Rhu, which was the biggest city in Aldania. Probably the biggest city in all of the western kingdoms, if what Ashe said was true. And there he was going -- would be in tomorrow night by all accounts -- and it was quite suddenly a very frightening thought.

This hamlet housed a hundred people, perhaps more. How many folk lived in Rhu? Thousands maybe? What made up the largest city in a kingdom. He found he had nothing to compare it with. Certainly not the sparse population of Grunthal Forest Reach, the keep where everyone lived, even the servants, housing little more than fifty folk at one time. And the hunters and trappers and woodsmen who worked the mountainous woodlands only came in sporadically at best. He knew most all of them. At least by name and face and years of association. He never formed alliances easily or well. Even during these last weeks of travel out of Seganny and into Aldania, he had managed no close friendships with any of the men he rode with. He knew the rangers by name, but sat on the sidelines of campfire conversations, listening to Kenthy and the others spin tales, while he kept to his silences.

And in Rhu -- in a churning mass of strangers -- he would be lost. He would have Kenthy, who created alliances with his smile and his easy manner and who at no fault of his own, had too many cronies to devote all of his time to a single needy one. And Ashe, who was by far a more complicated association, who fluctuated between lord and confidant and unwanted suitor and who had as much as said that once in Rhu -- would have more than enough willing bodies to fill his time and his bed. So one could hardly expect him to waste anymore of his royal time upon a mere ranger. Which was a surprisingly depressing thought in and of itself.

It made him stuff his hands under his arms and walk down the narrow plank sidewalk, past a few darkened store fronts, the porch of one of the town's two inns, a tavern with loud, raucous music emanating from inside, and across the street the more well appointed gambling establishment that Ashe had been dragged off to see.

Oh, avoid that place most definitely. He wondered where Kenthy had gone. Where this old flame of his lived. In one of the houses on the streets beyond the main hamlet road. It didn't matter. He wouldn't intrude upon them, even if he had known. So he went back to the stables and got supper from the inn connected to them and sat in the quiet company of the few other soldiers who found no allure in the charms of this hamlet. The men hardly spoke at all.

The horses were good company. There was a barn cat, that crept along the partition between stalls and hopped lightly to the bale of straw where Illya sat, and proceeded to beg for scrapes of his supper. He had a soft heart where such things were concerned. A set of imploring animal eyes had always been his undoing. He picked bits of chicken from the bone and fed it to the notch eared tabby. The cat purred and pressed against him, butting its flat head against his hand, as willing to take a scratch behind the ears as it was a bit of greasy fowl. When he finally lay out his bedroll in the clean straw of the loft, the cat followed him up and primly settled down upon his chest, a warm and welcome companion.

He drowsed to the rhythmic vibration of feline purrs. Only half stirred as other men settled down for a night's rest.

The cat hissed and claws dug through the material of his tunic and into his flesh. He let out a shocked breath, blinking wide eyed into darkness. The silence was that of deepest night, only broken by the panicked beating of his heart and the faint snores of the sleeping men around him. He sat up, rubbing the stinging ache of cat scratches, trying to push back the shock of so rude an awakening.

A whisper of wind swept through the loft, stirring the loose hair about Illya's face. A chill wind. He lifted a hand to his cheek at the brush of cold. Moist cold. He took a breath, jerking his head around as something flickered at the corner of his vision. Something buried within the deep shadows of the loft. Nothing more than a pale glimmer of shape and the distant whisper of a mournful moan. A frightened sound. Terrified, really.

He leaned forward, dislodging blankets, to peer into the darkness, wondering if it were his ghost in those shadows, who had followed him all this way in silence and anonymity. One would not like to think it wasn't. That it was some other spirit haunting this pleasant little hamlet.

"Rina?" he whispered her name, fearful of waking the slumbering soldiers. Unconsciously he reached through the loosened neck of his tunic and wrapped his fingers about the ring hanging on a thong about his neck. It was cold, even after lying so long against his skin. He got the feeling of anxiety, of this place, of the close association of the strangers slumbering in the loft, of a lack of the familiar. Of acute and piercing loneliness.

He thought it was his ghost. Who had been afraid all this time, who had hid all the long journey here in whatever place it was that ghosts fled to when they weren't haunting the mortal world. And who had been drawn out finally because she was forlorn in her isolation. He quietly rose, maneuvering past the lumps of sleeping men, towards the shadows where he thought she had been. But she had faded. The cat crouched atop a man high stack of hay, glaring balefully down at the ground level of the livery. The cat knew.

Illya climbed down the ladder and looked about the dark stable. Dark stalls, dozing horses. A stable lad curled up in the far corner between burlap bags of grain.

The cold brushed his back, trailing across his neck and down the line of his braid. He pressed his lips together to keep from exclaiming, turned around with forced calm to confront what he hoped was a female ghost of his acquaintance.

It was. She hovered so close to him, his skin pimpled from the cool aura she exuded. She was as faint as he had ever seen her. Fading in and out of recognizable shape. Almost like her brother, who hadn't the sanity to keep a coherent shape. It was not insanity with her. It was terror.

"You followed." He stated the plainly obvious.

Her mouth opened and her lips formed words that he could not hear.

"It's all right." He promised. "There's nothing here than can hurt you. Don't be afraid."

Her transparent hand reached out towards him. He flinched a little at the cold touch, but it was the ring she sought, not his flesh. It turned frigid and icy against his chest. The ring kept her with him. The ring was her anchor and her reason for being.

"We're almost there. To Rhu. That's where you wanted to go." He told her. Her eyes drifted up, fixed on his. Wide and frightened and beautiful. She had died so achingly lovely.

Almost as if she were able to discern his thoughts, she smiled. Seemed to sigh, and lifted her hand to brush it past his cheek. She didn't touch him. She knew her touch dismayed him.

Illya. A whisper of perception and she faded away.

He stood for a while, his heart thumbing in his chest, his eyes blind to the mundane details of the stable. He had almost forgotten about her. Had thought, when he mused about her at all, that she had given up. Had faded away into nothing, like she was fog or smoke, instead of a trapped soul with a heartfelt purpose.