Travel across Jowston, however, is a bit more tedious. Anyone with knowledge of Harmonia's various militia groups would have easily identified Blossom as a member of the Silken Song. Most of Jowston's citizens viewed runeweilders in as wary a context as possible. Magic-users were, after all, chaotic and dangerous. On that token, gunmen were viewed as bloodthirsty assassins by typical citizens, and as cowards who are fearful and incapable of melee combat by trained and rugged warriors alike.

Needless to say, those learned in the ways of Harmonia's militias acknowledged the members of the Howling Voice Guild, and specifically the members of the Silken Song faction, were seen as evil cowards, at best. Fortunately for Blossom, she had her pretty face and personable disposition coupled with the fact that there were very few Jowston citizens learned in the ways of the Howling Voice.

And, of course, Blossom was granted quite a bit of travelling funds from the sectmaster himself. She was, after all, in pursuit of a deserter of the Voice's ranks. And if there is one language every man and woman in Jowston understands, it's that of potch.

The rune of binding had not interrupted her travel, which Blossom considered a bittersweet boon. The silence was welcome, but unsettling. But whether or not she heard Stiletto's words was irrelevant. Her next step was to reach Two River's general at any cost.

Four days.

Had he really been laying here four days?

Here in this bed?

Here in these sheets?

Was is only four days ago he was attacked?

Shot in the head?

Stabbed through his forepaw?

Four days? Was it possible?

It seemed like eternity.

It seemed like a lifetime.

His stories, his words, his books... they seemed so far away.

He was filled with apprehension, with fear. Ridley would not talk to him. Would not acknowledge him. Perhaps he would go through life never to hear his master's words again.

How did he come here? Who found him? Who carried him?

How did he wake up here? Did he walk? Did he crawl?

Did he die?

He closed his eyes.

Perhaps he should sleep for another day.

A kobold soldier stumbled out of Ridley's tent, clutching his bleeding eye where his general had struck him. Two days ago the soldier had left Two River, with orders to find word of Emily Wizen under any stone which had to be overturned. At any cost. The soldier was not wrong to assume his general's rage would overwhelm him upon the return report that no new information could be uncovered.

Blood compounding the darkness of night, the soldier felt his way to the infirmary. He approached the doorway, then stopped. Should he even ask for treatment? Perhaps he should let the wound bleed, blind him if it would, and wear it as a badge of honor. A clout from General Ridley's hand. Or maybe he was afraid the general would be so cruel as to find anger in the treatment of a wound he himself dealt.

He decided to push forward into the infirmary. Should he tell the doctor the reason his eye was bleeding? Could he actually say he withstood the wrath of the general himself?"

"That's a nasty 'un, woof. Let's getta look at yer eye."

The soldier weakly nodded. Though he couldn't see the doctor, he somehow knew there was sympathy in his actions. Every kobold in Two River was at Ridley's mercy now, as they always were. His word was their law, but for the past two days his words had been nothing but screaming orders and harsh insults. Not a soldier was to rest until Emily was safe. Not a traveller was to be given passage into or out of Two River until she was home. No rations were to be distributed until she was in his arms.

He had given Teresa Wisemail his solemn vow to protect Greenhill with his life. He was prepared to break that vow. He had already broken it; he had ordered all soldiers at the Greenhill-Two River checkpoint to violently turn away anyone who was not carrying information directly related to Emily's abduction.

"Thing's'll blow over soon, woof. Somethin's gotta snap eventually."

Yes, something had to snap. Something had to break. There was too much friction, from to many angles. Too many factors were pushing, pulling, grinding, and churning. Something was about to shatter. What, or who, would it be? Would blood be shed? Whose cries would be heard first?

"I think I gotcha patched up best I kin do. Take care, woof."

The soldier mustered a thank you, and his voice was choked and raspy. A thick, blood-sopped bandaged covered his right eye. His head racked and twisted with pain. The call of duty demanded he return to his post, but he was so fatigued. How good it would have been to crumple right there and sleep uninterrupted for a few silent hours...

The doctor called him back, laid him on a cot in the back of the infirmary tent. "You ain't goin' anywhere. You need ta sleep, rest a while. Woof, I won't let no one take ya back ta yer post 'till yer good'n'ready ta go back."

...kind words? Why?

The doctor returned to his work, whatever he was doing. "Don't think fer a moment yer the first one ta walk in here with a bruise, woof. Ridley's on edge lots'n'lots these days."

He could sleep here. He closed his good eye, and the darkness... the welcoming, caring, nurturing darkness... enveloped him.

Ridley's attendant long ceased hearing his master's words, for they were all the same. Find Emily. It was a simple command, in theory. Emily was missing. Bring her back. How many times had the attendant heard that command, given to countless soldiers who in turn left the general's presence with naught but a deep sigh and a half-hearted salute.

This next command was different. A change of pace might have been welcome, but was not due to the impossibility of the order. The general sat down on his cot, folded his forepaws hin his lap, and quite simply (if a bit gruffly) said, "Bring me Desmond."

The attendant stuttered his reply. "Sir, Desmond is gravely injured. He can barely stand. Wouldn't it be better if..."

"Are your ears broken?" The general screamed as he leapt to his feet, taking him nearly across the length of the tent and toppling the cot and a nearby chair. "If they are not, then you have your orders! Or would you like me to break them after all?"

The attendant, now sprawled on the floor, cowering and shivering, never learned whether or not his response was audible, given the shakiness of his voice. "Y-yes sir, r-right away, G-General."

Desmond was brought to Ridley's tent with the aid of the attendant and a kobold soldier. Ridley was not facing him, but held Shenu bared to his side. Ridley's next command was "Leave me with him."

The attendant mustered every fiber of courage in his being and said, on behalf of Desmond's well-being, "Master, if we leave then Desmond will fall."

"Then let him fall!"

And so he fell. The soldier and the attendant took their leave, and Desmond collapsed into the dirt without so much as a grunt of pain. Then there was silence. Desmond did not know in what regard to take the silence.

"I left her in your care, Desmond."

The collector of stories was unable to respond. There was no response that would fit. So he responded with silence. Silence upon silence. It seemed as sharp as a blade, and dragged on through the night with no real direction.

Ridley whipped around and held his blade at length. "Plead for your life. Tell me why I should allow you to continue living."

Silence proved an inadequate response. But it was Desmond's only tool now. He had written so many words in his life. He had such sharp wit... he was good at shaping words. But words eluded him now. "I failed to protect her in her time of need, Master Ridley. I do not deserve your mercy."

"Then you have no case to plead?"

"No. Do with me as you will."

"You're lucky you caught this boat, Miss. Two minutes more and you would have been waiting another two days in town."

Blossom forced a pleasant smile at the sailor who had addressed her. "Thank you for securing my ticket. If there is any way I can repay you, please don't hesitate to ask."

As the sailor reluctantly left to continue his work on the deck of the ferry, he tipped his cap and said politely, "Your happiness is thanks enough, Miss."

Blossom spun back around and watch Coronet sink into Lake Duenan. It was now the fourth day of travel, and the sun was ascending to its throne at the top of the vaulted blue sky. She was not used to the chilling breeze that covered the lake, and held her cloak tightly to her body.

But it couldn't have been the weather that was making her cold. It was the idea that somewhere he was still alive, torturing people. Pain was like oxygen to him. He needed it to survive. He fed on it. He drank it like nectar. It wasn't sadism, exactly, since it wasn't just pleasure he derived from the misery he inflicted. It was life itself. He thrived on chaos. What was he after? No one knew. No one could say what his reasons were for leaving the Guild, and no one could fathom what he hoped to gain from abducting Emily Wizen.

It was the thought that soon, someday soon she would once again be standing in his presence... only this time he would be her enemy. That thought, that one thought, was the source of this chilling breeze.

There were a handful of passengers who were travelling to Lakewest for various reasons. Some were merely travelers, like Blossom, seeking something new on Duenan's western coast. Some were merchants bringing their goods to Two River, or who had extinguished their wares while in Muse and were returning to secure more. Some were families desperately trying to escape the war's front before Muse, too, fell under Highland martial law.

Of these were a pair of small children, perhaps five or six years of age. Two young girls who, once cut loose from their parents to explore the ship, laughed and skipped their way to the deck. One of these girls took almost immediate interest in Blossom, and shyly approached her. She tugged twice on her cloak, and gazed innocently upward as the Blossom looked upon her.

The child hadn't given much thought as to what she wanted to say, but after a few seconds of "ah" and "um" decided on "I think your cloak is really pretty. And it feels really nice."

Blossom broke herself away from her thougths long enough to acknowledge the child's presence. "Why, thank you. It's Harmonian silk. It's very rare in Jowston-"

She stopped. To complete that sentance would be to let on to this little girl that Blossom thought of the people of Jowston as inferior. And while that was mostly the truth, the trouble it would bring if that word was to spread to the girl's father would be irrevokable, especially on a boat which had just left port.

The girl didn't catch on to Blossom's cut sentance. Instead, she continued with her inquiries. "How long 'fore we get to Lakewest?"

Blossom knelt down, taking especial care that her rifle was adequately covered by her pink cloak. "I don't know. I've never traveled there before."

"My daddy says Lake Duenan is really big, and it will take until tonight to get there. But I don't think there are really lakes that big."

Such innocence! Had there ever been a time when Blossom used to say such things?

"Sometimes, child, I wonder if there are many things we make seem larger than they actually are."

"Daddy says he's gonna open a new shop in Two River, because the Highland army burned his old one. Is there a Highland army in Two River?"

How to respond to such a question? As a member of the Howling Voice Guild, Blossom made it her place to stay out of the political affairs of others. Whether Jowston or Highland won or lost the war was of no importance to her. At best the sectmasters sent out a few representatives to each side of the war to help make things more evenly matched. There was no true reason for that other than the fact guildmembers found it interesting to see what uses war leaders could find for their guns. Blossom had heard a story of two gunmen who were sent to Toran during the War of Liberation. One opted to fight for Emperor Barbarossa's imperial army, and the other fought for Lord McDohl's resistance. Both survived the battle and, once the rubble had been cleared away they found each other in Gregminster and traveled back to Harmonia side by side.

If Highland did indeed invade Two River, they wouldn't dare raise a blade to a member of the Guild. To do so would be to violate the terms of some far-off treaty signed with Harmonia... Blossom could never quite figure out those terms, but decided it was a thought best left untouched. Still, she couldn't leave this child without a reply, so she fabricated one.

"There is an army in Two River, but it is not Highland's army. I think your father's shop will be very successful there."

The little girl smiled and skipped away. Blossom had no reservations about the fact that she had just told a lie, and that eventually Highland will have wiped any shop her father would build completely off the map. Highland's victory was inevitable, but unimportant.

Blossom once again faced the open lake, and as the thoughts crept back into her mind, so did the chill creep back into her bones. Someday, soon, she would face him again.

When that time came, would she be able to pull the trigger?

Desmond fumbled with the quill, half because it was nearly impossible to write with his left forepaw and half because his body quaked with Ridley's every word. Every ethical fiber in Desmond's being knew that what Ridley was doing was wrong, but he had neither the strength nor the willpower to say otherwise.

"Read back to me what you have written," Ridley ordered. He had been pacing with heavy steps and sharp turnabouts the whole time he had been dictating the message, frusterated to no end at the slow speed at which Desmond was forced to write.

Desmond cleared his throat and focused his eyes on the twisted words on the parchment in front of him. To see such mangled handwriting, especially his own, saddened Desmond, for words were his very soul. To write such evil words in such unspeakable handwriting was to stab at the core of his being.

"Sir Flik," he began. "This message hereby orders the immediate and unconditional withdrawal of all Two River troops from your territory. Each kobold is to return to Two River within one week. Strict and instant compliance is expected. Refusal of this order will trigger military retaliation against you."

With a heavy heart, Desmond added, "Are those words to your liking, my master?"

"Have it sent to their fort immediately. Our fastest courier. If he is asleep, wake him up. He is to leave in one hour."

With great difficulty, Desmond rose to his feet and limped out of the tent. Ridley did not look at him, nor he at Ridley. Desmond only acknowledged the order with "Yes, master. Immediately."

Ridley sat down again. He needed every available kobold to begin searching for this man in black. Even if it meant to collapse Flik's defenses.

To hell with Flik. Flik's life was worthless. His stand against Highland was valiant, but foolhardy and not in the least admirable. So yes, to hell with Flik. Flik didn't matter. Emily is what mattered now. Her safety. If sacrificing the fortifications at Jowston's front was a necessary step in finding her, then it was a sacrifice that must be made.

And to hell with Teresa. Ridley had given her his promise that her contributions to the mercenary fortress would not go unrewarded, and that no harm would come to Greenhill because of them. But what did Teresa matter? Teresa was a weak, pathetic leader. A scared, frightened little girl. If that was Greenhill's idea of a mayor, then it is a city that deserved to be burned to the earth under Agares' flames.

And to hell with Jowston! Makai had undoubtedly heard of Emily's abduction, and had not lifted a pasty, wirey, aristocratic finger to help find her. All of the other mayors would have certainly taken the same air. Granmeyer, Gustav, Annabelle... to hell with them all! Let Jowston burn, just so long as his precious wife was safe.

The fourth day came to a close. And for the first time in four days, Ridley collapsed backwards on his cot in exhaustion and fell asleep.

Word of the order to withdraw spread around the military encampment rather quickly. Soldiers could feel the apprehension in the air, and murmers began to rise up into the night fog. Rumors about Emily's whereabouts began to spread like wildfire. Ridley became the target of both pity and criticism.

"Has anyone bothered to tell him that Flik's fort was razed?"

"Woof! Hell no. I don't want to be the guy on the receiving end of that conversation."

The lights in the human section of Two River died away with the sun, but the fires in the kobold section continued to burn. No one quite knew what to do. A few unlucky travelers had been caught in Ridley's boundries when the decree was set that no foreigners could come or go, and spent their time drinking foul kobold liquor and watching their potch slowly dwindle away at the uncomfortable inn. By the end of the fourth day, however, the innkeeper stopped charging them. It was a charity that was not common between kobolds and humans, but in this particular time it seemed that all prejudice was eliminated- if only for a short while.

"I heard the guy who nabbed her was a gunman. He's probably from Harmonia."

"Aren't they allied with Highland? I'll bet that prince of theirs is behind this."

"They're trying to break Ridley so they can overrun Two River. Poor bastard. I almost feel sorry for him."

The courier was sent, but he had no clue where to go. He knew his destination no longer stood, and that the recipient of the message was most likely no longer alive. Should he just leave the city of Two River and never return? Or should he drop the message in Lake Duenan and come back, telling his general that it was successfully delivered? Would Ridley be able to handle the truth about the fortification?

"I hear he busted some soldier's eye up for giving him bad news, woof."

"Lucky dog. He's probably resting up nice and cozy in the infirmary right now, woof."

"Heh heh, you want I should bust your eye so you can go rest too?"

"Woof! Normally I'd hit you for making such a bad joke, but right now the idea sounds kind of appealing..."

So the armies continued to clash, and the wind continued to rustle, and the rain continued to fall, and rivers continued to flow, and the world continued to turn. But in the kobold district of Two River, time stood still.

The path leading into Makai's district of Two River looming ahead of her, Blossom closed her eyes and pulled the hood of her cloak over her countenance. She gently touched the thin cloth which covered the rune on her hand from the outside air and breathed the words which would invoke her spell. Swiftly and silently, the cloak faded into its surroundings, rendering Blossom all but invisible to those who weren't bothering to look. This particular safety precaution was to keep the citizens of Jowston, whose news about the war was pure speculation and heresy, from using her as a target of their aggressions towards Highland.

Also, she knew, this would be the only way to evade Ridley's soldiers. She had to speak to the general himself, not to one of his underlings. She had no intention of being shooed away by some insignifigant kobold guard who was following orders after she had traveled all the way from Harmonia.

As she made her way through the town of Two River, she kept one hand firmly on her rifle. From this point on, there were no rules. Nothing could be taken for granted. She was ordered not to fire her gun while within Jowston's borders, simply because the Guild could not afford to be chalked up as an ally of Highland's on any level. Still, if worse came to worse Blossom always felt more secure with her finger folded tightly around her trigger.

She had mentally prepared herself for this moment for a long time. She knew it was coming, knew it in her soul. But she was never able to prepare herself enough. Here she stood, within the moment, completely caught off guard. It seemed an alien concept to her. He had finally made his move. She could not decide whether she should walk swiftly, to more quickly get on with her mission, or to walk slowly and postpone it as long as possible.