Amid the Falling Snow, A Tale of Cold Murder

[Ged Winterfell]

Winter had come to the Narculi Mountains. High above these giants of earth Trouble the peregrine falcon let out a long cry. One of belonging, one of freedom. It echoed off the mountaintops making fearful rabbits look about in panic and predators glance at the sky in annoyance, their concentration broken.

She let out a second call, its sound reverberating in the forested dales and valleys between each mountain. Everywhere winter held sway with its icy fist. Snow covered tree boughs and the ground, obscuring the undergrowth. Ice splayed its cold form over rivers and small waterfalls, freezing them in eternal beauty. The larger waterfalls of the Narculi Mounains roared continuously as snowmelt powered their run.

In the peaceful pine and hemlock forests of the mountains silence reigned, broken only by the crunching of snow as brown-coated deer foraged. Occasionally the silence would also be interrupted by a dull BOOM as the sap in an evergreen froze and exploded, followed by the sharp cracking as the tree fell.

Suddenly Trouble dropped into a dive, her slate blue back feathers and white black-speckled plumage becoming a blur. In less than ten seconds she had reached her max speed of two hundred miles and hour. Then, with a sharp “Kak kak kak!” she slowed her descent and landed lightly on a leather-encased arm.

Ged Winterfell brought his companion closer to him, scratching the back of her head lightly with his free hand. He smiled.

“It’s beautiful up here, isn’t it?” He said as he looked out over the large valley open before him. The mercenary stood on a ledge about a mile up the Direspike, one of the most treacherous mountains of the Narculi range. Its form stretched far into the sky, the summit hidden from sight by a layer of clouds. Far below Ged could see the smoke rising from the forested valley, a giveaway to the fireplaces of Forestfall, his destination.

<>

Grak Kullen had lived in Forestfall for longer then any of the current inhabitants could remember. He resided in a small mill at the banks of the Icewater, a river that flowed by the small village and provided their water.

For a copper piece, he would grind whatever amount of grain with his millstone and waterwheel for the village folk. The old man had never run for village elder, and in fact had refused the title completely when the people of the village nominated him. He said that more capable men could lead the village.

Kullen was a half-elf, blessed by his elven heritage with long life. He had lived in Forestfall for over two centuries and watched all the generations come and go, a steadfast rock in the current of time. Unchanging. Unmoving.
While grinding wheat was his main source of income, Kullen was also a druid. He was the man to go to about poor crops, bad weather and diseased animals. He and his raven Igna were often seen in the village running some favor for a farmer or caring for a sick child. He was beloved by the village folk, who held great respect for him. Kullen had never taken an apprentice. He had no family that the village folk knew of, and if he did he never spoke of them.

<>

On this particular morning, Dern Whitefield was lugging a large bushel of wheat to Kullen’s. He was a boy of about thirteen with gangly limbs and a mop of thick brown hair. His breath misted in the air as he puffed his way to the mill. He had been doing chores all morning and his mother had told him that after he finished this last one he could go outside to play at Bush’s Run, a small gulley and favorite hangout of the village children. He was planning to go sledding down the hill across the frozen stream that ran through the Run.

His breath laborious, Dern walked up the stone steps of the mill and pushed through the wooden door. The interior was constructed mostly of wood, and the boy could see the gears of the waterwheel that ground wheat. Calling over the din of the nearby river, he called

“Mister Kullen? Are you here?”

He received no reply.

Putting his load down next to the wall, he looked around the bottom floor of the two story mill. It was empty. Sighing, he pulled his bushel over to the grinding wheel and left it there, along with a small message scrawled on a spare piece of parchment he had found.

Looking up, he stared at the closed door at the top of the stairs leading to the second floor, Kullen’s personal chambers and office. He debated going up there, then decided against it. Kullen was friendly, but he might not take well to an intrusion of his privacy.

Dern went outside, the day was beautiful, but he could seen clouds looming over the village. He raced down the stairs to home to tell his mother he was going out to play.

Inside the mill, behind the closed door to Kullen’s personal chambers swung the old man by a noose tied to the rafters. His eyes were bulging and a look of fear was frozen on his face. His chest had been cut open, his insides dangling grimly. On the wall behind him a message had been written in the old man’s blood.

Outside, it began to snow.

[Verdict]

The Icewater roared and rumbled, tumbling headfirst over the breaking rocks in a frothy wave churning in pointless chaos, to swirl with reduced vìolence downstream. The water was icy cold this time of year, filled to the brink from the first snow off the mountains, chilled and déadly. Morning sunlight, sliding past the gnawing mountain rocks, shimmered playfully across its surface, weaving rainbows amidst the flung spray. The red horse snorted, shaking his head, and the jingle of tack was nearly lost in the rushing roar. Verdict leaned forward unconsciously to pat the great steed’s neck, feeling his tenseness and unease through her legs and all the way up her back.

“I feel it, old boy,” she said softly. “I do feel it.” ‘It’ hovered on the air with a dreadful unease, there and not there, like a whisper blowing by the perimeters of her mind. It would have been enough for her to turn the red around and go back down the overgrown path towards the wider plains of Taiar, were she anything other than she was.

But she wasn’t; and it drew her, like a moth to the light. The great red splashed through the river, hooves tossing the ice-cold water high in all directions, practically prancing with each step, leaping up the far bank, tossing his head more confidently and trotting up the path. Verdict’s armor, chainmail over her plain brown shirt and trousers, jingled softly with every step, and her long auburn braid bounced with the prancing strides. Laughing, she managed the reins with one hand and kept the other locked on her scabbard, bouncing with every motion in the saddle. “Ah, trying to dump me?” she called down laughingly to him; he whinnied in response and flicked up his hooves like on a show parade. She smiled.

Out here, riding the mountains in the middle of nowhere with the first snowfall whispering its promises—it was easy to forget everything, to live for each sharp intake of breath, each moment shattering like fine-spun glass as it slashed by. The red horse took her up the trail, and her only companion was the wind, running chilly fingers through the almost-black green of her thick cloak, rippling it out behind her. The tiny medallion, a white dragon locked in combat with a black panther, was tucked out of sight beneath her plain but serviceable tunic, hidden by the mail she wore. It gleamed brightly, as if she had just burnished it. She noted too the gleaming cleanliness of her tack, though she had not taken to them in several days. Perhaps it had something to do with her calling; perhaps it was a side gift bestowed by Elenduriel herself. Everything that could be polished shone; her gear was well mended and well made. She rode easily, as if she were born to the saddle, and not a lowly peasant gìrl in a distant village, the daughter of a home-mother and a woodworking father.

They came over a rise, and spreading below them, cradled in a valley, a tiny villiage lay out, like a child’s toys. Fires kindled somewhere in the heart of it, lifting thin tendrils of smoke skyward in listless array. The great red stopped under her without her having to command him, and she leaned forward, resting her arms on the saddle, the reins loose in her hands, and measured it with seasoned grey eyes. “What is this place called, I wonder?” she said to the horse and herself and no one in particular. “Quiet, way up here.” She knew they wouldn’t know her. Things like paladins must only be echoes of songs for them. Her smile turned wry; she didn’t know if she believed it herself.

From these heights it certainly did not look the place to deserve Elenduriel’s darker side of justice. Quiet, calm… benevolent. But the air seethed with something else, and that ‘it’ called her to its presence. Demanded her skills and her sword and the blessing of the Goddess she had dedicated health, blade, and will to, in service. She lifted the reins, urging the red onwards. Somewhere high and far, a bird of prey let out a cackling cry, echoing among the mountain peaks.

It was a few hours later till the red’s hooves were ringing off the cobblestones that settled deep in the main street of the place. She doubted there was an inn; though, she looked for one anyways. Faces peered out of windows, and people slowed and turned to look at her. Who would not? Such a person, riding such a horse in such a way? Her cloak was deeply dyed and fine, her armor gleaming, and the red horse was magnificent. She was a Stranger here and it was obvious that this was no ordinary person, passing through.

So she slowed the great red to a walk and then a standstill, where he stood with his head high, and swung herself out of the saddle with a flourish of the cloak and the jingle of mail and slap of her sword’s sheath on her left side. She waited for a moment before someone hesitantly approached her. “May I help you…” his eyes strayed over her gleaming armor, “lady…?” he asked, respectful but standing several paces back. Curious and wary all at once.

“My name is Verdict,” she said quietly, keeping her hand on the red’s neck. “I am looking for a place to stay… do you have an inn…?” She kept her expression blank, her glance innocuous.

He hesitated. “A tavern, yes, that has some rooms… and a small stable…” his gaze strayed over her horse.

“I will take care of him myself,” she said reassuringly, stroking his mane. “He does not like others handling him. And if there is a room free—I would pay well for it.”

He nodded, eyes never leaving her face. “Yes well… I am sure Kilead will be glad, we do not have many travelers here.” There was a question implicit in his tone, but she decided to ignore it, leading the horse after him when he took her cross the street and down a ways. “We are small here in Forestfall,” he said, more to fill the silence than anything. “When the winter snows come in it is hard to move in our out.”

Was that an attempt at warning? Her mouth smiled ever so slightly. She rode or walked more often than not, but transport was only a swift prayer to her Goddess away. She needed nothing—nothing but strength of will and sometimes… comfort. That last she only admitted to herself, and only in the silence of her soul.

It was some time later when she saw the red settled into his stall, with plentiful hay and a warm mash, the saddle marks rubbed out of his coat and munching contentedly, that she turned towards the tavern. She had her saddlebags slung over one shoulder, her sword swinging at her side, and another bag in her opposite hand, and had pulled her auburn braid over one shoulder for ease and comfort, and pushed in the door with a shoulder. The interior was warm, well-lit, if sparsely populated. The tavern master came up to her with a slight smile. His dark eyes, too, took in her sword and armor. “I can show you your room,” he offered. “Just this way.”

“Please,” she said, shifting the weight of the bags on her shoulder. “And when do you serve breakfast?”

“When you would have it,” he said, glancing at her curiously—why would she ride in so early without first eating? She didn’t pretend to read the question in his expression. “This way, he offered, quickly moving away.

[Ged Winterfell]

It took Ged the rest of the day to finish his climb down the Direspike. He had been delayed twice by uncross able fissures in the mountainside, on which he had spent an hour each redirecting himself. Trouble had stayed with him throughout the entire ordeal, swooping around Ged as he climbed. The mercenary wizard had enjoyed the descent, it had been invigorating.

At the bottom of the gigantic mountain Ged had found a small cave-more like a dip in the earth rather than an actual cave- and decided to shelter there for the night. Soon, as the stars began to show their heavenly selves and the moon’s light began casting everything in a silver sheen, night had fallen. The battlemage had lit a fire and was roasting one of two rabbits Trouble had caught while he had descended. Trouble sat on a small ledge in the cave, ripping bloody raw chunks of meat off her rabbit. As the flesh from the cooking rabbit began to sizzle and fill the cave with lovely aromas, Ged leaned back and unsheathed Coldmark.

The greatsword shone in the firelight, its black and silver pommel gleaming, the four and a half foot blade reflected the light onto the cave walls; where it danced with the flickering shadows.

Coldmark was Ged’s most prized possession other than Trouble. The magical blade had been come into his possession when his father had passed it on to him before he left home years ago. It seen him safely through many wars and did not seem to mind a change in ownership. Many swords had an ego and would constantly barrage the owner to do what it thought was best. Coldmark was content to ride in the silver scabbard on Ged’s back. The blade enjoyed the mountains and rarely caused trouble. In battle though, Coldmark would become sheathed in cold blue flame and anger would flow from the blade into Ged, fueling his attacks. Ged pulled out a whetstone from his back. Running it against Coldmark’s already sharp edge, the mercenary sharpened his blade. He had a feeling he would need it soon.

<>

It was snowing when Ged woke the next morning.

It fell without stopping all the while as Ged packed up camp. As Ged left, Trouble zoomed out of sight above the clouds to escape the hindering snow. He trudged on alone as the white powder piled up around his ankles. It was beautiful beyond words. The silent falling flakes settled everywhere, covering the old snow from days before. Tree boughs bent with the weight and the snow turned the world a muted white with dark patches of green. The most vibrant color Ged saw was a cardinal a few hours later, the bird’s red plumage standing out like a beacon amid the falling snow.

By mid-afternoon he was slogging through thigh-deep drifts. Above, he heard the lone call of Trouble. He was almost there.

And that is good, by the look of the weather. Thought Ged as he stopped to peer up at the clouds, which had turned an ugly dark grey. Snow’s coming, a lot of it. He pressed on, eager to reach Forestfall and escape the coming storm.

<>

Ged Winterfell was a common figure in Forestfall. He visited a couple times a year on his way to the small area of land he called home further along the mountains. He was well-liked among the populace, known for helping out those in need. In fact, he had once spent an entire summer assisting the village folk to rebuild two houses that had been lost to a fire. Ged himself felt affection for the hard-working people who scratched their living from the unforgiving mountains. They reminded himself of his own upbringing.

The news of his arrival spread quickly throughout the village, people leaving their homes to greet him heedless of the weather. Soon he was thronged by men, women and children shouting greetings to him. He quickly found his lover, Nynaeve Whitefield among the mass. He kissed her then hugged her tightly.

“We’ll talk later” he whispered in her ear before releasing her. She nodded as she stepped back, a smile on her face.

“It’s good to see you.” She said.

A moment later the village elder, Edmund Lasterman, put a hand on his shoulder.

“It does my heart good to see you, friend, but something has come up. An armored woman arrived yesterday. She called herself Verdict. I directed her to Kilead’s. I was wondering , will you…?”

“Yes” answered Ged, a troubled look on his face “I will speak with her.”

Could it be? Thought Ged in amazement. If she is who I think she is…

Ged was interrupted from his thoughts by a gangly boy with brown hair who threw himself into the mercenary’s arms. Trouble, sitting atop Ged’s shoulder, “kakked” irritably.

“Ged!” shouted Dern Whitefield in joy. “You’re back!”

“Yes, I am” said Ged as he mussed the boy’s hair affectionately. “Been up to any trouble lately?”

“No!” cried Dern indignantly, a smile still plastered to his face.

“I thought so.” Replied Ged, smiling himself. “Well, if you’ll all excuse me” said Ged to the assembled crowd “I have to go to Kilead’s. I promise that I’ll speak to you all individually later. And I thank you all for such a warm welcome!”

With that, Ged strode down the snow-covered street to the tavern, in search of the legendary Paladin.

[Verdict]

After the tavern keeper – Kilead, she remembered – directed her to a room and handed her the brass key, she spent a long time alone, seeking to equilibrate herself with her surroundings. She eased the heavy saddlebags onto the bed, and took a few minutes just to familiarize herself with her surroundings. The straw-stuffed mattress was comfortable, and the pair of heavy woolen blankets warm and serviceable for the winter season. She was grateful for the curtains draping the windows, as well as the woven mat by the door that took some chill out of the floors. A small stand in the corner, and an oil lamp, as well as a rack opposite the bed completed the furnishings: plain, but well-made.

She was glad to drape the near-black cloak on the rack, and lean her sword on the wall beside it, and set about unpacking her gear. Aside from spare clothing and other necessaries she had not taken much at all. Spare oil and candles – flint – needle and thread – camping gear – she checked it all and stowed it securely again, setting the pack beneath the window. Then she reached for the other bag, and sorted through it more carefully.

It had held her more ceremonial armor. Though she rode in decked in chainmail, with her sword at her side, the protection it provided was minimal compared to the secure set of plate, scale-male, and leather that had been crafted and forged in the fires of the Temple of Retribution itself. On the right half darkness reigned, etched out in stars and fire and things of blackness, marked by a prancing panther on the breastplate; to the left it was met paw-to-paw with a magnificent dragon, amidst an entangling forest of ivy and plants grafted onto the red-gold steel. And the helm: it sat on her head so her face was in the maw of a panther, but the visor that slid down like a mask had her staring out of a dragon’s eyes. Though her traveling gear might be innocuous and belong to any of a dozen nobles’ soldiers or simply a mercenary, there could be no doubting who or what she was when she donned that symbolic armor. Her smile was distant. A day would come when kings would cower at the sight of it – at the symbols of Elenduriel, the Dark Star, the Goddess of Retribution, for no one would be beyond her reach.

One day, but not this one - not yet.

She reverently laid each piece aside, where they gleamed on the simple coverlet as if newly polished, and went on to undo her braid, letting her auburn hair cascade around her shoulders in brilliant array, windblown nonetheless from the trip, she took the time to brush it out, and then redid the braid, washing her face and hands with a little cool water. Ah, but it was good to be out of the saddle! Her glance strayed to the sword, and she wondered if she should take it… but she would be mistrusted enough without carrying a weapon here. Besides, she had other means of defending herself. Nonetheless she kept her mail, and the dagger on her belt.

She drew some curious glances throughout the day but largely kept to herself, coming down for mealtimes, and simply absorbing the feel of the place. She spent a long time reading, and sitting in her room in quiet prayerful meditation. The call to ride here was unmistakeable. What was less certain was why. As a paladin she had learned to trust the questing urges, but they never explained themselves… it was her duty to figure out how to fulfill them… in Retribution’s name. But what was so bad to require a paladin’s help, when there were so few, in a tiny town like this, she could not imagine.

The next morning she woke to voices outside, and saw the townsfolk gathering rapidly, with an excited babble of voices. At the center, laughing with them and responding with cheery familiarity, was a man in travel gear, black, with black hair and piercing blue eyes. He might have been a nobleman except he was clearly so well-known. Her eyes strayed and paused over the impressive blade he wore on his back as if he were born to it. “Ged…” she heard someone say; was that his name?

Intrigued, and wondering if he was caught up in what had brought her here, she drifted down the stairs to the common room, largely empty except for Kilead and one or two friends, who had not rushed out at the newcomer’s arrival. “May I help you miss?’ Kilead asked kindly enough.

“Whatever you have by the fire would not go amiss,” she said. “It’s a cold day, with snow, and bound to be more if my weather-sense holds in these mountains.”

Weather; a safe enough topic. “So it is, and I wouldn’t be surprised by several feet before the next few days are out,” he said, going to draw mulled ale and stew from where they were set on heat by the blaze. “Most of us stay close in winter, especially in these mountains.”

“And Ged?” she said, accepting the warm food.

Kilead gave her a long look. “So you have heard of him, eh?” the tavern keeper asked shrewdly. “A kinder soul and a finer man I’ve not met in many a year. Ged comes and goes as he will in these mountains. But here in Forestfall he will always be welcome.” He accented that with a sharp nod, and busied himself behind the counter, leaving Verdict to sip the broth in quiet contemplation.

[Ged Winterfell]

Kilead’s was a small, two-story establishment of plaster and timber. It was situated between a tailor and leatherworkers shop on Forestfall’s largest street. It boasted the village’s only common room and two rentable rooms for two copper’s a night each. The owner, Kilead Harbecker, was a large man with a hard face, but was actually very friendly. He greeted Ged personally at the door, gracing the mercenary with a smile as he entered.

“Ged! The regulars were saying you had arrived. I didn’t expect to see you until later.” said Kilead.

“It’s good to see you too Kilead, but I’m here on business. Where is the woman who arrived yesterday?” Replied Ged.

“Oh” said Kilead, his face losing a bit of its cheeriness "She’s over there.”

Looking to the tavern owner’s pointing finger, Ged saw her in a shadowy corner of the common room holding a bowel between her two hands to her mouth. She wore a thin layer of flexible chain mail and a dagger at her hip. Her gold-auburn hair was tied in a careful braid.

Looking with him, Kilead said “She’s kept to herself since she arrived. Only came down for the evening meal and breakfast. Just showed up from her room a few minutes ago. Doesn't talk much, though she asked about you. Did Lasterman send you to speak with her?”

“Yes” said Ged, pausing. She asked about me? “Kilead, do you think it would be possible if I could borrow your study for an hour? I want to talk with this woman, alone.”

“Of course! Have it as long as you would like!” answered Kilead with a smile “For you friend, anything. But… I don’t mean to pry, but do you know this woman?”

“No” said Ged “Well, not personally anyway. Thanks so much Kilead. And could you have a bottle of your finest wine and two goblets in the study? I would most appreciate it.”

“Done” answered Kilead, and he left to attend to some new arrivals.

Ged walked through the common room to the far corner before the woman’s table. He drew his sword and kneeled. The point of the blade rested on the floor, Ged’s hands on the pommel. His head was bowed.

“My lady” he said “I am Ged Winterfell, battlemage, and was asked by the village elder to speak with you. I have reserved a private room for us in the back so we can talk. I am sure you have many questions and I have many for you” He looked up in awe “If you could be as kind as to follow me…?”

And as the mercenary looked into her grey-green eyes, Ged knew.

Gods. It is true. The Paladins of old have returned to the world…

[Verdict]

She allowed herself these moments to enjoy the food. It was surprisingly rich; she wondered if he had had the carrots dried from an earlier harvest and soaked them into tenderness, or whether it had been the last crop before the snow. Stew meat was usually the stringiest of the lot but it was cut small enough and right that she didn’t notice. But the greatest delight was discovering the tiny mushrooms.

She looked up from a spoonful when a cold wind blustered its way through the open door to sweep out the heat she had managed to gather in her corner of the room. It banged shut behind a tall young man dusting the melting snow from his dark clothing. That is smart, she thought approvingly. With winter rolling in so closely here, the dark colors will make up in warmth what they sacrifice in camouflage.

Of course, she retained her warmth by virtue of the thickness of her clothes, rather than their color; and she had no need to disguise who she was. (The time simply wasn’t right or fortuitous for a full revelation.) She took another draught of the mulled cider and watched his man, this Ged Winterfell, curious about his character. She watched his easy interaction with Kilead with a little bit of envy that had turned down into distant sadness. It was too familiar to her. She could see her father, laughing and running his hands through his sandy hair, leaning against the bar to chat with Arput as he drew a mug of ale. Her eyes closed and she fought with herself to banish the image; the vision of her father looked at her and smiled as if he recognized her.

Her palm hurt. She forced herself to unclench her fingers, to reveal the tracery of indents and red lines that came from clenching her hand too tightly about the little twisted bit of spiky metal. The panther’s golden eyes winked up at her; the emeralds of the dragon’s gaze stared up serenely. Ever so carefully she tucked the little symbol out of sight. But the sudden pain of memory and loss had ebbed, drained away in the strange comfort that came from everywhere and nowhere. She still hurt, though, when she thought of her father or—

It smoothed away, leaving her feeling drained and empty and very alone.

When she looked up, Ged was kneeling in front of her, the point of his sword grating softly against the floor. “My lady,” he said, looking up. She searched the planes of his face and the recesses of his icy blue eyes, as cold as the promised snow and as perfect. “I am Ged Winterfell, battlemage…”

For an instant, confused, she thought he was calling her a battlemage, and was actually right on the point of opening her mouth and denying it when she realized the appellation was self-inclusive. So instead she nodded, once. Paladins and mages in general did not get along well—their powers came from such opposite sources—but she doubted he would remember that.

She touched his shoulder lightly. “Ged,” she said gently. “I am no lady. I was born my father’s daughter and both of us peasants in a tiny village further south at the foot of these mountains. Say ‘lady’ and I look to see where she is. Call me Verdict, please.” Her fingers dropped to his wrist, where he held the sword with the point downwards on the floor in front of him – and with a slight pressure she bid him rise. “For my part I kneel only before the gods and kings, and such lords as would put kings to shame. Do not kneel before me – honor instead only the one I serve, for it is in her name and on her business I am here, and not my own.”

She set cup and bowl aside and rose to her feet with the rustle of cloth and clink of chainmail. “If you have questions, I would be more than willing to answer them, to the best of my ability,” she told him. “Though somewhere quieter.”

She followed him to the study. It was a place, she could see, maintained with quiet care and subtle pride. The furniture was well-made if not elaborate, practical and she imagined comfortable enough, though she didn’t touch anything and didn’t sit. The muted colors and neat organization spoke of Kilead’s care for his business… and the little touches like the curtains in the windows and the last flowers from late summer gave a depth to them she would never have expected from his easy businesslike exterior. Then she thought of his welcoming embrace for Ged and decided his distance was only on account of her own strangeness here, and not something in Kilead himself.

She went to stand by the window. A soft glow spilled in to highlight the floor in rectangles of golden light. She moved into them, closing her eyes briefly against the brilliance of the sun, feeling is accustomed warmth on her skin. It sent seeking fingers into her hair, picking out highlights of gold and red to glimmer amidst the plainer browns, a hundred and one shades filtering one way and the next.

She turned her back to the window, and tucked her thumbs into her belt, tilting her head slightly and fixing Ged with grey eyes. The light through the window made her little more than a dark silhouette outlined in gold, something that did not quite belong here. She smiled briefly, and moved away; she wasn’t here to demand anything. As a paladin yes, but even the gods were people. That had taken a while to learn.

So with her hands clearly visible and not threatening, she stood a little distance away from the window (though not with her back to the door), and lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. She intended to give the impression that she had no intention of moving. “I’m sure you have questions enough for me – do I call you Ged? Or would you prefer some other form of address?”

[Ged Winterfell]

“Ged is fine. Please, take a seat” Said Ged, his shock that he was actually speaking with a woman of legend wearing off slightly to be replaced with courteous manners. He mentioned to one of Kilead’s finely crafted chairs and took one of his own. Filling a crystal goblet with red wine, Ged asked “Would you like some my la, uh, Verdict?” The mercenary would have to thank Kilead later. These crystal goblets and decanter were only used on very special occasions.

The scabbard of Coldmark was digging into his back uncomfortably. “Excuse me” apologized Ged as he removed the sword and its leather casing and leaned it against the table between the two chairs. “So, Verdict. To be truthful, I was asked by Forestfall’s elder Edmund Lasterman to speak with you. You see, the village has never received such a visitor of your… status. They have no idea who you are, who you represent. I am to ease their suspicions by this talk, for some of them think you a wealthy noblewoman and others probably think you a deserter of some army. I know who you are, and your secret is safe with me until you choose to reveal it.”

He paused to take a sip of wine and study the paladin’s reaction. She just looked calmly back at him with her gray eyes. Ged continued.

“But what I want to know, and Lasterman also, is why you are here. What brings you to some remote village at the start of winter? There is no crime here; the last hanging was ten years ago when the mad killer Joseph Hawland was caught. The worst events that ever happen with any regularity is the occasional beating of a man’s wife when he is drunk; that of which is taken care of with utmost discreetness by Lasterman and some other important individuals. Yes, the village children sometimes get into trouble but the parents take care of that. Surely a paladin has no need to come here under order of the law.”

“In fact, you are the only other traveler to arrive here in the past month. The other being a wandering bard who I saw safely to Evergreen some miles away last week. With the onset of win…”

The door to the study opened, Ged turned his head to see who caused the interruption. Edmund Lasterman stepped into the room, Ged could see Kilead looking over his shoulder from the hall before the village elder closed the door.

“Has she told you yet? There is a crowed of people outside the tavern, Kilead has had to close shop to keep the curious out.” Asked Lasterman without preamble, glancing at Verdict. His face had a fearful look stretched across his features.

Ged stood up. “My friend! You treat this like an interrogation. This woman is merely a traveler. You do her dishonor.”

“Ged, I don’t know by whose orders, or why. But this woman has killed Grak Kullen. A village man found him hanging by the rafters in his mill. And his blood…” Lasterman paused, his face twisting in disgust “was used to write a message on the mill wall. It said, I quote: MAY RETRIBUTION FALL ON THE ONES WHO DESERVE IT. THE VERDICT HAS BEEN NAMED, MAY THE ACCUSED FEEL ITS WRATH.”

“But Lasterman, that is no grounds to blame this woman!” Argued Ged, his doubts putting the statement out half-heartedly.

By the hells. Who else if not her? She worships the Goddess of Retribution yet Lasterman does not know. Should I tell him? Or is she innocent?

[Tabum]

OOC: I must note that almost any post as Tabum will contain reference to extreme violence and gore, as that’s what he does best. Consider yourselves WARNED.

Blood. Give. Blood. Take. Blood. Spill. BLOOD!

Tabum Cruor looked down at his hands. They were soaked in the red life fluid he had drawn from the pitiful half-elf. Tabum’s nigh black eyes looked up to the message he had written. Blood for the Blood God!

The hulk reached up and cracked out part of the elf’s skull and filled it with his blood. Once it was filled, the giant quickly disappeared, staying to shadows. This elf would not be the last, as there are so many more who would dare defy the gods’ call to their deaths.

--------------------

Night had fallen, a glorious time. Tabum raised the skull, which was still filled with the elf’s now thickened blood, to the waxing moon. His delusional mind saw the moon turn red, and, shouting, “Glory to the Dark Gods!” drank the blood. Seconds later, he dropped the bone and suffered a massive seizure, his mouth spurting a string of random sounds.

Just as fast as it started, it ended. Tabum looked around the natural shelter. It was an excellent location, trees thick enough that it would be impossible to see in, and there was a stone face that protected it from wind and too much snow, though a light powdering still would be able to go through.

The human tied the black strips of cloth around his face again and adorned his cloak and walked out into the night. There was more to be done.

--------------------

It must have been almost midnight, and there was a small group of hunters still walking the streets, talking about the day’s successes. They had managed to kill two deer and five rabbits, and made a small profit off them. They were content, and looking around the silent town. Slowly, they fell silent, too.

For all their skills of the hunt, not one of them noticed the towering figure approach behind them. Before they knew it was there, the figure had grabbed one of the hunters and squeezed his chest hard enough to make the man pass out. The other three turned, but before they could draw their weapons, they were all down and unconscious, all sporting welts and other marks of an unarmed fight. The figure quickly gathered their spears and daggers, as well as any valuables they were carrying, and disappeared again into the darkness.

--------------------

Tabum licked the blood off of his hands once he returned to his shelter, and then began to work. He set the spears into the ground, forming a rectangle, and set the knives off to the side for some other use. By dawn, he had pushed the spears, tips up, into the ground and fixed them into place with the earth. He looked at it with satisfaction, knowing that his preparation was well under way.

[Verdict]

Well, I should not be surprised. Yet she was. Typically her calling was to fulfill retribution for an act that had already taken place… yet this seemed very recent. She couldn’t help wondering, with a pang, if she had acted more quickly, could she have prevented this? But no, she reminded herself, she could not exact retribution for a murder that had not yet occurred.

It was only when she cleared herself of that clinging guilt that she seriously considered the entirely new problem springing up in front of her. She chose her words with care, directing them towards Lasterman and Winterfell both. “I suppose on first glance I would make a perfect scapegoat. A lone warrior… a free sword… a stranger… and in the wrong season for traveling. It seems a bit idealistic to tag me with the crime. But, sir…” and she tilted her head, so the braid flipped over her shoulder, “what possible motivation could I have for such an act?”

“Consider.” She spread one hand. “You know nothing of me so I can see it would be useless for me to explain I grew up in a tiny village not two weeks’ ride from here – or that my father was a woodcrafter and a trader there in Brae’na – or that I learned healing from my mother. It certainly doesn’t fit how I look now.” She bent grey eyes on him. “You may not be used to war here high in the mountains but I will warrant you’ve a blacksmith who knows good steel when he sees it.” Her fingers touched the chainmail vest she wore. “Or that you’ve a farmer or trader or two who looked hard at the horse I rode in and figured he belonged more in a noble’s stable then up in the highlands. Or someone said whatever I brought up in my bags was heavy, probably metal… or even just looked at the weave of my tunic and guessed what kind of wealth I have. But if that’s so, what would I gain out of such an act as you suggest?” She fixed him with an innocent expression. “Surely not money. Revenge? Maybe, unless you consider that I’m not a month past my eighteenth nameday and you know I have never been here before. Some kind of family debt?” Her low laughter made nonsense of it. “I don’t even know my way in this place; I couldn’t tell you where the mill was if my life depended on it, bar following the river and crossing my fingers.”

She took two steps across the room, putting herself right in front of him, and tilted her head back to study him. He made no business of shifting back slightly as if wondering what in the Second Pantheon she was up to. She put her palm flat on his chest; he started. “Do you really think these hands covered in blood?” she asked quietly, staring at him with candid grey eyes. “Or that, even if they were, I would be stupid enough to ride right on into this village?” He opened his mouth, but she spoke over whatever he was going to say. “If I were the murderer,” she said, “I would be sure to skip this place entirely. I’ve not left since I arrived; Kilead could tell you that much. Which means that I would have had to kill him before I arrived. If I skipped Forestfall on the way in, might it not have been so much more convenient to bypass it going out and avoid the whole potential?”

“You seem to have this well thought out,” he accused.

She gave him a withering stare. “I’ll take that as a compliment that I’m not considered an idiot,” she shot back, adding unlike some here it seems in her mind. Then suddenly her tone softened; she turned away, looking out the window. “I can understand how it might be,” she said distantly. “Suddenly the miller is dead. You’ve met with him, ate with him, joked with him; and he’s gone, and not quietly, brutally murdered by someone who wanted to be sure everyone knew that it was very deliberate. And you have a murder case on your hands; you have to catch them. Either it’s someone from Forestfall… someone you know, trust, walk with, perhaps even a friend of yours… or it could be the stranger you have never seen and barely heard of, keeping to herself, with no fit gear for this town. Oh I can understand why you chose as you did, Elder Lasterman. I understand it very well.” She gave him a sad little smile.

“Consider yourself lucky that you were born here and not in Brae’na… because when the murderer came to our villiage he destroyed everything. I survived by scaling an ice-slick mountain in the middle of a snowstorm and stumbling over a giant magical panther – or rather he stumbled over me.” Her smile was wan. “I would sell the tale to bards to make a story of if it didn’t still hurt too much to remember. The hours I dedicated to burning that dark manslaying figure into my mind… so I would never forget…” her head dropped; her eyes closed.

Then suddenly she snapped upright, the epitome of poise, and turned gracefully to face him. Her face had become an expressionless mask, though she couldn’t hide the shadows in her eyes. “Elder Lasterman,” she said in an entirely different tone of voice. “I will tell you now only once and without repeating that in this murder I have had no part. Whether you believe me or not is your own affair. If my words are not sufficient then I may undertake such proofs as are necessary.” She did not elaborate. “However I can say that it is for this very circumstance that I have come.”

He looked at her, not bothering to disguise the confusion on his face. “I have some acute familiarity with cases of this sort,” she said delicately. “Let us simply say it is not the first time that I have joined causes with the law for a brief period of time. Aside from Ged here,” and she nodded respectfully at him, “I doubt that you have the personnel or the training to deal with the kind of threat this murderer, whomever he or she is, offers to this community.” Her gaze flicked to him, feeling his icy eyes on her. Much of this hinged on him, now. If he agreed enough to trust her then perhaps that would remove many of the barriers between her and the townspeople. If not… well… her calling hummed at her; she was certain it was for this purpose the questing sense had summoned her. She was not about to let a few worried townsfolk keep her away from that.

She might be wearing the ceremonial armor sooner than she’d anticipated.

“That being the case,” she said, “I would be more than willing to lend the time and my… considerable… resources to the aid in solving this mystery.” Her smile was depreciating. “I well realize that you are still very inclined to doubt my innocence. But if Ged here were to keep an eye on me, and vouch by what he sees for my innocence or guilt, then would that be sufficient until further evidence reveals itself? I for one would wish to examine the mill and this message. Among other things.”

Her glance shot over to the battlemage, well aware of the risk she was taking. But as she had joked before and would again, Elenduriel might be her first patron, but she was in the hands of Risk as well. Or as they said it in the lowlands, the Fate Wind.

[Ged Winterfell]

Nine Hells. Either she’s telling the truth or she is the best damned liar I’ve ever seen.

Ged turned to Lasterman as Verdict finished, the questions he had asked before this interruption already dissipating in his mind.

“Edmund” he said “She’s right. What she says is true. We’re jumping to conclusions we cannot support. Kilead himself told me earlier that she had not left the tavern all day yesterday. And how old was the body?”

“About two days” said Lasterman grudgingly “But we’re not sure.” He said, as if to say Verdict was still subject to suspicion in his book.

Ged broke the silence that ensued at that remark. “Is someone with the body?”

“Yes, I have Brother Jerald looking at the corpse right now” answered Lasterman quickly “He said he needs a couple hours alone to perform the death rites; then the body will be buried in the Barrows at sundown.”

“The Barrows? Seems a more proper burial place for a dwarf, not a half-elf. Why not at Bush’s Run under the willows? Kullen always liked it there." Said Ged questioningly.

The village elder replied with a tone of finality. “The ground has already frozen, it would take hours to dig a suitable grave. The stone tombs of the Barrows will have to suffice, regardless of heritage.” He paused, then waved his hands irritably “But that is beside the point, we are trying to find if this woman is innocent or not!”

Ged looked to the paladin.

“Verdict, if you’ll excuse us…” he said, and without waiting for a reply dragged Lasterman out of the room into the hall; closing the door behind them.

“Edmund” said Ged with a voice that brooked no foolishness “ do you really think she did it. Kill Grak Kullen?”

The elder gave his friend a pained look. “Ged, who else if not her? Everyone loved Kullen. No one had a reason to kill him. She’s a stranger. An outsider. I don’t know why she would do such a thing, but she did. This is a small community Ged, everyone knows everyone else. There are no secrets among us. If someone comes to town, all of us know it. Frankly, I’m surprised that no one found Kullen’s body earlier. You step-son, Dern, said he had visited yesterday but couldn’t find the miller. I found the wheat Dern left there this morning with a note saying who is was from.”

“Who found the body?” asked Ged, ignoring the damning statements directed towards Verdict.

“The blacksmith, Frederick Smyth, did. He was going to get his own wheat ground and found no one there. He knocked on Kullen’s office door but got no answer and found it locked. Luckily, he had made the lock on special order two months ago and was able to open the door. When he discovered the body, he went straight to Brother Jerald and I.”

Ged nodded, thinking, then said. “Edmund, I don’t believe Verdict murdered Kullen. She’s right. She has no motive to kill a simple miller that she has never met. Whoever has killed him is still out there, and could possibly be a villager, like it or not. She’s even offered to help look for his killer. If she was the one, she’d have made tracks yesterday. I’d say we take her offer. We’ll hold the service at the Barrows then the two of us will look over the crime scene tomorrow morning. You can go to the villagers and tell them what has occurred.” The mercenary yawned. “I have to get some rest.”

Lasterman nodded, his face pensive. “Alright, I’ll go with you on this one, but only for now. You go talk to Verdict and I’ll speak to the people. We’ll hold the service in an hour.” The elder started down the hall, and then turned. “And Ged, be careful.”

‘I will” promised the mercenary, and he stepped back into the study.

He closed the door and turned to Verdict.

“It’s settled then, you and I are a team. The service is in an hour, and we’ll look over Kullen’s office tomorrow.” Ged looked around the room “Kilead’s is a nice place if you are staying for a couple days, but this could take some time. I offer you my home with my fiancée Nynaeve if you wish to move to a more comfortable boarding.”

[Verdict]

(I can't believe I managed to get these out in the time I had available... heh... enjoy!)

She nodded her thanks to Ged. “I wasn’t here expecting to stay long,” she admitted. “It is kind of you to offer me a place… particularly knowing what I am.” Her glance was sharp. “There are not many who would offer one of her followers a hearth to rest at, legends of paladins or not.” She smiled but her voice was low; she didn’t want that title overheard, at least, not yet.

She took a slow breath. “Thank you for not revealing my… calling. I appreciate that, truly. It would make affairs incredibly more complicated for both of us, especially in trying to solve this. You know a lot more about Forestfall than I; but I warrant I have more experience in this sort of thing.” She favored him an amused glance. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“While there is still light, though, I’d like to find out as much about the miller… Grak Kullen… as I possibly can. I don’t think this murder was simply a random act. There has to be a purpose behind it, a vindictive purpose, else…” she glanced away. “Else I would not have been called here.”

“I need to know anything about him you can remember. Who his closest friends were, what he liked to do, his favorite food. Anything. Did he have any enemies that you know of? Anyone he owed money or goods to? Anyone who might have felt slighted by him?” She said the questions as soon as she could come up with them, spinning them out. “Even the smallest thing might be of value. We can’t afford to put aside anything as inconsequential.” Already she was setting up parameters in her mind, deciding what should be considered first, and what withheld for later examination. No piece of information at the moment was too trivial to cast aside.

“What about the handwriting? It might be deliberately miffed, but then again there could be certain letters in a familiar script or style. Forestfall is small. How many of the citizens can write? Anyone illiterate we can scratch off our list immediately.” She was quickly sorting through the possibilities. They would have to find out exactly how long ago the death had occurred, and who was where when. That was of course assuming it was someone from the villiage. It seemed the most likely option (regardless of the uncomfortable consequences) but someone could just as likely happened across the mill on their own agenda. Rather like what Lasterman had been accusing her of doing.

“Have there been any hunters or trackers out that way?” she asked suddenly. “Someone with a familiarity with reading marks in the snow? Of course it’s been falling in the past few days…” the thought struck her with dismay. Any tracks would likely be covered up. “Or maybe someone crossed by and noticed something. It is worth the chance, even if nothing turns up.”

She was pacing, taking a few short steps at a time, trying to catch up to her racing mind. “Ged… you said there was only that one traveler. Are you certain? No one has mentioned anything else about any other people passing through this region recently? Or any other strange occurrences?” If she was going to do this, it would be done properly. She wanted to make sure that there were no other wildcard suspects before she thought of putting any of the villagers under suspicion. Especially if the miller was as well-loved as the immediate angry reaction made him out to be.

She was still pacing in silent thought when the door opened to reveal Kilead. His expression was fearful. “Ged,” he said without preamble, “the Derson boys came back from hunting last night and they’re all marked up. Bruises, welts. Said they were attacked in the street last night though they couldn’t get a good look at who. Jos has been unconscious all day and still hasn’t woken up, and the others are beat up pretty bad.”

Verdict’s head snapped up. “Did they notice anything about the attacker?” she asked suddenly. “Height, weight, build, eye color, clothing, weapons, anything? How were they attacked? When? How many were there? How badly did it turn out? Are they missing anything?”

Kilead held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, I don’t know! I only just heard from them. Maybe you had better talk to them yourselves.” The suspicion wasn’t entirely gone from his eyes; he looked at Ged to make sure it was all right. “Jos is still out – half the family is there caring for him, to see if he’ll wake up. I’ll see if I can talk one of the other three into coming here. But the burial…”

Verdict bowed her head. “Of course,” she said quietly. “Forgive me; I have so much on my mind, so many questions… I would not take them away from the ceremony. In fact,” she looked at him quietly, “would it be against your traditions if I were to attend? I, too, pray to the gods…” and you may never suspect how dearly that connection is, to me. “If you would rather not then I understand.”

Kilead’s look was inscrutable. “I will ask the others,” was all he said. He slipped back out. Verdict went back to pacing. There were simply too many questions, and too few answers. Maybe getting a look at the murder site would trigger something in her senses. Or maybe the strange attack on the hunters would yield a clue. That is if it isn’t only a wild animal of some sort, she thought with an internal sigh. Elenduriel, guide me in this!

[Ged Winterfell]

After Kilead left the room, Ged began to pace back and forth, his crystal goblet clutched forgotten in his hand. What was there about Kullen? He was a well-respected man who abided the law. Definitely not one to make enemies. Ged began speaking, throwing out bits of knowledge as they came to mind.

“Grak Kullen was a miller, for starters. He had been for about a century and a half; became one when he arrived just over two centuries’s ago. Before he was a wandering traveler that settled down here and lived off others hospitality in return for manual and magical labor. He was a druid, you see; and the only other member of this village apt in the arts of healing other than Brother Jerald. I’ve met him when I was a boy growing up here but never really got to know him as my family moved to Blackstone when I was five. He was the only stable thing in this village, folks would say. However the times went or the events occurred, Kullen was here through it all. His modest income for grinding wheat supported him well enough, though he received a yearly contribution from the people for his healing abilities, as Brother Jerald does. He never married and I’ m not sure if he had any family. Everyone in the village loved Kullen. He could chat with the farmers about the weather, the loggers the timber and the women the children.”

Ged paused to gather his thoughts before continuing. He had stopped pacing, the table and chairs in the study between he and Verdict.

“You ask if he had any enemies? No, everyone was Kullen’s friend. Well, that is, in Forestfall. We aren’t sure where he came from, he never spoke of his homeland. Anyway, he never had any rivals or foes. There isn’t even a competitor for his business, the nearest miller from here is in Evergreen. I mean, the only person who ever felt slighted by Kullen, by the whole village in his case, was Joseph Hawland. But he’s been dead for ten years now. It can’t be…”

The mercenary was abruptly stopped in mid sentence as Kilead entered.

“My lady,” He said, looking at Verdict “I’ve received permission from Lasterman. You are allowed to come to the burial ceremony. I must say, he didn’t look happy about it though.” The tavern owner gave Ged a sly look.

Good thought Ged He’s keeping to the plan.

“And the Derson boys have agreed to speak with you.” Continued Kilead. He turned to Ged. “Will you look at Jos? His brothers begged that I ask you. His condition is getting worse.”

“Sure, we’ll go right away.” Replied Ged, motioning for Verdict to follow. “Lead the way, Kilead.”

<>

The Derson homestead was one of the larger residences of Forestfall. Aside from being hunters, the three boys where loggers. Jos, the oldest, and his other two brothers Will and Runner lived together in the house with their wives. The building was two stories tall and sprawled over a fair amount of land. A large barn housed all their livestock in the winter, and Ged could hear the animals mooing and clucking from within.

When the three entered the house, Mayella (Jos’s wife) rushed up to Ged and took him by the arm. Tears threatened to show themselves as she said

“He’s almost gone.”

Ged did not say anything and allowed the upset woman to lead him into the family room. Verdict and Kilead followed behind him. Jos was positioned before the fireplace, stripped to the waist. Will’s wife Dana and Runner’s wife Emily were kneeling over his body, wiping sweat away from his chest with wet rags. The brothers themselves were looking on with worry etched onto their faces.

Ged quickly knelt beside Jos. The hunter’s breathing was labored, and his face pale in the firelight. A long cut crossed his right breast. The wound had, amazingly, already begun to fester. He studied the cut, it wasn’t that deep. Something else was at work here. He looked up into the faces of the fearful family.

“I need cayenne, echinacea and water. Quick!” said Ged. Dana rushed from the room to the kitchen. The battlemage stood up and pulled Verdict aside as Mayella left to help Dana.

“Verdict. I think we have a problem. This wound is not ordinary. Echinacea will help stabilize his body to deal with the problem and cayenne will boost its affects; but I fear it might not be enough. I am knowledgeable in the arts of healing by natural means only. Brother Jerald would find a dead corpse by the time we got him here. I fear this would blow your cover, but if you want to question the Derson’s, your best bet is to heal Jos with magic. Whatever you have.”

He left the paladin to decide on her own to take the requested herbs from Dana. Once again, the mercenary kneeled. He crushed the herbs into powder and mixed water with it. This newly created paste was smeared over the wound. Jos twitched in pain with Ged’s slightest touch. The man began to cough, spitting up globs of black material with the consistency of tar. Some of it hit Ged in the cheek and burned like acid. He wiped it away and continued his work, hoping Verdict would make the right choice. If she chose he would not hold it against her, she had every right except morally to walk away. And if she did Ged would continue on, trying to bring Jos back.

A life was on the line.

[Tabum]

Tabum looked out from his natural shelter at the town. He had been studying it whenever he could, trying to see the comings and goings. Apparently, there were two visitors. One was well known, a town hero, he supposed. The other was met with mystery and distrust, or so it seemed to the madman. Whoever they were, they were powerful, and perhaps the only threats to him. He also noticed that the owner of the inn was helping them out a lot, too much. This aid would have to stop.

Tabum waited, ready, and watching. At long last, he saw the two visitors leave the inn. That was his cue, and without waiting any longer, without any pause, he ducked aside and slowly made his way to the inn, keeping entirely to the shadows, so skillfully hiding in them that his black clothing was of no consequence against the white snow. However, soon that wouldn’t matter. He could feel the air growing tense, and the sky was slowly getting ready to storm.

After only a few minutes, he had reached one of the tavern windows. Looking inside, and trying to remain unnoticed, he finally found the one he sought bent over the counter, handling a few mugs. He grabbed one of the knives he had taken from the hunters and hurled it through the window. It landed between the man’s shoulder blades, causing him to stand sharply and shout in pain. Tabum raised his hand and spoke in a foul tongue that caused the area to darken slightly, cloud the air as if with smoke, and blacken the snow he was standing on. From his fingers erupted five spheres of unholy darkness, trailing purple-red tails of power and energy. The spheres collided with the man, but no sound left his mouth. His image seemed distorted, as if the magic was disrupting the very fabric of reality. He turned around on his feet, his face a blank look of shock and despair, and collapsed, dead. Tabum cursed. It wasn’t the inn’s owner. He quickly left the window, making his way back to his shelter. If anyone had seen him at the window, he was sure that all they would remember was an odd black figure, nothing more.

---------------

Night had fallen, and Tabum sat silent, watching the town around him. He was angry with himself that he hadn’t killed the right man. Currently, he was cleaning a wolf skull with a knife, but had paid no attention that, in his anger, he had striped through the marrow in some place.

He would get that man, along with anyone who dared speak of Tabum. He slammed his hammer into the ground. But an odd grin played at his face. They would see. They would all see. This town would be a grand sacrifice to the blood god; just a few more mediocre slayings, and then the ritual. Then, once that was complete, he’d be able to summon the god’s preferred demon, who would slaughter every living thing here.

Tabum began to laugh vilely, first softly so that only he could hear it, then louder, then louder, then with a sudden increase in volume so that it echoed across the mountainous area. All those in the town would remember that dark laugh for decades, perhaps centuries. Tabum grinned. He knew the mountain was such so that it wasn’t likely anyone would be able to pinpoint the source, and that was fine with him.

He laughed again, more maniacal this time, and then shouting, “Blood for the Blood God! Rejoice in the coming oblivion!”

[Verdict]

“I have no magic,” she wanted to tell him, but she did not. Why would he have reason to believe her, anyways? And even if he did, what other name would she call it? Certainly the god-given gifts she could sometimes employ as a paladin fit the name ‘magic’ as well as any other. But it was not so. Magic was something that came from the world and was employed by the caster. Magi was an individually commanded power. The abilities that came with her devotion to the Goddess of Retribution were not hers but belonged to the Shadow Hunter. She was merely a channel, a conduit. She could no more command their coming and going than she could command the sun. She could only ask; and if the Goddess did not wish them to come then they would not, and that would be the end of it.

Attempting to explain this to a family who was on the edge of losing a beloved brother and husband, however, was not a prospect she relished.

She watched Ged lean forward and measured the intensity in his eyes, learning more about him in those few moments than she had in all her careful observation earlier. She read dedication and uncertainty, but a refusal to give in. He would do all he could, even were it futile. That kind of perseverance quietly astonished her. If she could call her powers at will she might be able to heal the injured hunter. But it would be obvious then she was in possession of some strange power… and the distrust the people of Forestfall had harbored beforehand would increase a hundredfold.

But her reputation among them was not what was at stake; rather the sanctity of her quest. And if Jos remembered anything about his attacker, then she would have to know. If the villiagers closed themselves off from her then they would be open with Ged, and he already knew who she was and had agreed to help nonetheless. So she stilled her thoughts and personal needs, quieting her mind, and opened herself to the will of her Goddess.

The need that rushed back into her was overwhelming. It propelled her forward to the side of the bed and she knelt without questioning, looking at the hunter. His shallow breathing barely stirred his chest.

“Ged,” she said in a voice she did not recognize as her own, “move back.” The need burned in her; she could hardly speak. Her eyes focused on the pale boy (He is older than you, she thought, but it did not feel that way) lying in front of her, twisting feebly in the cot. Her hand reached out, lying on his forehead; his skin was clammy with fever. Or something else. She couldn’t even form the words in her mind for a prayer; the pressure was too great. As if something caught hold of her soul and was urging her on. She laid her palms against the sides of his head, closed her eyes.

Her need took shape. She could not find the words for it but the words themselves were meaningless; it was the desire behind them that drove her to cry out with her soul, to open herself to the will of the one whom she served. She could feel the floor beneath her knees and the contact between her hands and his face. She could feel the bed beneath him and the corruption boiling through his veins. She waited.

The aura was first, familiar to her by now. Anger and temperance, strength and certainty, washing through every limb, wrapping about her. It turned outwards with edges as hard and unyielding as steel and she recognized the shield for what it was, taken aback at the power of its structure. Still she was totally unprepared for the river that lashed through her. It picked her up as easily as a toy and tossed her away from the edge of consciousness.

She was swept downstream, unable even to keep her head except that she felt something working to be sure she remained afloat. The river spilled out, and suddenly stretched as wide as she could see, filling her vision with one rushing torrent. The surface was oddly calm. Padding across it as if its paws landed on ice and not liquid a great black creature of the night came to her. Its eyes burned a liquid gold to match the stars; it was nearly tall enough to look her in the eyes were she standing. It sat and she reached out to it, out of instinct, as the river that was now a sea swept her by.

Stars came out overhead. There were millions, everywhere she looked, myriad upon myriad, more than she had ever seen or imagined. She stared at them in wonder, and felt again whatever it was that kept her afloat. The calm waters churned around her, rising and breaking and splashing with violent movement beneath, huge coils gleaming silver and white, and suddenly a great head breached the surface and looked at her with calm eyes. The dragon’s mouth opened and it breathed on her, as cold as ice, and a great claw closed around her to lift her out of the waves and towards the stars.

She came back to herself with a slow breath; her eyes slid open. Her arms, heavy with exhaustion, dropped slowly to her sides. She turned them over, looking at them blankly; her gray gaze traveled to Jos’s face. For an instant he was so quiet and still that she was afraid he was dead. But no; a steady breath, and then another. There was warmth in his skin now, and not the kind that came of fever.

Outside it was dusk. There was a fire in the hearth and the embers betrayed how long it had been burning. She had no idea how many hours she had been gone or where exactly ‘gone’ was except that it was not here. And whether it was something Ged had done or a result of whatever it was that had happened to her, Jos was resting easy. The covers were pulled up to his shoulders so she could not see what had happened, if anything, to his wound. But she knew, in a way she could not define just as she could not describe the need that had driven her to pray, that he would be well.

Her limbs betrayed the stiffness of kneeling there for at least several hours. She rolled her shoulders, making a face at the pain. It was only then that she saw the others looking at her; she could read the questions in their faces. She wondered what it had been like for them; what they had seen while she was gone. If anything.

There came a quiet tap on the door. It swung open an instant later; Kilead poked his head in, his expression worried. “Runner,” he said to one of the brothers, “I was crossing by the road to check in and see how Jos was doing when I saw this brilliant white-gold light from these windows…” Verdict took a slow step back. So there had been something to see. “…and I thought I should hurry over to see if everything is—” Kilead stopped abruptly, and looked from Runner and the Derson family to Verdict and back. His voice hardened. “What exactly is going on in here?” His gaze clearly said, and what do you have to do with it!?

Her legs wavered; she reached out and grasped the mantelpiece to steady herself. “I am afraid I have not been entirely honest with you,” she said wearily. “I am more than a simple traveler, even a wealthy one. Though I did not speak to claim such a title my lack of words let you assume so.” She took a slow breath. “I did what I could to help Jos. I’m not sure really what happened; the gods rarely explain themselves. I do hope he is well but—” she wavered, and tightened her grip on the mantle. The fire’s warmth was pleasant on her tired calves. “I am sorry,” she said. “I didn’t expect it to take so much out of me – I was gone for a long time.” She knew she wasn’t making much sense but she was too tired to correct herself. Helplessly her grey eyes sought someone who she knew would at least be able to explain. “Ged,” she said, and stopped. What was she supposed to say to him?

[Ged Winterfell]

They had waited, for over three hours they had waited.

Verdict had kneeled beside Jos, gently pushing Ged aside with a few words. The mercenary had rose without complaint and watched as the paladin had rested her hands around his face, like a mother would a sick child. Something shone in her storm grey eyes. What it was, Ged could not tell. Then, with a sigh, Verdict had closed her eyes and gone completely still. Jos had also, so still in fact that Mayella had burst into tears thinking him dead. Will and Runner went to her, saying not to give up hope.

“He’s not dead” Ged said quietly “She’s healing him.”

Runner, Will, Mayella, Emily and Dana all looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Will spoke up “Then why is Jos not breathing, nor the woman?”

“Be patient, it just takes time.” Answered Ged reassuringly. He hoped he was right, he knew just as little as the others did about what was going on too. The only thing he had extra was faith in Verdict and her goddess’s powers. But even that didn’t amount to much.

And they had waited, watching Verdict and Jos’s still bodies. The fire slowly died and sunset came and went. They had missed the burial ceremony for Kullen. Ged registered this thought without much regret. It was more important to save the life of one rather grieve for the life of one already dead.

Sometime in the second hour, Emily had started a stew in the fireplace in the kitchen adjacent to the family room. Smells of beef and vegetables wafted from the room, tantalizing to Ged’s nose. He had not eaten since breakfast.

Half an hour later, Emily had come back into the room and offered stew to everyone. Ged took his with a quiet “Thank you” while everyone else refused. The stew bowl warmed Ged’s hands and was very well done. But he took only a few spoonfuls before setting it aside. All of a sudden he didn’t fell like eating.

The time slowly ticked by, and all was still.

Suddenly, Verdict let out a long slow breath and a blinding white-gold light filled the room for a split second before vanishing.

The paladin’s eyes were open, and both she and Jos were breathing at a regular rate. She glanced around and steadied herself with the mantle as she stood. Kilead entered and looked around in confusion. When Verdict spoke after him, she spoke of her untruthfulness. If that was it could be called, more like a disguise of who she was. It’s not like anyone specifically asked her who she was. She looked at the battlemage with pleading eyes. The time had come.

“My friends, this is Verdict, Paladin of Retribution and Herald of Elenduriel, Goddess of Retribution. She has just healed your husband, your brother, your friend. There is no need to fear her, for she is as good as they come.”

The room was silent for a moment. The wives looked stunned, Kilead also. Will stood with apprising eyes on Verdict.

Yet Runner became angry, by the fact that she had covered her true identity or to some other reason Ged could not tell.

“Why, a paladin? Ridiculous! They’ve been gone for centuries. And why would this ‘Verdict’ come here?” He said with fire in his voice.

“I swear on my father’s grave that what I say is true.” Replied Ged a bit forcefully. He needed the Derson’s to believe him. Otherwise the investigation of Kullen’s death would be harder than it should be. “Verdict has been sent here by her goddess. For what reasons, they are now becoming clear. She has been sent to rid Forestfall of whoever or whatever is attacking and killing people here.” Ged was shooting in the dark, but he hoped his hunch that Verdict was god-sent was correct.

“She and I are going to investigate Kullen’s death and Jos’s wound. I believe that she would like to speak with all three of you about what happened.” Said Ged, indicating Will, Runner and the sleeping form of Jos.

(OOC: blah, that was bad, but it gets the point across. I hate writer’s block…)