The Serpent and the Unicorn: Book I and II

by Susan Skylark

  Chapter 10

  They arrived at a small inn in the evening three days after parting with Turin. The innkeeper was more than happy to have a musician (of even middling talent) play at his inn. If she was good enough, word would quickly spread and people would travel a great distance to hear her and if she stayed for several days his profits could be substantial. She was noncommittal when asked about staying for longer than a night. But he and his patrons were not disappointed in her abilities. She sang many songs of forgotten lore and tragic battles, of the Master and His dealings with men. She sang of love and war and death. She held her audience captive, as if some spell transfixed them. She finally took a break for a light supper and the audience returned to their previous pursuits in disappointment.

  A scruffy and poorly fed student stood up as Arora sat down and said, “I thank the lady for her fine music, but now let us commence with something truly wonderful. I wish to expound upon my beliefs that the Brethren are out to conquer the world. Their belief that their ideas are the only ones that matter are outrageous and should not be tolerated in any part of the civilized world…” The boy continued on for some time without anyone paying him much heed. As he paused for breath after a particularly provocative segment, Arora stood up to play again. The audience came suddenly to life and the boy thought his points had hit home and they were finally responding to him. His look soured as he realized the true source of their joy. The innkeeper quickly shuffled him off to the kitchens and his waiting chores.

  “I do not know how well I can follow such an interesting speech, but I shall try,” said Arora with mirth and began to play. It was far into the night before she packed away her instrument and retreated to their room.

  The next morning they were preparing to leave, though the innkeeper met them in the stable and begged them to stay another night. “We must be going,” said Arora gently, “though perhaps I may stop here again in the future.” He looked at her so pleadingly that she almost gave in but Tristan gently shook his head. “We do look forward to visiting again,” said Arora apologetically, “but we really must be going.” The man gave them a disappointed smile but wished them well on their journey.

  After he had gone, Tristan finished adjusting a strap on his saddlebags then dropped the strap and immediately reached for his sword. Again, he heard the sound of rustling coming from the hayloft above. Soon the source of the sound became clear and Tristan released his grip on his weapon; it was the boy from the previous night. He clambered down the ladder and stood in the aisle, blocking their way. “Why are you not staying another night?” demanded the boy, “the innkeeper was desperate for your services. He would gladly have provided you with room, board, and a little pocket money. Some of us are desperate for such consideration.”

  Arora smiled sadly at the boy, “we have other places we must visit. We cannot stay long at any one place, besides my services are not for sale. They are for the benefit of all who care to listen and are not to be sold to the highest bidder.”

  “I knew you were mad,” scoffed the boy, “and this just proves it. What is the point of having a talent if you do not exploit it? I cannot believe the audience was so enraptured by your myths and children’s fables. What use are forgotten histories and love ballads to the modern mind? It is all fabricated nonsense and emotional rubbish; it has no practical use in the modern world. What people need is information and lots of it. With information comes understanding and with understanding comes tolerance and with tolerance comes peace and prosperity. Your songs about love and war and honor are sentimental and outdated. As long as the common people cling to such nonsense, there will be no true progress or intellectual awakening among the masses.”

  “What use to the ‘common people’ is your information if they cannot apply it to their daily lives?” asked Arora, “if you had some modern technique for growing potatoes, perhaps anyone who raises potatoes would actually be interested in listening to you. But why would a merchant, a blacksmith, or a farmer want to hear a plethora of obscure and often erroneous information on things that have nothing to do with their lives or their livelihoods, the past or the future of man?”

  The boy looked offended but continued, “everyone should be open to new information, even if it does not matter to them immediately, it may matter one day. Besides, how can they understand the rest of the world if they do not learn new things. Understanding and tolerance are the basis for peace and prosperity.” He glanced in obvious disgust at Tristan’s sword.

  “Understanding and tolerance?” asked Arora, “do you live up to your own ideal, you who are so well educated?”

  “Of course,” said the boy, “I am open to and accepting of new things, people, and ideas.”

  “Your little tirade against the Brethren last night did not sound very tolerant,” said Arora.

  “They are a danger to the freedom of thought and rational thinking; the world must be warned,” said the boy.

  “And how did you come to this conclusion?” asked Arora, “have you ever met any of the Brethren?”

  “Not personally,” said the boy, “nor do I wish to. They are mindless fiends that only wish to remove all of the joy and intelligence from everyone they meet; they want everyone to be as abstemious as themselves. I have studied under some of the greatest minds in the known world and am convinced of the veracity of their ideas.”

  “So you have no first hand experience?” asked Arora.

  The boy looked a little embarrassed, and was beginning to realize how weak his arguments sounded. “No,” said the boy, “I do not.”

  “How can you claim to be tolerant of others if there is even one group with whom you disagree?” asked Arora, “should you not think all groups have a right to behave as they wish?”

  “I suppose,” said the boy, “but it is not right for such things to go on.”

  “You are right in saying that some things should not occur,” said Arora, “some things should not be tolerated. It is one thing to understand someone, but quite another to condone evil when you encounter it. Therefore, you must either tolerate everything or quit speaking about the virtues of tolerance. Instead, encourage understanding and fight evil and injustice wherever you find it. And I would not go about preaching the virtues or evils of any particular person, group, or country unless you have personal experience.”

  “What you say makes sense,” said the boy, “but it all seems so contrary to what we learn at the University. They say if we can all just understand each other then there will be no more misunderstandings and no more violence.”

  Arora smiled in commiseration, “as long as there are those willing to take advantage of others there will always be violence. Some violence is the result of misunderstanding, but much more of it comes as a result of someone violating the rights of another for their own gain. Sometimes violence is needed to ensure peace. My guard carries a sword, but he only uses it to defend me. He does not wield it against those who do not threaten me. It also discourages those who might see a woman traveling alone in the wilds as an easy target.”

  The boy looked truly troubled and confused, “who am I to believe?”

  “Believe those you trust, those whose information you know is actually wisdom and not empty words,” said Arora, “learn from your own experience and the experience of others. That is why I sing of histories, battles, and lore. We can learn from the past so we do not make the same mistakes in the future. If you look for it, you will find wisdom. Wisdom comes with experience and patience, not with the memorization of empty facts. People appreciate wisdom but resent false knowledge. Speak wisely and your message will not be spurned.”

  “You really care about my future?” said the boy.

  “Yes,” said Arora, “and I hope it is filled with wise choices on your part.”

  “Why do you care about a perfect stranger?” asked the boy, “especially when you are so
talented and could easily ignore or embarrass me.”

  “I care about everyone,” said Arora simply.

  “Can I come with you?” asked the boy eagerly, “I think there is much you could teach me. You would not have to pay to feed or shelter me; I am used to earning my way.”

  Arora glanced at Tristan; he was as stunned as she. “Can you ride?” asked Arora.

  “A little,” said the boy enthusiastically.

  Arora said, “as it happens we have a spare horse and you are welcome to borrow him for as long as you travel with us. But you must promise to do as you are told by either myself or my guard; you may leave us at any time and we also reserve the right to send you away. Do you understand?”

  The boy nodded and said, “I promise.” Arora had set out from Astoria on a normal horse as her unicorn had not yet had a chance to catch up with her. The mare had met them along the trail to Syre, thus they had a spare mount.

  “We had best be going,” said Arora, “if we are to make the next village by dark.” They mounted up and were quickly on their way.

  “Why are we bringing the boy along?” asked Tristan quietly as they rode side by side, “besides, I thought picking up lost young men was my job.”

  She smiled blandly at him and said, “I have no idea why he is coming with us, but it just feels right.”

  “I agree,” said Tristan, “but I hoped you had some idea as to why he was coming along.”

  “At the least,” said Arora, “we will see that he gets a couple good meals and a little real wisdom.” They traveled all day with a brief stop for lunch.

  As they chewed at the tough dried meat and stale bread, the boy worked up his courage to talk to Tristan. “Have you really used your sword against another person?” asked the boy.

  “Many times,” said Tristan quietly.

  “Is it fun and exciting?” asked the eager boy.

  “It is a frightening experience,” said Tristan, “you may have to take a life and your own is at risk. It is such a muddle of excitement and terror that it cannot be explained but must be experienced. I would rather have become proficient in some other art, but that is not my fate. I have no talent with music or words; I am a simple warrior and must use what skills I have for the benefit of others. I do not relish the thought of taking another’s life, but sometimes it must be done.”

  “You do not seem so cold-blooded as they would tell us at the University,” said the boy, “they assume anyone who wields a sword must be bereft of all thought and feeling.”

  “There are many who wield swords,” smiled Tristan, “and the vast majority of them still have souls. Do you have plans once you become a Scholar?”

  The boy looked at Tristan, surprised at his apparent knowledge of the University. “I do not know,” said the boy, “I hope to become an advisor to some king or wealthy lord, perhaps. How do you know so much about the University?”

  “I was there briefly,” said Tristan, “how long have you been on your journey?”

  “I have been out here for a couple months already,” said the boy.

  “And what do you think of the life of a traveling scholar?” asked Tristan.

  “It would be much better,” said the boy, “if one was assured of having at least one meal a day and some shelter from the elements. But otherwise I have enjoyed the freedom of the road.”

  “Do you meet many interesting people in your travels?” asked Tristan.

  “Most of the people I meet are local farmers or tradesmen, but I have often encountered fellow students,” said the boy, “occasionally there are also some men of a darker tendency who like to watch the traveling students very closely. It is rather unnerving. And twice I have met seemingly learned men who engaged me in friendly debate. There have also been members of the Order of the Unicorn upon the road, busy with duties of their own. They are a fascinating group, there are many of them at the University. They are skilled in the arts of war, yet wish to study under men of peace. Do you know much of them?”

  Tristan smiled wryly, “I have encountered them frequently in my travels and have even ridden with them at times. They are definitely an ‘interesting’ group of individuals.” They set out again as the sun was just past its midday peak.

  They arrived as planned at a thriving village along Syre’s main East-West road as the sun was setting. The innkeeper gladly accepted Arora’s offer to entertain his patrons for the evening; he was less happy to oblige the boy’s request for a meal in exchange for help in the kitchens. Tristan spoke up and said that he would pay for the boy’s meal. The innkeeper seemed mollified and went back to his duties. The boy took a seat in the back next to Tristan and said, “I will not take your charity. I said I would work for my meals and I am serious about that.”

  Tristan said, “I know you are and you will do as you have said in the future, but tonight I want to know that you have at least one good meal in you rather than whatever scraps the kitchen has left over.” This silenced the boy and he dug into the heaping bowl of stew and warm, crusty bread that one of the serving girls brought to them. Tristan smiled as the boy ate ravenously. He remembered his desperate hunger so many years ago. He hoped this boy’s current situation was only temporary and did not lead him into trouble. Arora sang most of the evening, only stopping occasionally for a brief rest. The boy, no longer feeling that he must compete with her, actually started to listen to her music and found it very enjoyable. The evening passed swiftly and soon it was time for bed. After the successful evening of music, the innkeeper was even willing to allow the boy to sleep in an empty room instead of the hayloft. They set out again early the next morning. For ten days, they journeyed deeper into Syre, moving from village to village. Nothing of note occurred over the course of their wanderings, but the boy learned much from his traveling companions, perhaps more than he had learned during his years at the University.

  As Arora performed each night, her popularity and renown grew. The night she planned to visit a certain inn, it was bound to be packed with eager listeners. People traveled great distances just to hear her sing. The boy watched in fascination each night as people fell under her spell, but there was no magic, only beautiful music. One night as they sat in the back of a very crowded common room, a man sat down beside Tristan. Tristan recognized him immediately as one of the Brethren, though they had never met before. “It is a rainy evening,” said Tristan noncommittally.

  “Not weather I would like to be out in,” said the man.

  “What brings you to this part of the world?” asked Tristan.

  “I am on an errand for a certain Lady,” said the man mysteriously.

  “Are not we all?” laughed Tristan. “What news have you of these Eastern Realms?” asked he once his mirth was contained.

  “Nothing much to report,” said the man, “there are a few sinister characters about but many more of these would-be scholars. I see you have acquired one.”

  “Our paths have crossed temporarily,” said Tristan dryly.

  “I see the lady has found herself quite a following,” said the man, “she is much more effective at communicating to these poor people who are deluged by all this useless information than a simple speaker like myself. I appreciate her efforts. The Truth needs to be heard, most especially under such an assault on common sense, but the people are tired of talk and are thirsty for wisdom. Thankfully, she can deliver it in a song. But I must be going. As you have things under control here, I will be more useful elsewhere. Goodnight.” Tristan bid him goodnight as well. The boy was offended at the man’s references to his fellow students, but the rest of the conversation meant little to him.

  He glanced idly around the crowded room and his eyes found a surprisingly familiar face. He slipped out of his seat and wormed his way through the enraptured throng to the old man sitting in a far corner. “Professor Grumpus!” he said, “what are you doing h
ere?”

  “What?” asked the man, “oh, hello uh…Kurd?”

  “It is Kard, sir,” said the boy patiently.

  “Yes, yes,” said the man, “I am here to observe this mysterious songstress. Her renown has traveled as far as the University and I was dispatched to observe her. There is much talk of inviting her to perform at the University if she is half as good as we have heard. I think I feel comfortable making the invitation. Some of her themes are questionable, but she is an artist after all. Aside from her whimsical music choices, she is quite impressive. But I do not know if she would take my invitation seriously.”

  “I can introduce you,” said the boy.

  “Really?” asked the amazed old man, “that would be splendid. Let her finish her repertoire for the night and introduce us afterwards.” The boy nodded his agreement and slipped back to his place beside Tristan. Arora sang for another couple of hours and then finished for the night.

  Just before she retreated to her room, Kard said, “there is someone I would like you to meet.” Just then the old man pottered over to their table. “This is the Most Distinguished Professor Grumpus,” said the boy, “he has traveled all the way from the University and wishes to ask you a question.”

  The man bowed slightly, “we, the faculty of the University, wish to extend an invitation to you to perform for the faculty and students of the University and any others who wish to attend at your earliest convenience.”

  “I would be honored to play for such a distinguished group,” said Arora, “at our current rate of travel we will be there within a week.”

  “Then I look forward to seeing you then,” said the man. He bowed in farewell. Arora did not know whether to be excited or afraid; at her last command performance someone had tried to kill her. She smiled grimly, at least it meant she must be having an impact.

  Kard was anxious to get back to the University with his distinguished traveling companions, but Arora would not change her plans or hasten their pace. She meant to visit as many villages as she could between their current position and Dara. Tristan was eager to see Pallin again and wondered how the poor boy was handling his apparent abandonment to illogicality run amuck; Tristan certainly did not envy the boy his assignment. Finally they arrived in Dara. Tristan was happy not to have knowingly encountered any members of the Brotherhood during their travels, but he did not doubt that there might be a few lurking around the campus. Kard led them to the Head of Visiting Experts who would be in charge of Arora’s performance. He was overjoyed to meet her and expressed a great interest in hearing her play. He asked if tomorrow evening might do for a performance and she readily agreed. He said he would make the arrangements and asked her to make herself at home in Dara and at the University. After clearing things up with the Head, they went in search of Pallin. They found him washing dishes after the noon meal. He was almost frantic with joy at seeing them. They retreated to his small room (his roommates were all at lecture) and asked Kard to leave them for a time. He reluctantly agreed but was excited to find some of his former acquaintances and make them familiar with the recent happenings in his life.

  “It has been very difficult these past months,” said Pallin, “there is not a sane voice to be heard. I have been hearing so much nonsense that I fear soon I will start believing it!”

  “Have you seen or heard anything of interest?” asked Tristan.

  “If there are shadowy men about,” said Pallin, “they are kept well away from the students. I have nothing to report. I have noticed a few of the Brethren among the student body, though we have had little chance to talk. I assume the Lady has taken an interest in the University?”

  Tristan nodded, “she is increasing our numbers in the area and hoping someone will figure out something that will soon put an end to this siege of unreason.”

  “I have heard much of a traveling bard who will soon grace us with her skills,” said Pallin with a proud smile.

  Arora blushed, “I have been asked to perform tomorrow night for the University.”

  “That is quite an honor as they pride themselves on offering only presentations from the best experts in the world,” said Pallin, “though some of these experts would not qualify as such in my estimation.” They talked until the evening meal was to begin and then went in search of supper.

  Arora's concert was slated for the following evening, and Tristan hoped to enlist some help with security at the evening meal. Pallin had seen or spoken with at least three other members of the Brethren amongst the student population and both men hoped to discover a few more. During the course of the meal they circulated around the dining hall and quietly asked their colleagues to meet after the meal, outside on the lawn used for the traditional evening debate. They would discuss their plans during the debate, when a small gathering of students talking quietly would not elicit comment. They managed to round up four others to help keep Arora safe during her University début; three were previously known to Pallin and the fourth was the man Tristan had met briefly at an inn as he and Arora had traveled through Syre. The plan was simple: they would scatter themselves throughout the audience and keep their eyes open for trouble.

  The evening of Arora's performance arrived and everyone except Tristan came early to claim a seat that allowed a quick exit and a good view of their assigned areas. Tristan followed Arora at a distance and kept a close eye on any suspicious activities. Arora took her place before the gathered audience; the concert was to take place in the open area between the buildings and almost all of the students and faculty had gathered for the event. It was a large audience and a huge area to watch, but Tristan hoped they had enough help. The concert began and Arora did a superb job, even though most of her material was considered mythical, outdated, or useless by those gathered to hear her. They were enchanted by her musical skills and the amazing stories that unfolded as the night wore on. Halfway through, she paused for a rest. The transfixed audience finally noticed their tired, stiff muscles from sitting still for so long and began to stir. During the chaos of the intermission, Tristan glanced around at his fellow Brethren. All were keeping a close eye on things, except for the unnamed man they had met during their travels. He stared implacably at Arora and seemed to be arguing with himself. Suddenly he seemed to come to some decision and drew forth a dagger. Tristan watched in horror, unable to move through the milling crowd, as the knife left the man's hand and went sailing through the air towards Arora.

  As the dagger left his hand, the man experienced a horrendous internal pain and crumpled to the ground in a heap. The knife flew harmlessly past Arora, lodging itself in the turf behind her, the aim having been thrown off by the sudden collapse of the attempted assassin. Arora's scanned the audience frantically for Tristan. He caught her eyes and gave her a reassuring smile as he rushed to the fallen attacker. The other four Brethren gradually moved in closer to Arora, but still remained in the audience. Most of the crowd noticed nothing and Arora continued the concert as planned. The fallen man was hunched over, as if in pain, and was gradually making his way towards the edge of the crowd. He broke free of the crowd and took off in a stumbling run; Tristan was still slowed by the milling audience. Finally he broke through the gathered people, but could no longer see the villain so pursued in the direction the man had fled. The man ran into the woods behind the buildings occupied by the University. Tristan heard sounds of a scuffle and a muffled scream, and a most peculiar sight awaited him when he emerged into the moonlit clearing.

  Sobbing miserably, the would-be assassin hung pathetically from the mouth of a horse who held his shirt collar tightly in his teeth. If the situation were not so serious it would have been laughable. The changes wrought in the man himself were astonishing. Where once he had looked to be in his mid-twenties, he now appeared to be a man in his fading years. His eyes constantly moved, as if in search of something he had lost or in fear of some hidden da
nger. "Why?" asked Tristan as he approached the man, "what could tempt you to break your Oath and take an innocent life? At least if you wish to be free of your Oath have the decency to do it privately and not involve others in harm!"

  The man sobbed pathetically and sputtered, "he lied to me."

  "Who?" asked Tristan.

  "The...the...dark man who came and spoke with me," wept the man, "he said I would suffer no ill effects for violating my...my Oath."

  "What did he promise you in return?" asked Tristan.

  "He said," sniffed the captive, "that his dark masters would protect me and there would be ample reward."

  "Can you find this man?" asked Tristan.

  "We are meeting tonight at the Broken Horn," said the man.

  "You will keep your appointment," said Tristan quietly.

  "He might kill me!" protested the man.

  "You are as good as dead anyway," said Tristan grimly, "perhaps some good may yet come of this night."

  It was nearly time for the meeting with the dark stranger at the specified inn, but first Tristan had to talk the man's unicorn into releasing him. "I know he betrayed you," said Tristan, "he has betrayed us all. It is up to the Lady to deal with him, not you or I. I need him for a few hours, after that you may escort him back to Astoria." The creature finally dropped him, but gave both men a dark look before vanishing into the forest. Tristan very nearly had to carry him out of the woods. As they stumbled along, he slowly regained some strength and was able to continue of his own volition. As they neared the inn, Tristan said, "go to your meeting and do not make the man suspicious that you have been captured. I will be nearby and will deal with him when the time is right." The man nodded mechanically and wandered listlessly towards the inn. It was a seedy place with more dust than light. The man chose a table near the back and waited. Tristan found a window open on the second floor and climbed inside. There were gaping holes in the floor of the second story making it easy for Tristan to sit above the man's table and hear anything that might be said.

  Shortly, a dark cloaked figure entered the inn and took a seat at the table opposite the fallen Brother. "You failed," hissed the stranger.

  "You lied," moaned the man.

  "Perhaps if you had succeeded things might have been different," scoffed the stranger.

  "No," said the man, "the result would have been the same."

  "Finally some wisdom!" laughed the stranger, "but perhaps too late. You are no longer of use to me or my masters. You are pathetic and broken. Good riddance." The dark man reached across the table and the other man fell into a deep sleep, just shy of true death. He laughed softly to himself and disappeared out the back of the inn. Tristan made to follow, but was set upon by two very large men who loomed out of an empty room and kept him from following the vile stranger. They disarmed him, bound his hands, and led him away. In desperation, his mind sought for Taragon who was thankfully nearby and bid him follow the dark man. "You are coming with us," laughed one of the two, "you have been a very naughty boy tonight." He was helpless to do anything but allow the two immense men to escort him wherever they wished.

  The concert was superb and hardly anyone noticed the attempt on Arora's life. Afterwards, one of the department heads led Arora off to a quiet room for a bit of talk. "The faculty have elected me to speak on their behalf," said the man, "they are very impressed with your musical abilities and historical and mythical knowledge. If it is agreeable to you, we wish to offer you a professorship at the University. You would be the new head of the Department of Music, Lore, and Myth." Arora was speechless but somehow managed to convey her approval. "There are a few stipulations," said the man, "first, as a woman you would be a distraction to our all-male campus. So, in order to fill this position you must find yourself a husband. Here is a list of interested faculty." He gave her six sheets of paper filled with names front and back; she never knew she was so attractive. She raised her eyebrows when she noticed Professor Grumpus’s name at the top of one list. "Also," said the man, "we have apprehended a suspect in the little incident with the knife. He was seen running from the performance shortly after the attack and was also seen following you earlier this evening. He was apprehended in a shady part of town and was heavily armed. One of our students, Raye, has also informed us that he may be involved in the disappearance of another student called Geff. He is also guilty of impersonating a student without officially registering with the University." Arora did not know whether to laugh or cry; she had a very good idea who they had apprehended. She then described the suspect perfectly. "So you know this man?" asked the professor.

  "Know him?" said Arora with a laugh, "he is my husband!" She smiled at the man's shock. "He fled the performance in pursuit of the true attacker," said Arora, "Geff was safe when we parted. That ugly scar along his side was taken in defense of Geff's life. He is not a threat to anyone unless they threaten others. If he is guilty of impersonating a student, feel free to register him as one. You may return his weapons and release him from custody nor will I be needing your list of potential suitors. You may say that I am married, but my husband wishes to remain anonymous." The man was shocked but did as she said. She then retired to her quarters; it had been a long evening.

  Arora returned to her room after the concert and meeting quite exhausted; it had been a strange day, but not unproductive. She yearned to see Tristan again but knew he was busy with her assailant. She wanted only to find her bed and sleep away what was left of the night. As she opened the door, a chill wind greeted her though she did not remember leaving the window open. A cloud of evil rolled out of the darkness and a cold voice spoke, “you will pack your things and leave now. If you do not, you will not live to regret it. Your presence is not wanted here and I will do what I must to make sure you do not meddle in affairs beyond your ken.”

  “Get out of my room and bother me no longer,” said she in a calm, firm voice.

  “Why do you not tremble in fear?” asked the perplexed voice, “all shudder at my presence.”

  “I fear no evil that stems from such a pathetic source,” said Arora, “away with you or face my blade.” As she spoke she drew forth the sword carefully hidden among the folds of her gown.

  “You have been warned,” snarled the voice as he hurled himself out of the shadows and flung himself at Arora. Tristan may be better than she with a blade, but she was no novice. She proved an even match for the stranger and dealt him a parting slash upon his shoulder. “You have not seen the last of me,” growled the man as he leapt out the window. The sound of fleeing hooves came through the open window as Tristan came bolting into the room.

  “What happened?” he demanded, though not unkindly.

  “I found a strange man lurking in my room and threatening me with violence if I did not leave at once,” said Arora.

  “I must be after him, I am afraid,” said Tristan plaintively. “I was held up by some University henchmen and would have lost his trail save for Taragon, who tracked him to this building. I have a feeling he will lead me to something we have been long in search of. I love you.” He embraced her briefly and followed the man out the window and into the night. Taragon was waiting and the pair quickly vanished after their quarry. She stared after them for some time, bolted the window, and sought her bed though sleep was long in coming.