Chapter One

The town of Stroxbin was large, busy but still idyllic: a large temple, town-house and a collection of larger buildings - likely the public house and other merchant-places - made up the heart of the space, houses were clustered in close groups along the roads that ran from the center of town to the high walls like the spokes of a wheel. The gates were heavily guarded, a dozen guards stood flanking the opening and half as many bowmen stood above on the walls that were newly reinforced, watching the road wind into the plains to the east and south. Twice as many stood at the northern and western gates, eyes on the frost-blanketed pines that stood silent and dark too close to the gates of the town now. Merchants hurried their carts inside the gates, eager for the safety of the walls and the prospect of coin that the markets always promised. Ebon strolled through the crowded streets with a relaxed grin on his lips, pale blue eyes glittered like ice in the winter sun and a few locks of his soft auburn hair were brushed out of his face with a gloved hand. His leather armor was dark but the buckles glittered, a testament to his partner's fastidious care of their gear. He glanced sidelong towards an alley and there was a slight movement, he smirked and kept walking along, confident that the job was going to be far easier than it had been advertised. Of course, nobody expected a half-orc in armor and his silent, fur-robed companion to be very effective; it was something they relied upon, being discounted and while Ebon had balked at first, he had to admit that there was something very clever about letting everyone think what they wanted.

Surprise had been the first lesson Ebon had learned in the woods, when he'd been chased across a frozen field by the angry bear; he'd never even seen the hunter's blind but the whistle of arrows raining down had slowed the bear enough for him to climb a tree and then a small grey furred form had rushed from the bushes with nothing but a spear. He'd watched in shock and horror as the bear reared up and then came down like a wall upon the little tuft of grey. He remembered the last sound as the bear plunged down upon the upturned spear - a roar that cut off suddenly, and then the massive beast had slumped into the snow. They'd eaten well and the bear hide was warm, Ebon smiled at the thought and shifted the fur around his shoulders, it made an excellent cloak in this winterland. 

Cagill's spy was only a dozen paces ahead now, her blue scarf flashed in the pale winter daylight, then she turned and a pair of green eyes filled with shards of amber and gold settled on his face and both froze. The quarry saw her hunter and knew instantly what he was, Ebon's heart sank with the recognition of Sylaise - they'd robbed each other of love and livelihood in turn. He took three steps towards the closest building, she disappeared into the crowd and he swore softly, her magic turning her into any one of the dozens of merchants and townspeople milling in the street in a blink. He made it two steps further to the side, he was just about to the door when he felt it - something sharp poked hard into his side but he somehow managed to keep himself from turning to try to look.

"Smart lad," Sylaise's voice was hard and cold, just like the dagger she had in his back - he thought. "Now we're just going to slip inside and have a nice quiet chat, you and I. Aren't we?"

He lifted the latch for the door and spoke so his lips hardly moved at all, "This how you treat old friends?"

"We're not friends, Ebon," she countered and shoved the knife into his side sharply so he had to sidle into the door with a hiss of pain. "Thief."

"It wasn't like that, Sylaise," he tried to offer but she interrupted with a scoff.

"I don't want to hear it, you slinky little-" but he felt the pressure in his side suddenly lift as she made a slightly strangled noise.

Ebon turned and saw Sylaise's dagger arm was twisted rather cruelly behind her back, his partner's brown eyes were onyx in the shadows, hard and cold and he realized as Sylaise whimpered that her posture was the result of a fist twisted in the pale blonde hair that cascaded around her shoulders, her neck was craned back harshly. The woman tried to thrash but the grim grey figure did not lessen their grip and Ebon stepped carefully to block the scuffling pair from escaping his reach.

"Ease up, Dyl," he waited as the silent figure slowly lessend their grip to let Sylaise straighten. Her arm remained twisted and pinned and Ebon decided that was alright, they'd only break it if Sylaise tried to fight. Well, he hoped that Dyl would show their usual restraint.

Sylaise glared up at him, "Thief." She spat the word at him again, he sighed and wiped the scorn from his face.

"You knew what I was when we met."

"I thought you had a heart, you bast-ah!" her words turned to a cry as her head was yanked sharply backwards in warning.

"Manners," Dyl's face was still covered by the grey cowl but he easily heard the growled reprisal and Ebon's eyebrows rose in surprise - Dyl was a figure of few words and he was always caught unprepared when they chose to speak. Sylaise writhed for a moment, then stilled and nodded weakly in the iron grasp of her captor.

"What do you want?" The woman's voice was different now, the fight had gone out of it.

Ebon sighed and shook his head, "You just had to go and get involved with the most bloody and violent boss in the Frostlands, didn't you?"

Those green eyes widened at him again, "No, Ebon I didn't! Cagill's lying, I didn't rob him."

She tried to wriggle, Dyl held her tight but looked at Ebon and he saw the question in their eyes. He sighed and nodded, and suddenly Sylaise found herself free but disarmed. Ebon watched the dagger disappear into the furs but his eyes were on their target as she rubbed her shoulder and looked between them both quickly.

"Talk fast, Sylaise, my partner doesn't like to lose money." He watched Dyl hop up onto one of the crates and settle cross-legged with the relaxed readiness of a cat.

"There wasn't any gold, it was a bad job from the start and it was supposed to kill us all. I'm the last, the only one left who knows he set us up. I," she hesitated, looking between them again with fear, "I hid but he found out that I escaped and now he's trying to kill me too."

"Stars, Syl," Ebon breathed out the words, staring. "Can you prove it?"

"Proof? What, you want me to testify with the magister? I'm a whisper-flit," Sylaise shook her head, and the point of one of her ears poked through the long curls for a moment. "They'll have my hands - or tongue - to keep me from casting."

Dyl growled softly and Ebon saw the eyes dart away from the woman before them and up into the rafters; he ignored them and stepped closer to Sylaise, "This isn't Evyrdell, they don't hunt mages here."

"Says the man who took a bounty on my head," she snapped but there wasn't any fire in the words. She sounded tired and afraid, small.

Before he could answer, there was a sound and Sylaise yelped as Dyl's boot caught her behind the knee and she fell. Ebon threw himself over the little woman as his partner sprang up atop the crate they'd been using for a seat and flung something up. He didn't see much else, but felt the arrow hit his shoulder and glance off the armor; he heard a few more noises, grunts and scrabbling and then a shout of alarm that made him crane his neck just in time for a pair of bodies to plummet from the ceiling down onto the hardpacked dirt floor. He never really could believe how fast Dyl could move, but now neither moved and after a long moment's wait, he rose and hurried over with a hand on the hilt of his own blade. In the dim light, it was hard to differentiate colors but he made out the furs and recognized his partner was partly pinned by a short, muscular figure that was moving sluggishly to pick itself up. Ebon pulled the heavy form up by the shoulder, it was a dwarf and how the stocky form had wedged himself in the rafters was anyone's guess but one of Dyl's daggers was buried deep and high in his chest, and his breathing sounded wet and pained.

Dyl rolled over and pulled themself into a crouch and glared, "Name."

"Eck-hart," the man wheezed painfully.

"Why?" Ebon's partner hissed again and they reached for the dagger.

"Stricklyn," the man managed weakly, trying to pull away from the grasping hand.

"Poacher." Ebon knew his partner well, he knew what would come next and he reached down to place a finger on the hilt of the knife so that the two looked at each other. Dyl's eyes narrowed into another glare but their hand dropped away, leaving the blade in the man's chest.

"The man's no ally of Cagill," Ebon told the other, this Eckhart, with a carefully patient tone, "and my partner doesn't compete for coin. What were your orders?"

"Half-orc," the dwarf's head was lolling to the side but he blinked and glared up at Ebon still with what little strength remained in him, "blue eyes with black armor. Bounty on your ass."

Dyl looked up at Ebon, he looked down at them; before either could speak or act, they heard the door open and then slam shut and Ebon glanced back to where Sylaise had been. She was gone. There was a gurgle and groan, then the sound of liquid spattering on the ground. He looked down; Eckhart was dead at his feet, his throat slit cleanly and Dyl was cleaning their dagger on the dead man's shirt with a casual air.

"Really?" He frowned but his partner shrugged and put the dagger back in its sheath before they started to rummage through the dead man's pockets and take anything of value - the coin purse looked light but the crossbow he'd dropped was good quality, made of dark wood that had been recently tended to. Ebon picked it up and slung it over his shoulder then accepted the quiver of bolts that Dyl wordlessly offered. As the looting continued, he glanced around the building they found themselves in and took quick stock of the warehouse. The space was stacked with crates and barrels but usually these sorts of places weren't in the very heart of the town, he was contemplating this when he noticed that the crates had markings on them that made his heart sink - the crest branded into the wood was for the Northern Guard, which was in itself an extension of the army - and they were standing in the middle of all this gear and goods with a dead man at their feet.

Dyl shoved something into his hands as they stood and clambered back up to the window; he noticed how clumsily they moved and winced in sympathy as he reminded himself they'd taken the dead man's weight in that fall. He glanced down at the rolled up parchment in his hands, opened it to read and groaned as the largely printed text came into view.

"WANTED - Dead or Alive

For the robbery and murder of Lord Argos Haverthorn.

Ebon Dornekson

100 gold sovereigns."

The artist who had created the image that sat between the accusation and his name had done a good job, Ebon realized with a sinking heart; there was no way he could pretend this wasn't him. Somebody, somewhere, had gotten a good look at him, but the question was if that was in Castlidon or not. He glanced up but Dyl was already crawling out the window.

"Alright, but a hundred gold pieces isn't too shabby!" He managed to joke before he pulled the bear fur over his head and hurried to follow, squeezing his form through the window with far less grace than his companion. They didn't answer so he followed Dyl down the alley and then up another street before stooping and pulling a grate from the side of a wall and dropping down into the darkness without a word. Ebon followed, landing with a splash in the dank smelling sewer tunnel. Reaching up to pull the grate back into place before he followed the rapidly retreating footsteps of Dyl deeper into the dark. He always found it interesting following them in the dark, his own eyes found the shape of the tunnel without issue but his companion had no inherited gift for sight that he knew of; yet that never seemed to give them even a moment of hesitation. It would be a long and unpleasant trek back to safety now.