That Famous Happy End

Quality Assurance

Josh groaned, covering his face with one hand as he rolled away from the invasive, far too bright sunlight streaming through his bedroom windows. Oh, yeah, he thought fuzzily as he came face-to-face with a head of dark, tousled hair and a pretty face slack with sleep.

Blinking a few times, he tried in vain to remember the man’s name—to no avail. All he remembered was the girls’ dragging him out for their weekly night of bowling, too much beer because his birthday had been Wednesday, and pretty green eyes and a shy smile.

He’d picked up his mystery man at the bowling alley, he remembered that much. That didn’t mean anything though, just that his coworkers were going to give him hell on Monday. The rest of the night was a blur, but it wasn’t hard to extrapolate, given the aches he felt every time he moved and the complete lack of clothing between the two of them.

Josh stayed where he was for another few minutes before deciding he needed to get up, if only to use the bathroom. A shower would probably do him wonders, as well as brushing his teeth and popping some aspirin for what little relief it would give his throbbing head.

Hesitating, he frowned at his guest, before deciding it was too early to deal with waking a stranger who he’d managed to sleep with but never managed to learn the name of. Sliding out of bed slowly, Josh winced when the movement caused his head to throb even more insistently. Scratching idly at his hip, Josh padded across the bedroom, grabbing a mostly dry towel from where it was draped over his closet door.

Padding across the room, he shook his head at the clothing he and Mr. Mystery had left scattered across the floor. Jeans, boxers—and was that a plaid shirt? Really, plaid?

Snorting in quiet amusement, Josh glanced back at the bed, feeling rather like he was sneaking out. Only, it was his apartment. He couldn’t sneak out. Still, he’d be lying if he didn’t hope that his half-remembered guest woke up and left while Josh was showering. He wasn’t a fan of his infrequent one-night stands hanging around the next morning.

Slipping into the bathroom, he shut and locked the door behind him, then started the hot water running. Digging through his medicine cabinet, he quickly found and swallowed three aspirin with the help of a handful of tepid water from the sink tap.

He didn’t begin to feel more awake until halfway through his admittedly longer than usual shower. Coffee next, definitely, Josh decided as he ducked under the stingingly hot water to rinse the soap off. Coffee, and then he’d roust his mystery man and show him out. After which he’d make a wonderfully greasy breakfast with sausage, bacon, eggs—

Josh winced, snapping his hand away from his neck as the dull ache he’d been feeling there blossomed into a sharp, painful twinge. That hurt, that hurt a lot. Damn it, he hated when he got stuck with biters who bit too hard. Second only to guys who couldn’t keep their fingernails trimmed and liked to dig in during sex.

Making a face, Josh forced himself back under the water; he really didn’t want to end up at the doctor’s office because he hadn’t properly cleaned out the bite wound. Dismissing it—he’d worry about that possibility if it came to be reality—Josh finished his shower slowly, enjoying the hot water until the need for coffee finally drove him out.

Toweling his hair quickly, Josh ran a hand over his chin, gauging the amount of stubble. He could wait and shave Monday, he decided. It was Saturday, and he determined to be lazy today. Drying off, he winced when the pain in his neck flared again when he ran the tower over the spot roughly.

Jesus, mystery man must have taken a nice chunk out of his neck. Josh scowled, moving to the bathroom sink and wiping the mirror above it clean—or, well, streaky. Lifting his chin, he peered at his neck curiously.

The hell? Josh stared at the twin puncture marks on his neck, both red and raw and far too small and innocuous looking to be causing as much pain as they were. They looked infected, which probably shouldn’t be a surprise considering how much bacteria was in the human mouth.

It had to be some sort of sick joke, Josh decided, scowling at his reflection in the mirror. He’d brought home someone who thought they were one of the heroes in that sparkly vampire series or something. He should be lucky his bed wasn’t covered in glitter.

Oddly, he didn’t remember seeing fangs on mystery man—but he hadn’t really been looking.

Shaking his head, Josh finished drying off quickly and wrapped the towel around his waist. Maybe Mr. Mystery was still passed out and could answer the question of what the hell was wrong with him.

Josh wasn’t that lucky. His bed was empty, and the stranger’s clothes—less a sock half-hidden behind a corner of his dresser—were gone. Mystery Man had actually made Josh’s bed, something he only did when his mother visited.

It was probably better this way, Josh thought, throwing his towel at the closet door and padding naked to his dresser. No awkward questions and he didn’t have to deal with the weirdo again.

Coffee, he needed coffee and breakfast, and then he could do nothing but watch movies or play games all day.

*~*~*

Josh resisted the urge to tug at the hem of his turtleneck sweater as he headed to the back of the second-floor cubes. He waved to Elena, but she didn’t look much more awake than he felt as she slowly went about booting up her PC and taking the call-forwarding off her phone.

She did give him a quick smirk; she knew what the turtleneck meant, though in this case it was slightly different than what she thought.

The bite mark wasn’t healing very quickly, and though the swelling and redness had gone down, it still hurt whenever Josh touched it. Or whenever he turned his head too quickly, or if he shrugged too carelessly, and it really was a giant pain in his ass. He had it bandaged now, but having gauze pressed against it just made Josh want to scratch at it.

Dropping into his desk chair, Josh put his cup of coffee down and hit the start button on his computer. While it was booting, he stared blankly at the calendar pinned to his wall. L’Arc de Triomphe was displayed in black and white, the days of October laid out beneath it.

His computer chimed at him as it started, and he switched his attention back to it, clicking the email icon and mentally reviewing the few tasks he needed to finish from Friday. Not much—a few computer reformats from employees who’d just left, including one of the senior IT specialists who’d quit unexpectedly on Thursday, poached by a larger firm downtown.

His email had only just opened when his boss stuck his head into Josh’s cube.

“Morning, Josh,” Steve said, flashing him a smile beneath his close-cropped mustache. “Listen, I’ve got a job for you. Perry was going to take care of it, but that’s not happening now.”

“Right,” Josh said, used to the way that Steve didn’t really bother with pleasantries. Perry had left a lot of unfinished tasks when he’d left last week; the general consensus in the IT department was good riddance. “What is it?”

“Guy’s starting today,” Steve said, shrugging dismissively. “He was working out in Connecticut, but moved back here. You’ll have to reset his server connections and that sort of thing, so he can access things again.”

“Oh, right, that quality control guy,” Josh said, vaguely remembering it being mentioned at the last department meeting.

“His name is Quinn,” Steve said, gesturing up towards the third floor. “He’s sitting where Diana used to sit. Should be pie, but let me know if you have any issues.”

“Will do,” Josh said, pulling out his notepad. “I’ll head up in a minute.”

“Good,” Steve said, then disappeared again, presumably back to his office.

Josh jotted down a few notes—Quinn, Diana’s old cube, server resets—and then quickly browsed through his email. Six messages, two which he could take care of quickly and one from Elena saying she was having printer problems again—her code for saying she wanted to gossip with him. Josh added her to the bottom of his list and locked his computer.

He much preferred his Monday mornings with fewer get-up-and-go tasks, but at least none of the things he had to do would be too difficult. Grabbing his cup of coffee, Josh headed for the nearest stairwell, climbing slowly and wishing he owned high-necked shirts that weren’t so thick and warm. Usually he was set with his long-sleeved button-up shirts in the office; wearing a thick sweater was going to make him over-warm and drive him crazy all day.

Diana’s old cube was two rows over and three down, and the new guy—new old guy, since he’d been working for Finach Tech Unlimited for longer than Josh—was already there, if the rustling of papers was anything to go by.

Josh tapped on the hard plastic edge of the cube wall as he reached the “doorway,” belatedly registering the dark hair and faded, stripped button-up shirt tucked into dark slacks that didn’t quite match. The man turned, and Josh could only stare, dumbfounded, as he came face-to-face with his mystery man.

Quinn was obviously just as surprised to see him—his eyes went wide and the stack of books and papers in his arms slipped from his grasp, toppling to the floor and spreading across the carpet haphazardly.

Quinn swore quietly—either from dropping the papers or running into Josh—and dropped awkwardly to his knees to gather the papers together while Josh gawked.

He’d been planning to chew his mystery man out if he ever ran into him again—but he’d never considered the possibility that he’d be working with the man. He couldn’t fight with Quinn, not here. He’d have to explain it afterwards, and Steve had said more than once in Josh’s hearing that personal matters stayed at home—and he had room to talk, since his wife worked on the first floor.

Probably the best thing to do would be to pretend that Friday night had never happened, no matter how much he’d rather yell at Quinn for chomping on him like he was a well-cooked steak. Or a raw steak, Josh supposed, then decided that thought meant he needed to drink his coffee more quickly.

Setting down his coffee and notepad on the nearby table top, Josh dropped down and helped collect the spilled papers, ignoring the nervous glances Quinn kept shooting him. He set his batch of papers on the counter top instead of handing them to Quinn, not sure he trusted Quinn to keep hold of them a second time.

“I’m Josh, down from IT,” Josh said, sticking out a hand. “I’m here to fix up your computer.”

“Oh, um.” Quinn juggled the papers to his left arm, shaking Josh’s hand quickly. “Thanks? Um, I’m Quinn.”

“Good to meet you,” Josh said, trying a smile. It seemed to work reasonably well, though Quinn still looked rather unsettled. “Have you booted up?”

“Yes,” Quinn said, gesturing to the PC tucked into the corner of the cube. The star-field screensaver was displayed, shooting little white stars across the edges of the monitor. “Go ahead? I was just putting stuff away.”

“What servers do you usually access?” Josh asked, dragging his coffee and notepad over to the computer. He took a seat in front of the keyboard, nudging the mouse to make it wake up. The desktop was completely blank—no icons or wallpaper, just the start bar.

“I’m not sure?” Quinn said hesitantly, inching closer but still keeping a fair distance between them. “I mean, the ones I have—there are a few I have mapped network drives to, but I’m not sure the ones my programs run on.”

“Alright, well, I’ll reset your mapped drives and then we can test your programs to make sure they all work,” Josh said, cursing Perry for leaving. If he’d stayed, Josh wouldn’t have gotten the nasty shock of running into Friday’s fling first thing Monday morning.

“Okay,” Quinn said, and Josh glanced over to see him running a hand through his dark hair, tousling it further. “I’m just—I’ll be right back.”

Josh nodded, breathing a quick sigh of relief when Quinn disappeared behind the cubical wall. He took a deep draw off his cup of coffee and got to work.

Quinn didn’t reappear for nearly fifteen minutes and Josh was only as far as fighting with the server for recognition, so he couldn’t even make a clean getaway. Not that he’d have been able to get that anyway, since he had to stay while Quinn tested his programs. Monday was really laughing at him today, probably getting back at him for all the fun he’d had Friday.

Quinn didn’t say anything, just quietly started to sort out the papers he’d dropped. He had a mug with him, so he’d probably taken the time to go get a fresh cup of coffee. Josh didn’t try to strike up a conversation like he usually did—the only conversation starters he could think up involved Friday night and he wasn’t going there.

Instead, he focused on doing his work as quickly as he could. He double-checked everything, making sure Quinn’s computer could access all the drives he’d saved as well as the web server where the intranet was hosted.

“Okay, can you show me the programs you need to check?” Josh finally asked, making Quinn startle again. Was he usually that jumpy, Josh wondered as he stood to give Quinn back his chair, or was it just Josh’s proximity?

“There are only a few,” Quinn said quietly, perching on the edge of the chair. Josh casually put a bit more space between them, grabbing his coffee and fiddling with the cup as Quinn opened a series of programs with quick, sure mouse clicks. A few of them he immediately closed, apparently satisfied with a cursory look.

“These two don’t connect,” Quinn finally said, glancing back at him uncertainly.

“Can I—” Josh gestured with his fee hand towards the computer.

“Oh, right!” Quinn scrambled up, nearly knocking over the chair in his haste. Josh covered an inappropriate smile by taking another drink of coffee. Unfortunately, that finished the cup, and he regretfully tossed the empty cardboard cup in the trash can under the desk.

It didn’t take him long to fix the first program—the server settings were very transparent—but the second baffled him; the server settings were nowhere obvious and he’d never seen the program for more than a few seconds on some of the other quality assurance associates’ computers. Clicking through random menus didn’t help, and neither did the vague and useless help documents attached to the application.

Quinn was back to sorting papers, and Josh almost felt bad about that except he hadn’t made Quinn drop them. Quinn glanced up, meeting Josh’s eyes when Josh swiveled the desk chair around to face him.

“Do you know where the server settings are hidden for this program? I haven’t worked with this one much and I can’t find it,” Josh said, smiling sheepishly. Quinn stared at him oddly for a moment but shook his head slowly.

“I don’t know,” Quinn said, frowning a little at the computer monitor. “I wasn’t there when it was first set up and I’ve had no reason to change them until now.”

“Okay,” Josh said agreeably, pondering his next move. Ask Steve, probably, and after that, Mike, the senior quality analyst.

“I’ll be back,” Josh said, standing up. “I’m going to consult with a few people. If you find anything else that won’t connect before I get back, just write it down and I’ll take care of it then.”

“Okay,” Quinn said, nodding a little in emphasis. He gave Josh a hesitant smile that Josh returned despite the way standing made the stupid bite on his neck throb dully. That would go away in a day or two, and then he could give up on the stupid high-collared shirts.

Snagging his notepad, Josh jotted down a few notes about the program, including the version number and license key, before ducking out of the cube and into the cube-lined hallway. He made his way to the stairwell slowly, absently greeting a few of his coworkers as went. Taking the stairs, Josh decided to stop by Elena’s desk first—that might actually brighten his day a little.

“Hey, Elli,” Josh greeted Elena, leaning on her desk. Elena slanted him a glare over the top of her monitor.

“Don’t call me that, Joshie,” Elena said, jabbing one immaculately polished fingernail at him. “Or you can’t come to lunch with us today.”

“Who’s us?” Josh asked, frowning at her. Carrie didn’t work Mondays and Ashley started three hours later than they did on every day except Friday.

“I’m going to get the new guy to come with. He’s about our age, and he seems like a good guy, even if he’s quiet,” Elena said confidently. No doubt she’d be able to convince Quinn; few people told Elena no. Josh’s theory was that it was out of a healthy respect for the length of her manicure that swayed people into agreeing to her demands.

“Okay,” Josh agreed, not willing to tell her no—both because of her deadly-looking fingernails but also because objecting would make Elena suspicious.

“Good,” Elena said decisively. “I’ll email you the particulars once he’s agree.”

“Sounds good,” Josh said, snagging a peppermint out of the crystal dish on the edge of her desk. “How was your weekend?”

“Boring,” Elena said, rolling her eyes and sitting back in her chair. She was wearing a dark blue pencil skirt with her ruffled white blouse and a pair of heels that rivaled her fingernails for deadly-looking. “Brad was out of town on law firm business and the girls were all busy with their houses or husbands or children. I swear I’m going to live in an apartment my entire life, Josh, and never get married or have children, it makes you boring.”

“You could’ve called me,” Josh said, though he’d thought Elena would be busy with Brad all weekend. For as much as she complained about Carrie’s investment in her husband and son and Ashley’s investment in her house, she was just as invested in her boyfriend. “I cleaned out my fridge, that’s how bored I was.”

“Really,” Elena said, a slow smirk curving her lips. She reached out and plucked at the sleeve of his sweater. “You sure look like you had a boring weekend.”

“I did,” Josh said, shrugging. “This is Friday’s aftermath—my weekend was boring after that.”

“You went out after the bowling alley?” Elena asked, her eyebrows rising in surprise. “You were trashed when we left.”

“I don’t remember very clearly, but I thought I pulled someone there?” Josh said, shrugging dismissively. Though that begged the question—how had Quinn ended up at their weekly bowling night, when he’d only started working today?

Elena shook her head at him but didn’t comment, waving him off when her phone started to ring. Josh took that to mean she’d grill him later—though hopefully not in front of Quinn at lunch; that would be awkward beyond belief.


The Prince, the Thief, and the Shadow Emperor

Ilya frowned, paused and turned. There was the path he’d been following, lined by trees, and more trees behind those. He turned back. The path continued more or less in a straight line, deeper into the forest. Trees, foliage, the rustle of leaves in the wind or the scurrying of critters, a few bird calls. Perfectly normal for a forest, as far as Ilya could tell, even for one named Black Forest.

Then why did the hairs on the back of his neck just rise?

He continued walking, cautiously, ears perked for any noise that was out of the ordinary, daring any of the shadows among the trees to step out on the path. It could be nothing—but his instincts, generally reliable though not truly honed by years of experience, said otherwise. Something was not quite right in this forest, and possibly the locals knew about it, because no one he’d met out on the road had followed him into the forest, and no one had come the other way so far, nor did anyone else seem to be coming.

And it could be that time had gotten away from him, but he hadn’t thought it was this close to dusk already. The light was quickly fading, along with the sounds of wildlife, which was odd, because the dark ought to bring out the night critters.

Perhaps things would have been very different if he’d turned back at this point, but he kept moving deeper into the forest. He ought to be halfway by now, surely it wouldn’t take much longer to reach the other side. There would be an inn, there, where he could rest for the night.

Darkness was closing in fast, now. He contemplated lighting one of his torches, but decided against making a perfectly visible target out of himself. He kept his hand on the pommel of his sword, stepped lightly and kept scanning his surroundings. The forest was becoming truly silent, his soft footsteps and the wind the only sounds now. No movement visible, no footsteps following him, no clink of armour or clothing scratching along bark. Nothing.

And yet, there was a sharp point pricking the back of his neck.

He froze, his blood running cold for a moment until he remembered to breathe and managed to remind himself that he had trained for this, he should be able to handle a simple mugging.

“I’ll be taking your pack, now,” a soft voice said behind him, the words rough but the accent strangely elegant, and it gave him a shiver quite separate from having a blade pointed at his neck. “If you value your life, you won’t turn around.”

Ilya smiled grimly, took a deep breath, and felt behind him—a sharp, bejewelled dagger, held by a man somewhat taller than himself dressed in dark, close-fitting garb that was riddled with belts and pouches and further weapons, some concealed, some not. Skin that was pale in the darkness under dark eyes and darker hair. The man was already reaching for Ilya’s belt, but he held the dagger at his neck and spun around, drawing his own sword in the process. He completed his turn in time to see his attacker jump back, eyes wide when the dagger wouldn’t budge and he had to let go of it or stay in Ilya’s range.

“What trickery…” the highwayman begun, his hand a blur as he whipped out a second dagger. Ilya narrowed his eyes, dropped the bejewelled dagger, focused on the man’s chest and lashed out. With a startled grunt and an ‘oof!’ the man flew through to the air to land on the ground at the edge of the trees, narrowly avoiding a branch sticking out. Ilya cursed softly. He should have aimed that throw.

“I take it you haven’t tried to rob a battle sorcerer before?” he said, advancing on the man as he struggled to get up. “A word of advice: don’t. It hurts.”

“Quite,” the highwayman said drily, anger lurking just beneath the surface. “You caught me by surprise, though—try to stop this!”

And he lunged forward, his last word turning in a snarl. Ilya tensed, blocked the highwayman’s path, but brought up his sword in a reflex anyway. It saved him. The highwayman barrelled right through his barrier, eyes glowing red, and was on top of Ilya. Their blades locked, Ilya lost his balance, and they crashed to the ground. Ilya’s breath was knocked out of him, but he pushed back immediately, managing to get a punch in and while the highwayman recoiled briefly he grabbed and rolled and reversed their positions.

“How?” he gasped, pushing his sword down until it rested on the highwayman’s neck. The highwayman tried to push the sword away with his own dagger, but Ilya shoved his knee onto the man’s elbow. “You don’t just break through a psi sorcerer’s defences.”

“I do,” the highwayman rasped and grinned. His eyes still glowed red, and now Ilya noticed another thing; he was blurry around the edges. And while he was still processing that, the highwayman melted away under him and he landed hard with his knees on the ground, his hands scrabbling for balance. The highwayman was nothing but smoke, rushing up around Ilya, and before Ilya could turn he felt the highwayman rematerialize at his back. Bright pain blossomed in the back of his head and he started to fall, but he was out before he hit the ground.

*~*~*

The light was warm and bright when he woke up, and there was something not quite right about that. He opened his eyes and lay blinking for a while, waiting for his head to make sense of what he was seeing and what he remembered. Sky. Clouds. A hint of trees at the edge of his vision. But he’d been in the middle of the forest when the highwayman had knocked him out—

He shot up, too fast, head spinning, and felt for his pack. His sword was there, his belt, but his pack and his purse were gone. Luckily he’d been travelling lightly so all that was missing was a backup set of clothes, food, and some cash. The clothes, he could do with until he got to the city. The cash, that would make things a little bit more difficult, but… He felt around in the lining of his breeches, and gave a sigh of relief. The highwayman hadn’t found his ring.

Ilya sagged down onto the ground for a moment, not looking forward to getting up and making his way to the inn which hopefully wouldn’t be too far away. Which reminded him… He looked up a bit, as far as he could without actually getting up. He was on the edge of the forest, in a ditch just off the side of the road. The main road, not the path he’d taken into the forest. Had the highwayman really dragged him all the way out of the forest? Why?

It was still early, to judge by the light and the lack of travellers. He turned his head and spotted a building in the distance, which was probably the inn. If he got up now, he could get to the inn in under half an hour, sleep for a few hours to make up for spending the night knocked unconscious, and then continue on to the city. He wouldn’t get there before nightfall, though, so he had to make sure to stop by a village. It wouldn’t do to spend the night out in the open with nothing but the clothes on his back.

He sighed and dragged himself up from the ground. He winced as the blood rushed down from his head. The back of his skull throbbed, and as he stood his something popped in his knee and he had to hop around for a bit to wait for the stabs of pain to dissipate. Damn it, his instructors had given him worse beatings than this, he ought to suck it up and start walking.

So start walking he did, favouring his left leg a little bit, though it was tempting to lift his leg. But he was still feeling wrung out from the night before, and in any case as soon as the thought occurred to him he could hear again the thin voice of Lady Bridhe, chewing him out for using his magic in such irresponsible, inappropriate ways. Limping it would have to be.

It took him longer than half an hour, but when he finally arrived at the inn he was relieved to see that it was a sturdy older building with bright windows, a homey courtyard, and a chimney that was smoking even this early in the day. There were a few early risers milling around the well and stables, and a woman sweeping the steps leading up to the front door. Ilya managed to suppress a wince as he ascended the steps with some difficulty, but considered the next one a lost cause, at the expression of pity on the woman’s face.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “I take it you went around the forest by night, sir?”

“Around?” Ilya said weakly. “No, I went through.”

“Through—” She sucked in a breath, briskly put the broom against the wall and grabbed his arm. “Come on, I’ll get you a chair and a hot meal.”

“I don’t have any money, but I can…” Ilya began, but she shushed him.

“I’m guessing as much, but don’t worry about it,” she said. “That bastard hasn’t put me out of business yet, I can spare some compassion for a traveller.”

Ilya didn’t press the issue; there would be time for that later. And right now a place to sit and a good meal sounded like a very good idea indeed. The woman gently pushed him down into a comfortable chair by a hearth, lit but crackling along sedately. He relaxed gratefully, watching the woman as she moved away to a bar along one wall of the inn’s main room. She looked to be not quite his mother’s age, greying a little but still attractive, with dark hair neatly gathered up under a white cap. As he watched, she opened a door and called something through, then turned back to the bar and rummaged behind it.

He let his eyes stray to the rest of the room; quite large, furnished with tables and chairs, and a handful of comfortable chairs such as the one he was sitting in around the fireplace. There were pictures on the walls, a couple of large windows with heavy velvet curtains, and a few more doors leading off to other parts of the inn. Some of the tables were occupied, but most of the room was empty.

“Here you go, sir,” the landlady said, putting down a flask and glass on a low table beside his chair. “This’ll warm you a bit while we’re waiting for your food.”

“Thank you, you are a godsend,” Ilya said, accepting the glass after she poured it for him. He downed it in one go, coughing a bit as the liquor hit the back of his throat. Blessed warmth spread through his chest and limbs. “Now, if you don’t mind I’ll be calling for my daughter,” the landlady said with a worried glance at his leg. “She has a bit of the healing touch, and frankly you look like you may need it.”

Ilya nodded; his leg did not feel right, no, and though he was pretty sure he did not have a concussion, his head was still throbbing. The woman left his side, skirts rustling, and went back out into the courtyard. She appeared a moment later, leaving the door open for a younger woman who Ilya would have guessed to be her daughter even if the woman hadn’t said so already.

The young woman winced when she saw Ilya, and knelt down beside him, carefully tracing his knee with her fingers. Her touch tingled, and Ilya looked up in surprise. “A touch of the healing,” the landlady had said, but this girl was a true healer—wasted in an inn like this. It was a miracle she hadn’t been swept up by some rich patron from the city, or even the King.

“This may hurt a bit,” she said, getting a firmer grip on his knees. Ilya gritted his teeth, though he knew that the real pain was still to come. And his legs had known their share of pain, so really he should be able to stomach this—

He almost kicked out when the healing magic flowed through his leg, and he knew that he’d been wrong, that his damn legs had never gotten used to the pain, that every time he went through this it was only worse. But it would be worth it, once she was done his leg would be better. Not truly healed, not that, ever—but better.

He sighed and grabbed the glass again when the woman let go. The drink helped soften the echoes of the pain, echoes he could still see in the woman’s eyes before she steeled herself and buried it. He smiled. She was a true healer, sure enough, if she could see his old injuries and distance herself from it.

“Thank you, miss…” he said. She smiled.

“Katarina,” she said, wiping her hands on the apron she wore over her dress as she stood. “Your head will be only a bump, but take it easy today, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She smiled again and walked away after an exchanged look with her mother. The landlady was looking at him in a most curious way, though, and she opened her mouth as if to say something but then thought the better of it.

“Sir,” she said instead, sitting down in the next chair. “If you don’t mind my asking, why did you travel through the forest?”

“Because it was the shortest route, or so I thought,” Ilya said and took another sip of his drink. “I hadn’t counted on the highwayman, though—when I get to Mór Cailean I’ll make sure His Majesty hears about it so he can do something about it.”

“Hm,” she said, again with that peculiar look. “You’re not from around here, sir, are you?”

“No, I’m from up north,” Ilya said. “Why?”

“Well, for one thing, most everyone who comes through here knows to stay away from the forest, especially at night,” she said. “It’s not just the highwayman—he’s been here two weeks, and though he’s made a handful of victims so far, and we have sent a message to the city already, he’s only a recent problem.”

“I… don’t follow.”

“I’ll start from the beginning—this inn is called The Emperor’s Last Rest. You see, this is the spot where King Melceir finally defeated Emperor Naghnall and his dark armies. But when they went to burn his body the next day, it was gone, and from that day on the forest turned darker and more dangerous. Folks who went in never came out, or came out mad. And in those days, the main road to Mór Cailean went through the forest, so it had a lot of traffic. In the end, everyone went around the forest, and the forest grew thicker and darker still. That’s when it started to be called the Black Forest.” She paused for a moment. “They say the Emperor’s spirit escaped to the forest and lingers there to this day.”

Ilya started to shake his head, but paused. “A highwayman is not an evil spirit,” he said, but remembered red eyes and smoke. Or had it been an illusion? If the highwayman was a shadow sorcerer, that would make sense, though he hadn’t heard of shadow sorcerers who could turn into shadows. “And I saw no other evidence of ghosts or spirits or the Emperor. Besides, the history books don’t mention this.”

“History books don’t know everything,” the landlady said. “My family has run this inn since the days of Melceir, and we know that that forest is not right. How that highwayman manages to survive in there, I don’t know, but I do know that it is no longer safe to even get close to the forest by night. You have been very lucky, I’d say. We’re all just waiting for the day when one of his victims turns up dead.”

She looked up, her face transforming as it lost the serious, worried expression in favour of a smile. “Ah, here’s your breakfast.”

A tall man quietly put down a plate on the low table, smiled at the landlady and left without a word.

“My husband,” the landlady said with a tilt of the head. “He’s a dear, but he won’t say a word unless he thinks it absolutely necessary. Fortunately, I usually talk enough for the both of us.” She stood. “I’ll let you eat in peace, and have a room made ready if you wish to rest some more.”

“Yes, please—a few hours should be enough,” Ilya said, already reaching for the food; the smell of it made his mouth water. “Thank you for everything.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she said with a little curtsy, and moved away to one of the other patrons.

Ilya ate his breakfast deep in thought. A haunted forest, though the worst thing he’d encountered was a highwayman who most likely was a rogue sorcerer. If the landlady had sent word to the city, a coven of battle sorcerers would most likely already by on the way. And even a rogue sorcerer could not outmatch a coven. It would not quench the superstitions, he was quite sure of that, but the forest would be a whole lot safer without that highwayman in it.

He knew the history, or most of it. Naghnall had been a sorcerer and self-proclaimed Emperor, who had conquered most of what was now Melceira and a good bit of Imria with an army that had either been created out of pure evil, or were slaves bound by Naghnall’s mental control over them. Despite his name, Naghnall had always been assumed to not be native to the region, because his magic did not follow the rules of Melceiran magic. As far as Ilya had been able to understand, it seemed to combine both shadow sorcery and psi sorcery. Where he did come from, no one knew, but he’d been intent on making Melceira his new home. Only after a long, arduous battle did Melceir and his followers manage to kill Naghnall, after which his army fell apart.

As far as Ilya knew, Naghnall’s body had been burned on the spot, but the inn’s landlady would probably argue that they would have said that anyway.

He couldn’t deny, though, that the highwayman’s strange brand of magic seemed to fit Naghnall’s type. But still, why would the incarnation of an evil sorcerer resort to mugging travellers?

With his breakfast finished he called over the landlady and asked her for writing implements and wax; then before she left again he asked her for her name.

“Eilidh Cormorran, at your service,” she said with a smile, and didn’t ask why. He called her over a second time when he was done with his letter, and showed it to her.

“I will be giving this to my father’s steward when I get to Mór Cailean,” he said, sealing the letter with the wax and pressing his ring into it. “He will make sure that you are reimbursed for my breakfast and the room I would like to hire for a few hours.”

Her eyes widened slightly at that, and Ilya guessed that she hadn’t suspected him to be of noble blood. And who could blame her; with the clothes he had on, dirty and slightly torn, he did not look like nobility.

“Thank you… milord,” she said after a moment. “Your room is ready, if you want it.”

“Yes, please,” Ilya said with a sigh. He pocketed the note and followed her out of the room and up the back stairs to a room that was not quite small though not quite large, and had a bed that may not have compared to the comfortable beds of the citadel of Droghedda, but it had him asleep within minutes of lying down.