Part 4... _________________________ <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CNate%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><link rel="themeData" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CNate%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx"><link rel="colorSchemeMapping" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CNate%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml"><style>  </style> Andwyn was in no mood to deal with any more troubles when he left Lois’ room, but he felt it was his duty to return with his report to Lord Thomas. On his way, he tried to think of some way he could skip around the information about Lois drawing him into a word trap, the very same method that he had been sent to prevent in any other messenger. No matter how Andwyn minced words in his head, though, he always returned to the one certainty; he needed to tell Thomas everything. It would hardly be possible to explain why he didn’t fear Lois’ threat anymore if he didn’t. It didn’t take Andwyn long at all to reach Thomas’ apartments. Between his physical ability to fly, and the keeps ability to reshape at a whim, he was there far faster than reality should have allowed. He was long since used to this, however, and so dropped to the floor, against his usual instinct to cling to the ceiling, and was quickly recognized and announced by the Duke’s guards. The Duke was sitting at his desk when his spy master entered. He looked weary, but there was no doubt in Andwyn’s mind that sleep had not been on his liege’s own mind for a good while. He still wore most of the garb that he used on those occasions when he heard the townsfolk’s complaints, and it was still relatively orderly, showing that the Duke had not attempted to catch any rest since doing so early in the afternoon. “Good news, my liege,” Andwyn said as he entered. Thomas leaned forward to listen, but didn’t move to interrupt. “I believe that Lois is here with no intentions on your life, and that it would take extreme circumstances to force him to change that opinion.” Thomas looked relieved, but still wasn’t satisfied. “What have you found that makes you suspect this?” he asked. Andwyn sighed, then started the arduous task of retelling his visit with Lois in as much detail as his memory could recall, including the humiliating loss of the battle of wits, and the special message that Lois had sent along to Thomas. “And what makes you trust this?” Thomas said. “It seems to me that he had fully defeated you by that time, and knew exactly what you would want to hear. How do you know that he did not tell you what you wanted to hear?” Thomas was obviously somewhat annoyed that Andwyn seemed so quick to trust this man without true cause. “First, Lois doesn’t care about whether or not his target knows he is coming,” Andwyn explained. “In the past, he has intentionally given hints of his intentions in preparation for a job. Fear is one of his greatest weapons, and if someone suspects that they are going to die soon, their actions will become less founded on reality, and more on Lois’ preferred battlefield: the mind.” Andwyn waited a moment for this fact to settle in before going on to the next reason. “Then again, I know better than to think you would be satisfied with what an assassin tells you. Perhaps you will be put more at ease when you learn what Lois chronicled for us in his own records over these past few weeks.” Andwyn flicked out a small cylindrical case from its hiding place somewhere in his strange suit of clothing. He opened the scroll case and tapped it lightly until the contents slid out and unrolled partially on the table. “These are pages, copied from the journal of Vincent Lois,” Andwyn said, taking some pride in the small bit of redemption. “He left it on the table when he left to run, and I did a bit of reading during the wait. It seems that he is as much in search of a home as many of the other refugees we have received this past year, if for slightly different reasons.” Thomas looked over the pieces of parchment, noting the tight curls of the letter and the fine calligraphy that the assassin used. He had not been aware that this man had an education, but the quality of his writing looked almost like that of nobility. “I suppose you think Lois will not note the absence of a few pages of his journal?” Thomas asked as he scanned the contents. “I did not take the originals, sir,” Andwyn assured him. “I used a new concoction that Pascal brewed up recently. When placed on a paper and pressed against another page, it will make an exact duplicate of the original.” Thomas nodded slightly in approval, thick brow rising slightly as he read over a particularly interesting section of the page. “Very good, Andwyn,” he said at length. “I trust your judgment in this. Still, I would like to be able to be more certain of his loyalty before giving him any sort of confidence.” Andwyn nodded. “I have thought similar things myself,” he admitted. “As I see it, though, if you want to see his dedication, send him on a far northern patrol where he will be likely to see some action.” Thomas looked up from the page for a moment. “I thought we had discussed that. It was determined that Lois would see it as being sent away.” “That was determined in the case of us stationing him to the north for a long period of time. He would know immediately that you were trying to be rid of him. Send him far north on a long patrol, not a station, and he would be far more likely to think of it as a challenge, and if appearances hold, an opportunity to demonstrate loyalty.” Thomas nodded, dark brow furrowed as he thought. “Very well. I assume you would advise this action to be taken as soon as possible?” “After the Curse takes him,” Andwyn replied. As Thomas began to ask, Andwyn clarified. “Lois is likely to take it as a challenge, but it is not certain that he will. If he does react against it, we need to know what he looks like so that he can be tracked.” The possibility of failure made Thomas’ expression sour some, but he still nodded. “Very well, then. Tell George to prepare an able patrol group for a journey up north, and explain what we have discussed here. With luck, he won’t like it, but he won’t come up here to argue the point himself, either.” Andwyn chuckled slightly. “With luck, Lois is completely earnest,” he added. “He is not the sort of man that you find seeking to swear his loyalty very often. He has a presence, an undeniable self-assuredness that would work simply beautifully in any negotiation situation. When it comes down to any one person and Lois over a negotiating table, Lois never loses.” “Keep that in mind, Andwyn,” the Duke cautioned. “Where we are now, and where we may yet go with this man may essentially put him at a negotiating table with us. I don’t want him to walk away with more than we can stand to give.” Andwyn nodded. “Understood, sir. I’ll make sure that we can afford to give whatever we offer, if it comes to that. With luck, all he will need is a home…” “With luck, Andwyn. I just hope luck is with us in this case.” The horse lord coughed to clear his throat, looking at the bat with tired eyes. “Get some rest, Andwyn. I think we both could use it after a day like today.” “Yes, sir. My spies will be watching Lois; we’ll make sure he stays where we can find him.” Andwyn hopped out the door on his claws and sighed. It had been a long day, even for his usually nocturnal body. Perhaps he could take a few hours to sleep off the day without wrecking his sleep pattern entirely… * * * * November 25, 707 CR Lois moved quietly through each part of his warm-up routine, more contemplatively than usual. He moved slowly, but no less skillfully as he switched back and forth between differed styles, a guard he had set for himself to make sure that he would be able to switch rapidly between those styles. It served him well; his mind was elsewhere at the moment, thinking over what had happened the night before. He had outthought Andwyn the night before, but the fact that the spy had been able to sneak up in him at all was troubling. Truly, he could have been dead before he even realized that there was anyone there. He had been off his guard, something that never happened before he began his self-imposed retirement. He didn't want to think about the implications. He thought that it was obvious what the main implication was: he had been away from the assassin's trade for too long. He had been entirely honest last night; he knew he didn't want to go back, but he also had no intention of hanging up his blades anytime soon. He sighed and dove into a faster section of his routine, trying to focus on his breathing to distract from his wayward thoughts. He had no real success, as he inevitably came back to the pressing question at hand. How was he going to recover his well-schooled, cautious manner? He could rail on himself fondue time being to keep his mind focused, but it always took real, present danger to keep his mind sharp, and that was something that he was currently short on. Something finally distracted him, and he spun around into a solid defensive position, facing the person who had stood behind him. The boy who stood behind him was far from being a threat, but Lois allowed him a pause to make sure that he wasn't trying anything. After a moment of awkward silence, Lois stepped back to show that he meant no harm. "Who are you?" Lois was the first of the two to ask, but he had a while to wait before the boy recovered enough of his breath to say anything. "Wow," was the first thing out of his mouth. Immediately realizing how stupid this made him look, he shook his head in an attempt to collect his thoughts. "I—I’m Paul,” he finally responded. Vincent Lois grinned slightly at the boy, dropping both daggers into their positions at either side of his body. He took a deep breath before speaking. He finally made the choice to try to make another acquaintance. After his first encounter, he had not been so thoroughly put off that he didn’t want to talk to the strange-colored fox again, but it had been unsettling. He hoped that this boy would be much more… normal. “My name is Vincent Lois,” the assassin finally said. “You apparently have never seen my style of combat before; that was hardly my best stuff, or my most flashy.” Lois generally didn’t advertise his skills, but he felt reasonably certain that this boy was simply curious because he thought it looked good, and had no real cares about what it was generally used to do. The boy seemed sheepish now that he realized that he had been found out. He had hoped perhaps that the man wouldn’t have noticed how closely he was watching the moves he used; now he found that not only had he been found out, but he had been entranced by something that Lois didn’t even consider very impressive. Before he could try to work his way out of the hole he had made for himself, however, someone else approached from behind, causing Paul to turn around. The person wasn’t looking at him; instead he was looking at Lois with an odd smile on his muzzle. Lois gave a curt nod to the new arrival. He was significantly shorter than the assassin; Lois was tall, true, but the man was almost a full foot under Lois’ impressive height at five and a half feet. He was some sort of cat morph, with long whiskers and tall, pointed ears covered in tan fur spotted in darker colors all around his face. It was undeniably the face of a predator, and even at his disadvantage of height, he wielded his vicious look effectively. The assassin, however, remained stubbornly unfazed by the strange, deep eyes that watched him. Instead, he returned the predator’s smile with one of his own, resting his left wrist nonchalantly against the hilt of one of his daggers. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Lois asked after a few moments of silence passed between the two. He kept his most sincere smile on his face, although he also made a point to keep his hand on his dagger at all times as well. The cat seemed intent on staring right through him, though, so Lois spoke again. “Whatever species you have become gets my fullest marks for its predator’s eyes,” he commented. The cat widened his smile, showing quite a few of his impressive teeth. “You simply owe it to my interest in unique combat styles,” he responded. Despite vicious appearances, his voice sounded quite calm, and oddly free of any rumble to give evidence to changed vocal chords. “As for my form, it is a northern cat that lives in the area of the Keep. They call it a lynx.” Lois nodded. “A student of combat, then?” he asked, filing the latter information away without comment. “More of an enthusiast,” the cat replied waving a paw dismissively. “The greatest reason that I remain simply an enthusiast is that I lack the skills necessary to become anything more. I am a fighter in my own right, but I do not adapt my own style well.” He gave a chagrined grin before continuing. “I like studying other styles simply because I cannot use them myself. It allows me the opportunity to continue wondering at things, even here at Metamor.” Lois couldn’t keep from laughing outright at this, and even the lynx gave a chuckle. Paul, however, had made a marked retreat from the cat that had stood beside him a moment before and only managed to chuckle weakly at the conversation not meant for him. He felt uncomfortable, and even a bit downhearted at the fact that his own conversation had been so abruptly interrupted. He didn’t have the courage to try to cut back in, though, so he simply watched the two new acquaintances as they spoke. “Well, if you would like an opportunity to wonder, I have not had a good sparring session in a good while,” Lois said, putting slight emphasis on implying his superiority. The other man chuckled and carefully removed his sword from his scabbard. It was a broadsword, ornate enough so it was obvious that it was not from the Keep’s armory, but simple enough that it showed that its owner was not one who relied on excessive flare in fighting. The cat held it loosely in one hand and lazily wove it around his body, showing considerable skill. “I have no appointments for the day, so I don’t suppose facing you for a while will do me much harm,” the lynx said. “If you are short on time at all, though, you might want to clear your schedule for an unexpected visit to the healer’s.” Lois grinned and stepped away towards the sparring circles to one side. At this time of the morning few of them were in use, so he easily found one with no one else fighting around it. He stepped into the circle, drawing his daggers one at a time as he did so. “I must warn you,” he said. “I did not bring any practice blades with me, and I have nothing with which to cover the edges of my blades. If you trust me, I promise to not do any more damage than your healer’s can fix within a few days’ time.” The cat snorted in a feline chuckle. “I trust you with your sharp blades if you trust me with mine,” he responded. “I make no promises though; with luck, you’ll recover from whatever I do to you before Yule arrives.” Lois waved a finger at his opponent reprovingly. “It may be a skill to be able to strike your enemy,” he said, “but it takes even greater skill for a warrior to miss his opponent when he wants to.” “Now you’re not making any sense,” the cat said, smiling viciously and stepping into the circle with Lois. “Whoever said anything about me wanting to miss you?” Paul had already begun to feel better after being so rudely interrupted before. The two men had begun to circle around each other, and the boy finally concluded that a good fight was better than an awkward conversation anyway. Since so few people were there to watch, Paul easily found a vantage point from which he could see the fight in detail. Neither opponent had so much as tested the other yet; both seemed intent on finding a better position solely by using footwork. Every now and then one or the other would step into an advantageous position to gauge the other’s reaction, but each of these attempts was dealt with through positioning and stance shifts. After a few minutes of this, Lois finally spoke up. “So, are you ready yet?” The cat grinned. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he responded. Lois faked a look of shock. “Well, then, we’ve been wasting time.” He continued circling for a little bit, but he seemed to be widening his circle, giving his opponent a much wider berth. The cat noticed, but taking a half-step in was his first, and last, mistake of the battle. Lois closed the rest of the distance between the two before the cat could even react, and the scream that he let loose in advance of the attack sent the cat into a panicked paroxysm. The lynx was on the ground before he could even recover, pinned with one arm beneath him and his sword almost a foot from his face, too far to be reached with Lois’ knee pressing his arm down. The two daggers that Lois held were each pressed against the cat’s neck, shaving off strands of fur for every second he rested them there. “Yield?” Lois asked simply. The cat could hardly control his stuttering enough to give him an intelligible response. Lois grinned and stood, letting his opponent scramble back to his feet and take his sword back. The cat stood there for a few moments, replaying the scene in his head, trying to figure out how he had been caught so totally off guard by Lois’ scrambling attack. His fur, although it had been well-groomed before, was now a mess of hairs standing on end in no particular order. The assassin himself finally broke the silence that followed. “By the way, I don’t think that the two of us have been properly introduced,” he commented. “My name is Vincent Lois.” He held out a hand for them man to take, and the feline fighter shook it weakly. “Alex,” he responded. “Well then, Alex, I really have little else to do with myself today. If you’re interested in trying a few more times, I would certainly welcome the challenge.” Alex nodded, but he was, for the moment, too busy recovering from a near heart attack to seriously consider meeting Lois again for a few minutes. He obviously had no intentions of letting the opportunity get past him, though. He had to make sure that his opponent didn’t get the last word, especially in such a humiliatingly short fight as this first one had been. Once Alex had learned how to avoid a nervous breakdown when Lois’ launched his attack at him, he was rewarded by a quick switch from intimidation and strength to flexibility and mobility by his opponent. When he learned to counter that, Lois switched back to strength with a few variations to keep his opponent guessing. Every time Alex stepped into the ring, he stepped back out after facing a different attack strategy. This didn’t always translate into victory for the human. Every now and then Alex would work by Lois’ defenses, but it rarely happened more than once without Lois making the necessary adjustments to defeat Alex’s strategy at the very next opportunity. Their last fight, however, ended far differently from the others. Lois had long since stopped using the raw intimidation tactics on his opponent, and so the duels they had were now more focused on trying to be the last one standing than on trying to end the fight as quickly as possible. This was the third straight battle where the fight lasted longer than ten minutes, and Lois had started working closer and closer to Alex, showing remarkable reaction time by still blocking each attack in such close quarters. Suddenly, however, one of his daggers slipped right as he was about to block another close strike, and he barely had time to flinch to the side as the sword came straight for him. “Hold! Hold!” Lois yelled, dropping to his knees on the ground. He panted slowly and reached for the pain in his back. He already knew what he would find there before he reached back, but touching the wound just confirmed his suspicions. “I’m going to need a healer,” he announced quietly, slowly standing to his feet. He could feel the wound slowly bleeding under his light clothing, and he knew that there would be a bright red blotch on the side of his shirt. Alex grabbed him by the shoulder. “Hold on, make sure you’re going to be all right before you go anywhere,” he advised. Lois winced and grabbed at the cat’s hand. “I’m not planning on going anywhere, except to find somewhere to sit,” Lois said hoarsely, pulling the paw off of his shoulder. He was doing remarkably well with the pain, but Alex could see that it was bugging him. He had enough difficulty concentrating that he even stumbled as he walked, something absolutely foreign to the powerful, agile man that he had just been fighting. “Someone get a healer over here!” Alex announced. Paul was already off at a run before Alex even finished his sentence. Lois finally arrived at a stone bench where he had left his things. By this point he was shivering; the weather had been cold ever since the cold snap just a few days before Lois had arrived, but now he began to feel it more than ever. He felt it so much that he draped his coat over his shoulder without even trying to do anything about his wound. Still, shock kept him from getting any relief, and he felt the cold slowly stealing away his consciousness. !DSPAM:4c5a3944273502041213656!