RP:Taken For A Ride

Part of the Questionable Honor Arc

Background

A refreshing outing on the plains a couple of days south of Cenril turns into an unpleasant discovery, linked to recent events in Cenril's strife-afflicted underworld.

Thistle's Revenge and Katya's Jighitovka

Time was a passing blur of pain and too little sleep. The world narrowed down to the compound, training, Katya and Thlag. Even so, Thistle had taken a full day for her own business (which had turned out to be a wasted venture in its entirety), and then a second that was supposed to have been spent in a useful fashion that she would have a stock of useful herbs on hand, both to make poison for her arrows and to be prepared for injuries in their upcoming raid. Nothing was ever simple, and by the time she'd returned it'd been nightfall, and she the worse for wear. The next day, cross and fed up with her weakened bow arm, she'd approached Katya with the idea of taking the beast and Katya's own horse out. Which was why Thistle had set grim-faced to the task of learning the mind of the stupid thing. Within the city the beast didn't want to walk straight, didn't like the narrow roads or the numerous people. So they'd gone out of the city. Thistle'd had to blindfold the damn thing and lead it out. Over the bridge, which was a nightmare and a half, and then to a less crowded pathway that Thistle insisted on taking. There was more in her mind than the horseback riding, though she hid it in part from Katya. Her days spent outside the compound seeking to redress previous half-started projects had netted her other information related to Byechni, things that she intended to follow through on. It was a long ride, especially with a fussy horse whose fastest gait seemed to be a horror of a trot that jarred Thistle something awful. She was sure the petulant creature was doing it on purpose. It apparently hated everything in the whole world except food and sulking. It was lazy, prone to nipping should she turn her back while on the ground, and had the sensitivity of a dead dog. That was how the first day of riding was spent, and Katya's colorful commentary had become worth throttling her for by the time they stopped for sleeping. As was usual for the two of them, things became friendlier with an excessive quantity of alcohol at the night's start, and between sleep and watch Thistle found herself refreshed and prepared for the second day. At that point, the terrain flattened out before them, the irregularities of the hilly region smoothing into a broad sweep of land that strongly reminded Thistle of her home. The climate was a little more even throughout the year seeing how the coast was so near, but despite the southern location and weather there were many similar plants. The animals were similar. It would've been near a memory of home, but the company was about as different as it could get. Which, as it so happened, was why Thistle had agreed to take the last shift, the one that went from night to morning. The memory of water being flung in her face was one she hadn't quite managed to forget, and she'd finally summoned up the courage (and bad temper) to attempt a recreation of her first morning with Katya: roles reversed, of course. In her hand was a bladder of water, the edge of the horizon hinting at light without yet showing the sun's glow. Thistle had to be careful, lest Katya wake up before she had her chance. Or actively sense Thistle's approach and spoil the surprise. Face shut down with intense concentration, Thistle approached Katya's sleeping form with a bladder of water; revenge was paramount in her mind, and the need for someone else to be as Soul-taken miserable as she was.

Katya had enjoyed the previous three days. On the first day, when Thistle had been wandering the city, Katya and Thlag had spent a profitable day betting and competing with their fellow mercenaries, in dagger toss and and spear throw. It had let the fiery elf recover from some of the welts and bruises Thlag had inflicted on her. Thlag's nose, too, was no longer anywhere near as swollen. On the second day Katya retrieved her heirlooms from Gerard, whom had aided her in procuring the services of a local enchanter to assist in polishing and repairing minor damage to her inherited scimitar and runed buckler. And yesterday, oh how funny that had been, with the blinkered nag "Darling, that is being horse, not dog. Is for riding, not leading." The near catastrophe at the bridge, when the nag had nipped a larger horse, had left the elf chuckling for minutes. Katya's own black gelding 'Sumerki' was saddled in Rus style with wooden frame and prows, the elf's body shifting comfortably with Sumerki's measured trot. So good was Katya's perverse humour by the end of the day, especially with vodka and the prospect of flat plains to greet them on the morrow, that the elf slept like a log. Until the dream involving the lads of the satin hall ended with a sudden splash of water. Katya awoke immediately, rolled to the side and off her bedroll, collecting up her scimitar and buckler. There was something catlike to the movement, but it wasn't the grace, really: it was more the hissing and bedraggled state of the elf's drenched silver hair that gave the scene a feline quality. In the space of a few seconds, Katya realised they weren't under attack, and blinked. For once, the elf was without witty repartee, and it took a moment's rewiring of the brain for Katya to say with a certain amount of gravitas and dignity "...Qarashenka, you are horrible bitch! I was at least poking you before I splashed you with water!" followed a moment later by a wry "I am very glad Thlag is not here. Orc'suka would have been laughing for hours."

"Between us, then," Thistle said, a sliver of teeth showing through her quite evil grin. Apparently satisfied that she'd given someone else a form of complaint, she turned away to ferret out rations for the both of them. As if replaying that morning, she tossed Katya a stick of dried meat and wizened fruit along with it. There was a fresh wedge of cheese, curtesy of Thlag, which Thistle was quite pleased about. It wasn't the dried curds she'd learned to make as a child for long days of riding, but it was good enough in its own right. She broke off her own stick and started chewing, glancing over at the Beast as if he might have devised a way to break free of his hobbles and wander off. With Pojin, Thistle wouldn't have worried overmuch about leaving him free to graze overnight, but with the Beast there was a chance that he'd take his bad temper elsewhere. That wasn't acceptable just then. "You gonna show me those tricks you keep bragging about?" Asked once she'd cleared her mouth of food, Thistle looked back to Katya with a dare in her eyes. Sure, there'd be business at day's end, but before then Thistle fully intended to enjoy herself.

Katya grins and drops her weaponry to pluck the tossed breakfast out of the air "See, I knew you were being vindictive bitch deep down! I make right choice for sibling!" Katya bounces to her feet and stretches "I had been thinking about it, darling, but I was worried..." Katya's smirk suggests many nuances to her next statement "...that you and your riding goat would become jealous of the Rus jighitovka" Katya makes a short sequence of shrill whistles, and Sumerki plods over to the elf, who sets aside breakfast to fetch a comb from her pack. "Are you ready to be feeling such jealousy, Qarashenka? Because it is true I am needing to keep in practice at all times" Katya begins the morning ritual of grooming Sumerki.

Thistle rolled her eyes at Katya's words, irritated that the other woman would attribute such words as 'bitch' to her. Even if they were pretty much true. "Don't insult goats," Thistle said, and her tone was dark. "Goats are, at least, useful. And they have better temperaments than that thing." She watched Katya begin to groom her horse. It was an unusual thing to Thistle, that grooming of horses. For the shaggy horses of her people were left wild most the year, and left to their own devices. Thistle'd never heard of horseshoes until she'd come to the city, and certainly she'd never washed an animal in her life. Given what the city folk considered cleanliness, she supposed it made sense that they'd want to rid their animals of the dirt, and she supposed it also made sense because they never let their horses behave like horses should within the herd. They were kept year-round, never allowed to behave as the wild creatures they truly were. It was all so bizarre. And without fellow horses, the providence of the occasional rain and allowed to roll at will, Thistle knew she'd be expected to care for the Beast in the same way. Her lip curled at the thought. The Beast, as if aware of her thoughts, had turned to give her a look Thistle could only interpret as dirty. No, she wouldn't be grooming him today. Maybe not ever. She'd be rid of him soon enough anyways. "Let's see it, then," she said on the tail end of that thought, eager to see a real horse in action. She'd never heard of the maneuvers Katya claimed to have skills with, and since it had to do with horses it was Thistle's kind of activity.

Katya tuts at Thistle "You will darling, you will. But Sumerki is as much a partner to me in battle as Thlag is, as you will be, and it is important that our relationship is remaining strong." Katya finishes brushing the gelding down, and fetches a carrot from her pack for him "For jighitovka to work, horse and Rus must have trust between them. And so, it is important that Sumerki is not thinking that I am not caring about his wellbeing." Katya huffs at Sumerki, and inspects each hoof for stones. "It is not easy for horse to cope with Jighitovka. Is strange thing for them, having rider behaving in such unusual ways. And so horse and rider must become close friends." Katya gives Sumerki a hug and rubs his nose, the horse responding with a snort. Katya begins stretching more, limbering up her joints and easing knots from her muscles "But first I will stretch. Then I will eat. And you, you should at least be making truce with goathorse." Katya grinned "Because you will be needing to get the stubborn mudak to gallop during part of raid. Without being killed by horse."

Thistle grunted, and stuck a finger in her ear to quell an itch that had been raised by Katya's words. She wandered over towards her goathorse (an appropriate title for it, if ever there had been one) and stopped out of the immediate biting range of the thing. It seemed to glower at her. She glowered back. She'd seen horses left grazing for a year or more less temperamental than Beast. She supposed it was due to mishandling. It was unnatural some of the ways she'd seen horses treated in the city, far outside the honorable conduct one was supposed to undertake with them. True, they were beasts, but they were an important part of life. To abuse, to take advantage of a horse or goat or dog or any other animal kept within the Tribe was to act with highest dishonor. At least the horse who'd spent a long time free was only stubborn and cranky. Beast was actively hateful. She stuffed more meat in her mouth and tossed a sliver of dried apple near its forelegs. It accepted the offering, though she thought it wouldn't do much in the way of Katya's 'truce'. She sidled closer, giving the thing a dour face that promised she wouldn't take any struggle from it, not that it likely cared. It outweighed her, and it knew just how things would play out if she made a mistake. She got the bridle on him, though there was much threatening and swearing and hands on encouragement to get him to accept the bit. He went into a sullen sulk as she left him to pick up the saddle she'd been given for him. He was too insensitive to command to be ridden bareback as she would have preferred. "He's ruined. I would not be paid to train him. Let some rich fool with too much time make him worth riding. Me, I will see to it that he reaches an understanding with me of who is boss. After that, it will not matter." Beast's ears were back, eyes showing whites at the rough treatment. He tossed his head. Thistle laid a hand on it, stroked down his neck to calm him. There was no love lost between them, true, but she had no desire to be trampled in the removal of the hobbles.

It was a pleasant morning for light exercise, a slight breeze ruffling the dried grasses on the edge of the Milous plains. While Thistle tried to coax some semblance of proper horsey behaviour from the irascible nag she'd been 'loaned' Katya smirked her way through breakfast. Once Katya's fast had been broken, she began preparing Sumerki for jighitovka. The Rus saddle was settled in place, and the stirrups tied up under Sumerki's belly with the skashovka belt. Katya nodded to herself, and for a moment imagined herself back in her old Stanitsa, surrounded by the other youths preparing for the jighitovka competitions. With a grin, Katya hooked a hand on the front prow of her saddle and bounced up into the seat with practiced ease. While she waited for Thistle to finish coaxing goathorse, she began the most basic jighitovka, a sequence of gymnatic exercises mostly involving shifting position on the saddle. With the wooden prows as fulcrums, the elf begins the warmup, scissoring her legs with a twist and shift of core muscles and hips, shifting from a front-facing seat to reversed and back again, in a matter of seconds. Over and over she does this, letting Sumerki get used to the idea that this was how their day was going to go. Then came the basic mounting and dismounting exercises, a bouncing dismount with hands left gripping the prow, which converted each dismount into the momentum required by Katya to immediately remount Sumerki "Are you ready to ride yet Qarashenka? Real jighitovka is done at gallop!"

Katya was distracting. Thistle ate as she worked, but even so she kept finding herself looking over to the other woman. It was slow progress with her goathorse. He didn't like to stand still when she tried to mount, casually taking a step or two sideways or forwards whenever she got close to his side. He wasn't shying away from her, exactly, but sensed the tension in her body when her muscles went taut with the promise of the mount. He was oh-so-innocent with his ears half back and the way he kept turning his neck to look back at her as if everything was her fault. She glared and cursed his dam and dam's dam for such stubborn behavior, and by the time she got up on the thing he'd decided quite suddenly that he didn't want to move any more. He started to graze as she gave him the proper signals. He ignored her. The circular routine went on for several more embarassing minutes before she got him to walk forward. Then, the trot from the Souls' worst nightmares. If someone had told her a horse would be capable of jarring her bones out of place she would have laughed at the person and added many insults besides. Even using the saddle to lift her weight up from his back, she could still feel it through her knees. He was something, that wretched goathorse. And yet no matter what tricks she employed, he just didn't want to go faster. The trot would sometimes go into an odd gat similar to a canter, but then he would slow as if trying to encourage her to fall off. She promised several terrible things to him, but eventually jerked her head up with a scowl. "Go, go! I will watch you." She turned Beast to go parallel to Katya and her Sumerki, using movements with hands, posture and legs to find the magic command that would convince him to gallop. "Go, maybe being left in the dust will convince this goathorse he is a horse in truth!"

Katya grins and kicks off into a gallop, knees gripping tightly as she draws her scimitar, flashing the blade in a sequential display of mounted swordplay technique. The blade glints in the gradually brightening skies of dawn as Katya rides in a wide circle around Thistle's position. As soon as the swordplay is completed, Katya places the blade between her teeth, clamping down into the familiar discomfort, and begins her jighitovka practice. First the dismounts again, but at the speed of a gallop the movements take on a different kind of momentum. Katya grips the front prow of the Rus saddleframe, lifting herself slightly up and out of the saddle to slip down one side, touching the ground with a flex-kneed two-footed bounce on the ground. Immediately, with the leverage of the prow and the momentum of the disomount, Katya landing her upper thigh and hip on the saddle, scissoring her legs to swap and dismount on the opposite side, facing the rear. In a constant circuit around Thistle Katya rode, seeming to almost glide on and off the horse, until it appeared that Katya's feet had become tangled up in stirrup and prow. Katya's form trails at the side of the saddle like the body of an arrowstruck rider for several long moments, Sumerki changing direction dramatically. Katya and Sumerki whip past Thistle and goathorse, and suddenly Katya is back upright, one foot in the stirrup, facing backwards towards Thistle in a squat at the side of the saddle and brandishing her scimitar. Katya sheathes the scimitar in a scabbard hooked to her saddle, and flicks her leg back up to remount Sumerki properly. Gripping the forward prow with both hands once more, Katya bounces out of the stirrups, landing her feet on the saddle and hooking up a longer rein as she balances carefully, standing upright on her horse, one arm in the air. In the stanitsa, that would be the sign that a routine was finished, and Katya for a moment regrets not being surrounded by those rowdy warriors and the sound of laughter, shouts, whistles, and clapping. But those times were past now, and Katya whistles, bringing Sumerki to a trot and slipping down for a full dismount near Thistle "Ayaya, but jighitovka is best exercise in world, darling. Every muscle in body feels sore if you are doing it for long."

Thistle forgot about encouraging the goathorse into a gallop. Her attention went to Katya and Sumerki. Horse-people hers might be, but they prided themselves in breeding, speed and the toughness of their mounts. They did not engage in the clear partnership that was Katya and her horse, and as Thistle watched she found herself regretting that fact. But, in truth, who would have the time for such practice as would make that necessary? Katya's people obviously had. Thistle wondered, as she had wondered, what the lives of Katya's people were like, how they mirrored her own. She was absorbed by Katya, which was why her lazy goathorse had slowed to a walk by the time Katya had finished: Thistle wasn't paying the nag enough attention. She gave a piercing whoop once Katya had finished, though there was no applauding or whistles. That single exclamation would have to be enough, alongside Thistle's unselfconscious grin. The Beast ambled down to a stop as Katya dismounted, shying sideways and pinning his ears back at the nearness of the other horse. He was grumpier than Thistle herself, if such a thing was possible. "I haven't ever seen its like! How do you train your horses to do that? You must keep him with you year-round for such a thing! If only I had Pojin, aie." Her tone wound down into a quiet, and she shook her head. "Does that serve a purpose during battle?" She turned the goathorse in a tight circle as his disquiet grew, away from Katya. Thistle didn't trust him to mind his manners. He didn't have any.

Katya fishes around for another carrot in her pack as she replies "It is slow process to train horse for Rus jighitovka. But it is worth the effort, for it is very difficult to perform all but most basic jighitovka with untrained horse. But yes, we are keeping horses with us all of the time where possible. I have had Sumerki for two years, we have been very fortunate partners. My last horse was being shot by crossbow." Katya goes quiet a moment. "In Rus, to kill horse is great dishonor, and will bring about blood feud. But here, there is no such honor. People are warring differently, and I am adapting." Katya gives Sumerki his carrot and pats his neck with a smile. "Certain Jighitovka I cannot yet perform with Sumerki, but if the Horse Spirits smile, the day may yet dawn when we can." Katya smiled "All of Jighitovka is for war, darling. Mounted opponents will normally be aiming for the rider. Jighitovka turns horse into platform for defense, evasion, and offense. I half dismount, slash, there goes stirrups and ankle! I dive back into obryv as rider drives lance towards me: his lance finds air, my sabre finds flesh or tack." Katya grins "Jighitovka is also being for deceit! If I am riding like dead person, people will ride in close, unsuspecting, trying to capture horse - and then is trap sprung, oho! Dead me is suddenly cutting them down. All of jighitovka is for war, darling. Is how the Rus fight."

At the notion of Katya's horse being shot, Thistle leaned over the goathorse's withers and spat to the side. The men and women both in the region had potential to be disgusting creatures. Thistle turned the Beast around and got them walking back towards the camp. "I look forward to seeing it." He kept tossing his head, and though she gave him space to go faster if he so desired, it wasn't working and she couldn't figure out his discomfort. Bad temper, probably. She considered telling Katya about their destination, but then decided against it. She enjoyed hearing about the antics of Katya and the training the horses went through. She was, really, just flat out enjoying herself. To have a horse between her legs again, to ride out over the empty lands with someone at her side -- it was like therapy to her. Sure, Katya ran a fine line between irritating and crazy, and there were many long hours that passed that Thistle wished the other woman would just shut up, but for all that she wasn't a bad sort. There could have been worse to have as bloodsibling. Not many who'd be more annoying, sure, but at least Katya was companionable in her own way. "Where'd you get your horse?" They were back at the campsite, and Thistle dismounted, and hobbled the goathorse before moving away. She didn't trust him to stay put, and he certainly didn't trust her back. It didn't bother her: he was no Pojin. She went to her bedroll and began neatly and efficiently readying the few things she had for travel.

Katya had once been told that she could talk a man to death. Katya hadn't quite understood, given how slow such a method seemed, but had taken it as a compliment nonetheless. And indeed, she went into great detail of the Jighitovka competitions, of the skills demonstrated by the greatest jighit riders "...I am learning my limits, darling, when I see warrior go under his horse from one side, at a gallop, to remount from the other side. The Rus have incredible riders." Conversation would turn to anecdotes of battles fought and won, fought and loss, while a warrior in her stanitsa. Then Katya leaps forward in time to her life as a mercenary in Gualon, and some of the day-to-day happenings of that profession "...you see, Ogwen was being known for loudest farts in entire caravanserai. His farts were like ogre roar. Is true! Another man claimed the title, so they were eating spiced beans and competing. Anyway, Ogwen is on duty when caravans are being attacked by members of the swamp tribes, and is stabbed in his fartmaker with spear. He was saved by healers, but here is being the tragedy: now his farts are like mosquito whine. He has been sad man ever since." When they dismounted and began breaking camp, Katya continued the trend of not-shutting-up by replying to Thistle "In Gualon, darling. Not all Orcs are stupid. Some are breeding horses. Sumerki here, he was being similar in size to my old horse, and being gelding makes him easier to train than mare or stallion." Katya adds a muttered "Really, gelding is good idea for quieting any unruly male, no matter species." As Katya starts loading up her bedroll and pack, she adds "At first, Sumerki was not good with Jighitovka. He would be stopping during dismounts, cutting into sharp turns when I am halfmounted to side of saddle. But he was learning, after some months of effort, and now he is good horse!" Katya rubs Sumerki's neck and buries her face in his mane for a moment "And he is better smelling than Thlag, which is also important"

"I don't doubt it," Thistle grunted in reply to the gelding comment, as she struggled to get the packs on the goathorse without him moving hither and thither. He was a gelding, despite his temper. She added a, "Most horses smell better than people," to the last comment, and kept up her only supply of grunts and sighs and stony silences as they mounted up and headed. Their destination was hours away. They kept the pace slow enough for their horses' comfort, though it was Thistle's opinion that the cursed goathorse didn't need comfort. Riding a horse into uselessness was a terrible thing, but since he was already there. . .no, it was an unworthy thought. They littered her brain as they paced the horses, moving between trots and walks. Thistle ate as they moved, thinking about what she'd overheard. When she felt they were nearing the point -- she recognized the landmark that'd come up once or twice during overheard conversations-- she called a halt to their progression. The terrain had gone hilly again to the east, hunks of rock pressing upwards. Between them was something of an ill used and rough looking trail. It wouldn't be obvious to the casual observer, as it was not a spot that was in regular use, but she'd been looking for something of its like. The shrubby plants wouldn't lie to her. She was nervous; there was no guaruntee what she'd overheard had been enough. It was possible she'd endangered them in a way Katya wouldn't be thanking her for by so boldly approaching an area that could contain hostile individuals. And if they were challenged, how would they respond? But, they were there. Worrying wouldn't help. She looked over at Katya, and absentmindedly patted the goathorse's neck, leaning forward to do so. He jerked his head up in response, and she almost had her nose smashed for her efforts. She straightened up in her saddle, and muttered something about glue before speaking louder to Katya. "I had us ride out this way because I heard some interesting information about Byechni. They're part of the thing. With my family. A piece, anyway. It seemed convenient to ride," she trailed off, eyes wandering past Katya and over the landscape. "I don't want to fight, I want to see for myself if the rumors are true about Byechni and these smugglers. If there's bad blood between the two. I wanted to know. We'll be going through those hills," she pointed towards the roughening terrain. "I don't know who or what might be in there, but I'm sure you won't complain, at least." As she spoke she pulled her bow from its scabbard. Her muscles shrieked in protest, sending a fresh line of pain through her muscles. At that point the pain was a simple fact, nothing more. She raised her eyebrows at Katya, and waited.

Katya grins "Aha! You are being devious, and telling me little! Let me take a look around first, and see if I can be making guess." Katya trotted a small circle around the area, and cantered a short way along the trail before coming back. "I am seeing fresh dung from horse. Wheelmarks in dust match width of caravans. You are following Master Gola's caravan, da? He was leaving Cenril the day before us, and caravans are moving slower than riders." Katya patted her scimitar where it rested in a sheath fastened to the saddle. "So, Gola is smuggler, you are saying, and Byechni are?" Katya tapped her fingers against the scimitar thoughtfully, leaving the question open for a later response. "That would be explaining why Gola's guards were so free with their money these past few days, with shifty talk of bonuses and praise for Gola's cleverness. But why would they detour from the route like this? Unless they are meeting with someone? But why, if the deal has been completed?" Katya, mastering the art of 'inadvertant rhetorical questions' by spurring Sumerki into a canter, does not give Thistle a chance to respond while she rides in a broad arc around the area. A moment later, Katya has half-dismounted mid-canter, leaning down in passing to pluck a glinting item from the ground with a whoop. Katya rides back, secreting the item somewhere on her person, to declare "Alright darling, as I thought, you are being lodestone for trouble. Is no time to be wasting - let us be going to find your trouble!"

Off the beaten track - the slaughtered caravan

Thistle hadn't meant to be devious. Her mind was filled to bursting with too much information, and beyond that she was tired. Sure, the morning'd been some fun, but that had been then. There were several hours between then and now, and Thistle was regretting the trip. Prudent to finish what she'd started. "I don't know what Byechni are, any more. They're a gang in Cenril. Something's up with them. Originally I was only interested because of . . . nevermind. Something for later. Let's -- " Katya went riding away, and Thistle watched her openmouthed before finishing with a quieter, "move." She managed to get the goathorse walking forward as Katya circled back. Thistle found enough amusement, somehow, in the act to not reach out to slap the woman. Aie, she was becoming irrational with strain and worry and stress. She wanted it to be quick, smooth. She wanted it to be nothing. Right? Who wanted trouble, besides Katya? But Thistle was moving forward, into the uplifted stone and soil and plantlife that made the area hilly and treacherous. Soon enough the open plains had disappeared behind them, and Thistle found something that looked like a game trail to follow. There was no sign of wagons, but she hadn't been sure she would see such signs. Whether or not the area was the right one -- the landmarks were what she'd been lead to expect should be there. The hilly area was right. There might be another way Thistle was unaware of, or some other method of bringing goods back into this recessed area. Perhaps it was only a meeting place where deals were made. Perhaps it was something else entirely. Thistle pulled an arrow free of her quiver and half nocked it as they progressed forward. It would be a difficult thing to ride and shoot on the Beast. Perhaps her people didn't participate in the finer horsemanship that Katya's seemed to, but their horses still had to respond easily to minute commands in the body, without the benefit of whatever the reins might telegraph. Archery took both hands, after all. Still, Thistle was loathe to leave herself completely unguarded, even if her muscles were still tender enough to only give her four or five steady shots. Ahead of them the small trail through the brush turned and disappeared into a narrow bend. The smell hit Thistle first.

Katya had been riding alongside Thistle, uncharacteristically quiet and alert, guiding her horse along areas where the softer ground would somewhat muffle the sound of their movements. When their course brings them to that bend in the path the elven mercenary wrinkles her nose. There was a strong hint of iron in the air, and less pleasant traces of scent. Katya brings Sumerki in front of Goathorse and slows down to a stop, Sumerki's movements compelling Goathorse to resentful compliance to the notion of stopping. Katya whispered "Qarashenka, there are being bad things ahead. We must be careful and prepared for sudden speed, da?." The wheel-rutted track followed an incline, another bend, and then a decline down towards a small field which might have been an ideal place for a picnic. The scene which awaited them, however, was in no way idyllic. In the centre of the field stood a trio of trade caravans, bodies scattered around them. From a distance the finer details were blissfully concealed. It was immediately obvious to Katya that this had been Gola's caravan. The elven woman narrowed her eyes, face rigidly impassive as she carefully took in the details of the scene, searching for any signs of life or enemies. She scanned the ridges of the hills, and muttered to Thistle "We will need to ride a circuit of the surrounding area, Qarashenka, in case there are being watchers left to guard this. It is seeming unlikely, but is wise to be certain that we are not riding into deathtrap before descending to investigate. It will not be pretty, so let us not be adding our own bodies to the mess, da?" Katya wheels Sumerki to the right, where the terrain promises to be the most difficult, and trots off leaving the milder terrain to Thistle and Goathorse.

Thistle wished for Pojin. It was a strong, bitter desire, as she had to leave off the bow to put her right hand back on the reins; it was awkward with the arrow still held with two of her fingers, but she managed. Goathorse was sensitive, even despite his stubbornness, and his ears went back as his more sensitive nose processed the smell. Even though she doubted his training was strict in the manner of war, she would have expected more from him. He managed to disappoint every time. She pulled him left without responding to Katya, her grim silence speaking for her the words that were, and would remain, unnecessary. Goathorse almost resisted her, but pulling him to the side of the bloodshed was close enough to what he wanted -- that being an immediate withdrawal from the area, posthaste. Thistle's eyes were drawn back to the bodies as she upped the pace of her stubborn, foolish horse (he was going to get her killed, as she was forced to lower even her bowhand down to the side of his neck, pressing her fingers there in some attempt to establish her mastery of him and some offhand gesture of comfort), and she forced herself to scan the surrounds. She was systematic, quiet, and thorough: she chanced an uphill climb to follow a smaller trail that proved to be not recently used. But there was no fresh sign, no enemies that she could easily seek out. Eventually she met Katya on the other side of what awaited them in the middle, and as she finally turned away from the perimeter to the meat of the matter she could not help but think of Leaf. She tried not to think at all, but she knew she'd find failure soon enough. Goathorse made a small, distressed noise, and snorted. His ears were pinned back, and she felt his tension. No, if they needed to flee getting him to gallop wouldn't be a problem any more. Getting him to stop would be.

Katya guided Sumerki up the ridge and rode a wide circuit of the area, buckler in hand. Even the sound of a bird was enough to have the elf scanning the surrounds for ambushers. It became apparent soon enough, to Katya's relief, that there wasn't a horde of savage killers ready to bear down on any who investigated the caravans, and she'd heard no scream or panic from Thistle's side, which boded well. Katya finally gave rein to her morbid curiosity and spurred Sumerki into the field below, cantering a broad loop around the caravans to begin with. Sumerki, accustomed to the sight and smell of corpses, behaved admirably as Katya surveyed the damages. Whatever had occurred here, it had been a massacre. The bodies of guards were sprawled around the caravans, not far from what Katya knew would be their normal posts. They'd not had much opportunity to react, then, when things had turned sour. But the deaths of the mercenaries seemed mild compared to the fate of Gola and his merchants. At least the mercenaries had died in battle. Gola, and his entourage, had died slowly. Katya drew Sumerki to a halt and dismounted in a fluid flick of the leg. It was not the way a man should die, thought Katya, as she looked at Gola's mutilated body. The obese merchant had been strapped to the wheel of his caravan, his bones evidently shattered by some blunt instrument to achieve the feat. Katya fought down the nausea as she made cursory examination the flayed sections of fleshand the missing detail of his face, that most distinctive feature removed from his raw skull with great care. The elven mercenary turns and spits in disgust. "Whatever prezrennyj skotina has done these things, it is my great hope that someday I am having opportunity to be choking him with his own severed manhood." The other members of the entourage had been strapped to wheels and limbs shattered; but where Gola's face had been removed, the others had gaping holes in their chest where their hearts had been removed and jammed in their mouths. Katya moved to investigate the mercenaries, muttering to herself, when she turned over one of the bodies. "Ayaya, Aradin, you fool. I was always telling you silly little metal discs were stupid." Katya removes the glinting object she'd earlier retrieved from the intersection of the trade route and the path, and drops the dead man's shuriken on his chest.

There were crows waiting, having flapped away after the approach of the two women. Thistle knew it was dangerous, maybe even foolish, to leave Goathorse untied or to walk far away from him. But she didn't want to leave Katya to walk into the mess of things alone. She tied the horse off, and approached the worst of it. She didn't recognize the caravan, but she had a feeling she knew . There'd been loose spending in the town square, in the Whaler's Bar, and the subsequent mutterings she'd heard from Byechni. . .it was certainly damning. She breathed shallowly, the image Leaf's battered corpse fighting its way up in some sort of gruesome overlay, as if her mind thought to place him there among strangers. The deaths were not so personal to her, but it haunted her all the same to see the suffering written so boldly and carelessly amongst the dead was gut churning. She kept her bow half-drawn, letting Katya vent her anger in those sharp, short bursts, leaving her free to her grief. The hearts were a raw delicacy, and some of them had already been plucked free and fought over. Others were more solidly planted between the teeth of their owners, and . . .well. Thistle's mind was used to death, but not the death of people. Not the deliberate cruelties of merciless vengeance. Privately, she didn't know if she ever could become used to it, not in any way that would have her come out of it intact. Her breath fluttered in her throat, and she spat out the sourness that collected in her mouth, unable to swallow even her own saliva with the stench of blood and offal so thick. She didn't approach Katya, facing away from the other woman for the sake of protection; she didn't want to be snuck up on under the buzz of flies and the caw of crows. She did clear enough space in her throat to speak, and for that she said only, "I think I know who."

Katya grit her teeth, steadied her stomach, and began the important task of figuring out what had happened. At Thistle's words the elf muttered "This is being good, Qarashenka. I have not had such a thirst for violence on me in long time, and it is being right and fair that I am inflicting it upon mad dogs needing death. Please be telling me after I am finding out how a group of skilled mercenaries can be butchered without leaving an equal number of their enemies lying dead around them." Katya whistles Sumerki over, and buries her head in his mane, to take a deep breath of air free of the smell of death. With her nose full of horse and leather, Katya begins closely examining the mercenaries, starting with Aradin. "See here, Qarashenka - these two wounds are hours apart. The blood has stained the cloth differently. He has been shot with arrow or bolt twice." Katya thought on it. Aradin had always been a reckless and arrogant fool of a man, although skilled with his tongue. His penchant for exotic thrown weapons had always been enjoyable in target hitting contests, but less impressive against armoured opponents. The shuriken she'd spotted back at the intersection showed that the initial meeting between caravan and mystery group hadn't been entirely sanguine, and it seemed Aradin had been made an example of. A show of superior force, then, with the mercenaries compelled to play it safe. Katya mused aloud "So, Aradin defies them, and is shot, but not fatally. Gola is persuaded through fear and hope of surviving to agree to a meeting off the trade route, and they are coming here. But still, Gola's boys are well paid, and Gola had an eye for quality guards, even if he didn't like orcs." Katya begins examining the death wounds of all the guards, expression growing darker and darker. "These people, they are organised. They are not being stupid, Qarashenka. Look you: every guard has been killed by crossbow. They have removed almost all the evidence of bolts but here, in Harold's gut..." Katya flicks her wrist and a knife drops into her palm, which she uses to pry into the dead man's torse "...you can see steel tail of bolt that has entered too deeply for easy removing. And each body are having at least two or three such wounds." Katya pursed her lips "They were being greatly outnumbered, and attacked at range." Katya ran up to Sumerki with a command of 'Zhdahj' and swung into the saddle with a well-practiced flick of leg and hips. Katya trotted Sumerki over to the caravan, uttering soothing sounds as they approached the corpse-straddled wheels. "A-ha! See here, Qarashenka, where bolts have stuck in wooden boards and been removed? They are not wanting people to know their numbers. But what is really interesting, Qarashenka, is that there is a person missing from Gola's guard detail."

"Didn't say I knew how," Thistle muttered, wishing for a headscarf or something, anything that could be wrapped around her nose and mouth. Dealing with the afteraffects of death, beyond doing what needed to be doing in the rituals of killing monsters for the Souls, was not an area Thistle could claim expertise to. She did know a few things. A very few. She struggled to listen to and comprehend Katya's words as she circled around, picking over the ground with care, to take brief glances at what Katya pointed at. The rest of the time she spent looking away, lips pressed firmly together. She looked to the ground. It was a mess of softened and dried ground, dark in patches. It was broken and abused in some similar ways to the men, trampled down. There were at least one set of heeled boots, and Thistle's lips thinned further still to see them there; her own people shunned those who would break the sanctity of the ground by the mere act of walking. She spat again, judging times in her head from what she'd heard 'till now. She'd expected to find something but not. . .not this. "Who's missing?"

Katya looks around as she replies "Martin." The elf pondered, putting herself in the shoes of a commander perpetrating this kind of attack. "Is curious. This is being too ritual to be a punishment killing alone. This is meant to be found. A message to others, da? But who would find it, unless word is being sent out?" Katya trots over to where Thistle stands "I am thinking Martin was sent on before they are making detour, both to convince Gola that he too is going to live, and to ensure that this display is being found by those for who message is intended." Katya spat once more. "I am putting good odds on Martin being given a sealed message to hand to another caravan operator in Gualon. I will have someone look into it when next caravan leaves Cenril back to Gualon." Katya wheeled Sumerki around and states decisively "I am wanting to leave this place, Qarashenka! The smell of death is strong, and the sights will plague my dreams for a week. Is there anything you are needing to examine here?"

Thistle started walking back towards where she'd tied Goathorse up to a tree without answering. The animal's eyes were wide, rolling, the whites clearly visible. He was snorting, displaying all the signs of a deeply distressed horse. It took minutes to calm him, putting the bow and arrow back where they belonged so she could reach out to him and offer him comfort. Eventually she caught his head, blew into his nostrils, murmured nonsense things to him so he would let her untie him and remount him. When she had him under control she took him up to where Katya waited and said as she took one last look around them, "We need to talk somewhere safe. This has to do with Cenril, and I. . .I've got the contacts now to be sure we find who did this. To confirm my suspicions. We should ride out far enough we won't be seen or followed -- somewhere to talk." She envisioned her sisters, and the men Iron might have subjected them to. Lost them to. would he marry them to his colleagues, to men who thought butchering other men was simply part of the lay of the land? The thought dizzied her, made her want to vomit in a way the stench and the bodies hadn't. Even now, turned away, the image was burned into her eyelids despite the scant amount of time she'd spent looking at it. Thistle had never been to war, but even so she could recognize the start of one -- even a secretive one -- when she looked at those bodies. "Let's go."

Katya nods "Yes. Let us be getting back onto the open plains with the wind rushing past our ears. It is now past the time for dilly-dallying. We need to prepare, for the people who arranged this are being clever. Clever clever, to play with the mind of Gola and lead him to his doom in so terrible a way. We will need Thlag's advice too, I am thinking, Qarashenka." Once open ground is reached, Katya would spur Sumerki into a gallop, letting the familiar pleasure of an unrestrained sprint flush the dire thoughts from her mind. There would be time later to return to discussions of the day's horror and those who had perpetrated them.

The tradition of campfire honesty

They rode, as only those who left the horrible behind them could. One horse took flight with the fear of one whose life has been unending pain could, while the other ran with the obedience and trust of a well-trusted and well-loved beast. But they could not run forever. The horses could only maintain a gallop for so long, and eventually their riders had to pull them in lest they blow themselves out and cost the rest of the trip due to their fatigue. Thistle spent that time brooding, the sight of blood and death waiting for her every time she blinked. And behind that were the events that had lead her up to this point, to this new devastation. New worry. Were her sisters having to deal with such men? They were not suited. Thistle had raised them properly, gently, and trained though they were with arms they were not used to brutes. To murderers. Had Iron married them off to such men? Were they forced to -- no. She wouldn't think of it. But where would they be, if she hadn't lost Leaf? That was the rub of it, that her exile and them coming with her, their years in the rot of the city's poor, was the cause. And what then, would she do should she get them back? Would they come back to her whole? Leaf's body. Nights spent in a blur, drunken and carousing until dawn, whereupon she'd collapse in some forgotten alley until she was dragged free by duty to start again. She'd made several tentative alliances, deals, in the hopes of cementing herself in a position of strength. To find those who would interfere with her family. Now, now there was Katya, and given the brevity with which she'd spoken, this new complication meant something to her. A new difficulty, woven in to what she'd already sworn to do. Thistle didn't know if she could see it all through, if she had what it took. Sobering thought. It followed her as the sun sank in the sky, and they took their detour off the main road to a spot far from it. Still visible, yes, but there was nowhere to run on the plains if you hoped to find a place to hide. They weren't trying to hide however: find privacy? Yes. They weren't disturbed. The horses were seen to, Goathorse hobbled and Sumerki left in peace. A fire was built, not out of necessity but for Thistle's own troubled mind, no matter that she had to hunt down the dried dung cakes from passing herbivores to give the thing enough fuel to continue. It was a smelly fire, mean and not much for flame, but even so it gave her peace to warm her hands on it. They settled thus, quiet for a small space as they ate, and each grappled with the strain of the day. With things like that death, it didn't disappear. You had to deal with it, to put it away in a manner that wouldn't taint you for the rest of your life, though that wasn't possible. It was there, now. In you. Waiting. Burning. With Leaf. Corpses. "Have you heard of Byechni?" Thistle said, driven to speech with the desperation of one who has things to run from. She was looking at the fire, rather than Katya. She hadn't looked at Katya in the eyes once they'd left the massacre behind them. She wasn't looking at anything.

Katya too had been pensive during the ride, but it was not thoughts of the now-dead which bothered the elven mercenary. The dead were dead. It was the problem of crossbows which took up the elf's thoughts. Katya had her tricks, her skills, and her experience - there were ways to deal with one or two crossbowmen if you were clever and inventive. But several of them all at once? When they are clever enough to not fire all at once? No, this was the kind of scenario which boded ill for head-on conflict. Hit and run, that was the way, but such tactics would not work well in an open field. In a forest, perhaps, but there were none here. In a city, then: but for all that Katya liked brawling, she did not know the ins and outs of Cenril well enough for it not to be a gamble. They would need Thlag if it came to direct conflict with such people. Thlag, and the monstrosity of wood and steel he called a pavise. Scenario after scenario played through the elven mercenary's head, and she only snaps out of her thoughts when Thistle speaks directly with her. Katya blinked "No darling, I have not... but then, I am not being too familiar with names of gangs and smugglers. Gerard might be knowing more, because he is always keeping ear to ground." Katya gathered her thoughts, and made an effort to read the situation a bit better "But I am thinking that you are asking with the intention of explaining to me the answer, da? Not necessarily with expectation of my having the knowledge? I am all ears, Qarashenka. Tell me of these Byechni, for you have mentioned them before in relation to your troubles."

Thistle took a little longer to gather her thoughts into words that would make sense, make an impression. She knew too little of Katya, aie, too little for the things they had to come to terms with. She did not start with Byechni. "That caravan. You knew it. Have you heard about them smuggling things?"

Katya blinks at Thistle "Are you perhaps making another straight-faced joke, Qarashenka?" A moment later, the elf realises the question is genuine and laughs merrily "Darling, there is always some kind of smuggling in caravans!" Katya grins "For example, a man steals a jewel in Gualon, he cannot fence it locally, so he might be able to sell it quietly to a caravan operator for a small part of its worth. The caravan operator stows it away, and finds some discerning buyer in Cenril with little interest in where the jewel is coming from." Katya tries to contain her mirth "Yes, of course there is smuggling Qarashenka! All the time! Smuggling and bribes are part of caravan operator's life."

Thistle wasn't much abashed by the laughter. It struck her as odd, how easily laughter returned after death. What else was left to them? You either laughed or you joined the dead. Still, the smile she offered in return to Katya's merriment was one bereft of much in the way of amusement. "They'd extra coin, as you said earlier. I noticed that, many did. They were free with it. It's not often you see a lot of big spending in the taverns. Not in that part of town." She looked away from the fire, out across the plants that made their life admist so little relative water. She'd almost blinded herself looking into the fire for so long. The world was a little darker for it. "Iron, my brother, he's been involved with Freyel. But all of them tie in to the smuggling, in some way. Be it direct involvement or benefiting some way from it, it's all one big disconnected hive. So I wormed my way into the smaller ones, hoping to learn things. I got in good with Pariah --" she was wandering. She stopped herself, reorganized her thoughts. Started over. "I first learned of Byechni while I was trying to find out about Freyel's bunch. And Iron. My sisters. And once I started noticing them, I couldn't avoid them. They started showing up almost everywhere. They didn't start out violent but recently. . .recently it's something different. I had thought they helped smuggle in through the ports but now, aiee." She took in a long breath and let it out again, some memory of blood lingering at the back of her throat. The buzz of flies penetrated her mind. It was only a mosquito. "I heard two of them, the other night, talking about how the caravans were getting bold. I think perhaps something went wrong. I think maybe the things they laughed over, maybe it is related to this. Maybe it is Byechni who did this." She still wasn't looking at Katya. Her head was too full of her girls. Her beautiful, innocent girls.

For all Katya had a lackadaisical approach to life and death in general, she wasn't dense or ditzy, despite an occasional reputation to that effect. The elven mercenary would not have lasted long if she had been. So she focused on what Qarashenka was saying, and identified two important details. "Ahh... now I am starting to understand. This is being linked to your search for family, da? And you are worried your family might be under influence or control of those who are capable of destroying Gola's caravann." Katya tsked thoughtfully, gathering her thoughts in a direction she wouldn't normally bother with. "Alright, darling, let me be speculating on basis of things I am knowing in general." Katya taps her chin "I am knowing Gola's boys have been bragging about big payday, and Gola being clever and getting triple payout. So, perhaps Gola is cheating the smugglers somehow, cutting them out of the transaction and earning himself small fortune. Greed makes clever men stupid, it is often so. And now the smugglers are showing what happens to people who are double-crossing them. It is making sense, da, is explaining why the effort. It would be taking something horrific to shake the confidence of a mercenary. Is clever way of doing business." Katya twisted her lips "But this is being bad for you and I, sibling. For if these people are at the heart of your troubles, then we are in for the fight of our lives. There is no question I will need to ask Thlag to assist, and owe him favour. But that is fine, I am having Thlag wrapped around little finger, da?" Katya pauses a moment "But I am getting ahead of the situation... darling, there is one very simple way of getting to the bottom of this." Katya snaps her fingers sharply in front of Thistle's face, knowing that a person will subconsciously look at the source of such a sudden noise. The moment Thistle's grey eyes are visible, Katya locks the steppeswoman's gaze with a piercing stare from her own green eyes "We are going to go visit Iron. We are going to look him in the face, and ask him to show us the girls are well. Then you can be having some peace of mind." The elven mercenary adds "I am not without resources in Gualon, and that is where the answer to the question of Gola's death will be found, darling. Then we can be comparing that information with your knowledge of Cenril groups, and see if the people who committed today's violence are Byechni or otherwise." Katya slapped her thigh with her right hand "What do you think of that, sibling? Are we having plan of action?"

"You know where he is, then?" The words were startled from Thistle's lips, as her eyes were startled from where they had drifted elsewhere. There was something Thistle could focus on. "That's what I've been trying to do. Find him. I can't find him without. . ." she closed her eyes, took another breath. Let it go. The gaze she leveled at Katya was a little clearer, a little more focused, but she still wasn't looking at Katya. Not quite. "What then? Go to your Gualon?" She put a hand through her hair, sucked spit through her teeth. "I've got people I told to put in a word for you at Gerard's place. We can use them if we need to. And more. More. But it's not fast enough, is it? What I've been doing? What'll we do then, topple the men Iron's clinging to like a babe to its mother's tit? Have them come for us?" She was babbling. She knew she was, but she couldn't stop.

Katya waited patiently. And then, when Thistle finished saying 'Have them come for us', Katya quietly intercepted with "Yes, Qarashenka. That is exactly what we do..." Katya's eyes were hard and unyielding "...if it comes to that. Now hush, and listen to my reasoning. I am beginning to understand why it is that you have yet to find this Iron, and I am blaming citythoughts and alleysecrecies for this." Katya jabbed a finger at Thistle "You have stated you know who Iron is clinging to. So tell me. Stop being all vague and old-lady weepish, and just tell me." Katya's jaw had a stubborn set to it "I want to know what I shall be walking into, bloodbonded sibling. And I am thinking I am going to punch this brother of yours in the face when I do for putting me through the effort. So talk. And look me in the eye when you do, warrior to warrior." Katya almost snapped out the next bit "A Hetman does not avoid the gaze of others. If you would be hetman of your family, you must be defeating this weakness of yours, Qarashenka. And you can start here by telling me everything."

Thistle snorted. It was the least she could do for the almost insult Katya gave her, but that was to be expected between siblings, in truth; they covered for each other's weaknesses, all the while jabbing ceaselessly at them. Anger was a given. Thistle gave Katya that honesty, letting the anger and the hopelessness shine fully in her face. Stubborness, well, that was just an added bonus. "Iron is working for Freyel, far as I can tell. Unless he's changed sides, and I doubt that. He took my sisters with him. It's for them that I want to bring him back, otherwise -- hah, he is a man." She waved her hand in the air. It made her angrier, that fact. He is a man. And she? She was only Nameless. Her lips had been compressed between words, and they stayed that way before she launched back into another short lived diatrabe. "I let my other brother, Leaf, die. He was my responsibility, and I let him die. So now here is Iron, a man who should have a wife, and a herd, and he's lost in the city. He thinks he knows better than me. Me! He thinks that because I have failed, he will take our two sisters and raise them himself, find them husbands himself, while casting me to the winds. I won't have it. I won't let him. He doesn't know shit about it. He is nothing more than a headstrong stallion who hasn't tested himself yet, and he has tried to take what is mine. Has taken them." Her lips did a curious thing then, as blood returned to them while she peeled them back from her teeth. Her face folded into new lines. Harsh lines. "I seek him out by digging for information amongst the gangs. But you see, he's in hiding now. He knows I'll be looking for him. So I start at the bottom, at the lowest khans the city has to offer, and I try to work my way up. I treat with the Boar King to earn myself some of his men. I find others who can do dirty work for me. And I sit and sniff like a base dog, and I wait to learn the things I must, slowly, so I do not startle him off. Have I done wrong, bloodsister? Is there another way that I haven't seen? Tell me, if it's so! Tell me my wrong." She threw up her hands, palms up, and made the grand gesture that would be rude to any but family for its artlessness. It was the most open she'd been with Katya, the first real unconscious sign that she'd made that they were more than two strangers stuck together in all the wider world. The scab on her wrist, from their blood oath, sibling oath, was nearly gone. The knowledge, the memory of that knowing, remained.

Katya didn't move a muscle, nor take insult or umbrage, merely listening to her bloodsister's story. It seemed to Katya that the only way to get her to talk was to get her angry but, as her people would say, sometimes one had to be rough to be gentle. When Thistle pauses with her question Katya humms thoughtfully, and asks in what was once more a casual tone of voice "This brother Iron, who so boldy takes what is yours, is he truly the type to run from a woman he has stolen from? Would his pride let him do so, Qarashenka? Would he be willing to let it be said of him that he is a coward who flees the wrath of a woman?" Katya, personally, did not think so. There would be some other reason why this man was so hard to find in a city where gold often spoke louder than loyalty. "Tell me of this Iron, sibling. Is his nature that of warrior or herdsman? Speak not of his role, but his temperament and skill, of his ambitions."

Thistle didn't have enough air for the things she wanted to say. They clogged in her, until she could only spit out, "I'm not a woman. I'm Nameless. That's how I'm head of family, no matter my birth. He is a young man, raised under Nameless -- one step above a woman -- and that would be forbidden. Of course he chafes. Of course he seeks to master me. " She wanted, suddenly, to be drunk again. To feel the reason and the solidity of the moment slip away into a liquid haze. She had only her water, and she took it in a flurry of gulps, and when she lowered it she returned her glare to Katya. "He would have made a fine warrior, but this city, aie, this city." Her eyes dropped, falling down the cliff of Katya's body until her eyes came to a halt upon the bright fire between them. "He has forgotten himself. His place. Even were I to fall, it would be Lion who would hold family head, then. Maybe he wants me dead, so they can return home. I don't know."

Katya thought of Cenril, and Gualon, and what it had been like when she had arrived in a strange land of stranger culture. But then, the elf mused, she had never been so attached to tradition that she couldn't adapt, turning her skill at arms into a way of earning gold. Perhaps this Iron was much like herself, a warrior in a strange land, adapting. "Qarashenka, you are not answering one very important question for me. What of his ambition? Is he the kind of man in who ambition is like a fire in the belly and behind the eyes?" Katya snapped once more "Now is not being the time for childish self-pity. Now is being the time for looking at the situation through new eyes. My eyes. Now look me in those eyes and speak!"

Thistle was almost to the point of sulking, mired as she was in the tradition of her people. "He wants to rule," she returned with similar bite, eyes flashing up towards Katya. But not because Katya demanded it, oh no. There was some purpose there, some test of the ground that still held between them. "He wants to be in control. He wants to think himself some khan in the making, and he will do whatever he must to achieve that. He thinks I haven't noticed, but he has always been violent and sullen. He uses his fists to get his way, and hated me when I didn't bend. He would have lead a clan, maybe a tribe, if he hadn't come with me. He knows it. I know it." Thistle stared into Katya's eyes, the green of them muted across the fire into some mundane color that robbed her of her heritage. It didn't matter, then, what story Katya's features told: she was sibling in truth, a wall against which Thistle might throw herself until she accepted the truth of it, wholesale. They were bound together. They would succeed together, or fail. Thistle's pride didn't matter one way or another.

Katya nodded. She'd thought as much. She met Thistle's riled words with a calm gaze. "But Qarashenka, do you not see? A change in location will never be dousing the flames of a warrior's ambition. It is only presenting new challenges. So in his homeland he could be a Khan. But he is not in his homeland now, so where will he turn his ambition?" It was a rhetorical question, for Katya could see it clear as day. "The Khans of Cenril, sibling. He will find one group, a group with enough influence to be a viable contender for influence in the city. And he will fight his way up the ranks, prove himself to be powerful, skilled, and ambitious, and make himself indispensible to the 'Khan' of that group. And then, when he has learned their ways, he will take over and become 'Khan' of that group." Katya looked Thistle in the eye "You have not found him, darling, because you have been looking at the bottom, and he is probably being very close to the top. You have started searching at the wrong side of the plains."

Thistle wanted to look away. She did. But it wasn't for long, because at that moment she wanted the confrontation that simmered between her and Katya, though it might be built upon the conflicts of the past that had nothing to do with her newest sister. "Is it so easy to find anyone at the top of anything, especially in Cenril?" Thistle sneered, scoffed at the very thought of it. Truly though, had she tried? She'd been so busy trying to overturn every blade of grass, in order to plant herself within the structure of the city, that she hadn't sought word of Iron within any leadership. No, to her her brother was only a minor part in the grinding regularity of the whole, nothing that would stand out. Nothing that would merit anything truly noteworthy. Had that, then, been her problem? Was it as Katya said? She could not believe her brother could be so important, not when she'd seen him as a mere errand boy. But that had been long ago, weeks ago, and maybe. . .maybe that hadn't been all of the truth. Thistle frowned, showed her doubt and her pride in the curve of her lips. "What d'you suggest, then?"

Katya tapped her knee, maintaining an calm demeanour "Nothing is easy, Qarashenka. But few things are being impossible. It is important though to be looking in the right place." The elven mercenary thought a moment "Your brother is a warrior, so he will be where the fighting is, da? So tell me: who is Freyel fighting? Or is that something that we need to find out? Because I am willing to make you a wager, sibling - if there is an assault on Freyel's holdings, that is where we will be finding your brother. In the fray, defending the holdings of his 'Khan' so that they are not diminished by the time he becomes Khan" Katya grinned mischievously "We just need to make certain that such an attack happens, da? And to be there to witness it."

Thistle grinned then, though it wasn't friendly in the least. "Freyel, far as I know, isn't in a gang himself. He was business, mostly, and it was straight for awhile. But then something else happened, and he got a little more crooked. That's a problem in Cenril, because it means his crooked business hampers someone else's. Whose, well, there's talk of Byechni everywhere I turn, and that's convenient -- but they're not the only ones." That was the word on the street at least. Thistle always had been bad at following that, at least until she had to follow it. Then it was a matter of listening to the buzz of the street talk, filtering out the common bits and finding the truth of it. She was still learning. She didn't want to admit it. "The rest of it is why I've made contacts, or tried to," and that statement, bold, was angry too in its own way. Thistle didn't like relying on strangers. If Katya hadn't been an errant bloodsister, Thistle would've resented that too. More than she already did, at any rate, but she didn't turn away from the demand the other woman had laid down, and kept her wandering eyes locked onto Katya's face. "I don't know everything, but I can make a good showing of it. Back to Byechni. You think the answers lie in Gualon?"

Katya nodded "Da. In Gualon, there will be talk amongst the caravans about Gola. And about the people who Gola crossed. And who is still dealing with them. We caravan guards are gossips amongst our own kind, Qarashenka, no matter how tight-lipped we are to outsiders. It will not take much to learn of these things. If those responsible for the bloody message we discovered are the Byechni, we will find out. It depends on how quickly you are needing to know, as to whether we need to visit Gualon ourselves, or wait for the next caravans to come through to Cenril." Katya mused over what she had learned in one day. It was proof, really, that riding was good for the soul. "It will perhaps be harder finding out who is pressuring Freyel and engineer a conflict. Gerard will charge through the teeth for such information, so I want that to be an absolute last resort."

They'd gone the other way, back towards Cenril. Thistle had never been to Gualon, but even so she knew what they'd stocked for the trip, what they'd prepared for and the messages they'd left behind. She was tempted to follow Katya's advice, and turn in the morning to go a whole new way, but even so she knew the idea wouldn't be fruitful so easily. Still, she gave the other woman the benefit of the doubt for experience. "Can we make it there before resupplying in Cenril? Truth, sister, I've no wish to be away no longer than necessary. I don't trust any of this. But I'll give you the right of it; you know more than I. For this, I want to get the right of it soon. I don't like this waiting, this not knowing. For Freyel though, that we can wait for my new allies. I don't mind them taking the risk, and it would prove a good test for them." Her fingers tangled together -- her one conceit, and even then it was still improper to her reckoning. "I don't like being away from Cenril. I fear something bad will happen."

Katya shook her head "It is best that we return to Cenril first before any trips to Gualon." Katya needed to speak with Thlag about this business with crossbows. "As it is, darling, we are only a day behind events. It takes a few days for gossips to spread news, so there is being no point in racing off to Gualon with not enough supplies. The information will come to us anyway, so I am seeing no need for haste to obtain it. We should be focusing our efforts on Cenril, where the more difficult task awaits us" The elf pauses "...unless there is something you are not yet telling me?"

Thistle snorted. "I've told you all I've thought to tell you. We'll return to Cenril tomorrow, then, unless you've some other plan. I'll take the first watch. There's too much in this place I don't trust." She paused then, and looked away from Katya out to the unknown that waited for them in the dark. It was dark, by then, the sun having slipped far enough down the sky as to make the landscape a mass of shadows and unknown. "We'll need a place to stay that's not so obvious, in Cenril. A place to hide, to plan in. There's some places I know of that might fit, but it'd take more gold than I've got to make it work."

Katya laughs "Be truthful now, you are just trying to escape Thlag's snoring! But alright. Once we have returned, we will need to stay the night at Gerard's to stable the horses and let Thlag know what is happening. We will also need to be discussing these 'other places to stay', to best find one. But for now, Qarashenka, I am thinking it is time to sleep."

Thistle didn't laugh, though she did roll her eyes. Her lips turned up with some amusement, but she didn't turn back to Katya's face. The other woman had called for her to be a warrior in truth, to look her in the eyes, but Thistle couldn't account for that at the present moment. "Have your way, then," she said, and if there was some sort of fondness in the words, it was cut by the way she scanned the horizon. "I have the first watch. Sleep." And there was her stern certainty in those words, the way she had of insisting that everything would be fine so long as her way was taken into account. She'd already straightened her back, settled her bow in her lap. She'd unstrung the thing to keep its tension at its peak, and rubbed her fingers along it as one might a prized pet. She had no desire to shoot wildly in the dark, that was what daggers were for. Even so.