The armies of Molthune had reached this far in the past, they could tell. More than one burned homestead had been reduced to a fire-blackened chimney standing half-cloaked in vines amid the trees, and they passed slightly less ruined homes standing abandoned, with once-tilled fields rapidly disappearing under saplings, high bushes, and creeping vines.
The Masked pointed to one derelict house, ahead. "Let's pass that, then circle around it and have a good look before it gets too dark."
"I'm not sleeping in there," Tantaerra told him. "Humans and halflings aren't the only critters that like being sheltered from the rain. Most of the forest ruins I've poked through have been full of snakes. And spiders, some of them bigger than my head."
"I wasn't thinking of spending the night inside," The Masked told her. "I was thinking of sleeping up on the roof. If it's still sturdy enough."
"Now that," Tantaerra agreed, "is a notion that has promise."
There didn't seem to be anything either lurking or lairing in the house. It was an overgrown but sturdy skeleton of its former self, cloaked in all manner of leafy bushes. The roof was rotten and canted in at one corner where beams beneath had given way, but in the main looked strong enough to sleep a large Molthuni patrol. Several pines growing up one wall made a dark rampart of sorts that concealed the highest corner of the roof from anyone on three sides of the ruin, so they settled down on their backs in that corner and tried to ignore their hunger by chewing spruce needles and the green underbark of certain trees The Masked had sampled before.
"My, what an interesting life you've led," Tantaerra told him, as the sun slipped below the horizon. It started to grow cool, and the tapestry of stars shone clearer overhead. "If we both survive into our dotage and end up bored by the same hearthfire, suppose you tell me how you came to sample tree underbark. Tell me then, not now."
The Masked chuckled. "Then it shall be. Yet you always want to talk, so what would you prefer to converse about now, Tan?"
"'Tan'? Not 'little one'? Who is this 'Tan'?"
"Lady Halfling Patron," came the reply, "I await the telling of what you're interested in discussing-so long as it not be food." The masked man's stomach promptly growled. Loudly.
It was her turn to chuckle, a little ruefully. Looking up at the stars rather than at the man beside her, she murmured, "I think we need to decide some things. Such as whether or not we should just forget this 'quest' Lord Telcanor sent us on. I don't trust him to treat us well, even if we should somehow succeed and bring him this Fearsome Gauntlet. And who calls their enchanted bauble a 'Fearsome Gauntlet,' anyway?"
"Agreed," The Masked muttered back.
The stars were bright and glorious now, the moon not yet full-risen. They looked up at them in companionable silence for a time until he added, almost grudgingly, "Then again, he just might be telling the truth about having some sort of magical hold over us. I doubt he does-but he might have a pet spellcaster who could strike at us from afar. We both had our hair washed, which meant he has some of our hair from the combs, and I've heard of spells …"
Tantaerra sighed. "Me too." She stretched and changed the subject. "This Nirmathas is a beautiful land. Though I mistrust Voyvik as the sort of utterly ruthless zealot who would slice his granddam's throat."
She let her words trail off, but The Masked picked up the sentence very much as she would have continued it. "His dream of a free and peaceful Nirmathas still seems worthwhile, doesn't it?"
Tantaerra gave him a smile.
And discovered that he'd fallen asleep, there in the moonlight, mouth still open.
She regarded him thoughtfully, her smile not leaving her. Not a bad companion, for a human. Not bad at all …
∗ ∗ ∗
It was his bladder that woke him.
The Masked blinked up at a sky that was no longer clear and star-girt, but a great sheet of mottled gray cloud from horizon to horizon, the sort of dour overcast that could easily persist all day. It was a bright enough gray that dawn must have come, but the chill in the air was still as sharp as a knife, as a bard might say.
Right now, he needed to set aside such lyrical prattle, find a handy bush, and let fly.
He raised himself on one elbow, and discovered he was cramped and stiff-and that a whisper-snoring Tantaerra was once more curled up against him like a cat.
Ah. That would be why the cold hadn't roused him before his need to relieve himself. The Masked shifted away from the sleeping halfling as gently and quietly as possible, stretched, then stood up, swaying for a moment, and looked around.
The birds had awakened long ago, and their calls reassured him that no one was on the move immediately around their ruin. He'd water the greenery just there …
He took two stiff strides, planted himself, and-
The roof gave way beneath him.
He barely had time to go from upright to falling onto his back before he was plunged into the damp green gloom of the empty rooms they'd explored the night before, rotten beams disintegrating around him in a swirl of dust, as he slammed down onto-
Something large and meaty and alive, that convulsed beneath him with a great gasp and emitted a wild shriek.
The Masked bounced and rolled off whoever it was, ending up with his feet thrust up into the air and his neck in the dirt where the floor had once been, one of his shoulders against a support post that now leaned alarmingly, as wood groaned overhead.
He found himself staring across the windowless, overgrown rooms at a tousled, staring Orivin Voyvik, daggers in both hands and looking very much like he wanted to bury them in someone.
He blinked, focused on The Masked, then let out a rising snarl of rage and stalked forward. "So! You try to kill me! Wel-"
His words were lost in a sudden tumbling roar as a lot more roof fell-and Tantaerra tumbled helplessly down on Voyvik's head, smashing him to the floor and sending one of his daggers tlanging off a post.
He roared, this time with real pain, and staggered to his feet to face a tousled and furious Tantaerra, with two of her daggers raised to menace him.
He blinked at them-and then whirled and fled, out through an empty window frame and into the forest, at top speed.
The Masked looked at Tantaerra, and she looked at him …and then they both burst into laughter, shouting out helpless mirth that left them doubled over, before hastily departing the ruin to relieve themselves.
It was some time before they could cling to silence again, and join each other with attention for anything else. The Masked produced the map, and Tantaerra held up Voyvik's lost dagger, arching an eyebrow.
"My first trophy."
The Masked shook his head. "Drop it. Or leave it thrust into a post or beam for him to find. He might be able to trace his own weapons, from afar."
Tantaerra nodded soberly, then flung the dagger away across the room, to thunk into a post. "So," she asked, "did he track us here, or can he trace us-or did he just happen upon the same ruin, through sheer happenstance?"
The Masked spread his hands in a helpless shrug.
Tantaerra sighed. "Show me the map and let's get walking. To someplace where food hangs ready from the trees, cooked and plentiful."
Both of their stomachs rumbled then in loud complaint, which set them to chuckling again.
"If he's out there listening to us, he's going to be furious," Tantaerra warned.