Part One of Several.

It was late afternoon by the time Tob was ready to see Yahim, or Yasminna again. The previous night's emotional exertions had proved quite taxing for the man, who had worked scrupulously over the course of his life to keep his relationships simple. Yasminna was not simple, ever. Her desire to creep around Freehold was tactically wise enough that he could not discount it, but he could not let her go alone, either, so he had spent some time trying to make his garb fit for the city streets as opposed to the forests that were his home. So here he was, in a borrowed cloak of dark grey broadcloth, with a hood, instead of his usual oiled deerskin cloak and broad brimmed hat. Over his brown leathers it looked bad, but not horribly out of place. The city was not exactly his place.

He knocked on the Sundar's chamber door, this time with a knock that was all business. He did it willfully, and before he had time for conscience to make a coward of him.

No answer.

"Blast it, neither of them are here," Tob thought, hazarding a small joke for his own amusement. He recalled Yahim's earlier mention of a meeting with the other Sundari woman, whose name fell on his ears like the call of a strange bird, pleasant, but unknown and inexactly remembered. Perhaps he, or she, was with her. The thought of facing the two women at once intimidated Tob a little. The affectations of the women of the desert country worked wonders to muddle a man's perceptions, which is certainly as was intended.

Of course perhaps it was Yahim walking with Aislinn, whom he'd kissed full on the mouth at breakfast. Tob had feelings about that image that were triply contrary and confusing: jealousy, titillation, and envy, and the former and latter lacked direction. If it was the two of them, his unforeseen interruption could prove all the more upsetting, but at the same time all the more irresistible. Confounded, confounding woman!

"Well, were is she off to?" The lush rug that ran the length of the hallway bore a repeating patterns of vined leaves and flowers, easy tracking if only they were real. Still, the threads held bootprints well enough, and two small sets of them left Yasminna's room and went down the hall. Easy enough to follow, if only for a few yards.

He followed them to a staircase, and at the bottom of it Tob cast about for sight, sound or scent of them, whoever they were. The main doors to the Tower were before him, open to the afternoon light, and he let instinct lead him out the doors and back under the high blue ceiling that felt most natural to him. "If it's Aislinn I've no idea where they might be. The Sundar woman's a witch, so maybe she's off to share her studies. Perhaps she found something."

Tob directed his feet toward the building indicated as the library, possibly the structure most useless to him on the grounds. He read only a smattering of any script, and certainly not the scripts that would be written here. The Justifiers used a written code to describe troop strengths and movements, but it was a series of hash-marks that could be quickly inscribed on a tree branch with a knife or scratched into a parchment with haste and a burnt stick.

He faintly heard the tinkling of female laughter, and hushed words he could not make out. He followed that sound to the library, where from the narthex of this chapel of knowledge the hushed words were still indecipherable, but discernibly foreign. It was the tumbling speech of Sundarya, with throaty fricatives interrupting dancing trills of vowel sounds that his own mouth declined to even attempt.

Tob stood outside the library, listening to the quiet patter of two women sharing the bonds of countrymen in a strange land, the easy sororal familiarity that women manage whenever they aren't bickering with one another. Yasminna's voice was somehow rougher than the other one, more direct and obviously regal in bearing even in another tongue. He took care to scuff his boot heel on a few footsteps, to give away his location without having to announce his intrusion.

Now that he was about to round the corner and see Yasminna again, he was struck with the lack of necessity of his interruption. This meeting could wait, it didn't have to be right then, he didn't have to interrupt these women with his own blundering haste, but there he was, bootheels already announcing his presence to Yasminna, who heard as well as if she had a fox's ears to match her soul. Too late, the fool rushed in, even knowing his folly.

Both Sundars looked up as he entered, Sanyangia's beautiful face assuming and maintaining an expression of polite inquiry while the other, after a moment's startlement, assumed the face and stance of the youthfully masculine Yahim.

"Ah Tob, my good fellow, You are in good time. Come, see what Sanyangia and I have discovered here in these dusty tomes," he said, gesturing toward a parchment that lay flat upon the table.

Sanyangia's double-take at her country(wo)man was all that indicated a shift had taken place. Gone were all signs of troubled young princess or scorned young woman. In her place was Yahim, street thief and information broker, who looked as if he'd just found a pot of gold.

Upon the parchment was a map, that much was easily discerned. "The lettering here claims this is a partial map of the catacombs below Castle Northreach, on Guardian's Isle," he murmured, pointing at the runic symbols. "Sanyangia and I are working on the translation of the rest, but look -- the cartographer has kindly denoted a few of the traps he found, here, here, and here," he went on, tapping on the markings with a well-manicured fingernail.

Tob's eye and heart were razor sharp next to the blunt instrument of his mind, and while he'd seen the shift in Yahim's persona, he didn't know what to do with it. He regarded Yahim for a careful second, ready to either advance or retreat as necessary until he saw that Yasminna's face was supplanted entirely by the persona of Yahim. As with most things he didn't comprehend, he did his best to note it and move on - things revealed themselves to Tob given time. He stepped up to the map and had a look, delighted to find that there were things in this building he could read and understand, unlike the scrolls, vellum volumes, and women.

"This is a great find, Yahim," he said, resting a large, calloused hand companionably on Yahim's shoulder as he struggled to memorize the location of the traps. "Is there a scribe here accurate enough to make a few copies for us?"

"I am sure Mistress Sanyangia can arrange that for us," Yahim smiled, his countrywoman's name sliding from his lips like satin. If he had any reaction to Tob's touch, he didn't evince it. "Including the runes. I haven't finished deciphering them yet, but they contain information we shall need."

"But this is not why I sought you out," Tob said, getting himself back on his path. "You sought a trip to Freehold. I would see you there and back again tonight if you wish."

Yahim glanced at him in a classic double-take. "If I go to Freehold -- this has not been decided yet -- it will likely be for more than an overnight trip. I will know more once I've spoken with Lord Atreus after dinner."

The shorter darker skinned man turned to face the tall Derugarian, arms crossing over his chest. "But taking you along seems much like wearing a set of bells around my neck, Tob. I mean no offense, but functioning in cities has never been your strength. You have said as much, yourself."

"I can take instruction," Tob said somewhat defensively. "With a little work I could at least look the part," he added, gesturing with both hands at the wool cloak he wore. "I don't expect to be by your side or anything, but having me within earshot might save your dark little neck."

"My `dark' little neck," Yahim repeated, eyebrows raised as if he somehow found that funny. "Mistress Sanyangia, though it pains me to sacrifice the presence of your unearthly beauty for this, I must ask you to excuse us. It appears I am overdue for my regularly scheduled family quarrel. If I may impose upon you to see that copies of this map and runic inscriptions are made, I would be most grateful." Tob nodded his regards to Sanyangia and followed.

He took her hand and kissed it, then turned it and kissed the palm with subtle charm. Then, without another word, he stepped around Tob, carefully brushing his shoulder against the taller man's arm as he strode outside, as if in hopes the sunlight and open sky would somehow shine reason into his thick, northern skull.

"Now," he said, turning to face Tob. "Perhaps you will be so good as to explain to me how having you around in a foreign city where you do not even speak the language is going to save my `dark little neck', rather than put it more at risk?"

"How many men can you take on at once?" Tob asked, his face barely flinching as he remembered Yahim's gender. "When things go wrong and you're spotted, how many can you take?" His tone was half confrontational, half earnest curiosity. "We were spotted back in Per, they know to look for a dark, small man. Deru like me are a dime a dozen, even in Freehold. You stick out, shorty."

"`When things go wrong'? When I am discovered?" The muscles in Yahim's jaw worked furiously, but he kept his temper firmly in check. "The idea is NOT to be discovered, Tob. Which is going to be a lot easier to accomplish if I am alone. Things only go wrong when I have to shepherd ignorant amateurs, who won't listen to simple precautions, through a settlement." He wouldn't dignify whatever Per was by describing it as a `city'. "I take your guidance and listen to your instruction when we are in the wilderness, you know. I trust you to be competent in your training. Why can you not trust me to be competent in mine?"

"I would take your guidance, and I do trust you to be the best at your trade," Tob replied, as calm as Yahim was tensed. "Her Highness would not have sent you hence otherwise. But you cannot go alone to Freehold, even if it does make your work a little harder to have me thirty yards off."

"I... I `cannot go alone'..." The expression, still firmly Yahim, was sardonic. "And, pray tell, why is it I cannot go alone to do this?"

"You aren't some child rebelling against a royal nanny anymore, you selfish sod," Tob said, really scolding Yahim for the first time, and his words came out in a thickly accented Deru snarl. "You are the fox, you are part of the prophecy that says we save all of Dryg-Gwra from becoming Traugur's privy. Without you the world is lost, so no, you cannot go alone to Freehold. I can't risk losing you for something so simple as your childish cry that you can do it yourself."

That he should not have said some of this out loud, in public, was something he had not considered. That he might have said some of it more kindly he had not considered. That it would be received poorly he had not considered. That he could not face the idea of losing Yasminna he had considered, but his own petty desires were now, as ever, secondary considerations.

Or were they? Yahim looked at Tob as if he'd look at an impervious wall he somehow had to scale. "It honestly has never occurred to you, even once, that you going with me might put the world in more danger? The whole world now hinges on your ability to replace my royal nanny and maybe do a better job of minding me than she did? You arrogant ass," he concluded, shaking his head. "If Coren were going off to do this, would you still be so insistent?"

"Coren isn't allowed into Freehold at all, unless we bandage him up like a leper," Tob responded, missing the point almost entirely. "And Coren wouldn't go charging off alone, and Coren can stack men like cordwood, but even so ..." Tob paused to really think about Yahim's question. "No, I could not let him charge off alone either, but I admit I had to think about it. And I'm not your nanny, but my arrogant ass is responsible for your life and safety. You don't need me right next to you, but having me an arrow's flight away might be the difference between coming back here and roasting on a dragon lord's spit."

That last sentence changed Tob's face, and his indignation and certainty were replaced however briefly with anxiety, with real worry. To the young spy, a trained student of the tells of a man's face, it was as obvious as a banner.

"I -- You --" Exasperation and sudden compunction went to war inside, the conflict reflected in the face that vacillated between a stubborn, angry youth and an equally stubborn, hurt young woman. The youth was losing ground rapidly; aware they were standing in an open courtyard and abruptly feeling more than a little exposed, the androgynous Sundar grabbed Tob's hand and pulled him around to the side of the library, near a wall and in the shade. It was Yasminna's tormented face that glanced up at his, then urged him into the corner formed by one of the tower buttresses, hands on his chest.

"The only reason I can bear to do this is because I cannot possibly hurt any worse, no matter what happens here," she told him, fingers of one hand reaching up to cover his mouth. "Do not speak, please. I am going to ask you something. Just nod for yes, or shake your head for no.

"I know your care for me is as a comrade in arms," she began, trembling at the vulnerability inherent in the moment. "But... is it also more than that, Tob? Do you also care for me as a woman?"

Tob, who had not frozen in his life since the midwife's initial slap on his rump, froze. How could his feelings for her matter? He was not a pretty man, nor well spoken, nor well born, nor cultured at all. His romantic future, as he saw it, was that most likely he would eventually marry a pig farmer's fat widow, and maybe there would be time enough left in her womb to bear him a child of his own, and he would raise the farmer's kin as his own, and that would be the happiest he could hope to be. A few times in his life, he had looked forward to such a comfortable, bucolic fate. Loving a foreign princess was not in his stars or particularly relevant. More to the point, being loved by a foreign princess was a laughable notion for a crude woodsman and trained killer. He was as out of place in court as ... well, as Yasminna was.

Hurt? What could she mean by hurt? He was sworn, literally sworn, to defend her with his very life if need be: he would never dream of hurting her. This thought brought the poor man to this choice without a choice: confess his love and let fate hurt her later, or deny it and hurt her now?

He felt the small fingers covering his mouth, and the soft warmth of them on his rough chin, and there was no touch he wanted more. He could no more lie to Yaminna than he could cut off both of his own hands. Slowly, looking in to the depths of her dark eyes, Tob nodded.

"....ooohhh..." Realization dawned in those depths, the illumination doing much to dispel the shadows of defensiveness and self-loathing that had plagued her since their conversation the night before. Eyes never leaving his, she whispered something in Jabalsk (o Ysyleth law samahta, naawil-ne zumurrud... samaht' aqeeq-ne....*) that was half-prayer, half-invocation, her fingers still stopping his mouth. She stepped into him, bringing her slender body close to his.

"That is what I wanted to hear from you, last night," Yasminna whispered in Deru. "I did not know it, until you stopped speaking and I realized... I realized I had not heard what I wished to hear. And I was hurt, and felt like a fool."

It was easy to see that she returned his affections and did not know what to make of any of it. Her fingers drifted from his lips reluctantly, lingering on his chin briefly before coming to rest upon his chest. "If the journey to Freehold is needful... I would very much like it if you would come with me."

* - oh Ysyleth please, do not play me for a fool, I beg you...