Either the Graveyard Hag had a say in it, or the Trickster God had wanted to relax a bit from all the hassle in the Copper Isles. Either way, it must have been a God’s joke. ‘Having fun with mortals’ – nearly as fulfilling as playing chess with Uusoae.

Onua Chamtong was with a Rider Company, accompanying them on a visit to Maren. They had heard about an illness concerning horses in Maren and further east, and the Wild Mage Daine was busy nursing her second child, Rikash. Daine’s daughter Sarralyn had currently picked ‘horsie’ as her shape, and bringing her into a danger-zone for all four-legged species wouldn’t have helped, either. So it was up to the horse-hearted woman to travel to Maren with the Riders.

She stumbled over the man in the Wandering Bard in Berat. They had come here recommended by the Lioness. Hands full with mugs of beer for her friends, she was unable to avoid bumping into him when he entered the room, not watching where she walked. Onua was about to apologize nevertheless, but then she blinked and jerked her head aside, as if trying to hide her face. The man grumbled and was about to walk around her, when he glanced at her face. “Onua?” His voice sounded as if he’d seen a ghost, he froze in the middle of the busy way, not caring about the people yelling at him to move his behind. The horse-mistress of the Tortallan Riders put the mugs on the table next to her, where the unexpected ‘gift’ was happily greeted and immediately devoured by some drunkards.

Hands formed to fists, set on her hips, she frowned at the man, cocking her head. “Mattin,” she stated matter-of-factly, with a steady voice, managing successfully to hide the shiver seeing him sent down her spine. Hadn’t he been bigger, the last time they met?

“I-i-i thought you were ...,” he uttered, leaving the last part of the sentence hanging in the air.

“Dead?” she finished for him. “Well – no.” Why was he so pale, when his skin used to be of a bronze colour? Those drops of sweat on his forehead, rolling down the deep lines next to his nose – was he ill?

Thoughtfully, Onua watched what used to be her husband, in a life before this one. Why had she loved him, again? His good looks, the confident stride, the way of talking as if he knew everything. He wasn’t horse-hearted, had never understood her affection to “those damn slime-spittin’ beasts.” He wasn’t looking very confident right now, either.

Unconsciously, Onua stood in a fighting-stance. She’d never been a lily-like damsel in distress, but the years with the Riders had made her used to fights, given her muscles and that very self-confident look. Still, she didn’t understand why Mattin was so pale, shifting back, nearly stumbling over a rat-sized dog on the floor until his back met the wall. Onua had followed him, watched by her Riders. They’d intervene if she needed help – right now, it looked as if she was talking to a perfect stranger.

“Now, did you find another woman to beat to death?” Onua asked kind of casually, ignoring that throbbing pain in all those old scars. She didn’t really know what to expect Mattin’s reaction to be. Get grumpy, maybe. Try to beat her again, be it with words or fists. What she wasn’t prepared for was him getting even paler, rolling his eyes up in his head and just collapsing, slipping down the wall, right into a puddle left by that tiny dog.

“Uarghs, I hate it when those mortals are so afraid they just wet their pants. She didn’t even have weapons!” a disappointed male voice said.

“The element of surprise is a stronger weapon than many think. You should know – didn’t the girl in the Copper Isles teach you that?” an old woman’s voice answered, accompanied by cackling laughter. “You owe me a dance, Trickster!” the Graveyard Hag stated gleefully.