Smitty hunched over in the saddle, wrapping his cloak around him tighter. It didn't help; the cold cut right through the cloth, froze through his nose and down into his lungs. He glanced up, shivered. The sky was clear, bright with stars, and moonless, though it wasn't that long after sundown, which meant it would get even colder later on. Just what they needed. Then again, things hadn't been happening according to need, lately.

"Shee-it." Ross drawled it out. "Thought this was early fall, Steve."

"Don't remind me," Steve said. "God-dam." He huddled inside his cloak, as the wind picked up. He hadn't had any coughing fits for the past day or two, but his voice was still rough and hoarse. "I can't even feel my fingers anymore."

"Wimpy Californians." Jonathan sounded amused. "Show you real weather and you curl up and die."

"Least we got the brains to live somewhere warm," Steve snapped.

"Right on top the San Andreas? Yeah. Real smart."

"I live in L.A.!"

"My point," Jonathan said dryly.

"Check me on something," Ross said to Steve. "Jay lives on top of San Andreas, too, right?"

"Don't expect logic out of him," Steve said. "Chicago froze his brains solid long before he got to us."

Smitty sighed, kept his mouth shut, let the bickering wash over him. At least the bickering was normal, solid, and real, when everything else for the past few months had been right out of a fairy tale -- mistaken identity, evil wizards, an angry vampire, a princess that had needed rescuing...

And a bunch of fools caught in the middle and too stupid to run when they had the chance. Smitty smiled bitterly. He wasn't sure if they'd ever really had the chance to run.

They were running now -- trotting, actually. The horses swayed in a brisk canter along the trail, dust and crumbled bits of dried weeds and grass an ever-present haze around them, even in this cold, and the haze was made worse by the rumbling of a passing wagon, its team of horses kicking up the dust and setting off sneezing fits all around. These were the plains of southern Chulain, according to Perry. Smitty didn't care. It was barren land, not even farm country, as far as he could tell, just stretches of rolling hills, covered with dried grass and dead flowers, nothing that offered shelter or food.

Smitty stared into the darkness, watching for any movement, anything not right, and shivered.

They'd left Edinbura on the run again a couple days ago and hadn't had a decent meal since, and the weather had been getting progressively colder -- no snow yet, thank god, but it was only a matter of time, from the feel of the air. They'd also been running into Chulain outriders, all along the border, and had been stopped several times, questioned at length, warned to keep strictly to the trade road. They were all jumpy and on edge.

No, not on edge. We fell over the cliff a long time ago.

A voice was missing from the bickering, noticeable because it was silent. Smitty glanced back. Neal rode at the rear of the group, staring up at the sky. His hood was pulled back, and he didn't seem to notice the wind, his gaze moving slowly, intently, as if studying the stars and clouds from horizon to horizon.

"We should stop and set up camp," Smitty said mildly. He couldn't take his gaze off Neal. "Get a fire going and get warmed up. We shouldn't be riding the horses at night."

"I was hoping we'd get into Y'shar tonight," Steve said.

"If wishes were fishes, we'd all eat for free," Ross said. "One more night's not gonna hurt."

"Uh-huh," Steve said.

"Settle down," Ross said. "You're in disguise."

"So far." Steve touched the side of his face. "This shit's not gonna fool anyone."

"Like your fans are gonna care," Smitty said, grinning, and was rewarded with Steve rolling his eyes. No one had been able to figure out how to shave with the edge of a dagger; no one had really been willing to try. After the close call in Aachendun, Steve had reluctantly given in and sliced his hair short, at the nape of the neck, resulting in an unruly mop of black hair that he kept brushing out of his eyes. Between that, his thin mustache and scraggly beard, the overall effect was distinctly grungy, and definitely un-royal.

Put him in flannels, move to Seattle, and we'd have it made again.

"Let's go another half hour," Jonathan said. "It's still early." He glanced back. "Neal?"

Neal was still staring up at the sky.

"Neal?"

Neal blinked at them, wiped quickly at his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Whatever." His gaze moved back up to the sky. "Which one, you think?"

That got everyone looking at the guitarist.

"Which one what?" Smitty said.

Neal gestured up. "Home."

You bastard. Smitty looked anywhere but at the sky, anywhere but where home was and he wasn't. It didn't help.

"You probably can't see it from here," Jonathan said, his voice thick. "Our sun's just a little yellow star. We're probably halfway across the galaxy from it."

"Jonathan, you pick the damndest times to be stupid." Ross craned his neck around, pointed. "There. That's it, inside that box. That really dim one surrounded by the four bright ones."

"That's appropriate." Smitty squinted into the darkness. Something had moved, off to the side of the road, and slowly, carefully, he slid his bow out.

"Ross..." Jonathan sighed.

"Can you prove me wrong?" Ross said. "Or you volunteering to be the dim one?"

Neal was staring where Ross had pointed. "Yeah. Thanks. That helps."

"It does," Steve said, so softly that Smitty wasn't even sure he'd heard it. The singer coughed, spoke louder. "So all we gotta do is hitch a ride with a passing Klingon."

"You hitch a ride with the Klingon," Ross said. "I'll wait for Captain Kirk, thanks."

Movement again. A small shadow rustled through the grass -- a rabbit scampering out of the way.

Smitty had his bow up and the arrow fired before he even realized the rabbit was really there. But another bowstring twanged behind him at the same time, and the rabbit lay twitching beside the trail. Smitty reined in his horse, swung down out of the saddle, sighed when he saw the marking on the arrow shaft, blue bands on black.

"Another one for me," Ross said cheerfully, reining his horse in. He slid down from his saddle to the rabbit, carefully worked his arrow out and handed the body to Smitty. "I killed it, you clean it."

"Do you two mind?" Steve looked disgusted.

"We don't have a choice," Ross said. "Unless you know what plants to eat instead."

Steve's gaze moved to the rabbit. "The rabbit didn't get a choice either."

"We don't need to ask the rabbit," Neal said.

"Heads up," Jonathan said, as another wagon rumbled by, crowding them off the road.

That decided part of the matter, though Smitty didn't watch as Neal piled sticks together in order to start the fire. The magic-envy was a familiar sensation by now, but that didn't mean Smitty enjoyed it. He busied himself with skinning and gutting the rabbit, and checking it carefully for signs of tularemia -- they didn't need that, on top of everything else. Then again, Smitty wasn't sure if rabbits here were the same as the ones back home.

They hadn't been poisoned yet. It was something else normal, something else that made it almost seem like home, something useful, and Smitty found himself putting more effort into it than usual, scraping the guts into the discarded skin. He never thought he'd have to skin rabbits again, but having grown up on a New England farm did have its uses here. He couldn't help another grim smile, as he worked a stake through the rabbit -- a New England farm boy turned rock star turned fugitive from evil wizards, up to his elbows in rabbit guts and stranded in one of Tolkien's wet-dreams.

I live for life's little surprises.

"Goddam it..." Neal was striking the pommel of his dagger against flint, the sparks smoking in the heap of twigs and grass. He sat back on his heels, glaring at the un-lit pile.

"Try this," Ross said, from the horses. He tossed something at Neal.

Neal caught it, looked. "You didn't say we had this."

"You didn't ask," Ross said.

A small flame appeared in Neal's hand -- a lighter. Neal cupped his hand around the twigs and set the lighter to the pile.

"Why didn't you just magic it up?" Smitty couldn't keep the envy out his voice.

"Not much there." Neal's attention was still on the trembling, guttering flame.

Smitty waited, then, "Okay. So?"

Neal looked up, plainly confused. "So, what?"

"It's magic," Smitty said.

"No such thing as a free lunch," Jonathan said, as he brushed one of the horses down. "Geas comes from somewhere."

"The ground?"

"Sorta," Neal said.

"More like life," Jonathan said.

Ross grinned. "Like the Force."

"And death," Steve said, from where he sat.

"Like Vicari." Neal's eyes were closed.

But Smitty was glaring at Steve. Jonathan and Ross were feeding and grooming the horses, Neal was getting the fire going, but Steve only sat huddled, wrapped in his cloak and staring up at the sky.

Like a king, in royal robes. Oh hell no.

Abruptly, Smitty stood and scooped up the bundled skin and guts, went over to Steve and shoved the bloody bundle into Steve's hands before the singer could draw away.

"Here," Smitty said. "Fifty paces, that way." He gestured downwind. "Bury it."

Steve opened his mouth, as if to protest.

"If I do it," Smitty said, before Steve could get any sound out, "I'll put your bedroll on top of it."

Steve's mouth snapped shut. He snatched up the bundle and headed out into the field.

"Little rough," Ross said, turning from the horses.

Smitty picked up the staked rabbit to set it over the fire. "He was acting royal again. Time for a reality check."

"That's reality check enough." Neal gestured at the rabbit. "If I never eat another half-burnt, half-raw rabbit, it'll be too soon."

"I don't hear you offering to cook," Smitty said.

"Count your blessings," Jonathan said, ducking under one of the horses' necks.

"So shoot some wild lasagna noodles," Neal said. "I'll be happy to volunteer then." He looked out to where Steve had gone, and raised his voice slightly. "Steve, hurry up. I wanna get the wards set."

"You sure that's a good idea?" Smitty said to Neal.

Neal glanced at Jonathan. "Better safe than sorry."

"But what if they're following your wards? You're just --"

"Smitty," Neal said, "back off. I know geas, you don't. I'm not taking any chances."

Smitty clamped his mouth shut, turned his attention back to the rabbit. So much for feeling useful.

Steve came back into the circle of firelight. He set the bundle of skin and guts down near Smitty, headed for the horses.

"You son of a bitch," Smitty started, but Steve cut him off.

"Something's out there. I saw it moving. That way." Steve gestured to the west, as he pulled an axe out from his packs.

Everyone fell silent, the snorting of the horses suddenly loud in the quiet. Smitty kicked dirt over the fire to smother it -- it wasn't enough to see by, and the firelight would only give whatever it was a good target. Then he picked up his bow.

"There, one o'clock." Neal said, low and through his teeth.

"Horses," Jonathan added, just as low. "Two of 'em."

"Thank god," Ross breathed, pulling his own bow out. He glanced at Steve. "Feel up to springing the trap?"

Steve sighed, but hefted the axe. "Yeah. Smitty, you and Ross cover. Neal, flood on three --"

Cover. In other words, stay out of the way. Smitty cut the thought off savagely, stared into the darkness, tried to aim....

Shouts erupted off to the right, followed by the thudding of running hooves and a terrified scream....