Session Sixty-Seven - July 5, 2009

[Matt]

Savor 6, 731

For Sir Ewen, the First Knight of Kaldor and head of Raven Hall, Savor Six began as many other days did: with Kaelyn asking him for money. It seemed the sorceress needed some new clothes. Sighing, the knight placed some his hard-won pence into her waiting palm.

Smiling, Kaelyn made her way through the streets of Tashal, passing men on their way to work, servants on their way to the market, and young nobles slinking their way home after a night of dalliance. The young woman soon found herself in the shop of one Melsene of Irin. She spent an enjoyable time looking at new fabrics and cuts, eventually deciding on a particularly pretty dress. “I’m not as busy as I would have hoped to be,” Melsene admitted sadly with a sigh. “I can have it ready for you in seven days.” Kaelyn replied that that would be acceptable, as she needed the dress by the 17th. After some haggling, Melsene charged her a 120d down, with an additional 120 due on delivery.

Meanwhile, Sir Baris was stomping around and wondered why Kaelyn was not yet yelling at him. He asked one of the servants where she had gone, and was informed she had gone to get some new clothes. That reminded the knight, he would need to get a new set of clothes as well! He asked Filen where he could get the best clothes, and then immediately regretted it. The herald gave him a speech about proper clothing-buying behavior, during most of which Baris heard sound, saw Filen’s lips moving, but failed to recognize as speech nonetheless. “Filen, I just need to know where to go. I’m a knight, I know my manners. Have you ever known me to be anything but gentlemanly?” The herald seemed about to say something, but quickly caught himself. “Ahem. May I suggest Kodar of Narad?”

A short time later, Sir Baris was standing outside the shop of Kodar of Narad, who, Filen had mentioned, just happened to be the clothiers’ guildmaster. The knight went in, and was all business. He could hardly wait to get out. Fortunately, the clothier seemed to recognize this and did not dally or make much small talk. Kodar had some backorders, but informed the knight he could manage to have clothes ready in seven days. “That will be fine, thank you for your diligence.” After only a bit of haggling- the knight had little patience for it- Kodar charged Sir Baris 360d in total for his new clothes.

For her new dress, Imarë visited Haber. The clothier told the beautiful elf that he could manage a new dress in about four days, at a cost of 840d. “You upped your price,” Imarë muttered. “Trickier fabric,” the clothier explained with a small smile.

While the rest of the party was out shopping, Sir Ewen enjoyed a morning alone in Raven Hall, enjoying the quiet. The servants were on tiptoe.

***

Around seven o’clock that evening Sirs Ewen and Baris, with Kaelyn (the “wench in the blue dress”) in tow, strode over to the abode of Aethel Atan, a mere two doors down from Raven Hall. During the short journey, Sir Baris noted that the building in between Raven Hall and Aethel’s home was made of wood with a thatched roof, while Aethel’s home was built of stone and had a slate roof. There were no windows on the first floor. ‘It is amazing the things you notice when you actually stop to look around,’ the knight mused.

Sir Ewen knocked on the door, and gasped when it opened. Standing in the doorway, limned by the flickering lamplight behind him, stood a man the likes of which the knight had never seen before. The man in the door was very tall, very muscular, and oddly dressed in an open sleeveless tunic and something that closely resembled pantaloons. He was completely bald, and nearly hairless. Strangest of all, his skin was as black as night. Wordlessly, the man gestured the knights and woman in, bowing slightly at the waist.

The trio found themselves in an entry hall with a curtain directly across from the front door, another door to the right, and a rack on the left. The big man silently pointed to the rack, and Ewen, Baris and Kaelyn hung their cloaks. The man pulled back the curtain, revealing a great hall, a long table dominating the room, the head on the far side. To the right was a lit fireplace, and to the left there was a curtain and another door. Two large standing candelabras sitting on the table provided flickering light. On the floor was a strange gray leathery rug made of an unusual animal with extremely large ears, and a strange sort of long snout. It did not look like the fur had been removed, and there were little bristly bits of fur here and there. Around the table, the chairs were upholstered with the furs of various animals, some spotted, the colors ranging from brown to almost white. On one of the walls was a strange wooden mask painted garishly with feathers and other materials that Sir Baris did not recognize.

On a pedestal near the mask was a bowl carved out of a greenish stone that Kaelyn noted emanated a Pvaric aura, apparently Odivshe. On another pedestal in a corner was a marble bust of the startlingly realistic unclothed upper half of a woman. The woman looked almost alive, and seemed to be staring at Sir Ewen. Ewen looked away, and when he looked at the bust again, the eyes were not looking at him. ‘It must have been my imagination,’ Ewen thought, but when he looked at the woman again, it again seemed her eyes were boring into him. For his part, Sir Baris did not notice the woman’s eyes, entranced as he was by the level of detail that went into the nipples. Kaelyn looked away, disgusted by the knight’s leer.

The sorceress looked around the room and noted a helmet that looked remarkably inefficient. The only clue the object was a piece of armor was the mail that hung below it. It had a wide brim that tapered towards the back, and there were sheets of black metal that had been weaved into curls. The metal was painted with a red serpent like figure, and was topped by a similarly red crest. There was not a single item in the room that was like anything the group had ever seen.

The table was set for four, the settings including what appeared to be individual linen cloths, on top of which were plates that appeared to be silver. On top of the plate was an apparently silver bowl. On the other side was a linen cloth, knives, and two pronged forks. To the other side was a large spoon. In front of each setting were two goblets that appeared to be glass.

As the party was gawking at all the curiosities that surrounded them, a familiar voice boomed. “Ah! My friends! You are right on time, and you brought the blue dressed wench!” Aethel said as he walked in, dressed not as garishly as he had been the night before, with a book under his arm. “She must have a name.”

“May I introduce Kaelyn of Aletta,” Sir Ewen supplied. “She is an aspiring scholar.”

“Ah, the best kind,” Aethel said with a smile. “Just at the beginning of the journey.” He paused, in though. “Aletta, Aletta …”

“Thay,” Kaelyn said helpfully.

“Ah, yes, that’s it,” Aethel replied.

Ewen glanced at the rug. “Your hide is remarkably well preserved.”

Aethel looked at the knight and slapped his own ass with both hands. “Well, a lot of time in the saddle, you know.”

Sir Baris gulped and said “It is good to see you again, Sir Aethel.”

“Oh, no no no, nothing so grand,” the man replied. Aethel handed the book he was holding to Ewen. “It is a most excellent copy of Lord Jaren’s Instructions.”

“Why thank you,” Sir Ewen, ever polite, replied, looking down at the book.

“It is a book of courtly etiquette, written by a Lord Jaren, from Kanday,” Aethel explained. “You remember Kanday, it hasn’t been that long has it?”

“I remember it from my youth.”

“It is a guide to traversing the eddies and swirls and treacherous currents of court.”

“I’m sure you heard of the travails I experienced at court,” Ewen said with a slight smile.

“Travails? I had not heard.” Aethel said innocently, smiling in return. “I merely thought that a knight such as yourself would enjoy perusing such a tome.”

Sir Ewen carefully looked through the book. There were chapters on the various social graces, even a chapter on the male view of needlework, and taught a man how to properly compliment woman’s work.

While Sir Ewen was thus occupied and Sir Baris was trying to come up with something philosophical to say all the while hoping Aethel did not ask him anything too complicated, Aethel turned his attention to the wench. “So, gentle scholar, are you studying anatomy and philosophy like Sir Baris here?” He raised his eyebrows. “Are you studying under his gentle tutelage?”

Kaelyn managed to avoid showing the disgust that she felt at the possibility of learning anatomy from Sir Baris. “I am learning of the world through experience,” she said carefully.

Aethel laughed. “What are you doing in Tashal then? I assure you, the world is not to be found here!”

At this point a pretty serving girl came in and put down a tray with a goblet and glasses and quietly walked out- but not before briefly glancing at Sir Ewen, and then staring at Sir Baris from toe to head, and then head to toe.

“Ah, refreshments!” the host exclaimed and poured four glasses of wine from the goblet. “A toast to the world outside of Tashal!”

Ewen raised his glass. “ To the world outside of Tashal,” he said and drank. He looked at Aethel. “What has brought you back home after so many journeys?”

“Well, it was difficult, but I did find that Tashal is home.” Aethel sighed. “I missed dear niece Cheselyne, and I have other family members.”

“Will you be staying long?”

“I keep thinking I should leave again, but something always comes up and keeps me from going.” He paused, then spoke up as something occurred to him. “Although I was called to travel in the last year.”

“Where did you go?” Baris asked.

“I traveled as far north as Geldeheim, and as far northeast as Lorkin. The King’s Grace had asked for me to investigate what happened to the fur caravan.”

“What an unusual charge,” Ewen stated.

“It allowed me to look at some unusual fauna in the north. I had been thinking of capturing one and replacing this old worn out rug,” Aethel said, although to Baris’s untrained eye the rug looked unworn.

“What type of animal would you replace this rug with?” Baris asked.

“It was a most unusual beast!” Aethel said animatedly. “For one thing, it flew – it was a flying reptile!”

“A flying reptile?” Baris said with equal parts incredulity and hopeful interest.

“I didn’t know such things existed. Of course there are legends of dragons and such, but an educated man such as yourself knows those are not true.”

“Of course,” Baris said quickly.

“Where did you see it?” Ewen asked.

“In the Sorkin mountains,” Aethel answered.

“How large was this creature?” asked Baris.

“It seemed to me to be at least the size of a peasant dwelling,” Aethel answered, and Baris’s eyes widened.

“Did you find what happened to the ill-fated fur caravan?” Kaelyn wondered.

“In a sense I suppose that I did.” A shadow briefly crossed Aethel’s expression. “It appeared to have been massacred.” He suddenly paused, as if worried he had said too much. “I suppose it’s not a state secret,” he continued after a moment. “Did you know there’s a war going on up there?”

“I’d heard something vaguely about it,” Kaelyn said.

“We’d heard rumors,” Baris added helpfully.

“All those rumors about Vikings being tougher than a drunk dwarf appear to be so much of yesterday’s stale ale.” He paused, collecting his thoughts. “It appears the entire polity up there is fracturing.” Aethel then went on a blessedly short – but not brief – digression about the nature of polity, but finally got back to the point. “Where there was once a more or less unified kingdom, now appears to be three, four, maybe even five, separate jurisdictions.” Aethel picked up a glass. “It appears like someone …” he threw the glass onto the ground where it shattered, “… did that!”

“Very savage terrain up there I understand,” Ewen said.

Kaelyn suddenly noticed that the glass was no longer on the floor. In fact, it was back sitting on the table, intact, as if Aethel had never picked it up. Perhaps breaking the glass was some sort of illusion?

The conversation digressed, eventually making its way to philosophy. The soup was brought in by the same woman servant as before, who was carrying a tureen. To Baris she seemed vivacious, very curvy, and her cups overflowed. She had a big smile on her face, which was framed by pigtails. She served Aethel first, of course, but then straight to serve Sir Baris, leaning in a bit more than was properly necessary, and took her time. He enjoyed the view.

“Molly, the soup is getting cold,” Aethel said quietly.

“Oh, yes sir,” Molly said embarrassedly and quickly ladled some soup into the bowls of the others before rushing out, flashing a smile in Baris’s general direction.

Baris pointedly cleared his throat. “So, philosophy?”

Aethel was delighted. “Yes, Sir Baris. I have recently come across the most startling proposition, and I would love your insights on it. And, Sir Ewen, yours as well, and if you don’t let your attention wander, you will profit from it. Sir Baris, I have recently evaluated the proposition that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. What do you think?”

“Would be relatively easy to test?” Kaelyn asked before the knight could come up with something to say, much to Baris’s thanks.

Aethel looked at the woman as he would a child. “No, the person I discussed this with was quite flummoxed. But I am sure a philosopher of Sir Baris’s standing in the academic community will have no trouble.”

“Are we discussing a canine or a woman?” asked Ewen innocently.

“How old a dog are we talking about?” Baris asked in as intelligent a tone as he could muster, and did alright. He was an actor, after all.

“An old dog,” Aethel replied. “Not young, not middle aged. Over ten years old. If we are talking about, as Sir Ewen said, who I did ask to forbear, of an unattractive female, then I was thinking more north of fifty. But let us stipulate, canines.”

Ewen helpfully sent a suggestion to Baris that perhaps he might say that ‘The proper question is are there any new tricks?’ Baris pretended to be deep in thought. Or maybe he was really deep in thought – as deep as his thoughts went, anyway. He suddenly thought of the serving wench, but quickly brought his mind back to the task at hand. At last, he said, “It seems to me, that seeing as there is nothing new under the sun, there could not be any new tricks in the proper sense of the term.”

“A most fascinating line of reasoning!” Aethel said happily, and Baris wondered anew how he had gotten into this mess. “But, once we get to the metaphysical aspect of it, and a syllogistic line of reasoning …” He went on in this manner for some time, and Baris kept himself awake by thinking of Molly and, oddly, Elsa.

Baris was just on the verge of figuring out the mechanics of just how she managed that back flip when Ewen interrupted his thoughts. “What if the old dog looks like a new dog?” Aethel smiled, tipped his head, and drank, before answering.

The soup, along with the conversation, was superb. At least, the parts that Sir Baris could follow. Throughout the evening, the statue continued to stare at Sir Ewen.

Later, Molly returned with the main dish- a suckling pig, complete with apple in mouth. There were roasted vegetables scattered around the pig, along with a soft wheel of cheese on another platter. Baris’s mouth watered, and then he saw the food.

“What have you learned about the cuisines of other places?” Ewen asked.

“You would be surprised about what people eat, and how they eat,” Aethel replied. “You would not be surprised to see people from the lower orders eating off trenchers of bread, but in some places, the table itself is bread!” The assemblage was skeptical of this odd notion.

That would take a lot of- flour? Was that what they put in bread? Baris wondered. He left that kind of thing to serving women.

“Most people sat on the ground, with higher class individuals granted a pillow,” Aethel continued. “You eat off of bowls, tearing off pieces of the delicious table. I once asked if there were any vegetables involved, and I was told they were in the sauce, along with the entire contents of their spice cabinet, or so it seemed.”

“In another place, they ate nothing but sausages and cabbage. Every piece of animal product they could think of, they stuffed into intestines! I think the cabbage was just to clear their palate between sausages. There are many others, but if you have never had the olive!” Aethel said excitedly and almost smacked his lips. “The olive, if it could be cultivated here on Harn,” he said wistfully. “The olive is a miraculous fruit. Some call it a vegetable, but it is a fruit,” he said matter of factly, as if he was a great expert on olives.

“Do they make oil from it?” Kaelyn asked smartly.

“What type of fruit is it?” Ewen asked before Aethel could reply.

“It is a tiny round fruit,” Aethel said, looking at Ewen. “They do all kinds of things with it,” he glanced at Kaelyn. “They press them for oil, they stuff them, they cure and grind them, and they even add spices to them when they cure or grind them.”

As he often did, Aethel continued on in this vein for quite awhile, with neither Baris, Ewen, or Kaelyn able to get much in edgewise. Baris realized that while Aethel spoke very much, and very well, although he conveyed many interesting facts, he in actually conveyed very little useful information. The conversation continued in a light vein throughout the meat course. All the food was superb. The Earl of Neph would likely compliment the chef, or hire him, Baris thought.

Suddenly Baris was brought back to the conversation. Apparently they were discussing Kaelyn’s bowl. “Was your bowl jade?” Aethel asked.

“No, is your bowl jade?” Kaelyn replied.

“No, though jade will break,” said Aethel.

“I broke my smaller bowl,” Kaelyn admitted. “Astarok had left behind a font, that I had removed to my room.”

“Oh yes!” Aethel said excitedly. “I know what you’re talking about; I remember seeing years ago – a great monstrosity of stone. I remember telling him at the time – Astarok was never a very nice man – it looks like you could bathe an infant in that! And he looked at me and said I have never bathed an infant,’ as if this were some sort of badge of courage! A damp badge of courage. Like I said, not a decent bone in the man’s – bless you – body.

The evening wore on, and fortunately Baris was not called upon to pontificate upon philosophical matters much more. The statue continued to stare at Sir Ewen. “May I examine your statue more closely?” the knight asked Aethel.

“By all means, Sir Ewen!” their host replied. “I believe you will find that this statue is the most realistic depiction of a woman as is possible, and with apologies to present company, she is much more agreeable.”

Ewen got up from the table and walked over to the statue in the corner, examining it closely. Those eyes, maybe it really was just his imagination.

“I find this particular style a bit too realistic,” Aethel said, suddenly beside Ewen.

“That’s why I wanted to look at it more closely.”

“I’ve thought she would be better served by being covered in a drapery.” He paused meaningfully. “But then, you would still know, wouldn’t you,” he finished with a wink.

“Where is it from?” Ewen asked.

“South,” Aethel replied, “from around the Venarive sea.”

Ewen continued to focus on the statue, attempting to object-read it. His efforts were rewarded and he discovered a faint dweomer. Aethel noticed Ewen’s intense examination. “How intently you did study the curvature of her breast, Sir Ewen.”

Ewen coughed. “It’s only fair – she has been closely observing me all dinner.”

Aethel laughed. “It often does seem so, doesn’t it?”

Molly returned and cleared the remnants of the pig from the table. Shortly thereafter she returned with a pie and, bending over, placed it very carefully on the table.

“Is there no cream?” Aethel asked. Molly curtsied in an apology. “Couldn’t reach it Sir.”

“Do you need assistance, Madam?” Sir Baris asked, smiling.

“Oh yes!” Molly replied, her face lighting up with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “The assistance of someone tall would be so useful. It’s this way,” she said, motioning with her hand.

Aethel sighed heavily and, picking up a knife, began carving the pie.

Sir Baris followed Molly through a curtain, down a corridor with several doors, a staircase, eventually finding the kitchen on the left. The two walked through the kitchen into a storeroom. Molly looked up, scanning the upper shelves. “Oh, I was sure the cream was up there,” she said, pouting. Then the servant bent over, managing to lift her skirt up at the same time, rummaging with one hand, hitching with the other. Baris grinned.

They found some cream.

Some time later, a slightly flushed Sir Baris swaggered back in.

“Where’s the cream?” Kaelyn asked brightly.

Baris just stared, trying to think of something to say.

“Well, we’ve finished the pie anyway,” Aethel said just a little sharply.

Molly chose that point to walk in looking slightly more sheveled. She curtsied. “Will there be anything else?”

“No, but could you bring some wine?” Aethel asked.

“Can she reach the wine?” Ewen asked, laughing.

“No milord, I’ll be fine, thank you!” Molly said quickly, and rushed back to the kitchen. Baris watched her go, then sat down with a barely suppressed grin, and quickly hid it with a swig of drink.

Aethel looked slightly embarrassed. “She’s the daughter of a guardsman. I took her on as a housekeeper. She’s a terrible housekeeper, but an excellent cook.”

“Do you otherwise live alone, Aethel?” Ewen asked, trying to gently steer the subject away of Sir Baris’s poor manners.

“I keep very few servants, but otherwise I live alone,” Aethel replied.

“You have the most extraordinary servants.”

“Ah, you met Numeq,” Aethel said. “I don’t think Sir Ewen, that I am revealing anything you don’t already know if I tell you that I found Numeq on my travels.”

“I had reached that conclusion,” Ewen agreed.

“Would you believe that where I found him, everyone looks like him!” Aethel continued. “He is not a freak of nature! He is not an anatomical …” he looked pointedly at Baris, “anatomical Sir Baris – not an anatomical anomaly.”

“If all looked like him, you were the anomaly, then,” Kaelyn said smartly.

“You certainly will be a scholar!” Aethel said happily. “It was not just the menfolk, but the womenfolk as well – and the women were unusually tall.”

Ewen said, “They must make tremendous warriors”

“Certainly! They fought each other- they called them tribes, I thought them kingdoms. When the victors won, they would take their victims to work for them, not as serfs, to whom we have obligations, but as slaves!”

“I have never actually seen a slave before,” Ewen mused.

“I find that shocking,” Aethel said. “Are you not from Tharda?”

The conversation wandered on. At one point Sir Baris said to Ewen, “You know, we could use a new cook.”

“So, where does the time go?” Aethel eventually said.

“You have been most hospitable to host us this evening,” Ewen said graciously.

“It has been a most delightful evening. And, I might say, an eye opener,” he said, looking over at Sir Baris.

“I hope we might return the favor at some point,” Ewen said.

“I am quite contented,” Aethel replied. “One might say it is the winter of content.”

Ewen, Baris and Kaelyn said their courtesies and returned home. Sir Baris went to sleep quite contented, himself.

Early Savor 731

Throughout early Savor, various invitations came to Raven Hall. The first was from Sir Houla, for Sirs Ewen and Baris to visit him in Whyce. Sir Houla was returning to Whyce on the 11th, and suggested that the knight might return with him up through the fifteenth, after which the weather would begin to turn.

An invitation also came from Worton Harabor, to meet with him on Savor 12. Lady Peresta sent an invitation for Savor 17. At some point, Filen noted that he had heard wind of a party at the Dariunes, but no invitation was forthcoming. Finally, an invitation arrived from Sir Danyes Bernan for the party to join him on Savor 20. Filen suggested the knights decline that invitation. The floor show at his parties tended to be quite vulgar, to put it lightly. His guest list and Lady Cheselyne’s were almost opposites, Filen said disapprovingly.

After much discussion, which Sir Baris took as little part in as possible, the party decided to travel with Sir Houla to Whyce on Savor 11, and return before Lady Peresta’s party on Savor 17. They would politely decline Harabor’s invitation, citing a prior engagement. “Should we even respond to Sir Danyes’ invitation?” Kaelyn asked Filen. “I wouldn’t,” the herald replied and the party took his advice.

Word reached the party that Lady Cheselyne had sent letters to ever clothier in town, letting them know that if she ever found out who had defied the embargo, she would blacklist them.

At some point, Kaelyn went to acquire a new focus, making her way to a glassworker just off Mangai square in search of a vial. She stepped into the shop and found that it was quite warm inside. In the rear of the shop an older woman, her hair streaked with gray, was doing the glasswork while a young girl, apparently an apprentice, was assisting her. A journeyman minded the front of the store. Kaelyn looked at the wares admiringly – the glass seemed to be very well crafted. She leaned in close to look at some of the works and notice that they were almost bubble free. The journeyman walked over. “It is lovely, isn’t it. There is nothing like them. They keep out pests, they keep out thieves, and it is even a bit warming as the light refracts.”

“I will keep you in mind if I have to replace my current windows,” Kaelyn replied.

“You have glass windows now?” the journeyman said.

“Yes,” Kaelyn said, as if everyone did. Everyone who mattered, anyway.

“Ah, quality!” the journeyman said, already expecting to make quite a bit today.

“I was looking for a little glass vial, to put water in, to wear around my neck,” Kaelyn told him.

“What a most unusual request,” the journeyman said diplomatically. “I’m afraid we don’t have anything like that.” He paused, then something occurred to him. “Well, let me look through the box- You never know what’s in there.” The journeyman went around the shop and began rummaging in boxes.

Meanwhile, Kaelyn watched the old woman at her work. The molten glass heated to orange, and a sphere began to form. The apprentice kept stoking the fire, to keep it at the right temperature- apparently very hot.

“What do we have here?” the journeyman said, interrupted Kaelyn’s thoughts. He pulled out a stoppered square bottle, about two inches tall and three quarters of an inch wide. He brought it over to her with a flourish. “What do you think of that?” he said triumphantly.

Kaelyn thought for a moment, examining the bottle closely. “Yes, that is about what I had in mind.”

Kaelyn and the journeyman discussed making modifications to the vial to add some water and attach a chain.

“Is there some special water you want to put in this, some holy water?” the journeyman asked.

“Yes!” Kaelyn said happily. “I will bring some by. I was not expecting you to have any in stock.”

“Well, this was a bottle for a perfumer,” the journeyman explained, “who had decided it was too small, as I recall. Thus, we would be willing to sell it to you for at a discount, as we had already written this one off as a loss.” He paused, then looked right into Kaelyn’s eyes. “By the by, my name it Robel of Rysten.” Robel gestured towards the back of the shop. “That is my mother, Bae, making the glasswork. She is quite good at it,” he said with pride.

“She does a fantastic job,” Kaelyn said truthfully.

“She has decided for some reason that I am more suited here,” Robel said with a hint of sadness in his voice.

“It must be your outstanding people skills and knowledge of the inventory,” Kaelyn said, always the diplomat.

Robel beamed. “Why thank you! Well, if you bring the chain by, we can make all the necessary modifications. We can even do it while you wait.”

After leaving the glassworker’s shop, Kaelyn acquired a chain for 60d and then returned to Raven Hall to retrieve some water from her font that was already attuned to her. Then she returned to the glassworker. The old woman took the vial very carefully, heated it and sliced the top off of it, attached the chain, and even tapered the top and bottom so it looked like a proper vial. One would never know it used to be a bottle. Kaelyn paid the glassworker 12d, and walked home quite happy. Content, even.

Later, when Sir Baris was off doing whatever it was he did when he was not annoying Kaelyn, (maybe it was that serving girl) the mage attuned herself to her new focus.

Savor 11, 731

As requested, the party met Sir Houla and three other members of the Order of the Lady of Paladins at the three trees in the northwest corner of the east common. One of the Order was a lady, Baris noticed.

“Ah, well met!” Sir Houla yelled as Sirs Ewen and Baris arrived. He introduced his companions. The woman was Lady Trina of Kallin, next to her was Sir Fearth of Hamlin, and next to him was Sir Brun of Vaen, the youngest of the three by appearance. “Sir Ewen, you, Sir Brun and I have something in common,” Sir Houla said. “We have each of us, in our time, been First Knight of Kaldor.”

Sir Brun nods. “It was quite long ago, and I have not yet been able to achieve it twice.”

“Has anyone ever done so?”

“No,” Sir Brun admitted.

“May we all hold our heads high,” Ewen said comradely.

“In my case it was thirteen years ago,” Sir Brun said. “I won the joust in 718. For my part, I think it was something of a fluke, I was a mere lad of twenty four.”

“Perhaps we are all at our peak at that age,” Ewen said with a slight smile.

“That is a very diplomatic way of saying it, Sir Ewen, I wish I had thought of that ten years ago,” Sir Brun said and laughed.

Arnys suddenly appeared out of nowhere. An annoying ability that probably made him a good spy, Baris mused. “It is an honor to ride with you again, Sir Ewen.” Fortunately, Sir Ewen’s squire could at least sit a horse this journey.

As the morning drifted on, the group traveled along the northern road, passing Holdan and Touvant Manors. When they came to a fork they took the right road- little more than a track, really. Sir Houla explained how each of the chapterhouses was associated with a bishopric. Whyce was associated with Caleme Abbey, as was Varayne, and Sir Houla held Whyce from Caleme.

The group soon came to Whyce manor, the senior chapterhouse in Kaldor of the Order of the Lady of Paladins. The group rode through town, the peasant’s dodging out of their way and going about their business. The chapterhouse was effectively cloistered, Houla explained, and it would be inappropriate to provide the party with guest lodging, as they had women with them. However, the chapterhouse would put them up at the Galloping Stallion inn at the chapterhouse’s expense. The horses were stabled and the party went inside.

The common room of the contained three large tables with benches, with smaller tables off to the side with stools. The two best rooms were reserved for Sir Ewen and for Sir Baris, and the women were given private rooms. Sir Baris’ room had a double bed along with a desk and a chair, and Sir Ewen’s room was similar.

Later in the day Sir Houla suggested that the party repast at the inn, and invited them to the chapterhouse at down on the morrow when, weather permitting, they would start the hunt.

That evening Cekiya set out towards the cemetery, passing a well and a barn. As she went down the lane, to the right she noticed a set of lists where a tournament would take place. To her dismay, there were no fresh graves. Maybe she could make some work for the gravedigger! She aimed to please! A Peonian priest came up and interrupted Cekiya’s musings, just as she was deciding what weapon to use. “The blessings of the goddess upon you, my daughter,” he said.

“If you want to waste your time,” Cekiya said. “How are you?”

The priest looked confused. “Waste my time? It is never a waste of time to call upon the blessings of the goddess. Are you new in the village? We do not have many visitors.”

“How many lost do you have?” Cekiya asked cryptically.

“Lost?” the priest said, getting more confused.

“How many lost come here?” Cekiya repeated, as if to a child.

“You speak very strangely,” the priest said, not noticing or at least pretending not to notice. “Do you seek a loved one here?”

“No.”

“So you have merely come to pay reverence to the dearly departed,” the priest said matter of factly.

“No”

The priest paused. “I see.” He paused again. “Are you lost?”

“No,” Cekiya said. “I don’t believe so,” she continued. “This is where I wanted to be,” she finished.

“Ah, I think I understand,” the priest said, as if reaching a conclusion. “You are special.”

“The hive boy said so.”

“Who?”

“The hive”

“The hive?” the priest asked, clearly getting confused again.

“The bees,” Cekiya said. Obviously.

“You talk to bees?” the priest asked.

“Silly, no!” Cekiya said, laughing coolly. “Bees don’t speak.”

“I knew that,” the priest said quickly. “Tell me, my daughter-”

“Daddy?” Cekiya interrupted.

“No,” the priest said.

“I never knew my daddy,” Cekiya said blandly.

“Tell me, ch-er, young lady,” the priest began.

“It would have been strange if you were my daddy,” Cekiya interrupted again.

“Have you been in Whyce long?” the priest asked.

“No.”

“Did you come with others?”

“Yes,” Cekiya replied.

“Are you in need of shelter?”

“No.”

“Then perhaps I will leave you,” the priest said, managing to keep most of the exasperation out of his voice. With that, he walked off.

“What a strange man,” Cekiya said, shaking her head. Then she continued onto the cemetery.

***

Meanwhile, in the common room, Sirs Ewen and Baris were sitting down to supper with Kaelyn, Imarë having gone into the forest to commune with nature. The clientele were quite well off, Baris noted. Some appeared to be foot soldiers of the Order of the Lady of Paladins. The innkeeper, one Tancred, was an obese, greasy, jowly fellow who was extremely engaging. It was immediately clear, based on the reactions and interpersonal activity between those who were clearly members of the Order that Tancred had some kind of connection to the Order.

Eventually Tancred came over to the party. “Friends!” he greeted. “Be welcome to the Galloping Stallion!”

“Thank you Tancred,” Ewen replied. “My name is Sir Ewen, this is Sir Baris, and Kaelyn of Aletta.”

“Well met! My house, is your house,” he said, spreading his arms to take in the whole building. “Sir Houla, the senior Reblena of the Order of the Lady of Paladins in the Kingdom of Kaldor, has told me you are his guest. Ask, and if it is in the power of this house, I will surely grant it.”

“What is on the menu for the evening?” Ewen asked.

“Ah! The menu for the evening,” Tancred repeated. “A wonderful hank of mukkon.”

“Mukkon?” Kaelyn asked, slightly confused.

“I meant shank of mutton!” Tancred said, and laughed. Perhaps he was a bit into his cups. “Terribly sorry.” He laughed again. “I’m a poet!” Clearly, he was into his cups. Tancred wandered back into the kitchen, muttering “mukkon” to himself and laughing.

Sirs Ewen and Baris and Kaelyn sat back and enjoyed the warmth of the fire, and the pleasant company. Tomorrow, was the hunt!

Baris enthused, “I wonder what we’ll kill?”